Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bell jangled like an alarm. Yuji froze just inside the doorway, the sudden warmth of the bakery hitting him like a physical wall after the cool dusk air. His heart thumped against his ribs, too loud in the sudden quiet. The place was mostly empty, just the lingering scent of yeast and sugar and… something else. Something warm, deep, comforting. Vanilla? Cinnamon? It coiled around him, insistent and strangely grounding even as it made his nerves hum.

He hadn’t planned this. Not really. He’d just been walking, trying to outpace the restless energy building under his skin again. The pre-heat buzz was faint, a low thrum, but familiar enough to put him on edge. Past failures flashed – the awkward fumblings, the partners who couldn’t handle the intensity of his heats, the sharp tang of rejection in the air afterwards. He didn’t want that. Not tonight. Not ever again.

The scent deepened, richer now. Butter and caramelized sugar. And beneath it, something else entirely. Alpha. Steady. Solid. Possessive.

His gaze snapped up, drawn like iron to a magnet. Behind the counter, bathed in the soft, golden glow of display case lights, stood a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably neat even with a flour-dusted apron tied around his waist. Blond hair swept back, sharp features softened only slightly by the warm light. He wasn’t looking at the loaves he was carefully arranging. He was looking straight at Yuji.

Those honey-brown eyes held him, intense and unnervingly focused. Yuji felt pinned, exposed. The alpha’s gaze wasn’t aggressive, not overtly. It was… assessing. Taking him in. Owning the space around him. And the scent – warm bread, spicy cinnamon, pure alpha – intensified, curling around Yuji’s senses, sinking into his skin. It felt like a physical touch, a silent claim that resonated deep in his omega core. A promise, and a demand, all wrapped in bakery-sweetness. His breath hitched. He should run. Right now.

“Need help?”

The voice was low, calm. Deeper than Yuji expected. It resonated, vibrating through the quiet shop and straight into Yuji’s bones. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it filled the space completely.

Yuji swallowed, forcing his feet to move towards the counter, his worn sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished floor. He kept his eyes on the gleaming pastries – croissants like little golden moons, iced buns plump with promise, dark chocolate twists that looked decadent. Anything but that intense gaze. He felt the alpha’s attention follow him, a tangible weight.

“Uh. Yeah. Just… looking.” His voice sounded thin, reedy. Weak. He hated it. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets.

The alpha, Nanami according to the neat nametag pinned to his apron, didn’t move. He just watched. The warmth of the ovens was a gentle counterpoint to the cool assessment in his eyes. The scent, that delicious, possessive bakery scent, seemed to thicken the air between them.

Yuji gestured vaguely towards a display of fruit tarts. “Those look good.” His voice cracked. He winced.

“They are.” Nanami’s reply was simple, factual. No pushy salesmanship. “Made the pastry fresh this morning. Berries came in local.” He shifted slightly, leaning one hip against the counter behind him. The movement was casual, but it made the muscles in his forearm flex under the rolled-up sleeve of his crisp white shirt. Yuji’s gaze flickered down, then snapped back up. Too late.

A faint, almost imperceptible quirk touched the corner of Nanami’s mouth. Had he seen? “First time here?”

Yuji nodded, still avoiding direct eye contact. He focused on Nanami’s hands. Strong, capable hands, clean but with the faintest trace of flour embedded in the creases. Hands that kneaded dough, shaped loaves. The image was unexpectedly… grounding. “Friend mentioned it. Said the sourdough was good.”

“It is.” Nanami’s voice softened, just a fraction. Maybe it was the mention of a friend. Maybe it was something else. “We take pride in it. Long ferment. Proper crust.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over Yuji again, lingering for a heartbeat on the tense line of his shoulders, the way he held himself slightly coiled. “You seem tense.”

The observation was blunt. Yuji stiffened. “Long day,” he mumbled, the lie tasting sour.

Nanami hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that vibrated in Yuji’s chest. He reached under the counter and pulled out a small, perfectly round bun, dusted with powdered sugar. He placed it on a tiny square of parchment paper and slid it across the counter towards Yuji. “On the house. A little sugar helps.”

Yuji stared at the bun. It smelled incredible – sweet yeast, butter. An offering. From an Alpha whose scent was currently weaving itself into Yuji’s awareness, warm and possessive and unsettlingly right. He shouldn’t take it. Shouldn’t engage. But the kindness, the lack of expectation, was disarming. He hesitantly picked it up. It was still faintly warm. “Thanks.”

He took a small bite. Flavor exploded – sweet, slightly spiced, impossibly light and rich at the same time. A small sound, almost a moan, escaped him before he could stop it. He flushed, mortified, quickly chewing and swallowing.

Nanami watched him, his expression unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes hadn’t lessened. If anything, it seemed deeper. More focused. “Better?”

Yuji nodded, wiping sugar from his lip. “Yeah. It’s… amazing.” He risked a glance up. The Alpha’s gaze was steady. Warm. Possessive in a way that didn’t feel threatening anymore. It felt… safe. Like shelter. His omega instincts, usually wary, hummed in quiet accord. Safe. Strong. Good. The pre-heat buzz under his skin seemed to quiet, soothed by the Alpha’s presence, by the sweet, anchoring scent.

“Good,” Nanami said, that single word imbued with quiet satisfaction. He straightened, his posture radiating a calm, protective strength. “Come back anytime, Sunshine. We’ll take care of you.”

Sunshine. The unexpected nickname, spoken in that deep, calm voice, sent an unfamiliar warmth flooding through Yuji, chasing away the lingering chill of anxiety. It felt… right. Personal. Something shifted inside him, a small, fragile hope unfurling. Maybe… maybe this time? He managed a small, genuine smile. “I… I’d like that.”

He lingered a moment longer, finishing the bun, basking in the warmth of the bakery and the Alpha’s quiet, powerful presence. The possessive gaze didn’t feel intrusive now; it felt like a shield. Eventually, the dwindling light outside reminded him he needed to get home. He paid for the bun despite Nanami’s earlier offer, the interaction surprisingly easy.

“See you soon.” Nanami’s words weren’t a question. They were a statement. A quiet command Yuji found himself wanting to obey.

“Yeah. Soon.” Yuji pushed the door open, the bell jangling again, less jarring this time. The cool evening air felt different now. Cleaner. He took a deep breath, the lingering scent of vanilla and cinnamon and Alpha still clinging to his clothes, a comforting anchor. He felt… lighter. Hopeful, in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

He turned the corner, heading towards the quieter street where he’d parked his bike. The hopeful warmth still lingered, a fragile glow against the encroaching twilight. He fumbled for his keys in his pocket, the jingle loud in the sudden silence of the narrow alleyway beside the bakery’s side door. That’s when he heard it. A low, rough chuckle. Not friendly.

Yuji froze. His head snapped up. Leaning against the grimy brick wall, half-hidden in the deep shadow cast by a dumpster, were two figures. Tall. Solid. Their postures screamed casual menace. The air, previously clean and cool, soured abruptly with the sharp, acrid stink of aggressive Alpha pheromones – burnt rubber and cheap whiskey. It clawed at the back of his throat, instantly canceling the comforting warmth of Nanami’s scent clinging to him.

One of them peeled himself off the wall. He had a shaved head and a thick neck, his eyes gleaming with predatory amusement in the dim light filtering from a distant streetlamp. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his heavy boot crunching on loose gravel. The other followed, silent, a darker shadow.

“Well, well,” the first one rumbled, his voice a low growl. “Look what stumbled outta the candy store. Smells like trouble.” His gaze raked over Yuji, slow and invasive, lingering where the scent of omega – sunshine and wildflowers, now spiked with alarm – was strongest. The burnt rubber smell intensified, thick and suffocating. “Or maybe just dessert.”

Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through Yuji’s momentary peace. His breath caught. He took an involuntary step back, his shoulder blade hitting the cold brick wall behind him. Trapped. The hopeful warmth from the bakery evaporated, replaced by the chilling dread he knew too well. He tensed, muscles coiling, the ingrained fight-or-flight response screaming through his veins. But two against one… two aggressive Alphas… His hand tightened on his keys, the jagged metal digging into his palm. He’d fight. He always fought. But fear, cold and sickening, pooled in his gut.

The second Alpha finally spoke, his voice a low hiss. “Little Omega shouldn’t be out all alone this late.” He took another step, closing the distance. Ten feet. Then eight. The reek of whiskey-stink joined the burnt rubber, forming a nauseating cloud. “Needs someone to look after him.”

Yuji pushed off the wall, planting his feet. “Back off,” he growled, forcing strength into his voice he didn't feel. It came out shaky. The lead Alpha grinned, wide and predatory, showing yellowed teeth.

“Feisty,” he chuckled, taking another step. Six feet now. “I like feisty.” His hand twitched at his side, as if reaching for something. Or just reaching. “Guess the bakery boy ain't doing his job right."

Before Yuji could react, before he could lash out or try to run, a new presence materialized at the mouth of the alley. Yuji didn't see him arrive; he felt it. A wave of pure, undiluted Alpha power rolled down the narrow space, thick and heavy as molten gold. It slammed into the aggressive scents, obliterating them instantly. Vanilla. Cinnamon. Warm bread fresh from the oven. And beneath it, something ancient and furious – the crackle of a furnace door slamming open.

The two thugs whipped around, their cheap bravado faltering. Nanami stood there, framed by the distant streetlight. He wasn't running. He wasn't yelling. He simply stood, blocking their exit. His apron was gone. His sleeves were rolled down, buttoned neatly at the wrists. His posture was utterly still, radiating a terrifying calm. He didn't look at Yuji. His honey-brown eyes, flat and utterly devoid of warmth, were locked onto the two intruders.

"Leave." Nanami's voice was low. Deceptively soft. But it carried the weight of an avalanche. It wasn't a request. It wasn't even a command. It was a statement of inevitable fact.

The lead Alpha snarled, puffing out his chest, trying to reclaim his territory. "This ain't your business, Baker Boy. We're just having a chat."

Nanami took one slow, deliberate step into the alley. The air pressure seemed to drop. The predatory amusement vanished from the thugs' faces, replaced by dawning fear. They shuffled back a step, bumping into each other.

"Everything that happens near my domain," Nanami stated, his voice still quiet but crackling with lethal intensity, "is my business." Another step. The burnt rubber and whiskey scents were utterly gone now, crushed under the sheer, overwhelming weight of Nanami’s protective fury. His gaze finally flickered to Yuji for a fraction of a second – a silent, burning question: Are you hurt? – before snapping back to the threats. "You were leaving. Now."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The thugs exchanged a panicked look. The sheer, unspoken power radiating from Nanami was unlike anything they’d encountered. It wasn't just anger; it was the absolute certainty of destruction held barely in check. Finally, the lead one muttered a curse. "Fine. Whatever. C'mon." They slunk past Nanami, giving him a wide berth, practically scurrying out of the alley and disappearing into the gloom of the main street.

Nanami watched them go, his shoulders still rigid with tension, his scent still a raging, protective storm. Only when their footsteps faded completely did he finally turn fully towards Yuji. The furnace-heat in his gaze softened, replaced by a ferocious, consuming concern. He crossed the short distance in three long strides. His hands, strong and capable, came up, not quite touching, hovering near Yuji’s arms as if assessing for damage.

His voice, when it came, was rough, stripped of its usual calm. Filled with a protective fury that sent a different kind of shiver down Yuji’s spine. “Are you alright?” The bakery scent was still there, but now it was primal, possessive, wrapping around Yuji like a safety blanket forged in fire. “Did they touch you?”

Yuji shook his head, unable to speak. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum solo against the sudden, overwhelming quiet. He was trembling, a fine shiver running through him. Not just from fear anymore. From the sheer, raw power radiating off the Alpha standing protectively before him. From the intensity in those eyes.

Nanami’s gaze swept over him again, lingering on the pulse beating wildly in Yuji’s throat. His jaw tightened. A low, protective growl rumbled deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the alley and straight into Yuji’s core. “Come inside.” The command was absolute, leaving no room for argument. “Right now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. One large hand settled firmly, possessively, on the small of Yuji’s back – a touch that was both grounding and a clear claim. A shield against the world. The contact sent a jolt through Yuji, a confusing mix of relief and something else… something warm and terrifyingly deep.

Nanami guided him firmly back towards the bakery’s side door, his touch a brand against Yuji’s spine. The scent of protective Alpha – vanilla, cinnamon, and pure fury – was so thick Yuji could taste it. Nanami glanced back once, his eyes scanning the dark mouth of the alley, a silent promise of violence held in check solely for Yuji’s benefit. Then his gaze locked back onto Yuji’s face, fierce and unwavering. His voice dropped, rough with emotion Yuji couldn't fully name, but felt resonate in his very bones.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

Chapter Text

The worn velvet of the armchair swallowed Yuji whole. Nanami’s thick wool blanket, smelling faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, was draped heavily over his shoulders, a shield against the lingering chill of fear, not the cozy warmth of the apartment. He clutched its edges, knuckles white, trying to anchor himself. The rhythmic thudding in his chest hadn't slowed since the alley. It echoed in the sudden quiet of the room – a stark contrast to the bakery’s comforting hum downstairs. Old books lined shelves, lamps cast pools of golden light, and the air held the ghost of pastries… but beneath it all, Yuji’s own scent spiked: sunshine wilting under the sharp tang of wildflowers bruised by panic.

Nanami stood near the fireplace, his back rigid, radiating a contained fury that vibrated in the air like a plucked bass string. He hadn’t spoken much beyond gruff assurances and the command to sit. His gaze kept flicking towards the window overlooking the alley, his jaw clenched tight. The possessive warmth Yuji had felt earlier was now a fierce, protective blaze, banked but ready to ignite.

Then the front door clicked open downstairs. Not the jangle of the shop bell, but the softer sound of a private entrance. Footsteps ascended the stairs – light, almost careless, yet carrying an undeniable weight. The air in the room shifted instantly. The comforting bakery warmth was sliced through by a sudden, invigorating chill. Frost. Snow. The sharp, clean bite of winter wind.

Satoru Gojo filled the doorway. He didn't just enter; he materialized, a force of nature in a sleek black sweater and impossibly perfect silver-white hair. Piercing blue eyes, sharp as glacier ice, scanned the room, bypassing Nanami entirely to land unerringly on Yuji. A slow, predatory grin spread across his handsome face, dazzling and utterly unnerving.

"Well, well," Satoru purred, his voice a smooth counterpoint to Nanami’s low growl. He took a deliberate step into the room, inhaling deeply. The scent of Yuji’s panic seemed to sharpen in the air, reacting to the dominant Alpha presence. "Nanami, darling," Satoru continued, his gaze never leaving Yuji, "you really should have called me the moment this little treasure walked into the shop." He clicked his tongue, a sound of mock reproach. "Keeping such sunshine all to yourself? Rude."

Yuji’s breath hitched. Treasure. The word landed differently than Nanami’s ‘Sunshine’. It felt… acquisitive. Playful, but edged with possession. He shrank back into the chair, the blanket pulled tighter. The sheer presence of Satoru was overwhelming – effortless confidence radiating off him like cold light, his scent a thrilling, dangerous counterpoint to Nanami’s grounded warmth.

"Satoru, now is not the time," Nanami chastised him.

On the contrary," Satoru countered smoothly, gliding further into the room. He stopped a few feet from Yuji’s chair, looming without seeming to try. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, taking in Yuji’s pale face, the tremor in his hands clutching the blanket, the way his wildflower scent spiked again under the intense scrutiny. "Looks like precisely the time." He tilted his head, a lock of white hair falling across his forehead. "Rough evening, little Omega?"

Yuji managed a jerky nod, unable to find his voice. The proximity was dizzying. Snow and frost mingling with cinnamon and vanilla, creating a heady, confusing atmosphere. He could feel the protective rumble starting deep in Nanami’s chest again, a low warning thrum.

Satoru ignored it. He leaned down slightly, his grin softening into something that might have been concern if it weren't for the sharp intelligence still gleaming in his eyes. "Those alley rats give you trouble?" His voice dropped, losing some of its playful edge, gaining a dangerous chill. "Scare you?"

Nanami must have told him, Yuji swallowed. "They… they cornered me," he managed, his voice thin. "Said… things."

Satoru’s gaze flickered towards Nanami for a fraction of a second, a silent communication passing between them. When he looked back at Yuji, the playful glint was entirely gone, replaced by something colder, harder. "They won't be saying anything anymore." The statement was flat. Absolute. It sent a different kind of shiver down Yuji’s spine.

Then Satoru straightened, his grin returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. He turned fully to Nanami. "Honestly, Kento. Letting our Sunshine get accosted right outside the door?" He tsked again, shaking his head. "Poor form. Should've texted sooner. I was just finishing up that tedious council meeting." He waved a dismissive hand. "Would've much rather been here."

Nanami’s jaw tightened visibly. "Handling it didn't require both of us." His tone was defensive, gruff. A flicker of something – possessiveness? irritation? – crossed his face. "He's safe now."

"Is he?" Satoru countered, his voice deceptively light. He turned back to Yuji, his gaze sweeping over him again, lingering on the pulse point in his throat. "Still smells terrified. And…" He inhaled again, deeply, deliberately. A spark of something intense, almost hungry, flashed in his blue eyes. "...something else brewing underneath. Isn't there, Sunshine?" His gaze locked onto Yuji’s, sharp and knowing. "Pre-heat jitters getting a bit… unruly?"

Yuji froze. How could he possibly know? The low thrum was there, buried under the adrenaline crash, a familiar, insistent pressure building beneath his skin. His scent shifted subtly, the wildflowers deepening, the sunshine warming. He flushed hotly, mortification warring with the unwelcome spike of awareness Satoru’s observation provoked. He looked away, unable to hold that penetrating gaze.

Nanami moved then, stepping closer to Yuji’s chair, placing himself subtly between Yuji and Satoru. His warm bakery scent intensified, wrapping around Yuji like a physical barrier against Satoru’s winter chill. "He’s had a shock, Satoru," Nanami stated firmly. "He needs calm. Not an interrogation."

Satoru raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just making observations, darling. Ensuring our guest is… comfortable." His gaze slid past Nanami, landing back on Yuji. "And assessing the situation." He paused, his head tilting again. "You know, little Omega, Nanami’s scent-marking is usually subtler. Practically screamed ‘mine’ all over you the moment I walked in." He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Must have been quite the scare."

The words landed like stones. Ours? Mine? Yuji’s gaze snapped between them. Nanami, standing protectively close, his scent a possessive cloak. Satoru, watching them both with amused, knowing eyes, his own dominant scent effortlessly filling the space. The easy familiarity. The shared glances. The way Satoru called Nanami ‘darling’. The possessive plural.

The fragile hope that had sparked in the bakery downstairs, warmed by Nanami’s quiet strength and the promise in his gaze… it shattered. A cold, hollow ache spread through Yuji’s chest, sharper than the alley fear. He’d been an idiot. A hopeful, desperate idiot. Of course someone like Nanami, solid and capable and radiating such potent Alpha energy… of course he was already bound. To this dazzling, terrifying force of nature standing before him.

The realization was a physical blow. He felt his face drain of color, the warmth leaching away despite the blanket and Nanami’s proximity. The pre-heat buzz under his skin suddenly felt like a cruel joke. He’d let himself imagine, for one foolish moment… and now he just felt exposed. Used. Like a novelty they were both examining.

He tried to pull the blanket tighter, to disappear into it. His scent shifted again, the wildflowers wilting into something bruised and sad, the sunshine dimming to a dull grey. He couldn’t look at either of them.

Nanami noticed the shift instantly. His protective rumble deepened, and he shot Satoru a sharp, warning look. "Enough, Satoru."

Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on Yuji’s bowed head, noting the change in scent, the defeated slump of his shoulders. "Alright, alright. Point taken." His voice lost some of its teasing edge, becoming smoother, almost soothing, though the underlying intensity remained. "No more poking the startled bunny." He took a deliberate step back, giving Yuji a little more space. "But seriously," he continued, his tone shifting to something resembling practicality, though his eyes still held that unnerving assessment, "it's late. You're shaken up. Those pre-heat tremors won't help." He gestured vaguely towards the cozy apartment. "Stay here tonight. Guest room’s made up. Safer than biking home in the dark looking like… well, like you look."

Nanami nodded, his expression softening slightly as he looked down at Yuji. "He's right. It’s not safe out there tonight. Not for you. Not like this." His hand hovered near Yuji’s shoulder, not quite touching, but the offer of grounding was clear. "Stay."

The invitation hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications. Stay in the den of two powerful, mated Alphas. One radiating fierce, possessive protection, the other watching with sharp, amused, and disturbingly perceptive eyes. Stay while his own body betrayed him with the rising tide of his unruly heat, making him vulnerable, sensitive, acutely aware of every shift in their potent scents – cinnamon warmth battling winter frost, both wrapping around his own spiking panic and despair.

Yuji stared at the worn rug beneath his feet, the intricate pattern blurring. Exhaustion warred with a fresh wave of wariness. The alley thugs were gone, but a different kind of danger hummed in this cozy room. The promise of safety Nanami offered warred with the crushing disappointment of Satoru’s presence and the undeniable truth of their bond. His body trembled, caught between the residual terror, the insistent pull of his biology, and the confusing, magnetic pull of the two Alphas whose scents now filled his lungs, inseparable and overwhelming. The guest room beckoned as both sanctuary and trap. He had nowhere else to go that felt remotely safe. The silence stretched, heavy with his unspoken fear and their waiting presence.

Yuji stared at the intricate rug pattern until it blurred, the wool scratchy against his bare ankles where the blanket didn’t cover. Nanami’s cinnamon-vanilla scent pressed close, a warm shield against Satoru’s invigorating frost, yet both felt suffocating now, inseparable strands of a bond he couldn’t penetrate. The low thrum beneath his skin intensified, a traitorous pulse syncing with the frantic beat of his heart.

"Stay," Nanami repeated, his voice lower, rougher. His hovering hand finally settled, warm and heavy, on Yuji’s shoulder through the thick blanket. It was meant to anchor, but the contact sent a jolt through Yuji’s frayed nerves. "It’s practical. Safer."

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the exchange with unnerving focus. His sharp blue eyes tracked the minute tremor in Yuji’s fingers clutching the blanket edge. "Practicality’s boring, Kento," he drawled, though his tone lacked its usual playful edge. "But he’s right. You’re wound tighter than a cheap watch, Sunshine. Smell like a storm about to break." He tilted his head, nostrils flaring slightly. "Wildflowers getting… potent."

Yuji flinched. The casual dissection of his scent, his state, laid bare by this dazzling, terrifying Alpha who belonged irrevocably to the man offering shelter, was too much. The hollow ache in his chest cracked open into something raw and desperate. He couldn’t stay here. Not trapped between their potent, intertwined scents, their shared history, their unspoken understanding. Not while his own treacherous body betrayed him, amplifying every sensation, every unwanted spark of awareness.

He pushed himself up from the deep embrace of the velvet chair, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. His legs felt shaky, unreliable. Nanami’s hand tightened instinctively on his shoulder, a silent question in the sudden tension radiating from him. Satoru uncrossed his arms, straightening subtly, his playful mask slipping completely for a fraction of a second, replaced by sharp assessment.

Yuji took a shallow breath, the mingled scents of warm bakery and winter wind thick in his throat. He couldn’t meet Nanami’s concerned gaze or Satoru’s piercing stare. He focused on the worn wooden floorboards near the doorway. "Thank you," he managed, his voice thin but surprisingly steady. "That is a very kind offer." He swallowed hard, the pre-heat buzz beneath his skin flaring into an uncomfortable prickle. "But I really must get home." He gestured vaguely, clumsily, towards his own body, heat rising in his face. "You know… before…" The unspoken words hung heavy in the air: before I lose control. Before I humiliate myself further in front of you both.

The silence after Yuji’s refusal felt brittle, sharp-edged. Nanami’s hand remained heavy on his shoulder, a grounding weight that now felt like a shackle. Satoru’s piercing gaze hadn’t wavered, dissecting Yuji’s trembling resolve, the frantic pulse visible in his throat, the way his faint wildflower scent had soured into something bruised and desperate under the combined pressure of their Alpha presences and his own rising turmoil. The cozy lamplight seemed suddenly harsh, exposing every tremor.

Satoru sighed. It wasn’t loud, but it filled the quiet room – a long, slow exhalation that spoke volumes of disappointment without uttering a single word. His sharp features softened momentarily into something almost weary, the effortless confidence dimming. He ran a hand through his shock of white hair, the movement fluid yet conveying profound dissatisfaction. His winter-frost scent cooled further, losing its invigorating edge, becoming simply… cold.

Nanami stared at Satoru for a beat longer, his expression unreadable, a silent communication passing between them in that locked gaze. Then, Nanami’s focus snapped back to Yuji, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly before releasing. His voice, when he spoke, was low, gravelly with suppressed frustration and undeniable concern. "Alright," he conceded, the word rough. "Then at least let us take you home." He gestured towards the window, where dusk had deepened into true night. "It is not safe for you to bike in your current… condition." He paused, letting the implication hang – the condition being the volatile cocktail of shock, exhaustion, and the unmistakable, intensifying thrum of pre-heat radiating from Yuji’s skin. "We will take you," Nanami stated firmly, brooking no argument. "We will take you home and make sure you get inside safely."

Yuji hesitated, swaying slightly on his feet. The thought of navigating the dark streets alone, the memory of rough hands grabbing him, the predatory glint in those alley thugs’ eyes – it crashed over him anew. Worse was the fog creeping into his mind, the pre-heat haze making rational thought slippery. Could he even trust his own reflexes? What if another group lurked, drawn by the potent, vulnerable scent he couldn’t fully suppress? The image flashed: stumbling off his bike, helpless, while unseen figures emerged from the shadows. The fear was visceral, cold sweat pricking his skin despite the apartment's warmth.

He swallowed hard, the taste of panic metallic on his tongue. His gaze flickered between Nanami’s steady, serious eyes, radiating a protective certainty, and Satoru’s unnerving stillness. The Alpha pair. Bound. Powerful. Dangerous? Or… safe? The conflicting impulses warred – the ingrained wariness screaming to flee, the bone-deep exhaustion and primal fear whispering accept. He looked down at his own trembling hands. "Okay," Yuji breathed, the word barely audible, a surrender to pragmatics and the sheer, overwhelming need for security. "Okay. Thank you."

Satoru threw his hands up in the air with sudden, exaggerated exuberance, the previous disappointment vanishing like smoke. "Yes!" he declared, his grin flashing back, wide and dazzling, though his blue eyes still held that unnerving sharpness. "Fieldtrip time!" He clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Finally, something interesting tonight." He winked at Yuji, the playful facade firmly back in place. "Lead the way, Sunshine. Nanami’s got the keys." He gestured grandly towards the stairs, already moving with that predatory grace. "Don’t dawdle, Kento. Our precious cargo awaits delivery!"

Chapter Text

The car smelled like a battlefield of scents. Yuji huddled in the back seat, Nanami’s borrowed blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, trying to smother the nervous sunshine-and-spice wildflower aroma that kept spiking despite his exhaustion. He could feel the tension radiating from the front seats like heat waves. Gojo drove with a deceptive calmness, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the air around him crackling with frost. Nanami sat rigidly beside him, the comforting vanilla-cinnamon bakery scent layered over a deep, simmering rumble Yuji felt more than heard.

The familiar, slightly shabby apartment building finally appeared. Relief and a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over Yuji. He just wanted to be inside, away from the suffocating aura of these powerful, bound Alphas and the humiliating memory of his own near-collapse.

Silence hung heavy as Gojo pulled the sleek car to the curb. Nanami turned, his expression unreadable in the dim dashboard light. "Are you certain you'll be alright?" His voice was low, controlled, but the underlying concern was unmistakable.

"Y-yeah," Yuji managed, fumbling with the seatbelt. His fingers felt clumsy. "Fine. Just... really tired. Thank you. Both of you. For... everything back there." The thanks felt inadequate. They’d pulled him out of a situation that could have been a lot worse. "Seriously."

Yuji didn't wait for more. He shoved the door open, the cool night air a welcome shock against his flushed skin. "Goodnight!" He scrambled out, clutching the blanket like a shield. He didn't look back, focusing on the worn concrete path, the faded 'Welcome' mat, the familiar brass knocker on his door. Sanctuary. He just needed to get inside.

He took a shaky step towards the door. Then another. The weight of the Alphas’ gazes felt like brands on his back. He reached out, fingers brushing the cool wood.

The door swung inwards before he could touch the handle.

Standing there, silhouetted against the warm light from the hallway, was a boy his own age. Messy dark hair, wide, worried eyes that immediately locked onto Yuji. Yuta. Relief flooded his features, instantly softening the sharp lines of anxiety. He stepped forward onto the threshold, arms opening wide in silent invitation.

A choked sound escaped Yuji – half sob, half sigh. The last dregs of tension dissolved. He didn't hesitate. He stumbled forward, shedding Nanami’s blanket like an old skin, and practically fell into the offered embrace. Yuta’s arms closed around him instantly, solid and warm, pulling him close. Yuji buried his face against Yuta’s neck, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of cedarwood and rain – his friend, his sanctuary. A low, involuntary sound of sheer relief vibrated in his own chest, muffled against Yuta’s shoulder. Home. Safe.

Inside the car, Satoru Gojo watched the embrace, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the dashboard lights. His piercing blue eyes narrowed, fixed on the way the omega melted into the other boy, on the possessive curve of the dark-haired youth’s arm around the omegas waist. The frost in the air deepened, sharp enough to sting. He leaned closer to the windshield; his knuckles were still white where they gripped the steering wheel. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly low, dangerous murmur. "Is that his Alpha?"

Beside him, Kento Nanami hadn’t taken his eyes off the pair on the doorstep. His analytical gaze swept over the embracing figures, lingering for a fraction of a second on the bare expanse of the younger boy’s neck, clearly visible where the omegas face pressed against his shoulder. No marks. No claiming scar. His own scent shifted subtly, the comforting bakery notes momentarily giving way to a sharper, more assessing edge. His reply was quiet, flat, final.

"No," Nanami stated, the word dropping like a stone into the tense silence of the car. "He has no mating bite."

The engine rumbled to life, a low growl echoing Nanami’s fading tension. Satoru peeled away from the curb, the tires biting into the quiet street. Inside, the lingering ozone crackled alongside the phantom scent of sunshine and wildflowers. Silence stretched, thick as the night fog clinging to the windshield wipers.

"Gods," Satoru finally exhaled, his voice a low whine that scraped against the quiet. He slumped back against the leather seat, running a hand through his shock of white hair. "Aww, man. We didn't even ask his name." He turned sharply towards Nanami, his piercing blue eyes searching the other Alpha's profile. "Do you know his name? Anything?"

Nanami kept his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road, the streetlights painting streaks of amber across his glasses. Slowly, deliberately, he shook his head. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Perfect. Just fucking perfect." Satoru let out a harsh, humorless laugh that held no trace of his usual playful lilt. He slammed a fist lightly against the steering wheel, the sound sharp in the confined space. "Rescue the most fascinating omega I've smelled in a decade, practically feel his pre-heat spiking right under our noses, watch him cling to some overprotective alpha-pup, and then let him vanish without a single fucking detail." He raked his fingers through his hair again, a gesture of pure, frustrated agitation. "How monumentally stupid can we be, Nanami? Honestly?"

Nanami finally spared him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable but his scent shifting – warm vanilla frosting over something darker, more metallic. "Stupid implies I planned poorly," he stated, his voice flat, analytical. "I reacted. To a distressed omega. Gathering personal details wasn't the priority."

Satoru huffed, a plume of frost momentarily fogging his window before dissipating.  The leather seat creaked under Satoru’s restless shift, his long legs bouncing with pent-up energy. That phantom scent of spiced wildflowers still haunted the car’s filtered air, clashing violently with the lingering ozone of his own frustration and Nanami’s tense, cinnamon-vanilla calm.

Silence gnawed at Satoru. He drummed his fingers hard against the expensive steering wheel, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap. Every red light stretched into an eternity. He pictured the omega again: the way his body had gone boneless against the other boy, the overwhelming sweetness of his distressed scent hitting Satoru like a physical blow. And then… nothing. No name. No way back.

"Fuck!" The word exploded from Satoru, sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet. He scrubbed a hand down his face, the friction harsh against his skin. "We just… we let him vanish." He swiveled towards Nanami, his voice tight, jagged. "How the hell are we supposed to get the omega’s name, Kento? Huh?" The question hung in the frost-laden air, raw and urgent. "It’s not like we can just stroll back there, knock on his apartment door, and ask nicely." He paused, a familiar, almost manic glint momentarily replacing the frustration in his bright blue eyes as he shot Nanami a sideways look. "Well, okay, I could. But," he added, the playful lilt dropping back into a low, knowing murmur laced with dark humor, "I can already picture myself permanently installed on the couch when you find out, darling."

Nanami’s hand flexed almost imperceptibly on the handrest, his knuckles stark white against the dark leather. He didn’t turn his head, didn’t speak. His gaze remained fixed on the rain-slicked road ahead, the reflected city lights fracturing in his lenses. The comforting bakery scent emanating from him deepened slightly, intensifying into something richer, denser, like bread crusts left too long in the oven. A low, almost sub-audible rumble vibrated through the car's frame, originating deep within Nanami’s chest. It wasn’t quite a growl. Not yet. It was the sound of restraint pushed to its absolute limit, a tectonic plate grinding against immense pressure. The air inside the car thickened, charged with the silent, volcanic weight of his unspoken response.

Satoru leaned back, the manic glint fading, replaced by a watchful stillness that felt more dangerous than his outburst. He knew that rumble, that scent-shift; Nanami was coiled tighter than a spring trap.

"Alright," Satoru murmured, the playful edge gone, replaced by a low, focused intensity. He stared straight ahead, mirroring Nanami’s posture. "Fine. No door knocking." He tapped a long finger against his temple. "So. Think."

 The deep rumble subsided, leaving only the low thrum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the wipers. Nanami’s grip on the handrest finally eased, his knuckles regaining color. He inhaled slowly, deliberately, the rich bakery scent reasserting itself, pushing back the ozone and phantom wildflowers. His voice, when it came, was low, measured, cutting through the tension like a warm knife.

"Maybe he will come by my bakery again," Nanami stated, the words deliberate, factual. He glanced briefly at Satoru, his gaze sharp behind the lenses. "I told him he could come any time." A pause, heavy with implication. "I told him I would take care of him." Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line, recalling the alley, the omega’s wide, frightened eyes, the tremble in his limbs. "And he responded." Another beat. "He said, 'I’d like that.'"

Satoru’s head snapped around, his blue eyes wide, then narrowing instantly into predatory focus. The frustration evaporated, replaced by pure, electric anticipation. A slow, sharp grin spread across his face, transforming his features from stormy to dazzling. "Kento," he breathed, the name a caress laden with sudden, fierce delight. "My darling. My love." He leaned closer, his scent of frost and winter winds intensifying, swirling possessively around Nanami’s comforting warmth. "The minute he walks in," Satoru commanded, his voice dropping to a velvet-edged whisper that brooked no argument, "you are to text me."

Chapter Text

Inside Yuji’s apartment, the worn wooden door clicked shut, muffling the world outside. The familiar scent of home – old books, faint dust, the lingering ghost of last night’s instant ramen – washed over him, a stark contrast to the overwhelming bakery-frost and the fading panic of the alley. Yuta’s arms were still locked around him, solid and grounding. Yuji sagged against him, the adrenaline finally draining away, leaving him trembling and hollow.

"Okay," Yuta murmured into his hair, his voice rough with leftover worry. "Okay, Yuji. Breathe." He didn’t let go, just held him tighter, his cedarwood scent a familiar anchor. "Just breathe."

Yuji buried his face deeper into Yuta’s shoulder, inhaling the comforting rain-and-woodsmoke smell. The phantom sensation of strong hands, the low growls vibrating through concrete, the intense blue eyes watching him… it all replayed in fractured flashes. "They were… intense," he mumbled, the words muffled against Yuta’s shirt. His skin still prickled with the memory of Nanami’s protective rumble, Gojo’s sharp, assessing gaze. "Really intense."

Yuta finally eased his grip, stepping back just enough to look Yuji in the face. His dark eyes scanned Yuji’s features, searching for injuries, for signs of distress beyond the obvious exhaustion. "Intense doesn't cover it," Yuta muttered, his jaw tightening. He ran a hand through his own messy hair, agitation radiating off him. "That silver-haired one looked like he wanted to rip my throat out just for touching you." He shook his head, a frown etching lines onto his usually placid face. "And the other one… He felt… solid. Like a brick wall made of cinnamon rolls and pure Alpha." He paused, his gaze dropping to Yuji’s neck, then flicking away. "They’re mated. Tightly."

Yuji flinched at the confirmation, a fresh wave of embarrassment heating his cheeks. He’d known, intellectually, feeling the synchronized power. But hearing it stated so bluntly… "Yeah," he whispered, pulling Nanami’s borrowed blanket tighter around his shoulders, inhaling the fading scent of vanilla and safety. "Yeah, they are." He looked down at his own hands, still shaking slightly.

"Don't," Yuta cut in sharply, his voice losing its roughness, becoming firm. He placed a hand on Yuji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. "Don't do that. You were scared. And your cycle…" He trailed off, his expression tightening again. "It’s starting to spike, isn't it? That wildflower scent… it’s getting sharper. Spicier." He inhaled deeply, his Alpha instincts clearly registering the shift despite their platonic history. "Way sharper than last time."

Yuji nodded miserably, wrapping his arms around himself. The familiar, uncomfortable warmth was pooling low in his belly, a telltale ache beginning to throb beneath his skin. The panic in the alley had definitely kicked it into gear. "Feels like it," he admitted, his voice small. He looked towards his small bedroom, dreading the isolation, the fever, the uncontrollable need. "Just… great timing."

Yuta followed his gaze, understanding dawning in his eyes. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Okay." He moved past Yuji towards the tiny kitchenette. "First, water. Then, we figure out the logistics." He filled a glass at the sink, the sound loud in the quiet apartment. "You need supplies? Anything from the corner store?" He turned, holding out the glass, his expression serious but calm. "I can run out now. Before it gets… worse."

Yuji took the glass, the coolness seeping into his palms. He looked at Yuta – his best friend, the Alpha who helped during his last disastrous heat, he had loaded himself up with suppressants to spend his heat with him when he found out that if he didn't have anyone with him he resorted to self-harm. Gratitude warred with a familiar, weary ache. "Thanks, Yuta," he said softly, taking a sip. The water helped. A little. "Just… the usual blockers. Strong ones. And maybe…" He hesitated, the image of Nanami’s steady gaze, his low promise in the alley, flashed in his mind. I’d like that. The memory of the bakery’s warmth, the scent of safety… "Maybe some of that really strong ginger tea? The kind that burns?" Anything to distract from the rising heat, the phantom scent of frost and vanilla still clinging to the blanket.

Yuta nodded, already grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door. "Got it. Blockers. Ginger napalm. I'll pick up my suppressants as well and some of my clothes and blankets you can use for your nest," He paused, hand on the doorknob, looking back at Yuji. His dark eyes held a flicker of protective fierceness. "Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone." His gaze lingered on the blanket draped over Yuji’s shoulders. "Especially not mysterious bakery Alphas." He offered a small, tight smile. "Be back in ten."

The door clicked shut. Yuji turned the deadbolt, the sound final. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood, listening to Yuta’s footsteps recede down the hallway. Alone. The silence pressed in, amplifying the low thrum of his own pulse, the insistent ache building within him. He clutched the glass of water, the scent of Nanami’s bakery warmth and Satoru’s winter chill still woven into the fibers of the blanket, a haunting counterpoint to the spiced wildflower heat rising inexorably from his own skin.

A fresh wave of dizziness slammed into him, making the cheap laminate floor tilt. The glass slipped from suddenly clammy fingers, shattering on the linoleum with a sharp, discordant crash. Water splashed cold against his bare ankles.

"Shit," Yuji hissed, staring at the glittering shards like they were a personal betrayal. The prickling heat beneath his skin intensified, crawling up his spine, demanding attention now. Forget cleaning. Forget everything else. His room. His nest. The need was an ache, deep and primal, eclipsing the embarrassment lingering from the alley encounter.

He stumbled past the mess, Nanami’s blanket trailing behind him like a security shroud. His small bedroom felt stifling already, the air thick and unmoving. He kicked off his shoes, the coolness of the tatami mat a brief relief against his soles before the internal furnace roared higher. Sweat beaded at his temples. He tossed the borrowed blanket onto the bed – its comforting vanilla-cinnamon scent now tangled with frost and his own desperate sweetness – and turned to the closet, yanking down the heavy plastic bin labelled 'NEST'.

The familiar scent of stored linen and faint cedar (Yuta’s last contribution) hit him as he lifted the lid. Blankets, soft throws, worn fleeces tumbled out onto the tatami. He grabbed the oldest, softest quilt first, a faded patchwork from his grandfather. Instinct took over, a deep-seated rhythm bypassing conscious thought. He spread it precisely in the corner, against the walls, shaping the base layer. Smoothing. Tucking. Checking the seams aligned just so.

He piled on more: a plush sherpa throw, a thin cotton sheet for coolness, the fleece with the cartoon tiger. Every layer had to feel right. The texture needed variation – smooth cotton here, nubby chenille there. He fluffed pillows mercilessly, rearranging them three times before the angles satisfied the omega’s insistence for support and security. The scent of the blanket Nanami gave him pulled at him, potent even amidst the growing storm of his own pre-heat sweetness. He hesitated, fingers brushing the soft wool blend. It smelled like safety, like that solid rumble in the alley. But it was also heavy with that other Alpha's scent – Gojo's frost, sharp and intrusive. Too much. Too conflicting. He bundled it roughly and shoved it towards the edge of the nest, a necessary exile.

The structure was coming together, a soft-walled fortress against the world, but the core felt… empty. Hollow. Wrong. He needed warmth. Needed grounding scent. His breath hitched, a frustrated whine escaping him. Yuta's. It wasn't attraction, not like that. Never like that. But his biology, desperate and dumb, craved the familiar cedar-and-rain scent of his friend. It meant safety, presence, someone who knew the drill and wouldn't ask for more than he could give. "Just his hoodie," Yuji muttered to the empty room, padding barefoot to Yuta’s designated drawer in his dresser. "Always the hoodie." He pulled out the worn grey zip-up, threadbare at the elbows. He buried his face in it, inhaling deeply. Cedar. Rain. Yuta. His shoulders slumped slightly, the frantic edge of the nesting frenzy softening. Almost there.

He carried it back to the nest, placing it carefully, reverently, right in the center where he would curl up. He smoothed the fabric, adjusting it minutely. Perfect. The nest was almost perfect. Just needed Yuta himself, the suppressants, and this awful, rising tide could be managed again. He crawled into the center, curling tightly around the hoodie, pressing his nose against the sleeve seam. The spiced wildflower scent was thick in the small space now, cloying and demanding. Outside the locked door, the world felt distant, irrelevant. Inside the nest, he waited, shivering despite the heat, for the key to turn in the lock. The low throb deep in his belly sharpened, becoming insistent. It wouldn't wait much longer.

Chapter Text

The silence in Yuji’s bedroom pressed down, thick and heavy as wet wool. Only the frantic drumming of his own heartbeat filled his ears, syncopated with the ragged gasps tearing from his throat. He lay curled around Yuta’s hoodie in the center of the nest, knees drawn tight to his chest. The soft cotton pressed against his nose offered diminishing comfort. Cedarwood and rain were fading ghosts against the overwhelming storm brewing inside him – sunshine scorching into wildfire, wildflowers fermenting into something heady, spiced, and desperate. Sweat slicked his skin, plastering his t-shirt to his back. Every nerve ending screamed. The low, insistent throb deep in his belly had sharpened into a series of jagged pulses, radiating heat that pooled between his thighs, a relentless, aching demand.

Where is he? The thought was a frantic mantra. Ten minutes. He said ten minutes. But time had become elastic, stretching agonizingly thin. Each second scraped raw against his senses. The comforting textures of the nest – the soft quilt, the nubby chenille – now felt abrasive, irritating. He kicked at the edge of the fleece blanket, a low whine escaping him. The scent of Nanami’s borrowed blanket, shoved aside but still potent with vanilla, cinnamon, and that unsettling frost, seemed to mock him. Safety felt like a distant memory, replaced by a terrifying, hollow void.

A key scraped in the lock downstairs.

Yuji froze, breath catching. Hope, sharp and painful, lanced through the fog of heat. Footsteps hurried up the stairs – familiar, solid. Yuta. The deadbolt clicked open. The apartment door groaned softly.

Relief flooded him, so intense it was dizzying. He scrambled onto his knees in the nest, facing the bedroom door, trembling violently. The spiced-wildflower scent exploded outward, saturating the small room, thick enough to taste. His vision swam.

"Yuji?" Yuta’s voice called from the hallway, tight with concern. The rustle of plastic bags. "Got the blockers. And the tea. Strongest ginger they had." He appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim hall light. His dark eyes scanned the room, instantly locking onto Yuji’s hunched form. His expression shifted from relief to alarm. "Oh, hell. It hit hard, didn't it?"

Yuji couldn’t speak. Words were beyond him. The sight of Yuta – solid, real, smelling of rain and damp pavement and himself – triggered something primal. The careful control, the rational thought, shattered like cheap glass.

A guttural sound ripped from Yuji’s throat – half sob, half snarl. He launched himself forward, not walking, but scrambling, crawling out of the nest on hands and knees towards Yuta. His movements were jerky, driven by pure, desperate instinct.

"Whoa!" Yuta dropped the bags with a thud. Instinctively, he crouched, arms outstretched, bracing. "Yuji, easy—"

Yuji collided with him. Not an embrace. An impact. He buried his face against Yuta’s chest, inhaling the cedarwood scent like a drowning man gulping air. His hands scrabbled frantically at Yuta’s jacket, fingers clutching, pulling him closer. His body arched, pressing flush against Yuta’s taller frame, rubbing his cheek desperately against the rough fabric over Yuta’s collarbone. Marking. Nipping.Scenting. Claiming the proximity he needed.

"Okay, okay," Yuta murmured, his voice low and steady despite the suddenness. He didn’t push Yuji away. Instead, his arms came up, wrapping firmly around Yuji’s trembling shoulders. One hand pressed gently against the back of Yuji’s head, holding him close. "I’m here. Got you." He took a slow, deliberate breath, releasing a wave of calming Alpha pheromones – cedar deepening, rain washing over the frantic wildfire scent. It wasn’t attraction. It was grounding. A lifeline thrown into a storm.

Yuji shuddered violently against him. The frantic rubbing slowed, replaced by full-body tremors. He pressed his forehead hard into Yuta’s shoulder, his breathing ragged and wet. The heat hadn't lessened; if anything, the proximity, the scent of an Alpha, even a platonic one, intensified the ache. But the terrifying edge of panic, the feeling of being utterly untethered, began to recede, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and a raw, vulnerable need.

"Don't," Yuji gasped, his voice muffled, thick with tears he hadn’t realized were falling. He clutched fistfuls of Yuta’s jacket. "Don't leave me alone again. Not like… not like last time." The memory of past isolation, the desperate, clawing loneliness that had driven him to harmful edges during previous heats, surfaced like a cold blade. "Please, Yuta."

Yuta’s arms tightened fractionally. His chin rested lightly on top of Yuji’s sweaty pink hair. "Not leaving," he promised, his voice a low rumble vibrating through Yuji’s body. "Suppressants are right there." He nodded towards the discarded bags near the door. "Soon as you can let go enough for me to grab them." He kept releasing the steady stream of calming scent, a deliberate counterpoint to Yuji’s frantic sweetness. "Just breathe. Match me. In… and out."

Yuji tried. He sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to sync with the slow, measured rise and fall of Yuta’s chest beneath him. Out. The tremors lessened slightly. The desperate clawing grip on Yuta’s jacket loosened, fingers uncurling slowly. He stayed pressed close, his face hidden, drawing shaky comfort from the solid warmth and the familiar scent. The heat still pulsed, insistent and demanding, but the frantic edge was blunted, contained within the circle of Yuta’s arms. For now.

Yuta shifted his weight slightly, careful not to dislodge Yuji. He glanced towards the bags again, then down at the omega clinging to him. His dark eyes, usually so calm and reserved, held a complex mix of fierce protectiveness and deep, weary understanding. He knew the suppressants were crucial. He knew Yuji needed them soon. But forcing movement now, breaking this fragile calm… it risked everything. He settled deeper into his crouch, making himself a steady anchor against the storm raging within his friend. The scent of ginger tea and suppressants mingled faintly with cedar and desperate wildflowers in the still, heavy air. The worst of the spike might be passing, but the long, fevered climb of Yuji’s unique heat was just beginning.

The cedarwood-rain scent Yuta projected thickened, a deliberate shield against the wildfire-sweet incense pouring off Yuji. He shifted his weight, careful not to jostle the trembling omega plastered against him. "Gotta get those pills into you, Yu," he murmured, his voice a low hum against Yuji’s temple. "Can you lean back just a little? Just for a second."

Yuji whimpered, a sound like tearing fabric, his fingers digging back into the damp material of Yuta’s jacket. The thought of any separation, even inches, sent fresh tremors through him. "N-no," he gasped, the word muffled. "Stay."

"Not going anywhere," Yuta soothed, his breath warm on Yuji’s hair. He slowly, slowly eased one arm from around Yuji’s back, keeping the other firmly anchored. "Just reaching." His fingers stretched towards the discarded pharmacy bag, scraping plastic. "Almost got it." He snagged the bag, dragging it closer with a rustle. "Suppressants. And water."

He fumbled one-handed with the childproof cap, his movements awkward but determined. A small rattle echoed in the room as pills spilled into his palm. "Two," he confirmed, holding them up where Yuji could see, glinting faintly in the low lamplight. "Remember the drill. Big gulp." He nudged the opened water bottle towards Yuji’s free hand. "Try."

Yuji’s hand shook violently as he reached for the bottle, water sloshing over his knuckles. He stared at the pills in Yuta’s palm like they were alien objects. Bringing the bottle to his lips took monumental effort, his coordination shot. He managed a clumsy sip, water trickling down his chin. "C-can't," he choked, panic flickering back into his bleary eyes. The simple act felt impossible against the tide of heat pulling him under.

"Yeah, you can," Yuta insisted, his voice losing none of its calm. He nudged the pills closer to Yuji’s mouth. "Open up. Trust me." He tipped the pills past Yuji’s lips before the omega could protest further. "Now water. Big one. Chug it down."

Yuji obeyed, gulping frantically, water spilling down his neck and soaking the collar of his t-shirt. He choked, coughed, but swallowed hard. The pills were gone. A ragged, shuddering breath escaped him, his body sagging heavily against Yuta’s supporting arm. The immediate, frantic edge of panic subsided another fraction, replaced by sheer exhaustion. "H-hurts," he whispered, burying his face back into Yuta’s shoulder. "Everywhere."

"I know," Yuta murmured, relief a tangible wave through his own tired muscles. Thank every damn star I popped those blockers before the store run, he thought, the memory of the sharp, chalky pills he'd swallowed in his car a stark counterpoint to this moment. Without them, Yuji’s desperate scent-marking, the overwhelming pheromone storm saturating his clothes, would have been a siren song impossible to ignore. The patches covering his scent glands itched his skin but he left them on. He tightened his arm around Yuji again, pulling him securely back into the protective circle. "Just breathe now. Let the meds do their thing." He rested his cheek on Yuji’s sweat-damp hair, the scent of scorched wildflowers still potent but now laced with the sharp tang of ginger tea from the spilled bag and the synthetic coolness of the suppressants. The trembling slowly eased into a deep, exhausted shiver running through Yuji’s frame every few seconds. He felt lighter, boneless, leaning completely on Yuta’s strength.

Minutes crawled by, measured only by Yuji’s slowing breaths and the faint drip of water onto the floorboards from the bottle Yuji still clutched loosely. The oppressive intensity of the heat scent lessened, dialed down from a raging inferno to a smoldering banked fire. The desperate, clawing ache deep inside Yuji receded to a heavy, insistent throb. Not gone. Contained. For now. He pressed his nose harder against the cedarwood scent woven into Yuta’s jacket, a desperate anchor in the receding storm. "Stay?" The word was barely audible, a plea scraped raw.

"Right here," Yuta promised, shifting them both carefully. He leaned back until his shoulders met the sturdy frame of Yuji’s bed, pulling the omega half into his lap, half against his chest within the disheveled nest. He snagged the edge of Nanami’s discarded blanket – vanilla and cinnamon and frost momentarily cutting through the other scents – and draped it loosely over Yuji’s trembling legs. "Rest. Just rest." Yuji’s eyelids fluttered, heavy, his body finally succumbing to the exhausting peak and the medication’s slow creep through his system. His breathing deepened, evening out into something closer to sleep, though tension still held his shoulders rigid even in unconsciousness.

Yuta watched him, the lines of worry etched deep around his own eyes. The suppressants had taken the terrifying edge off, yes. Yuji wasn’t tearing at his skin or lost in mindless desperation anymore. The scent of wildflowers, though muted, still carried an unnerving, cloying sweetness underneath the cedar and suppressants. It wasn’t over. The quiet was deceptive. The reprieve, Yuta knew with cold certainty staring down at his friend’s flushed, sleeping face, was temporary.

Outside the small window, the sky had shifted from deep indigo to the flat grey of false dawn, casting the room in a cold, unforgiving light. Yuji shifted restlessly against him, a low whimper escaping his lips even in sleep, the scent of distressed wildflowers spiking briefly before settling back to its heavy, smoldering simmer. Yuta kept his arm firmly around Yuji’s shoulders, a solid anchor against the unseen currents pulling the omega under.

An hour crawled by, measured only by the rasp of Yuji’s breath and the distant hum of early morning traffic. Yuta eased his stiff arm, gently shaking Yuji’s shoulder. "Yu. Hey. Wake up." Yuji’s brow furrowed, a soft groan vibrating against Yuta’s chest. "C’mon, sleepyhead. Gotta drink something. Eat a little." He reached for the insulated cup of lukewarm ginger broth he’d managed to place nearby earlier.

Yuji blinked slowly, eyes glassy and unfocused. "Yuta?" His voice was rough, scraped raw. "S’cold."

"You’re not cold, your fever’s messing with you," Yuta said softly, holding the cup steady. "Sip this. Slowly." He supported Yuji’s head, guiding the cup to his lips. Yuji managed a few cautious swallows, the warmth seeming to penetrate the haze. He leaned back heavily into Yuta’s lap with a sigh that deepened into a low, rumbling purr of pure contentment. The sound vibrated through Yuta’s own weary frame, a brief, precious moment of peace in the warzone of the heat. He stroked Yuji’s sweat-damp hair, letting him rest, feeling the purr resonate against his ribs. The scent of wildflowers softened momentarily, touched by the ginger and a fragile sense of safety. Yuta closed his eyes, borrowing the quiet.

Four hours later, the fragile peace shattered. Yuta jerked awake, instantly alert, to the sound of sharp, fractured whimpers. Yuji was thrashing weakly beside him, limbs tangled in the light blanket, his skin radiating intense heat. "Hot," Yuji gasped, voice thin and desperate. "Too hot. Burning… inside…" He clawed blindly at his own sweat-soaked t-shirt, fingers trembling. "Get it off… please…"

"Easy, Yu. Easy." Yuta moved quickly, his own movements practiced now. He helped Yuji sit up, peeling the cotton shirt off over his head, sliding slick soaked pants and underwear down his legs. The scent of scorching wildflowers and slick hit Yuta like a physical blow, thick and cloying in the stagnant air. Yuji gasped as the cooler air hit his skin, but the feverish trembling only intensified. "Blanket," Yuta instructed, voice deliberately calm despite the hammering of his own heart. He grabbed the thin, lightweight throw from the foot of the nest. "Just over your waist. That's it." He draped it loosely across Yuji’s hips, covering him minimally.

Yuji was muttering again, incoherent pleas punctuated by sharp inhales. "Hot… hurts… make it stop…" His head lolled back, exposing the flushed, swollen mating glands on the sides of his neck, visibly throbbing. Yuta didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing his face firmly against the heated skin of Yuji’s neck, burying his nose right into the swollen gland. He released a dense, focused wave of his alpha pheromones – cedarwood, rain, stability – a powerful assertion of presence and calm. He rubbed his cheek deliberately against the sensitive skin, a grounding, possessive gesture designed to soothe an omega’s frantic instincts.

The effect was immediate and profound. Yuji’s ragged breathing hitched, then evened out. The frantic muttering ceased. He stopped trying to nip Yuta's shoulder. The violent trembling in his limbs subsided into faint shivers. His body went slack, leaning entirely into Yuta’s support, head resting heavily against Yuta’s shoulder. The oppressive heat scent didn't vanish, but the frantic edge smoothed out, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. Within moments, Yuji’s eyes slid shut, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of exhausted sleep. Yuta kept his face pressed to Yuji’s neck, maintaining the steady stream of calming scent, feeling the frantic pulse under Yuji’s skin slow against his cheek. The storm had crested and broken, for now.

The cycle repeated itself relentlessly over the next three days. Brief periods of exhausted calm – Yuji purring sleepily while sipping broth, leaning against Yuta as they watched shadows crawl across the wall. Then, inevitably, the furnace within Yuji would roar back to life: the whimpering, the desperate heat, the frantic scrabbling, the bites, the overwhelming scent. Each time, Yuta would repeat the ritual. Flooding the small room with grounding pheromones. Pressing his face, his scent, firmly against Yuji’s swollen glands until the omega quieted, surrendering again to exhausted oblivion.

Yuta became a ghost of himself. Dark bruises smudged under his eyes. The sharp scent of his own suppressants clung to him beneath the layers of cedar and rain. He existed only to anchor Yuji, navigating the brutal waves of the unruly heat with a quiet, focused determination that masked his own fraying edges. He changed the light blankets when they became soaked. He forced water and electrolytes past Yuji’s parched lips. He watched the omega’s flushed face, counting breaths.

On the morning of the fourth day, Yuta woke to a different silence. Not the heavy, waiting silence of impending heat, but a true, deep quiet. The frantic scent of scorched wildflowers was gone. In its place was a faint, clean warmth like sunshine on drying grass – Yuji’s natural scent, finally resurfacing. The oppressive heat radiating from the body beside him had faded to a normal warmth. Yuta carefully shifted to look down. Yuji was still asleep, but his expression was peaceful, relaxed for the first time since Yuta had carried him over the threshold. The terrible flush had receded from his face and neck, leaving only a healthy pink. His breathing was slow, deep, and utterly calm. The three-day storm had finally, blessedly, blown itself out. Yuta slumped back against the headboard, closing his eyes, letting the profound silence wash over him. It was over.

Chapter Text

The first thing Yuji registered was the ache. A deep, pervasive throb in his muscles and a sticky dryness in his throat. Then came the scent. Thick, cloying, saturating the air like fog – the sharp, clean bite of cedarwood tangled inextricably with the overpowering sweetness of wildflowers in full, desperate bloom. His scent, mingled with Yuta’s. The reality of it slammed into him harder than any physical sensation.

His eyes flew open. Dim light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the wreckage of his nest. Blankets were twisted, pillows flung aside, the careful sanctuary obliterated. And beneath him, solid and warm… Yuta.

Yuji gasped, scrambling back. His gaze landed on Yuta’s bare shoulder, then his arm. Darkening bruises, finger-shaped and stark against the pale skin, bloomed across the flesh. Bite marks littered his arm, perfect indentations of his teeth. Horror, cold and sharp, flooded Yuji’s veins. His stomach lurched.

"Oh god," he choked out, voice raspy. "Yuta… your skin… did I…?" He couldn’t finish. Images, fragmented but visceral, flashed behind his eyes – desperate clinging, biting. The panic surged, tightening his chest. What had his omega demanded? What had he done?

Yuta stirred, blinking slowly. His dark eyes, usually so calm, were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but they focused on Yuji instantly. A soft sigh escaped him, followed by a faint, weary smile. "Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with disuse. "We survived."

The casualness of it, the sheer understatement, did nothing to quell Yuji’s rising dread. "Survived?" Yuji’s voice cracked. He gestured helplessly at the bruises and bites. "Look at you! I… I hurt you. I lost control, completely… fuck, Yuta, I’m so sorry!" Shame burned hot on his cheeks. He remembered clinging, begging, the frantic, mindless drive to mark, possessed. Had he forced…?

Yuta pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing slightly. "Stop," he said, firmer now. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over Yuji’s trembling forearm. The contact sent a jolt through Yuji, a confusing mix of residual heat-response and profound guilt. "You didn’t hurt me," Yuta insisted. "Not like that. It was… intense. Yeah. But I was here willingly. Every second." He held Yuji’s gaze, his expression open, earnest. "And you were… surprisingly well-behaved, considering."

Yuji stared. "Well-behaved?" The absurdity of the word, applied to the primal, sweating, pleading creature he remembered being, hit him like a physical blow. A disbelieving snort escaped him, then another. Before he knew it, he was laughing – a shaky, slightly hysterical sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep and relieved. "Well-behaved? Are you fucking kidding me? I was… I was feral! I practically mauled you!"

Yuta chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "Okay, maybe 'well-behaved' was generous. But you listened when I asked you to stop or slow down. You didn't bite me anywhere… inconvenient and we didn't you know.... have sex. It was mostly you rubbing your scent over me while I held you" He rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion evident. "Seriously, Yuji. It was okay. Nothing inappropriate happened if that's what you are worrying about. We got through it. Together."

The laughter subsided, leaving Yuji feeling hollowed out but strangely lighter. The panic receded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and the uncomfortable awareness of dried sweat and slick coating his skin. "I feel disgusting," he mumbled, wrinkling his nose at the potent mix of their scents clinging to him.

"Me too," Yuta admitted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a groan. He stretched, muscles flexing, the bruises stark under the dim light. "C'mon. Bath. Now." His tone brooked no argument.

Yuji followed, his legs shaky. The walk to the adjoining bathroom felt miles long. Yuta efficiently turned on the taps, filling the deep tub with steaming water. He tossed in a generous capful of Yuji’s lavender-vanilla bath oil, the familiar scent a small comfort against the lingering hormonal fog.

Yuta stepped in first, sinking into the hot water with a groan of pure relief. He held out a hand. "Careful, it's hot."

Yuji took it, letting Yuta guide him down to sit between his legs, his back resting against Yuta’s solid chest. The heat was almost scalding at first, then blissfully enveloping. He sighed, letting his head tip back onto Yuta’s shoulder. The water instantly clouded with the grime washing off their bodies.

For a while, they just sat in silence, soaking. The steam helped clear Yuji’s head further, the lavender-vanilla slowly beginning to overlay the fading wildflower-cedar musk. He reached for the soap and a washcloth, scrubbing methodically at his arms, his chest, his stomach. The water swirled murky around him. He felt Yuta’s breath against his neck, steady and slow.

Finished with himself, Yuji hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder. Yuta’s eyes were closed, his head resting against the tiled edge of the tub, his face slack with exhaustion. The bruises on his shoulders were visible above the waterline, livid reminders of Yuji’s desperation.

Guilt pricked at him again, softer now but persistent. Wordlessly, Yuji shifted. He took the soapy washcloth and turned fully, kneeling in the water facing Yuta. Yuta’s eyes fluttered open, a question in them.

"Your turn," Yuji said softly. "Let me."

Yuta didn't protest, just gave a tiny nod and closed his eyes again. Yuji started gently on Yuta’s unbruised shoulder, working the soap into a lather, rinsing it away with cupped handfuls of water. He moved down Yuta’s arm, careful around the darker marks, his touch light. He washed Yuta’s chest, the defined planes of muscle, avoiding the few scratches Yuji’s frantic nails had left.

Then he moved up. He poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm and worked it into Yuta’s dark, damp hair. His fingers massaged Yuta’s scalp, pressing into the tense muscles at the base of his skull. Yuta let out a low, contented hum, the sound vibrating against Yuji’s palms.

"You’re good at that," Yuta murmured, his voice thick and drowsy.

"Shut up and lean forward," Yuji instructed gently, nudging him. Yuta complied, tipping his head. Yuji carefully rinsed the suds away, the water running in dark rivulets down Yuta’s neck and back. He repeated the process with conditioner, working it through the strands with careful fingers.

By the time he finished rinsing the conditioner, Yuta’s breathing had deepened significantly. His head had lolled forward slightly, his body relaxed and heavy in the water. Yuji paused, the washcloth dripping. "Yuta?"

No response. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d fallen asleep, utterly exhausted. 

Yuji watched him for a moment. The lines of exhaustion etched around Yuta’s eyes, the vulnerable slope of his neck, the undeniable proof of his endurance etched in bruises and bites on his skin. A complex warmth bloomed in Yuji’s chest, different from the heat’s frantic fire. Gratitude. Affection. He had the best friend in the universe. What other alpha would weather a heat with an omega without losing his mind or taking advantage. He seriously owed Yuta big time.

He didn't move him. He just sank back into the water beside Yuta, careful not to jostle him. He let the warmth soak into his own weary bones, watching the steam curl towards the ceiling. He kept vigil, listening to Yuta’s soft breaths, feeling the slow, inevitable cooling of the water around them. The lavender scent was stronger now, a clean veil drawn over the raw intimacy of the night. Outside the fogged window, the grey light of dawn was finally breaking through.

The water had cooled to tepid, stealing the comforting heat. Yuji shivered, the movement jostling Yuta’s sleeping form slumped against the tiles. Dawn’s grey light was stronger now, slicing through the steam-fogged window. Time to move.

Yuji carefully eased himself out of the tub, water sluicing off his skin. He grabbed two thick, clean towels hanging nearby. He wrapped one tightly around his own waist, the terrycloth rough and welcome against his still-sensitive skin. Then he leaned back into the tub.

"Yuta," he murmured, gently shaking his friend’s shoulder. "C'mon, man. Out you get." Yuta stirred with a low groan, eyes bleary and unfocused, utterly drained. "Legs, Yuta. Lift." Yuji hooked his hands under Yuta’s arms, the muscles in his own back protesting, and hauled the taller alpha upright and over the lip of the tub. Yuta swayed, dripping and barely conscious. "Easy. Got you."

Yuji quickly enveloped Yuta in the second towel, rubbing briskly over his back and arms, soaking up the chill. The bruises and bites on Yuta’s shoulders and biceps looked darker, angrier against his pale, damp skin. Guilt twisted in Yuji’s gut, sharp and familiar. "Just relax," Yuji mumbled, his voice thick. He wrapped the towel securely around Yuta’s waist. Before Yuta could muster more than a confused blink, Yuji bent, hooked an arm behind his knees and another around his back, and lifted. Yuta was solid muscle, a dead weight, and Yuji’s sore muscles screamed. He gritted his teeth, staggering only slightly before finding his balance. "Fuck, you're dense." He carried him, dripping softly onto the tiles, out of the steamy bathroom and back into the bedroom. The mingled scent of their exertion still hung faintly in the air, layered now with the clean, damp smell of the bathroom.

He laid Yuta down gently on the stripped, clean sheets of the remade bed – he must have managed that shaky task before the bath, though he barely remembered. Yuta immediately curled onto his side, eyes already fluttering shut again. "Stay," Yuji ordered, though Yuta wasn't going anywhere. He rummaged through his dresser, fingers clumsy with fatigue, pulling out soft sleep pants and a worn, oversized t-shirt. He returned to the bed. "Sit up, lazy ass." He prodded Yuta’s shoulder. With immense effort, Yuta pushed himself upright, swaying. Yuji efficiently, gently, pulled the damp towel away and guided Yuta’s limbs into the clothes. He smoothed the t-shirt down over the alpha's bruised torso, his touch lingering for a second on the dark marks near his collarbone. "There." He pushed Yuta back down onto the pillows and yanked the duvet up, tucking it firmly around his shoulders. "Sleep."

Yuta was out again before Yuji finished the sentence, his breaths deepening into slow, even rasps. The sight, the profound exhaustion etched on his friend's face, was a physical weight in Yuji’s chest. He looked terrible. And it was Yuji’s fault. He turned away from the bed, the soreness in his own body a dull, pervasive ache, a counterpoint to the strange, fragile calm settling over him. The heat’s frantic, clawing need was gone, replaced by bone-deep tiredness and a clarity he hadn’t felt in days. He felt… better. Human again.

He surveyed the battlefield. The wreckage of his nest – sweat-dampened blankets, discarded clothes, pillows smelling intensely of cedar and wildflowers – lay in a tangled heap near the wall. The air still held the raw, intimate scent of the night, though it was fading. Time to purge it. He gathered armfuls of fabric, the scent hitting him in waves: desperation, comfort, the sharp tang of his own slick. He bundled everything – sheets, blankets, Yuta’s discarded clothes, his own – and carried the heavy load down the short hallway to the small laundry closet. He shoved it all into the washing machine, dumped in a capful of unscented detergent, and slammed the door. The loud churn and gurgle as the cycle started was a satisfying sound. Purification. Ready for next time. If there was a next time like this. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the machine for a moment, breathing in the clean, chemical smell of detergent.

His stomach growled, a sharp reminder of basic needs. Food. Yuta needed food. He padded barefoot into the kitchen. The fridge light buzzed on, harsh in the dim morning. He scanned the contents: a container of leftover white rice, a packet of pre-grilled mackerel, a tub of miso paste, scallions. Good enough. He moved with economical, tired motions: reheating rice in the microwave, popping the fish fillets under the grill until the skin crisped and the smell of salt and ocean filled the small space, whisking miso paste into simmering water in a small pot. He chopped scallions with focused slowness, his fingers stiff. The familiar routine was grounding. The soreness in his lower back throbbed with every movement, a reminder of the hours spent writhing and curling into himself trying to make the pain go away, but it was a manageable ache now.

He arranged it all carefully on a tray: a deep bowl of steaming miso soup scattered with green onions, a small mound of fluffy white rice, the glistening, golden-brown mackerel. He carried it back to the bedroom, the savory aromas trailing him. Yuta hadn’t moved, still deeply asleep. Yuji set the tray on the nightstand and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He brushed a strand of dark hair away from Yuta’s forehead. "Yuta," he said softly, then louder, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Hey. Time to eat."

Yuta groaned, his eyes cracking open, heavy with sleep. "Wha…?"

"Food," Yuji stated. "Sit up." He slid an arm behind Yuta’s back, helping him lever himself upright against the headboard. Yuta winced, rolling his shoulders stiffly, the movement pulling at the bruises. Yuji flinched inwardly but kept his expression neutral. He picked up the tray and placed it carefully across Yuta’s lap. Yuta blinked down at it, then reached weakly for the soup spoon. "Smells good. Thanks, man."

Yuji’s hand darted out, closing over Yuta’s wrist before he could pick up the spoon. "Nope." He picked up the spoon himself, dipping it into the steaming miso broth. He blew on it carefully, the steam swirling. "Open up."

Yuta stared at him, confusion warring with exhaustion. "Yuji, I can feed myself. I’m just tired, not paralyzed."

Yuji held the spoon steady near Yuta’s mouth, refusing to budge. He fixed Yuta with a look, his lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated pout. "My turn," he stated, his voice firm but quiet. "You took care of me. Held me down. Put up with… all that." He gestured vaguely towards the now-empty nest area. "Now shut up and eat the damn soup."

A faint, weary smile touched Yuta’s lips. He looked from the determined pout to the spoon held stubbornly in front of his face. He sighed, a sound of utter capitulation mingled with something softer. "You’re impossible," he mumbled. But he leaned forward slightly and parted his lips. Yuji carefully guided the spoon into his mouth.

The hot, savory broth hit Yuta’s tongue. His eyes drifted shut for a second as he swallowed. "Okay," he conceded hoarsely, opening his eyes again. "That… that’s good." He met Yuji’s gaze. There was a vulnerability there Yuji rarely saw, stripped bare by exhaustion and the strange intimacy of the situation. Yuji just nodded, satisfaction warming him more than the soup, and dipped the spoon again.

Yuji scooped another spoonful of miso, blowing gently before guiding it back to Yuta's parted lips. The savory steam curled between them, carrying the clean scent of the bath, a stark counterpoint to the lingering heat still embedded deep in the room's fabric. "Good?" Yuji murmured, watching the tension ease fractionally around Yuta's eyes as he swallowed.

"Really good," Yuta rasped, his voice scraped raw from hours of low, calming murmurs against Yuji's desperate cries. He leaned his head back against the headboard, the movement revealing the darkening bruises mottling his neck and shoulders – stark evidence of Yuji's frantic grip, the desperate need to anchor himself against the tidal wave of his heat. "You… you were really out of it," he added softly, meeting Yuji's gaze with an unsettling intensity. "Scared me, how hard you were shaking."

A fresh wave of shame prickled Yuji's skin, hotter than the soup. "I remember… pieces." He looked away, focusing on the glistening mackerel skin. "Begging. Clinging. Scenting you like a… like a fucking animal." He forced himself to meet Yuta’s eyes again, the guilt a physical weight. "Those bruises… God, Yuta. I'm so fucking sorry." His hand trembled slightly as it held the next spoonful.

Yuta caught his wrist, not forcefully, but with a steadying pressure. "Stop apologizing," Yuta insisted, his voice low, a rumble that vibrated through Yuji's bones.
Yuji nodded ok and finished feeding him the food.

The afternoon sun slanted through the window, warming the clean sheets. Yuta stretched, joints popping. He patted his stomach. "Okay," he sighed, the sound heavy with lingering fatigue but also a deep satisfaction. "If it's okay with you... I'm gonna head out." He pushed himself stiffly off the bed. "Gotta swing by my place. Make sure Toge fed my ferret like I asked."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He scrambled up too. "Let me walk you out."

They moved in comfortable silence through the small apartment, the lingering scent of heat replaced by the faint chemical tang of the laundry detergent. At the door, Yuji pulled it open onto the quiet street. Yuta’s car sat at the curb. Yuji turned to him, emotion swelling in his throat, thick and warm. "Yuta..." He didn't need words. He just stepped forward and wrapped Yuta in a crushing hug, burying his face against the alpha's neck where his scent was strongest. "Thank you," he mumbled into Yuta’s shirt. "For everything. Seriously. I... I don't know what I’d..."

Yuta hugged him back just as tightly, his arms solid, grounding. "Hey," he murmured, his breath warm against Yuji's ear. "Call me. If you need anything. Anything at all. I'll come see you soon, okay?" He pulled back slightly, his expression serious. Then, deliberately, he leaned down. He nuzzled firmly against the curve of Yuji’s neck, his nose and cheek dragging over the sensitive swell of Yuji’s mating gland. His own cedar scent bloomed strong and protective, enveloping Yuji, marking him. He held still, letting Yuji reciprocate. Yuji pressed his own face into the junction of Yuta’s neck and shoulder, rubbing his cheek and jaw against Yuta’s gland, leaving his own wildflower scent in return. It was a deep, instinctual gesture of trust, reaffirming their bond, sealing the intensity of what had passed.

Yuji pulled back, warmth spreading through his chest. "Thanks, Yuta. For everything. You are absolutely amazing." He grinned, a little shaky but genuine. "Seriously. The best."

Yuta gave a tired but warm smile, opening the car door. "Your only BFF," he quipped, his voice rough but laced with affection. He slid into the driver's seat, the engine coughing to life. He gave a final, small wave before pulling away from the curb.

Yuji stood on the pavement, watching the car disappear around the corner, the comforting scent of cedar still clinging to his skin. He took a deep breath of the late afternoon air, feeling strangely light. He turned to head back to his apartment shutting the door.

At the far end, under the dappled shade of an old maple tree, sat a sleek black car. Tinted windows hid its occupants completely.

Chapter Text

The sleek black car idled under the dappled shade of the maple tree, its engine a low, predatory purr. Inside, the air was thick with the mingled dominance of two alphas: the sharp, invigorating bite of frost and winter wind, and the warm, comforting embrace of vanilla and cinnamon. Nanami Kento’s knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, the fine leather creaking under his grip. His gaze, fixed on the apartment doorway, was a laser of focused intensity. Gojo Satoru lounged in the passenger seat, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his piercing blue eyes tracked every movement – their omega emerging, the alpha following, the crushing hug, the deliberate nuzzle against their omega’s neck.

Satoru’s hand shot out, hitting the window control. The glass slid down silently. The warm afternoon air rushed in, carrying the fading scent of sunshine and wildflowers… and layered thickly over it, the unmistakable, possessive cedar of the young alpha who’d just left.

Nanami inhaled sharply, his bakery-warm scent instantly turning sour, acrid – burnt sugar and curdled cream. His foot slammed down on the accelerator before the window was fully open. The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the pavement, throwing Satoru back against the leather seat.

"Fuck!" Satoru snarled, bracing himself against the dashboard. His own scent, usually crisp and controlled, spiked violently, a blizzard erupting inside the car. He twisted towards Nanami, eyes blazing. "Did you smell that? That fucking pup scented him like he has a fucking claim! His scent all over him, thick as tar!" His fingers curled, nails digging into the leather dash, leaving faint crescent marks.

Nanami didn’t speak. His jaw was clenched tight, tendons standing out in his neck. The car surged forward, weaving aggressively through the late afternoon traffic, neon signs blurring past the tinted windows. The acrid jealousy pouring off him warred violently with Satoru’s icy fury, creating a suffocating, volatile atmosphere inside the luxury cocoon. He took a corner too fast, centrifugal force pressing them into their seats.

"He’s ours," Satoru hissed, the words dripping with possessive venom. He reached over, his hand clamping down on Nanami’s thigh, fingers digging into the muscle through the fine fabric of his trousers. "Our little omega reeks of another alpha." His thumb rubbed in rough, possessive circles.

Nanami’s gaze flickered from the road to Satoru’s hand on his thigh, then to Satoru’s face. The simmering jealousy in his golden eyes ignited into something darker, hotter. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through the steering wheel. He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. The shared fury, the shared possessiveness, was a tangible force between them. He spotted a narrow alleyway branching off the main road, barely wide enough for the car. Without signaling, he wrenched the wheel hard.

The car plunged into the sudden gloom of the alley, brick walls looming close on either side. He slammed the brakes, jerking them both forward. The engine died, leaving an abrupt, ringing silence punctuated only by their harsh breathing and the distant city hum. The alley smelled of damp concrete and overflowing dumpsters – a stark, filthy contrast to the luxury interior now saturated with their clashing, dominant pheromones.

Before the car had fully settled, Satoru was moving. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click and lunged across the center console. His hand fisted in Nanami’s perfectly knotted tie, yanking him forward. Their mouths crashed together in a brutal, punishing kiss. No tenderness, only the clash of teeth and tongues, a furious claiming of each other fueled by the fury of seeing their omega marked by another. Satoru tasted like winter lightning; Nanami tasted like bitter spice.

"Fucking pup," Satoru growled against Nanami’s lips, his free hand already working Nanami’s belt buckle open with ruthless efficiency. "Putting his stink on what’s ours." He wrenched Nanami’s suit jacket and shirt open, buttons pinging off the dashboard and windshield. His mouth descended on Nanami’s exposed collarbone, biting down hard enough to bruise, sucking a dark mark into the skin. Nanami gasped, his head thudding back against the headrest, his hands scrabbling at Satoru’s shoulders, not to push away, but to pull him closer, harder.

Nanami’s own hands were frantic. He shoved Satoru’s pristine white jacket off his shoulders, tearing at the buttons of his shirt. Fabric ripped. He palmed the hard bulge in Satoru’s trousers, squeezing roughly through the material, drawing a sharp, guttural groan from the other alpha. "Show me," Nanami demanded, his voice rough, stripped bare of its usual calm. "Show me who he belongs to."

Satoru didn’t need telling twice. He reared back sliding the seat back and down making enough room to shove Nanami’s trousers and briefs down his hips in one brutal motion. Nanami’s cock sprang free, thick and already flushed dark, straining upwards. Satoru’s own erection was a hard line against his zipper. He freed himself swiftly, his cock jutting out, heavy and demanding.

There was no finesse, only the slick smear of pre-come and the sheer, brutal force of their need. Satoru spat roughly into his palm, the sound obscenely loud in the confined space.  His other hand swept blindly over the center console, scattering loose change and a few receipts.  

"Looking for this?" Nanami ground out, reaching past him. He pulled a small, half-empty bottle of lube from the console tossing it roughly into Gojo’s lap. 

Gojo grinned, a flash of white in the dimness, pure predator. "Prepared. I like it." He popped the cap, squeezing a thick, clear stream directly onto his cock, coating himself slickly. Then, without pause, he squeezed a generous dollop onto his fingers. He flung the bottle. It thudded softly somewhere in the back seat. "Don't need it anyway," he muttered, eyes fixed on Nanami. "Gonna feel you raw."

His lubed fingers were cold and intrusive against Nanami’s overheated skin. Nanami hissed, a sound swallowed instantly by Gojo’s mouth crashing against his. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongue, devoid of tenderness, fueled by urgency and something darker. Gojo’s fingers worked quickly, stretching him with a ruthless efficiency that bordered on painful. Nanami buried his face against the headrest, knuckles white where he gripped it, every nerve ending screaming. It was too much, not enough, he craved more. 

Nanami braced, expecting the push. Instead, Gojo’s hands clamped onto his hips, fingers digging deep into the muscle, blunt and demanding. He yanked Nanami higher up in the seat, shifting his weight, at an awkward angle that stretched him wide open. Nanami gasped, a choked sound of shock and overwhelming sensation.

Positioning the blunt, leaking head of his cock against Nanami’s tight entrance, he met Nanami’s burning gaze.

"He’s mine," Satoru snarled, the words a promise and a threat. "He’s yours. But first…" He slammed forward.

Nanami’s cry was choked, a mix of sharp pain and overwhelming sensation. His body clenched fiercely around the sudden, brutal intrusion. Satoru didn’t pause, didn’t gentle. He drove deep in one relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt in the tight, resisting heat. Nanami arched off the seat, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat, his fingers clawing grooves into Satoru’s biceps.

"Fuck! Satoru! Yes!" Nanami panted, his head thrashing. The pain was intense, white-hot, but it was eclipsed instantly by the raw, possessive fury fueling them both. 

Gojo groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. "Fuck. Kento. Fuck." He held himself perfectly still for a heartbeat, buried deep, letting Nanami’s body convulse around him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "So tight. Like a fucking vice. You’re killing me." His grip on Nanami’s hips was bruising.

"Move," Nanami gasped, the word ragged. "Harder!." The unbearable pressure demanded release, demanded friction.

Gojo’s laugh was breathless, strained. "Demanding." He pulled back slowly, agonizingly, the drag exquisite torture. Then he slammed forward.

The impact punched the air from Nanami’s lungs. He saw stars. "Satoru—!"

Satoru needed no encouragement. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, pulling back almost entirely before hammering back in with brutal force. The car rocked violently on its suspension with every thrust, the leather seats groaning. The sounds were filthy: the wet slap of skin on skin, Satoru’s ragged grunts punctuating each drive forward, Nanami’s choked moans and gasps as he was impaled again and again.

Satoru leaned down, biting Nanami’s earlobe. He pistoned his hips, driving impossibly deeper. "We’ll cover him in snow and cinnamon… drown him in us… until he forgets that pup’s fucking name".

"Feel that?" Gojo demanded, voice thick, strained. "Feel me? All of me?" He punctuated each word with a vicious snap of his hips. "You take it… so fucking… perfect."

Nanami’s hand snaked between them, fisting his own cock in time with Satoru’s thrusts. His strokes were rough, desperate. "Yes!" He met Satoru’s thrusts, lifting his hips, taking him deeper, wanting the brutal possession, the affirmation of their shared claim through this violent coupling. The alley stench faded beneath the overwhelming musk of two dominant alphas fucking in jealous rage – frost and burnt cinnamon, sweat and sex.

Satoru’s pace became frantic, erratic. His fingers dug harder into Nanami’s hips, sure to leave bruises. His cock swelled impossibly thicker inside Nanami’s clenching heat. "Gonna come," he gasped, the words ripped from him. "Gonna fill you… mark you inside…"

Nanami’s own orgasm was coiling tight, a supernova building at the base of his spine. "Do it! Fucking breed me with it! Show me!" He tightened his fist on his cock, stroking furiously.

With a final, guttural roar that echoed off the alley walls, Satoru slammed home, his swollen knot unable to push in at this angle. His body locked, shuddering violently as his release tore through him. Hot pulses of come flooded Nanami’s passage, a scalding, possessive claim deep inside. The sensation, the sheer animal dominance of it, tipped Nanami over the edge. His back arched violently off the seat, a raw, wordless cry tearing from his throat as his knot swelled, cock jerking in his fist, thick ropes of come splattering across his stomach and chest, mixing with the sweat soaking his ripped shirt.

They collapsed against each other in the sudden stillness, breathing ragged, hearts hammering against ribs. The car reeked of sex, sweat, and their combined, satisfied dominance momentarily overpowering the lingering jealousy. Satoru remained buried inside Nanami, both trembling with the aftershocks. Slowly, Satoru lifted his head. He licked a stripe up Nanami’s sweat-slicked neck, over the bite mark he’d left earlier, tasting salt and possession. Nanami turned his head, capturing Satoru’s mouth in a slower, deeper kiss.

Satoru finally pulled out slowly, a wet, obscene sound accompanying his softening cock. Nanami winced slightly but didn’t pull away. They stayed tangled in the wreckage of the driver's seat – clothes torn, skin marked, come cooling on skin and leather.

Satoru traced a finger through the mess on Nanami’s stomach, bringing it to his lips. His blue eyes, still burning with possessive fire but now laced with dark satisfaction, met Nanami’s. "He smelled like sunshine and wildflowers," Satoru murmured, his voice rough but low. "Needs to smell like us."

Nanami leaned his head back against the headrest, catching his breath. He looked out the windshield at the grimy alley wall, Satoru sliding back into the passenger seat, but his gaze was focused inward, on the omega. On the scent of cedar that needed erasing. His jaw tightened again, but now with cold purpose, not blind rage. He reached down, pulling his trousers back up over his sticky thighs with a grimace, ignoring the discomfort.

He turned the ignition. The engine purred back to life. He shifted the car into drive, his movements precise despite the lingering tremble in his hands. "I know he will come back to my bakery. Time we introduced ourselves properly. " He glanced at Satoru, a predatory glint in his golden eyes. "Don’t you think?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Satoru Gojo’s face, lighting up his striking features. He rolled his shoulders, the scent of frost and winter wind swirling powerfully around him once more, mingling seamlessly with Nanami’s resurgent warmth. He rolled up the window, sealing them back into their luxurious, predatory world. The sleek black car slid smoothly out of the filthy alley and merged back into the neon river of Tokyo traffic.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun slanted through the wide windows of Nanami’s Bakery, painting warm stripes across the polished wood floor and gleaming glass display cases. The air hung thick and sweet, saturated with the comforting scents of vanilla bean, caramelizing sugar, and yeasted dough baking to golden perfection. Behind the counter, Kento Nanami meticulously arranged a fresh batch of pain au chocolat, his movements economical, precise. The lingering warmth of cinnamon and baked goods clung to him, a deceptive cloak over the simmering possessiveness beneath. He glanced out the window and froze. The omega was here, outside his bakery. He took out his phone and swiftly typed 'He’s here'.  Nanami slid the phone back, his expression smoothing into impassivity just as the bell above the door jingled.

Yuji Itadori stepped inside, clutching a neatly folded, soft grey blanket. The familiar, comforting bakery smells usually eased him, but today, they felt heavy, almost oppressive. His own scent, sunshine and wildflowers, spiked nervously, a fragile bloom amidst the dense, delicious fog. He saw Nanami instantly, the alpha’s broad back momentarily turned as he placed pastries into the glass display. Yuji’s grip tightened on the blanket. Just return it. That’s all. He’s mated. They both are. Just… return it.

Nanami turned. His golden eyes locked onto Yuji, sharp and assessing. They darkened almost imperceptibly as he inhaled, catching the omega’s anxious pheromones layered beneath the faint wildflowers. The scent was clean now, blessedly free of the intrusive cedar that had ignited such fury days before. But the nervousness… it prickled against Nanami’s control.

"Welcome back," Nanami said, his voice low, calm, carrying effortlessly over the gentle hum of the bakery. He walked towards the counter, his movements deliberate, unhurried. His bakery-warm scent intensified subtly, wrapping around Yuji like a physical embrace, both comforting and subtly commanding.

"Hi," Yuji managed, his voice slightly breathless. He held out the blanket. "I, uh, came to return this. Thank you. Again. For… everything." The memory of Nanami’s firm hands guiding him to his house after rescuing him from the ally, flooded back, warming his cheeks. He knew Nanami and Satoru were a mated pair. Powerful alphas. Untouchable. Yet, standing here under that intense golden gaze, he felt exposed, flayed open.

Nanami took the blanket, his fingers brushing Yuji’s for a fleeting moment. A spark, electric and undeniable, jolted through Yuji. Nanami placed the blanket deliberately aside on the counter. He leaned forward slightly, resting his palms on the polished wood, closing the distance. His gaze pinned Yuji.

"It was no trouble," Nanami stated, his voice dropping lower, becoming more intimate despite the public setting. The bakery was quiet, only the distant clatter of pans from the kitchen breaking the silence. "Though I realize… we were never formally introduced during your… distress." A hint of something possessive flickered in his eyes. "What’s your name?"

"Yuji," he breathed. "Yuji Itadori."

"Yuji," Nanami repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a rich flavor, savored. The warmth in his scent deepened, the cinnamon becoming spicier, more insistent. "Kento Nanami." He held Yuji’s gaze, the unspoken weight of their previous encounter hanging heavy between them. "It’s good to see you Yuji."

Before Yuji could stammer a reply, the bakery door chimed again, louder this time, pushed open with casual force. A wave of invigorating cold air swept in, cutting through the bakery’s warmth – snow, frost, winter wind. Satoru Gojo filled the doorway, his silver-white hair catching the sunlight, piercing blue eyes scanning the room instantly and landing, unerringly, on Yuji. A slow, predatory smile spread across his handsome face.

"Well, well," Satoru drawled, his voice like smooth ice cracking. He strolled towards the counter, his presence expanding to dominate the space. The mingled scents – Nanami’s warm bakery and Satoru’s winter storm – collided and intertwined, forming an intoxicating, dominant cloud that pressed down on Yuji. "Look what the cat dragged in. Our little wildflower."

Yuji froze. Satoru’s gaze raked over him, lingering, appreciative, and utterly possessive. The memory of Satoru’s intense stare from the car window, the sheer fury radiating off him, slammed back into Yuji’s mind. He took an involuntary step back, bumping against the display case. His scent spiked again, wildflowers trembling under the sudden, overwhelming pressure of two dominant alphas focused solely on him.

"Just returning the blanket," Yuji said quickly, his voice tight.

"Thoughtful," Satoru purred, stopping beside Nanami. He leaned his hip against the counter, deliberately casual, but his blue eyes burned with focused intensity. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. "Mmm. Sunshine and wildflowers. Clean. Good." His gaze flicked to Nanami, a silent communication passing between them. Nanami gave an almost imperceptible nod.

The air thickened. The gentle bakery sounds faded into a distant hum. Yuji felt trapped, pinned between the counter and the sheer force of their combined presence. Nanami’s warm cinnamon scent deepened, becoming richer, darker, like spiced rum left to steep. Satoru’s frosty wind swirled around it, sharpening it, making it feel like a physical caress… and a cage.

"You look flushed," Satoru observed, tilting his head. "Bakery too warm for you?" He reached out, not touching Yuji, but his fingers trailed through the air mere inches from Yuji’s cheek. The proximity sent a shiver down Yuji’s spine that had nothing to do with cold.

"It's… fine," Yuji whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn’t look away from Satoru’s eyes. They held a promise, a threat, and a hunger that stole his breath.

Nanami moved. Not quickly, but with absolute purpose. He stepped around the counter end, blocking Yuji’s potential retreat towards the door. He stood close, his taller frame looming, his warm scent enveloping Yuji from behind. "You seem nervous Yuji," Nanami murmured, his voice a low rumble near Yuji’s ear. His breath stirred the fine hairs at Yuji’s temple. "Don’t be."

"Yuji,"Satoru purred,  savoring his name.  He then bowed with a flourish and introduced himself.  "Satoru Gojo. " 

Satoru closed the distance from the front. He was suddenly right there, his winter scent crashing over Yuji, mingling with Nanami’s warmth from behind. Yuji was effectively caged between the counter, Nanami’s solid presence at his back, and Satoru’s overwhelming proximity in front. Panic, laced with a terrifying, unwanted thrill, shot through him.

"Satoru… Nanami…" Yuji stammered, trying to find space that didn’t exist.

"Shhh," Satoru breathed, his hand finally touching, fingertips brushing Yuji’s jawline. The contact was electric. "We just want to talk. Properly. Now that you’re not… distracted."

Nanami’s hand settled firmly on Yuji’s hip from behind, fingers pressing possessively into the soft flesh above his jeans. The touch was grounding and claiming all at once. Yuji gasped, his head falling back slightly against Nanami’s shoulder. His wildflower scent bloomed uncontrollably now, sweet and heady, reacting instinctively to the dual alpha dominance surrounding him.

"Talk?" Yuji managed, his voice trembling.

"Among other things," Satoru murmured. His blue eyes locked onto Yuji’s, holding him captive.

The air crackled, thick with the mingled scents of winter frost and spiced warmth pressing in from all sides. Satoru’s fingertips traced the frantic pulse point beneath Yuji’s jaw, a feather-light touch that felt like a brand. Nanami’s grip on his hip tightened possessively, fingers digging into the yielding flesh above his jeans, anchoring him firmly against the alpha’s solid chest. Yuji’s breath hitched, trapped, his wildflower scent exploding into a frantic, sweet bloom under the dual assault of their dominance.

"I'm sorry!" Yuji stammered, the words bursting out in a terrified rush, his golden eyes wide and pleading, flicking between Satoru’s intense blue gaze and the counter’s gleaming surface. "I swear I didn't do anything inappropriate with your mate!" Nanami’s scent sharpened, cinnamon turning acrid for a fleeting second. "He just rescued me in the alley, offered me the blanket, and then you walked in!" Panic choked him. "Please, I know he is your mate. I was just returning the blanket I borrowed. I'll leave and never come back!"

Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. The distant clatter of pans from the bakery kitchen sounded miles away. Satoru’s predatory smile vanished, replaced by a look of sharp, assessing curiosity. Nanami’s grip loosened fractionally, though his hand remained a warm, heavy weight on Yuji’s hip. The two alphas exchanged a long, unreadable look, a silent conversation passing between them in the charged air. Satoru raised a single, elegant eyebrow. Nanami gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Satoru turned his piercing gaze fully back to Yuji, his expression softening into something dangerously amused. "Oh, little wildflower," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Yuji’s bones. He leaned in closer, his winter scent enveloping Yuji anew. "I think we really do need to have a little talk." His blue eyes held a glint of something unsettlingly intense. "It seems that you misunderstand us."

Nanami’s hand finally lifted from Yuji’s hip, the sudden absence of pressure leaving a phantom warmth. He stepped back slightly, creating a sliver of breathing room, though his imposing presence still blocked the path to the door. His golden eyes, usually so stern, held a different kind of intensity now – focused, intent. "Yuji," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable command. "Will you accompany us to dinner? Somewhere quiet. So we can talk. Calmly."

Yuji blinked, stunned. Dinner? With them? His instincts screamed run, a primal urge to flee the overwhelming power radiating from the mated pair. Yet, beneath the fear, a treacherous thread of curiosity sparked. What did they mean? What misunderstanding? He glanced at Satoru, whose playful smirk had returned, then back at Nanami’s serious, expectant face. The bakery scents – vanilla, cinnamon, baking bread – suddenly felt cloying, too intimate. The memory of Nanami’s firm hands guiding him, Satoru’s furious possessiveness from the car window, warred with this bizarre invitation.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He swallowed hard, the taste of wildflowers sharp on his tongue. Leaving meant safety, anonymity. Staying… meant stepping into the unknown with two dominant alphas whose motives were utterly opaque. He looked down at his own hands, clenched into trembling fists. Nanami’s offer hung in the air, a deceptively simple question loaded with terrifying potential.

After a long, agonizing moment where the only sound was his own ragged breathing and the distant city hum filtering through the glass, Yuji lifted his head. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, rough with fear and something else – a flicker of reckless hope. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay, I’ll go."

Satoru’s grin exploded, blindingly bright. "Yay!" he cheered, the sound sharp and delighted in the thick bakery air, startling Yuji into a shaky, surprised laugh. The tension crackling around them softened, just for a beat.

He turned to Nanami, the grin softening into something intimate as he cupped the other alpha’s cheek with familiar ease. "My love," Satoru murmured, his thumb brushing Nanami’s jawline, "do you mind closing up early?" Nanami’s stern expression didn’t flicker, but a warmth seeped into his golden eyes as he gazed at Satoru. He simply shook his head, his bakery scent deepening, rich and reassuring.

Without another word, Nanami turned and strode towards the kitchen door. Yuji shifted his weight nervously, acutely aware of Satoru’s intense blue gaze fixed on him, a playful predator assessing his prey. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant clatter of pans and the low hum of the refrigerators. Satoru leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, radiating effortless, dangerous charm.

Minutes later, Nanami returned, his apron replaced by a tailored, dark grey coat. Several employees, young betas, filed past him towards the front door, murmuring polite "Good nights" and casting curious, fleeting glances at Yuji. Nanami offered them a curt nod, his usual professional mask firmly back in place. The bakery lights began clicking off section by section, plunging parts of the shop into shadow.

Satoru clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp in the dimming space. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice smooth as polished ice. He didn't wait for an answer, already turning towards the door, his long stride forcing them to follow. Yuji hesitated, glancing at Nanami, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod towards the exit. Yuji followed Satoru out into the cool evening air, Nanami’s solid presence falling into step protectively close behind him, sealing him between them.

Satoru led them, not towards Nanami’s black sedan, but to a sleek, low-slung sports car gleaming like spilled blood under the streetlights. Its glossy, deep crimson paint seemed to swallow the neon glow, radiating obscene wealth and raw power. Yuji stopped, eyes widening. "Whoa," he breathed, genuine awe momentarily overriding his nerves. "Is... is this new?"

Satoru barked a laugh, rich and full, while Nanami abruptly turned his head away, studying a distant streetlamp with intense focus, the tips of his ears flushing a deep, unmistakable crimson. "Yes," Satoru confirmed, popping the locks with a chirp, amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced at Nanami’s profile. "Let's just say the other one might have suffered a bit of...damage."

Satoru slid into the driver's seat with predatory grace. Nanami silently opened the passenger door for Yuji, the gesture unexpectedly formal, then took the seat behind him. The interior smelled like expensive leather and Satoru’s crisp winter wind scent, overwhelming the lingering trace of Nanami’s cinnamon. The engine roared to life, a deep, powerful purr that vibrated through the seats. Tokyo’s glittering chaos streamed past the tinted windows as Satoru navigated the traffic with aggressive confidence.

They pulled up to a restaurant that screamed exclusivity – discreet lighting, a canopy, a doorman in a pristine uniform who opened the car door with a bow. Yuji’s stomach clenched as he climbed out. He stood frozen on the sidewalk, painfully aware of his worn hoodie and faded jeans, frayed at the cuffs. Nanami, in his impeccable coat, and Satoru, looking effortlessly expensive in dark, tailored clothes, looked like they belonged on a runway. He felt like a smudge on a masterpiece. So fucking unfair.

The maître d' greeted Satoru by name with obsequious familiarity, his eyes flicking over Yuji’s attire with polite disdain before smoothly leading them through a hushed, opulent dining room. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light on linen-covered tables, gleaming silverware, and patrons dressed in silks and designer suits who murmured over glasses of expensive wine. Yuji kept his eyes down, focusing on the plush carpet, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Nanami’s hand settled briefly, reassuringly, on the small of his back, guiding him to a secluded booth in a quieter corner.

They slid in – Satoru first, then Yuji, then Nanami, boxing him in again. The scent of aged wood, fine food, and Satoru’s frosty dominance filled the intimate space. A waiter materialized instantly, presenting thick, leather-bound menus. Yuji stared at the elaborate descriptions and astronomical prices, his throat tight. Satoru waved a dismissive hand before Yuji could even open his. "Order whatever you want, little wildflower," Satoru commanded, his voice low but carrying. He leaned back, spreading his arms along the top of the booth, his presence expanding to fill the space. "It’s on us." His piercing blue eyes held Yuji captive, the playful glint replaced by something darker, more possessive. "Now," he purred, the winter in his scent sharpening, cutting through the restaurant’s perfume. Nanami remained silent beside Yuji, a warm, solid wall, his cinnamon scent deepening into something spiced and anticipatory. "About that misunderstanding you mentioned back in the bakery..."

Chapter Text

The penthouse door clicked shut, sealing them inside a world of quiet luxury. City lights glittered far below the floor-to-ceiling windows, a silent, sprawling tapestry. The air hung thick, saturated with the mingled scents of expensive soap, damp skin, and the lingering, ghostly sweetness of spiced wildflowers that clung stubbornly to their senses. Satoru padded barefoot across the cool hardwood, water droplets tracing paths down his sculpted chest and abs from his shower. He wore only low-slung grey sweatpants, his silver-white hair plastered darkly to his forehead and neck. Nanami followed, similarly dressed in dark sweatpants, a towel draped loosely around his broad shoulders, his blond hair darkened by moisture. The comforting aroma of vanilla and cinnamon emanating from him was layered over a deeper, restless hum.

They sank onto the vast cream-colored sofa, the plush fabric sighing under their weight. Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts, charged with the residual energy of the night - the omega’s eyes, the overwhelming scent of his distress and burgeoning heat. Satoru sprawled, one arm flung along the back of the sofa, his piercing blue eyes fixed unseeingly on the distant cityscape. Nanami sat upright, elbows resting on his knees, methodically drying his hair with the towel, the rhythmic motion the only sound besides their breathing.

"He smelled…" Satoru began, his voice rough, breaking the quiet like shattering glass. He trailed off, searching for words that felt inadequate. "Like sunshine burning through spice. Like wildflowers crushed underfoot." He turned his head, his gaze sharpening, locking onto Nanami. "Didn't he?"

Nanami lowered the towel, folding it meticulously on his lap. His gaze met Satoru’s, steady, analytical, but beneath the surface, something primal stirred. "Overwhelming," he confirmed, his voice a low rumble. "Even diluted by fear and exhaustion. A potent, unique signature." He paused, his nostrils flaring slightly as if catching the phantom scent again. "And his pre-heat..." Nanami’s jaw tightened. "It hit me like a physical blow."

Satoru shifted, turning fully towards Nanami now. His long legs stretched out, bare foot brushing against Nanami’s thigh. "That fucking kid," he growled, the playful mask completely absent, replaced by raw Alpha possessiveness. "The way he held him when we dropped him off. How he scented him when our omega walked him out.  Like he owned him. Like he had any fucking right." The memory ignited a fresh spark of frost in his scent, sharp and biting.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the strong line of Nanami’s jaw, a gesture both intimate and demanding. "Did you feel it, Kento? When you pulled him out of that alley? When he looked at you?" His thumb brushed Nanami’s lower lip. "That pull? Like fucking gravity."

Nanami didn’t flinch. He captured Satoru’s wrist, not forcefully, but firmly, his warm grip grounding the other Alpha’s restless energy. His cinnamon-vanilla scent deepened, wrapping around Satoru’s frost like a warm blanket over ice. "I felt it," he admitted, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "The instinct. The… need." His gaze intensified, stripping away the analytical layer, revealing the raw Alpha beneath. "To shield him. To pull him close. To bury my face in that scent and know he was safe." His grip tightened fractionally on Satoru’s wrist. "And yes. To mark him. To claim him as ours."

The word "ours" hung in the air, potent and undeniable. Satoru’s breath hitched. He surged forward, closing the small distance between them. His free hand tangled in the damp blond hair at Nanami’s nape, pulling him in. Their lips crashed together – not gentle, not playful, but a fierce, claiming collision. Satoru’s tongue demanded entry, tasting the faint bitterness of coffee and the underlying warmth of Nanami’s own Alpha dominance. Nanami met him with equal ferocity, his grip shifting from Satoru’s wrist to his hip, hauling him closer until their damp chests pressed together.

The kiss was a battle and a reaffirmation, a desperate mingling of scents – frost and winter winds clashing and merging with warm bakery sweetness. Satoru moaned into Nanami’s mouth, the sound vibrating against his lips. He ground his hardening cock against Nanami’s thigh, the friction through the thin sweatpants electric. "Fuck, Kento," he gasped, breaking the kiss only to nip sharply at Nanami’s lower lip. "He’s ours. That wildflower sunshine… it belongs here." He punctuated each word with another rough grind. "Between us."

Nanami growled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through Satoru’s body. He pushed Satoru back onto the plush cushions, following him down, pinning him with his larger frame. His hand slid down Satoru’s chest, over the defined abs, and palmed the hard length straining against the grey fabric. Satoru arched off the sofa with a choked cry, his hips bucking into the touch. "Yes!"

Nanami’s eyes burned with possessive fire. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Satoru’s sweats and yanked them down roughly, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and flushed, already leaking pre-come onto his stomach. Nanami didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head before his mouth engulfed him, taking him deep in one smooth, practiced motion.

"Ah! Fuck! Kento!" Satoru’s head slammed back against the cushions, his fingers twisting in the cream fabric. Nanami’s mouth was hot, wet, and demanding. His tongue swirled around the head, lapped at the slit, then plunged down the shaft as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard. The obscene, wet sounds filled the penthouse, mingling with Satoru’s ragged gasps and moans. Nanami’s hand worked the base in tandem with his mouth, his rhythm relentless, possessive. He knew exactly how to drive Satoru wild, how to make him lose control.

Satoru writhed, his hips lifting off the sofa, fucking into that perfect, hot mouth. "Alpha," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Suck my fucking cock like you own it. Because you do. You fucking own me." He tangled his hand back in Nanami’s hair, guiding his movements, pushing him deeper. "Just like we’ll own him. Fuck… gonna fill that pretty mouth…"

Nanami’s response was a deep, guttural hum that vibrated along Satoru’s cock, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. He increased the suction, his tongue pressing hard against the sensitive underside. Satoru’s thighs trembled. The phantom scent of wildflowers seemed to intensify, merging with the musk of their arousal, driving him higher.

"Close… Kento, I’m so fucking close," Satoru gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped the sofa. "Want to come down your throat… mark you inside…"

Nanami pulled off with a wet pop, leaving Satoru’s cock glistening and throbbing. His eyes, dark with lust and something fiercer, locked onto Satoru’s. "Not yet," he rasped, his voice gravelly. He surged up, capturing Satoru’s mouth again in a searing kiss, letting him taste himself on Nanami’s tongue. His hand slid between them, pushing down his own sweatpants just enough to free his erection, thick and heavy against Satoru’s hip. "Need you," he growled against Satoru’s lips. "Need you now."

Satoru understood. He hooked his legs around Nanami’s waist, arching his back, presenting himself. "Fuck me," he demanded, his voice raw. "Breed me, Alpha. Remind me who I belong to. Remind me we belong together." His hand scrabbled blindly on the sofa cushion beside them, finding the small bottle of lubricant they kept tucked away. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, then reached between his own legs, behind Nanami’s pressing cock. He worked himself open with quick, practiced strokes, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Hurry… need you inside…"

Nanami watched, his gaze fixed on Satoru’s face, on the desperate need etched there. He coated his own cock with the lube Satoru offered, the slick sound loud in the quiet room. Positioning himself, he gripped Satoru’s hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh. With one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully in Satoru’s tight heat.

Satoru cried out, a sound ripped from deep within him – pain, pleasure, utter surrender. His body clamped down instinctively around the thick intrusion, then gradually yielded, accepting, welcoming. "Yes! Fuck! Full… so fucking full…" He wrapped his legs tighter, locking his ankles behind Nanami’s back, pulling him impossibly deeper.

Nanami groaned, a deep, animal sound of pure satisfaction. He began to move, slow, deliberate thrusts at first, savoring the exquisite tightness, the way Satoru’s body gripped him. Then, as Satoru’s pleas grew more frantic, his pace increased. He drove into him with powerful, piston-like strokes, each one jolting Satoru up the sofa cushions. The slap of skin against skin echoed off the high ceilings, a primal rhythm punctuated by Satoru’s choked cries and Nanami’s guttural grunts.

"Harder! Fuck me harder, Alpha!" Satoru begged, his hands scrabbling at Nanami’s back, leaving red trails. "I’m yours!" He reached between them, fisting his own leaking cock in time with Nanami’s brutal thrusts. "Gonna come… gonna come all over us…"

Nanami’s thrusts became punishing, each deep plunge hitting Satoru’s prostate dead-on. His scent enveloped them – warm vanilla and cinnamon fused with the sharp musk of sweat and sex, utterly dominant, utterly claiming. He bent his head, his teeth scraping possessively over the mating bite on Satoru’s neck, the one he had placed, the one that bound them. "Mine," he growled against the scarred skin, his breath hot. "Always mine."

The dual assault – the relentless fucking, the claiming bite, the overwhelming scent – shattered Satoru. He threw his head back, a raw, wordless scream tearing from his throat as his orgasm ripped through him. Thick ropes of come splattered across his stomach and chest, pulsing out with each convulsive clench of his body around Nanami’s cock.

Feeling Satoru tighten impossibly around him, milking him, Nanami's knot began to swell. His hips slammed forward once, twice, one final time then finally shoved his knot into Satoru, burying himself to the hilt as his own release surged. He pulsed deep inside Satoru, filling him, marking him internally as thoroughly as the bite marked him externally. His body shuddered violently, his forehead pressed against Satoru’s shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him.

They collapsed together, slick with sweat and come, breathing ragged, hearts pounding against each other’s chests. The scent of their joining – frost, bakery, sex, and the faint, stubborn ghost of wildflowers – saturated the air, thick and primal. Nanami remained buried inside Satoru, his swollen knot stretching Satoru's rim wider, cock still twitching with aftershocks, his arms locked tight around him.

Satoru turned his head, nuzzling into Nanami’s neck, inhaling the deep, satisfied Alpha scent. His voice, when it came, was hoarse but filled with fierce certainty. "He is ours, Kento." He traced the edge of Nanami’s mating bite with his lips. "That wildflower sunshine. We’ll find him. We’ll bring him here." He lifted his head slightly, meeting Nanami’s heavy-lidded gaze. His blue eyes burned with possessive conviction. "And we’ll mate him."

Nanami’s grip tightened, a low rumble vibrating through Satoru’s body. “Yes,” he affirmed, the word thick with possession and the lingering echo of their shared climax. He kept him pinned, his hand possessively splayed over Satoru’s hipbone. “He needs us. His heat… it wasn’t just strong, Satoru. It felt… volatile. Unstable. Like a storm barely contained.” The phantom scent of spiced wildflowers seemed to coil tighter in the penthouse air, a silent accusation.

Satoru shifted, wincing slightly at the tender ache, but didn’t push Nanami away. He traced the corded muscle of Nanami’s forearm. A thoughtful silence followed, broken only by their slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city below. Nanami’s thumb stroked absently over the sweat-slick skin of Satoru’s hip. “Our bond is solid,” he stated, a bedrock certainty. “This… changes nothing between us.” His gaze remained intense, searching Satoru’s face. “It deepens it. Expands it. He belongs with us.”

Satoru’s lips curved, a spark of his usual manic energy returning. “Exactly. He’ll fit, Kento. Like that missing piece you didn’t know the fucking puzzle needed.” He pushed himself up on an elbow, his damp hair falling forward. The movement made a trickle of spent come slide down his inner thigh. “Imagine him here. Curled up on this sofa after. Safe. Sated. Smelling of us instead of fear.” His voice dropped, becoming intent, fierce. "We will provide for him, cherish him. He will want for nothing." The promise hung heavy, absolute, binding them both. A vow etched in the lingering musk of sex and Alpha dominance.

Nanami pulled Satoru into a hard, claiming kiss. Not lustful this time, but sealing the pact. His hand slid up to cup the back of Satoru’s neck, fingers tangling in the damp white strands. “Nothing,” he echoed against Satoru’s lips, the word a gravelly affirmation.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed through the penthouse windows, all golden and peaceful — a visual lie if there ever was one.

Shoko was just here for coffee. That was it. A normal visit. Caffeine, gossip, maybe a sarcastic remark about Gojo’s lack of boundaries.

Then she sat down.

A soft clink came from between the couch cushions. Her brow furrowed. She reached down, fishing for the culprit, and her fingers closed around something smooth and oddly shaped. She tugged it free, held it up, and froze.

“…Gojo,” she said slowly, holding the small bottle at arm’s length like it was radioactive. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Gojo, emerging from the kitchen with two mugs and absolutely zero shame, grinned like a man caught in the act — but somehow proud of it.
“Ah, you found the emergency stash!”

Nanami, sitting at the counter, didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “Satoru.”

“What?” Gojo blinked innocently. “You said we should keep things handy.”

“I meant a blanket,” Nanami said flatly.

Shoko stared between them, deadpan expression rapidly approaching divine judgment. “You’re telling me there’s lube in your couch.”

Gojo placed the mugs down with a flourish. “Not just any lube! The good kind. Temperature-reactive. Friction-friendly. Scientifically optimal for—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Shoko interrupted.

“—intense bonding moments!” Gojo finished anyway, finger guns out, grin brighter than sin.

Shoko blinked. “I’m a doctor. You can’t use science words to justify being horny.”

Nanami sighed, folding his newspaper with resigned precision. “He thinks ergonomics count as foreplay.”

“Ergonomics do count as foreplay,” Gojo countered, absolutely delighted by his own logic.

Shoko set the bottle on the coffee table with exaggerated care, like placing evidence at a crime scene. “I hope you know this is a biohazard now.”

Gojo gasped. “You can’t just call love a biohazard!”

“I can when it’s leaking into the furniture,” Shoko replied.

Nanami rubbed his temples. “This is why we can’t have guests.”

Gojo beamed. “But we’re so welcoming!”

“Unhinged,” Shoko corrected. “Not welcoming. I’m ordering industrial disinfectant.”

“Make it strawberry-scented!” Gojo chirped.

Shoko grabbed her coffee and her dignity, both barely intact, and walked toward the door. “I’m going to pretend I never saw that.”

“See you next week!” Gojo called cheerfully.

Nanami waited until the door clicked shut before muttering, “Next time, hide it in a drawer.”

Gojo smirked. “Too late. She already knows the couch is our best friend.”

Nanami stared. “…You’re buying a new one.”

“Fine,” Gojo said breezily, sinking onto the cushions. “But I’m keeping the old one for sentimental reasons.”

Chapter Text

The morgue was quiet, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the comforting hiss of the espresso machine Shoko had liberated from the staff lounge.

She poured herself a cup, dark and steaming, before sliding another toward Ijichi, who looked like he’d aged ten years overnight.

“I went to visit Gojo and Nanami,” she said casually, blowing on her coffee.

Ijichi froze. “Why would you do that voluntarily?”

“I was promised caffeine and normal conversation.” She took a long, deliberate sip. “Instead, I found lube in their couch.”

Ijichi blinked. “I— I’m sorry, you found what?”

“Lube,” Shoko repeated, tone flat as the corpse on the table beside them. “In. The. Couch.”

He made a strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a prayer. “Why… would they…?”

“Gojo called it ‘strategic preparedness,’” Shoko said, dead-eyed. “Nanami called it ‘a mistake.’ I call it ‘evidence.’”

There was a long silence.

Ijichi adjusted his glasses. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”

“I had gloves,” she said. “I’m not an amateur.”

At that moment, Utahime pushed open the door, heels clicking. “You look like someone just told you the apocalypse started early.”

Shoko gestured at her with the coffee mug. “Worse. I know where Gojo keeps his lube.”

Utahime stopped mid-step. “…Why do you know that?”

“Because I sat on it,” Shoko deadpanned. “And now I need bleach. For my soul.”

Utahime stared at her for a beat, then muttered, “I told you not to go to his place.”

“I was naïve,” Shoko said, taking another slow sip. “I thought people that expensive had dignity.”

Ijichi whimpered softly into his coffee. “I can’t unhear this.”

Shoko shrugged. “Neither can I. Consider it shared trauma.”

Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose. “What did Gojo say when you confronted him?”

Shoko imitated him perfectly, complete with smug grin: “‘It’s called being prepared, Shoko. You’d understand if you had a healthy work–life balance.’”

Utahime groaned. “I’m going to hit him with a chair.”

“Get in line,” Shoko said, tipping her cup toward her. “We’re starting a support group. First meeting’s on his couch. Bring sanitizer.”

Ijichi made another noise of quiet despair. “Why am I here?”

Shoko smiled thinly. “Moral witness. If I have to suffer this knowledge, so do you.”

Chapter Text

The morgue door slammed open with unnecessary flair. The lights flickered dramatically.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gojo announced, sweeping in like a peacock in designer sunglasses, “I hear someone’s been talking shit about my furniture.”

Shoko didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “I told you to knock.”

“You told me to grow up, and I ignored that too.” He grinned, strolling in like he owned the place. “Now—who leaked my household innovations?”

Utahime, mid-sip of coffee, muttered, “Household what?”

Gojo pointed accusingly at Shoko. “You. You betrayed our domestic privacy agreement.”

Shoko finally looked up, entirely unimpressed. “There was no agreement.”

“Implied!” Gojo argued. “Confidential Alpha business! You can’t just go spreading state secrets like that!”

“State secret?” Utahime repeated, incredulous. “It’s lube in a couch, Gojo.”

“It’s strategic placement!” he countered. “Think about it—comfort, accessibility, and spontaneity. I’m a visionary.”

Ijichi, quietly sipping his coffee in the corner, looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor. “Please stop saying ‘strategic placement’ in the morgue…”

Nanami appeared in the doorway then, immaculate as ever, a single vein twitching in his temple. “Satoru. You promised not to bring this up in public.”

Gojo turned to him with mock offense. “You said I couldn’t bring it up in restaurants. This is a workplace.”

“This is a morgue,” Shoko deadpanned. “Not a press conference for your bad decisions.”

Utahime crossed her arms. “You’re honestly proud of hiding lube in your couch?”

“Proud?” Gojo gasped dramatically. “I’m inspired. It’s multipurpose! Stress relief! Relationship maintenance! Crisis prevention!”

Nanami closed his eyes. “You used that same argument for the bedroom swing.”

Utahime choked on her coffee. Shoko blinked once, sighed deeply, and muttered, “I’m not even surprised anymore.”

Gojo leaned on one of the stainless-steel tables, flashing a dazzling grin. “I just came to clarify: my home is a temple of efficiency, passion, and—”

Shoko raised a hand. “—cross-contamination.”

“—creativity,” Gojo corrected smoothly, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Creativity isn’t the word I’d use,” Utahime muttered.

Nanami adjusted his tie, his patience clearly evaporating. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m defending my honor!” Gojo protested.

“You don’t have any,” Shoko said without missing a beat.

Utahime nearly spit out her coffee. Ijichi quietly applauded.

Gojo pressed a hand to his heart. “Cruel, all of you. My innovations will be appreciated one day.”

“Sure,” Shoko said dryly, turning back to her paperwork. “When they end up as evidence.”

“Rude!” Gojo declared, spinning toward the door. “You’ll all be begging for ergonomically optimized furniture someday!”

“Not if it comes pre-lubed,” Utahime muttered.

Gojo gasped, delighted. “You’re learning, Hime! I’m so proud!”

The door slammed behind him. Silence settled.

Shoko sipped her coffee. “I give it three days before he installs a dispenser in the kitchen.”

Nanami’s muffled voice came faintly from the hallway: “He already did.”

Utahime groaned. Ijichi prayed. Shoko reached for the bottle of whiskey she kept in her drawer.

Chapter Text

The silence in the plush booth stretched, thick with the mingled scents of winter frost, spiced cinnamon, and Yuji’s own frantic wildflowers. Crystal glasses glinted under low light, reflecting Satoru’s unnervingly focused blue eyes. Yuji gripped the cool linen napkin in his lap, knuckles white. "Misunderstanding?" he managed, voice thin.

Satoru leaned forward, resting his elbows on the pristine tablecloth, invading Yuji’s already crowded space. His predatory smile was back. "Massive one, sunshine. I am not upset about finding you alone with Kento. I was upset at the filthy trash that thought they could put their hands on you." His gaze flicked to Kento, who sat impassively beside Yuji, a warm, solid presence radiating quiet intensity. Yuji’s breath caught. Kento’s warm hand settled gently on Yuji’s thigh under the table, a silent anchor.

The revelation hit Yuji like a physical blow. He’d spent days terrified he’d trespassed on a mated bond when Satoru found him in their apartment with Nanami. Instead... they had seen his vulnerability and reacted with fury on his behalf. The relief was dizzying, followed immediately by a deeper confusion. "But... why?" he stammered. "Why do you even care? You don’t know me."

Kento’s thumb stroked a slow, reassuring circle on Yuji’s thigh. Satoru’s expression shifted, the predatory edge softening fractionally into something more intense, more possessive. "Because we want to," Satoru stated simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His blue eyes held Yuji captive. "We want to know you. We want you."

Yuji’s heart hammered wildly. "Want me? For... for what?"

"For everything, little wildflower," Satoru purred, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur that vibrated through the booth. "But we’re not savages." He gestured vaguely at the elegant surroundings. "We have manners. Mostly." A flicker of his usual playful smirk returned. "So, we’re asking properly. Courting you."

Courting. The word echoed in Yuji’s mind, absurd and terrifying and exhilarating. Two dominant, mated alphas... wanting to court him? "But... you're mated," he breathed, looking between them, seeking confirmation in Kento’s steady gaze.

Kento nodded once, his expression unwavering. "We are. Deeply. Our bond is unbreakable." He paused, his gaze softening as it rested on Yuji. "But our connection, our capacity... it expands. We’ve discussed this. At length. We want you to join us, Yuji. As ours."

The sheer audacity of it, the impossible offer, left Yuji speechless. His wildflower scent bloomed uncontrollably, thick and sweet, betraying his shock and burgeoning fascination. Before he could formulate a response, the impeccably dressed waiter materialized at the table, pad in hand, radiating polite inquiry. It shattered the charged atmosphere like glass.

"Gentlemen, omega," the waiter murmured. "Are you ready to order?"

Satoru flashed the man a dazzling, dismissive smile. "Absolutely! Kento, my love, the usual? That ridiculously expensive Wagyu fillet, bloody as hell?" Kento gave a curt nod, his focus still primarily on Yuji. "Perfect. And for our lovely wildflower?" Satoru turned his full attention back to Yuji, blue eyes gleaming. "Order anything you want. Seriously. Lobster? Truffle pasta? Caviar on a fucking cracker? Name it."

Yuji stared at the menu, the elaborate French descriptions blurring before his eyes. His stomach was a knot of nerves. "Uh... just... the chicken? The roasted one?" he mumbled, pointing vaguely at the simplest dish he could find.

Satoru snorted. "Chicken? Come on, live a little! Try the duck confit. Or the venison. It’s incredible." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Kento’s pastry chef skills are unmatched, but this place does savoury pretty damn well too."

Yuji flushed. "Chicken is fine. Really." He couldn’t imagine eating something rich and gamey right now. His senses were already overloaded.

"Chicken it is," Kento stated firmly, closing his menu and handing it to the waiter, overriding Satoru’s playful protest. "And sparkling water for the table." His tone left no room for argument. The waiter bowed slightly and retreated.

The momentary distraction faded, leaving the tension humming again. Satoru propped his chin on his hand, studying Yuji with unabashed curiosity. "So, Yuji Itadori. Sunshine and wildflowers. Tell us about yourself. What makes our little omega bloom?"

Yuji shifted, acutely aware of Kento’s solid presence beside him and Satoru’s piercing gaze across the small table. "Not much to tell," he mumbled, fiddling with his water glass. "I’m just... a student. Physical Therapy."

"Ah, fixing broken bodies!" Satoru declared, grinning. "Admirable. Very hands-on. I like it." His gaze swept over Yuji’s shoulders, his arms. "Definitely look like you know your way around a gym. Or a fight." He raised an eyebrow, referencing the alley implicitly. "Those muscles aren't just for show, are they?"

"Gojo," Kento murmured, a quiet warning in his tone. He turned to Yuji, his question more grounded. "Where do you study?"

"Tokyo Metropolitan," Yuji answered, grateful for the normalcy. "It's... good. Busy."

"And your heats?" Kento asked, his voice gentle but direct, cutting to the heart of the matter. "You mentioned they were... unruly." His warm cinnamon scent deepened, offering comfort alongside the probing question.

Yuji tensed. Talking about his heats was always fraught – the shame, the desperation, the dangerous vulnerability. He looked down at his plate, where the waiter had just placed a beautifully presented roasted chicken breast with seasonal vegetables. It looked utterly unappetizing now. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "They hit hard. Fast. My scent... it gets overwhelming. Makes things... complicated." He didn’t elaborate on the string of disastrous, exploitative encounters, the alphas who saw only a desperate hole to fuck, not a person.

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened into something more serious, understanding flickering in his blue eyes. "Complicated meaning alphas see a vulnerable omega and think 'free fuck'," he stated bluntly, his voice losing its teasing lilt. He speared a piece of his own perfectly seared Wagyu with sudden force. "Scum." The word was a low snarl.

Kento’s hand returned to Yuji’s thigh, a steady, grounding pressure. "Our offer isn't born from that kind of opportunism, Yuji," he said, his voice low and sincere. "We have the stability. The resources. The desire to provide what you need. Safely. Respectfully." He paused, his golden eyes intent. "We want to be your shelter during the storm. Not just a temporary port."

The sincerity in Kento’s words, coupled with Satoru’s fierce protectiveness, struck Yuji deeply. It was the antithesis of everything he’d experienced. Hope, fragile and terrifying, began to unfurl within him. Was this possible? Could it be real?

Satoru, sensing the shift, deftly lightened the mood again. He winked. "Plus, think of the perks! Unlimited pastries! Kento’s cinnamon rolls are basically fucking orgasms on a plate. And you get me!" He grinned, utterly shameless. "The whole package, sunshine. Irresistible, right?"

Yuji couldn’t help the small, shaky laugh that escaped him. Satoru’s arrogance was absurd, but oddly charming. "You’re... something else," he murmured, taking a tentative bite of his chicken. It was tender, perfectly cooked, but he barely tasted it.

"Something else wonderful," Satoru corrected, popping a piece of steak into his mouth. "So, hobbies? Besides studying and accidentally attracting alleyway dickheads? Do you game? Watch movies? Collect creepy porcelain dolls?"

"No dolls," Yuji said, a genuine smile finally touching his lips. "I like movies. Action stuff. And... I run. A lot."

"Endurance," Kento observed approvingly. "Good for an omega with strong heats. Helps manage the energy."

"Maybe we can run together sometime," Satoru suggested, leaning in again, his winter scent sharpening with interest. "See how long you can keep up." The double entendre was clear, his gaze dropping pointedly to Yuji’s mouth.

Yuji flushed crimson, focusing intently on his vegetables. Kento shot Satoru another quelling look, but it lacked its usual bite. The conversation flowed easier after that. Satoru kept it light, teasing Yuji about his taste in movies ("That explosion was physically impossible, sunshine!"), asking ridiculous hypotheticals ("Zombie apocalypse: weapon of choice?"), while Kento interjected with more measured questions about Yuji’s studies, his family (a topic Yuji skirted carefully), his life in Tokyo. Yuji found himself talking more than he had in months, surprised by his own openness. Kento’s quiet attentiveness and Satoru’s infectious, irreverent energy created a strange, captivating dynamic. He felt seen. Heard. The initial panic had subsided, replaced by a buzzing, nervous anticipation.

He watched them too. The easy, intimate familiarity between the two alphas. The way Satoru would casually brush his fingers against Kento’s wrist when making a point, the way Nanami’s stern expression would soften almost imperceptibly when Satoru made one of his outrageous comments. Their bond was palpable, a living thing in the space between them. The idea of being invited into that… it was terrifying. And intoxicating.

Dessert arrived – a delicate chocolate tart for Satoru, a selection of artisanal cheeses for Kento, and a simple vanilla crème brûlée that he had quietly ordered for Yuji after noticing him eyeing the description. "Kento’s is better," Satoru declared, shoveling chocolate into his mouth, "but this isn’t bad." Kento just shook his head slightly, a fond exasperation in his eyes.

As Yuji cracked the caramelized sugar crust of his dessert, the sweet vanilla scent mingling with the wildflowers he was finally starting to relax enough to emit, Satoru caught his eye. The playful glint was still there, but beneath it was a simmering heat, a promise. "Enjoying the crème brûlée, wildflower?" he asked, his voice a low purr. "Sweet things suit you."

Kento placed his napkin neatly on the table, the movement decisive. He signaled discreetly for the check. The meal was ending. The bubble of relative ease was about to pop. Yuji’s spoon hovered halfway to his mouth. The question hung unspoken in the air between the clink of fine china and the soft restaurant murmur: What happens now? The warmth of the dessert faded on his tongue, replaced by the sharp, thrilling chill of the unknown. Satoru watched him, a predator with infinite patience. Kento’s gaze was assessing, protective. The bill arrived; a slip of paper placed silently on the table. The world outside the plush, perfumed booth waited. Yuji’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The courtship had been declared. The real test was just beginning.

Satoru settled the astronomical bill with an arrogant flick of his wrist, barely glancing at the total. Kento stood, his tailored coat falling perfectly into place, a silent signal. Yuji pushed back from the table, his legs feeling unsteady, the rich dessert sitting heavily in his stomach alongside swirling nerves. The opulent dining room felt suddenly suffocating, the stares of other patrons like needles against his skin.

The crisp night air outside was a shock, sharpening Yuji’s senses. Satoru’s crimson car purred at the curb. "Hop in, wildflower," Satoru commanded, already sliding behind the wheel. Kento held the passenger door open again, that same unexpected formality. Yuji hesitated, glancing towards the nearby subway entrance. "I… I can just take the train," he offered weakly. "It's fine."

"Get in the car, Yuji," Kento stated, his voice calm but leaving absolutely no room for argument. His warm cinnamon scent wrapped around Yuji, an anchor in the chilly air, but the underlying command was undeniable. The phrase 'we want you' echoed. Yuji obeyed, sinking into the expensive leather. Kento took the seat behind him again, boxing him in. The doors thudded shut, sealing him inside with the potent mix of frost and spice.

The powerful engine snarled as Satoru pulled away from the curb. Silence descended, thick and charged. Yuji stared out the window at the blur of neon lights, his mind racing. Courting. Join us. The words felt surreal. He could feel Kento’s presence behind him like a physical weight, radiating quiet assessment, and Satoru’s focused energy from the front.

They pulled up to Yuji’s modest apartment building, a stark contrast to the sleek car. Satoru killed the engine. The sudden quiet was deafening. "This is me," Yuji mumbled, fumbling for the door handle. He needed space to breathe, to process the impossible offer made over crème brûlée.

"Invite us in," Satoru said, turning in his seat. It wasn’t a request. His winter scent sharpened, filling the small space, demanding an answer. Kento remained silent beside Yuji’s door, but his unwavering gaze held the same expectation. The air crackled with unspoken pressure.

Panic fluttered in Yuji’s chest. "Now? It's... it's late. And messy. Really messy."

"Don’t care," Satoru dismissed with a wave, his eyes boring into Yuji’s. "Invite. Us. In." His dominance pressed down, a physical force urging compliance.

Kento’s hand rested briefly on Yuji’s shoulder. "We won’t stay long. We just… need to see you safe inside." His voice was gentler than Satoru’s command, but the underlying possessiveness was identical. They weren’t leaving him at the curb. They needed to see his space. Mark it, somehow. Yuji swallowed hard.

"Okay," he whispered, the word barely audible. He got out, his legs still shaky. Satoru and Kento flanked him instantly as he walked up the worn steps to his apartment door.  Yuji was hyper-aware of Satoru’s predatory closeness behind him, the brush of Kento’s coat sleeve against his arm. Yuji fumbled with his keys, acutely aware of the alpha's presence behind him. 

 His fingers trembled unlocking the apartment door. He pushed it open, hitting the light switch. "Like I said, messy," he mumbled, stepping aside. The small studio apartment was indeed cluttered: textbooks stacked haphazardly on a small table, workout clothes draped over a chair, a futon bed unmade. Sunshine and wildflowers bloomed nervously in the confined space, thickening the air.

Satoru stepped in first, his tall frame dominating the small room instantly. His piercing blue eyes scanned everything – the faded posters, the tiny kitchenette, the rumpled futon. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as he parsed Yuji’s scent embedded in the space. Kento followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded final. The muffled sounds of the city outside vanished. They were sealed in. His scent, warm cinnamon and vanilla, quickly layered over Satoru’s frost, merging with Yuji’s wildflowers, creating an intoxicating, overwhelming fog that filled the small apartment.

Kento walked slowly to the small window overlooking the street, peering out briefly before turning back. His gaze wasn't judgmental about the mess, purely assessing, taking in exits, security. Calculating. Protective. Possessive. Yuji hovered near the door, feeling like an intruder in his own home. Satoru prowled the small space, his movements fluid and predatory. He stopped by the futon, running a long finger over the rumpled sheet. He brought the finger to his nose, inhaling Yuji’s sleeping scent deeply. "Mmm," he hummed, a low rumble of approval. "Sunshine."

The blatant intimacy of the act sent a jolt through Yuji. "You… you should probably go," he stammered, his voice tight. The air felt too thick, too charged. He needed them out before he did something stupid, before he gave in to the terrifying pull he felt.

 Satoru stood by Yuji’s rumpled futon, his finger still lingering near his nose, breathing in the omega’s intimate scent. Kento remained near the window, a silent sentinel, his gaze sweeping the small studio with unnerving focus. The mingled scents – Satoru’s winter storm, Kento’s spiced warmth, Yuji’s frantic wildflowers – choked the air, thick as syrup. He pressed his back against the cool door, heart hammering against his ribs. "You… you should go," he repeated, the words brittle. "Now."

Satoru turned slowly. His blue eyes, usually sharp with mischief, burned with a predatory hunger so intense it stole Yuji’s breath. "Go?" Satoru murmured, taking a deliberate step forward. The distance vanished instantly. "When we just got here, wildflower? When you smell so fucking good?" His hand shot out, not roughly, but with unnerving speed, tangling in the front of Yuji’s worn hoodie, yanking him forward off the door. Yuji stumbled, colliding with Satoru’s solid chest. The alpha’s winter scent, cold and invigorating, engulfed him, a shock against his heated skin.

Kento moved. Not to intervene, but to flank. He was suddenly beside them, his larger frame caging Yuji against Satoru. His warm cinnamon scent deepened, wrapping around Yuji from the other side, a counterpoint to Satoru’s frost. Possessive. Intent. "He’s trembling, Satoru," Kento observed, his voice a low rumble near Yuji’s ear. His hand settled on Yuji’s hip, the grip firm, grounding. "Scared?"

"Terrified," Yuji gasped, trapped between their heat and strength. He tried to push against Satoru’s chest, but it was like pushing a mountain. Satoru’s other hand came up, fingers brushing the frantic pulse in Yuji’s throat.

"Bed," Kento commanded, his breath hot on Yuji’s ear. He guided Yuji backwards, Satoru matching their steps, until the backs of Yuji’s knees hit the edge of the futon. He collapsed onto the messy sheets, heart pounding like a drum solo. 

Kento looked down at Yuji, his golden gaze intense but softened. "Sleep, Yuji." It was a gentle command. He turned to Satoru. "Come on."

Satoru, a smirk playing on his lips, walked back to the futon, leaned down, and placed a surprisingly soft kiss on Yuji’s sweat-damp forehead. "Sweet dreams, little wildflower," he murmured, his breath warm. He straightened, his smirk widening into something almost genuine. "See you soon."

Kento was already at the door. He opened it, letting in a faint draft of hallway air. He glanced back once, his gaze lingering on Yuji. "Good night, Yuji." Then he stepped out. Satoru followed, giving Yuji one last, lingering look filled with heat and promise before pulling the apartment door shut with a soft, final click. 

Silence. Thick, heavy silence. The mingled scents of the alpha's still hung potent in the air. Yuji lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling.  That had been intense. Actually, intense was an understatement. Sunshine and frost. Vanilla and winter wind. Their combined scents, heady and impossible to forget, still clung faintly to his clothes, a lingering ghost of the encounter that had left him breathless and stunned.

"Look at both of you then look at me... Why would you settle for someone like me?"

His own words, laced with disbelief and a lifetime of dismissive glances like the host’s cold sneer, echoed in the quiet.He pushed off the bed, the plush velvet booth, the flickering candlelight, the intense stares of Gojo and Nanami feeling worlds away in his small, cluttered living space. The familiar scent of old paperbacks and drying herbs usually soothed him. Tonight, it felt stale. Lifeless. Inadequate.

He needed to wash away the lingering phantom of their power, their impossible offer. Or maybe… indulge it.

Chapter Text

Without turning on lights, Yuji moved through the shadows. His feet cold from the linoleum floor as he entered the small bathroom. He stripped quickly, almost frantically, clothes piling on the closed toilet lid. The air was cool, raising goosebumps on his skin. He yanked the shower curtain aside with a sharp rattle of plastic rings and cranked the taps.

Water roared to life, hitting the porcelain tub with a hard splash. Steam billowed out, thick and warm, quickly fogging the small mirror above the sink. He stepped under the spray, gasping slightly as the near-scalding water hit his skin. It stung, a welcome distraction, washing over his shoulders, plastering his pink hair to his forehead. He pressed his palms flat against the cool tile wall, letting the heat seep into his muscles, trying to melt the knot of confusing desire and disbelief tightening in his gut.

Court him. Bond with him. Satoru’s lazy smirk. Kento’s intense, steady gaze. Impossible. Cruel, almost. Yet the memory of their scents, intensified in the humid air of the shower stall, sent a jolt straight to his cock. It stirred, thickening against his thigh, utterly indifferent to his mental turmoil.

He groaned, low and frustrated. The heat building inside him wasn't just from the water. It was that familiar, unruly pressure, amplified a thousandfold by the day's events and the potent memory of the two alphas who seemed to want him. He couldn't fight it. Didn't want to fight it. Not here. Not now.

With slick fingers slippery from water and soap, he reached down. His fist closed around his hard length. A sharp gasp tore from his throat, echoing against the tiles. Fuck. Just his own touch, but it was electric. He imagined Satoru’s hand instead. Larger, stronger, calloused. That playful confidence turned predatory. "There you go, omega," Satoru's imagined voice murmured, hot against his ear. "Taking what you need."

Yuji’s head thumped back against the tile as he started to stroke. Slowly at first, then faster, the rhythm dictated by the pounding of his pulse. Water sluiced over his knuckles, making the glide slick and easy. He closed his eyes tight. The steam wasn't just steam anymore; it smelled like frost-kissed pine forests, like a winter storm wrapped around him.

Possessive. That's what Satoru was. Yuji could almost feel the phantom grip tightening on his hip, holding him still, while that other hand worked his cock with ruthless expertise. "Gonna make you come so hard, pretty thing," the imagined Satoru growled, sharp teeth grazing Yuji's mating gland, sending a spike of pure, terrified lust through him.

He whimpered, hips jerking up into his fist. But Satoru wasn't alone in his fantasy. The scent shifted subtly, deepening. Warm vanilla. Freshly baked bread. Cinnamon. Kento.

Solid. Unyielding. Filling the small space behind him. Yuji could feel the imagined heat of Kento’s broad chest against his back, pinning him to the tile. A large hand slid around his waist, down his slick stomach, fingers trailing through the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

"Impatient," Kento's low, calm voice rumbled in his mind. That hand bypassed his aching shaft completely, sliding lower. Fingers, thick and demanding, pressed against his entrance.

"Ah! F-fuck!" Yuji cried out, thrusting harder into his own fist. In the fantasy, Kento’s finger breached him, slick with more than just water. With lube, or spit, or… His own slick? The thought of it, the raw invasion, made his knees buckle. He braced himself harder against the wall, legs trembling. "Please... Nanami..."

"Don't rush," the imagined Kento commanded, his voice a low thrum against Yuji's spine, resonating through his bones. A second finger pushed in alongside the first, stretching him wide open. The burn was exquisite, a sharp fullness that made stars explode behind his eyelids. Yuji imagined those fingers curling, searching, finding that spot deep inside that made his vision white out.

"Fu-uck! Right there! Oh god, right there!" He was babbling, his strokes turning frantic, slippery with precum and water. The fantasy image fractured, then coalesced – Satoru’s hand still working his cock, Kento’s fingers pistoning deep inside him, stretching him, prepping him for something thicker. Harder.

Both of them. Taking him. Claiming him.

The image was too much. The dual assault in his mind, the relentless pressure of his own hand, the scalding water, the overwhelming phantom scents of snow and spice – it detonated through him. His back arched violently away from the tile, a choked scream ripping from his throat, loud in the tiny, steamy enclosure. Ropes of hot come shot from his cock, splattering against the tiles and his stomach, instantly washed away by the relentless spray. Wave after wave of intense, shuddering pleasure crashed over him, leaving him gasping, trembling, his legs barely holding him up.

He slumped against the wall, panting, the water cooling rapidly on his overheated skin. The phantom scents faded. The imagined hands vanished. Only the hard tile and the lukewarm spray remained. Blissful emptiness warred with a sudden, crushing wave of loneliness so profound it stole his breath. He came down hard, the high replaced by a hollow ache. The steam thinned, revealing the chipped tiles, the mildewed grout. The cold air outside the shower curtain seemed to seep in, wrapping around the lingering warmth like a shroud.

He was alone. Still just Yuji Itadori, in his cramped apartment shower. Coming hard to the impossible fantasy of two alphas who were leagues above him, offering promises he couldn't bring himself to believe. The hot, sweet ache of release curdled into something colder, sharper. Doubt. Longing. The sharp tang of his own slick, faint beneath the soap and water, felt like a mocking echo. He stayed under the spray long after the water turned cold, shivering, the dream dissolving like the steam against the cold tiles, leaving only the stark reality and the tremor in his hands.

The icy water needled his skin, shocking him back into his cramped reality. He slammed the taps shut, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. Steam curled weakly towards the ceiling vent, defeated. Goosebumps prickled violently across his arms and chest. He grabbed the thin, scratchy towel hanging on the hook, rubbing roughly at his chilled skin until it burned pink. The cheap terrycloth rasped against his damp flesh, a harsh reminder of the cheap apartment, the cheap life. He tossed the damp towel onto the pile of discarded clothes, the scent of generic soap clinging to him, a poor substitute for the phantom winter storm and spiced warmth still haunting his senses.

He pulled on clean boxers, the cotton soft against his skin, a small comfort. The futon beckoned, a rumpled island in the dim room. He sank onto it, the springs groaning softly beneath his weight. The lingering chill from the shower seeped into his bones, but deeper inside, a different kind of heat simmered, banked but not extinguished. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling, shaped vaguely like a distorted heart. Belonging to Kento and Satoru. The thought wasn't just a fantasy now; it was a terrifying, electrifying possibility laid bare over crème brûlée and sealed with possessive hands and demanding mouths. What would that even look like? Waking up tangled between them? Satoru’s lazy smirk inches from his face, Kento’s steady warmth pressed against his back? Their scents – frost and cinnamon – permanently woven into his own wildflowers? The sheer domesticity of it felt surreal, impossible. Would Kento make him coffee in the morning? Would Satoru steal bites of his toast? Would they argue over the thermostat? The mundane details felt more intimate somehow.

What would his friends say? Megumi’s sharp, assessing gaze, Nobara’s loud, protective outrage. "You're shitting me, Itadori! Those two?" Nobara’s voice echoed in his mind, incredulous. Megumi would be quieter, more analytical, his brow furrowed. "Are you sure, Yuji? This isn't... exploitation? " Their concern would be genuine, a shield against the dizzying allure. Yuta. He needed Yuta. His best friend, Okkotsu Yuta, calm, perceptive, older. Yuta wouldn’t judge; he’d listen with that quiet intensity, ask the right questions. "Do you feel safe with them, Yuji?" he’d ask, his voice low and serious. "Not just physically. Do you feel seen?" They saw the desperation, the wild heat simmering beneath his skin. They saw a challenge, a prize. Did they see him? The student who loved bad action movies, who ran until his lungs burned? The doubt was a cold serpent coiling in his gut, but the memory of Satoru’s steady gaze, the surprising gentleness beneath the command, the fierce protectiveness Kento had shown against the alley Alpha… it warred with the cold. He needed Yuta’s grounding perspective. Tomorrow. He’d call Yuta tomorrow. The decision brought a sliver of calm. He burrowed deeper under the thin duvet, pulling it up to his chin, seeking warmth against the lingering chill and the storm of his own thoughts. The phantom scents of snow and spice seemed to whisper in the darkness just beyond his reach. Sleep, when it finally came, was restless, filled with fragmented dreams of piercing blue and golden eyes and warm hands, and the echoing question: Ours?

Chapter Text

The harsh buzz of Yuji’s cheap phone shattered the fragile quiet of his apartment, vibrating against the scarred wooden table where he’d left it. He stared at it for three rings, the screen glowing 'Yuta', a lifeline in the lingering fog of his loneliness. He snatched it up. "Yuta?"

"Yuji? Hey." Yuta's voice was calm, grounding, like smooth river stones. "You sound… rough. Everything okay?"

A dry laugh scraped Yuji’s throat. "Peachy. Just… processing. Had a weird day yesterday."

"Want to talk about it? I'm just sorting through some old vinyl." Rustling sounds came through the line, the soft thump of records being stacked. "Megumi and Nobara are swinging by later for lunch. Ramen. My treat. You should come. Get out of your head for a bit."

A wave of conflicting relief and dread washed over Yuji. Megumi’s sharp perception, Nobara’s fiery protectiveness… but also Yuta’s steady presence. He needed the grounding, even if it meant facing the interrogation. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, okay. Ramen sounds good." Better than staring at the water-stained ceiling and smelling phantom alphas.

Yuta’s apartment smelled like sandalwood incense and dust motes dancing in the weak afternoon sun slanting through the window. Band posters plastered the walls – some Yuji recognized, most he didn’t. A worn plush Totoro slumped in the corner of the sagging blue couch. Megumi was already there, perched rigidly on the armrest like a sleek, disapproving cat, while Nobara sprawled across the cushions, idly flipping through one of Yuta’s manga.

"Took you long enough, Itadori," Nobara announced looking up. "You look like shit warmed over."

Yuji forced a grin, dropping onto the couch beside her, the springs groaning. "Just the usual existential dread, Kugisaki. How’s the arm?" He nodded at the fading bruise on her forearm from their last training session.

"Better than your face," she shot back, glancing at him. Her eyes narrowed. "Hold up. What crawled up your ass and died? You smell… twitchy. And your scent… it’s got an edge. Heat close?"

Megumi’s gaze snapped to Yuji, sharp and assessing. "Unusually agitated for the pre-heat phase. What happened?"

Yuji squirmed under their scrutiny. Yuta emerged from the tiny kitchenette, carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls of rich, fragrant ramen. He set it down on the low table, his calm eyes meeting Yuji’s. "Let him eat first," Yuta said softly, but his own scent, usually a muted blend of rain and old paper, held a subtle note of protective inquiry. "Dig in before it gets cold."

The ramen was delicious, thick noodles in a deeply savory broth, slices of tender chashu pork, a perfectly soft-boiled egg. But Yuji barely tasted it. The warmth of the food did little to thaw the cold knot of anxiety in his stomach. He felt their eyes on him: Nobara’s impatient curiosity, Megumi’s silent analysis, Yuta’s quiet concern. The phantom scents of winter frost and cinnamon spice seemed to coil in the air again, taunting him.

Finally, he pushed his half-finished bowl away. "Okay. Fine." He took a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rushed, slightly breathless jumble. "Ran into Gojo and Nanami yesterday. They… they said things. Offered… something."

Nobara dropped her chopsticks with a clatter. "Gojo? The Gojo? As in the billionaire CEO of Infinity Holdings? And who is Nanami? What the fuck kind of offer?" Her voice was sharp, incredulous.

"What kind of things?" Megumi asked, his voice low and dangerously even. "Be specific, Yuji."

Yuji flushed, staring at his hands. "Said they want me. For… for my heat. Both of them. Together. Said they’d court me. Bond. Called me ‘theirs’." The last word came out barely a whisper.

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Nobara’s jaw dropped. Megumi’s expression turned icy. Yuta simply watched Yuji, his face unreadable but his scent spiking – not with anger, but with a fierce, sudden alertness.

"Are you fucking serious?" Nobara exploded, launching herself off the couch. "Those entitled, arrogant bastards! They think they can just swoop in and claim you like some fucking prize? Because you’re an omega with a tricky heat? That’s predatory bullshit, Yuji!"

"Kugisaki," Yuta said, his voice a low rumble that cut through her outrage. "Let him talk."

Yuji flinched. "They… they didn’t seem predatory. Not exactly. Gojo was… playful? But intense. Nanami was… direct. Protective, even. They stopped some asshole Alpha hassling me in an alley."

"And you think that earns them the right to collar you?" Megumi asked coldly. "Gojo is well known in the city for being a ruthless, cold bastard. I don't know about Nanami but if he is mates with Gojo then he can only be the same. A lot of people are afraid of meeting Gojo. This reeks of exploitation. Of seeing an opportunity."

"But what if it’s not?" Yuji’s voice cracked with frustration. The simmering heat beneath his skin flared, responding to the emotional turmoil. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "What if they… meant it? What if they actually see me?"

"And what about you?" Yuta asked, leaning forward. His dark eyes held Yuji’s, intense and unwavering. "Forget them for a second. Forget the power, forget what everyone else says, the rumors. How do you feel, Yuji? When you think about them? About… being with them? Both?" His quiet question hung in the air, charged and intimate despite the others' presence.

Yuji’s breath hitched. Images flooded him: Gojo’s sharp grin, Nanami’s steady gaze, the phantom feel of hands on him in the shower. The raw, consuming heat of the fantasy. The profound loneliness afterward. The sheer, terrifying want that surged despite the fear. His scent spiked violently – wildflowers blooming under a scorching sun, thick and cloying. He saw Megumi subtly recoil, nostrils flaring. Nobara’s eyes widened with dawning understanding.

"Fuck," Yuji gasped, clenching his thighs together. The sudden wave of heat was staggering, crashing over him with nauseating force. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His skin felt too tight, unbearably sensitive. "Oh god, not now…"

Yuta was on his feet instantly. "Okay. Okay, Yuji." His voice was calm, but an Alpha command bled into it, a low resonance meant to soothe. "Megumi, Nobara? Give us the room. Now." It wasn't a request.

Megumi stood stiffly, reaching for Yuji. "Yuji—"

"Now," Yuta repeated, the command sharper.

Nobara looked furious, torn between protecting Yuji and obeying the Alpha directive lacing Yuta's words. With a final, worried glare at Yuji, she grabbed Megumi’s arm who was starting to tremble with the onslaught of Yuji's pheromones. "Come on, Fushiguro." She had to practically drag him towards the door. "We’ll be outside, Itadori! Just shout!"

The door clicked shut, leaving Yuji trembling violently on the couch, waves of heat rolling off him in visible shimmers. He curled in on himself, panting. "S-sorry, Yuta… fuck, it just… hit…"

Yuta knelt before him, his own scent shifting, deepening – rain becoming a downpour, old paper replaced by the scent of cedar, a primal Alpha response to an Omega in distress. "Don't apologize," he murmured, reaching out slowly, giving Yuji time to pull away. He didn't. Yuta’s warm, calloused hand settled on Yuji’s sweat-slicked knee. "Breathe. Focus on the scent. On me. Can you?"

Yuji tried. He sucked in air, trying to filter the overwhelming sweetness of his own heat through the grounding damp-cedar scent of his friend. It helped, a little, grounding the worst edge of the panic. But the need was still there, a relentless, pulsing ache deep in his core. Yuji needed relief. Now.

"Can't… focus," Yuji gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. Slick soaked through his thin sweatpants, leaving a dark patch. He felt exposed, desperate, humiliated. "Yuta… need…"

Yuta’s eyes darkened. He understood the raw, biological imperative. "Alright," he breathed, his voice thick. He ran to his medicine cabinet and swallowed some blockers dry. Then he moved with surprising speed, scooping Yuji up. Yuji yelped, clinging to his shoulders as Yuta carried him easily down the short hallway towards his bedroom. The scent intensified here – Yuta’s sleeping scent layered thickly over the incense. Yuta laid him gently on the unmade bed, the sheets smelled like Yuta.

The mattress gave slightly beneath Yuji’s weight, instantly saturated with the dense, comforting scent of cedar, rain, and Yuta’s distinctive Alpha musk – damp earth and cedar. He writhed, the friction of his sweat-dampened clothes against his overheated skin sheer torture. "Too much," he choked out, clawing weakly at the fabric clinging to his chest. "Please… get them off."

Yuta moved quickly, efficiently. His fingers trembled only slightly as he grasped the hem of Yuji’s thin t-shirt. "Alright, easy," he murmured, voice strained but controlled. He lifted the shirt over Yuji’s head, the cool air hitting feverish skin making Yuji gasp. Next came the soaked sweatpants and underwear, peeled down strong thighs sticky with slick. Yuta didn't linger, averting his gaze from Yuji's flushed, glistening body, his hard cock leaking profusely onto his stomach.

Naked and trembling, Yuji felt utterly exposed, the heat a physical presence clawing inside him. Yuta kicked off his own shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans. He climbed onto the bed beside Yuji, ignoring the needy whine that escaped Yuji’s lips. "Shh, not like that," Yuta breathed, gathering Yuji against him. He pulled the trembling Omega onto his lap, Yuji’s back pressed flush against Yuta’s chest, enveloping him entirely.

His arms encircled Yuji firmly, locking him in place, one hand splayed possessively across Yuji’s abdomen below his navel, the other cradling his shoulder. He began a slow, rhythmic rocking motion, a deep sway that moved their bodies as one. It wasn’t sexual; it was primal comfort, mimicking the security of a pack Alpha soothing distressed kin. "Just breathe," Yuta murmured, his lips close to the damp skin behind Yuji’s ear, his own breaths deliberate. Yuta tried to take shallow breaths, concentrating on rocking Yuji, hoping the blockers kicked in soon.

The rocking was agony and relief. Yuji’s ass ground against the hard bulge in Yuta’s jeans with every sway, sending jolts of electric need straight to his dripping core. Yuta’s scent, amplified by proximity, fighting to suppress his own Alpha response, washed over him – damp earth after a storm, ancient cedar bark, a hint of ozone. It was grounding, yet it also stoked the fire. "Yuta," Yuji whimpered, arching back against him, trying to press himself harder onto that tempting hardness. "Need… fuck… need more."

"No," Yuta gritted out, tightening his hold. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing solely on the rocking motion, the feel of Yuji’s ribcage expanding under his hand. "Hold on. Just hold on." His voice was tight, strained against the overwhelming tide of Yuji’s pheromones – wildflowers baking under a brutal sun, thick and cloying sweetness mixed with the sharp salt tang of slick and sweat. He could feel the desperate throb of Yuji’s cock against his forearm, the wet heat radiating from his cleft slicking Yuta’s jeans. "You’re okay. You’re safe." He repeated it like a mantra against the shell of Yuji’s ear, fighting the instinctive urge to rut against that inviting heat.

Yuji’s head lolled back against Yuta’s shoulder, tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes. "Hurts," he gasped, hips still jerking in tiny, involuntary thrusts against Yuta’s restraining hand. "Inside… empty… fucking burns." His hand scrabbled back, clumsy and desperate, fingers digging into Yuta’s jean-clad thigh. "Touch me… please touch me… anywhere… fucking please, Yuta!" The raw need in his voice was a physical blow. Yuta shuddered warring violently with his Alpha biology screaming at him to claim, to fill, to soothe the Omega's agony with his knot.

He forced his hand lower, past the trembling muscles of Yuji’s abdomen and grabbed his hand. He folded all of Yuji's fingers back except for two. Yuta guided Yuji's fingers through the coarse hair at the base of Yuji's cock, he cried out, a high-pitched keen, bucking violently. Yuta’s hesitated with Yuji's hand hovering over the slick-saturated cleft, slick dripping onto his knuckles. The scent was overpowering, thick musk mingling with the earthy rain smell. "Just… I'm sorry. This should help take the edge some. I'm sorry Yuji." Yuta choked, his own cock painfully hard, straining against his zipper. He pressed his forehead between Yuji’s shoulder blades, breathing shallowly. He positioned Yuji's hand so his fingers brushed lower, tracing the slick-swollen rim, the touch feather-light but sending Yuji into convulsive jerks.

"Fuck! Yes! There!" Yuji sobbed, pushing back against the teasing touch. "Do it… fuck me… stick your fingers in me, Yuta… fill me up… please!" He sounded wrecked, desperate beyond reason. Yuta moved Yuji's hand so that his fingers pressed gently against the tight ring of muscle. It yielded instantly. A groan tore from Yuji’s throat, half agony, half unbearable need. He pushed slowly, sliding Yuji's thick fingers into the clutching hole, the slick pouring out around it. Yuji screamed, his body clamping down violently, hips pistoning as he fucked himself frantically on his fingers.

"Shit, Yuji," Yuta gasped. The wet, sucking sounds were obscene, echoing the frantic rocking of Yuji’s hips. Slick coated Yuta’s fingers, his wrist, soaking into the sheets beneath them. Yuji’s cock bobbed freely, leaking thick pre-come onto his stomach with each desperate thrust. "That’s it…," Yuta growled, his control fraying dangerously, taking deep breaths.

Yuji shrieked, back bowing like a drawn bowstring. "YES! FUCK! THERE! RIGHT THERE! RUB ME!" His thighs trembled violently, slick gushing around his pumping fingers. "More… need more… give me more!" He twisted, trying to look back, eyes wild and unfocused. "Your cock, Yuta… give me your fucking cock! Knot me! Do it! I know you want to!" The words were a brutal assault on Yuta’s resolve. He pressed Yuji's hand harder, faster, the slick sounds filling the room.

"Not… my knot…" Yuta ground out, squeezing his eyes shut against the image, against the feel, against the Omega writhing and begging on his lap. "No…I'm sorry for this… I didn't have any suppressants for you here. This should be enough to help ease some of it. Please don't hate me after this." But his hips jerked forward involuntarily, grinding his trapped erection hard against Yuji’s ass cheek. He could feel the heat radiating from Yuji’s hole, could smell the readiness, the demand for a knot. His own breathing was ragged gasps now, shallow inhalations doing nothing to stem the rising tide of Alpha possessiveness. Sweat dripped from Yuta’s jaw onto Yuji’s shoulder blade. How much longer until the blockers kicked in?

Chapter Text

Yuta gasped, trying his hardest to maintain his composure, but Yuji was making it really hard. This heat was even worse than the last one. The blockers needed to kick in soon, he didn't know how long he could hold out with the tsunami of pheromones flooding the room – Yuji’s scent, that cloying sweetness of wildflowers scorched by relentless sun, mixed with the thick, salty musk of his slick, filled Yuta’s nostrils, drowning out his own damp-earth scent. Every desperate buck of Yuji’s hips ground his ass against the agonizing bulge in Yuta’s jeans, slick soaking through the denim onto Yuta’s thigh. "Fuck, Yuji, stop moving!" Yuta snarled, his voice rough with barely contained Alpha fury, his arms locking like steel bands around Yuji’s waist, pinning him tighter against his chest. "You’re making it impossible!"

"Can’t!" Yuji wailed, his body a taut bowstring of need, thrashing weakly against the restraint. His own fingers were still buried knuckle-deep inside his clenching hole, pumping frantically, slick gushing obscenely with each withdrawal. "Need it deeper! Need your cock, Yuta! Please! Fuck me raw! Stuff me full!" He arched his neck, baring his throat in a primal Omega plea, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Knot me! I need your fucking knot inside me!" The raw, broken desperation in his voice scraped against Yuta’s last shreds of control. He could feel the heat radiating from Yuji’s entrance, could smell the readiness, the slick demand for penetration, for claiming.

Yuta’s vision swam, red tingeing the edges. With a guttural groan ripped from his core, Yuta grabbed Yuji’s wrist, wrenching his slick-smeared fingers out with a wet, sucking pop that made Yuji scream. Before Yuji could protest, Yuta shoved him forward violently, face-first onto the rumpled sheets. Yuta scrambled off the bed, his movements jerky, frantic. He fumbled with his belt buckle, fingers clumsy, the metallic clang loud in the room thick with panting breaths and the smell of sex. "Stay down!" he barked, the Alpha command vibrating through the air.

Yuji whimpered, pressing his face into the mattress, his hips instinctively lifting, presenting his glistening, swollen hole, slick dripping down his trembling thighs. "Yes! Fuck yes! Do it!" His voice was muffled, thick with anticipation and relief. Yuta stood for a split second, breathing hard, his cock painfully hard and thick in his jeans. The sight of Yuji spread open, desperate, tested his rational thought.

Yuta's breath sawed in his chest, ragged and hot. The leather belt slid free from his jeans loops with a sharp hiss. He gripped the worn leather, knuckles white. "Need you still," he growled, voice thick with Alpha command and fraying restraint.

Yuji whimpered into the mattress, hips still lifted obscenely. "Do it!"

Yuta moved fast. He grabbed Yuji's right wrist, wrenching it behind his back. The leather looped tight, biting into sweat-slicked skin. He pulled hard, securing it with a brutal knot against Yuji's spine.

"Fuck!" Yuji gasped, arching against the restraint. His free hand scrabbled uselessly at the sheets.

Yuta seized the other wrist. He crossed it over the first, cinching the belt tighter. The buckle dug into Yuji's lower back. Yuta gave one final, vicious tug. The leather groaned. Yuji was pinned. Arms wrenched behind him. Back bowed. Ass raised and dripping slick onto the sheets. Helpless.

"You ok?" Yuta rasped, kneeling behind him.

"YES!" Yuji screamed, thrashing against the bonds. The leather held.

Yuji’s muffled scream vibrated against the mattress, a raw sound of pure need as Yuta shoved his face down. Sweat plastered pink strands to his temples. His bound arms strained against the leather belt, muscles corded. Slick painted his inner thighs, a glistening trail down to the sheets that smelled overwhelmingly of heat and desperation.

Yuta knelt behind him, his own breath coming in harsh rasps. The bulge in his jeans felt like iron against the curve of Yuji’s ass. He gripped Yuji’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise, the damp-earth scent of his alpha response warring violently with the cloying wildflower heat pouring off Yuji. Yuji was usually sunshine and rainbows but when he was in heat he had a filthy mouth. Yuta could feel the frantic pulse of Yuji’s body against him, the slick invitation radiating heat.

"Fucking do it!" Yuji sobbed, voice choked. "Stop thinking! Just fuck me! Need it! Need your cock!" He shoved his ass back, grinding against the denim-clad hardness. "Please, Yuta! I'm burning! Fuck me hard! Fill this aching hole!"

Yuta’s vision swam. A wave of dizziness washed over him, sudden and disorienting. The roaring in his ears – part bloodlust, part the overwhelming scent of Yuji – seemed to dim. A coolness spread through his veins, countering the fire. His vision cleared, the red haze lifting. The blockers. They slammed home with the force of a physical blow, severing the direct link between his instincts and his body.

"Shit," Yuta breathed, the word barely audible. Yuta scrambled off the bed, his movements clumsy. He stared at Yuji, sprawled and exposed, slick smeared across his thighs, the belt still holding his arms captive. Yuta’s own arousal was rapidly receding, replaced by a sickening dread.

He rushed forward, hands shaking. "Yuji. Oh god, Yuji. I'm sorry." His voice cracked. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. Didn't mean... the blockers kicked in... finally..."

Yuji blinked up at him, eyes wide, glazed, still hazed with heat but confusion dawning. His chest heaved. Slick still seeped from him, his cock lying heavy and wet on his stomach.

"I almost lost it," Yuta choked out, kneeling beside the bed, running a trembling hand over his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the blockers firmly in place now, a dam holding back the flood. Relief warred with horror. "I almost lost control. I'm... I'm really sorry, Yuji. So sorry."

"Fuck," Yuta breathed, voice thick with horror. He stared at his own hands, trembling violently. "Yuji… oh god." He scrambled forward, fingers fumbling with the brutal knot at the small of Yuji’s back. The belt loosened, falling away with a dull thud onto the damp sheets. Yuta gently pulled Yuji’s arms forward, rubbing the angry red marks circling his wrists. "Did I hurt you? Tell me."

Yuji whimpered, rolling onto his side, curling in on himself. The heat hadn’t receded; it roared back with renewed fury, a wildfire consuming him from the inside. His cock throbbed, painfully hard against his thigh, dripping pre-come onto the rumpled bedding. Slick pulsed from his hole in thick, sticky waves. "N-no… not hurt," he managed, voice shredded. "Just… need… fuck, Yuta, it burns!" He arched, a fresh gush of slick soaking the sheets beneath him. "Empty… so fucking empty!"

Yuta flinched, the scent hitting him like a physical blow even through the blockers. He swallowed hard, forcing his own racing pulse down. "Okay. Okay, easy." He moved quickly, grabbing a discarded t-shirt from the floor. He dampened it with water from a bottle on the nightstand, the coolness a shock against Yuji’s feverish skin as he wiped sweat from his brow and neck. "Gotta get fluids in you. Sit up."

Yuji groaned, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Yuta slid an arm behind his shoulders, hauling him upright against the headboard. He pressed the water bottle to Yuji’s lips. "Drink. Small sips."

Yuji gulped greedily, water spilling down his chin, mingling with sweat. His eyes, glazed and desperate, locked onto Yuta’s throat. The scent gland pulsed faintly beneath the skin. A low growl rumbled in Yuji’s chest, primal and needy. He lunged forward, teeth bared, aiming for Yuta’s neck.

"Whoa!" Yuta jerked back, heart hammering. He shoved his forearm forward instead, pressing the thick muscle against Yuji’s mouth. "Here! Bite here!"

Yuji sank his teeth in hard, a feral snarl tearing from him. Pain flared up Yuta’s arm, sharp and immediate. He gritted his teeth, holding steady as Yuji worried at his flesh like a wild thing, muffled growls vibrating against his skin. Slick poured freely from Yuji’s cleft, soaking the sheets beneath him. His free hand scrabbled frantically between his own legs, fingers plunging knuckle-deep into his dripping hole with a wet, sucking sound. "Fuck! Fuck yes!" he moaned around the mouthful of Yuta’s arm, hips pistoning violently against his own hand.

"Easy… easy," Yuta murmured, wincing as Yuji’s teeth ground deeper. He kept the water bottle ready, waiting for the briefest pause. When Yuji’s frantic fucking on his own fingers hitched for a second, Yuta quickly pressed the bottle back to his lips. "More water. Now."

Yuji drank, gulping noisily, his eyes never leaving Yuta’s face, wild and unfocused. The bite on Yuta’s arm throbbed, blood welling in the deep indentations. As soon as the bottle was empty, Yuji threw it aside and collapsed.

"Yuta?" Yuji’s voice was a raw whisper, barely audible.

"Yeah?" Yuta leaned closer, wiping the spilled water from Yuji’s chin with the damp cloth.

Yuji lay slumped against the headboard, sweat plastering pink hair to his temples, his chest heaving. The frantic desperation had subsided, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to radiate from his pores, yet his cock remained achingly hard, flushed deep red against his thigh, weeping a steady bead of pre-come onto the damp sheets. "Still… hard," Yuji rasped, the sound scraping his throat raw. His gaze, hazy but holding a sliver of lucidity, drifted down his own body, lingering on his throbbing erection. "Hurts… less burn inside… but still…" He shifted weakly, a fresh pearl of wetness welling at his tip.

Yuta swallowed, his throat tight. He knew this plateau, the cruel limbo between the peak frenzy and true relief. He braced himself for another round of frantic self-touching, another desperate bite. "It's okay, Yuji," he murmured, reaching for the water bottle again, his voice rough with fatigue. "We'll get through—"

"Need… finish?" Yuji interrupted, his voice barely a whisper, yet sharp with a startling clarity. His eyes, bloodshot but suddenly focused, lifted to meet Yuta’s. They weren't clouded with heat-driven panic now, but held a raw, unflinching determination. He took a shuddering breath. "Please." He paused, forcing the words through cracked lips. "It's okay, Yuta. I know. Permission... Yuta...permission. Please."

The words slammed into Yuta. He froze, the water bottle halfway to Yuji's lips. Permission. Not a heat-addled plea, but a conscious choice. His gaze locked onto Yuji’s, searching for any sign of the overwhelming biological imperative clouding his judgment. He saw exhaustion, yes, the lingering flush of fever, but beneath it, a startlingly clear resolve. "Yuji," Yuta said, his own voice low and strained, the name a question and a warning wrapped together. He set the bottle down slowly. "Are you… sure? Do you understand what you're asking for? Exactly?"

Yuji didn’t look away. He held Yuta’s gaze, the intensity in his amber eyes burning through the haze. "Yes," he stated, the word firm, grounding them both in the charged stillness of the room. He pushed himself up slightly, wincing at the movement but not breaking eye contact. His scent, wildflowers under a fading brutal sun, spiked with a sharp tang of resolve. "I know what I’m asking. I’m giving you permission. To touch me." He swallowed hard, his throat working. "Help the hurt. Make it feel good."

Yuta’s breath hitched. The blockers held his Alpha response firmly in check, but the gravity of this moment, the sheer vulnerability and trust radiating from Yuji, hit him with physical force. He leaned closer, close enough to see the pulse fluttering wildly at Yuji’s throat, smell the salt of his sweat mingled with his unique heat-scent. "Yuji," he repeated, needing absolute certainty. "Look at me. Are you sure? You know what this means? You’re asking me—"

"I am asking my best friend," Yuji cut in, his voice gaining strength, raw and honest. He reached out, his trembling fingers brushing against the bites on Yuta’s forearm, a silent apology and an anchor. "To help me through the heat." He held Yuta’s gaze, unwavering. His next words were deliberate, shattering the last vestiges of doubt. "To fuck me so it doesn't hurt anymore."

Silence pressed in, thick and electric. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the faint drip of slick from Yuji’s exposed cleft onto the sheets. Yuta saw it – the absolute clarity, the conscious choice Yuji was making. Not surrender to biology alone, but a choice offered to him, Yuta, the person he trusted most.

Chapter Text

"I am asking my best friend," Yuji cut in, his voice gaining strength, raw and honest. He reached out, his trembling fingers brushing against the bites on Yuta’s forearm, a silent apology and an anchor. "To help me through the heat." He held Yuta’s gaze, unwavering. His next words were deliberate, shattering the last vestiges of doubt. "To fuck me so it doesn't hurt anymore."

Silence pressed in, thick and electric. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the faint drip of slick from Yuji’s exposed cleft onto the sheets. Yuta saw it – the absolute clarity, the conscious choice Yuji was making. Not surrender to biology alone, but a choice offered to him, Yuta, the person he trusted most.

"Okay," Yuta breathed, the word escaping like a sigh, heavy with acceptance and a sudden, terrifying focus. "Okay, Yuji." He shifted, moving from his position beside the bed onto the mattress, the worn springs groaning softly. He knelt between Yuji’s splayed legs, the heat radiating from the Omega’s body like a furnace. The sight was overwhelming: Yuji utterly exposed, flushed and glistening with sweat and slick, his hard cock twitching against his stomach, his hole still glistening, swollen and inviting. Yuta’s own cock, despite the blockers, throbbed insistently within his jeans, a deep, insistent pulse responding to the primal invitation before him.

He reached out, his hand hovering for a second, then settled it firmly on Yuji’s inner thigh. The skin was fever-hot, damp. Yuji gasped, his hips jerking minutely upwards, seeking contact. "Easy," Yuta murmured, but his own voice was thick. He slid his hand higher, tracing the curve of Yuji’s hip bone, calloused fingertips skimming the tense muscles of his abdomen, avoiding the weeping cock for now. He needed to touch, to ground them both in this new, fragile reality. His fingers moved lower, brushing through the coarse hair at the base of Yuji’s cock, making the Omega shudder violently.

"Please," Yuji whimpered, arching his back, presenting himself shamelessly. "Don't make me wait… touch me properly… fuck, Yuta…" His hand scrabbled weakly towards his own leaking cock.

Yuta intercepted it, gently guiding Yuji’s hand away. "Let me." He wrapped his own hand around Yuji’s erection. It was thick, hot, velvety steel in his grasp. Pre-come slicked his palm instantly. Yuji cried out, a high, keening sound that ripped through the room, his hips thrusting up instinctively into the tight fist. "Oh god! Yes! Fuck, yes!" His head thrashed back against the headboard.

Yuta stroked him, firm and slow, twisting his wrist slightly on the upstroke, feeling the desperate pulse beneath his fingers. The slick sounds filled the air, mingling with Yuji’s choked gasps. Yuta’s other hand moved lower, tracing the crease of Yuji’s thigh, sliding through the copious slick pooling there. His fingertips grazed the puffy, swollen rim of Yuji’s hole. It fluttered at the touch, clenching on nothing. A fresh gush of warm slick coated Yuta’s fingers. He groaned, the scent, the feel, the sight threatening to overwhelm even the blockers. He pressed gently. The rim yielded impossibly easy, swallowing his fingertip effortlessly into the scorching, slick-drenched heat within.

"FUCK!" Yuji screamed, his body bowing off the bed. "More! Fucking more!" He slammed his hips down onto Yuta’s finger, impaling himself deeper. "Don't tease! Put your fucking cock in me! NOW!"

Yuta’s control, held by sheer will and the blockers, felt razor-thin. He added a second finger alongside the first, scissoring them slightly, stretching the tight ring. Yuji howled, his cries raw and guttural. He was so open, so ready, slick pouring out around Yuta’s fingers with every thrust. "Yuji… fuck," Yuta gasped, withdrawing his slick-slicked fingers. He fumbled frantically with his own jeans, the button popping, the zipper rasping down. He shoved the denim and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang up, thick and hard, flushed dark, the head slick with his own pre-come. The sight of it, the sheer inevitability, made him lightheaded.

He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging against Yuji’s slick-saturated entrance. It felt impossibly hot, radiating intense need. Yuji writhed beneath him, his hole desperately clenching around nothing, slick dripping down his perineum. "Do it! Please, Yuta! Fill me up!" Yuji wailed. Then quieter, "You have my consent. Please Yuta. I want it. I need you.. Please. Shove that big cock inside! Fuck me! Fuck me raw!"

Yuta braced one hand beside Yuji’s head, the other gripping the base of his own cock, guiding it. He looked down, meeting Yuji’s lucid, desperate gaze one last time. He saw only need, consent, and absolute trust. With a guttural groan ripped from the depths of his chest, he pushed forward. The swollen head pressed against the yielding rim, stretched it impossibly wide for a breathtaking second of resistance, then popped through with a wet, obscene slurp.

"OHHHHHH GOD!" Yuji shrieked, his entire body locking rigid, back arched impossibly high. His eyes flew wide, mouth open in a silent scream before another ragged cry tore loose. "YES! FUCK! YES!"

Yuta gasped, his vision blurring at the edges. The heat, the tightness, the molten velvet vice clamping down on the head of his cock was almost unbearable. Slick flooded around him, easing the way as he sank deeper, inch by agonizing, incredible inch. The sheer, impossible tightness threatened to unravel him immediately. He bottomed out, hips flush against Yuji’s ass, buried to the hilt in that scalding, clenching heat. He ground his teeth, fighting the overwhelming urge to rut like an animal, the feel of Yuji’s channel pulsing and squeezing around his cock almost too much to endure. He pressed his forehead against Yuji's, panting, his knuckles white where he gripped the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer, visceral reality of being sheathed completely inside his best friend. "Oh… fuck… Yuji…"

The heat radiating from Yuji’s core was a forge, scorching Yuta’s cock. Every frantic pulse of Yuji’s inner walls threatened to shatter his tenuous control. "So tight… fuckin' hot…"

"Move!" Yuji gasped, clawing at Yuta’s shoulders, nails digging through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His hips jerked up frantically, impaling himself deeper on the thick intrusion. "Yuta! Yuta! Please, move.!" His voice was raw, desperate, tears leaking from screwed-shut eyes. "I need to feel you Yuta!"

Yuta groaned, a sound ripped from somewhere primal. He pulled back slowly, feeling every ridge, every clench of Yuji’s molten channel dragging along his shaft. The slick squelched obscenely. He saw Yuji’s rim clinging, stretched wide, glistening. Then he slammed back in. Hard. Bottoming out with a wet slap of hips against ass.

"YES! FUCK! LIKE THAT!" Yuji screamed, back arching violently. " Fuck, so good Yuta!" His hand flew to his own cock, fisting it roughly. "Shove your big alpha dick in! Make me scream!"

Yuta obeyed, abandoning caution. The rhythm was brutal, desperate. He drove into Yuji with deep, piston-like thrusts, the bedframe protesting with rhythmic bangs against the wall. Each plunge buried him to the root in that slick, scalding vise. Yuji’s hole clenched greedily around him with every withdrawal, sucking him back in. Sweat dripped from Yuta’s jaw onto Yuji’s heaving chest. The air reeked of sex, sweat, wildflowers burning, and damp cedar.

"Feel good?" Yuta gritted out, the blockers warring against the sheer sensory overload, against the Omega writhing and screaming beneath him. "This what you needed? My cock stuffing your greedy hole?"

"Yes! Oh god YES! Yuta!" Yuji wailed, fucking himself back onto Yuta’s pounding length. "So full! So good. Fucking good Yuta. Gonna come! Fuck!" His cock pulsed violently in his own fist, pre-come splattering his stomach and chest. "Make me come Yuta! Knot me!" The plea was a broken sob.

Yuta felt it then, the insistent swell at the base of his cock, the primal urge he’d fought for hours finally breaking through the chemical dam. It surged, thick and demanding. "Fuck! Knotting!" he snarled, his thrusts becoming shorter, frantic, grinding deep. "Gonna knot!"

"YES! FUCKING KNOT ME!" Yuji shrieked, a sound of pure ecstatic agony. "Yes Yuta! Fill me up!" He slammed down as Yuta thrust up, the thick bulbous base of Yuta’s cock stretching his rim impossibly wide.

With a roar, Yuta buried himself to the hilt, the swollen knot popping past the tight ring of muscle with a wet, tearing sound. Yuji screamed, a raw, ragged sound that scraped the walls, his body locking rigid, back arched impossibly. His cock erupted untouched, thick ropes of come splashing across his own chest and chin, pulsing in time with the frantic clenching of his hole around the inflating knot.

Yuta followed instantly. The sensation of the knot locking deep, Yuji’s passage milking him violently, triggered his own explosive release. Hot seed pumped deep into Yuji’s core in thick, spurting jets, the pulse echoing the frantic rhythm of Yuji’s own climax. Yuta collapsed forward, his forehead pressed against Yuji’s, both of them gasping, shuddering as the knot held them fused together, Yuta’s cock still pulsing inside the molten clutch.

"Fuck…" Yuta panted, the word thick with exhaustion and disbelief. He could feel the knot swell, locking him securely, the flood of his release still pumping, filling Yuji. Warm seed leaked around the knot, soaking the sheets beneath them. "Yuji… you…?" His voice was wrecked.

Yuji’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but present. A weak, utterly sated smile touched his lips. "Yeah…" he breathed, his body going limp beneath Yuta, still impaled. "Full… so fucking full…" He winced slightly as the knot tugged at his stretched rim. "Didn’t hurt… felt… perfect." He shifted minutely, drawing a low groan from them both. "You… okay?"

Yuta stared down at him, at the mess of come on his chest, the raw, reddened rim stretched wide around his knot. He saw utter exhaustion, but also a profound, peaceful relief he’d never seen on Yuji’s face during a heat. "Yeah," he rasped, brushing sweat-slicked pink hair from Yuji’s forehead, his own hand trembling. "I’m…" He trailed off, the enormity of it hitting him. He’d knotted his best friend. The weight of Yuji beneath him, the intimate lock, the cooling mess between them. He pulled back instinctively, the knot still firmly seated, drawing a sharp gasp from Yuji. "Shit… sorry."

The knot held them locked together, a pulsing, intimate anchor in the sea of exhaustion and cooling sweat. Yuta’s weight pressed Yuji into the damp mattress, the thick plug of flesh stretching him wide, the rhythmic throb a constant reminder of the act that had brought them here. Yuta’s face was buried in the crook of Yuji’s neck, his breath hot and ragged against skin flushed from exertion and fading heat. His arm, the one that Yuji had bitten, throbbed a dull counterpoint to the deep ache where he was buried inside his friend.

"Fuck," Yuta breathed against Yuji's skin, the word muffled. "Yuji… I…"

Yuji’s arms, trembling slightly, tightened around Yuta’s back. He didn’t speak immediately, just held on, his fingers digging into the fabric of Yuta’s t-shirt, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. The frantic, burning need was gone, replaced by a bone-deep fatigue and a strange, pervasive sense of fullness that was both overwhelming and oddly grounding. His omega instincts purred a low note of satisfaction at the knot, the claim, even as his rational mind started to flicker back online.

"It’s… okay," Yuji rasped, his voice wrecked, throat raw from screaming. He turned his head slightly, his lips brushing Yuta’s temple. Yuji could smell the familiar, comforting cedar-forest scent of his friend, now layered thick with the musk of exertion and sex – his sex. "You… helped. Really helped. Stopped the burn."

Yuta lifted his head, his dark eyes wide, searching Yuji’s face. He looked shattered. His usually composed features were etched with strain, smudged with sweat and the faint trace of Yuji’s earlier tears. "I… I knotted you," he stated, the words sounding foreign, impossible. "I fucking knotted you, Yuji. We… we said we wouldn't…"

"We said we'd see how it went," Yuji corrected softly, though his own heart hammered against his ribs. He remembered the clarity, the desperate, conscious plea. 'Fuck me so it doesn't hurt anymore.' He remembered giving permission, demanding it. "I asked you to. Needed it. Needed you to do it." He shifted minutely, a gasp escaping him as the knot tugged at his sensitive rim, sending a jolt through his spent body. "Oh! Fuck… still big."

Yuta flinched, instinctively pulling back, but the knot held firm, locking them together. The movement dragged another choked moan from Yuji. "Shit! Don't… don't pull. Feels… weird."

"Sorry! Fuck, sorry," Yuta babbled, freezing, his hand hovering awkwardly over Yuji’s hip. "It… it'll go down. Soon." He stared down at where they were joined, the sight both mesmerizing and startling. Yuji’s hole was stretched obscenely wide around the thick base of his cock, swollen and reddened, slick and Yuta’s release leaking in thick, milky rivulets down Yuji’s taint and onto the already ruined sheets. It was a raw, intimate mess. Yuta’s own come, deep inside his best friend. The reality slammed into him again, stealing his breath.

Yuji traced the bite marks on Yuta’s forearm with a trembling fingertip. "I hurt you bad."

"It’s fine, you know I'll heal in no time," Yuta mumbled.

Silence descended, thick and loaded, punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the soft, wet sounds of the knot slowly softening. The pervasive scent of sex – Yuji’s scorched wildflowers now mingled with Yuta’s cedar and the metallic tang of blood and release – hung heavy in the lavender-vanilla air, turning the cozy sanctuary into a den of primal aftermath. Yuji felt the familiar, heavy fatigue of post-heat crashing over him, his muscles turning to lead. Yet, beneath the exhaustion, a flicker stirred. A low, insistent thrum deep in his belly, a phantom echo of the heat’s demand not yet fully extinguished. The incredible fullness from Yuta’s knot, the fading ache of being stretched so wide… it was morphing. The pleasant, sated sensation began to prickle with a renewed, low-grade need. His cock, which had softened after his explosive climax, twitched feebly against his sticky stomach.

"Yuta…" Yuji murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something else. He rolled his hips experimentally, grinding against the knot still seated deep within him. A low moan vibrated in his chest. "Feels… feels different now. Good different."

Yuta looked down, his eyes darkening. He could feel the subtle shift too. The clenching around his slowly softening cock wasn't just involuntary anymore. It felt… deliberate. Seeking. "Yuji," he warned, his voice rough. "The heat’s breaking. Can’t you feel it?"

"Yeah… breaking," Yuji agreed, a small, almost sly smile touching his lips. He rocked his hips again, more deliberately this time, grinding his ass against Yuta’s pelvis. The friction sent sparks up his spine. "But it broke so good, Yuta. Made me feel so fucking good." He slid a hand down his own stomach, fingers brushing his own cock, making it twitch more insistently. "Feel how good you made me feel?" He wrapped his fingers around himself, giving a slow, slick stroke. "Still hard for you."

Yuta groaned, a sound of pure conflict. His own cock, still partially erect and buried deep inside that tantalizing heat, responded instantly to the friction and Yuji’s words. The blockers were a thin shield against the visual and sensory onslaught: Yuji sprawled beneath him, filthy and gorgeous, playing with himself while Yuta’s knot still locked them together. "Fuck, Yuji… we shouldn't… Not now…"

"Why not?" Yuji whispered, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. He tightened his legs around Yuta’s waist, pulling him impossibly deeper for a second, dragging a gasp from them both. "Knot’s almost gone. Still feel so empty when it leaves. Don’t you wanna feel me again?" He locked eyes with Yuta, his gaze holding a challenge, a dare born from the lingering heat haze and the newfound, terrifying intimacy. "C’mon, Alpha. Stuff me full one more time."

The word Alpha did it. A jolt went through Yuta, the primal part of him, the part that had claimed and knotted and possessed, surging forward, shredding the last remnants of his carefully maintained control. The knot finally subsided enough for him to slip free with a wet, sucking sound, followed by a thick gush of fluid onto the sheets. Yuji whined at the sudden emptiness, his hole gaping, clenching desperately on nothing.

Before the sound faded, Yuta grabbed Yuji’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh, and hauled him down the bed. He yanked Yuji’s legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, spreading him wide, exposing the glistening, reddened pucker still leaking his seed. The sight was obscene, irresistible. His cock, fully hard again and throbbing, nudged against the slick entrance.

"Greedy fucking hole," Yuta growled, his voice unrecognizable, rough with a possessiveness that startled even him. He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. He lined up and slammed home in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in the welcoming, familiar heat.

"OH FUCK! YES!" Yuji screamed, back arching off the bed, his hands flying to claw at Yuta’s forearms. "Like that! Ah...Yuta!"

It was different this time. Less frantic desperation, more deliberate claiming. Yuta set a hard, driving pace, each deep stroke punching the air from Yuji’s lungs, making his spent body jolt. The angle was punishing, hitting deep, grinding against Yuji’s prostate with every plunge. The wet slap of skin on skin, the guttural groans, the obscene squelch of Yuta’s cock plunging into a hole already stretched and slick with his own come – the room filled with the raw soundtrack of their coupling.

"Take it!" Yuta snarled, pistoning into him, watching Yuji’s cock bounce with each impact, leaking pre-come onto his abs. "How are you still so fucking tight? Feel good Yuji?" He reached down, fisting Yuji’s cock roughly in time with his thrusts.

"YES! FUCK YES!" Yuji sobbed, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed by the dual sensations, the pain-pleasure of being fucked so hard while his cock was ruthlessly stroked. "Gonna come!"

Yuta leaned forward, crushing Yuji beneath him, changing the angle slightly. He fucked him deep and hard, grinding his hips, making Yuji feel every inch. "Gonna come on my cock Yuji?," he asked, his voice thick with lust.

The words, the possessive fury, the relentless pounding shattered Yuji. He came with a strangled scream, cock pulsing violently in Yuta’s fist, ropes of white spilling over his knuckles and onto his own heaving chest.

The violent clenching of his channel around Yuta’s still-pounding cock was almost painful, a desperate, involuntary vise grip that threatened to milk Yuta dry. Yuta snarled, a feral sound ripped from his throat, his hips snapping forward even harder, driving deep into that convulsing heat. "Fucking take it!" he rasped, his voice shredded. "Squeezing me like a goddamn fist... shit, Yuji!"

The brutal pace didn’t falter. Yuta pistoned into him, the wet slap of flesh echoing in the small room, mingling with Yuji’s reedy whimpers and Yuta’s own guttural grunts.

"Yuta... ah!..." Yuji choked out, his voice wrecked, fingers scrabbling weakly against Yuta’s sweat-slick forearms.

He leaned forward, crushing Yuji further into the mattress, the cedar-forest stench of his Alpha dominance now cloyingly thick, entirely masking the fading wildflowers. He fucked into him with deep, grinding rolls of his hips, ensuring his cockhead hammered against that tender bundle of nerves deep inside with every brutal stroke. "Feel it," Yuta commanded, his breath hot and ragged against Yuji’s ear, his teeth grazing the tender skin of Yuji’s mating gland, a phantom threat that made Yuji shudder violently. "Feel me filling you up again. Taking what I give you. So good for me Yuji."

Yuji gasped, tears blurring his vision of Yuta’s sweat-streaked face, contorted with feral intensity. His arms, shaking, wrapped around Yuta’s back, clinging not to push away, but to hold on. He buried his face against Yuta’s shoulder, inhaling the potent Alpha musk. "Yuta..." he whimpered, the sound muffled against damp skin. "Ah... you... you can still keep going?"

The question, raw and breathless, was like gasoline on the fire raging in Yuta’s blood. He growled, low and predatory, the sound vibrating through Yuji’s chest. "Fuck yes I can," Yuta snarled, redoubling his efforts. His thrusts became shorter, harder, more focused, a rhythm designed for one thing. "Want me to knot you again Yuji? Gonna plug you full. Keep it all inside you where it fucking belongs."

Yuji cried out as he felt the tell-tale swell begin at the base of Yuta’s cock. It stretched him even wider, a burning pressure that forced a fresh sob from his throat. His body instinctively fought the intrusion for a split second before yielding, clenching down hard as the knot swelled to its full, thick girth, locking them together once more with a final, wet pop. Yuta slammed home, grinding deep as the knot seated fully, his roar of release echoing in the room as hot pulses of come flooded Yuji’s depths. Yuta collapsed, his weight pinning Yuji, breath coming in ragged gasps against his neck.

They lay locked, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the slick, wet trickle of fluid escaping around the massive knot still stretching Yuji impossibly wide. Yuta’s nose pressed against Yuji’s scent gland, breathing him in – scorched wildflowers drowned in cedar and sex.

The knot pulsed weakly inside him, a fading anchor. Sweat cooled on their tangled limbs. Yuta’s breath hitched, ragged exhaustion replacing the rutting fury. "Yuji... fuck..." His voice was sandpaper.

Yuji’s fingers trembled against Yuta’s sweat-slick back. The deep ache pulsed, a raw echo of the brutal claiming. Emptiness yawned beneath the fading knot. His cock, utterly spent, lay limp against his sticky thigh. Yet, beneath the bone-deep fatigue, a treacherous spark flickered. The phantom echo of fullness, the ghost of that overwhelming stretch. It wasn’t heat anymore. It was something else. Something desperate and hollow. "Don’t pull out," Yuji whispered, his voice shredded. He clenched deliberately around the softening knot, a weak spasm. "Not yet."

Yuta groaned. "Can’t... Yuji... we’re done. You’re wrecked." He tried to shift his weight, but Yuji’s legs clamped tighter around his waist, nails digging crescents into his skin. The knot finally slipped free with a wet, sucking pop. A thick gush of Yuta’s release spilled onto the ruined sheets beneath Yuji’s ass. The sudden emptiness was profound, a physical shock. Yuji gasped, his hole gaping, clenching frantically on nothing. He felt obscenely open, dripping.

"Fuck," Yuji hissed, tears pricking his eyes again. Not from pain now. From loss. The loss of that anchoring pressure, the brutal fullness that had momentarily silenced the void inside him. He rolled onto his side facing Yuta, ignoring the slick mess pooling beneath him. His hand shot out, trembling violently, and fisted Yuta’s softening cock. It was still thick, damp with their combined fluids. "No," Yuji breathed, his eyes wide, pupils blown despite the fading heat haze. "Not done. Need it. Need you. Again." He squeezed, rough, demanding.

Yuta hissed, his cock twitching feebly in Yuji’s grip. "Yuji, stop! Look at you! You’re shaking!"

"Don’t care," Yuji snarled, the sound raw. He pushed himself up, wincing as his abused muscles screamed. He straddled Yuta’s hips, ignoring the slick slide of Yuta’s come leaking down his own thighs. He positioned himself over Yuta’s half-hard cock, the tip nudging against his reddened, gaping entrance. It felt impossibly loose, yet impossibly sensitive. "I need you inside Yuta. Now." He locked eyes with Yuta, defiance blazing through the exhaustion. He didn’t wait. He sank down, impaling himself with a choked cry.

The slide was obscenely easy, slick with multiple releases. Yuta’s cock, still thick despite its softened state, filled the aching void with shocking speed. Yuji bottomed out in one swift, brutal motion, Yuta’s hips slapping against his ass. "FUCK!" Yuta roared, back arching off the bed, hands flying to grip Yuji’s hips hard enough to bruise. "Your insane Yuji! Fuck."

Yuji gasped, head thrown back, riding the razor’s edge between agony and a terrifying, hollow satisfaction. He was so open, so raw, that the stretch was minimal, replaced by a deep, internal burn and the overwhelming sensation of being filled. He began to move, a slow, grinding roll of his hips. Each drag of Yuta’s cock against his oversensitive walls sent jolts of electricity through his spent body. "Yeah," he panted, his voice wrecked. "Feel it? Feel how fucking empty I was?" He lifted himself slightly, letting the thick shaft drag against his prostate, forcing a ragged sob from his throat. "Need you... deeper... harder..."

Yuta stared up, transfixed by the sight. Yuji, trembling violently, sweat and tears and come streaking his flushed skin, riding him with a desperate, broken rhythm. His hole, stretched wide and glistening, swallowed Yuta’s cock greedily with each downward plunge. The sheer, reckless need was terrifying. "Fuck Yuji. So perfect," Yuta rasped, his own cock responding, thickening inside that slick, demanding heat despite his exhaustion. He thrust upwards sharply, meeting Yuji’s descent.

Yuji cried out, a sound of pure relief mixed with pain. "Yes! Like that! Fuck me! Fill me!" He braced his hands on Yuta’s chest, nails digging in, and set a punishing pace. Up, down, grinding hard at the bottom. The wet slap of flesh filled the room, a lewd counterpoint to their harsh gasps. Yuta’s hands guided his hips, helping him, driving him down harder, faster. The angle shifted, Yuta’s cockhead scraping brutally over Yuji’s prostate with every deep plunge.

"Gonna come?" Yuta growled, his voice thick with disbelief and a resurgence of dark arousal. He watched Yuji’s face contort, tears streaming freely. "Gonna come again on my cock? Like this?" He pistoned upwards, fucking into him from below with sharp, jarring thrusts. "Taking it so fucking good. Fuck Yuji!"

The dual assault – the relentless pounding against his prostate and the filthy words – shattered Yuji’s last shred of control. He came with a silent scream, body seizing violently, back arched like a bow. His come spilled from his cock onto Yuta's chest and face. His channel clamped down in vicious, rhythmic spasms around Yuta’s thrusting length, milking him desperately.

"FUCK!" Yuta roared, his hips stuttering. The brutal clenching, the sheer, impossible demand of Yuji’s body, tore his own climax from him. He slammed Yuji down hard, burying himself to the hilt as hot pulses flooded Yuji’s depths once more. He held him there, impaled, grinding deep as the last tremors shook them both. Yuji collapsed forward onto Yuta’s chest, utterly boneless, trembling uncontrollably. His breathing was shallow, ragged gasps. Yuta’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, his own breath coming in harsh rasps. The silence stretched, thick with the stench of sex and exhaustion. Yuji’s fingers weakly traced the bite marks on Yuta’s arm. " So good Yuta," he whispered, the words barely audible. His eyes drifted shut as he fell asleep, with Yuta following close behind.

Chapter Text

The deep, slow rhythm beneath Yuji’s ear registered first. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Steady, grounding. Then came the warmth, a solid line of heat against his front. The scent hit him last: cedar forests and old paper, deeply familiar, but now layered thickly with the musk of sex, sweat, his own fading wildflowers, and the pungent tang of dried come. Yuta.

Yuji’s eyes fluttered open. Early morning light struggled through the gaps in Yuta’s curtains, painting dusty stripes across the wreckage of the futon. He was on his side, tucked tightly against Yuta's chest, one of Yuta's arms draped heavily over his waist, anchoring him. Memories flooded back, visceral and raw: the desperate pleas, the brutal thrusts, the overwhelming fullness, the searing pain-pleasure, the impossible need that had driven him to demand more even when his body screamed stop. He should have felt wrecked. He did feel wrecked – muscles aching, his ass throbbing with a deep, bruised soreness, his skin tacky and gross. Yet, beneath the physical toll, a profound, bone-deep contentment thrummed. The frantic, burning edge of his heat was gone, truly gone, replaced by a heavy, sated fatigue. The gnawing void had been filled, violently, repeatedly.

He nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of Yuta’s neck, inhaling the potent, altered scent of his friend. A low, rumbling purr vibrated in his chest, completely involuntary, a primal Omega response to the safety and satisfaction of being held close by the Alpha who had answered his desperate call. He pressed his body closer, seeking more of that warmth, more of that grounding presence. His purr deepened, a sleepy, contented thrum against Yuta’s skin.

The vibration stirred Yuta. He shifted, the arm around Yuji tightening slightly. A low groan escaped him, rough with sleep. His face was turned towards Yuji, features softened in unconsciousness, but the faint lines of strain from the night’s exertions were still visible. Yuji watched him, tracing the curve of Yuta’s jaw with his gaze, the dark sweep of lashes against his cheek. He looked younger asleep, less burdened.

Yuta’s breathing hitched, changed. His eyelids flickered, then slowly opened. Dark eyes, still clouded with sleep, blinked, focusing slowly on Yuji’s face mere inches from his own. Confusion flickered, then cleared, replaced by a dawning awareness that flooded his expression with a complex cocktail of emotions: shock, exhaustion, and a deep, almost bewildered tenderness. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Just stared.

"Hey," Yuji murmured, his voice a husky wreck, barely audible over the fading purr.

Yuta swallowed. "Hey." His voice was gravel. He cleared his throat. "You...okay?"

Yuji considered the question. His ass ached fiercely. He could feel the dried mess between his thighs, the stickiness on his stomach. He felt hollowed out and stuffed full simultaneously. "Sore," he admitted honestly. "Really fucking sore, considering that you pounded me into the bed." He tilted his head, a small, weary smile touching his lips. "But... good. Heat's gone." The purr started up again, softer this time, a steady hum against Yuta’s chest.

Yuta immediately flushed a deep red. His gaze dipped, tracing the bite marks marring Yuji’s shoulder, the angry red scratches on his back. His own forearm, similarly marked by Yuji’s teeth, throbbed faintly. "Fuck, Yuji," he breathed, the words thick. "I... I lost it. Last night. After the knot... I fucking lost it."

Yuji shook his head slightly against Yuta’s chest. "Needed it," he whispered. "Asked for it. Needed you to... to fill me. Make it stop." He shifted, a soft hiss escaping as the movement pulled at tender muscles.

Yuta’s eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown. His hand on Yuji’s hip tightened almost painfully. "Yuji... fuck. Look at you."

Yuji shifted slightly, a groan escaping his raw throat. The movement pulled at tender muscles and made the mess between his thighs uncomfortably apparent. He felt… hollowed out yet paradoxically weighed down by the physical aftermath. The frantic, consuming need was blessedly absent, replaced by a profound fatigue and the stark reality of what they’d done. More than once. "Look at you," Yuji countered weakly, nodding towards the deep, purpling bite marks on Yuta’s forearm. His stomach churned slightly, a mix of exhaustion, and the undeniable intimacy of their shared filth. "We… we smell like a brothel dumpster. Feel... filthy," he mumbled into Yuta’s neck, inhaling the comforting musk of cedarwood and exhaustion. "Everything hurts."

A choked, unexpected laugh escaped Yuta. It broke the heavy tension. "Accurate." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Fucking hell. We need… we need to clean up. Badly." He pushed himself up, wincing as his own muscles protested. "C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up."

He guided Yuji to the bathroom, his movements careful but efficient. The walk to the bathroom felt endless, Yuji’s legs trembling, threatening to buckle. Yuta flicked on the light, the harsh fluorescence making Yuji flinch and squint. He leaned heavily against the cool tile wall while Yuta wrestled with the shower knobs. Steam began to curl into the air, carrying the faint, clean scent of Yuta’s body wash.

Yuta turned, his gaze sweeping over Yuji’s wrecked form – the flushed skin, the dilated pupils still holding a faint feverish sheen, the dried streaks of tears and sweat. "Can you stand?" he asked, his voice soft.

Yuji nodded mutely, pushing himself upright with effort. His cock, soft now but still flushed, lay against his thigh. The evidence of his heat was stark – slick glistened thickly around his hole and coated his inner thighs, a pearly sheen mixed with the faint musk of his own release. He instinctively tried to cover himself, shame flooding him anew under Yuta’s quiet observation.

Yuta reached out, catching his wrist in a calm, grounding hold. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low but unyielding. ““Don’t. None of that. There’s no shame here, there’s nothing to hide, Yuji. I’d never judge you for what you need.”
His expression gentled, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in a wry smile. “Besides, I think we passed the point of modesty sometime around midnight. After last night, there’s nothing left to be embarrassed about.”

Yuji’s blush deepened until it reached his ears. “You could’ve just let me keep some dignity, you know.”

Yuta’s smile widened. “You used up the last of that somewhere around the second ‘please.’”

Yuji looked away, a nervous laugh catching in his throat. “You make it sound so… normal.”

“It is,” Yuta said simply. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

Yuji’s breath hitched, "You really mean that?”

Yuta nodded once, steady as ever. “Every word.”

That quiet certainty hit deeper than anything else, and Yuji found himself smiling despite the heat on his cheeks. “You’re too kind, Yuta.”

"Okay," Yuta murmured, helping Yuji. "Get in. Careful."

Yuji slowly stepped into the shower stall, the warm spray hitting his shoulders like a blessing. He groaned, leaning his forehead against the cool tile, letting the water sluice over him. It stung the bite marks littering his shoulders and chest, a sharp counterpoint to the soothing heat. The heat began to seep into his muscles, loosening the worst of the knots, washing away the top layer of grime. He felt Yuta step in behind him, the space suddenly smaller, more intimate. Yuta grabbed the body wash, squirting a generous amount onto a washcloth. The scent of jasmine flowers filled the steamy enclosure.

"Here," Yuta said softly. His hands, gentle but purposeful, guided Yuji back under the spray. Then they were on him, washcloth slick with body wash. Yuta started at his shoulders, working the lather carefully over the bite marks. His touch was soft, methodical, washing away sweat, dried come, the scent of rut and heat. He moved down Yuji’s back, his fingers tracing the long scratches without comment, the soap stinging briefly. Yuji closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, the simple act of being cared for washing over him with the water.

Yuta knelt behind him washing Yuji’s legs, the soft cloth scraping over trembling thighs. Then Yuta’s hand, holding the washcloth, moved between Yuji’s legs. He worked carefully, washing away the dried slick and spend from Yuji’s stomach and thighs. The cloth passed over his balls, then lower.

Yuta paused then Yuji felt as his hands, slick and warm, smoothed soap over the swell of Yuji’s ass. He hesitated, his fingers hovering near the reddened, swollen entrance. "This… okay?" His voice was low, tight.

Yuji tensed instinctively. The memory of being stretched, filled, knotted, surged back – the pain, the overwhelming fullness, the terrifying relief. But Yuta’s touch remained light, waiting. "Yeah," Yuji breathed, bracing himself. "Just… gentle."

Yuta’s touch was feather-light at first, just washing the surrounding skin. Then, with infinite care, he pressed a soapy fingertip against the loosened rim. Yuji gasped, his body clenching involuntarily. "Easy," Yuta soothed, his other hand resting on Yuji’s hip. "Just cleaning. Gotta get… everything out." He worked with meticulous care, his fingertip slipping just inside, swirling gently, coaxing out the residual slick and the thick, white evidence of his own releases. It was deeply intimate, almost more so than the fucking. The tenderness, the focused attention on the most vulnerable part of him, sent a confusing jolt through Yuji’s exhausted system. Not arousal, not exactly. A profound vulnerability. He felt liquid, boneless under Yuta’s ministrations.

He stood up, water streaming down his own face and chest. "Turn around," he instructed softly. Yuji obeyed, turning to face the spray, letting the water hit his face and chest directly. Yuta moved behind him, his body radiating warmth. He squeezed shampoo onto his palm and worked it into Yuji’s pink hair, massaging his scalp with strong fingers. Yuji groaned, the simple act of care almost overwhelming. He leaned back slightly, resting his head against Yuta’s shoulder as Yuta rinsed the suds away, fingers combing gently through the wet strands. The intimacy of it, the quiet tenderness after the raw, screaming need of the heat, made Yuji’s throat tighten. He felt Yuta’s breath warm against his temple. Yuta rinsed him thoroughly, the water running clear now. Yuta rinsed the cloth thoroughly under the spray then handed it to Yuji. "Your turn," he said, his voice rough.

Yuji took it, his hands trembling slightly. Facing Yuta felt monumental. He lathered the washcloth in his hands and started on Yuta’s chest, washing away the grime, tracing the lines of muscle he knew so well, now decorated with his own bite marks and scratches. The bite on Yuta’s forearm was angry and deep. Yuji washed around it carefully. "Sorry," he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of the bruise.

"Don't be," Yuta said, his gaze fixed on Yuji’s face. "I'll heal fast." But his jaw was tight.

Yuji moved lower, his soapy hands sliding over Yuta’s stomach, down his hips. Yuta’s cock, soft and heavy, rested against his thigh. Yuji washed it carefully, rinsing away the evidence of their coupling. The intimacy was staggering. He knelt, mimicking Yuta’s position, washing his friend’s thighs, the strong muscles, the dusting of dark hair. He passed the cloth over his balls, then moved it lower. Yuji’s fingers, through the cloth, pressed gently against Yuta's rim then moved in between the cleft of his ass. The silence was thick, charged with unspoken things – the night’s violence, the tenderness of now, the terrifying shift between them.

"Okay," Yuta finally rasped, pulling Yuji gently upright under the spray. "Enough." He turned off the water. The sudden quiet was loud. They stood dripping in the steamy enclosure, the only sound their breathing. Yuta reached past him for towels, his arm brushing Yuji’s chest. He wrapped one around Yuji’s shoulders, rubbing briskly. "Dry off," he said, his voice thick. He quickly toweled himself down, ignoring the sting from the bites on his arm.

Back in the wrecked bedroom Yuta rummaged in his closet, pulling out clean sweatpants and a worn t-shirt for himself, then tossed similar items to Yuji. The grey sweatpants were slightly too big, the t-shirt soft cotton smelling faintly of Yuta’s cedar.

Yuji was struggling to pull the t-shirt over his head, his muscles protesting, when the sound sliced through the fragile calm. Voices. Clear, familiar voices, carrying from the living room beyond the closed bedroom door.

"...late. Like, really late. He said the heat hit bad, but this is ridiculous." Nobara's sharp, pragmatic tone was unmistakable. "His phone’s dead, Yuta’s ignoring texts… Should we just barge in?"

Yuji froze, shirt half-on, his blood turning to ice. Panic, sharp and cold, lanced through the lingering haze of exhaustion and post-heat lethargy. His eyes snapped to Yuta's, wide with sudden, primal fear.

Yuta’s face paled. He took a step towards the door, then stopped, looking back at Yuji – barefoot, bruised, drowning in borrowed clothes that screamed ‘walk of shame’. The scent of their coupling, even muted by soap and water, still clung to the room, to them. It would be pungent to another Alpha.

A firm knock rattled the bedroom door. Yuji’s breath hitched. He took a stumbling step towards Yuta, wrapping himself around him. The vulnerability he’d felt in the shower crashed over him tenfold, mixed with a surge of embarrassment and dread. He looked at Yuta, his voice a raw whisper choked with panic. "Yuta…they heard. They know. What will they think?"

Yuta’s arm tightened around Yuji’s shoulders instantly, pulling him flush against his chest. His other hand came up, cradling the back of Yuji’s head, pressing his face into the hollow of Yuta’s neck. The solid warmth, the familiar cedar scent amplified by proximity, was an anchor. "Shh," Yuta murmured, his voice low and steady despite the tension vibrating through him. His lips brushed Yuji’s temple. "It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe." He held him firmly, shielding him physically from the door, radiating a calm certainty Yuji desperately needed. "I’ve got you. Right here. I’m not going anywhere."

Yuji clung to him, trembling subsiding slightly as Yuta’s words sank in. The frantic hammering of his heart eased a fraction against Yuta’s steady pulse. "They’ll smell it," Yuji whispered against Yuta’s skin.

"Let them smell," Yuta replied, his voice gaining a quiet edge. Protective. Possessive. "You needed help. I helped. That’s all." He rubbed Yuji’s back gently, careful of the scratches. "We’ll handle it together. Okay? I’m right here." He pulled back just enough to meet Yuji’s wide, fearful eyes. His gaze was unwavering. "Trust me?"

Yuji swallowed hard, the knot of panic loosening under Yuta’s steady presence. He managed a shaky nod. "Okay."

"Good." Yuta gave his shoulder a final squeeze before turning towards the door. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, the quiet friend momentarily replaced by the Alpha who had claimed his heat. He unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to block the view inside.

Nobara stood poised, her expression shifting from annoyance to wide-eyed shock as the concentrated scent of sex, pheromones and sweat hit her like a wall. Megumi stood slightly behind her, his dark eyes instantly narrowing, nostrils flaring subtly as he processed the potent Alpha-Omega pheromone cocktail – cedar, scorched wildflowers, rut musk, and the unmistakable tang of spent seed. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

The living room air felt charged, thick with tension and the lingering ghost of ramen broth. The silence stretched, brittle. Nobara’s nostrils flared, taking in Yuji’s disheveled state, the pallor under his flush, the way he leaned into the doorframe. Her gaze snapped to Yuta's arm. "Holy fucking hell," Nobara gasped, waving a hand dramatically in front of her face. "Itadori! You look like you got run over by a horny freight train! What the actual fuck happened in here? Smells like a brothel dumpster fire!" Her gaze snapped back to Yuta, taking in his own exhausted state, the fresh bite stark on his forearm. "Okkotsu? Did you two…?"

Megumi scent rose slowly, a predator uncoiling. His scent—plum blossoms and smoke, sharp and clean—rolled out, cold and controlled, but his gaze pinned Yuta. "Explain." The single word held layers: accusation, demand, a simmering protectiveness. "Now."

"Shut up, Nobara," Yuta said, his voice low and rough, scraped raw from hours of muttered reassurances and bitten-back groans. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through her fury like a blade. "You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."

"Oh, I know what I heard!" Nobara shot back, refusing to back down, though her eyes flickered briefly to the blood blooming on the bandage. "Hours of him screaming your name! Begging you to fuck him! To knot him! And look at him!" She gestured sharply at Yuji, who flinched.

"Because I'm his alpha for his heats! I'm his heat partner and he's my rut partner." Yuta snapped, his own exhaustion cracking into frustration.

Megumi moved then, fluid and silent, stepping around the couch. His dark eyes, sharp and unnervingly calm, scanned Yuta's face, then Yuji's.

Nobara stared at them, the fury momentarily replaced by stunned disbelief. "Partners? Since when do you two...?" Her eyes narrowed.

Megumi took another step closer, not to Yuta, but towards Yuji. His plum blossom scent sharpened, intensifying, cutting through the layered musk of sex, sweat, and blood in the room. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was present. Dominant. An Alphas scent filling the space, demanding attention.

Yuji's breath hitched. His gaze snapped to Megumi's, wide and startled. The sheer, controlled intensity in Megumi's dark eyes was terrifying. Compelling. "Megumi...?" Yuji whispered, taking an involuntary half-step back. His heel hit the doorframe.

Megumi ignored Yuta and Nobara. He closed the distance to Yuji in two strides. He didn't touch him, just stood before him, his tall frame blocking the light from the living room window. His scent enveloped Yuji, cool plum blossoms laced with an undeniable undercurrent of smoky, raw Alpha power.

"Megumi, what the fuck are you doing?" Nobara demanded, her voice tight with confusion and dawning apprehension.

Yuta moved instantly, stepping towards Megumi, his hands clenched into fists. "Back off, Fushiguro. Don't touch him." Yuta's voice, rough and thick with possession, hung heavy in the cramped space. The declaration, vibrated with a finality that silenced Nobara's next retort. Her mouth snapped shut, eyes widening slightly before narrowing again in calculation. Megumi didn't flinch, didn't retreat an inch from where he loomed over Yuji.

A strangled whimper tore from Yuji's throat, high-pitched and desperate. He lurched forward, his body moving before his mind could catch up, grabbing fistfuls of Yuta's sweat-damp shirt. He pressed his flushed face hard against Yuta's uninjured shoulder, trembling violently, trying desperately to hide from Megumi's piercing, unnervingly focused stare. The scent of Yuta, exhaustion, salt, cedar, and the unmistakable musk of spent rut; anchored him.

"Since when?" Nobara demanded, her voice sharp as broken glass, slicing through the thick air. She planted her hands on her hips, ignoring the simmering tension between the alphas. "When the fuck did you two become official? Partners? Rut and heat partners?" Her gaze flicked between Yuta's protective stance and Yuji, who was practically trying to burrow into Yuta's side. "Last I checked, Itadori, you were swearing off alphas after that disaster with the med student."

Yuta's hand came up, instinctively cradling the back of Yuji's head where it pressed against his shoulder. He felt the damp heat of Yuji's breath, the fine tremors wracking his friend's body. Megumi hadn't moved, hadn't looked away. His scent, that cool, deceptively calm plum blossom laced with something deeply feral and possessive, intensified, pushing against Yuta's own territorial claim, pressing in on Yuji. "Since it worked," Yuta ground out, meeting Megumi's stare head-on, his knuckles white where he gripped Yuji. "Since he needed me, and I was there. It's not your business, Kugisaki." He felt Yuji flinch at the harshness, and he softened his hold slightly, rubbing his thumb against the base of Yuji's skull. "He's okay. It was a bit rough. He needs rest, not an interrogation."

" Rough;?" Nobara scoffed, gesturing wildly at Yuta's bandaged arm, then at Yuji's disheveled state. "He sounded like he was being fucking eaten alive in there! And you, Okkotsu, look like you went five rounds with a tiger." Her eyes darted back to Megumi, suspicion hardening her features. "And what's your damage, Fushiguro? Since when do you get all territorial over Itadori's heat partners? Bit late to the party, isn't it?"

Megumi finally spoke, his voice low, smooth, and chillingly devoid of inflection. It cut through Nobara’s outrage like frozen wire. "The screaming stopped being about pain hours ago." His dark eyes shifted, pinning Yuji, even though the omega was hidden against Yuta. "It became something else. Begging. Pleading. His scent... it changed." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "It became surrender. Complete fucking surrender to Yuta."

Yuji whimpered again, a broken sound muffled against Yuta's shoulder. His fingers dug harder into Yuta's back.

"Shut up, Megumi," Yuta snarled, pulling Yuji tighter, his own scent flaring protectively, cedarwood turning sharp and aggressive. "Just... shut the fuck up. What Yuji and I do or don't do is none of your business."

Nobara's sharp gaze snapped from Yuta's protective stance to Megumi's unnerving stillness. The air crackled thicker than cheap incense. "Fuck's your problem, Fushiguro?" she demanded, stepping sideways to get a clearer view of Megumi's face. Her voice dripped with acidic confusion. "Why the hell are you acting like a kicked guard dog? Is this just your Alpha dick getting all territorial?" She jabbed a finger towards Yuji, trembling against Yuta. "Or is it 'cause you actually like him?"

Megumi's eyes, dark pits of unnerving focus, didn't waver from Yuji. The plum blossom scent turned heavy, cloying, laced with a bitterness like burnt wood. His jaw tightened, a stark line against the controlled mask of his face. He didn't answer Nobara.

Yuta snarled, stepping forward, putting his body fully between Megumi and Yuji. The scent of cedarwood flared, sharp and aggressive, clashing violently with Megumi's oppressive plum blossom. "I said back off, Fushiguro!" Yuta's voice was a low growl, vibrating with fury. "He's not yours to stare down like fucking prey. Whatever your problem is... Back. The fuck. Off."

Megumi's gaze finally shifted, lifting slowly from Yuji to lock onto Yuta. The intensity didn't lessen; it refocused, sharpening into something dangerous. A silent challenge hung thick in the air between them, Alpha against Alpha. The room felt unbearably small, shrinking under the weight of their conflicting dominance. Nobara stood frozen, her earlier outrage momentarily swallowed by the sheer, terrifying tension crackling between the two men. The stale air tasted metallic, charged with unsaid threats and the acrid tang of Yuji's lingering fear. Megumi's lips parted slightly, not to speak, but in a silent inhalation that seemed to draw the charged atmosphere deeper into his lungs. His knuckles, pale where they rested at his sides, whitened. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken violence. Yuta braced, muscles coiling, ready.

"Enough! Both of you, just fucking stop!" Nobara yelled, her voice pitched high with fury and fear. She pushed hard against Yuta's chest, holding him back, then whirled on Megumi, jabbing a finger towards his face, "And you! What the actual fuck, Fushiguro? Since when do you care this much?"

His intense focus on Yuji broke as he looked down at Nobara, her furious face inches from his. He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, as if pulling himself back from a precipice. The raw, possessive heat radiating off him didn't vanish, but it banked, simmering beneath a layer of icy control. His voice, when it came, was quieter, flatter than before, but it cut through the heavy tension with surgical precision. He met Nobara's blazing eyes. "You're crazy," he stated, each word dropping like a stone. He flicked a dismissive glance at Yuji, his expression hardening again. "I don't like him." Megumi's gaze swept over Yuji's trembling form, then back to Nobara. His tone was cold, final. "He's, my friend. That's all. I just don't want anyone taking advantage of him."

Nobara snorted, crossing her arms as lavender ozone crackled around her. "Taking advantage?" Her sharp laughter cut through Megumi's tense posture. "Yuta would never hurt Yuji like that—you know him better than that." She gestured at Yuta's protective stance, the way his knuckles whitened against Yuji's trembling shoulder. "Besides, dumbass, they've clearly been rut-and-heat partners for years. Explains why Yuta always vanished during Yuji's cycles." Her voice dropped, realization dawning. "Actually, it explains a lot now that I think about it."

Megumi froze. The cool plum blossom scent sharpened into something brittle, like ice cracking under pressure. His gaze snapped to Yuji, searching for confirmation in the omega's downcast eyes, the way he clung to Yuta's shirt like driftwood in a storm. "Years?" The word came out strangled, stripped of its earlier authority.

Yuji flinched, pressing his face harder into Yuta's neck. Beneath the sweat-damp cotton, Yuta's pulse hammered against Yuji's lips.

"Yes, years! Now get out. Yuji needs to rest," Yuta growled, his cedarwood scent flaring hot and protective. He didn't look at Megumi, his focus entirely on Yuji's trembling form. "Both of you. Now."

Nobara grabbed Megumi's rigid arm, her nails digging in. "You heard him," she hissed, pulling him toward the door. Megumi resisted for a second, his dark eyes locked on Yuji's hiding against Yuta. Then he let her drag him away, the apartment door slamming shut behind them like a gunshot.

Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. Yuji shuddered, a full-body tremor that rattled his bones. "They know," he whispered, voice scraped raw. "They heard."

"Doesn't matter," Yuta repeated, his voice rough but firm. His hand slid up and down Yuji's spine gently, grounding him. "Megumi's got his own shit. Probably just Alpha bullshit flaring up, smelling you like that." He inhaled deeply, the layered scents of sex, sweat, blood, and fading heat thick in his nostrils. "What matters is that it's over and you are okay."

Yuta steered Yuji away from the living room and back towards the dim sanctuary of the bedroom. Yuta pulled off the rumpled sheets on the plush bed – the sheets stained with sweat and slick and quickly replaced them with clean ones. "Bed," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Yuji crawled in, the cool sheets a shock against his clean skin. He curled onto his side, facing away from the door, pulling his knees up slightly. Every muscle screamed in protest and relief simultaneously.

Yuta stood by the bed for a moment, looking down at Yuji’s hunched form. The fierce protectiveness that had flared against Megumi softened into something quieter. He saw the tension still holding Yuji’s shoulders rigid, the way his breath hitched slightly. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before settling firmly on Yuji’s hip, squeezing once. A silent anchor. He pulled the covers up over Yuji’s shoulders. "Now come on rest.," Yuta murmured. He turned towards the bathroom, leaving Yuji cocooned in the quiet dark, the words hanging in the air like a promise of respite. Yuji closed his eyes, the deep, bone-melting pull of sleep already dragging him under. Yuta applied healing ointment and changed his bandages before sliding into bed beside Yuji. He quickly fell asleep listening to Yuji's even breaths.

Chapter Text

The deep, dreamless sleep finally loosened its grip. Yuji surfaced slowly, awareness returning in fragments. Warmth. Softness beneath him. The heavy, comforting scent of cedarwood and clean cotton sheets enveloping him. He stretched, muscles protesting with a symphony of aches – deep bruises in his hips, a lingering soreness low in his belly. Proof. Tangible, sore proof of the storm he’d weathered.

He rolled onto his side, instinctively seeking the solid warmth that had anchored him through the worst of it. His hand reached out, expecting to find Yuta’s sleeping form. His fingers met only cool, rumpled sheets. Empty space.

A flicker of something cold and sharp pricked beneath his ribs. Disappointment? Or just the sudden absence of that grounding presence? He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking against the grey morning light filtering through the curtains. The bedroom was quiet, still smelling faintly of soap, healing ointment, and the ghost of their shared exhaustion. But Yuta was gone.

Then, the sounds registered. A low clatter from beyond the bedroom door. The distinct hiss of something hitting hot oil. The rhythmic scrape of a spatula against metal. Kitchen sounds. Familiar, domestic sounds that felt jarringly normal after the raw intimacy and violence of the past day.

Yuji swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his bare feet touched the cool floorboards. The air in the apartment was comfortably warm. Padding silently across the small living area, he paused in the arched doorway leading to Yuta’s kitchen.

The scene hit him with a wave of warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. Yuta stood with his back to the doorway, bathed in the golden light streaming through the small window over the sink. He was shirtless, the lean muscles of his back and shoulders shifting fluidly as he flipped pancakes on a griddle. The marks Yuji had left were stark against his skin: deep purple bruises blooming across his shoulder blades from desperate grips, the stark white bandage wrapped firmly around his forearm, hiding the deepest wound. Evidence of Yuji’s need, Yuta’s endurance. Yuta’s hair was damp, sticking slightly to his temples, suggesting a recent, quick shower.

The air was thick with delicious smells: the caramelizing sweetness of batter, the rich aroma of brewing tea, the underlying warmth of Yuta’s cedar scent, now clean and mingling with the domesticity of cooking. It was peaceful. Safe. A stark counterpoint to the frantic desperation and the tense confrontation that had preceded it.

Yuji leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He watched Yuta for a moment, the efficient movements, the quiet focus. "Smells amazing," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

Yuta glanced over his shoulder, a small, tired smile touching his lips. His eyes, though shadowed with lingering exhaustion, were clear and calm. "Hey. You’re up. Hungry?"

"Starving," Yuji admitted, pushing off the doorframe and shuffling into the cozy kitchen. He gravitated towards the worn couch tucked in the corner, sinking into its familiar softness. He pulled his knees up, resting his chin on them, watching Yuta work. The mismatched photos on the wall – Yuta with his sister, a younger Yuta looking awkwardly at the camera, a faded picture of mountains – seemed to watch over the scene like benign ghosts.

Yuta slid a perfectly golden pancake onto a growing stack on a plate warming on the stove’s back burner. He poured more batter onto the griddle, the liquid sizzling instantly. "Good," he said simply. "You need it. Heat burns through everything." He grabbed two mismatched mugs from a shelf above the sink. "Tea?"

"Please," Yuji said, the word muffled slightly against his knees. He watched the steam rise from the kettle Yuta lifted, the way the sunlight caught the droplets of water on Yuta’s bare shoulders. The silence stretched comfortably, filled only by the sounds of cooking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. It was easy, this quiet companionship. Familiar ground after navigating heats together, years of friendship underpinning the intense physical necessity.

Yuta brought over a steaming mug, placing it carefully on the low table in front of the couch. The fragrant steam – chamomile and something citrusy – curled upwards. He turned back to the stove, flipping the last pancake. "How’re you feeling?" he asked, his back still turned, but his voice attentive. "Really feeling. Not just the aches."

Yuji wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his palms. He considered the question seriously, probing beneath the physical soreness. The frantic, consuming need was gone. The gnawing emptiness was filled. But something else lingered… a residue. "Tired," he said finally. "Deep tired. But… calm. Settled. Like after a really bad storm." He took a cautious sip of the hot tea, the warmth spreading through his chest. "Not… scared anymore. Not like before."

Yuta nodded, plating the last pancake and carrying the stack over. He set it on the table beside Yuji’s tea, then grabbed a bottle of maple syrup and a tub of butter from the fridge. He sank onto the couch beside Yuji, leaving a comfortable few inches between them. He didn’t reach for food immediately, just leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, his bandaged forearm resting near Yuji’s shoulder. The movement pulled the muscles across his chest, highlighting more faint bruises and scratches.

"Good," Yuta repeated, his gaze fixed somewhere on the opposite wall, his expression thoughtful. "That’s… that’s really good, Yuji." He paused, picking up a fork and spearing a pancake onto his own plate. He didn’t start eating. "Listen… about yesterday. About Megumi…"

Yuji tensed almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightening around his mug. The memory of Megumi’s intense stare, the oppressive weight of his scent, the chilling flatness of his voice. It still stung, a dull ache beneath the contentment.

"Forget him," Yuta said firmly, his voice regaining some of the protective edge it had held against Megumi. He finally looked at Yuji, his dark eyes serious. "Seriously. Whatever crawled up his ass and died yesterday… that’s his problem. Not yours. Don’t let it mess with your head." He nudged Yuji’s knee gently with his own. "You focus on feeling okay. On recovering."

Yuji managed a small nod, pushing Megumi’s cold stares firmly to the back of his mind. He reached for the pancake stack, pulling two onto his plate. The smell was irresistible. He slathered butter on them, watching it melt into golden pools, then poured a generous stream of syrup. The first bite was pure comfort – fluffy, sweet, warm. He closed his eyes for a second, savoring it. "God, these are good," he mumbled around the mouthful.

Yuta chuckled softly, finally starting on his own food. "Glad you approve." They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks on plates and the soft chewing. The tension from mentioning Megumi gradually dissipated, replaced by the simple satisfaction of shared food and quiet company.

Yuji polished off his first pancakes quickly, reaching for another. As he poured more syrup, he felt Yuta’s gaze on him. He looked up. Yuta was watching him, his expression unreadable for a moment, then softening into something thoughtful, almost hesitant.

"You know," Yuta began slowly, swirling a piece of pancake in the syrup on his plate. "This… us… it works. We get each other through the rough patches." He met Yuji’s eyes. "But… it’s just patches, Yuji. Rough, intense patches." He gestured vaguely between them with his fork. "This… the cooking breakfast, the quiet… it’s good. It’s comfortable. But it’s not…" He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Yuji’s chewing slowed. He knew what Yuta was trying to say. The unspoken truth hung between them. Their partnership was necessity, forged in mutual understanding and deep friendship, but it wasn’t more. It wasn’t the deep connection Yuji sometimes ached for in the quiet moments between heats.

"It’s not romance," Yuji finished quietly, setting his fork down. He looked at his plate, tracing a pattern in the syrup with his fingertip. "I know."

Yuta nodded, relief and something else – concern? – flickering in his eyes. "Exactly. And you…" He leaned forward slightly, his voice earnest. "You deserve more than just patches, Yuji. You deserve someone who wants the quiet mornings and the storms. Someone who looks at you across a kitchen and sees… everything. Not just the heat."

Yuji’s throat tightened. He knew Yuta meant it kindly, supportively, but the words brushed against a raw, tender spot. His disastrous attempts with past partners flashed through his mind – the awkwardness, the misunderstandings, the feeling of being too much, too intense, too needy during his heats that hit randomly. The fear of rejection, of not being understood, was a familiar, heavy weight.

"But…" Yuji started, his voice small. "After… everything. The med student… Tanaka… the others…" He didn’t need to elaborate. Yuta knew the litany of disappointments, the way each failed attempt had chipped away at Yuji’s confidence. "It’s hard to believe anyone would want… all of it. The sunshine and the hurricane."

Yuta reached out then, his hand resting on Yuji's thigh. "I know it’s hard," he said softly, his gaze steady on Yuji’s face. "Believe me, I know. But shutting yourself off… that’s not the answer either." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "What about Gojo? and... what was his name...Nanami?"

Yuji blinked, surprised by the directness.

"You said they’ve… they’ve both made it obvious they’re interested," Yuta continued, his tone matter-of-fact but gentle. "Gojo sounds like...a lot. And Nanami?" Yuta gave a small shrug. "Honestly, I hadn't heard of him before but from what you described he seems like a good person, even if he is mated to Gojo.

"But…" Yuji protested weakly, the old fears rising. "My heats…"

"Are intense, unpredictable and don't follow the usual two cycles a year pattern." Yuta finished for him. "Yeah. We both know that better than anyone." He tapped his bandaged forearm lightly. "But they’re also part of you. A big part. And the right Alpha…Alpha's." He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, filled with conviction. "The right Alpha won’t just tolerate it. They’ll want it. They’ll crave it. They’ll see the fire in you and want to stand in the heat of it, not run for cover." He held Yuji’s gaze. "You deserve someone who sees the wildflowers and the wildfire, Yuji. And wants both."

The words resonated deep within Yuji, striking a chord he hadn’t dared pluck in a long time. Hope, fragile but undeniable, flickered amidst the lingering fear. Yuta wasn’t pushing him away; he was pushing him forward. Towards something potentially terrifying, but also potentially… everything.

Yuta nudged the plate of pancakes closer to Yuji. "Eat," he said, his tone shifting back to practical warmth. "Don’t let them get cold." He picked up his own fork again. "And don’t feel like you have to decide anything right now. Or jump into anything." He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Just… maybe stop automatically shutting the door, yeah? Let them knock. See what happens. At your pace. I'll always be here for you, for anything you need. It's in the job description as your best friend. "

Yuji looked down at his plate, at the cooling pancakes swimming in syrup. He picked up his fork again. His mind raced – images of Gojo’s blinding grin, Nanami’s quiet intensity, the lingering soreness in his body reminding him of the storm he’d just endured… and survived. He took a bite. The sweetness burst on his tongue.

"Okay," he murmured, the word barely audible over the soft sounds of eating. He didn’t look up, focusing on his food, but the single syllable hung in the warm, tea-scented air. It wasn’t a promise, not yet. But it was a crack in the wall he’d built. A tentative opening.

Yuta didn’t press. He just nodded once, a satisfied little dip of his chin, and poured himself more tea. The comfortable silence returned, filled now with the quiet hum of possibility, fragile as steam rising from their mugs. Outside the kitchen window, the morning sun climbed higher, painting the worn linoleum floor with bright, hopeful squares of light. Yuji took another bite, the sweetness lingering, the warmth spreading. Maybe… just maybe.

The fragile "maybe" hummed between them as they finished eating, the silence now thick with unspoken potential. Yuta cleared the plates without comment, his movements efficient and grounding. Yuji watched him rinse syrup from the forks under the tap, the water glinting in the morning sun, grounding himself in the simple rhythm.

"Ready?" Yuta asked, drying his hands on a faded tea towel. He didn’t specify ready for what – the drive home, the return to normalcy, the weight of Yuta's words settling in.

"Yeah," Yuji murmured, pushing himself up from the couch. His body still felt loose-limbed and tender, a pleasant ache layered over bone-deep fatigue.

The drive back to Yuji’s apartment was quiet, the city waking up around Yuta’s car. Sunlight slanted through the windshield, warm on Yuji’s face. He watched familiar streets blur past, the cedar scent of Yuta’s car interior mingling with the fading traces of his own wildflowers, now subdued, resting. Yuta didn’t fill the silence with useless chatter, just drove, his presence a steady anchor.

"Thanks, Yuta," Yuji said as the car stopped outside his building. The words felt inadequate for the raw intimacy and fierce protection of the last twenty-four hours, for the difficult, necessary advice. "For... everything."

Yuta offered a small, tired smile that reached his eyes. "Anytime, Yuji. Seriously. Just... think about what I said?" His gaze held Yuji’s, earnest. "Don’t lock the door just because it’s heavy."

Yuji nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Yeah. I will." He pushed the car door open, the city sounds rushing in – distant traffic, a shout, the clang of a dumpster lid. The world felt jarringly loud after the sanctuary of Yuta’s kitchen. "See you later."

"Text me," Yuta said, already pulling away from the curb as Yuji walked to his building. The engine faded, leaving Yuji alone on the worn concrete. The familiar weight of his own solitude settled back onto his shoulders, heavier now, somehow. Different.

Inside, his apartment felt hollow. Stale air, untouched surfaces, the quiet hum of the refrigerator too loud. It smelled faintly of dust and the lingering ghost of his pre-heat anxiety. He stood in the small entryway for a long moment, the memory of Yuta’s warm kitchen, the scent of pancakes and cedar, feeling achingly distant. He needed to scrub away the last clinging traces of the heat, the sweat, the desperate intensity. He headed straight for the bathroom.

The water hit him hot and hard, a welcome shock. He stood under the spray, letting it sluice over his head, down his back, his shoulders. He closed his eyes, breathing in the steam. Slowly, methodically, he washed. He lathered soap over the fading bruises on his hips, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, the tender peaks of his nipples. The physical evidence of the storm was receding, leaving only soreness and faint discolorations. He scrubbed at his scent glands, the pulse points on his wrists and neck, where his wildflower scent had bloomed so violently, now muted, returning to its usual light scent.

The right Alpha won’t just tolerate it. They’ll want it. They’ll crave it. Yuta’s words echoed in his mind, louder than the pounding water. See the wildflowers and the wildfire.

His hands stilled on the soap. Gojo’s impossible grin flashed behind his eyelids – playful, confident, unnervingly persistent. Nanami’s focused gaze, sharp behind his glasses, assessing, always watching Yuji with an unnerving stillness when he thought Yuji wasn’t looking. The sheer intensity of their combined presence that day in the restaurant, Gojo’s playful possessiveness, Nanami’s quiet, watchful tension.

He rinsed the soap away, watching the suds swirl down the drain, taking the grime with them. Let them knock. See what happens. At your pace. Yuta’s advice, a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. But could he grab it? Tanaka’s awkward fumbling, the med student’s clinical detachment followed by panicked retreat… the sting of those rejections, the feeling of being a problem to be solved or avoided, flared fresh and sharp even now under the hot water. His heats were chaos and need. Unpredictable. Demanding. Frequent. Who would willingly sign up for that? Who could handle the wildfire without getting burned?

He turned off the water. The sudden silence was startling. He stepped out onto the cold tile, grabbing a rough towel. The steam swirled around him as he dried, the cool air raising goosebumps on his clean skin. He caught his reflection in the fogged mirror – damp pink hair plastered to his forehead, eyes shadowed but clear, body marked but whole. He looked… like himself. Just Yuji. Sunshine and potential chaos.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he padded back into the main room. The quiet pressed in again. His phone lay on the cluttered coffee table, a silent, heavy presence. Yuta’s words warred with the ingrained fear. He moved to the kitchen and opened the drawer where he kept medicines and first aid supplies. Grabbing the silver foil packet, Yuji punched through a small pill. He popped it in his mouth and chased it with a glass of water. He would have to see the doctor soon and get a refill of his birth control.

He sank onto his worn sofa, the towel damp beneath him. The sun was higher now, streaming through the window, painting bright rectangles on the floor. He traced the edge of one with his bare toe. Maybe… just maybe. The fragile hope Yuta had planted felt terrifyingly real now, a tiny, persistent flame in the hollow space his heat had left behind. It warred fiercely with the instinct to retreat, to stay safe in the familiar loneliness.

Did he dare? Could he unlock the door, even just a crack? The silence of the apartment offered no answer, only the heavy thud of his own heartbeat, loud in the stillness. He stared at the blank screen, the reflection of the window light catching its surface. His hand hovered, trembling slightly, an inch above the cool glass. Then he realized he didn't have their numbers. He was going to have to suck it up and go to the bakery again.

Chapter Text

The familiar warmth hit him first. The rich enveloping embrace of Nanami’s bakery. Freshly baked bread, deep and yeasty. Sugar caramelizing on pastries. The comforting spice of cinnamon, the sweet promise of vanilla. It wrapped around Yuji like a physical balm as he pushed open the heavy glass door, the little bell overhead jingling a cheerful, mocking counterpoint to the frantic drumming in his chest.

Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and painting golden stripes across the polished wooden floor. The colorful murals of whimsical bakeries seemed brighter today, almost garish against the backdrop of Yuji’s nerves. A low hum of conversation drifted from the handful of customers scattered at small tables, sipping coffee, nibbling croissants. The air hummed with quiet contentment.

And then he saw him.

Kento Nanami stood behind the gleaming counter, his back momentarily turned as he slid a tray of golden-brown brioche into a display case. He wore his usual crisp white baker’s jacket, sleeves rolled precisely to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with a faint sheen of flour. His blond hair was neatly combed, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy radiating from Yuji. The Alpha’s scent, usually a subtle, grounding warmth beneath the bakery smells, suddenly sharpened. Vanilla deepened, cinnamon sparked – a distinct, possessive note threading through the comforting aroma. He turned.

Golden eyes, sharp and focused behind his glasses, locked onto Yuji instantly. Like a compass needle finding true north. There was no surprise in Nanami’s gaze, only a deep, unnerving intensity. Assessing. Taking in Yuji’s slightly flushed face, the faint shadows under his eyes from the recent storm, the way his sunshine-and-wildflowers scent, though faint and resting, seemed to flare subtly under the Alpha’s scrutiny. Yuji felt pinned. Seen. Utterly exposed despite the mundane setting.

His palms were slick. The lingering soreness in his hips, the deep bruises hidden beneath his clothes, seemed to pulse in time with his accelerating heartbeat. Wildfire, Yuta’s voice echoed in his head. They’ll crave it. Did Nanami see it? Or just the awkward Omega trembling near the door?

Yuji forced his legs to move. Each step towards the counter felt like wading through thick syrup. The scent of Nanami intensified with every footfall – warm bread, rich vanilla, spicy cinnamon, underpinned by that potent, unmistakable Alpha possessiveness. It wasn’t oppressive like Megumi’s had been; it was… enveloping. Demanding attention. Yuji’s own scent fluttered nervously in response, a faint brush of wildflowers against the bakery’s richness.

He reached the counter. Polished wood stretched between them. Nanami didn’t speak immediately. He simply watched Yuji, his expression unreadable, professional. Only the slight tightening of his jaw and the focused intensity in his golden eyes betrayed anything beyond bakerly courtesy. One hand rested lightly on the countertop, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm. Waiting.

Yuji’s mouth was desert-dry. He fumbled for his wallet, fingers clumsy and uncooperative. The leather slipped, almost clattering onto the counter. He grabbed it, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Words tangled in his throat, thick and useless. He couldn’t meet Nanami’s eyes anymore; his gaze dropped to the pristine countertop, then skittered to the rows of perfect pastries behind the glass – flaky croissants, glossy fruit tarts, plump cinnamon rolls dripping with icing. The sheer normalcy of it was absurd.

"I..." The sound was a croak. He cleared his throat, the noise embarrassingly loud in the quiet space between them. A customer murmured nearby. The espresso machine hissed. "I... uh..." He risked a glance upwards. Nanami hadn’t moved. His gaze was unwavering, patient, yet charged with a quiet electricity that made Yuji’s skin prickle. The Alpha’s scent deepened again, cinnamon swirling more insistently. Crave it.

The words tumbled out, propelled by sheer, terrified momentum before his brain could censor them. "Just wanted coffee..." He gestured vaguely, helplessly, towards the gleaming machine. "Black. Please." A pause. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of anticipation and baking flour. Nanami’s fingers stopped tapping. Yuji swallowed hard, the sound audible. His knuckles were white around his wallet. "And... maybe..." His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. "...your number?"

The air crackled.

Nanami went utterly still. Not a muscle moved. The professional mask slipped, revealing pure, unguarded shock beneath. His golden eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses, pupils dilating. The rich bakery scent surrounding him shifted subtly – the vanilla turned richer, almost cloying, the cinnamon spiked hotter, the underlying Alpha possessiveness surging forward like a wave, potent and undeniable. It washed over Yuji, warm and heavy, carrying an intensity that stole his breath. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t rejection. It was pure, stunned astonishment, laced with something far deeper, far more primal.

For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, the bakery seemed to hold its breath. The murmur of customers faded. The hiss of the espresso machine vanished. There was only the counter, the scent of shocked Alpha and nervous Omega, and the impossible words hanging in the sunlit air between them. Nanami’s gaze, locked onto Yuji’s face, burned with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no sound emerged. The world narrowed to the gleam of his glasses, the sharp line of his jaw, the sudden, potent stillness radiating from him.

Yuji stood frozen, wallet clutched in a death grip, the echo of his own reckless request ringing in his ears, waiting for the world to crash down.

The silence wasn’t silence at all. It roared in Yuji’s ears, filled with the frantic thudding of his own heart, the distant clatter of a dropped spoon, the gurgle of the coffee machine releasing steam. He could almost taste the sharp spike in Nanami’s scent – vanilla gone molten, cinnamon turning fiery – a physical weight pressing against his skin. His own sunshine-and-wildflowers scent spiked in response, thin and anxious, reacting to the sheer, unexpected power radiating from the usually reserved Alpha. He braced for the gentle dismissal, the polite refusal that would slice deeper than any angry shout.

Nanami blinked. Once. Slowly. The sudden stillness dissolved as he drew in a deep, deliberate breath, the movement making the flour on his forearms shimmer faintly. His gaze, molten gold behind his glasses, never left Yuji’s face, but the shock slowly receded, replaced by an unnerving, focused intensity. The overwhelming scent pulled back slightly, condensing into a dense warmth around him, protective and undeniably possessive. He didn’t look away. "My number," he stated finally, his voice low and calm, yet carrying perfectly over the ambient noise. It wasn't a question. It was a confirmation, heavy with unspoken weight.

Yuji managed a jerky nod, his throat too tight for words. His fingers were numb around the cheap leather of his wallet. He remembered the frantic mess of his last heat, the desperate, clawing need that left him hollowed out, the way Yuta had cared for him, his advice. The memory, sharp and sour, warred with the visceral pull of Nanami’s presence, the profound stability underlying the Alpha’s sudden intensity. Did Nanami see that desperate creature now?

Nanami’s gaze flickered down, just for a fraction of a second, to Yuji’s white-knuckled hand gripping the wallet, then back to his eyes. A muscle feathered in Nanami’s jaw. "The coffee," he said, his tone shifting back towards professional briskness, though the underlying current remained, a low thrum beneath the surface. He turned towards the gleaming espresso machine, movements smooth and precise. "Black." He began preparing the drink, his broad shoulders blocking Yuji’s view.

The hiss of steam, the rhythmic tamping of grounds, the rich, dark aroma of coffee joining the symphony of bakery scents – it was agonizingly normal. Yuji stared at the flex of muscle in Nanami’s back, the efficient movements so at odds with the seismic shift that had just occurred. He wanted to bolt. He wanted the floor to swallow him. He wanted, desperately, for Nanami to just say something else.

A thick ceramic mug appeared on the counter before him, filled with inky black coffee. Steam curled upwards. Nanami placed it down without a word, then reached beneath the counter. Yuji’s breath hitched. The Alpha retrieved not a pen, but a small, pristine white bakery bag, the kind used for delicate pastries. He set it beside the mug. Then, and only then, did he reach for a pen tucked behind his ear.

He didn’t write on the bag. He picked up a clean order pad, ripped off the top sheet, and laid it flat on the counter. The scratch of the pen was loud. Yuji watched, mesmerized, as Nanami wrote a series of digits with swift, decisive strokes. No name. Just the number. He slid the small square of paper across the polished wood towards Yuji. It stopped halfway between them.

Nanami met his gaze again, his expression unreadable, the intensity banked but not extinguished. The scent of warm vanilla and possessive spice wrapped around Yuji, an anchor and a challenge. "Call or text me," Nanami said, his voice utterly level, yet carrying the weight of command. "When you’re ready." He paused, his golden eyes holding Yuji captive. "We’ll discuss everything." He pushed the bakery bag fractionally closer, a peace offering or a preamble. "Eclair. On the house. You look like you need it."

Yuji stared at the small square of paper resting on the gleaming wood. Nanami’s neat digits seemed to pulse with potential, terrifying and exhilarating. The rich scent of coffee and the Alpha’s possessive warmth pressed close. His fingers trembled as he reached out, brushing the paper. It felt charged. He snatched it quickly, folding it tight, hiding it deep within his wallet like contraband. The action felt absurdly final.

"Thank you," Yuji managed, the words thick. He avoided Nanami’s intense golden gaze, focusing instead on the pristine white bakery bag beside the steaming mug. The scent of chocolate and pastry cream drifted faintly from it. A peace offering. An anchor. His stomach churned, a mix of residual nerves and the phantom ache low in his hips, a reminder of the unruly storm Nanami hadn't witnessed firsthand. Not yet.

He forced himself to look up. Nanami hadn’t moved. His expression remained unreadable, professional, yet the air still vibrated with the echo of his command: Call or text me. When you’re ready. The possessiveness in his scent hadn’t faded; it had merely settled, a dense, warm blanket. Yuji’s own sunshine-and-wildflowers scent fluttered weakly in response, a pale flag against a powerful current.

A shy smile tugged at Yuji’s lips, tentative and fleeting. It felt fragile. "Say hi to Gojo for me?" The request was soft, an attempt at normalcy, a bridge back to the world outside this charged counter. He remembered Gojo’s easy grin, the playful chaos contrasting Nanami’s solid calm. The mated pair. Both Alphas. Both potentially his.

Nanami gave a single, slow nod. His gaze held Yuji’s for a heartbeat longer, assessing, seeing perhaps the lingering shadows under his eyes, the tremor in his hands. "I will." His voice was deep, calm, grounding despite the undercurrents. It promised nothing and everything.

Yuji grabbed the coffee mug, its heat seeping into his chilled fingers. He snatched the bakery bag, the crinkle of paper loud in his ears. "Okay. Thanks. Again." The words tumbled out, clumsy and rushed. He couldn’t stay another second under that golden scrutiny, beneath the weight of the number burning in his wallet and the promise hanging between them. We’ll discuss everything.

He turned abruptly, nearly colliding with a customer approaching the counter. A mumbled apology escaped him as he sidestepped, the hot coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. The cheerful jingle of the doorbell sounded again as he pushed through, escaping the enveloping warmth and scent of Nanami’s domain. Cooler air hit his face, carrying city smells – exhaust, damp pavement. He sucked in a shaky breath.

Sunlight glared on the sidewalk. He walked fast, clutching the coffee and the bag containing the eclair. His heart still hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the impossible step he’d just taken. The phantom ache flared briefly, a sharp reminder of his unruly biology. Nanami’s scent, vanilla and cinnamon and possessive Alpha, seemed to cling to his clothes, to the paper bag. He glanced back once. Through the bakery window, he saw Nanami still standing behind the counter, watching him go, a tall, immovable figure framed by sunlight and the scent of bread. Golden eyes tracked his retreat.

He had to go. Yuta. He'd go see Yuta. He took a scalding gulp of the black coffee, the bitterness sharp on his tongue, a counterpoint to the sweetness promised in the bag. He walked faster, the folded square of paper a secret weight against his thigh. When you’re ready. Nanami’s words echoed, a calm command amidst the chaos of Yuji’s thoughts. He wasn't ready. Not nearly. But the step was taken. The number was his. The discussion loomed. He hurried towards Yuta's apartment, texting him he was on his way. The scent of sunshine and wildflowers faint beneath the clinging traces of vanilla and possessive spice.

Chapter Text

The folded square of paper burned a hole in Yuji’s pocket. He pressed his back deeper into the worn corduroy cushions of Yuta’s couch, trying to anchor himself against the residual tremor vibrating through his limbs. The scent of old paper, lingering sandalwood incense, and the distinct, grounding cedar of Yuta’s Alpha presence filled the small apartment. Band posters stared down from the walls – intense faces frozen mid-scream – a stark contrast to the quiet intensity in the room.

Yuta sat opposite him in a mismatched armchair, legs tucked under him, nursing a mug of tea. He watched Yuji with unnerving stillness, his dark eyes soft but deeply focused. He hadn’t spoken much, just listened, a silent pillar as Yuji’s words tumbled out in a disjointed flood.

He took a shaky breath, the phantom ache in his hips flaring briefly. "And I just... blurted it out. 'Coffee and your number.' Like ordering a damn pastry." He buried his face in his hands for a second, the memory scalding. "He just... froze. Utterly still. It was terrifying. Like I’d thrown a rock through his shop window. His scent exploded, Yuta. Vanilla turned... heavy. Cinnamon got sharp. That possessiveness? It slammed into me. I thought he was going to throw me out. Or laugh. Or... I don't know what." He peeked through his fingers. "But he didn't. He just... wrote it down. On an order slip. Slid it over. Like a transaction." He pulled the folded paper from his pocket, holding it out as if it were radioactive. "And he said... 'Call or text me. When you’re ready. We’ll discuss everything.' Then he gave me an eclair."

Yuta reached across the small gap between the couch and his chair. Not for the paper, but to gently close Yuji’s trembling fingers around it. His touch was warm, steady. His cedar scent deepened, wrapping around Yuji like a protective cloak, calming the frantic edges of his anxious sunshine-and-wildflowers aroma. "Okay," Yuta murmured, his voice low and even. "Okay, Yuji. Just breathe for a second."

Yuji squeezed the paper, the edges digging into his palm. He focused on the scent of cedar, the texture of the worn couch fabric beneath him, the faint hum of Yuta’s ancient refrigerator in the tiny kitchen alcove. He inhaled slowly, shakily, letting the air fill his lungs before releasing it. The frantic drumming in his chest eased slightly, though the low thrum of anxiety remained.

"You remember," Yuji whispered, the words thick, " When... when it hit early? And you... helped?" He couldn’t look at Yuta, staring instead at a poster of a snarling guitarist. "The mess. The... the need. How out of control it was. You helped, Yuta. You really did. But it was...still too much, demanding."

Yuta was silent for a long moment. Yuji felt the weight of his gaze, heavy with shared memory. "I remember," Yuta finally said, his voice a quiet rasp. The incense smoke seemed to curl thicker in the air. "The heat in that room. How your scent turned... wild. Like a storm trapped indoors. How strong you fought it. How strong you were." He paused, the unspoken 'until you weren't' hanging between them, acknowledged but not voiced. "I remember the frustration. Yours. Mine. It was wildfire, Yuji. Like you said. Unpredictable."

Yuji winced, the memory visceral: the sweat-soaked sheets, the raw desperation clawing at his insides, Yuta’s strained Alpha presence trying to soothe the raging torrent of his biology. The profound exhaustion afterwards, worse than the heat itself. The shame. "That’s what Nanami and Gojo don’t know," Yuji breathed, the fear a cold knot in his stomach. "They've smelled me normal. A little nervous and panicked. They don't know about the storm." He looked down at the paper crumpled in his fist. "When he says 'discuss everything'... what if 'everything' scares them off? Or worse... What if they can't handle me or think I'm too much of a burden, too much work. They already have a perfect bond together..." He trailed off, the possibilities too bleak to voice.

Yuta leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The quiet confidence he usually kept hidden beneath his reserved exterior was fully present now, sharpened by experience and genuine care. "Yuji," he said, his tone grounding. "You walked into his territory, an Omega alone, scent probably broadcasting nervousness like a beacon, and you asked a powerful, mated Alpha – known for being serious, reserved – for his personal number. To his face." A ghost of something akin to admiration touched Yuta’s features. "That wasn't just caffeine talking. That was nerve. Raw, terrified, maybe a little reckless, but nerve."

He held Yuji’s gaze, his cedar scent unwavering, a solid anchor in the emotional turbulence. "You're focusing on the storm. The 'what ifs'. That's understandable. But you did the hardest part. You put yourself out there. You asked." Yuta’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. It wasn't pitying. It was knowing. Respectful. "You’re braver than you think, Yuji. Just breathe."

The words landed softly, cutting through the spiraling panic. Yuji took another deliberate breath, deeper this time, letting the scent of cedar, old paper, and the faint, spicy incense fill him. The trembling in his hands subsided from a violent shudder to a faint tremor. He looked down at the paper clutched in his hand. The sharp creases. The promise contained within those neat, decisive digits. Nanami’s intense golden gaze seemed to hover just beyond his vision.

Brave. Maybe. Or stupidly impulsive. The fear was still there, cold and heavy. The memory of the wildfire heat, the crushing vulnerability, was a deep bruise on his psyche. Nanami offered discussion. Understanding? Or a polite exit strategy? The eclair sat uneaten in its bag on Yuta’s cluttered coffee table, a sweet, tangible reminder of the Alpha’s measured response.

But Yuta was right. He’d asked. He held the number. The step was taken. The weight of it settled onto Yuji’s shoulders, heavy but no longer crushing. He unfolded his fingers, smoothing the crumpled order slip against his thigh. The numbers stared back, stark and undeniable. Call or text me. When you’re ready. When would that be? Before the next storm gathered on the horizon? Or after it broke?

He traced one of the digits with a fingertip. The paper felt charged. The phantom warmth of the bakery, the scent of vanilla and possessive spice, seemed to seep from it. He looked up at Yuta, finding steady reassurance in his friend’s dark eyes. The silence stretched, filled now with contemplation rather than panic. The folded paper lay open on his knee, a tiny, terrifying doorway to an unknown future. He just had to decide when to knock.

The crumpled slip of paper felt like a live wire against Yuji’s thigh. When to knock? The question echoed, hollow and vast, in the silence of Yuta’s apartment. Band posters bled into the worn fabric of the couch, indistinct smudges of color.

Yuta watched the tremor still visible in Yuji’s hand. He understood the weight, the terrifying chasm that "discuss everything" could represent – the unpredictable wildfire of Yuji’s heat, the messy reality Nanami only sensed as potential storm clouds. "Hey," Yuta murmured, the sound soft but cutting through Yuji’s spiraling thoughts. He shifted on the fraying armchair, opening his arms invitingly. "Overthinking it already. Classic."

The simple gesture cracked something fragile inside Yuji. He uncurled himself from the couch, the movement stiff, joints aching with tension. He didn’t hesitate, drawn by the unspoken offer of solace. Yuji crawled the short distance into Yuta’s lap, his movements small and vulnerable, seeking the anchor he knew was there.

He wedged himself carefully, fitting against Yuta’s solid frame, his own wiry body folding in. The rough texture of Yuta’s worn hoodie scratched his cheek. He tucked his face immediately into the warm crook of Yuta’s neck, a shudder running through him. Breathing deep, he sought the familiar scent – rain-damp cedar, clean and grounding, woven with the faint, lingering trace of sandalwood incense from earlier. It flooded his senses, a tangible shield against the phantom aromas of bakery spice and the remembered, cloying sweetness of his own heat.

He breathed it in, long gulps of air, feeling the residual panic begin to loosen its claws. Yuta’s arms closed around him, firm and encompassing, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Yuji’s head with a gentleness belied by the Alpha strength beneath. His other arm wrapped securely around Yuji’s ribs, a steady pressure against the frantic flutter beneath. The crumpled order slip, forgotten for a moment, slipped from Yuji’s slackening grip onto the faded corduroy cushion beside them. Yuta rested his cheek lightly against the top of Yuji’s head, the silence now a cocoon woven from shared history, cedar, and unspoken understanding.

Yuta’s cheek remained a warm, steady pressure against Yuji’s head. His cedar scent deepened, a quiet hum resonating against Yuji’s skin where they touched. The frantic energy inside Yuji slowly bled away, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and the solid reality of his friend’s presence. He focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of Yuta’s chest beneath him, the faint scratch of worn fabric, the utter lack of expectation in the embrace.

Minutes stretched, measured only by Yuji’s slowing breaths. The sharp edges of panic softened, worn down by the sheer, undemanding stability Yuta offered. The phantom scents of possessive vanilla and his own cloying scent receded, leaving only the familiar, grounding aroma of cedar and old paper. He felt scraped raw yet somehow held together.

"Better?" Yuta murmured finally, the vibration of his voice rumbling against Yuji’s temple. He didn’t loosen his hold, his hand still a reassuring weight on Yuji’s head.

Yuji nodded slightly, the movement small against Yuta’s neck. "Mmm." His voice was thick, muffled by fabric. "Just… tired. All that stupid adrenaline." He sighed, a shaky exhalation. "Feels like I ran a marathon to the bakery counter and back."

A soft huff escaped Yuta, almost a laugh. "Looked like you did. Saw your knees wobble when you got here." He shifted minutely, settling them both more comfortably into the worn cushions of the armchair. "Glad you came. Sitting alone with that slip? Bad idea."

"Worst," Yuji agreed, a sliver of his usual wryness surfacing. He pulled back just enough to see Yuta’s face, though he stayed nestled within the circle of his arms. Yuta’s dark eyes were calm, watchful, holding no judgment, only steady support. The crumpled order slip lay stark white against the dark corduroy beside them, a silent accusation. Yuji stared at it. "He wrote it so neatly. Like a damn invoice. 'Customer: Yuji Itadori. Request: Phone Number. Notes: Discuss Everything.'"

Yuta’s gaze flicked to the paper. "Nanami strikes me as… precise. Doesn’t mean cold." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He gave you the number. Didn't laugh. Didn't throw you out. Even threw in a pastry bribe. That’s… something."

"But 'everything,' Yuta," Yuji insisted, the fear creeping back in, colder this time. His fingers unconsciously dug into the fabric of Yuta’s hoodie. "He doesn’t know. He smelled me panicked, yeah, but…" He swallowed hard, the memory a physical punch. "Remember my heats? That godawful keening sound I can't stop making most of the time? How you sometimes have to tip toe around me, so I don't accidentally launch you into the wall. Again."

Yuta’s expression tightened, a flicker of remembered stress crossing his features. "Yeah. I remember." His arm tightened fractionally around Yuji’s ribs. "They have been more intense. Beyond anything I'd… anticipated." He met Yuji’s gaze squarely. "But they’re not me, Yuji. They’re bonded. Established. Might have seen… things. You are not the only omega that has difficult heats."

"Or not," Yuji countered, desperation tingeing his voice. "What if they’re used to serene, manageable Omega heats? What if mine just… breaks them? Or pisses them off? What if they think I’m defective?" The word tasted bitter, metallic. His scent spiked, sunshine wilting under a wave of sour fear, tart wildflowers crushed underfoot.

"Hey," Yuta said, firm but gentle. He tilted Yuji’s chin up slightly, forcing eye contact. Cedar washed over Yuji, a deliberate calming wave. "Stop catastrophizing." Yuta’s thumb brushed lightly over Yuji’s cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear Yuji hadn't even felt fall. "The worst they can say is no. And you’ve survived that before."

Yuji blinked. Every failed attempt hurt, a deep, private ache that still lingered, but it hadn’t destroyed him. He’d walked out shaky and heartsore, but alive. He’d kept breathing. He looked back at the slip of paper, the neat numbers stark against the white. Nanami hadn’t said no. He’d said ‘discuss’. He’d slid over an eclair and both Alpha's had made it clear at dinner that they wanted to court him.

A strange, fragile resolve began to crystallize within the haze of fear. He couldn’t live perpetually braced for the storm. He’d asked for this chance. The memory of Nanami’s intense golden gaze, the sudden, almost palpable weight of his scent filling the bakery air, wasn’t just terrifying. There was a challenge in it. An invitation. Or maybe just a demand for honesty.

His scent shifted, subtly. The sour fear didn't vanish, but underneath it, the sunshine pushed back, tentative warmth mingling with the wildflower tang. Determination, raw and new. He took a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with Yuta’s cedar strength. "Okay," he whispered. Then, stronger, "Okay."

He disentangled himself carefully from Yuta’s embrace, the loss of warmth immediate. He reached for the crumpled slip, smoothing it carefully against his thigh. The creases remained, but the numbers were clear. Call or text me. When you’re ready.

He wasn’t ready. Not even close. The thought of detailing the chaos beneath his skin to Nanami’s serious face, to Satoru’s probably too-perceptive gaze, made his stomach clench. But waiting only fed the fear. Waiting meant letting the phantom storm grow larger in his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen cold and reflective. His thumb hovered over the keypad. His pulse hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat.

Yuta watched, silent now. He didn’t offer more reassurance, didn’t push. He simply sat, a steady presence, radiating quiet support and the calming scent of rain-soaked cedar. His gaze was fixed on Yuji’s trembling hands.

Yuji stared at the numbers on the slip. He typed them slowly, meticulously, into a new message thread. Each digit felt like lifting a weight. The cursor blinked in the empty text field, an abyss waiting for words. What did he say? His throat tightened. He inhaled sharply, catching the fading cedar and the lingering sweetness of the forgotten eclair on the table. Just breathe.

He typed two words. Simple. Direct. Terrifying. 

It’s Yuji.

His finger hovered over the send button. The silence in the apartment was absolute, thick with the weight of the unspoken future contained in that tiny arrow. Yuta leaned forward slightly, his breath a soft sigh. Yuji closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.

He pressed send.

The soft whoosh sound echoed in the quiet room. His phone screen dimmed. He stared at it, barely breathing, the world narrowing to the device in his hand. Yuta remained still, his attention also locked on the silent phone.

Seconds stretched into an agonizing minute. Yuji’s knuckles were white where he gripped the phone. The scent of his fear spiked again, sharp and acrid, momentarily overpowering the wildflowers.

Then, a soft buzz vibrated against his palm. A single pulse. Notification. His breath hitched. He looked down. The screen lit up, displaying the new contact name he hadn't dared to assign yet: Nanami Kento. The preview text was a single line, stark and immediate below his own.

Nanami Kento: Glad you reached out.

Chapter Text

The amber liquid in Nanami’s whiskey glass caught the low firelight, casting fractured reflections onto the polished surface of the coffee table. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening momentarily, a subtle counterpoint to the otherwise controlled stillness of his posture. The penthouse sprawled around him – a testament to Satoru’s flamboyant success – all sleek lines, panoramic city views glittering like scattered diamonds beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, and plush, minimalist furniture that somehow managed to feel inviting. The scent of expensive coffee grounds lingered faintly beneath the richer aroma of vanilla and cinnamon that clung intrinsically to Nanami, a comforting anchor amidst the sterile luxury.

Then Satoru moved. Not with haste, but with the languid certainty of a predator claiming its space. He slid onto the wide arm of Nanami’s chair, then effortlessly down into his lap, long limbs folding like a satisfied cat. His own scent, crisp and bracing as a mountain blizzard, cut through Nanami’s warmth, a thrilling contrast. He nuzzled Nanami’s jawline, his breath ghosting warm against skin still faintly dusted with flour from the afternoon’s bake.

“Mmm, Kento,” Satoru murmured, his voice a low purr vibrating against Nanami’s throat. His fingers traced the line of Nanami’s collar, seeking skin. “You’ve been quiet since you got home. Smelling… intense.” He inhaled deeply, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded. “Possessive. Did something happen at the bakery besides sourdough?”

Nanami remained silent for a beat, absorbing the weight and warmth of his Alpha settled against him. He felt the coiled tension in Satoru’s frame beneath the casual sprawl. Satoru’s effortless confidence was a shield, but Nanami knew the watchfulness beneath it, the protective instinct honed sharp by their bond and their shared responsibilities. He took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the smoky burn ground him before speaking. The memory was vivid, visceral.

“I met our Omega today,” Nanami said, the words low, deliberate. He felt Satoru instantly still, every ounce of playful languor evaporating. The air crackled.

Satoru pulled back just enough to meet Nanami’s eyes. His gaze was suddenly sharp, focused, the playful glint replaced by an unnerving intensity. “Yuji?” The name was a statement, not a question. Possessive already. “He came in?”

Nanami nodded once. The ghost of that encounter tightened his chest. He set the whiskey glass down carefully on the table. “He did.” He recounted it tersely, the facts stark: the trembling hands, the sweat-slick wallet, the panicked scent of wilting sunshine and crushed wildflowers blooming under the suffocating pressure of Nanami’s own Alpha presence. He described the sheer, terrified audacity of the request – ‘Coffee and your number’ – blurted out like a desperate plea. He didn’t soften the way his own control had frayed, the possessive surge that had slammed through him, thickening the air with vanilla turned heavy, cinnamon turned sharp.

“His scent… it spiked,” Nanami continued, his voice rougher now. He lifted a hand, fingertips brushing Satoru’s cheekbone almost absently, recalling the phantom sensation. “Wildflowers. Right under my touch when I slid him the slip. Like… like they unfurled just for me. For us.” A rare, private smile touched Nanami’s lips, fleeting but potent. It wasn’t amusement; it was primal satisfaction, the thrill of a challenge met and acknowledged. “He asked, Satoru. Terrified, shaking like a leaf, but he asked.”

Satoru listened, utterly motionless except for the rapid pulse Nanami could feel thrumming beneath his skin where their bodies pressed together. His winter-wind scent sharpened, grew colder, charged with a fierce protectiveness mixed with burgeoning fascination. He didn’t interrupt. His focus was absolute.

“He took the slip,” Nanami finished. “And the eclair. Ran out like hellhounds were after him.” He paused, the gravity settling back over him. “I told him to call or text. When he’s ready. That we’d discuss… everything.”

The word hung heavy between them. Everything. The unspoken wildfire Gojo Satoru had only sensed distantly during their dinner, the chaotic potential Nanami had witnessed flickering beneath Yuji’s panic today. The profound responsibility of courting an Omega whose needs were unpredictable, potentially overwhelming.

Satoru exhaled slowly. His gaze remained locked on Nanami’s. “Discuss everything,” he echoed, his voice low, thoughtful. The playful tease was gone, replaced by the calculating mind of the CEO, the strategist assessing risk and reward. But beneath that, a fierce, possessive heat simmered. “He walked into your domain. Asked you. That takes…” He searched for the word, his thumb tracing Nanami’s lower lip. “…steel. Buried under all that sunshine.”

Nanami nodded again, his own possessiveness flaring in response to Satoru’s intensity. “It does.” He leaned forward slightly, capturing Satoru’s gaze fully. “He’s wary. Scarred by past failures. He carries the storm inside him, Satoru. It’s not theoretical. It’s visceral.” He remembered the tremor in Yuji’s hands, the near-panic in his eyes. “I think he is afraid we won’t understand. That we’ll find him… too much.”

Satoru’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. It wasn’t cruel; it was anticipatory. Hungry. “Too much?” He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Nanami, darling, have you met us?” He shifted in Nanami’s lap, pressing closer, his scent deliberately enveloping Nanami’s cinnamon warmth in a possessive cloud of frost. “We thrive on ‘too much’. We are ‘too much’. Together.” His hand slid up to cradle the back of Nanami’s neck, fingers tangling in the short blond hair. His blue eyes gleamed. “He asked. That’s the key. He initiated. Now…” His grin widened, showing sharp white teeth. “…we see if he follows through.”He leaned in, his breath mingling with Nanami’s. “Did you corrupt him, Kento? With your decadent vanilla scent and your serious eyes?” His tone was light, teasing again, but the underlying possessiveness vibrated through it. “Did you make our little Omega blush?”

Nanami met the playful challenge with a low growl that vibrated against Satoru’s mouth. “He blushed,” he admitted, the memory vivid. The flush staining Yuji’s cheeks, the way his scent had momentarily sweetened despite the terror. “Before he ran.” He closed the infinitesimal distance, his lips brushing Satoru’s. “He smelled… perfect. Sunshine and wildflowers, trembling under my touch.” The kiss deepened, slow and claiming, a reaffirmation of their bond, their shared intent. Satoru’s frost met Nanami’s spice, merging into something uniquely theirs, potent and demanding.

They broke apart, breathing slightly ragged. The shared heat between them was palpable, a living thing in the luxurious quiet of the penthouse. The city lights glittered, indifferent, beyond the glass. The crumpled ghost of an order slip seemed to hang in the air between them.

“He’ll call,” Satoru stated, confidence ringing clear. He traced the line of Nanami’s jaw with a fingertip. “Or text. He’s brave. Stupidly brave. We felt it at dinner. Saw it today.” He settled back against Nanami, radiating satisfied certainty. “And when he does…”

Before he could finish the thought, a soft, insistent buzz shattered the penthouse silence. It came from Nanami’s phone, discarded on the low coffee table beside the half-finished whiskey. Both Alphas froze. Their heads snapped towards the device in perfect unison. The screen lit up, casting a pale rectangle of light onto the polished wood.

Nanami didn’t move immediately. His gaze locked onto the screen. Satoru’s arm tightened around him, his own breath catching. The air crackled, thick with sudden, electric anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, Nanami reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal casing. He lifted the phone. The screen glowed brightly now, illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the focused intensity in his golden eyes.

A single notification. A preview line of text stark against the brightness.

Unknown Number: It’s Yuji.

 Kento texted back a simple Glad you reached out. Not wanting to overwhelm him. 

Satoru’s grin returned, wider now, predatory and utterly delighted. He pressed a hard, claiming kiss to Nanami’s temple, his winter scent flaring triumphantly. “Told you,” he breathed, the words hot against Nanami’s skin. His blue eyes, fixed on the glowing screen, held a fierce, possessive gleam. “Now the courting begins.”

The triumphant gleam in Satoru's eyes hadn't faded when Nanami’s stillness became something else entirely. A subtle shift, a hardening of the jaw beneath Satoru’s lingering touch. The cinnamon-vanilla warmth emanating from Nanami didn’t dissipate, but it tightened, grew focused, almost brittle. His gaze remained fixed on the phone screen displaying Yuji’s text, yet his focus seemed to tunnel inward.

"There was something else," Nanami said, his voice low, cutting through the lingering heat of Satoru’s proximity. He finally looked up, his golden eyes meeting Satoru’s brilliant blue, holding a gravity that instantly extinguished the Alpha’s predatory smile. Satoru’s arm, still draped possessively around Nanami’s shoulders, tensed.

"His scent." Nanami paused, nostrils flaring slightly as if recalling the exact moment, the precise notes in the bakery’s flour-dusted air. "Underneath the wildflowers. Under the panic sweat." His thumb absently brushed a faint streak of dried flour still clinging to the back of his own hand. "A faint trace. Very faint. Buried deep."

Satoru’s playful confidence vanished, replaced by razor-sharp alertness. He leaned back infinitesimally, creating space to read Nanami’s face, his own winter-wind scent turning icy, cutting. "Trace of what, Kento?" The question was a quiet command.

Nanami held his gaze, unflinching. "An Alpha. Cedar and rain." He let the words hang, heavy and undeniable in the penthouse’s luxurious silence. The implication was a cold splash of water on their simmering anticipation. 

"The friend? The pup." Satoru’s voice was dangerously soft, devoid of its usual playful lilt. He remembered watching the pup embrace their omega. "Yuta. His scent?"

Nanami gave one slow, deliberate nod. "Cedar. And rain." He watched the information land, seeing the pieces click together in Satoru’s formidable mind. "How faint?" He growled. 

Nanami tilted his chin up, meeting that arctic gaze without flinching. "Old. Fading." His thumb brushed over Yuji's message, smudging the screen. "But the way it clung..." The unspoken implication hung between them - someone had marked their omega. However briefly. However imperfectly.

Satoru's laugh came out sharp as shattered glass. He grabbed the phone intent on texting back. To demand who's scent he carried. 

Nanami's hand shout out stopping him, shaking his head. "Don't be impatient. You'll scare him away."

The elevator's distant chime sliced through the penthouse silence like a scalpel. Both Alphas went utterly still, heads snapping towards the entrance foyer, every sense abruptly laser-focused. Satoru’s winter scent spiked, sharp and predatory, frost coating the air. His muscles coiled beneath Nanami’s hand, ready to spring. "Who—" he began, a low growl forming.

Nanami’s grip tightened on Satoru’s arm, a silent, grounding pressure. "Delivery," he murmured, the single word clipped. He recognized the timing, the pattern of the building’s evening routine. "The sourdough starter. From the bakery." His gaze never left the hallway connecting to the foyer, his own cinnamon-vanilla scent tightening into a focused, protective shield rather than dissipating. The faint cedar note on Yuji still lingered in his mind, a phantom itch.

Satoru didn’t relax. His piercing blue eyes, narrowed and icy, held the hallway entrance. They heard the soft thud of a package being set down on the marble floor outside the door, followed by the quick retreat of footsteps towards the service elevator. Only when the second, fainter ping signalled the elevator’s descent did the unbearable tension in the room ease by a fraction. Satoru exhaled, a plume of visible breath in the suddenly cooler air, the frost in his scent receding but not vanishing. He turned back to Nanami, the predatory focus shifting entirely onto him, onto the phone, onto the lingering scent of another Alpha on their Omega.

His voice was a low, dangerous rasp, stripped of any playfulness. "Kento. I know it was him." He leaned in, his breath cold against Nanami’s jaw. "That pup. He touched him. Marked him. However faint." His hand closed possessively around Nanami’s wrist, the one holding the phone. "Tell me you want to erase it too. Paint him in us until he forgets cedar ever existed."

Nanami met that arctic gaze, the gravity in his golden eyes mirroring Satoru’s intensity. The possessiveness coiled deep within him, primal and hot, snarled in agreement. He pictured Yuji trembling, smelling of panic, sunshine, wildflowers, and the ghost of another. He felt the echo of his own visceral reaction in the bakery, the overwhelming urge to claim, to soothe, to dominate. "Of course I do," he stated, the words rough, honest. The sheer, raw want in them vibrated in the space between them.

Satoru’s lips peeled back, not quite a smile, more a baring of teeth. Triumph flared in his eyes. "Then let’s—"

"But," Nanami cut in, his voice regaining its measured control, though the underlying heat remained. He tightened his grip on the phone, the plastic casing creaking slightly. "We must be civilized." He held Satoru’s suddenly narrowed gaze. "He came to me. He asked. He texted. That’s trust offered, however fragile." He gestured minutely with the phone. "Yelling demands about another Alpha’s scent? Accusations? That’s how we shatter it. How we become just another pair of Alphas who didn’t understand."

Satoru’s jaw clenched, the muscle leaping. The frost scent intensified, crackling with barely leashed impatience. "Civilized," he spat the word. "While he carries that pup’s—"

"While he carries our number," Nanami interrupted again, his tone brooking no argument. He shifted  Satoru slightly on his lap, forcing the Alpha to meet his eyes fully. "For now, we invite him out. On a date." He emphasized the last word. "Something simple. Non-threatening. Coffee, maybe a walk. Somewhere public but quiet. Let him see us. Smell us properly, without the pressure of crowds." He traced the line of Satoru’s collarbone, a deliberate, calming touch amidst the storm. "We show him what civilized Alphas look like. Alphas who want him, who can handle his storm, but who respect his pace. Who respect him."

He let the proposition hang. The firelight flickered in Satoru’s blue irises, warring emotions playing across his striking face: the burning possessiveness, the strategic mind recognizing the wisdom, the sheer, frustrating need to act now. The faint, phantom scent of cedar seemed to taunt him. Nanami didn’t waver. This was the line. The only path forward that didn’t risk breaking the tentative thread Yuji had offered.

A low rumble built in Satoru’s chest. He searched Nanami’s face, the fierce protectiveness battling with the necessity of restraint. Finally, the tension in his shoulders eased, infinitesimally. The predatory edge softened, replaced by a simmering resolve. "Fine," he conceded, the word clipped but decisive. He leaned forward, pressing a hard, possessive kiss against Nanami’s cheekbone, his lips cold. "Civilized." He breathed the word against Nanami’s skin, a promise and a threat wrapped together. "For now."

He settled back, his winter scent folding back into a controlled hum, still potent, still claiming the space, but banked. His gaze, however, remained locked onto the phone in Nanami’s hand. The silent command was clear.

Nanami nodded once, the movement tight. The phantom scent of cedar faded slightly under the overwhelming presence of frost and spice, their combined claim. He lifted the phone. The screen glowed, illuminating his focused expression. Yuji’s text. The penthouse was silent again, save for the crackle of the fire and the low hum of the city far below. Every sense was heightened, charged with the weight of the decision, the careful construction of the next move. Simple. Civilized. The first deliberate step into a potential wildfire.

Nanami focused on the phone’s bright screen, Yuji’s simple text burning into his retinas. ‘It’s Yuji.’ Short. Terrified, probably. He felt Satoru’s coiled energy beside him, the Alpha’s winter scent a controlled blizzard barely contained beneath civility. The phantom trace of cedar and rain clung stubbornly in Nanami’s memory, an irritating burr against his own possessive satisfaction. His thumbs moved with deliberate calm over the glass surface.

Kento: Would you like to meet? Coffee? Just the three of us. Somewhere quiet.

He showed the screen to Satoru, whose sharp blue eyes scanned the words. A low hum, neither approval nor disapproval, vibrated in Satoru’s chest. Nanami hit send. The message vanished; a tiny digital flare launched into the unknown.

Silence descended, thick and expectant. The city lights pulsed silently beyond the glass. Satoru traced idle patterns on Nanami’s thigh, the touch deceptively light. "Civilized," he murmured, the word tasting foreign. His gaze drifted towards the darkened hallway where the delivery had been, lingering as if scenting an echo.

"Patience," Nanami rumbled, setting the phone face down on his knee. He captured Satoru’s wandering hand, intertwining their fingers. Satoru’s skin felt cool, like polished stone. The Alpha shifted, turning fully towards Nanami, his expression shifting from distant calculation to focused intensity. His free hand came up, fingertips brushing Nanami’s jawline, tilting his face slightly.

"Kento," Satoru breathed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The playful glint in his eyes held an edge, like sunlight glancing off ice. "About that lingering scent… the cedar rain clinging to our little Omega."

Nanami’s golden eyes narrowed fractionally, a silent warning. "We discussed this, Satoru."

Satoru’s lips curved into a wide, almost innocent smile, belying the predatory stillness in his posture. He batted his long, pale lashes, the picture of exaggerated pleading. "I know, I know! Civilized." He leaned in closer, his snow-frost scent intensifying, wrapping around Nanami’s cinnamon warmth. "But" he continued, his voice dropping to a husky purr directly against Nanami’s ear, "can I at least just give the pup a little tap? For touching our Omega." He nuzzled Nanami’s temple. "I won't hurt him... much... Not permanently, anyways." His breath was cold, his lips brushing skin as he pouted against Nanami’s jawline. "Just a little reminder about boundaries, hm?"

A muscle feathered in Nanami’s temple. He didn’t pull away, but the air around them crackled with sudden, dangerous tension. Satoru’s request, wrapped in faux sweetness, was a razor blade dipped in honey. Nanami could feel the barely leashed violence simmering beneath the playful act, the Alpha’s possessive fury ignited by the faint, insulting trace of another. He saw it in the taut line of Satoru’s shoulders, the unnatural stillness beneath the casual sprawl.

"No," Nanami stated, the word absolute, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a scalpel. His grip tightened on Satoru’s hand, not affectionately, but possessively, a grounding anchor. He turned his head, forcing Satoru to meet his gaze directly. Nanami’s eyes, usually a calm, assessing gold, held a molten core of warning. "Not a tap. Not a reminder. Not even a harsh word. Not yet."

Satoru’s playful pout vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine irritation, quickly masked by a challenging lift of his brow. "He marked him," Satoru countered, the low growl barely contained. "However faintly. He put his scent—"

"And Yuji came to us," Nanami interrupted, his voice low and hard, vibrating with intensity. " He texted us. He is choosing us, stepping into our orbit." He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. "Scaring him by roughing up his friend, no matter how much we want to, who he clearly trusts? That’s how we become the monsters he fears. The uncontrolled Alphas who only take." He held Satoru’s icy blue stare, unwavering. "We show him control. We show him strength that doesn’t need petty violence. We show him he’s safe with us, not just safe from others."

Satoru searched Nanami’s face, the conflict plain: the primal urge to assert dominance, to erase the insult, warring with the strategic understanding and the deeper, possessive desire for Yuji’s willing submission. The frost in his scent deepened, swirling with frustration. He exhaled sharply, a plume of cold air visible for a second. "Fine," he conceded, the word clipped. "No tap." He pulled back slightly, though his arm remained draped heavily over Nanami’s shoulders, a physical claim. "But I can't promise to be nice..."

The phone on Nanami’s knee buzzed. Once. Sharp. Both Alphas froze, all tension snapping instantly back to the small device. Nanami snatched it up. Satoru crowded close, his chin resting on Nanami’s shoulder, breath cold on his neck as they both stared at the illuminated screen.

Unknown Number: Okay. When?

Relief, sharp and electric, shot through Nanami, momentarily eclipsing everything else. He felt Satoru’s silent, fierce satisfaction radiating against his back.

Nanami typed, his movements precise.

Kento: Tomorrow afternoon? The park near your university. Does 3 PM work?

He hit send. The message winged its way into the ether. The die was cast. Tomorrow, 3 PM. Satoru’s low chuckle vibrated against him, a sound of pure, predatory anticipation. Nanami watched the screen, the city’s indifferent glitter reflecting in his golden eyes.

Yuji: Sounds good. See you both then. 

Nanami’s lips curved in quiet amusement as Satoru let out a triumphant whoop.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. 

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun slanted through Yuji’s single window, painting a warm stripe across the worn wooden floorboards. It illuminated motes of dust dancing in the air and fell directly onto the growing pile of discarded clothes heaped beside his neatly made bed. Yuji stood amidst the chaos, shirtless, hair sticking up in frantic tufts, staring at the open wardrobe as if it held the secrets of the universe instead of just cotton and denim. His skin felt tight, prickling with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with temperature. The faint, elusive scent of sunshine and wildflowers, usually barely detectable, seemed to thicken the air around him, carrying an unmistakable note of flustered panic.

"Relax, Yuji," Yuta’s voice drifted from the desk chair where he sat, one ankle propped casually on his knee. He was ostensibly studying a textbook, but his dark eyes tracked Yuji’s frantic pacing with amused tolerance. The faint cedar-and-rain scent that clung to him was steady, a calming counterpoint to Yuji’s spiking anxiety. "They’re already obsessed with you. Clothes are… secondary."

Yuji whirled, clutching a soft grey henley to his chest like a shield. "Secondary?" His voice cracked slightly. "Yuta, this isn't just hanging out! It's a date. With them. The terrifyingly hot Alphas who I'm sure will make me look plain no matter what I wear." He flung the henley onto the pile with unnecessary force. "What if I pick wrong? What if I look… boring? Or desperate? Or like I’m trying too hard?" He ran a hand through his already chaotic hair, making it worse. "Why is this so hard?"

From the edge of the bed, his friend, Toge Inumaki watched, his expression serene. Rika, Yuta's fluffy white Ferret, sat contentedly in his lap, kneading his thigh with soft paws. Toge’s hair fell softly around his face, framing intelligent purple eyes that missed nothing.

Toge’s hands moved fluidly through the air. 'Not desperate,'he signed, a faint smile touching his lips. He pointed firmly at a simple, soft green shirt draped over the back of Yuji’s desk chair, its color reminiscent of new leaves.

"That one?" Yuji picked it up, rubbing the soft cotton between his thumb and forefinger. He held it against his chest, turning towards the small mirror tacked to his wall. "Isn't it... plain?" The green did bring out the warmth in his brown eyes, contrasting subtly against his tanned skin. He sighed, the sunshine in his scent dimmed by worry.

"It’s good," Yuta stated, closing his textbook with a soft thump. He leaned back, studying Yuji critically. "Clean. Comfortable. Lets you be the focus, not the fabric." Rika chittered softly in Toge’s lap, nose twitching towards the pile of discarded clothes. "Besides," Yuta added, a knowing glint in his dark eyes, "I'm you pretty sure you smelled like panic, sweat and wilting flowers when you asked Nanami. And he still gave you his number."

Yuji winced. "Ugh, don't remind me!" He buried his face in the green shirt, inhaling the clean cotton scent to chase the embarrassing memory of trembling hands and wildflowers blooming under Nanami’s intense gaze. He lowered the shirt, skepticism still creasing his brow. "This feels... too safe. What if they think I’m boring?"

Toge shifted Rika gently and signed again, his movements sharp and decisive. 'Safe is good. First step. Trust yourself. 'His purple eyes held Yuji’s steadily.

Yuji caught the jeans, holding the green shirt and denim together. The combination was simple, undeniably him. He glanced at the pile – the too-tight black shirt, the overly formal button-down, the faded band tee – suddenly seeing them clearly as costumes. Masks he’d instinctively reached for. He looked back at Toge, who nodded firmly, fingers brushing Rika’s soft fur. 'Yes'.

"Okay," Yuji breathed, the frantic energy easing slightly. He carefully laid the chosen outfit on the bed. "Green shirt. Dark jeans." He ran a hand through his hair again, trying to tame it. "I just... I don’t want to mess this up. They feel... different." His wildflower scent bloomed faintly, warmer now, laced with fragile hope. He recalled Nanami’s serious eyes offering the slip, Satoru’s piercing gaze at dinner, the sheer, intimidating weight of their combined presence.

Yuta clapped him lightly on the shoulder, his cedar scent a steady anchor. "You won’t mess it up by being Yuji." He pointed to the outfit. He smirked. "Go knock ‘em dead. Or, you know, politely converse with them over coffee."

Toge signed, a swift, elegant motion. 'Exactly.' He gave Yuji a thumbs-up, Rika dooking in agreement. 

Yuji managed a small, shaky smile, looking at the simple clothes laid out on his bed. 3 PM. The park. Coffee. Conversation.  He could do this. "Okay," he repeated, the word firmer this time.

The discarded clothes lay forgotten on the floorboards, a testament to Yuji’s unraveling nerves. He smoothed the soft green fabric of the chosen shirt laid out on his bed, the dark jeans beside it looking suddenly alien, like armor he wasn’t sure he could wear. "It just feels... inadequate," he muttered. His sunshine scent spiked, sharpened by a sudden wave of anxiety. "What if they expect... more?"

Yuta sighed, leaning back against the desk. Rika chirruped softly in Toge’s lap. "More what, Yuji?" Yuta asked, his voice losing its teasing edge, turning earnest. "More sparkles? A neon sign flashing 'Mate Me'?" He shook his head, his dark eyes serious. "They saw you sweating bullets in Nanami’s bakery, smelling terrified." He pointed at the simple outfit. "That’s the real you. The guy who walked in there anyway."

Toge nodded vigorously, his purple eyes intense. His hands moved, swift and clear. 'Yuta's right. They want you. Not a costume.' He paused, fingers hovering before signing again, slower, deliberate. 'If they're serious... you could show up wearing a sack of potatoes and they would still like you.'

Yuji stared at his friends. Yuta’s cedar scent wrapped around him, steadying. Toge’s silent conviction was a tangible force. He remembered Nanami’s intense focus, the way Gojo’s piercing gaze had tracked him across the restaurant – not dismissing him, but seeing him, panic and all. He picked up the green shirt, the cotton soft against his fingertips. "Just... be myself?" The words felt fragile, whispered into the sunlit quiet of the room.

"Exactly," Yuta affirmed, pushing off the desk. He walked over, clapping Yuji firmly on the shoulder.  A hint of his smirk returned. "And maybe try not to spill coffee on Gojo or Nanami. Though," he added thoughtfully, "that might actually amuse Gojo."

Toge signed a quick 'Good luck', Rika adding a soft dook of agreement. Yuji took a deep breath, the frantic energy settling into a low, determined hum. He glanced at the clock. 2:15 PM. Time to move. He grabbed the clothes, heading for the bathroom to change. He paused on the threshold, the faint, hopeful scent of wildflowers trailing behind him. 

The soft cotton of the t-shirt slid cool over Yuji’s skin as he pulled it on, the green fabric settling against his torso. He zipped the dark jeans, fingers fumbling slightly on the fly before securing it. The reflection in his small bathroom mirror showed wide, nervous eyes staring back from a face that looked younger than twenty. He splashed cold water onto his cheeks, the shock grounding him for a moment. His sunshine scent, usually faint, pulsed stronger, mixed now with the sharp tang of anxiety.

"Wallet. Keys." He muttered the checklist aloud, padding back into his bedroom. The familiar weight of his worn leather wallet went into his back pocket. He scooped his keys from the desk, the metal cool in his palm. Phone? Charged. His fingers brushed the screen, the text thread with the unknown number – Kento – the only thing open. 3 PM. Park. Coffee. 

Yuta watched him, a small, encouraging smile on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe. "Looking good, Yuji," he said, his cedar scent warm and steady. "Simple works. It's you." Rika chittered softly in Toge's arms, tiny paws kneading the air towards Yuji.

Toge, still perched on the edge of the bed, met his gaze. He didn't sign, just offered a slow, deliberate thumbs-up, his purple eyes holding a quiet confidence that Yuji desperately wanted to absorb. You've got this, that gesture said, clearer than words. Yuji took a shaky breath, the wildflower scent warming slightly, touched with fragile determination. He shoved his phone into his other pocket. Time to go.

He hesitated at his bedroom door, the familiar space suddenly feeling too small. The panoramic view of the city glittering beyond the Alphas' penthouse windows flashed in his mind, terrifying and alluring. He squared his shoulders. "Okay," he breathed, more to himself than anyone. He turned towards his apartment's main door.

Yuta stepped aside from the doorway, giving him space. "Deep breaths, man." Toge nodded again, Rika copying the motion with her small head. Yuji managed a tight, fleeting smile in return. He grabbed the worn brass doorknob, its familiar texture cool beneath his fingertips. One last glance back: Yuta leaning casually, Toge serene, playing with Rika, the sunlit room holding his discarded anxieties.

Yuji opened the door. The air felt different, cooler, carrying the faint, generic scent of the apartment building – floor cleaner, dust, distant cooking. He stepped across the threshold. He didn't look back again. The solid click of the door shutting behind him echoed in the quiet, locking away the safe space and his friends. His footsteps, hesitant at first, then firmer, carried him towards the park, towards the unknown weight of Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento.

Chapter Text

The gravel crunched beneath Yuji’s worn sneakers, each step echoing the frantic rhythm of his heart. The air in the park trail was thick with the verdant scent of pine and damp earth, a stark, almost overwhelming contrast to the sterile hallway he’d just left. Sunlight streamed through the dense canopy overhead, dappling the path in shifting patterns of light and shadow, but it offered little comfort. His chosen green shirt felt suddenly too thin, the dark jeans constricting. The faint scent of sunshine and wildflowers he carried was no longer faint; it spiked sharply, saturated with pure, unadulterated panic. Just breathe. Yuta’s right. Be yourself. The mantra felt flimsy against the tidal wave of his nerves.

He spotted them ahead, near a bend where the trail widened slightly. Satoru Gojo leaned casually against a massive oak, his white hair catching the light like spun ice. Even relaxed, his presence dominated the clearing, the invigorating scent of snow and frost preceding him, crisp and dominant. Kento Nanami stood a pace behind, observing the surrounding trees with quiet intensity. His familiar, grounding scent – warm vanilla, rich cinnamon, the essence of his bakery – was a quieter counterpoint, but no less potent. They smelled like two different weather patterns and Yuji almost laughed at how right that felt: Gojo like fresh snow and ice, sharp and exhilarating; Nanami like baked bread and vanilla, slow heat and consolation. The scents braided together in the space between them, and for a second Yuji imagined wrapping himself in both.

Gojo’s head turned. Those unnervingly blue eyes, sharp as shards of winter sky, locked onto Yuji instantly. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. As Yuji approached, halting a few paces away, that frost-scented presence seemed to actively brush against Yuji’s panicked aura, a deliberate caress of winter chill against his sun-warmed panic. Gojo pushed off the tree, unfolding his height.

“Yuji!” Gojo’s voice was bright and theatrical, the kind that made people look up from their own thoughts. He lifted a hand in a flourished wave attracting the attention of two women walking the trail.

Nanami’s greeting was smaller, but deliberate. “You look good,” he said. His tone was uneven only in that it carried more warmth than Yuji expected from someone so precise.

Heat crept into Yuji’s cheeks. “Thanks. I—took my time.”

Gojo chuckled, a low, resonant sound. He closed the remaining distance, not touching, but invading Yuji’s personal space with effortless confidence. He tilted his head, those piercing eyes scanning Yuji from messy pink hair to scuffed sneakers. "Green suits you," he said, the teasing edge softening slightly into something almost appreciative. "Brings out the life in those eyes. Though," he added, leaning in fractionally, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for Yuji, "you smell like you’re about to bolt headfirst into the nearest thicket."

Yuji flushed crimson, the heat spreading from his cheeks down his neck. He did want to bolt. The urge to turn and sprint back down the trail was almost overwhelming. The memory of past humiliations – heats that drove partners away, promises broken, the isolating shame – rose like bile. These weren't just any Alphas. They were power, stability, mated perfection. What was he doing here? "Sorry," he mumbled, dropping his gaze to the mossy ground. "I... I just get nervous."

"Don't apologize for your scent, Yuji," Nanami’s calm, measured voice cut through Gojo’s playful energy. He had moved silently closer, now standing slightly to Gojo’s left. "It tells us what you feel. Honesty is... appreciated." His own scent deepened, the cinnamon and vanilla wrapping more firmly around Yuji, a tangible anchor against the storm of his fear and Gojo’s frosty intensity. "We understand this is new."

Gojo made a soft tsk sound but didn’t contradict his mate. Instead, he reached out, not to grab, but to gently, almost questioningly, brush the back of his knuckles against Yuji’s clenched fist. The touch was brief, cool, yet sent a jolt through Yuji’s system. "New can be good, sunshine," Gojo murmured, his blue eyes searching Yuji’s face, the playful smirk replaced by an unsettling intensity. "Exciting. We’re not expecting perfection. Just... you."

Yuji swallowed hard, the combined scents of frost and warm bread swirling around him, both comforting and overwhelming. They saw him. The panic, the mess. They weren't recoiling. Not yet. He forced himself to meet Gojo’s gaze, then Nanami’s. The sheer magnitude of their attention, the quiet possessiveness underlying Nanami’s calm, the focused interest in Gojo’s sharp eyes… it was terrifying. Thrilling. He took a shaky breath, trying to pull his wildflower scent back from the edge of panic, infusing it with a sliver of the determination Nanami had mentioned. "Okay," he breathed, the word steadier this time. "Just... me."

Nanami gave a single, firm nod. "Good." He gestured down the trail, deeper into the dappled sunlight and dense greenery. "Shall we walk? The coffee place isn't far."

Gojo’s playful grin returned, though his eyes remained watchful, intense. He didn’t step back, maintaining his proximity to Yuji as Nanami moved to flank his other side. "Lead the way, Kento," Gojo said, his gaze never leaving Yuji’s face. He extended his hand, palm up, an open invitation, not a command. "Stick close, Yuji."

The path ahead seemed narrower suddenly, framed by the towering figures of the two Alphas. Their scents, distinct yet harmonizing – winter frost and warm vanilla cinnamon – wove around Yuji’s own burgeoning sunshine and wildflowers, an intoxicating, dizzying blend. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, the fear still a palpable flutter in his chest, warring with a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, deliberately, he placed his hand in Gojo’s. The Alpha’s fingers closed around his, cool and strong. A shiver, different this time, raced up Yuji’s arm. He felt Nanami’s warmth at his other shoulder, a solid, grounding presence.

Together, they stepped forward, the crunch of gravel under three pairs of feet merging into a single rhythm, carrying them deeper into the green embrace of the forest, the city’s distant hum fading behind them.

Gojo’s fingers remained cool and firm around Yuji’s, a stark contrast to the clammy heat of his own palm. The gravel crunched rhythmically beneath their feet, a counterpoint to the frantic drumming in Yuji’s chest. Nanami walked a half-step behind, his warm, vanilla-cinnamon scent a constant, comforting hum against the sharper notes of Gojo’s frost and Yuji’s own spiking floral distress.

“So,” Gojo said, hands in the pockets of a coat that looked designed to make people worship the designer, his posture effortlessly elegant against the wild backdrop, “how have you been surviving, Yuji? Have you learned the ancient art of existing with dignity yet?”

Yuji let out a breath that felt almost like a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction under the absurdity of the question. “I’m surviving," he managed, his voice steadier than he felt. "Work’s been weird, but okay." He glanced down at his worn sneakers scuffing the path. "I’m trying to eat more than instant noodles.”

Gojo made a face of mock horror, his sculpted features twisting dramatically. “Sacrilege," he declared, the crisp scent of winter wind flaring briefly. "For shame." He nudged Nanami with an elbow, though the other Alpha didn't visibly react beyond a slight tightening around his eyes. "I will send Kento over with a care package of actual food," Gojo continues, his smirk returning, sharp and knowing. "And mild judgment.”

Nanami’s mouth twitched. “I have been doing weekend pop-ups lately. People like the cinnamon rolls.” He paused, as if deciding how much to reveal. “I’m expanding next month. New oven, more space.”

 Gojo’s eyes glittered. “You’re a national treasure. I demand pre-opening tasting privileges.”

Nanami didn’t flinch at the demand. “You can have a sample,” he said. “If you don’t complain about the schedule.”

Gojo stuck out his tongue at Nanami, which wasn't the closest Gojo came to being a child.

Yuji felt a genuine, if small, smile tug at his lips. Their combined attention, Gojo’s playful intensity and Nanami’s stoic practicality, was still immense, a pressure against his senses. Yet, the sheer normalcy of teasing him about instant noodles cut through the suffocating weight of expectation. His wildflower scent, previously sharp with panic, softened slightly, weaving threads of hesitant sunshine into the frost and spice surrounding him.

The path curved, revealing a break in the trees ahead where sunlight pooled brightly. The distant murmur of traffic grew slightly louder, a reminder of the city just beyond the park’s green walls. Nanami lengthened his stride, moving smoothly past them to take the lead, his broad shoulders blocking the harshest glare. "The coffee place is just through there," he said, gesturing towards the light with a tilt of his head. "Beyond the sycamores."

Gojo slowed his pace, pulling Yuji fractionally closer as they navigated a cluster of gnarled roots pushing through the gravel. "Excellent," he murmured.

The gravel path gave way to smooth pavement as they emerged from the tree line. Sunlight, unfiltered now, hit Yuji’s face, momentarily blinding. Nanami led them towards a small, brick-faced cafe tucked beside the park entrance, its awning striped green and white. The scent of roasting coffee beans cut through the lingering pine and earth, sharp and inviting.

Gojo’s hand remained a cool anchor on Yuji’s as they navigated the sidewalk, his presence a deliberate counterpoint to Nanami’s solid stride ahead. "This place does a mean cold brew," Gojo commented casually, his voice losing the earlier intimate murmur but still pitched low, almost conspiratorial. "Strong enough to resurrect the dead. Or at least jolt me through another investor call."

He released Yuji’s hand as Nanami held the cafe door open, the sudden absence of contact leaving a faint chill on Yuji’s skin. Inside, the air was thick with the rich aroma of coffee, baked goods, and the low hum of conversation. Nanami navigated the small space with familiar ease, finding a corner table tucked beside a large window overlooking a sliver of park.

Yuji slid into the booth first, the worn leather cool through his thin shirt. He pressed his palms flat against the tabletop, grounding himself. Nanami sat opposite him, his posture impeccable even in the casual setting, his bakery scent mingling seamlessly with the coffee shop’s offerings. Gojo slid in beside Yuji, his long legs stretching out under the table, deliberately close. His frost-scent brushed Yuji’s arm again, a constant reminder.

A young server approached, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the trio, lingering on Gojo’s and Nanami's striking features. "What can I get you all?" Her voice was cheerful but held a note of awe.

"Large cold brew, black," Gojo said immediately, flashing her a dazzling, effortless smile that seemed to momentarily stun her. "Make it a double shot please." His eyes, however, flickered past her, scanning the room with a practiced nonchalance that didn’t quite mask the sharpness beneath.

Nanami ordered a simple Americano. Yuji mumbled a request for hot chocolate, craving the comfort of sugar. The server retreated, leaving a palpable shift in the air around their table. The casual ease of the walk evaporated, replaced by the focused weight of the Alphas’ attention settling firmly back on Yuji.

Gojo leaned back, the picture of relaxed arrogance, but his gaze pinned Yuji. "So," he began, his voice deceptively light. "Infinity’s busy." He stretched the word out, a casual afterthought dropped onto the table between them. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the worn wood. "We’re finishing the North Tower. New investors, new floors, new disasters to dodge."

He paused, taking a slow breath as if savoring the cafe air, though his eyes never left Yuji’s face. The clarity in his tone suggested he was cataloging more than just the cafe’s patrons. "I’ve been living in meetings and cold brew." The admission held a brittle edge beneath the nonchalance. 

The server returned shyly glancing between Gojo and Nanami while placing their drinks in front of them. Yuji stared at her in understanding. They had an otherworldly aura about them that just captivated people. Yuji wrapped his hands around the warmth of his mug, seeking anchor.  He studied Gojo's face trying to be subtle. He could see it now, the tiredness etched faintly at the corners of Gojo’s startling blue eyes, the slight tension in his jaw the performance didn’t quite conceal. "Sounds tiring and complicated," Yuji offered quietly. His own scent, sunshine and wildflowers, softened slightly with a thread of genuine concern, weaving through the frost and coffee.

Gojo shrugged, a soundless, dismissive lift of his shoulders. Then he inhaled slowly, deeply, like he was tasting the winter air trapped within the cafe. "It’s fine," he declared, the familiar smirk returning, sharp and challenging. "I like being a problem people underestimate." His gaze sharpened, focusing intently on Yuji. "It’s fun to prove them wrong." A hint of genuine amusement flickered. "Also, I have a team that feeds me memes during budget reviews, which is crucial."

While Gojo spoke, Nanami folded his hands neatly behind his back, though he remained seated. His posture was a study in contained stillness, his gaze resting thoughtfully on the steam rising from his Americano. "Work is structured," he stated, his voice a low, calm counterpoint to Gojo’s energy. Each word precise. "I like that." He paused, his eyes shifting to meet Yuji’s across the table. "The bakery is predictable in a way that helps me breathe."

His voice smoothed around the word breathe, a deliberate, almost tangible shaping of the sound. A container carefully formed to hold calmness inside it. He lifted the cup, took a slow sip. "I bake in the morning. I like to be in the kitchen before anyone else." A faint, almost invisible softening touched his serious expression. "There’s a quietness there."

Yuji listened. He listened to the brittle bravado layered over exhaustion in Gojo’s words, the careful, deliberate calm Nanami cultivated like sourdough starter. He felt the heavy, possessive warmth of Nanami’s vanilla-cinnamon scent and the sharp, invigorating chill of Gojo’s presence beside him. A small, unexpected relief bloomed in his chest, fragile but undeniable. Like the tide receding just enough to reveal a safe path across stones. They weren't invincible monoliths. They had their own weights to carry.

"That sounds… good," Yuji said, his voice steadier than he expected. The panic had receded, replaced by this fragile understanding. "I’m glad you have that. The quiet." He meant it. For Nanami. And perhaps, unexpectedly, for the glimpse behind Gojo’s dazzling facade.

Gojo watched him, his earlier playful intensity replaced by a focused, assessing scrutiny. He seemed to be recalculating. Nanami gave a slow, acknowledging nod, his gaze lingering on Yuji with a new depth.

Yuji traced the rim of his cup, the ceramic smooth beneath his fingertip. The low hum of conversation from other patrons, the rhythmic hiss-grind of the espresso machine, the soft jazz notes drifting from hidden speakers – it all felt safe. Safer, somehow, than the quiet of his own apartment lately.

They peeled open the layers of recent life like the pages of a familiar book. Yuji talked about work and small victories: one job interview that had gone better than expected, the nervous knot in his stomach finally unraveling when it was over; a co-worker who brought in cookies at the bar, slightly burnt but earnest, sparking a rare moment of shared laughter in the breakroom; Yuta's ferret, Rika's new habit of rooting through his laundry for warmth, leaving tumbleweeds of ginger fur on his freshly washed sweaters. He found himself saying things he hadn’t planned to say: that he'd been trying to stick to routines, forcing himself to run even when his legs felt leaden, that some nights had been heavy, oppressive with the echo of past disappointments and the low thrum of his body’s unpredictable, unruly demands, but there were mornings like this – crisp air, unexpected kindness, that made the weight shift, become momentarily bearable.

Nanami listened, attentive in the way he always was – not searching for a place to speak, his gaze steady and unwavering on Yuji’s face, but present, like a steady chair waiting to be used. He didn’t offer platitudes, just the quiet acknowledgment in his deep voice. When Yuji faltered, his words stumbling over the admission of the harder nights, the effort it took just to maintain the facade of normalcy, Nanami leaned forward slightly. The warm scent of him intensified, a blanket of reassurance.

“It’s okay to be slow,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the table. “There’s no need to rush toward standards other people set.” His words landed with simple, profound weight. Not pity. Permission. Gojo hummed in agreement, nodding. 

A lump formed in Yuji’s throat. He ducked his head, focusing on the intricate foam pattern collapsing in his cup. Sunshine and wildflowers, usually so faint, surged subtly in the small space between them – a bloom of startled vulnerability. Nanami’s quiet acceptance was a balm, disarming in its simplicity. He hadn’t offered solutions, hadn’t minimized the struggle. Just acknowledged it. Allowed it to exist without judgment. The sheer relief of it made Yuji’s eyes sting.

“Easier said than done,” Yuji managed, his voice rough, scraping the words out. He forced a small smile, glancing up through his lashes. “But… thanks, Nanami-san. Really.”

A sharp scrape of the chair broke the moment. Gojo pushed to his feet with a breezy grin, muttering something about refills before striding toward the counter. Yuji's gaze followed him automatically.

Even in the casual light of the cafe, Gojo's presence drew attention like a magnet. He leaned against the counter, long frame angled just so, flashing the barista a smile bright enough to make her drop the lid she was holding. His laughter carried faintly over the hum of the espresso machine-smooth, easy, practiced. Something uncomfortable twisted low in Yuji's chest. The woman laughed, flustered, cheeks pink as Gojo murmured something in that teasing, sugar-smooth tone that Yuji was beginning to know too well.

He shouldn't care. He told himself it didn't mean anything-it was just Gojo being Gojo. Still, Yuji's fingers clenched around his mug until his knuckles turned white.

Nanami's calm voice broke through. "Careful. You'll crack the cup."

Yuji blinked and forced his grip to loosen, offering a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Guess I zoned out." He looked down, but his gaze flickered up again when Gojo's laughter rang out once more. The sight of him-leaning casually on the counter, head tilted towards the blushing barista-sent a spark of something sharp and hot through Yuji's stomach.

Jealousy.

The word surfaced before he could stop it, shame curling close behind.

He had no right to feel that way. They weren't official. He hadn't even said he wanted that. He'd only agreed to "see where things went," to let them court him. That was supposed to mean no expectations. No claims. So why did it feel like someone had scraped a raw edge across his ribs? Yuji tried not to stare, but the contrast was impossible to ignore: Nanami's quiet warmth across from him, Gojo's winter-fresh energy across the room, stirring the air wherever he went. And when Nanami cleared his throat, Yuji realized he'd been watching the entire exchange a little too closely.

Gojo returned to the table a moment later, sliding effortlessly back into his seat next to Yuji, two fresh cups in his hand. "One refill for the responsible adult," he said placing a steaming coffee in front of Nanami, " and one for the world's cutest distraction."

Yuji's ears went hot. "You mean me?"

"Who else?" Gojo teased, grin easy, tone feather-light. "Nanami's cute, but he's already stuck with me as my mate. No need to try too hard."

Nanami sighed, unimpressed. "Flattery has a short shelf life with me, Gojo."

"That's why I save it for Yuji," Gojo replied winking."

The heat in Yuji's chest flickered-something between flustered and frustrated. He forced a laugh, picking up his mug as if that would steady him. "You really don't stop, huh?"

"Not when it works," Gojo said cheerfully.

Nanami's eyes flickered briefly toward Yuji, his expression unreadable but keen. He didn't comment, didn't need to. The small shift of his brow said enough-he'd noticed.

Yuji quickly looked away, staring into the swirling chocolate like it held the secret to not feeling stupid. He told himself again that it didn't matter. Gojo was free to flirt. They weren't exclusive. He had no right to be jealous.

Gojo leaned back in the booth, casual as ever. "You know, Kento," he said, his grin sharp with mischief, "you could at least pretend to enjoy my company. You're scaring the barista-she thought I was here with my dad."

Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. "You do realize that comment says more about your behavior than my appearance, right?"

"Oh, come on," Gojo drawled, "you've got the refined thing going for you. People see us together and assume I'm corrupting the responsible one."

"They assume correctly," Nanami replied dryly, taking a measured sip of his coffee.

Gojo leaned forward, voice lowering slightly. "Don't tell me you're actually warming up to me, Kento. I might faint."

Nanami didn't look up. "If you faint, I'll leave you there."

Gojo laughed softly. The sound hit Yuji harder than he expected. It reminded him of Gojo laughing with the barista. His stomach twisted. He looked down quickly, focusing on his mug, pretending to check his phone just to have something to do with his hands. It shouldn't bother him. The deal was-they'd "see how it went." Courting wasn't a claim. It was...a test run.

When he finally glanced up again, Gojo had turned toward him, grin wide and careless as ever. "You look awfully serious over there, sunshine. Thinking about how handsome I am?"

Yuji forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Something like that."

Gojo's grin softened for a fraction of a second, like he was about to say something more, but Nanami set down his cup with a quiet clink that interrupted the moment.

"Perhaps you could try not flirting in public," Nanami said, his tone mild but pointed.

Gojo shrugged unbothered. "Can't help it. I'm naturally charismatic."

Yuji laughed weakly, trying to make it sound easy. Inside, his pulse was a steady thrum of confusion and want and frustration all tangled together. He focused really hard on making sure his scent didn't betray him. He wasn't sure which was worse-how much he wanted Gojo to focus on him, or how much it hurt to realizes that Gojo's attention could be that bright and that fleeting at once.

Nanami reached for his coffee again, gaze steady. "You should focus that charm on something useful."

Gojo tilted his head, grin dangerous and lazy. "Oh, don't worry, Kento. I am."

Yuji's breath caught. He didn't know if that "useful" was supposed to mean him. He smiled and looked away, telling himself that it was fine.

Gojo stretched in his seat, finishing off his coffee in one long swallow. "Be right back," he said tossing a wink toward both of them before standing. "Try not to miss me too much."

"Promise nothing," Nanami replied without looking up, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Yuji watched Gojo stroll toward the back of the cafe, head turning just enough to flash a grin at someone who clearly wasn't them. The knot in Yuji's chest tightened again, quiet but insistent.

Nanami waited until Gojo disappeared around the corner before speaking. "You've been quiet."

Yuji startled a little, glancing down at his mug. "Just tired."

"Lying doesn't suit you."

That gentle, even tone cut through him far easier than sharp words ever could. Yuji's fingers toyed with the edge of his cup for a long moment before he exhaled and finally asked, "How do you do it?"

Nanami looked up from his coffee, brow slightly furrowed. "Do what?"

"Handle him," Yuji said softly, eyes still fixed on the swirling chocolate. "When he's like...that."

The question hung between them, fragile as steam.

Yuji's voice lowered further. "You're his mate. And he flirts with everyone-baristas, waiters, random people on the street-and it doesn't even seem to bother you. I don't get it. If I were you, I'd-" He stopped himself, biting back the words Lose it. "-I'd probably say something."

Nanami was silent for a moment. Long enough that Yuji almost regretted asking. Then, finally, Nanami said quietly, "You learn to tell the difference between habit and intent."

Yuji blinked. "Huh?"

Nanami's gaze softened, his voice calm and sure. "Gojo flirts because he enjoys reactions. It's part of how he engages with the world. But there's a line between flirting and seeking. He has never crossed it."

Yuji frowned, trying to process that. "So it doesn't...bother you at all?

Nanami's eyes held his, honest and steady. "Of course it does. I'm not made of stone. But being mates means trust, not ownership. We anchor each other. He knows exactly where he stands with me-and where I stand with him. That's why it doesn't matter who he smiles at."

Yuji swallowed hard. The words settled heavy and warm in his chest, but the ache didn't fully leave. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Maybe not yet, " Nanami said gently. "But that's the point of courting, isn't it? To learn what you can handle, what you want to build. You're still figuring out what it means to stand beside both of us."

Yuji's throat felt tight. "I don't even know if I'm...allowed to feel jealous."

Nanami gave a faint, almost fond smile. "Jealousy isn't a crime, Yuji. It's simply a signal. The question is what you do with it."

Yuji looked down again, whispering, "Right now, I just feel stupid."

"You're not," Nanami said firmly. "You're being honest. That's far more valuable than pretending not to care."

For a moment, Yuji didn't answer. He just breathed in the faint mix of cinnamon and coffee between them, letting it settle his pulse.

Gojo rounded the corner and his unmistakable voice carried cheerfully over the music. "Miss me?"

Nanami didn't turn, just murmured, "We were enjoying the quiet."

Gojo laughed, sliding back into his seat with a wink. "Liar. You were talking about me weren't you?"

Yuji forced a small grin, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Gojo beamed, utterly oblivious. "Good. Though I can't blame you if you were."

Nanami's sigh was soft but fond, and Yuji caught it-the warmth in his tone, the kind of affection that wasn't loud or boastful but anchored. And for the first time that afternoon, Yuji didn't just feel jealous. He felt curious-about what it would take to trust like that.

Chapter Text

Yuji watched Gojo’s easy sprawl, the way his winter scent mingled seamlessly with Nanami’s bakery warmth, creating a strangely comforting blend. The sharp pang in his ribs softened, replaced by a tentative flicker of understanding. Maybe Nanami was right. Maybe the ache wasn’t about ownership but about finding his own footing within their gravity.

“Just thinking,” Yuji admitted, meeting Gojo’s gaze directly this time. He didn’t look away. The raw edge Nanami had acknowledged felt less jagged, more like something he could examine. “About…us.” He saw Nanami’s slight nod from the corner of his eye.

Gojo’s grin softened into something quieter, more intimate. “Us,” he murmured, his playful tone dipping into sincerity. “Good." He didn’t elaborate, didn’t need to. His hand brushed Yuji’s knuckles where they rested on the table, a fleeting touch that carried surprising weight. The winter-fresh scent deepened, wrapping around Yuji’s own tentative sunshine scent like a protective cloak. The barista’s blush, the easy laughter across the room—they suddenly felt distant, insignificant. The knot in Yuji’s chest loosened another fraction. He leaned back, letting the blended scents and the quiet hum of the cafe settle over him. He wasn’t sure yet. But he was willing to learn.

Nanami's watch gave a soft chime. He glanced down at it, then toward the window, where sunlight had mellowed into a golden haze. "We should head out soon," he said, setting his cup aside. "If we linger much longer, Gojo will start convincing the staff to let him rename the menu."

"Not a bad idea," Gojo said, feigning deep thought. "'The Infinity Latte' has a nice ring to it." His grin was the picture of easy confidence-but Yuji caught the faint quirk in his brow. "What'd I miss? You two look like you were having a therapy session."

"Nothing important," Nanami said smoothly, rising. 

Gojo's gaze flicked to Yuji, teasing at first, but lingering longer than usual. "Mm, I don't know...the air feels heavy. You didn't let him psychoanalyze you, did you, Yuji?"

Yuji managed a weak smile. "Something like that." 

Gojo tilted his head. "Huh." For a heartbeat that grin faltered into something more uncertain before he masked it again. "Guess I'll have to make it up to you both with my sparkling personality."

Nanami sighed-long suffering, fond. "Come on."

Yuji smiled faintly as he stood. The tension that had coiled in his chest earlier loosened a little with the simple act of movement. Gojo grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, humming some off-key tune as they stepped into the cool air outside. Yuji shoved his hands into his pockets, falling into step between them as they walked. The late-afternoon light caught Gojo's hair, turning the strands silver, while Nanami's silhouette beside him seemed steadier, darker-like a grounding line drawn through chaos.

"Park?" Gojo suggested, nodding toward the tree-lined path a block away. "Might as well walk off the caffeine before Kento accuses me of vibrating."

"I'd accuse you of that regardless," Nanami said, but his steps followed easily.

They reached the park within minutes. The pathways glistened faintly from a recent drizzle, and the air smelled of damp grass and earth. A breeze stirred fallen leaves across the ground in soft spirals.

Yuji let the others walk ahead for a moment, watching the easy way they moved together-Gojo's long stride adjusting automatically to match Nanami's pace. There was something unspoken in the way their shoulders brushed occasionally, a kind of quiet coordination that came from long familiarity. It wasn't flashy or deliberate. It just was.

And Yuji realized, with a pang that was more longing than pain now, that that was what he envied most deeply. Not just the flirting, not just the smiles or the easy touches (though, admittedly, not completely). It was the bedrock certainty. The unshakeable knowledge of where they stood, a fortress built on shared time and silent understanding.

Gojo glanced back over his shoulder, sharp eyes spotting him lagging those few steps behind. "Hey sunshine," he called, voice cutting through the park's quiet. "You coming? Or are you communing with the squirrels?"

Yuji blinked, startled from his thoughts, and caught up quickly, his sneakers scuffing on the damp path. "Yeah, sorry. Just… taking it in." He gestured vaguely at the autumnal trees.

Gojo grinned, falling back slightly to walk beside him, his presence a cool, vibrant energy. "You look like you're overthinking again. Should I be worried? Is it existential? Caffeine crash? The profound injustice of squirrels having better work-life balance?"

"Always." Nanami said dryly, earning a laugh from Gojo.

Yuji rolled his eyes, but the comfortable warmth in their familiar exchange—the dry humor, the effortless back-and-forth—softened something brittle inside him. "Nah," he said, bumping Gojo’s shoulder lightly with his own, a small act of connection. "Just thinking."

Nanami tilted his head slightly, a silent prompt delivered over his shoulder, his gaze observant but patient. Yuji hesitated. The words, the vulnerability he’d shared earlier with Nanami alone, pressed against his throat again, feeling uncertain and clumsy out here in the open air, with Gojo’s sharp attention fixed on him. "About…," he started, then stopped. Swallowed. "About what you said earlier, Nanami," he admitted finally, his voice dropping lower. "In the cafe. About trust. And… belonging." He kept his eyes on the path, feeling Gojo’s focus sharpen beside him.

Gojo slowed, shoving his own hands deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers. "So," he said, his tone deceptively casual, almost lazy. "Trust, huh?" He kicked a small pebble, watching it skitter ahead.

Yuji blinked, thrown by the non-sequitur. "What?"

Gojo turned fully to look at him then, slowing down on the path. His usual playful glint was gone, replaced by a startling directness. His blue eyes, usually hidden behind the shield of his grin, were focused, intent. "You said something about trust and belonging. Sounds serious. Heavy." He tilted his head, a lock of white hair falling across his forehead. "Did Kento give you the 'trust is earned, not given' speech? Or the 'belonging is a verb' one? He has variations."

Nanami gave him a warning look, a slight tightening around his eyes. "Satoru—"

"No, it's fine," Yuji cut in quickly, stepping slightly in front of Nanami, though his voice came out softer, more vulnerable than he intended. He met Gojo’s gaze, holding it. "We were just talking. About… stuff. My stuff."

Nanami gave a small hum of acknowledgement, the kind that meant he was listening, present, but wouldn't push. Yuji took a breath, the damp air cool in his lungs. "I think… maybe I was feeling jealous earlier," he confessed, the words raw. "Back at the cafe. Because… I don't have that yet. What you two have." He gestured vaguely between them. "That kind of… steadiness. That certainty." He looked down, scuffing his shoe on the wet asphalt. "It's not that I want to stop you or Gojo from being yourselves. Flirting, whatever. I just—" He exhaled sharply, a visible puff of breath fogging the cool air. "I just want to feel sure. Sure that I belong here. Like this. With you. That I won't… mess it up somehow." He managed a weak, self-deprecating huff. "I was being dumb."

Gojo stopped walking completely. "You? Dumb? Impossible." The words were light, his trademark grin flashing, but it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. They remained serious, searching Yuji’s face. "What did you mean, though? Exactly? Trust? That you 'belong'?" He took half a step closer, his voice dipping low, intimate, cutting through the space between them despite the park's openness. "Because—" he tilted his head, the movement deliberate, "—you already do, you know. Belong. With us. Right here."

Yuji’s throat went painfully tight. He wanted to believe that—desperately, fiercely—but the phantom ache from the cafe, the sting of seeing Gojo effortlessly charm the barista, hadn't completely faded. It felt like wishful thinking. "It's not that simple," he murmured, the words scraping out. He couldn't meet Gojo’s intense gaze anymore, focusing instead on a vibrant red leaf plastered to the path.

Gojo studied him for a long, silent moment. The playful mask was utterly gone now, revealing a complexity Yuji rarely saw—a flicker of vulnerability, a deep, unexpected sincerity. Then Gojo smiled, but it was smaller this time, softer, lacking its usual blinding wattage. It was a quiet, private thing meant only for Yuji in that damp, golden space. "It's not supposed to be simple," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "But it is true."

Nanami’s voice joined quietly beside them, a warm, steady counterpoint to Satoru’s cool intensity. "He's right, Yuji." He met Yuji’s gaze, his own expression calm but unwavering. "Trust isn't a trophy we hold back until you jump through hoops. It's something we build. Actively. Every day. Together. It’s not something you earn like a prize; it’s something we create, block by block." He paused, letting the words settle like the falling leaves. "And belonging? That starts with you choosing to stay."

Gojo exhaled through his nose, a sound caught halfway between exasperation and deep affection. He ran a hand through his silver hair. "Exactly what I said," he declared, the familiar grin trying to reassert itself, though his eyes remained softer than usual. "Only, you know—less poetic. More… Kento."

Yuji huffed a small, startled laugh despite himself, the unexpected normalcy of Gojo’s faux-complaint loosening the knot of tension in his shoulders. A fraction of the weight lifted. Gojo’s grin widened, genuine relief flashing behind it this time. He bumped Yuji’s shoulder lightly with his own, a friendly, grounding nudge.

"See?" Gojo said, his tone brighter again, though the underlying sincerity hummed beneath it. "We're getting better at this whole communication thing, aren't we? Progress! Next step: synchronized trust falls. Team building."

"Over a cliff, perhaps," Nanami said drily, already starting to walk again along the leaf-strewn path. "For science."

Gojo gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. "You wound me, Kento! Deeply! My fragile, artist's soul!"

Yuji laughed for real this time, a short, genuine burst of sound that surprised him. The sound made Gojo’s grin shift—less performative, more honest, crinkling the corners of his eyes. The subtle unease that had flickered behind those blue depths earlier, the uncertainty Yuji had glimpsed, seemed to ease completely, replaced by something warm, steady, and reassuringly sure.

They continued walking, the path leading them towards an old stone and wooden bridge arching over a narrow, slow-moving stream. The last of the fading sunlight flickered through the thinning canopy, painting the world in shades of amber and deep violet. Gojo shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, humming that same off-key tune, but softer now. Beside him, Nanami’s presence was a familiar calm, an anchor radiating vanilla and cinnamon warmth. And Yuji—caught in the middle, the crisp air thick with the mingling scents of frost, winter winds, and comforting baked goods—finally let himself breathe. Deeply. For the first time that strange, emotional day, the warmth spreading tentatively through his chest wasn't the sharp burn of jealousy or the cold grip of insecurity. It was fragile, tentative, but undeniably… belonging.

As they reached the crest of the bridge, Gojo leaned casually against the moss-dappled stone railing, gazing down at the dark water reflecting the bruised colors of the twilight sky. Yuji stood next to him, close enough that the rough wool of Gojo’s coat sleeve brushed against his hoodie, the contact sending a small jolt through him. Nanami stood on Yuji’s other side, a solid, silent presence. The last sliver of sunlight reflected off the rippling water below, gilding their outlines in fleeting, shimmering light. Yuji knew—this quiet moment, this fragile warmth blooming between the three of them—was terrifying and new and something achingly worth wanting. For a long, suspended moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the gentle gurgle of the stream, the distant city hum, and the rustle of leaves. The air smelled faintly of damp stone, decaying leaves, and the ghost of roasted coffee still clinging to their clothes.

Then Gojo moved slightly—a minute shift of weight. Enough that the back of his hand brushed against Yuji’s where it rested on the cold stone railing. Not accidental. Not demanding either. Just a soft, deliberate point of contact. A grounding touch. Yuji’s breath caught, suspended.

The stream chuckled below the wooden planks, a counterpoint to the sudden quiet settling over them. Gojo didn't look at him. His voice, when it came, was quieter than expected, almost lost in the rustle of leaves overhead. "You know, I might joke a lot, but I mean what I said back there."

Yuji turned his head, not towards the alpha directly, but catching the distorted reflection of silver hair and sharp profile in the rippling water below. Sunlight fractured across the surface, making Gojo's image shimmer. "About what?"

"That you already belong," Gojo said simply, his gaze fixed on some distant point downstream. The crisp scent of snow and winter wind, usually so bold, seemed muted, introspective. "You don't have to prove anything to us. You just have to be here."

Nanami shifted slightly beside Yuji, his solid presence a warm counterweight to Gojo's airy intensity. His scent, vanilla and cinnamon deepened by the warmth of the afternoon, wrapped around Yuji like a soft blanket. His tone joined in, low and sure. "And stay long enough to learn what that means."

The ache that had been sitting under Yuji's ribs all day – the familiar, gnawing uncertainty that flared whenever he dared to want this too much – loosened. It didn't vanish, not entirely, but it softened, replaced by something fragile. Tentative. Real. He traced a knot in the worn wood railing with his thumb. "I'm trying," he murmured, the words barely audible over the water’s babble.

Gojo’s fingers shifted on the railing near Yuji’s hand. They didn’t grab, didn’t demand. They simply curled gently, lightly, around Yuji’s knuckles. Not tight. Just enough to hold. The contact, cool skin against his own, sent a current of warmth skimming through Yuji’s chest. Small. Steady. Anchoring.

"I know," Gojo said, his voice regaining a fraction of its usual resonance. "We all are."

Yuji swallowed. He looked down at their joined hands. Gojo's were larger, the skin smooth and cool, conveying a contained strength. On his other side, Nanami’s warmth radiated, his arm brushing Yuji’s sleeve, calm and constant as the turning of the earth. The contrasting sensations, the mingling scents of frost and spice – they weren't conflicting. They were balancing. Between them, Yuji finally felt the quiet pull of equilibrium. Like gravity, gentle but impossible to deny. A weightlessness that wasn't falling, but being held. He took a slow, deep breath, tasting damp earth and sun-warmed pine.

A sudden breeze riffled through the canopy above, sending a cascade of golden-green light dancing across the water and shivering down their backs. Gojo squeezed his hand once, a brief, grounding pulse, then released it. His voice returned to its familiar, teasing lightness, chasing away the lingering solemnity. "Alright," he declared, pushing off the railing. "Enough feelings for one day. If we stand here any longer, Kento’s going to start reciting melancholy haikus about transience or something equally devastating."

"I could," Nanami said evenly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he adjusted his glasses. The warm bakery scent sharpened slightly with amusement. "And it would still be preferable, aesthetically and auditorily, to your attempts at karaoke."

"Rude!" Gojo laughed, the sound bright and sudden, cracking against the park's quiet like a dropped pinecone. It startled a nearby sparrow into flight. "Utterly uncalled for! My voice is a national treasure!"

Yuji smiled, a real one this time, feeling the last vestiges of tension dissolve from his chest like sugar in hot tea. The world didn't feel divided anymore – the park, the city beyond, the space between their bodies – it all felt shared. Occupied together. He pushed away from the railing too, falling into step beside Nanami as Gojo strode ahead, already launching into an exaggerated defense of his vocal prowess.

"Seriously, Kento, that duet we did last month? Pure magic! You're just jealous because the mic loved me more."

"Jealousy implies I possess the capacity to care about such an objectively painful auditory experience," Nanami retorted dryly, but the warmth in his scent deepened, belying his words. He glanced sideways at Yuji. "Ignore him. He gets like this when he hasn't had enough sugar. We passed an ice cream cart near the entrance."

"Ooh! Ice cream!" Gojo spun around, walking backwards, his blue eyes alight. "Excellent idea, Kento! See? Teamwork. Yuji? What’s your poison? Triple fudge explosion? Rainbow sherbet monstrosity?"

Yuji chuckled, the lightness in his chest expanding. He thought of the cookies mentioned earlier, the quiet comfort of Nanami's bakery. "Something... simple? Maybe just vanilla?"

"Vanilla?" Gojo feigned horror, clapping a hand to his chest. "The audacity! The blandness! Where's your sense of adventure, sunshine?"

"Vanilla," Nanami stated firmly, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of Yuji's back as they navigated the path, a steadying, claiming touch that sent a different kind of warmth through him. "Is a classic. And underappreciated." He met Gojo's exaggerated pout with a level stare. "Like restraint."

Gojo grinned, wide and unrepentant, turning to walk forwards again. "Fine, fine. Vanilla for the purist. But I'm getting sprinkles. And hot fudge. And possibly a whole other scoop on top. Compensation for the emotional damage." He skipped a step, the picture of careless energy, yet Yuji noticed how his gaze flickered back towards them, ensuring they followed. The possessiveness was still there, a quiet hum beneath the laughter, but it felt safe now. Welcoming. Like the worn wood of the bridge they’d just left behind, leading somewhere new. The path ahead wound between tall oaks, the distant, enticing chime of the ice cream cart ahead. Yuji kept pace, the scents of his companions wrapping around him, the echo of Gojo's laughter hanging in the air, and the fragile, undeniable sense of belonging settling deeper, one tentative step at a time.