a king's whim

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27566662.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)
Relationship: Fushiguro Megumi/Sukuna | Ryomen Sukuna
Character: Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Sukuna, Omega Fushiguro
Megumi, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Loss of
Virginity, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Oral Sex, Dirty
Talk, a teeny tiny bit of breathplay
Series: Part 1 of binding vows
Stats: Published: 2020-11-18 Words: 12125

a king's whim
by bakunonist

Summary

“You know better than I do that no one alive has ever dealt with a male omega’s heat.”

Fushiguro’s scent is as thick as ever. Sukuna lived a long life back in the golden age of
Jujutsu, back when male omegas weren’t extinct, but never has he come across a scent this
inebriating—this rich, this full. It’s fitting that it belongs to Fushiguro. For the double-faced
spectre, it always has to be Fushiguro.

“Well,” Sukuna corrects, a cruel grin blooming on his face, “no one alive except for me.”

Notes

disclaimer: i have no idea what eucalyptus smells like, but google said mint and honey.

big note: all of the tws should be in the tags!

See the end of the work for more notes

Something like this hasn’t happened in over three centuries.

Sukuna remembers it clearly, the last male omega he fucked. A tall, pale beauty with droopy eyes
and ink black hair. He remembers his wetness, his warmth, and the countless times he came apart
throughout the night. Back when he was human, Sukuna was an alpha, just like the Itadori brat—
but even then, however, male omegas were scarce.

A thousand years later, they’ve been phased out completely.

Curious, he once asked Itadori to tell him everything he knew about male omegas. The kid had just
smiled sheepishly, rubbed his head, and said he always slept through history class. Apparently,
male omegas get more of a mention in history class than in sex ed.

The fact that no one—no one alive, no one human, no one but Sukuna—would know what to do
with a male omega might be a problem, considering that there is one presenting in the room next
door.

Sukuna is sure of it. Itadori might be suppressing him with ease, but they still share the same body.

The smell permeating through the walls is minty cool yet disgustingly sweet at the same time,
sweet like the cheap Halloween candy the kid has been inhaling lately. Itadori’s body is warm all
over because of it, and Sukuna, sharing his body, feels it too.

The difference is: Sukuna knows what this is, knows what this thick, intoxicating, exhilarating
feeling is, even if it doesn’t quite make sense.

Itadori is growling, rubbing at his nose. “The fuck is Fushiguro smoking over there?”

Oh. Right. Fushiguro Megumi.

That means—

Sukuna’s eyes darken, his grin flares wickedly, and his fingernails rattle against the horned skulls
beneath him in excitement. His Innate Domain is blood-red and vibrating with excitement right
now because oh, oh this is good. This couldn’t be better.

Sukuna just has to do it right.

Desperate times, desperate measures. Itadori’s gotten annoyingly good at ignoring his voice
whenever he tries to talk to him, so Sukuna manipulates a mouth into appearing on the brat’s cheek
to make sure he hears him. “Kid,” he says.

With a sharp gasp, Itadori slaps the mouth away. He also starts to flail around the bed like an idiot.
“What the—you haven’t done this in a while—”

“Switch with me,” Sukuna tells him, a mouth appearing in his palm now.

“What the hell d’ya wanna switch for—”

“You smell it, don’t you?” The way Itadori stiffens at that isn’t lost on Sukuna. “But you clearly
don’t know what it is.” Sukuna hums, and his grin widens to cover the expanse of Itadori’s whole
hand. “Better to let someone who knows what they’re doing take care of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You—” Itadori clenches his hand into a fist, and unlike when Itadori was inside Sukuna’s Innate
Domain, he has nothing to physically direct his anger at. Sukuna rolls his eyes—it’s astounding
how utterly dull this kid is. “First of all, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Second,
you never ask me to switch, so why now of all times?”

The pheromones, probably, are what’s keeping Itadori so on edge. The brat seems ready to punch
through the wall in anger, which would make things a lot more complicated than they probably
need to be.

It’s getting irritating, trying to convince Itadori to let him take control. The kid’s instinctual
noncompliance and his bratty personality only make it worse. The longer this drags out, the less
time Sukuna will have to reap his harvest.

However, it will be worth it. Because it is Fushiguro Megumi, it will be worth it.

“I never ask you to switch, sure,” admits Sukuna, crossing his legs, his kimono riding high up on
his thigh, “but this is different. This is something I want.”

Itadori just doesn’t get it. Human beings just don’t quite understand the pleasure that comes from
getting something you want. Not because you earned it, but because you alone deserve it, because
it is your right, because the entire world is already yours, and everything in it just another one of
your possessions.

Fushiguro Megumi is no different.

“You see . . . ” If this is what it takes, Sukuna will let the cat out of the bag. “Your little friend is
presenting as an omega right now.”

Itadori swallows, body tensing, heart racing. “I don’t . . . ”

“You don’t believe me? Tell me you at least know what heats are, kid.”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot. Female omegas still exist.”

“Then you must be able to tell by now what this is, right?”

The kid is thinking so loud that Sukuna can practically hear him. Itadori doesn’t want to believe
Sukuna; he doesn’t have any reason to. No one has seen a male omega in three centuries, and to
him, Sukuna is pure evil, Sukuna is a liar. But the thing is, Sukuna only lies when lying benefits
him, when there is something to gain from lying.

Right now, there is a much better prize to be won from telling the truth.

And the truth is clear and striking as day. No matter how much this doesn’t make sense, instinct
and biology will always overrule logic. Not even is Itadori stupid enough to misconstrue what this
means.

After a moment of hesitation, he grits out, “Can’t he just be left alone?”

Sukuna feels curse-black energy thrumming through his limbs—he can hardly stifle his
excitement. The air is only growing thicker, heavy like molasses, and Fushiguro’s scent is only
heightening. If Sukuna listens, really listens, he can hear soft panting and shaky gasps. He wants
this—it’s not a need. The King of Curses does not need anything. He only wants, because wanting
is enough. Because by his very right—whatever he wants is already his.

It’s a simple truth. A law of nature.

“Let me teach you a quick history lesson. One of the reasons why male omegas phased out is
because of how much worse their heats are than for their biologically female counterparts. Some
died because of it. The ones who didn’t get any help especially,” Sukuna explains, rolling his eyes.
“They didn’t teach you that in school, did they?”
Itadori bares his teeth. The smell is getting to him, and Sukuna needs to switch with him before he
starts to lose control of his alpha. At that point, there’s no hope of Sukuna taking over.

“You’re lying to me. Manipulating me.”

“And if I’m not? You’re putting Fushiguro’s life in danger.”

Sukuna knows this is the right route to take. Itadori’s compassion will be the death of him one day
—until then, Sukuna plans to exploit him as much as he can. There is only one human in the world
that Sukuna cares about—and it definitely isn’t Itadori.

“Fushiguro is strong,” the kid forces himself to say.

“Ah.” Sukuna will admit that; strength and boundless potential is what pulls him to Fushiguro after
all. “But strong enough to be able to go through a first heat on his own?” Sukuna cracks his
knuckles and rolls his neck around. “Even you must know that’s dangerous, no matter the
anatomy.”

“Suppressants,” argues Itadori desperately. Sukuna can feel the sweat beading down his neck.
“Modern medicine—”

“Won’t be able to do shit. You know better than I do that no one alive has dealt with a male
omega’s heat.” Then, Sukuna grins. “Well, no one alive except for me.”

Itadori startles, a ruddy warmth to his cheeks as he finally starts to get it. “You’re saying you want
to—”

“Fuck him?” Sukuna groans at the thought of it, uncrossing his legs, thighs spreading. Fushiguro’s
scent is as thick as ever. Sukuna lived a long life back in the golden age of Jujutsu, but never before
has he come across a scent this inebriating, this rich and full.

It’s fitting that it belongs to Fushiguro.

“Yeah, precisely that.”

“You’re taking advantage of him!” Itadori shouts, standing up and pacing around the room. His
hands start to tug at his hair, and Sukuna knows he doesn’t have much time before Itadori does
something incredibly stupid, or before Fushiguro’s heat triggers his rut.

So Sukuna decides to play a little dirty. By now, he knows what makes Itadori tick, knows what
makes the brat explode. Itadori Yuuji, when exposed to a high enough level of stress, is volatile.
He’s a dynamite stick of emotions, and guilt is the easiest way to get to him.

“Are you saying that you won’t?”

Itadori goes dead-still, as if the weight of this situation and the true gravity of the stance he’s taken
is just now finally starting to set in. Sukuna grins.

He knows that the battle has been won, here.

“Are you telling me that you want to take this burden upon yourself?”

That’s the only thing Sukuna is worried about.

Sukuna is willing to share a body with Itadori—but he isn’t willing to share Fushiguro.
Fushiguro Megumi is his and his alone.

Sukuna needs to make sure Itadori steers clear of what is his. He’s pretty sure Itadori has a thing
for that teacher with the six-eyes and the limitless cursed technique, but he doesn’t want to risk
having any loose ends here, so he makes sure to drive the point home.

“You wouldn’t know what to do, but I suppose you could let your alpha instincts take over. That
wouldn’t be so hard, I suppose.” Then, in a low, condescending voice, “But do you really trust
yourself to do that?”

A hesitant beat, and then Itadori says quietly, “I trust my instincts more than I trust you.”

Sukuna isn’t convinced at all. “Tch. So, are you saying you’ll be able to stay in control the entire
time?” he mocks, staring at his fingernails, black and trimmed short. “Didn’t you present just a
couple months ago? You, resist the urge to bite? To mate? Mark him as yours for life? Have you
ever even had an omega in heat yourself? As an alpha?” Sukuna knows that the answer is no—
they share a body after all. Itadori presented a few days after he ate the first of Sukuna’s fingers,
and despite the fact that the obvious flame he’s been harboring for that teacher of his is definitely
reciprocated, he hasn’t quite yet acted on it. Itadori is a virgin for sure. “What makes you think
you, an untested alpha, would be able to resist mating him once he’s in full heat?”

Itadori is silent and shaking, hands in fists by his side. The room is hot, but Fushiguro’s scent is
minty and cool; the kid’s head must be throbbing from the temperature whiplash. Sukuna,
however, is unaffected by everything but Fushiguro’s scent.

It isn’t so much an issue of biology. He feels it to the same extent that Itadori feels it, but he isn’t
affected by the smell of Fushiguro’s heat in a biological sense. The King of Curses is far beyond
that.

It’s something close to indulgence, maybe.

Desire, most definitely.

The delicacy of wanting something rare, something that no one else can ever have, and making it
yours.

“You could get one of your teachers, maybe. One of the trusty, upper-level shamans, but what
would make them any more capable than you are? What would Fushiguro Megumi think of you
then, knowing that you passed him off to someone inadequate? Someone who didn’t know what
they were doing? Someone who wasn’t able to resist the urge to bite? What then? Don’t you
already owe him your life?”

Guilt, guilt, guilt. That’s all it takes with this kid, really. All it takes to kill his spirit.

“Meanwhile, I’m here, I’m willing, and I’m capable.”

Itadori’s head hangs low. The kid knows it, even just from instinct he knows that he isn’t strong
enough to handle this. Sukuna doesn’t blame him—he doesn’t think that anyone alive would be
able to handle this.

Even back when male omegas weren’t extinct, their heats were still a big problem. But Sukuna
knows what heats are like, knows what to expect, knows how to deal with them.

The battle has already been won; now, it’s time for Sukuna to set his conditions.
“Tell you what, kid,” Sukuna offers, resting back on his throne, feeling victorious. “You and I both
know we don’t have time to argue before you start to lose control of yourself. While you’re still
clear-headed . . . we should make a contract. Let me switch with you during all of Fushiguro’s
heats. That way you’re absolved of any responsibility.”

“No,” Itadori growls instantly.

“And in return,” Sukuna says, sighing heavily. God, just talking to this kid is exhausting. “I
promise I won’t claim him, or mate him, or do anything permanent. I don’t have any ulterior
motives when it comes to Fushiguro Megumi.” It’s the truth; Sukuna’s cards are all laid out. For
the double-faced spectre, Fushiguro Megumi is a thing of curiosity and allure. He wants him, but
he doesn’t want anything from him. Just him—his body, his power—is enough to sate Sukuna’s
hunger.

“I want him, but you don’t. We both have something to gain from this.”

Itadori falls silent again, but that only makes Fushiguro’s muffled noises of pain and arousal from
the next room grow even more apparent. Sukuna feels drunk on it; he can only imagine how
clouded Itadori’s head must be. The brat is rash, impulsive even when he’s thinking clearly—but
he must be at his breaking point, must feel cornered by Sukuna, by Fushiguro, by his alpha
instincts, and by his overwhelming compassion. It would do him well to lose it, Sukuna thinks; it’s
a burden, caring so much for others, putting their desires over yours.

All that matters to Sukuna is pleasure and displeasure. Anything else is just not a concern of his.
But Itadori, oh, the kid likes to think himself an Atlas, likes to think himself capable of holding the
whole world on his shoulders. But Sukuna is well aware that when it comes down to it, when it
really comes down to it, all he’s capable of is shucking his responsibilities onto those more
competent than he is.

“Fine,” he mutters, guilt and self-hatred clearly eating at him. “But just this once. If Fushiguro
doesn’t end up killing you during, or me after, we can renegotiate terms later.”

And that’s all it takes for Sukuna to take over, black lines and intricate marks manifesting all over
his skin. He cracks his neck, takes a big, deep breath, and grins. Curse-black, malevolent energy
surges through his limbs, fire in his blood—

Oh, now this is what it means to be alive.

Fushiguro’s face is pressed to the bed, a pillow between his knees, hands gripping at the sheets,
knuckles white with desperation. He’s facing away from the door and wearing these loose grey
sweatpants, so the first thing Sukuna sees is the faint damp spot on the back of them. His mouth
waters when he realizes that Fushiguro is wet enough to have soaked through the fabric. He
watches as Fushiguro hesitantly ruts into his pillow—soft, breathy, embarrassed gasps muffled by
fabric in a shoddy attempt to keep himself quiet. Even from the room over, both Sukuna and Itadori
could hear him with minimal effort. Fushiguro hasn’t even noticed that Sukuna’s intruded, that
he’s leaning against the door that he locked behind him, arms crossed. The double-faced spectre is
enjoying the sight of what is about to become his.

No, by his right, Fushiguro is already his.

Sukuna has always loved the depravity of heats, ruts, and all the like. The overwhelming, insatiable
drive to fuck, be fucked, anything and everything in between. Pleasure is all that matters, and
Sukuna loves it.
From the look of it, Fushiguro isn’t totally out of it. He seems lucid for the most part—irritated,
shaky, and confused. The back of his neck is bright red with shame, and his lips are just barely
parted, pillow slightly damp with spit.

He’s completely unlike his usual, composed self, though.

That’s the other part about this that Sukuna loves.

Losing yourself to an undeniable, unspeakable sort of pleasure—it’s glorious, and Sukuna is

thrilled to see the lengths Fushiguro would go to deny his own biology, deny himself of his own
pleasure.

Fushiguro is an interesting, interesting creature.

It takes him a few more moments to realize that he isn’t alone anymore, that someone has been
watching him, watching as he was caught up in making himself feel good, however reluctant in his
motions. Slowly, his hips still, and he begins to turn himself around. There’s a bead of sweat
rolling down his neck, down to the dip of his collarbones where his shirt has drooped—Sukuna
licks his lips at the sight.

“Itado—” Then Fushiguro’s eyes start to widen in realization. “You,” he utters, horrified.

Sukuna feels nothing but delight.

“The brat let me take over,” he explains, answering the question that must be spinning through
Fushiguro’s head right now.

Fushiguro swallows, and he positions his pillow in front of his groin in a poor attempt to hide his
erection. Sukuna almost finds it cute. “You—”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Sukuna asks, glancing over the shaman’s disheveled appearance.
His hair is slightly matted to his forehead with sweat. His sleeves are pulled up to his elbows,
forearms veiny and tense. He’s panting a little, his lips wet and shiny. God, he looks ready to be
devoured. Sukuna has to resist just taking him as he is. He wants to drag this out, wants to indulge
in this for as long as he can. It’s been over a thousand years since he’s had someone to fuck, let
alone an omega or a male omega in heat. He’s going to take his time, going to enjoy taking and
having what is already his.

“The kid didn’t, so I had to explain it to him,” he continues, eyes hooded and dark as he shoves his
hands in Itadori’s pockets. He promptly ignores the candy wrappers he finds there.

Fushiguro is still foggy with heat, so Sukuna decides to take the opportunity to tease him a little.

“You seem like you were a good boy in school. Probably even paid attention to what the teachers
had to say about second genders.” Sukuna can imagine it—Fushiguro has always seemed like the
stereotypical good boy who was forcefully exposed to the real world of curses. He’s always
seemed like the type who wants to stick by the rules more than anything—safe and boring and yet
—Sukuna still finds himself drawn to that, drawn to him.

Unexpectedly, however, Fushiguro starts to laugh. Sukuna raises a brow.

“Hah. I hate to ruin your expectations of me, Ryoumen Sukuna,” Fushiguro laughs, throwing his
head back. His voice is rough and grating, skin as pale as moonlight. Sukuna likes the way his eyes
are as dark as the shadows he controls. Fushiguro smirks, shifting on the bed slightly. It’s like what
Sukuna said broke him out of his fogginess and brought clarity to his head. “But I was actually a
delinquent in middle school. I probably skipped more class than Itadori did, honestly.”

Sukuna looks closer and sees that there is no fear in his eyes anymore.

“You exceed my expectations every time, Fushiguro Megumi, don’t you?”

That’s the thing with Fushiguro: everything about him feels like a pull, feels like an inevitability,
and yet—

Sukuna never really knows what he’s going to do next. He never really knows what’s going
through his head.

He’s an anomaly, a freak of nature, so it seems apt that he would somehow be the first male omega
in centuries.

Fushiguro takes a deep breath. He lets go of his knuckle-white grip on his pillow and sets it down
between his thighs, hands unfurling. And then, he closes his eyes for a second, and drops his head
forward, looking a little defeated.

“I’m an omega,” he says, staring at his palms.

Sukuna licks his lower lip. “You’re an omega.”

Fushiguro lifts his head, opens his eyes, and stares right at Sukuna. No fear, no malice either.

“So what now?” he asks calmly, eyelashes creating shadows on his cheekbones. “Are you going to
kill me while I’m weak and defenseless?”

You’re the one human in the world I wouldn’t dare kill.

Sukuna scoffs, lips pulling into a grin. “No, no, I’m not going to kill you,” he says, walking closer,
walking to the foot of the bed, learning that Fushiguro is even more stunning up close. “I can’t
have you dying on me, either, Fushiguro Megumi. I need you for something.”

Plus, you’re interesting.

“So, I’m going to help you.”

Fushiguro’s eyes widen, green and piercing, but he assesses the situation with both speed and
precision. Sukuna is impressed by how lucid he still is. “You made a contract with Itadori,” he
conjectures, hesitant.

Sukuna’s chest rumbles with laughter, satisfied and somewhat proud. “How astute.”

“But—” Fushiguro is interrupted by a sharp gasp, brows knitting together in pain. It looks like
resisting the heat is finally taking a toll on him—Sukuna is surprised that their conversation is even
still going. “I know, ahh, I know what you have to gain from a contract, but does Itadori get in
return?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, eyeing Fushiguro, flushed and starting to fall out of his forced lucid state.
In a quick rush of motion, Sukuna is on the bed, hands tangled in Fushiguro’s hair, pressing the
omega to the wall. With a malevolent, hungry grin, he buries his nose right by Fushiguro’s scent
gland and groans. The shaman is paralyzed, a gasp stuck in the back of his throat as Sukuna shoves
a knee between his thighs, forcing them open, forcing Fushiguro’s arousal to press above his knee.

“You don’t seem to get how good you smell, do you?” Mint and honey, thick and cool and sweet.
Sukuna is drunk off his scent—it’s mouth-watering and mind-numbing—but he forces himself to
pull away, releasing Fushiguro and getting a good look at him. His pupils are blown wide,
emerald-dark unlike his usual bright green; cheeks ruddy, flushed with hot shame and unwanted
desire; lips slightly parted, pink and kissable. Sukuna can’t wait to take what is his, can’t wait to
show Fushiguro what has been lost in this modern age.

Pleasure, pure and simple. The world has seemed to have forgotten the sheer and utter beauty of
pleasure and pure hedonism. Pleasure unadulterated by what people call virtue, by what people
determine right and wrong, good and bad, moral and immoral. None of that matters. None of that
should matter.

“I’m afraid that the little brat knew he wouldn’t have been able to control himself when you start to
go into your real heat pretty soon.” He doesn’t think Itadori would’ve lasted a minute of being in
the same room as Fushiguro pre-heat, even.

“Real?” Fushiguro finally manages to get out, keeling over with a pained moan, mouth just above
Sukuna’s shoulder, before struggling to get himself upright again. “You mean that—this isn’t it?”

Sukuna just chuckles at that, pulling Itadori’s shirt and hoodie off in one smooth go. It’s getting hot
in here, and it’s only going to get so much worse. “Not even close.”

He doesn’t miss the way Fushiguro’s eyes linger, studying Sukuna’s markings, as well as the hard,
muscled ridges of Itadori’s body. Now this is what Sukuna loves about heats and ruts. They strip
you down to what you are at your core: a consequence of biology, a mass of cells without any
purpose. So you might as well seek pleasure over everything, reap the spoils of your conquests, and
live.

“What is—what is happening to me?” Fushiguro pants, hands clutching at the bed sheets, hair
falling over his eyes. Ink black hair, pale skin, emerald-green eyes.

“To put it simply,” Sukuna says, hand returning to comb through Fushiguro’s mussed-up, damp
hair, “your body wants me to—well—it wants anyone to fuck a baby into you, and it’s punishing
you for ignoring that desire.”

He might’ve left that part out while talking to the kid.

“But I—can’t,” Fushiguro hisses out, teeth gritted. He looks angry at the thought.

Sukuna laughs, smoothing his thumb over Fushiguro’s cheek. He loves the way the shaman’s eyes
panic, a soft gasp at the gentle touch. “You can’t, and that’s what makes the heat so much worse.”

Male omegas can’t bear children without the necessary parts, but that inability only drives their
omega’s desire to get bred. Over and over again in the hopes that it will take. But it can’t, it won’t
—

And yet, that doesn’t mean that their bodies won’t try. It’s beautiful to Sukuna, that selfish, single-
minded, yet idle desire for something you cannot possibly attain. Sukuna will never know what
that is like—he’ll never know what it is to want something he cannot have because the whole
world is already his, but the thought of it is beautiful.

It’s finally starting to dawn on Fushiguro that if this isn’t the worst of it, he’s in trouble.

“So, to help me, you want to fuck me?” he snarls, scent flaring with arousal and anger.

Sukuna inhales sharply, bearing half-lidded eyes and a cruel grin. Fushiguro is hard against his
thigh, and Sukuna has to resist putting his mouth right over his scent gland for a taste of his flesh.
“Oh, I want to do so much more than that,” he hums, slipping his other hand underneath
Fushiguro’s shirt, palm flat against his abs. Fushiguro shivers at the touch, head knocking back into
the wall.

“Fuck,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing intensifies. His hips ache into Sukuna’s
touch, and the curse sucks in a breath.

Sukuna’s hand curls around the nape of Fushiguro’s neck, damp with sweat and fever, placing his
thumb firmly against the shaman’s windpipe. He could easily kill Fushiguro right now—he won’t,
and he could never—but just the thought of having that much power over someone is intoxicating.
However, Fushiguro doesn’t even try to fight it, just taking what Sukuna decides to give him in this
moment. Sukuna expected more of a struggle. “You’re not going to at least try to fight it? Fight
me?”

Fushiguro is starting to slip in and out of lucidity, but the grin he flashes at Sukuna is all conscious
effort.

“You have me all wrong, Sukuna,” he says, pupils obsidian black, voice rough and gravelly. “I’m
not nearly noble enough to fight this on my own.” With heavy lids and even heavier lashes, his
eyes do a once-over of Sukuna’s body, riddled with cursed energy and malicious intent. The thing
is, though, there is no disgust or fear or even anger anymore—the only emotion Sukuna sees on
Fushiguro’s face is hunger. “Doesn’t mean I’m particularly happy about this. But if you’re here
and offering, well . . . I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Sukuna’s eyes darken as he begins to grin from ear to ear.

You really are something else, Fushiguro Megumi.

“Very well,” Sukuna exhales, dragging his teeth down the bare side of Fushiguro’s neck until he’s
breathing right onto his scent gland. Then, he sucks, mouth closing over the swollen flesh, tongue
hot and teasing. He tastes even stronger than he smells, eucalyptus with strong notes of honey,
sweet and mouth-watering and addicting.

Fushiguro chokes out a gasp, broken and wet. Sukuna can only imagine the cries the boy would let
out if he were to bite, claim, make him his. But there isn’t much appeal to doing so. Untampered
and left alone, Fushiguro is fascinating. Sukuna wouldn’t be nearly as interested in Fushiguro if he
was typical enough to be twisted by Sukuna’s own malevolence, if he wasn’t who he was at his
core. And Sukuna still can’t quite get a grasp on what that core is.

Even to the King of Curses, Fushiguro Megumi is untouchable.

“I assume you—” Fushiguro writhes, grinding his cock into Sukuna’s thigh, and Sukuna adores
the sounds he’s making, embarrassed, guttural, and breathy. He pulls back from sucking on his
neck to look at him. “I assume you know what you’re doing? Itadori better not have passed me off
to someone incompetent.”

Sukuna prides himself on his self-control. He’s hedonistic, sure, but he knows that sometimes it’s
better to wait until his spoils are in full bloom, until every last bit of pleasure can be wrung out to
the max.

But right now, something seems to break, a tether of self-control snaps. Sukuna’s fingers twitch,
knuckles white, nails black as he squeezes Fushiguro’s neck, restricting the blood flow to his brain.
Not hard enough to make him choke, but enough to get him lightheaded, enough to remind him of
who exactly Sukuna is.

Fushiguro responds beautifully, shuddering, body falling limp, slumping against the wall.

“Don’t get cocky now, shaman,” Sukuna warns, a cruel sort of energy flowing all the way to his
fingertips. “Know your place.”

Fushiguro’s face is red, eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. It must be hard to resist, now.
Must be impossible to resist the sinking heat, the dark fogginess of his own head, of his own
instincts. His lips are parted, and it’s almost as if he likes this, almost as if he’s just begging to be
choked, begging for someone to make him feel good no matter how shameful.

And that is what Sukuna loves to see. He releases his grip on Fushiguro’s throat and surges
forward until their mouths meet, not giving the shaman a single second to breathe.

Sukuna’s tongue slides right into Fushiguro’s open mouth—soft, wet, and pliant. The omega is
gasping for oxygen, but Sukuna only kisses him harder, sucking on his tongue and biting his lips.
The kiss is depraved, primal, and since being incarnated, Sukuna has never felt more alive. He’s
caging Fushiguro in, a hand on the base of his neck, the other rucking his black shirt up to his
chest. Fushiguro is clearly inexperienced at kissing, but he makes up for it in eagerness and
willingness to let Sukuna take control of the pace.

It’s Fushiguro Megumi, so Sukuna might as well go all out.

He pulls away from the kiss, a thick line of spit still connecting their lips. Fushiguro, whether it’s
because he wanted to or because instinct told him to, chases after Sukuna’s warm lips, panting
softly. His cheeks turn pink once he realizes what he’s just done—tried to do, really.

“Needy, huh?” Sukuna smirks, putting more distance between their bodies.

“Shut up,” Fushiguro growls, throwing his forearm over his eyes, pink spreading down to his chest.
“It’s the fucking heat.”

“Hmm,” hums Sukuna, eyeing the damp tent in his sweatpants. He’s soaked through them with his
arousal, his readiness to get fucked. “I wonder.”

Sukuna doesn’t know if he could still call himself an alpha, but the dregs of humanity that still
exist within him, few and far between, are demanding that he claim the omega in front of him—or
maybe that’s just Itadori’s alpha.

But it doesn’t matter what it is, who it is, because he just ignores that urge entirely.

He doubts anyone else could’ve done the same.

For the double-faced spectre, it has to be Fushiguro Megumi.

It’s only fitting that it goes both ways.

“Take off your shirt. You’re gonna overheat if you keep it on the entire time,” Sukuna orders flatly,
noticing that Fushiguro’s black shirt is practically sticking to him.

Fushiguro swallows and gives a nod. He peels his shirt off in a single motion, tossing the inside-
out shirt to the side. He has a layer of sweat covering his entire abdomen, and god does Sukuna
want to positively devour him.
“You’re here for—” Fushiguro shifts uncomfortably. The sudden lack of physical contact must be
getting to his omega. “How long are you here for?”

Sukuna grins. He lifts himself up onto his knees so that Fushiguro has to look up at him. Sukuna
decides he likes how Fushiguro looks from up above: his pretty face, his defiant eyes, his
unblemished, pale skin. Then, he places two fingers under Fushiguro’s jaw and tips his chin up
until their lips are almost touching. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be here till the end of your
heat.”

First heats are shorter, only two or three days compared to the usual week, but the trade-off is that
they’re much more intense.

Fushiguro’s face burns, but he tries to keep himself composed regardless. Impressive. “I trust that
Itadori set up fair conditions for me?”

Sukuna cradles the side of Fushiguro’s face in his palm, and the omega lets him; it feels electric,
warm to the touch. “I was the one who decided on the terms. He just agreed to them.”

It takes Fushiguro a short moment to register what Sukuna said, too distracted by the hand on his
cheek. Unconsciously, his lips part again, as if he wants a taste. “As long as he agreed to them.”

Sukuna rubs his cheek with his thumb, close to the corner of his mouth, and Fushiguro
unknowingly starts to purr in satisfaction. When he hears himself, however, he jerks back in shock,
embarrassment creeping onto his face. With a miserable sigh, Fushiguro groans, “Itadori’s never
gonna let me live this down.”

“The brat’s been quiet ever since we switched, if that makes you feel any better.”

Fushiguro frowns, brows furrowed as another bout of pain hits him. And then, it’s like his body
moves on his own, because in an attempt to remedy that pain, he’s trying to kiss Sukuna again.

Sukuna grins, pleased, but stops their mouths from colliding by placing two fingers on Fushiguro’s
lips, just to tease him a little.

However, Fushiguro continues to blow his expectations out of the water. He opens his mouth and
closes his lips around Sukuna’s fingers, sucking gently.

For a second—a long, long second that stretches out into infinity—Sukuna is left gaping.
Throughout the many years he’s lived, he doesn’t think he’s ever encountered someone quite as
perplexing, alluring, and unpredictable as Fushiguro Megumi. His tongue is sliding along the pads
of his fingertips—wet, hot, and needy. He’s looking up at Sukuna as he sucks on his fingers, soft,
plump lips dripping with spit.

“Fuck,” Sukuna hears himself mutter.

When he comes back to his senses, he decides to change plans.

If Fushiguro is so eager, Sukuna will give him what he wants after all.

He pushes his fingers in all the way to the knuckle, till his fingertips hit the back of his throat and
he’s left gagging around the digits, whimpering at the fullness, but not pulling away in the
slightest. Then he fucks the omega’s mouth, desperate and eager for it, once again grinding
forward against Sukuna’s thigh. God, he’s soaked through his sweatpants and he’s even getting
Itadori’s jeans a little wet where he’s pressed up against him. Sukuna inhales deeply and lets
Fushiguro’s thickening scent fill his brain with euphoria. There isn’t anything in the world quite
like this, the pleasure of taking someone apart, reducing them to a primal, hedonistic state where
nothing else matters but making themself feel good.

Once he’s had his fun fucking Fushiguro’s mouth, he pulls out, drags the wet digits along the
omega’s lips, and wipes dry them on his cheek.

“Good boy,” he groans out, using his thumb to drag Fushiguro’s lower lip down, exposing his
bottom row of teeth. Sukuna wants to see how much the boy is willing to take, wants to test the
limits of his obedience, wants to find out just how far he can go with Fushiguro tonight. And from
the looks of it—Sukuna doesn’t need to hold back at all.

Fushiguro moans sweetly at the praise, eyes falling shut, and it’s clear that right now, in this
moment, he’d let Sukuna do anything to him.

It’s only going to get so much worse, so much better from here.

“You’re finally starting to get into it, aren’t you?”

Blinking his pretty eyes, Fushiguro comes back to himself in another moment of clarity. It won’t
last long, though. Sukuna has enough experience to be sure of it.

“Fuck, am I—am I there yet?” he asks, turning his head to the side.

“Almost.” You wouldn’t be able to ask that question if you were fully in heat. “Don’t be impatient.
You’ll get there soon.”

Fushiguro glares fiercely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grumbling, “You’re
talking as if this is something I want.”

Sukuna flashes him a vicious, mocking grin. “Isn’t it? Doesn’t it feel good to surrender? To give in
to your instincts?”

There’s a moment of liminality. Fushiguro is on the edge of heat and the edge of lucidity at the
same time; his head is a cacophony of instinct and pride, discordant to the extreme. Sukuna can
hear it, can hear that beautiful mess of sound.

He knows just how to push him over the right edge.

“Aren’t sure?” he asks, cupping Fushiguro’s cheeks with his palms. Fushiguro looks up at him
with glossy eyes. “Here, let me show you.”

And then he’s pulling Fushiguro on top of him, lying back with the boy on top of him. Fushiguro
holds himself up by his elbows and knees at the sudden change in position. His eyes are blown-
wide, cheeks flushed and scorching-hot.

He’s a beauty, and Sukuna can’t wait to ruin him.

“What are you—”

“Just do what feels good,” he orders, kissing just below the omega’s ear—soft, teasing, and bare.
He truly doesn’t have any ill intentions towards Fushiguro—right now, he just wants Fushiguro to
feel good.

Self-conscious, Fushiguro is motionless, spiky, ink black hair covering his eyes. Sukuna’s lips are
dragging along his scent gland—it’s a wet, electrifying feeling for the both of them. Fushiguro is
panting heavily now that he’s truly beginning to lose himself to his heat. Sukuna wants to put him
out of his mercy and just tell him what to do—he imagines that Fushiguro would like that, choice
and volition taken away from him, only able to take what Sukuna gives him.

Do what you were doing earlier before I came in, he almost says.

He doesn’t get a chance to, because Fushiguro starts doing exactly that all on his own, pressing his
crotch to Sukuna’s and swiveling his hips with a smooth, slow, back-and-forth, repetitive motion.
His quiet moans and whines are music to Sukuna’s ears. The air is thick with his scent, cool and
sweet, and Sukuna’s vision is filled with him, beautiful and strong.

“That’s it, that’s it, Fushiguro,” Sukuna groans, breathing in his heady scent.

No one else could make me feel like this. No one else could make you feel like this.

“Fuck,” the boy is sighing, sucking in a painful breath, “why the fuck is this so good?”

Sukuna chuckles softly, licking a stripe up the boy’s neck, just to hear him gasp. “ ‘Cause this is
what omegas like you were born for,” he tells him gently. “To be fucked and bred.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Fushiguro spits out, but he doesn’t stop moving. Sukuna doesn’t think Fushiguro
could stop even if he wanted to.

“Remember your place, omega,” he growls in response—but he isn’t angry, really. He’s more
amused than anything, amused that Fushiguro is still holding onto his sanity, carrying out a clear
conversation despite being fraught with heat and blinding desire.

Fushiguro laughs, but there is no joy to it. Something like self-pity, misery, and defeat, maybe.
“My place?” he scoffs, lifting himself upright and grinding Sukuna’s cock between his ass cheeks,
the soaked fabric in between only making the friction even more delicious. He’s finally listening to
his instincts, listening to its desire to be filled to the fucking brim. He moans at the intense
sensation and grimaces at the wet squelch noise he makes, sitting back.

It almost looks like he’s riding him. Sukuna groans at the thought. Later, he tells himself.

“I think I’m well aware of my new place.”

Sukuna doesn’t know the extent to which the extinction of male omegas has affected modern
society, but he supposes that it probably doesn’t feel the best to know that you’re the only one of
your kind out there.

“Don’t be like that. It isn’t so bad.” Sukuna places a firm, steady hand on Fushiguro’s hip. “Trust
me. As long as you have someone to help you through the heats, it isn’t so bad. You can deal with
all the rest later.”

But then Sukuna realizes what he’s doing. Realizing that he’s comforting Fushiguro. His grip on
Fushiguro’s hip tightens, knuckles turning white.

Sukuna is the double-faced spectre, the King of Curses. He’s selfish, hedonistic, and doesn’t care
about anyone but himself. He’s interested in Fushiguro Megumi for the sole reason that Fushiguro
Megumi is interesting. His Shadow Shikigami technique is fascinating, as is his willingness to
fight in close combat. He’s stoic and calm, cool and collected, so of course it’s thrilling to see him
reduced to this primal state, and yet—something about Fushiguro Megumi makes him think that
there might be something more to it.
“Were you an alpha? In your past life?”

Sukuna lifts a careful brow. No one’s ever asked him about his life as a human before. “I was.”

“Did you . . . with a lot of omegas?” Fushiguro asks. From the breathiness of his voice, he’s getting
close, getting real desperate but still attempting to hide it.

“Are you once again asking me if I actually know what I’m doing?”

Fushiguro’s lashes are heavy with unshed tears, wet and thick. Sukuna appreciates pleasure and
power above everything, but beauty comes a close third. Fushiguro Megumi happens to fulfill all
three of those pillars.

“Maybe.”

Sukuna should be mad, he really should be mad. The King of Curses is doubted by no one,
questioned by no one. But Fushiguro yet again seems to be the exception.

“Tch. If you don’t believe me, I guess I’ll have to show you,” Sukuna croons vengefully, laying his
palm flat against the shaman’s stomach, just above the V-line of his abs. Fushiguro has a faint
happy trail leading down to his crotch, and god does that ignite something primal inside Sukuna. A
part of him wants to see Fushiguro’s stomach swollen with cum, sitting on his knot, blissed out of
his mind.

All in due time.

He eventually slides that hand to Fushiguro’s waist and squeezes, fingers digging into his milky
skin, leaving bruises that will last for days, long past the short duration of his heat. The first of
many Sukuna will leave tonight, just as a reminder. He brings his other hand to the base of
Fushiguro’s skull, black, trimmed nails kneading his scalp before grabbing a tuft of hair and
yanking. Fushiguro whimpers, head forcefully pulled back, neck unwillingly bared. More tears
collect at his waterline, threatening to fall at the sudden show of force—Sukuna grins wide, the
curse-black marks all over his body burning with desire.

Fushiguro shudders, slipping out of lucidity and back into that beautiful state of heat. With that,
however, his already weak movements cease completely.

“Did I tell you to stop moving?” Sukuna snarls, giving Fushiguro’s hair another yank, relishing in
the whine the omega lets out.

Fushiguro shakes his head frantically and starts to move again.

Sukuna’s grip on his waist tightens, hand squeezing him harder in pure and utter excitement—
Fushiguro merely writhes into the touch. Beautiful.

Completely and utterly beautiful.

“First, I want you to come. Just like this,” Sukuna orders calmly, adoring how gone Fushiguro
looks, how it looks like he doesn’t even have a mind of his own anymore. “Then, I’ll show you
why I’m the only one you’ll ever need during your heats, okay?”

“Nngh,” Fushiguro mewls, eyes fallen shut, mouth blissfully open, spit running down the side of
his chin.

“I asked you a question, Fushiguro.”

The thing is, he doesn’t actually need an answer. It doesn’t matter what Fushiguro wants. It doesn’t
matter because Sukuna will give it to him anyways.

Fushiguro opens his eyes halfway, lids heavy and lashes dark. He’s spaced-out, not a thought in
that pretty little head of his. “You, uh—”

While Fushiguro is struggling to remember what he was told to do, Sukuna decides to jerk him off
through his sweatpants, hand curling around his erection, pumping leisurely. He wants to make it
harder for Fushiguro to concentrate, wants to make him realize that this all he’s good for right
now, and it works because Fushiguro’s noises grow louder and he’s trying to follow Sukuna’s
movements while at the same time rubbing Sukuna’s cock between his ass cheeks. There’s far too
much fabric between them, but Sukuna likes the way it gets Fushiguro frustrated, frowning and
fussy and whining unhappily. If Fushiguro is this desparate when they’re both still dressed from
the waist down, Sukuna can’t wait to see him when they’re skin-to-skin.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t worry about it anymore, okay?” Sukuna cups the side of Fushiguro’s face
with one hand and gives his cock a gentle squeeze with the other. “Just focus on my hand. Focus
on feeling good.”

Fushiguro nods shakily, fucking into Sukuna’s hand. At first he’s reluctant, careful little thrusts
and quiet moans, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow bold with his sounds and his motions,
mouth wide open, lower lip dripping with spit. His movements are frantic and beautiful, and he’s
falling apart before he even realizes it, head thrown back, mouth curled into a dopey, euphoric
smile, and a soft “oh” coming from his lips.

The first orgasm of his heat. Fushiguro will need to be knotted for him to feel even close to sated,
but for now, this is good, this is enough.

“Ahh, ahh,” he moans as Sukuna jerks him through it, brows knitting together when the stimulation
is too much. Sukuna smirks, ignoring the way his moans turned into pained whimpers.

Eventually, though, Sukuna takes mercy on him and removes his hand. Fushiguro’s head drops,
and, for a moment there, Sukuna finds himself enamored.

“Let’s get these off you now,” he says, tugging at Fushiguro’s waistband.

Fushiguro blinks, panting and writhing. He’s nodding enthusiastically once his brain finally
registers what Sukuna said, helping him shuck off his sweatpants and underwear, damp and
completely soaked through with slick. He’s the one on his back now, thighs spread, Sukuna
between his legs, laid bare.

Fuck, he smells good. His scent goes right to Sukuna’s head; it’s electrifying, a hot-cold flash of
sensation, and it distracts Sukuna for a moment. Distracts him from the glorious sight of
Fushiguro’s red, throbbing dick. It’s a good size, curved up to his stomach, shiny with precum, and
still very, very erect.

Sukuna, in a blip of insanity, wants to put it in his mouth.

“Shit,” Fushiguro sighs, bringing Sukuna back to his senses. “Why’m I, fuck, why’m I so wet?”

Sukuna’s eyes drop to Fushiguro’s hole, twitching and shiny with slick.

“You don’t know anything about your own biology, do you?” Sukuna grins and pushes one of
Fushiguro’s thighs up to his chest with ease. He’s flexible, huh? Oh, the things Sukuna can do with
that.
Undaunted, he swipes two fingers through the mess, and it sends shockwaves through Fushiguro’s
body. Sukuna puts his palm to his stomach and forces him still as he rubs two fingers over his
puckered hole.

“There, nghh, hasn’t been a male omega in centuries,” Fushiguro manages to get out, hot with
shame and arousal. “Sue me for assuming I wouldn’t be one.”

Sukuna hums apathetically, fingertips circling Fushiguro’s entrance, amazed at how it’s already
loosening itself up in preparation for Sukuna’s fingers, for Sukuna’s cock.

This is what you were made to do. This is what you were made for.

Sukuna spreads his fingers apart, and a line of slick stretches, thick like honey and stark against his
black nails.

Fushiguro is gasping, face hot as he watches Sukuna admire his naked body, propped up on his
elbows. Then, Sukuna glances up at him with careful eyes and a wicked grin, withdrawing his
fingers. Fushiguro is visibly confused.

“Wh—”

Sukuna brings his fingers to Fushiguro’s mouth, messily smearing his lips with his own slick. Very
slowly, Fushiguro’s eyes darken in understanding, lips parting, breath hitching as Sukuna presses
his fingers in then presses down on his tongue. His jaw drops, following the movement, tongue
pliant and soft, and it’s mesmerizing, his natural obedience, his willingness to do and give up
whatever it takes to stave off this heat. There is no reluctance and there is no fear either. He lets
Sukuna drag his fingers along his tongue, quiet little whimpers and lewd noises escaping him.

Then Sukuna pulls his fingers out and devours Fushiguro’s mouth with another bruising wet kiss.

“You taste fucking divine,” Sukuna groans, lapping at his lip. The curse feels slightly—feels very
unhinged having this beautiful, beautiful omega all to himself. His mouth is slick yet sticky against
Fushiguro’s as he gets on top of him, not breaking contact. His hand roams down to Fushiguro’s
untouched cock, and he shoves his tongue between the omega’s pliant, warm lips at the same time.
Fushiguro’s mouth goes lax, hips lifting off the bed and into Sukuna’s curled fist. He’s on the
precipice of another orgasm, so close to falling apart once more.

However, this isn’t how Sukuna wants to take him apart at the moment. He wants to do many
things to his omega, but right now—

He wants to show Fushiguro what omegas like him were meant for.

Satisfied, Sukuna grins, taking Fushiguro’s lower lip between his teeth, letting the soft, pink flesh
stretch a little before pulling away in full, wiping his sticky hand on Fushiguro’s thigh.

“Mmnh,” Fushiguro whimpers. His pretty eyelashes are damp with tears, ink black and thick.
Sukuna dips down to lick the tears off his cheek, smiling when more noises bubble up from
Fushiguro’s throat.

“Feel good?”

Fushiguro’s mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out—he can’t find the words. It’s
gorgeous, plain and simple. That slow and slippery descent into complete incoherency, the
inability to escape the fogginess in your head, the instinct to surrender no matter how much you
want to fight. But the thing is, even at the start, Fushiguro didn’t fight it; Fushiguro knew that he
wouldn’t be able to win. He embraced it willingly—this pleasure—this surrender. Sukuna’s heart
beats loud in his chest.

Fushiguro is finally there.

From the looks of it, Sukuna doubts Fushiguro will have another moment of lucidity any time
soon.

“You know, Fushiguro,” Sukuna mumbles, hand returning to his entrance, forcing two fingers in
all the way to the knuckle, not giving the omega any time to adjust.

Fushiguro jolts, mouth gasping. God is he tight, squeezing hellishly around his two fingers, hole
spasming erratically. Grinning maniacally, Sukuna lays his tongue flat to the column of
Fushiguro’s neck, adoring the way his throat bobs, swallowing a nervous breath. Then, his tongue
slides down Fushiguro’s body, wet and hot between his collarbones, between his pecs, then he lets
his spit pool in the ridges of Fushiguro’s abs.

“Nothing exists,” Sukuna exhales, tongue dragging down Fushiguro’s sweet, warm body, “but my
pleasure and displeasure.”

Sukuna inserts a third finger, smiling at how easily Fushiguro’s body is adapting.

“And you—” Sukuna kisses the head of his cock, taking it into his mouth and moaning headily at
the taste, addicting and sweet. His tongue lingers, pressed flat to the underside of Fushiguro’s cock
as he gazes up, dark gold eyes meeting the omega’s. “You make me feel good.”

Fushiguro’s eyes are dark, hungry, and half-lidded, face flushed rose-pink and sweaty, chest
heaving. His lips are parted and his tongue rests atop his lower lip, whimpering as Sukuna fucks
him with his fingers, the sound of it obscene and squelching, warm like molten lava.

“This is your first time, right?” Sukuna asks, mouthing along Fushiguro’s sensitive inner thighs,
glistening with a layer of slick.

When Fushiguro doesn’t respond, Sukuna presses his pinky finger inside and bites his thigh—
there’s just the slightest bit of fat up high. He doesn’t bite hard enough to break skin, but he bites
hard enough that it will certainly bruise.

Sukuna licks over the reddened skin with a soft hum. “There’s no use trying to get you to talk, hm?
You’re definitely tight enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if you were.”

Fushiguro nods, over-eager, and Sukuna honestly isn’t sure what he’s nodding to. He isn’t sure if
it’s a late response to the question, or if it’s just him displaying his enthusiasm.

Either way, though, Sukuna is pleased.

Ever so slightly, Fushiguro starts to fuck down on the fingers, elbows ground to the bed as he
moves back and forth in tandem with Sukuna’s thrusts.

“You learn fast,” Sukuna praises, grinning.

“Ahh, mngh.” His hole is fluttering around Sukuna’s fingers, and Sukuna honestly could’ve done
without the prep, but watching Fushiguro whine and slowly lose his mind to only a couple of
fingers, is worth dragging things out for.

Sukuna’s hand is positively dripping with slick, and the thick, sweet scent of mint and honey is
going right to his head.

He pulls his fingers out and gazes upon Fushiguro’s body once more, awed by how flushed and
desperate he looks. His face is a mess, bright pink, wide-eyed, and wet. His bright pink blush has
spread all the way down to his chest, and his nipples are swollen, budding open, chest a little
plumper than at the beginning. His cock is hard and his asshole is winking open, almost gushing
with liquid at the emptiness.

Sukuna looks at him and thinks:

This is a body that was made to be worshipped.

But he will save that for another time, because now, all Sukuna really cares about is showing this
gorgeous, beautiful, strong, hard-headed omega what it feels like to be fucked full.

Sukuna flips Fushiguro over onto his stomach, tugging his hips up so that his face, chest, and knees
are pressed to the bed, ass propped up and presented.

“Fuck,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, laying his hands on Fushiguro’s ass and squeezing hard,
thumbs spreading his cheeks apart. Like a starved man, Sukuna dives right in: he licks a voracious
stripe up from Fushiguro’s balls, then to his perineum, then drags his tongue flat against his oozing
hole, sucking for a moment, teeth harsh and painful against sensitive, abused skin. Fushiguro sobs
into the bed, wailing as Sukuna’s tongue swirls around his rim and forces its way in. Sukuna grips
his soft cheeks harder, pulling him apart with no plans for putting him back together again.

“Al—Al—mngh,” Fushiguro keeps gasping, cries muffled and wet, forced open by Sukuna’s
thumbs.

Sukuna’s tongue is persistent against Fushiguro’s hole, and Fushiguro is squirming, dick hard and
bobbing with his movements. He’s vulnerable, laid open and laid bare, pried apart by eager hands.

And his taste, god, his taste is something heavenly, something fucking divine.

Painfully, Sukuna draws away with a sharp breath. In response, Fushiguro just pushes back with a
longing, miserable whine, aching into an invisible touch.

Mind going blank, Sukuna stares at his beautiful, freshly presented omega for a moment before
surging over to kiss him hard, cupping his face hungrily, thumbing away his tears, rubbing his
warm cheeks. His face is a fucking mess, slick and spit all over his mouth, chin, and cheeks, but
god does he kiss Fushiguro with all the force and energy he can manage. Fuck. Has he ever felt this
good? Has he ever had someone this good? Has he ever wanted it this much?

Fushiguro kisses him back enthusiastically, whining at the taste of his own slick, his tongue wet
and soft against Sukuna’s, eyes wet as he looks at Sukuna over his shoulder. His neck is bright
pink, scent glands more swollen than ever. Sukuna fucking devours him, drinks him in like honey.
His delicious, breath-filled noises and his gorgeous whines and everything.

Sukuna breaks the kiss first, spit stretching from his mouth to Fushiguro’s. Fushiguro’s mouth is
still open from the kiss, lax and needy. Sukuna thumbs over the omega’s lower lip and quickly
yanks his thumb away before Fushiguro can start sucking on it. Fushiguro blinks, lips kiss-swollen
and red. Sukuna almost goes to kiss him again, but—

He realizes that he’s still wearing Itadori’s pants—Sukuna misses his kimono deeply.

He quickly rectifies that by slashing everything to pieces and pushing the remaining fabric off of
the bed. He half expects the brat to start complaining, but Itadori surprisingly remains silent.

When he looks back at Fushiguro, dark emerald eyes are staring at him, hungry and primitive,
focused on his freed cock, a knot steadily forming at the base.

Good thing that his vessel happened to be an alpha.

Sukuna takes his cock—or maybe it’s Itadori’s, he isn’t exactly sure—in his hand with a grin, eyes
meeting the omega’s as he strokes himself base to tip. It’s a nice cock—hard, pink, and veiny—and
it’s got a vicious curve to it. He thumbs just under the head, groaning breathily at the contact
before noticing that Fushiguro is getting whiny at the emptiness. Needy. Needy little omega,
Sukuna thinks, drunk on Fushiguro’s heightening pheromones. In turn, he places a hand between
Fushiguro’s shoulder blades, pushing the omega down and reminding him of his place. Grinning
like a feral beast, he guides his cockhead to Fushiguro’s sopping rim, grunting and throwing his
head back when it catches, when Fushiguro’s hole swallows him up, fluttering around him.
Fushiguro howls—unintelligible, desparate, and noisy.

He’s doing so well. Taking everything without any complaints. Taking, taking, taking.

Sukuna fucks him shallowly, teases him with only the head. The shaman is clearly trying to take
more of him, trying to fuck back like a shameless little animal, but Sukuna smacks his ass hard as a
punishment. Fushiguro sobs at the reprimand. Sukuna grins and does it again, but this time he
doesn’t lift his hand; he lets it linger against the hot flesh before squeezing, digging his nails into
the bruising skin.

“Pl—mngh—ahh—please,” Fushiguro cries, chest rubbing against fabric, squirming against

Sukuna’s cock, thighs spreading even wider.

Sukuna hits him again, harder, so much harder, and the loud schmack! resounds.

“Alpha,” Fushiguro wails, and—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And that might just be it for Sukuna.

Fushiguro, crying, fucked-out, begging for Sukuna to fuck him, forgetting that Sukuna’s not even
an alpha, that Sukuna’s not even human.

Sukuna presses all the way into the hilt, forcing even the base of his cock inside, balls snug against
the omega’s soft cheeks. Fushiguro whimpers loudly at the stretch, at the feeling of Sukuna’s knot
swelling. Alpha, alpha, alpha. Broken syllables and half-formed noises. Virgin walls are squeezing
around him and Sukuna pushes his chest to Fushiguro’s back, filling him and fucking him without
any restraint.

“Hey, Fushiguro,” Sukuna says, taking the cartilage of Fushiguro’s ear between his teeth, soft and
stretchy. “You agreed so easily to this that I have to wonder—you’re actually a slut, aren’t you?”

Oh. Fushiguro clenches around him and releases a soft, broken wail, trying to fuck back again,
squirming helplessly. The sounds of his cock fucking into a tight, wet hole; the loud slapping of
their bodies coming together; and Fushiguro’s choppy breaths, fast and pained, as Sukuna
repeatedly grinds his cock against his prostate. Sukuna might just fall in love with this feeling of
complete and utter control.

“Getting fucked by the very cursed being you once tried to exorcise, hm? Moaning like a bitch for
it too.”

Fushiguro only wails harder. “Alpha—ahh,” he gasps, head tilting back so he can suck in a breath
with his mouth. Sukuna takes the opportunity to grab a fistful of damp, ink black hair and yank. He
kisses wetly at Fushiguro’s cheek and momentarily sucks on the soft flesh as he continues to fuck
him ruthlessly. Then, he lines kisses along the side of Fushiguro’s throat, twisting down from
under his ear to the center of the back of his neck, and he bites.

This time, he bites down hard enough to draw blood.

It isn’t a mating bite—though it is only a couple inches away from his scent gland—so it isn’t a
violation of the contract, but god is it thrilling, the adrenaline of marking Fushiguro, reminding
him that from now on, he’s owned. Owned by someone he should hate. Someone who’s saved his
life. The omega’s body tenses up, toes curling, and he screams brokenly, coming apart easily.

Sukuna laps over the wound unapologetically, pounding into Fushiguro’s pliant body, fucking him
through his second orgasm of the night, of his heat. Fushiguro whines at the overstimulation, but
mostly just lets Sukuna do whatever he wants.

It’s a beautiful sort of obedience.

He lets go of Fushiguro’s hair, dragging his palm along his back, snaking it around his chest and
placing it right over Fushiguro’s heart. The omega’s heart is beating wildly, thumping hard against
Sukuna’s hand, and it only makes Sukuna want to fuck him harder, fuck him until there can’t
possibly be a single thought inside his pretty little head. Mine, mine, mine. Nothing matters to the
double-faced spectre but pleasure and displeasure—his pleasure and displeasure. But right now,
Fushiguro Megumi’s pleasure is included in that. Fushiguro Megumi is his. That’s just a given, but
after tonight—after tonight Sukuna might be his as well.

By that right and by that right alone, Fushiguro’s pleasure is his pleasure.

As soon as he feels his knot begin to swell for real, Sukuna pulls his cock out, but only to switch
Fushiguro onto his back, manhandling him like a little plaything. Sukuna wants to look at his face,
wants to swallow all of his pretty noises, wants to kiss him hard, and doing that from the back is a
little difficult. Fushiguro is sobbing when Sukuna pushes back in, hands frantically searching for
contact, for something to grip as he tries to take the base of Sukuna’s cock again. His knot is
expanding rapidly, pressing against Fushiguro’s puffy, swollen rim.

“Can’t, can’t—” Fushiguro’s hands eventually find purchase on Sukuna’s hair, fingertips rubbing
against his scalp, tugging Sukuna closer, closer, until their mouths are only a breath apart. Sukuna
should be mad, but he isn’t.

“Remember what I said earlier?” he asks in a low voice. He throws Fushiguro’s legs over his
shoulders and folds him nearly in half. The new angle allows Sukuna to push the entirety of his
knot in with one forceful thrust, and Fushiguro weeps, his walls clenching and fluttering
uncontrollably around the intrusion, fucked open, stretched out impossibly.

“Ngh, alpha, please, ca—can’t, mmgh—” His face is blissed out, but he also looks like he’s in
pain. Sukuna isn’t quite sure what he’s begging for—for Sukuna to stop or keep going. He
supposes it doesn’t matter, because his cock is swollen either way.

“Omegas like you were born for this,” he reminds. And when he swoops down for another kiss, it’s
less of a kiss and more of a bite, sucking on his tongue and his lips and Fushiguro lets him, because
Fushiguro is an omega and omegas were born to be used. “Born to be fucked and bred. Of course
you can take it. This is all you’re good for.”

Fushiguro chokes out a sob—broken, defeated, euphoric, in pain. Sukuna can’t tell, but it doesn’t
matter. It doesn’t matter what Fushiguro wants, because this—getting fucked and filled and bred
—is what he needs.

“And I’m the only one who can fuck you like this,” Sukuna growls, forgetting who he is, forgetting
what they are outside of this, because right now—right now, nothing else matters but Fushiguro
hot and tight around him like a fucking vice, nothing else in the world matters but Sukuna spearing
into his—his, his, his—omega without any semblance of control.

“Remember that, Fushiguro. Remember that I’m the only one who can give a slut like you what
you need.”

This is what Fushiguro needs, and this is what Sukuna wants.

Fushiguro’s mouth is hanging open, fucked stupid, and he’s sucking in breaths. Sukuna denies him
of that with a dirty, hard kiss. Fushiguro cries, he’s crying and his walls are squeezing around
Sukuna’s thick cock and he’s spurting hot and messy between their bodies again, out of breath,
lightheaded, dizzy, thoroughly used, cum splashing all over himself, abs clenching.

Sukuna continues fucking him, vicious and vigorous, and every time he breathes in he feels even
drunker, head buzzing, chest filling with warmth—the sweet, sweet smell of Fushiguro in heat
going straight to his brain.

“Too m—mngh—”

“Can you give me another one, Fushiguro?” Sukuna feels himself on the brink of release too. He
won’t stop until he’s sated. Won’t stop until he gets what he wants. “C’mon, omega, I know you
can do it.”

“Gah, mmgh, Sukuna—alpha, alpha—”

Sukuna ignores how good his name sounds coming out of Fushiguro’s mouth and brings a slick,
hot hand down to tug at Fushiguro’s cock, filling with blood again at record speed, stroking it
fiercely.

Fushiguro’s moans are incoherent, sobbing wetly into the bed as Sukuna drives his cock in and out,
fucks him again and again, takes him apart over and over until there is nothing left.

“Sukuna, Sukuna—”

Sukuna can no longer ignore how much he likes that, likes hearing his pretty omega moan his
name, likes hearing Fushiguro moan his name. He can no longer ignore how affected he is by that
because his knot is swelling to full size, and they’re both left gasping as Sukuna releases inside
Fushiguro, as Sukuna shoves his tongue back inside his omega’s mouth. They’re barely kissing,
and Sukuna is frantically jerking him off, and Fushiguro is fucking back almost involuntarily, like
he just can’t help himself from taking anything that Sukuna gives him. Sukuna fills him up with
cum, pumping his hot liquid inside of him with a messy groan, fucking softly, and Fushiguro
whines with each movement, hyper-sensitive, whimpering at the fullness, the feeling of being
fucked open over and over and over.

Then, Fushiguro is coming again, weak spurts spilling from his exhausted dick, pulsating
miserably.
They stay like that: bodies pressed taut and warm and intimate. They stay like that: Sukuna fucking
him during the comedown, Fushiguro floating out of his body. They stay like that for a long time.

Sukuna places his hand on Fushiguro’s stomach—messy with cum and slick and sweat—and finds
that it’s slightly distended from being knotted. He moans at the thought, then decides to suck on
Fushiguro’s lip to bring himself back to reality.

“Shit,” he sighs, blinking rapidly, wringing out the last of his orgasm. “That was good.”

Fushiguro takes quite a while to come out of his fogginess. He’s been knotted and pumped with an
alpha’s cum, so his omega should be sated for now, at least. Soon, it will realize that it didn’t take,
and it will force Fushiguro to try and try again until a baby is fucked into him.

It won’t work, though, and eventually his body will be too tired to listen to desire. The heat will
pass.

At least for now, Fushiguro will be able to relax. His sex drive will definitely be heightened, but
he’ll have a mostly clear head for the next few hours.

Soon enough, the color comes back to Fushiguro’s eyes, light green and shiny.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, staring at where they’re connected. His black hair is haloed around his
head, cheeks rose-pink, lips swollen-red.

Sukuna repositions them so that he’s sitting against the wall, a pillow propped up vertically and
behind his back, Fushiguro in his lap. The freshly fucked omega whines at the feeling of Sukuna’s
cock moving inside of him. A part of Sukuna already wants to go at it again.

“You back, yet?”

Fushiguro snarls. “Oi, the fuck was with all the shit that you were saying?”

Sukuna smirks. Fiesty right off the bat, huh? Of course he is. Just how Sukuna likes them.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says, brushing his thumb along Fushiguro’s mouth.
“The part about omegas only being useful for breeding? Or the part about you being a whore?”

Fushiguro glares, point-blank and with an intensity that could rival Sukuna’s own cursed energy,
but otherwise lets Sukuna play with his lips.

Sukuna chuckles and presses a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his shiny-wet mouth, and it seems to
calm the omega down a little. How obedient, he thinks in awe. “You seemed to like it.”

“I did not,” Fushiguro grits out stubbornly, cheeks burning.

“Really?” Sukuna hums. His knot hasn’t started to deflate just quite yet, so he uses the opportunity
to fuck deeper into Fushiguro, grinding his cockhead into his prostate. Overstimulated, Fushiguro’s
eyes roll to the back of his head, and his mouth opens with a soft gasp. “I seem to remember
differently.”

“Nngh,” is all that Fushiguro is able to get out, fucked dumb with cock, walls fluttering tightly
around him.

Sukuna grins. “You really are a slut.”

Fushiguro musters up the energy to bite Sukuna’s lip hard. He licks over the blood and pulls back
with an even fiercer glare.

“Never mind,” he sighs, eyelids drooping as he starts to space out.

Sukuna drags his fingers along the mess on Fushiguro’s stomach. It’s not sexual, really—though
he’s sure that Fushiguro’s body will take any touch in a sexual manner—he just feels like it.
Fushiguro is warm and sticky all over, and Sukuna likes the reminder that he was the one who
made him like this, reduced him to this. Beautiful and bare. Sukuna wonders if he’ll have time to
grab a clean rag from the dorm’s bathroom and clean up the omega before the next intense bout of
his heat starts.

“Hey, what were the terms of your contract with Itadori?”

Sukuna lifts a brow and deadpans, “You’re only now asking.”

“I was a bit preoccupied, earlier,” Fushiguro sighs, frowning.

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Tch. Basically, no mating. Nothing permanent. And I would only switch
him this one heat. The brat said we’d negotiate new terms later if things went fine. Which, I
assume they did.”

Something weird happens then. Fushiguro averts his eyes, avoiding Sukuna’s gaze. His mouth
twists like he wants to say something but is holding himself back. “Yeah,” he eventually exhales,
swallowing nervously, brows knitted together in consternation. “You should do that. Renegotiate.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen. “You mean—?”

“Not the—not the mating thing, obviously,” Fushiguro spits out, scratching his head awkwardly.
“But I still don’t know much about this whole omega thing, and I doubt I could’ve gone through all
of that on my own. I’ll talk to Itadori about specifics myself once this is all—over. He’ll probably
take it better if I’m the one asking.”

“Good thing, because I’m pretty sure the brat is sleeping right now,” Sukuna scoffs. “That, or he’s
giving me the silent treatment.”

Fushiguro nods, but then—

Then, his eyes go dark, and for a second there, Sukuna thinks that his omega has taken over again,
and it takes him a moment to realize that’s all Fushiguro.

“Plus . . . you said it yourself,” he hums. His emerald eyes are hooded, his lashes thick, heavy, and
dark as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip. “You’re the only one who can give me what I
need.”

Sukuna hears himself growl, “Careful what you wish for, omega.”

He looks down and sees that Fushiguro’s cock is filling up again.

Looks like he won’t have time to clean Fushiguro up.

Oh well.

Fushiguro’s forehead meets Sukuna’s, hot and sweaty. Sukuna breathes in deeply, and the sweet
scent of mint and honey fills his head.

“I know what I want, Sukuna.”

 Fushiguro is the one who kisses him this time, hungry and desperate but certain. Confident.
Sukuna thinks he might’ve just created a monster.

The King of Curses chuckles into the kiss.

You really are something else, Fushiguro Megumi.

End Notes

not @ how i have the next 2 parts of this series planned. i'm still not sure about the order,
but there def will be:

megumi pov: megumi tops sukuna during one of his heats! (feat. power bottom
sukuna of some kind)
gojou/yuuji where gojou finds out about megumi and sukuna's arrangement and
yuuji's involvement in it... take that as you will

find me on twitter @bakunonist

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