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The first smell that reaches Satoru’s nose is peaches.
Not just peaches, there’s a spiciness that runs underneath. A current of ginger that’s fresh and biting, sparking acrid in Satoru’s nose.
It’s right, and it’s wrong.
It smells like his mate, the one that’s eluded Satoru since he was twelve and caught a scent of fruit and ashes. The marker of his omega, tailor made to make his mouth water.
So when Satoru lays eyes on this strange shirtless kid with pink hair; he's hit with peaches and ginger. His mouth aches with the call of saliva, even as his sinuses positively burn. It’s all wrong and half right and for the first time in a long time, Satoru finds himself momentarily stunned.
But he’s got to get the plot moving, got to recalibrate his entire existence around a sudden swell of want and anger.
Satoru pulls at every fiber of self control and blocks his sense of smell with Limitless.
From there the haze clears, parts just enough for him to learn the boy’s name, Itadori Yuuji, and that he’s now Sukuna’s vessel.
Wait— a vessel? For the king of curses?
Sounds like a cosmic joke but the sheer panic in Megumi’s battered face is enough for Satoru to set himself on high alert despite his playful grin.
With the entitlement of a god and the patience to match, Satoru goads Yuuji, goads Ryoumen Sukuna for a playdate.
What he gets is nothing short of just that.
Sukuna is a feral thing, manifested with only a drop of his real power and yet the malice that shapes him could rot the hearts of thousands. Any other sorcerer would be scared out of their mind to even meet eyes with such a being.
But Satoru isn’t any other sorcerer, he’s the best, no matter what the school produces or the hopes he has for them. The best of man pounces and circles with a shard of the cursed king.
At some point in the flicker of their introduction, Satoru notes that Sukuna is still strong enough to sweep Megumi away with mere blowback.
Power for power is intoxication, power for gain is euphoric; Satoru nearly has half a mind to lower his limitless completely when Sukuna locks up.
Their time limit for this farce comes and goes like a sigh on the wind. One moment it’s a snarling beast and the very next its large doe eyes that flutter with abrupt awareness.
“Ah,” the kid, Yuuji, a true vessel for Sukuna, has the nerve to look worried, “was that good?”
The evolution of this butterfly effect expands like a supernova almost immediately.
Before Satoru can do anything, he’s tasked both an executioner and a savior to Yuuji. It’s not often Megumi asks favors of him, not the kind that could threaten the devouring of his own soul.
But green burns bright and true and it’s the only color on Satoru’s mind when he flares out an alpha’s scent and smiles with teeth too bright and sharp for kindness.
“Let’s make a deal,” he declares to roaring voices that know they hold no power.
The deal is a stay on the execution, freezing the guillotine until Yuuji can house the full power of Sukuna and swiftly sever it from existence with one clean kill.
Something about it twists in the depths of his stomach and idly Satoru can’t help but think it’s a waste of another good, young life.
Another quiet thought whispers that it’s not only Yuuji he hates to wash away.
But any and all errant thoughts race away on busy spider legs as Satoru shifts his reality forward. Ever forward to project his air of omnipotence, the beacon he projects for his students and the whole of their society.
Yet no matter how much time he spends with Yuuji, how close he gets with the overeager teen whose heart is too pure for a cruel animalistic world.
All he can smell is fruit that’s too sweet and pungent spices that ache along his nose. Things that by all means should be his mate, beg to be his mate, and yet--
They’re nothing more than a synthetic to his systems, triggering a want that’s superficial enough for Satoru to control.
He feels bad for using limitless to block out Yuuji’s scent, especially when the kid is so kind, by far too kind even to the likes of him.
But when duty calls and Satoru is cast away to take care of things. There is no kindness that can keep his precious ward from the very death Satoru had postponed.
Not a single drop of pure heartedness that can warm the corpse sprawled out on one of Shoko’s tables.
It’s funny, in the moments between fantasy and reality, there’s a swell that grips at his ribcage. A primal anger that roars so loudly in his chest it scares Ichiji right out of the room.
In this moment there’s nothing but Yuuji’s pale skin, the gap in his chest where a proud heart once beat. Resting now is a void where silence spills, louder and louder until it threatens to swallow him like it almost did with Suguru, and Riko.
Then Yuuji is awake, Yuuji is alive and talking and the alpha howling in Satoru’s ears simmers down to something like a coo. A sigh of longing that demands a mate's comfort but will rely on what it can get.
Yet, for just a moment, when Satoru touches Yuuji’s skin, he catches the faintest trickle of something that smells like home. A smell that floods his mouth with want and need that blooms into the familiar smell associated with Yuuji.
None of it makes sense, but Satoru doesn’t have time to turn it over when a much more abrupt objective is made clear.
Yuuji is nothing more than a fawn in the world of curses. A newborn on shaky legs driven by pure instinct and a promise. He’s too fragile, too breakable for half-assed lessons and studying in the heat of battle.
Yuuji needs Satoru to be a teacher, to loosen his grip on his facade just enough to be useful and do what he’s supposed to.
So once again, the alpha inside makes a declaration.
“Sukuna’s vessel is dead.”
It’s the only way to ensure the elders will look away, turn their eyes on celebrating for a broken cause. The perfect smoke screen for Satoru to work and mend and give Yuuji at least a crumb of skill to make it through his renewed survival.
Just enough to let Satoru meet the king of curses again, properly this time, refined and whole.
But that last little part is nothing more than a selfish wish that Satoru must continue to hide in the shadows of his mind.
Very first of all, he has to get Yuuji to stabilize his cursed energy, and what better way than with- “movies!” Satoru exclaims proudly, fanning out haphazardly selected dvds. “You’ll need to watch these and hold onto that doll with a steady energy flow, think you can do it?”
Honestly a small piece of Satoru is concerned as Yuuji flashes him a curious look, only to ignore his teacher completely to focus on the angry doll now squirming between his hands.
After a few moments of careful concentration, Yuuji finally looks up and grins, “don’t worry sensei, I’ll do my best!”
Two seconds later he’s punched clean in the nose by a blue boxing glove, but it’s impressive enough for Satoru to laugh his little worries away.
Given a bit more time it turns out Yuuji’s best is astounding, he’s one of the quickest studies Satoru has ever seen.
What he expected to be a full month is condensed down into a few weeks, perhaps a little less but Satoru can’t deny a good excuse to watch movies with his precious student.
It’s fine, and it’s nice, and for once the smell of fresh summer fruit and ginger isn’t entirely unpleasant.
Until they watch Crimson Peak.
“It’s good sensei,” Yuuji declares, the doll carefully tucked to his chest as he waves the box around. “A masterpiece! I can’t believe you have it and never watched!”
The childish indignation is cute, a sweet new taste that only Yuuji ever brings to Satoru’s life. So he’s helpless to do little more than smile, laugh off the pouts and the even fiercer shouts of “sensei!” before they settle down to watch.
The last thing Satoru remembers is red.
Red clay swelling up from the ruined earth, a marriage teetering on the brink of ruin for a reason the main character can’t yet comprehend. There’s a tickle of hair against his cheek, the ruffle of fabric and then-
It’s hard to say how it actually feels.
Satoru knows, for instance, that he’s not dreaming but he’s not awake. There’s a hyper awareness that he’s not even within his own mind anymore. His soul has found a door to somewhere new, somewhere brimming with that same red now pooling on the floor and piles of cow skulls littered around.
Two things happen simultaneously then.
Sukuna, the king of curses himself, speaks from his throne of rot and ichor, and Satoru is hit with a smell that drowns out every other sense he owns.
It’s wine, fruit, fermented to a tart sweetness, so like Yuuji’s yet matured, intoxicating. Chasing close behind it is the smell of something smokey, something that curls and settles in Satoru’s lungs like volcanic ash.
This is it, this is what he’s been looking for.
Mate
Whatever Sukuna’s saying hits a dead wall of overstimulation in Satoru’s mind. All he can smell is mate, all he can taste is sweet wine and ash and the beginnings of a growl that he can’t stop. Nothing can be stopped now, Satoru has waited for this moment his entire life. Placed his affections in the wrong people only to get them brutally snatched away and broken.
But Sukuna is the kind of curses, he’s the very culmination of Eternal.
He’s set to be executed
Set to be snatched away regardless of his status as a different kind of false god
In the muck and mire of Satoru’s rolling mind, he hears a sharp inhale and recognizes that Sukuna has finally taken in his own scent.
Feral blue swings upwards, meeting stunned red and before either of them can gather their wits, Satoru’s inner alpha makes the first move.
A sound explodes out of him, hot and demanding, possessive in a way Satoru can’t control.
It forces him forward, staggering on heat heavy limbs to Sukuna, to his mate and to his delight Sukuna is losing the battle with his own inner omega.
There’s a clinical term for all of this, something about fated pairs kept too far apart being unable to resist once they’ve finally met. Satoru’s only ever heard it called a mating frenzy, but there’s no need to care about the science behind their actions. Because Sukuna is sliding down as Satoru climbs and the primal alpha is snarling, roaring, rearing back its head to howl victory when they finally collide.
Hidden under Sukuna’s kimono is a sea of sinful pleasure, smooth skin dancing with inked designs that flex and tremble as Satoru rubs his hands over every inch he can get. A nose bumps a chin, clumsy and over eager to kiss and nip at whatever’s available.
Satoru is rewarded with a chirp, breathy and bittersweet in the way forced pleasure is. But if he’s a feral omega, Sukuna isn’t acting like it.
Instead his legs fall open wider, the chirps increase to a near frantic pitch as Satoru fumbles to mount him. Whatever they are right now is outside the king of curses and the strongest sorcerer, outside of Sukuna and Satoru.
“Mate,” Satoru sighs the second he’s able to slide into slick heat. Comforted by hazy warmth and sharp claws that burrow into his arms, Sukuna rumbling back, “alpha…, mate.”
The descent is eternal, a spiral of pure madness driven by frenzied lust and belonging. Sukuna is so slick, so deep, his pussy perfect and tight and begging Satoru to never leave. So he doesn’t, his omega doesn’t want him to leave and whether that was a choice or not, Satoru simply fucks him deeper into silks and bone.
Communication lies only in the affirmation of their bond, in the coos and growls and bruising touches that ensure marks of ownership.
Satoru’s hips snap as harshly as they can, hearing only the stuttering purrs that he’s forced to drag out of Sukuna with each thrust. There’s slick pooling between them, sticky and sugar sweet and if Satoru wasn’t so hell bent on breeding his mate, he’d have his face pressed between toned legs, eagerly sliding his tongue between soft folds.
But there’s no time, not when his knot starts to swell. His fate sealed when Sukuna locks his legs around Satoru’s waist to ensure he can’t escape.
“Mark,” the word barely tumbles past Sukuna’s spit slicked lips, all four of his eyes unfocused and pinked a nice raspberry red in his bliss. He manages to say it again, and again, keening nearly hysteric when Satoru’s knot catches and drags a streak of heat through his spine.
Fangs lock around a slender throat, pinning his thrashing omega in place as Satoru tries to give him everything he wants. His alpha desperate for a happy omega.
The only sensation at the center of his focus is the way Sukuna is fluttering around him, seized up in an orgasm that spasms and milks every last drop Satoru could possibly offer. Nothing else matters but this, but Sukuna and the content purr warbling in the back of his throat and the way he still refuses to unlock his legs from Satoru’s sore hips.
Time is less than nothing in a place like the king's domain, so Satoru isn’t actually sure how long they lay like this. Half curled together, locked in a breeding position as a tongue darts out to tend to Sukuna’s bleeding throat.
Eventually he feels a shift, feels nails finally drag themselves out of his arms and Sukuna speaks, his voice nothing more than a fucked out sigh, “get out of my domain.”
A snarl explodes out of Satoru before he can register what’s been said and thankfully Sukuna tenses, chirps quietly and soothing to calm his alpha.
When the meaning gathers itself into coherency, Satoru nips at bleeding skin in reprimand. “I just found you,” he says, startled by how raspy his voice is, “I’m not leaving yet.”
There’s no way in heaven or hell or on this curse plagued earth he’s going to leave his mate until he’s properly bred.
Now it all makes sense, why Yuuji smelled a few shades off from perfect, why Satoru wanted so badly to protect him outside of his normal pack urges. Yuuji is the vessel for Satoru’s mate, his mate who’s the king of curses.
Ah, Ryoumen Sukuna is Gojou Satoru’s mate, isn’t fate funny like that after all.
If his throat didn’t hurt so badly, Satoru has half a mind to laugh until he gags at this grand joke the universe is continuing to play on him.
First he’s given a faux mate that he’s forced to kill, then a fresh packmate who dies, and now this. Now his true mate, who forged the sword of damocles himself and positioned it with care above his own neck.
If Satoru is meant for misery, then he thinks he’d much rather burn the world to the ground for his one chance at happiness.
Maybe this is what Suguru meant
Dragging in another deep breath of pure euphoria, Satoru pipes up again. “Did you not like it? I can be better for you.”
Satoru is built to be everything Sukuna desires, but he can be better than even that.
There’s a soft click of a tongue, like Sukuna wants to deny everything. But he hesitates a second too long, a nanosecond that Satoru can read into infinity.
A smile comes, eager and delighted at the depths hidden in Sukuna’s denial.
Before he can speak, Satoru rolls his hips, careful not to harm either of them as he drags a sharp noise out of an unguarded mouth.
“Don’t worry omega,” Satoru whispers, “I’ll get you a body and breed you full of puppies and pamper you like the king you are. Wouldn’t you like that?”
A kiss feathers across bruised skin, “wouldn’t it make you happy to get fucked full by your alpha?”
Sukuna doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to, his body flexes forward against his wishes. Eager to match the lazy pace and work his alpha deeper inside where only a swollen belly can be found.
It’s enough, more than enough for Satoru who pulls them tighter together, sharing a tangy sweet kiss between bloody teeth.
“Good boy.”