Chapter Text
Ah, now he’s done it.
Satoru led the way from the ferris wheel, Taiga trailing behind him, big amber eyes glued to his tiny red sneakers. His entire body had wilted slightly, like a flower that had gone just a day or so too long without a drink of water.
Satoru’s behavior was weighing heavy on him. He knew this was probably tough for the kid.
As an adult, naturally, he knew exactly what he was doing to Taiga when he flirted with him. It was a bad idea, but Satoru was terrible at resisting getting closer to fire when it was so warm on a cold night, and watching the flames flicker and dance was too captivating to ignore. It fell on him to know when to pull back before things went too far, when the bars of his restraint started to creak a bit too loudly.
It was obvious to him that Taiga was physically interested, at least. Many boys his age would be, if presented the opportunity to play with an adult. Satoru could see the greed in his eyes when they kissed, and how they dimmed with disappointment when he left the kid with barely a taste.
As tough as it was for him, it was for Taiga’s own good. He was far safer on the other side of the line, out of biting range.
Satoru knew exactly what he was doing when he flirted with Taiga, except… he never meant to actually let the kid get that close to the ugly things he kept buried. It was one thing to explain the situation around his dynamic and how it repelled every person to ever cross his path, but to dig deeper, about his place in the world as the apex of creation? About the distance it naturally puts between him and every other living organism?
It was a topic Satoru had long accepted, especially after the one person who seemed capable of bridging that gap walked away of his own accord. It was better not to think too much about it, let alone talk about something that couldn’t ever be changed.
But his mouth started moving on its own, releasing a tumbling stream of words that couldn’t be stopped until he saw Taiga’s wide-eyed, devastated look. What was he thinking, unloading about things a boy like that couldn’t possibly understand?
He wasn’t. It’s just that, around Taiga, it’s become too easy to talk without stopping about whatever entered his head.
It was not appropriate. Satoru’s situation was much too heavy for a kid like Taiga to carry, not to mention that it existed in a world entirely different from civilians. No matter how much he liked the kid, and even if Satoru was a normal alpha, the proper place for Taiga was always going to be somewhere far away from him.
So when Satoru shut the door to that uncomfortable place far too close to the center of his being, he must have caught Taiga’s poor tail in the doorframe, somehow. The little tiger was too tough to cry out though, and bore the pain with little complaint, despite having every right to.
The crowd had thinned this late at night compared to when they’d first arrived, but it made no difference on the walk back, when the sea of people parted before him like that one Bible story, pushed aside by the invisible hand of instinct.
Taiga had yet to say a word since they stepped off the ferris wheel. His silence weighed heavier than anything Satoru could carry in his own arms.
Even though it was his fault, he should cheer him up, somehow. How to make someone feel better…? Satoru wasn’t used to taking care of someone else’s feelings, particularly if it involved personally doing something.
Earlier, when they got chicken, he was able to push Taiga out of his gloomy mood by sheer force of personality. He was kind of winging it, but hadn’t it essentially boiled down to telling Taiga not to be sad anymore until it worked?
“What did I say about that face?” he said playfully after they lined up at the prize stand, turning up his charm as high as it could go when his best assets were hidden behind his bandages and plain uniform. “It’s fun when you’re smiling, remember? I like your smile, you know.” Especially when not many people do that around him. The fact that no one was glad to see him didn’t bother him exactly; it would be useless to be upset by it anyways, as useless as being mad that thunderstorms sometimes happen during holidays.
However, it would be foolish to deny that it made the sunny, clear days even better, right?
But Taiga just curled inward further, hunching his shoulders like some kind of sad turtle. “Sorry,” he muttered.
It didn’t work.
A complicated look passed Taiga’s cute face. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired, I guess,” he tried to smile, a wan, thin little thing, like imitation vanilla when he knew what infusem*nt with the real bean tasted like.
Satoru might just hate that expression even more than his sad one.
“‘Quit acting tough. Aren’t you supposed to rely on me?’” he thought waspishly, the most fundamental parts of him raising its hackles, and he had to resist the urge to bare his fangs and drag an errant puppy back to his side. To the alpha in him, Taiga’s behavior was an irritant, registering as disobedience from both a child and a potential mate, stirring a complicated jumble of signals that made parts of him itch to discipline and comfort in equal measure.
Taiga’s alpha, whether as his guardian or his mate, told him to be open with him, and rely on him, and here he was, still not doing it.
“‘Does the stubborn little puppy need to be ordered to sit and roll over to finally show his belly?’” came the savage thought, unbidden and intrusive as the unwelcome guest who made its home in Satoru’s head a long time ago.
Damn it, shut up. His head has been turning into a noisier place lately- even his reversed cursed technique can only help by silencing the beast every time it claws at the back of his brain. That doesn’t stop it from making the first gouge every time it's provoked.
Taiga, a kid with enough energy in him to power half of Tokyo, obviously wasn’t tired. Just half an hour ago, he probably would’ve jumped and cheered if he agreed to let him stay out until the carnival closed. He wasn’t tired, he was still upset.
Satoru scoured his memories for the moments Taiga looked happiest; playing around with each other’s hair at the parfait shop, eating his special strawberry shortcake, getting a real kiss, grabbing his arm and looking around at every little thing that caught his interest…
But those weren’t the only times he looked at Satoru like he personally hung the moon and the stars for him, were they? Taiga looked happy while teasing him when they stood in line for crepes together, when they saw each other again after weeks of work-dictated separation, and in the mirror maze, when Satoru held him in the palm of his hand and he looked like he never wanted to leave.
How can someone make such lovely faces at him all the time?
He really didn’t want to part for the night without fixing things.
“Our turn is coming up soon. Ready to take your prince charming home?” he prodded again, feeling around for any chink in the gloomy shell Yuuji had burrowed behind this time.
“Mm,” Taiga responded.
He kept poking, running his mouth just to see if it would get him anywhere. “You can take it home and think of me,” he said, putting his hands together cutely.
That got a reaction, but not a positive one. Taiga’s face tightened, pain reflecting in his amber eyes.
What did Satoru do wrong this time? Why was this so hard?
A part of him wanted to shake the boy’s shoulders and demand that he not be sad anymore; he would, if he knew it would’ve worked.
Silence fell between them again, and the entire time, Satoru internally gnashed his teeth impatiently at the uncharacteristic and grating feeling of helplessness , all the way until the moment he was passing prince Cinnamoroll into Taiga’s waiting arms. “Here you go,” he said, mental wheels still spinning in mud.
Taiga gingerly took the doll from him and thanked him in a hesitant voice, then quietly hugged it tight against his chest, eyes still captured by nothing when they were supposed to be on Satoru.
Getting teased couldn’t be making Taiga this depressed, could it? Satoru was being honest when he said they couldn’t kiss with tongue in the middle of a public attraction. Well, they could, but it’s not like the kid knew that Satoru was above the reach of civilian law. However, he had reached a point where he had to stand vigilant over the chains that held himself back, when they creaked ominously with every other thing Taiga did.
He needed to be careful. All it took was an instant, one slip for a fraction of a second, to hurt an innocent child.
What was Taiga upset about this time? His mood plummeted again around the ferris wheel, right? For the life of him, Satoru couldn't understand why anything he'd done tonight would be this upsetting.
For an "ordinary kid", his feelings were aggravatingly difficult to understand. Or perhaps this was simply a consequence of the line that divided Satoru from everyone else.
The boy attempted to step aside and allow the line to move on, and quick as a viper, the prime alpha’s teeth snapped warning, “Tai-ga-kun,” he drawled, tone lower with a hidden warning coiling itself around deceptive playfulness, “What about mine?”
Taiga froze with one foot still hovering in the air, like some kind of woodland prey animal that just heard the bushes rustle ominously. After a moment, he held out Prince Cinnamoroll, uncertainty plain on his face, “Did you want him after all?”
Hah? Where has that funny little brain run off to now? “My present! Where’s my present?” he gestured to himself with both hands and complained as he always does, without reservation, especially with the insult of being forgotten about. How mean! He was looking forward to it too!
He expected his pretty big eyes to get even bigger, for Taiga to apologize like he was personally responsible for ending the world, to offer up everything he had to offer and more and beg him for forgiveness. It was absolutely within the kid’s character, after all.
And Satoru would forgive him -not even a demon would be able to refuse forgiving such a cute face- but this time, he’d punish the boy. Make him squirm a little before letting him off.
None of those things happened though. Instead, Taiga bit his lip and scraped his shoe against the cobblestone below, looking like a miserable puppy left in a cardboard box on the side of the road. “...Are you sure you want it?” he asked, all his confidence in the same mysterious, far-flung place as his brain. “I can return the ticket.”
“Noooo!” he immediately shouted, heedless as ever of the many eyes they were rapidly gaining. Let them scratch their empty heads and release meaningless wind from their lips, Satoru had a f*cking emergency on his hands! He stomped his foot multiple times and pretended it was Taiga’s titanium-grade skull in the hopes that it would get his point through the thick walls, “You promised me!”
Did he need to fall on his back and cry for this kid to get it?!
There’s no way he’d withhold the present he’d been promising all night as some form of retaliation, right? A sweet child like Taiga? It was enough to make a man cry!
This spoiled, willful behavior endeared Satoru to absolutely no one, but he’d long resolved to do as he pleased, including expressing himself in any way that he wanted. And right now, all he wanted was to kick his legs and cry and shout at the rejection.
And in spite of all logic and past experience, this was the moment he finally saw a faint smile grace Taiga’s face. “If you really want it, then, okay,” his words set him aglow with a hesitant, fragile hope before he approached the prize stand with his golden ticket in hand.
As his amber eyes scanned the prize lineup, a very baffled Satoru replayed the last handful of moments and was unable to pinpoint where exactly he cheered Taiga up; he wouldn’t be able to do it even if he was promised a chance to change himself into a beta.
Did he… did Taiga think he didn’t want his present anymore? Seriously? Where did he get that idea?
Taiga finished his exchange at the prize stand and led the both of them away from the crowd, back to the outskirts where they shared their skewers. His young features held a kind of solemn seriousness that Satoru hadn’t seen since the night they met. “You can take this one home and think of me, too,” he said. With one arm still clutching Cinnamoroll possessively, he held out a stuffed tiger cub wearing an adorable royal blue ribbon tied around its neck. Although unintentional, the sweet design for the stuffed tiger next to Cinnamoroll’s opulent prince design made the former look like an adorable little lady beside a prince charming. “Sorry it’s not a grand prize, it just seemed good. Fitting, that is.”
Not a grand prize? Ah, right, Taiga did win a lot of silver tickets from all the games he tried.
What a silly thing to worry about, when Satoru had enough money to buy this entire establishment in less time than it would take to snap his fingers. “It’s perfect,” he said instead, enjoying the sight of Taiga’s face lighting up, so much like a puppy wagging his tail. As such a good boy deserves, Satoru reached out and petted his hair, the soft, fluffy texture satisfying as always to touch.
And this boy, ever warm and sweet as a mug of honeyed milk, welcomed it, even in spite of how difficult Satoru had made this night for him. A fetching pink flush dusted his youthful cheeks and he butted his head into his palm, silently begging him for more of his affection.
A shudder rocked him from the base of his spine, frenetic energy constrained by iron will. The urge to sink his claws inside a child and drag him to the depths of the bottomless lake inside him scratched the back of his brain like a miserable itch, but Satoru forced himself to settle with flexing the fingers on his head as possessively as he could permit.
He’s mine, I want him, I can’t ever let this go-
“‘He’s not mine to have.’” he reminded himself. It was nice that Taiga liked physical affection so much, because Satoru had a hard time keeping his hands off him even with the tight constraints he keeps putting on himself.
While it was nice that the kid was beginning to peek from his shell again, Satoru probably needed to be a little more direct this time. “My bad. I’m kind of a pain, huh?” he said, a low, wry smile on his face.
That got a reaction. Taiga stiffened under his palm like a puppy caught chewing on his owner’s shoes. Befitting the image, his face gained a pitiful, guilty look as he averted his eyes to the tiger doll in his hands, “...Maybe a little.”
Satoru jerked back and clutched his chest as though dealt a physical blow that was powerful enough to pierce his Infinity. “Ouch!” he cried, before smirking and peering downwards, “How can I make it up? Any requests?”
He accepted his even tinier tiger while the bigger one lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, apparently considering the question seriously.
Satoru’s interest grew high enough to scrape the clouds as amber eyes drifted lower, and the youthful cheeks on Taiga’s face grew redder. The boy grew restless, fidgeting in place until he was clutching Cinnamoroll to his chest, face half hidden behind plush white fabric. Satoru leaned in closer and tilted his head like a dog sniffing the ground for delicious little morsels.
“What? What?” he prodded mercilessly, charmed by the way that pretty red color spread even to his ears.
Hesitantly, and slightly muffled by the doll that did nothing to hide his adorably flustered expression, Taiga mumbled, “Will you tell me if you… like kissing me?”
It was so sweet that it was deadly. Surely, you could poison yourself by eating too much sugar at once? “I like kissing you so much I want to do it right now,” Satoru said bluntly.
Of all the reactions, Taiga looked startled. Seriously, that mind of his was unfathomable; how could he doubt that Satoru liked making him whine and squirm with his tongue after he had kissed his little boy brains out? If anything, he liked it too much, to the point that a side of him that had been long-suppressed was making the chains creak and clang obnoxiously.
Another moment passed as Taiga appeared to work himself up for what must be an even bigger request. “Why don’t you?” he eventually asked, face still smothered by Cinnamoroll.
A half-startled, half-endeared laugh punched itself from the depths of Satoru’s chest. “Have you forgotten where we are?” he grinned, incredulous even as his heartbeat grew erratic when panicked realization flashed in amber eyes.
Yes, for a moment, Taiga genuinely forgot that they were surrounded by a crowd of strangers who would be very concerned if they saw a boy as good at this getting gobbled up by a bad adult.
Eyes only for him. All his.
Clang.
…It was remarkable how, in just six months, his alpha went from a lethargic and apathetic zoo animal to a poorly-trained mutt who thought mating season lasted all year. It cracked its eyes open for the first time after a long sleep during their parfait date, and since that moment, it refused to close them again and insisted on making Satoru’s every moment with the boy a complete headache.
And in the case of that damned mechanical bull, a migraine severe enough to make him want to tear his own head off. He was going to have to release some steam tonight or he might explode and take half of Tokyo with him.
Until then, he could release some of the tension coiling through his muscles like a spring wound far too tight. A small sliver of vengeance for putting him through an exhibition like that, flaunting a plump, ripe little treat in front of him when he wasn’t allowed to eat a single bite and all the unworthy trash around him got to gobble the sight up to their heart’s content.
And no matter how dangerous it was to wander into these waters, the scent of blood was irresistibly sweet to a shark; Satoru grinned, flashing his teeth from murky depths. “Or maybe you haven’t forgotten at all? Do you just like putting on shows?” he cooed, leaning in further, so close he could speak in a low tone that dripped thick like honey. “What a naughty little brat I’ve found.”
Such harsh words on paper, and for most, an accusation to protest. But clearly not so for Taiga, truly a naughty little brat, shuddering with such heat in his eyes.
A switch flipped and the air between them crackled with the electric current that always pulsed just beneath the surface of their every interaction. The sparks exploded like dazzling fireworks, countless bursts of heat that captivated the little moth in front of him, too innocent to understand how close he was to getting burned.
If Satoru was eighteen again, co*ck eager and restless the way only a young male in the springtime of his youth could be, he’d be hard right now.
Now though, he had the self control to keep his scent clear, as long as he played his hand carefully and didn’t let his thoughts drift too far into those dangerous waters. “It’s too bad. We can’t kiss in front of so many people. What to do?” The question hung coyly in the air, a hook dropped from a line that drew Taiga in. Satoru’s grin widened, exposing the long points of his fangs to prey too naive to take the hint and scurry away. “You have something else you can kiss, don’t you? Something that you can look at and think of me?” he asked, voice heavy with suggestion.
Immediately, Taiga’s eyes flew to the massive Cinnamoroll doll in his arms, amber pools widening to the size of lakes the moment Satoru’s implication clicked. “And, would you look here,” he faked a surprised noise, “I happen to have a little tiger of my own in my hands. He reminds me of someone…”
Oh, Taiga understood alright. It was so nice to have someone around who caught on to Satoru’s games so quickly, but he wanted to say it directly anyways. “Hey, Taiga, how about you kiss your prince? Kiss him and pretend he’s me.”
He let that fall between them like a bomb. Taiga swallowed and Satoru was unable to look away from the attractive way his small throat bobbed, a predator’s sight locked on weakness in tonight’s meal. His tongue swiped across his lips when he wondered what it would taste like, to sink his fangs into Taiga and properly taste him.
The little dummy would let him do it too. He’d see the glowing eyes of a monster that could eat him whole, peering at him through the darkest shadows of the forest, and willingly bare his neck while trusting it not to take a bite.
Naturally, Taiga did as asked. He pulled his cute face, red and pinched with embarrassment, away from the poor cover of Cinnamoroll and turned the doll to face him.
Satoru felt his grin warp as something truly feral snarled from his depths, a bloody kind of satisfaction that normally only took root in him when he had a curse writhing beneath his heel.
That’s it. There’s a good boy. Do as I say.
He didn’t have it in him to silence the intrusive cries of the animal that called his brain home, when every part of him liked it very much when Taiga was being obedient. “‘Such a good boy,’” he thought as he watched that soft little mouth press a timid kiss to a doll’s lips, begrudgingly agreeing with the thing he usually ignored.
Was that how Taiga wanted to kiss him? How cute.
If Satoru listened to the desires screaming in his blood, this sweet kid would be stripped naked and bent over the nearest table regardless of how many eyes saw him claiming a child like a feral dog in rut. He wouldn’t be smiling so sweetly if he knew the only thing keeping him from getting devoured to the bone was one man’s willpower.
He shoved those thoughts aside before the mental images overcame him and his scent began to reflect the filth swirling around in his head. “My turn,” he said, taking his time to enjoy the feeling of holding Taiga’s attention utterly captive, to the point a bomb could go off and the boy couldn’t be taken from this moment.
At this time, in this place, Taiga belonged utterly to him; there were actually two little tigers in the palm of his hand right now.
Something like a purr warmed him as he pressed a kiss to the one made of fabric, lingering long enough to let Taiga’s wide eyes drink it in. “Not as warm, but it’ll do for now, until I can have the real thing again,” he said, wanting to stay in those molten pools of gold until he was seared to ash, as Taiga looked at him with an innocent kind of awe that Satoru wasn’t sure anyone looked at him with.
Today would be their first time sharing a kiss in public, right before the unknowing eyes of countless strangers. Such public ownership almost made up for what he had to endure tonight.
It wasn’t healthy, but the thing in his head felt different right now, less like an unpleasant, throbbing spike piercing the back of his brain. Satoru never did come to fully understand it, nor did he want to. He liked it best when it was shut up in the darkest recesses of his being and quiet enough to be forgotten about.
For now, he’ll gladly accept a break where he can get it. “It’s late, but do you still want ramen before we go home? I want a little more time with you too.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Mid-September finally brought relieving, cool winds to the scorched sidewalks of Sendai, making the walk to his grandpa’s care home a comfortable stroll compared to grueling crawl through the flames of hell back in July.
The hydrangeas previously growing along the front entrance had finished their time for the season, and in their place bloomed stunning, butter-yellow camellias. Yuuji himself cradled a cheerful bouquet of orange cosmos and pale pink lilies in his arms for the only person in the world who would find a way to be grumpy about getting such pretty flowers in his room.
Grandpa never threw them out though, not until they had properly finished what life they had left.
“Welcome back, Itadori-kun,” Fujisaki greeted, alone at the front desk this time. The air here had a crisp, sterile kind of cleanliness to it that made the facility feel colder than it really was. It was quiet, but not deathly so, the faintest hums of voices echoing down the halls. TVs, nurses, healthier residents who had the mobility to wander into the common rooms and enjoy mahjong together made a peaceful atmosphere, rather than a desolate one.
“Thanks,” he smiled, shifting the flowers in his arm to reveal what one of his hands had been clenching, an assortment of small bags that he hoped would be kept a secret between himself and the staff.
Fujisaki pushed her glasses up and peered at the white bags adorned with adorable sky blue paw prints and tied closed with cobalt blue string. It took Yuuji way longer and way more tutorials than he’d want to admit to learn how to tie a ribbon and make them look cute and neat. “What’s that?” she asked, already smiling just looking at them.
“Peanut butter cookies,” he answered, “I brought a bag for everyone, so make sure Hayase-san doesn’t take more than one.”
She tittered gently, fond of her younger coworker’s antics, and accepted the bags, “Thank you, Itadori-kun, that’s very sweet of you. Where did you get these?”
Yuuji rubbed the back of his head, “I made them.”
Fujisaki blinked, “Really? You?” and immediately, she picked one up and loosened the tie to peer inside. Each bag was packed with two cookies. They were rustic little guys, round and cracked like the surface of an old sidewalk and dressed up with nothing more than a simple cross-hatch design, pressed in by the back of a fork. The cookies should have looked clumsy and awkward, but altogether, all those little imperfections made them charming in their unassuming roughness.
Yuuji knew from tasting experience that they were delicious, a good balance of salty-sweet and bold with the rich flavor of roasted peanuts, with a texture that melted in the mouth as soon as you put them on your tongue.
They were an interesting test case to observe how fats worked in cookies. The recipe required much less butter than shortbread-based cookies, which puzzled him when he considered how much flour the recipe called for, until he realized that peanut butter had high fat content. Essentially, a portion of butter was replaced with peanut butter.
So, ingredients with similar natures could often make fair substitutes with one another and change a dessert’s flavor profile and texture in interesting ways, albeit with some adjustments to account for any differences between ingredients. Peanut butter had less water content than butter, so to account for that and keep the cookies from being dry, this recipe had relatively less flour than a similar recipe that only used butter.
It was like the girls said, a lot of baking came down to balancing the basic elements, moisture, fats, raising agents, and so on, in a way that gave you the results you wanted.
“They look so good, Itadori-kun.” Fujisaki gasped, “Can I try one now?”
Yuuji’s cheeks warmed. “Sure,” he said, watching her take one out, careful not to spill crumbs on the desk, and take a bite. He leaned in as her smokey-gray eyes lit up.
“They’re absolutely delicious!” She said behind one of her hands, mouth still half full of cookie, perhaps the most inelegant he’s ever seen the mature woman.
He bounced on his toes a little and pumped one of his fists, “Yes! I’m so relieved!” No matter how good something he made tasted to him, he never felt quite so sure until someone else gave it a taste too. His taste buds were a little too agreeable sometimes.
Before Fujisaki could keep eating to finish her cookie, Yuuji held up a hand. “Wait a moment. Can you try the one that’s slightly darker?” he urged, because there was one other secret. After baking half of the cookie dough, he wanted to try playing with flavor a bit, and carefully added a blend of cinnamon, cardamom, and ground ginger to the other half, mindful of the strict warnings Hirano had beaten into his skull about the overpowering nature of cardamom.
He found a lot of recipes that used cinnamon in peanut butter cookies and wanted to take it a step further, so he Googled for a list of spices that pair well with cinnamon in desserts, and found out that this blend often went into chai tea, among other spices. So, in his mind, if x paired well with y and y paired well with z, then all three should taste good together, right? Hirano looked pained when he said this out loud, drawing some giggles from Kaneda, but the two urged him to try it.
“If you think about it, food is essentially a cook’s favorite toy.” Kaneda said, shrugging with a playful smile, “And it gets boring, playing the same game every time, right? So why not try every interesting idea you come up with?”
They reminded him of grandpa, “‘The kitchen is as much a lab as it is a canvas’” , huh? Then maybe it was only natural for someone to play mad scientist and follow their whims in it.
The moan behind Fujisaki’s closed lips trickled into a delighted giggle, her cheeks pink with such open joy that Yuuji’s heart squeezed itself. “I would pay for these, my goodness, Itadori-kun,” she sighed.
Yuuji couldn’t believe his own ears, “R-really? But they’re just… they’re nothing special.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hot enough that he could imagine it burning his palm.
Fujisaki laughed at him, though not unkindly, “I didn’t know cookies had to be one-of-a-kind to be worth buying!”
Guess playing around in the kitchen worked out, then. The spices added some delicious heat to the cookies and made the flavors more complex; it might just be his imagination, but also made the cookies seem less overpowering.
Ichigo would be able to explain. Yuuji really wanted to give him some but he didn’t feel confident in himself anymore. His baking was presentable enough, he just… didn’t know anymore. Would it really be welcome? Or would Yuuji once again step on an invisible eggshell and crack the atmosphere between them? Was that even a bad thing in the first place?
“‘Taiga-kun’s special strawberry shortcake was made just for me. It’s mine.’”
Yuuji’s “special” peanut butter cookies weren’t though. So he doubted Ichigo would get greedy over them too.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the present, Itadori-kun, but what brought it on?”
Yuuji scratched his cheek and pushed thoughts of Ichigo from his head, “Grandpa and I have a little challenge going. I need to invent a dessert that can impress him, so I’m practicing my baking skills.” It was the truth, but something about it rang slightly hollow now. He still wanted to win, but he didn’t feel the same kind of energy he once did when he thought about winning against his grandpa. Whenever he searched for new recipes to try, or evaluated modifications he made, grandpa’s face wasn’t the one bouncing around in his head anymore.
Somewhere along the way, “‘Would grandpa be impressed by this?’” had transformed into, “‘Would Ichigo like this?’”
“Keep it a secret from him, okay? I want his jaw to hit the floor when the day comes, so I don’t want him to get any hints about my progress.”
That was definitely true, but not the entire story. It was just kind of embarrassing to let his grandpa and his critical eye dissect any of his shoddy work during the learning process. The man would doubtlessly needle him.
“‘The onions are uneven,’” grandpa would say, hardly looking up from his own cutting board.
“‘I kno-ow!’” a very young Yuuji would whine, exasperated.
She nodded, “In that case, do you mind if I tell everyone I bought them from a store? I’m afraid Hayase-san is terrible at keeping secrets,” she said with a kind of fond, “what-can-you-do” smile at her younger coworker’s antics.
“Yes, thank you!” Yuuji said gratefully, then bid Fujisaki goodbye and continued on to his grandfather’s room, knocking politely before going inside.
The room, bare and utilitarian as always. And his grandpa, thin arms crossed with a surly face, as always. Itadori Wasuke barely looked at him and shook his head, “I still can’t believe you have nothing better to do,” he grumbled. “And I keep telling you the flowers are unnecessary.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yuuji dismissed.
Like clockwork, the vase was empty and waiting for him to fill it with the only reminder of himself that his grandpa would begrudgingly permit in his room.
That was a little unfair, perhaps bitterly so. It was just difficult for Yuuji to understand him, sometimes. Pictures, blankets- why didn’t he want to bring any pieces of their home with him? They didn’t have much, given his grandfather’s preference to live modestly and practically, but as it was, grandpa’s room in the care home looked as impersonal as a hotel room. Yuuji felt lonely just looking at the blank white walls, let alone living in them.
He worked quietly while the news droned on the television, a story about some scandalous affair between an idol and a movie star fading into the background.
This was the kind of story grandpa always hated to see on the news, simply because he hated that it was news in the first place, and would have him quickly -almost resentfully so- switching the channel. Right now he was letting it play, for no other reason than to coldly ignore Yuuji like he hasn’t waited out the usual five to ten minutes of stubborn silence countless times already.
“So? How are things at school? Your friends?” he said, finally breaking the usual stalemate.
“We’ve been growing apart. They just want to be with their girlfriends and I don’t want to bother them,” Yuuji replied, presenting the truth built on a lie.
“What’s with that? It’s not like you to be timid.”
Is it timidity to hold back from pushing yourself where you’re not wanted?
“Don’t you have other friends?”
“Actually…”
Yuuji wasn’t sure what to call himself and Ichigo- he thought of the alpha as a true friend, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to share his heart with, but it was impossible to tell if those feelings were reciprocated. The man had mastered the confusing art of being as dramatic and flashy as a stage performer while simultaneously remaining a complete and utter mystery.
However, Ichigo was whom he came here to talk about, although not directly if he could help it. Admittedly, Yuuji didn’t know what to ask to understand Ichigo specifically , only that there were a great many things he didn’t understand about living as an adult, or as an alpha, nor did he know much about the various ways people responded to it.
He’d thought about him for a long time, and while Yuuji was armed only with his best guesswork, he suspected that the old, mottled thing that had taken root in Ichigo’s heart was at least partially being fed by his situation as an alpha.
The TV’s glow flickered for a moment as the news switched to a different story, and the name “‘Pride Carnival’” unexpectedly greeting his ears brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. He whipped his head to the screen, where a male and female news anchor sat on either side of a very familiar object.
“‘An attraction in the Sendai Royal Carnival was vandalized only two weeks after its opening,’” began the female anchor, and Yuuji stood from his chair with a startled gasp.
The reporting switched to a photo of the mechanical bull he rode only three days ago; the hulking construct of metal was collapsed in on itself in an impossibly-round shape.
What vandalism? That’s not vandalism, that’s just destruction . What kind of vandal is capable of something like that without heavy construction equipment? Even Yuuji would only be able to punch a dent in a machine like that, or tear it off its stand if he gave it his all. Meanwhile, the “vandalized” bull was crumpled up like scrap paper in the palm of a god.
“What’s with the racket, Yuuji?” asked grandpa, because while the sight was certainly shocking, it didn’t warrant leaping from your chair like it had suddenly bit you in the ass.
Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah- nothing. It’s just,” he hesitated for a moment, but actually, this was probably a good way to start talking about what he wanted to talk about. He sat back down and crossed one ankle over his knee, “I was there with Ichigo just a few days ago. We were hanging out together.”
For some reason, grandpa looked surprised for a brief moment. “Just the two of you? You must get along well,” he said, words packed with some kind of insinuation that Yuuji couldn’t grasp, “Did he invite you?”
“Ah, no, Ichigo invited me to see a movie together, but something came up and we couldn’t go. So we changed our plans and went to the carnival instead.” For some reason, that made grandpa’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline, even though Yuuji didn’t say anything interesting. He hung out with friends all the time, like when he and Itou and Suzui would go to arcades or eat ramen together.
Grandpa was right though, he and Ichigo definitely get along well. His partner in crime was a pain in the butt sometimes, but Yuuji didn’t mind his demanding personality. It was nice to be needed, even if it was for frivolous things.
“‘Actually, aren’t the frivolous parts important too?’” he thought, remembering making eggs with grandpa every morning and whining about wanting yogurt or a tall stack of fluffy pancakes and maple syrup for the umpteenth time. As routine and meaningless as blinking, and equally, terribly painful to go without.
Yuuji nodded, watching his own hands aimlessly toy with one of the drawstring cords of his hoodie, “Mm, we do.” The two of them, despite all the differences that put a gap between them the size of the Pacific Ocean, absolutely got along, so well that it was kind of scary how Ichigo felt like someone he knew for years rather than for one summer that blazed by like a spark from a matchstick. Yuuji fidgeted in his seat and gingerly placed the topic on the table, “Actually grandpa, I have a question.”
“Another one? For me? Is it snowing in hell now?” he said dryly, but shifted slightly to sit straighter in his reclined bed.
After waiting for him to get a bit more comfortable, allowing his grandpa to swat his hands away and grumble when he tried to adjust the pillow against the older man’s lower back for him, Yuuji continued, “What’s being an alpha like? Were people ever afraid of you?” He didn’t know the magic bullet to getting the answer that could help him understand Ichigo a little more, so the next best thing was just to talk about whatever came to mind when he thought about the things he wanted to understand about him.
“Of course,” he replied, with the quickness of answering something long-known, and Yuuji’s slack jaw prompted him to elaborate, “Alphas are powerful and, statistically speaking, are more likely to commit violent crimes. An alpha who can’t control themselves can do more damage to the people around them than three betas combined, and that’s only accounting for physical abilities. Any alpha can also assert pressure over others using their commands and ingrained authority. People are cognizant of that, unconsciously or not.”
Wary no matter what? Unconsciously or not? That sounded a lot like Ichigo. Yuuji leaned in, caught like a fish on a hook, “Even if you weren’t doing anything?”
Grandpa shook his head, “Even if an alpha thinks he isn’t giving people any reason to be wary of him, the fact that he is an alpha is reason enough.” Despite how terrible the sentiment was, there was no resentment in his voice.
“So then, wherever you went, people were afraid of you?” asked Yuuji, digging for information about Ichigo by presenting it as asking about his grandpa. If the alpha in front of him experienced even a fraction of what Ichigo did, Yuuji wanted to know how it made him feel and how he drew comfort to deal with it.
This time, his question was waved away, “No, nothing that dramatic. Back when you were little, I would sometimes get suspicious looks when I took you to the playground. The only adult alpha, and a male at that. Sometimes the police would check in, asking which child was mine,” he said this very casually, but it had to be humiliating to be approached by the police like he was some kind of pervert just for bringing his grandson to a park.
Even ordinary alphas experience alienation like that? “We never learned anything like that in class,” he murmured.
“There are things that school can never teach you. They can only be taught by life,” Grandpa said simply, “Presenting as an alpha is a blessing, but it’s also a heavy responsibility that many people aren’t capable of carrying.”
Everyone always says that alphas have strong instincts just like omegas, however, their instincts are more aggressive. An alpha is more likely to respond to a threat by jumping for its throat compared to a beta or omega. The only other dynamic that can compare is an omega when their kids are threatened.
There were some pretty amazing stories floating around the Internet about omegas gaining incredible bursts of strength, even fighting off alphas, to protect their kids.
Thing is, in a modern society with police and rules and a lot of laws that don’t forgive violence very easily, alphas have to watch themselves carefully, maybe even more than the other dynamics.
Yuuji’s teacher described it as a trade, where everyone sacrificed immediate gratification in exchange for safe, stable societies.
Nowadays, alphas tend to hold high positions in careers like business, law, sports- jobs that benefited from their urges to amass power and dominate the competition. It probably wasn’t easy, but there were still ways for them to live while making good use of what nature gave them.
There was another thing that stood out in Yuuji’s memory. “I was reading online about alphas…” for a certain someone, naturally, “Sometimes alphas on forums almost talk as if their “alpha” is a different person from them.” Which Ichigo did too.
Grandpa looked at him with silent understanding, probably assuming he was researching for his own future, and this entire line of questioning was because he was curious about the path that awaited him. “Well, they’re not,” he eventually scoffed. “A lot of irresponsible alphas and omegas like to pretend that their natures aren’t also them. Usually so that they can dodge responsibility for the things they do. “It wasn’t me! My alpha made me do it!” That kind of nonsense.”
A way to dodge responsibility for one’s own actions… that didn’t sound like Ichigo. He didn’t seem like the kind of cowardly person who would do bad things and then hide from it; it actually seemed like the opposite. The audacious man would be the kind of cat who would openly stare into his owner’s eyes while slowly pushing a glass off the table. “Really? There isn’t any other reason?” he pressed, hopeful for anything.
Grandpa considered the question for a moment, withered, spotted hand stroking his chin. Light trickled through the window with greater intensity as the clouds drifted past the sun. “Well… there is one more I can think of, especially if they’re young,” he said, “It means they aren’t comfortable with their nature as an alpha or omega. They think of it as separate from themselves because they haven’t accepted it. Sometimes people feel ashamed of their dynamic.”
It almost seemed just as improbable as the last explanation. Shame? Self-consciousness? Did Ichigo even know such words? He walked with the casual self-assurance that every space his legs could carry him belonged to him, taking whatever space and living however he pleased.
But then again, didn’t he only walk that way because he had to? If he didn’t nonchalantly carve his way through the world, then the world would have no place for him.
When people were uncomfortable with themselves, they were usually shy about it, right? Like in all the teen dramas, with girls who were convinced they were ugly and shrank away from the spotlight, or boys who were certain that they were awkward and unlikable, and hesitated to approach others. These types of people didn’t have the audacity to say, “Who cares what they think anyways?” and stomp their way through every cold and unfair wall and barrier placed before them.
Were adults simply different? Were there other ways to feel uncomfortable with yourself?
Naturally, almost everyone grew up with hopes and expectations about what they’d present as. Most people hoped to be alphas or betas, alphas because of their superior capabilities, and betas because of their relatively easier time handling their instincts. Many people wanted to date or marry omegas, given how good they were at having kids and their reputation for being desirable and lewd, but few people wanted to be an omega, soft, vulnerable, and often dominated.
So it was a given that many people would be disappointed by how they presented. It was practically a rite of coming-of-age.
Yuuji crossed his arms and tilted his head, staring hard at his lap while various thoughts and questions churned together in his brain and reminded him of something else he learned in health class, “Alpha instincts and omega instincts can make people do or want things they wouldn’t normally do or want though, right?”
The concept of consent was covered in health class, of course, and they were deliberately taught that the things people begged for while consumed by their hormones, be it in rut or in heat, should not be taken for granted as their true feelings. There were many complicated cases of vulnerable omegas being taken advantage of by alphas and betas, and of alphas being entrapped by omegas weaponizing their heats.
“Yes and no. It’s similar to this: has anyone ever made you so mad you felt the urge to punch them?”
The image of an older woman and her even older mother flashed in his mind, spiteful words poorly hidden behind their hands that had Yuuji gritting his teeth. While he didn’t want to punch them, for a split second, his hackles rose with rare defensiveness that made him want to tell a pair of strangers off. “Yeah,” he agreed, since the specific example about punching was true at times, when kids from other schools were attempting to provoke him. His head was just stuck on the incident in the carnival, for some reason.
“Do you listen to that urge every time?” asked grandpa, in the tone of asking a hypothetical question.
“Of course not. I’m not an animal.” Violence aside, even when it came to something like starting an argument, Yuuji did not listen to his every urge. What was he going to do? Pick a fight, verbal or otherwise, with every little thing that rubbed him the wrong way? He’d be fighting the entire world if he did that, since there was no end to the daily, petty annoyances of a peaceful life. People who talked in movie theaters, people who cut in line, kids who thought they were tough and threw verbal jabs better than they did their actual fists.
Even Yuuji felt a pang of annoyance when he saw these things. He just found it easy to let it go.
Grandpa nodded in agreement, “There you have it. Omegas want to find a strong, protective mate to have kids with, and alphas want to find a mate to protect and provide for and have kids with. But what if you don’t have the money to raise a family yet? What if the person your instincts are screaming for aren’t a good match for practical reasons? Your instincts as an omega or alpha might be interested, but the rest of you still has to make rational decisions, and that conflict can sometimes make those instincts feel like a loud stranger living in your skull. But that urge to punch someone is still just as much a part of you as the rational parts.”
And the greater the hormone imbalance, the harder it was to hear those rational parts, right? “But what about high order alphas? They commit more crimes, right? Did they really want to kill someone over a spilled drink?”
Amber eyes, so alike to Yuuji’s, only sharper and more hawkish, glittered. Grandpa’s demeanor always seemed brightest, more talkative, when he was teaching him something, “It’s a little different for high order alphas. Their urges can be so strong that they venture into “disproportionate”. Getting irritated at someone being rude to you in public is normal, but an alpha who can’t control themselves might find that irritation blowing up into a violent fury before they can calm themselves back down. That’s why high order alphas are overrepresented in the prison population. It’s not like they woke up one morning and decided to, per your example, kill a man over a drink. Rather, disproportionate emotions overwhelmed them and they weren’t prepared, or didn’t know how, to get them back under control before they hurt someone. They were the ones who originally felt that seed of irritation, it just grew beyond what they could handle because of strong hormones.”
Wasn’t that kind of sad? It was like they were cursed to live with a volatile bomb inside of them; any normal person would at least be a little afraid of themselves. That was something Yuuji was probably going to have to live with too.
High order alphas were rare, but it seemed like an oversight that schools didn’t teach these things, if nothing else than to help people understand. Did grandpa plan to teach him about this if Yuuji had never asked? Maybe he wanted to wait and see if he presented as an ordinary alpha or a high order one first.
There was one last question that frequently came up while he spent time with Ichigo. “What kind of things bother alphas specifically?” he asked, but the question might have been a bit too broad, because Grandpa gestured for him to elaborate further when Yuuji was still stumbling in the dark himself. Even for him, this feeling he often got when he was around Ichigo was a bit abstract to explain, “You know, like… what might make someone around an alpha feel like they were gonna be,” he waved his hands vaguely, “not be attacked , but… it’s not a fight-or-flight, because you’re not scared, but it’s like you’re gonna get- I don’t know, eaten or something?” He finished lamely, words becoming a confused cluster while his grandfather’s placid expression revealed as much of his inner thoughts as a statue.
Grandpa gave him a long look that made Yuuji sweat slightly and replay the last five seconds for what he might have given away by fumbling through that question. But even he didn’t know what to call the way his heart raced with something other than fear when Ichigo made him feel like he was in the sights of something in the dark that was much bigger than him, and one wrong move would get him eaten up.
A light flickered sharply in grandpa’s hawkish eyes. For some reason, Yuuji was reminded of when he was six years old, found a bird egg while climbing a tree, and got the bright idea to hide it in his shirt and try hatching it in his room.
In his defense, he thought it was abandoned because it was the only one there and he felt bad for it. He almost cried when grandpa made him put it back and kept worrying until he saw the mama bird in the nest the next day. Then he almost cried because he figured she must have been worried about her baby and felt bad for stealing it.
“Not that I know about that rambling nonsense, but if you want to know what can trigger an alpha’s instincts to do things other than violence, for your own curiosity of course,” Grandpa said with wry emphasis that Yuuji didn’t understand but still made him flush, “People often focus on the negative side of an alpha’s instincts, the various ways they can grow out of control, become aggressive, and hurt people, but alphas also have constructive instincts to acquire a mate, protect children, and provide for them.”
Yuuji waited patiently, and as seconds trickled by with his grandpa only staring at him, flatly and unimpressed, he realized that was all he was going to get. “And?” he pressed, tone edging into a whine as he leaned on the edge of the bed, “What does that have to do with their scent getting all strong and stuff?”
The man groaned and dropped his head onto his pillow as though Yuuji’s confusion dealt him a painful, physical blow. “I’ll let you figure that out for yourself, you meathead. I almost feel sorry for that other kid…” he muttered.
Huh? Other kid? How did grandpa make the connection when Yuuji barely talked about Ichigo? He never even said Ichigo was an alpha! “I dunno what you’re talking about,” he said, crossing his arms and pursing his lips.
Grandpa nodded but his face looked no less deadpan; if they were playing cards, the old man would be clearing Yuuji’s pockets right now. “Mm, I’m sure,” he said, a parent who knew their kid was hiding something but openly letting it slide.
However, Yuuji wasn’t entirely sure what his grandpa thought he was hiding.
After a minute, his grandfather spoke again, eyes averted for some reason, “Yuuji, you are very independent for your age, but I expect you to be safe. And sensible.”
Thankfully, grandpa was staring holes into the television across his bed, because it was hard not to wince a bit. For the sake of keeping Toraya, Yuuji had willingly put himself on a very difficult road, one that he was realizing with every passing day would’ve been a lot harder on him than he initially thought.
If not for a chance meeting, he might be a very different person right now.
But that was all in the past now. “Of course,” he said, not even feeling like he had to lie to say so. Yuuji was perfectly safe thanks to Ichigo. Doing “that” kind of thing, even for money, wouldn’t be bad at all if it was with him. Yuuji never felt safer than in the palm of his hand in that muggy summer afternoon in Toraya.
A cavalcade of new information bounced around his skull on the way back from the care home, most notably, the idea that some people had complicated relationships with themselves because of their dynamic. That some part of them may even resent their own natures as alphas or omegas. Omegas feeling that way was common knowledge, but presenting as an alpha was always thought of as the golden ticket for a successful life, it’s what all the movie protagonists wanted to be, and what they presented as in happy endings.
Alphas were strong. With their many in-born talents, they had the entire world at their fingertips.
But reality wasn’t as straightforward as movies, huh?
Was Ichigo like that, maybe? He didn’t seem to care at the time, but maybe he actually didn’t like being an alpha. The prime alpha no less. If high order alphas have a hard time managing themselves in modern culture, he couldn’t imagine how much of a struggle it was for a man who didn’t have a single drop of omega hormones inside him.
Who wouldn’t resent something that made their life harder? At least a little? Especially when they never asked to be that thing in the first place.
Everyone had problems life inflicted upon them without any of their own doing. Yuuji didn’t do anything to cause his energetic grandfather to suddenly fall ill. Life just happened, and he had to deal with it the best he could. That burden became so much easier to carry the night he met Ichigo, and the man offered to help him shoulder the weight.
Who could help Ichigo with his burden, if it drove away almost everyone he met?
Yuuji wasn’t bothered by his pheromones, and he was nothing special, so surely Ichigo had other people in his life he could turn to?
Coworkers?
“‘Eh? I’m not a bully Taiga-kun. If anything, I’m the bullied one! They’re so mean to me at work!’”
His students?
“‘You could’ve taken longer, sensei.’ Isn’t that so mean?!’”
Does he have any friends or family? Yuuji couldn’t recall him speaking about either.
Ichigo admitted to being a bit prankish at work, so some exasperation was probably deserved, but having a better picture of the man and his situation, Yuuji had to wonder if that playful trouble-making was his only remaining way to interact with people who, by nature, could not allow him close. There was more to Ichigo than his mischief. He was also a very gentle and caring person, who carefully looked after Taiga, even while playing at being irreverent and frivolous.
A thought sank in his chest, cold and painful, that if Ichigo had anyone else, he wouldn’t need to waste any time on a random boy like Yuuji. Wasn’t that kind of sad? Someone as cool and capable as Ichigo might not have anyone in his life who welcomed him except some nobody-kid from Sendai with more muscles than common sense.
Yuuji’s situation wasn’t that much better either. He was surrounded by people he could never reach out to because of the circ*mstances he found himself in, and in doing so, drove them away himself. The new friendships he’d forged still needed to be handled carefully to keep himself and Ichigo safe while Yuuji walked a bumpy road for the sake of protecting his grandfather’s legacy.
Yuuji was perfectly safe thanks to Ichigo. Doing dirty, intimate stuff, even for money, wouldn’t be bad at all if it was with him.
So, maybe Ichigo really didn’t have anyone beside him.
Was he alone right now?
Yuuji’s fingers were already moving before he’d realized, clicking his phone on and typing as though they had a will of their own.
All he wanted was to help, and not just out of gratitude. He was pained, deeply so, on Ichigo’s behalf, regardless of how the man himself felt about his situation.
Maybe Yuuji was just being full of himself; maybe he’d just spent the last fifteen minutes working himself into a tailspin with his own delusional thinking; maybe everything he’d end up doing would be completely wrong and set off enough land mines to trigger an earthquake. And he doubted any of his efforts could amount to much if Ichigo refused to let him anywhere near the shadow behind the curtain.
But is there ever an excuse to not try?
“‘Of course not,’” he answered himself, courage building with every tap on his touchscreen keyboard.
Besides, Ichigo was an adult, right? If he wanted Yuuji to go away or act with a better sense of distance, then he should just tell him, even if his eyes kind of started to sting just thinking about it. When did he become such a crybaby?
And if he was being honest with himself, despite all the awkward tension between them and the fact that it’s only been three days, he already missed Ichigo.
“‘Ichigo-san, it’s finally starting to cool down, huh? Ive been practicing cookies lately! What should I try next?? I’ll bring it next time we meet 😄
also look at this cute dog I saw on the way to my grandpa’s care home 🐶 [PICTURE]’”
He didn’t fully expect a reply, but when it came time to go to bed and the message was on read without a response, his stomach sank a little.
“‘If you want me to stop, make me,’” he thought, stubbornness that bordered on petulance burning inside, and typed another message before going to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His veins simmered and carved hot rivulets throughout his body, far too small to contain the storm, skin stretched too tight to accommodate the gales of fire and blood battering him from the inside, nearly bursting from his every pore.
Manicured nails claw into his flesh and release his fury as vapors, cloying in the air like steam that seared the throat with every agonizing breath- it mixes together with sickly, coppery blood in a disgusting co*cktail of the uniquely ugly horror born when monsters lay with madness.
It is poison to all that is good and natural, a cup of filth that tastes like vomit, tears, and misery.
Once, there was someone named Gojo Satoru inside of this small, pubescent body, a mere twelve years old, far too young for a rut this severe. A child pariah born with the sins of power branded on his existence, forever marked for all to loathe no matter how far his feet carried him.
Gojo Satoru had been swept away. All that remained was the beast who wore his skin.
There is blood under his fingernails, in his mouth, staining his cheek, hot and sticky and sickening. The body beneath him quivers, dressed in nothing but the black-and-purple shackles meant to force an unruly animal into submission.
The stupid omega ran.
His fingers, pale and so much smaller than what they’d eventually grow into, twisted in long pink hair and wrenched it with the vicious grip of a predator sinking its fangs into its meal before it could escape the inevitable. Pained cries reverberated from far away, muffled as though it had to travel through the depths of the ocean until it reached his ears as little more than vague and formless echoes, too distorted to mean anything to him.
He couldn’t see or hear anything. He breathes fire and rancor, sees red and tastes copper on his tongue. The flames of wrath followed in his wake and burned all who crossed it, even himself.
With force that was more than necessary but less than could ever satisfy him, he threw the body in his hands back onto the bed with little care.
A cacophony howled from the back of his brain as a beast rampaged, wearing the face of Gojo Satoru, but void of every quality that let him hope some part of him was human.
The screeching that gouged into the backs of his eyes was as painful as the need that seared beneath his skin, such that he could be tempted to peel it off in hopes of finally, finally escaping it. He existed in a world of his own, drowning, burning- crushed under the weight of a feverish need that could boil the seas.
And in the pain of his needs, the omega who crawled into his den, the only one who could give him relief, tried to run from him.
D̷̰͗̓̓o̶̰̞͛́̚n̷̛͇̄'̶̺̌͊̈́t̶̫͔̓̚ ̵͎̹̅̃ṟ̷͚̯̉͘u̴͖̪͐̏n̸̲̝͌̈.̴͈̋ Don’t leave. Can’t you see that you’re mine?
I have to Ȉ̷̞̮͙̳͒t̶̩͇̃̎̆̅̃̓̉̂̋̔͜ ̵̡͎̝̲̱̜̽̂̑̓̄ͅh̴̟̮̙̰̥̠̝͐̐̃͐̉̕u̷̩̳̼͔͔͌͜r̴̯̰̮̹̦̭̜̝̹͐̀̌̈̒̈́̈́̿̚t̸̺͎͉͈̻͈̍̿̂̇̓̂s̶͖̻̱̯͎̰̽̍̀̈̄̕͘͝͝͝.̶̖̀̑̌̍̿̇͗͘͝
W̷̥̘̟̫̋̇h̵̟̮͇̠̋a̵̫̼͗͜ẗ̴͈́̚ ̶̡͔̱̭̉̑d̷͚̱̺͎̃̆͂̍͛͜ǐ̷͙d̸͓̎̔̄͠ ̶̰̭̉͂̉h̸̲̯̝̘̊́͠ͅe̴̡̬̗̋̇̊͌̿ ̵̬̺̗̚ḓ̴̜͕̭͗̾̽͠o̴̘͇͐̊͘͝ ̴̖̇͗̃w̷̮̝̰̘̓̓̈́͗r̵̛̳͇͓̀͆͊͋o̷̯͑͑n̷̛̛̥̩̑̌͘g̷̤͍̬͓͒͛̾͘?̴͔̒ keep you.
Betrayal roared in his ears and tightened his fingers until the unmistakable sensation of something in the omega’s fragile ankle breaking beneath his palms echoed in the room with an audible snap.
The omega howls as the air reeks of agony and terror, a distress call of a frightened, helpless creature that could do nothing but plead for forgiveness and hope it won’t be torn to pieces. But Satoru has no room in his heart for emotions as human as pity, if the stone in his chest ever beat to begin with. All that existed within him was an endless cavity that could only devour everything in sight until the pain became bearable again.
“I warned you,” he growled, the callous and unforgiving manifestation of the most primitive elements of nature that had swallowed him from within. Why didn’t the omega understand? He would take proper care of it if it would just behave. Gentleness did not exist within him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to break it.
The prime alpha wanted the same things any lesser alpha would want. To keep and protect that which was his. To stand vigilant, unbreakable and unshakeable as a fortress, every stone a promise that no storm would touch those who called him home.
But to do that, he needed to make sure the omega he called his own was obedient and stayed where it belonged. In his bed, on his co*ck, swollen with his pups and wearing his mark on every surface of its body, his- his- his-
And if it couldn’t be trusted to do that on its own, he would force it until it finally understood .
To Gojo Satoru the alpha, it only made sense to clip a bird’s wings rather than permit them to fly from his home and into the jaws of the first predator that laid eyes on what it did not deserve to have. It was inconceivable to permit anything that was his to wander from his side.
Gojo Satoru, the rational human being, would call this the vicious madness of a beast who only knew how to chew at his things until they were too broken to crawl away from him. All of the worst excesses of an alpha, the possessiveness and overbearing tyranny, and all of the best qualities, the strength and protectiveness, twisted into parody by an existence that should not be.
He was gasoline, set to ignite with the smallest spark, roaring as an inferno that no one could stand to be near without charring their bones.
But what else could this beast do but snarl and seethe and burn ? Nothing he did seemed to work . His calls for a mate, a partner who could soothe the painful heat and temper the uncountable urges before they spiraled into madness, went rejected no matter how long he writhed and gnashed his fangs.
His fingers, bigger, thicker, now so adult, twisted in much shorter pink hair and wrenched them viciously. Distantly, from some locked away crevice in his mind where the dying gasps of human rationality barely clung to life, Satoru grew a sense of foreboding.
“Maybe once you get a pup in you, you’ll settle down,” the animal wearing his skin snarled. Distantly, he was aware of the omega crying, “Won’t that be amazing? You’ll be mine. All mine. Like you were meant to. You wanted this, right? Wanted me?”
What? That’s not right.
No omega ever wanted Satoru. No one did, really, once they were afforded the truth past the flimsy veil of a scent patch- that they sat not before the king of beasts, but a monster from the burning depths of hell.
The omega turned its face towards him, and big amber eyes looked back from a tanned face, wet and tear-streaked with agony, trembling Satoru’s very bones with a broken look of betrayal.
Taiga. Please don’t blame me too-
Satoru’s eyes snapped open. Heart thundering in his chest, he searched the other side of the bed for a bleeding, broken body over and over, hesitant to believe his own eyes while his chest was screaming.
But it was empty. Reality crawled back into his mind, sluggish through the thick delirium of sleep. He was not twelve years old and guessing based on the smell in the air if the innocent person sacrificed to him needed the hospital or a burial this time.
Satoru’s bed was empty.
Satoru’s bed was empty, Taiga was nowhere near it, and thank f*ck.
He hurried from his bed as though it were coated in the blood, tears, and vomit he could still smell in the air, lingering traces of ghosts born from sickening memory. His stomach churned with increasing alarm with every second he spent between his sheets.
It had been years since his dreams were haunted by the things he’d done before he learned how to lock the ugly thing inside him behind bars for good.
He stumbled into the restroom and sat on the tile next to the toilet, in case the threats his stomach screamed at him bore any sour fruit, and intrinsically knew, from the depths of his bones, why one of the victims of his past was sporting a face found only in the present. Why his dream had contorted itself from recollection of an ugly past to premonition of an ugly future.
He’d been playing with fire, and parts of his mind where the shadows were the darkest provided a visceral reminder of what he was protecting Taiga from. A necessary one, given how recklessly he’d been playing around not even a week ago.
Just a single slip would find that kid caught between his teeth and ripped apart by desires no one was equipped to handle when they were coming from a monster that should not exist in the first place.
Satoru did not truly remember the original omega, especially when there were too many to count. Omegas had been provided to him in his ruts like scraps of meat tossed into a lion's cage. And while he’d long forgotten their faces, he could not forget the many things he’d done to them when the reins of his sanity were torn from him by what was supposed to be a basic, albeit intensified, bodily function for normal alphas.
Ruts were supposed to happen twice a year for alphas, but it had been ten years since Satoru discovered the means to prevent himself from going into rut, and no matter what Shoko said, he’ll be buried without going into another one. The price was too high when, without fail, he emerged from that red-hinged haze smelling blood, tears, and terror in his bed. And every time, he had to confront what he’d done, the memories a fresh film reel, as though someone else was piloting his body even though he could remember the rage boiling his blood, his body bursting at the seams with too much heat and desire.
And worse, in the past, ruts were not the only time the young prime alpha lost his reason to his instincts. They were just the times where his senses were wrenched from him without a say in the matter. Satoru’s alpha, by nature, was a beast constantly snarling and pulling against its chains, never resting, and in turn, never allowing Satoru to rest.
As a child, he was territorial over anything and everything he perceived as his, from the smallest stone to individual people. His little boy arms were too small to carry all the things he thought of as his, an all-encompassing greed that hoarded anything and everything without any discernment between what was valuable and likable and what was neither. If it was his, it was his, regardless of what his rational mind thought.
A sane and sweet person who might care to ask, one who increasingly looked and sounded like Taiga in his head, might inquire, “‘Why are you so possessive over your gardener, Satoru? Why hunt him down on a warpath, tearing holes in the estate, just to crush his arm when you found out he was secretly -̴̢̺͇̩̑̕ͅr̵̢̼̽̔u̴̡͓͙͒̀͆͠͠͝ņ̷̨̩͈̦̦̐̃̽n̴̜̜̦̍̑̿̀í̴̭̯̮̺̂̕̚n̶͎͖̉̐̑̎͘̕g̶̢̔̋̌͝-̸̦̗̯͍̰̹͋ quitting? You don’t even like him.’”
The answer was that it didn’t matter what ten-year-old Satoru thought about his gardener. The gardener was his, and the betrayal of being left filled him with such nonsensical rage that his cursed technique bit down on the man like a dog sinking its teeth into a toy that was about to be taken away, and it didn’t matter if the toy tore apart in the struggle.
“‘I see. And why do you use your wonderful power so cruelly? Whenever a servant looks you in the eye, you use your power to smash them into the ground. You force them to submit in such an undignified way. But when they avoid your eyes, sometimes, you grab them by the hair and force them to look. You hate it when they look you in the eyes and you hate it when they don’t. Isn’t that a little unfair?’”
Everything at that time displeased him, angered him, and he had no idea why. They submitted like they accepted they were his, but there was something off about it, a wrongness that screamed into his core that had it screaming back.
To this day, Satoru still had a difficult time separating what came from himself and what came from his disproportionate hormones. Did he hurt all those people because he wanted to?
If he hurt Taiga, would it be because he wanted to?
Satoru couldn’t accept that- he refused to remember that sweet face and accept that he’d ever want to hurt him. The ugly thing inside of him was not him, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
An alpha is meant to build a house and protect it, but it seemed like all his could do was break everything it touched.
Ordinarily, he preferred not to think about the fact that the only acceptable role remaining for him was to be a tool for the betterment of the sorcery world’s future; if there was no future for him as a person, then it was better not to think about useless things.
“‘It’s not useless. It’s human,’” a very, very different voice reminded him, lighter and sweeter than his own had ever sounded, even as a child. It sounded like someone he was grateful was not here.
But Satoru is a human in name only. There is a clear line between himself and every other person, one that would be drawn even if he were born as a normal alpha.
Being born as the prime alpha merely took away the luxury of pretending he didn't stand alone at the peak.
Comparing himself to the rest of humanity was laughable.
A fraction of a second was all it took when his alpha was a beast constantly snarling and pulling against its chains, and his body was born to hold the apex of power, physically and in cursed techniques.
One slip up. One slip up was all it took to inflict irreversible damage. And increasingly, Satoru’s inner monster began rearing its ugly head every moment he took his eyes off it. Taiga was hard on the tight grasp of control he had on the bastard in his head.
“‘I like your scent.’”
Satoru had honestly thought he would die without ever hearing words like that- that belief had been carved into his identity as deeply as his position as the strongest. Gojo Satoru had all conceivable forms of power at his fingertips, be it money, strength, or curse ability. Gojo Satoru was the most powerful entity in existence. Gojo Satoru worked in a world of monsters and magic but still somehow managed to be the biggest, most feared monster of them all.
For a moment, crouched by his toilet, he wondered if he was going to tear Taiga to pieces by the end of their arrangement.
“‘He doesn’t know,’” he reminded himself. “‘Taiga only said that because he doesn’t know how ugly it really is.’”
At least he got to take his frustration out on that stupid bull.
The sun had breached the horizon, casting a faint golden glow in the frame of his window by the time Satoru felt sure he wouldn’t empty his stomach the moment he tried to clamber to his feet.
He could look at his bed without smelling anything except the dust clinging to the corners of his room, a sure sign that the worst of it had passed, and checked his phone charging on his bedside table.
5:45 a.m. His nightmare had rudely awakened him before his first alarm could. Well, he was used to getting little sleep anyways, so starting his day with only two hours under his belt wasn’t a problem.
A notification stood boldly on the corner of the LINE app, and like a pathetic man crawling through the desert for a drink, he tapped it.
“‘g’night Ichigo! since u didn’t pick anything, im gonna try making something with caramel
[PICTURE] he’s seriously huge btw 😲. Its like having another person in the house’”
A picture of Prince Cinnamoroll sitting on a twin-sized bed with rumpled sheets reflected back on his phone screen. Does Taiga sleep with it?
Satoru nearly blacked out from the thought and had to take a moment to pull himself together. He did not have enough insulin in his body to process this.
It was almost funny how much lighter and easier his breathing came from just reading these words, if it wasn’t so messed up; he’d just had a nightmare about hurting this boy, and here he was, indulging in him like the first oasis after a long, lone wandering of nothing but scorching sand.
He wasn’t just playing with matches, he was playing with matches while he and an unwitting Taiga were doused in gasoline, and he knew he couldn’t bring himself to fully stop playing when his fingers were already moving to type something back.
After holding back for so long, trying to keep yet another boundary between them by refraining from contacting Taiga outside of their arranged meetings, Taiga was the one to breach it first, and Satoru didn’t have the willpower to enforce it.
“‘♡ ～(^▽^人) That puppy is almost as cute as you, amazing! And I love caramel, so I’m looking forward to it! But you know, it’s not fair that Cinnamoroll gets to cuddle you all the time, I wanna cuddle too! .·°՞(つ ≧□≦)つ՞°·. ”
It doubtlessly came across as frivolous nonsense over a text, but he did, f*ck, he did. Just the thought made him want to storm out his front door and drag the kid by the scruff back into his den.
“‘I can’t believe how warm it is now,’” he thinks, saving the photo and staring at the stuffed tiger on his bedside table, “‘It’s like I’ve swallowed the sun.’”
