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A mate, and a baby

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Gojo had been kneading the soft flour beneath his palms, working the eggs and water in when the phone rang from his study.

He’s not on call tonight, and getting a call at this late hour can only mean one thing – that he has to go in. Gojo works his palms, popping the yolk with a finger – because there’s something fascinating with the fluidity and grace at which the yellow slowly bursts, leaking into the frothy white – and because he can’t resist breaking what is fragile.

The rings stop, but then start up again. He sighs through his nose, wiping his hands on a towel; it must be an emergency if they’re this desperate, even knowing that he has a strict policy of turning patients away when he’s off.

“Gojo Satoru speaking,” he answers, lip curling in distaste when a hysterical and ear-grating voice starts screeching into his ear.

“Gojo-sensei!” the woman exclaims in surprise – like what’s between her ears isn’t brain matter, but a heavy pound of sand – because who else is she expecting otherwise?

“You did call me, no?” he asserts, raising a displeased brow when he thinks of what’s going to be of his yet-unmade pasta.

“Yes, of course,” the matron from the orphanage answers, sounding like she’s huffing into his ear – he holds the receiver away from his face. “Sorry for bothering you at this hour, but-”

“I’m going to have to stop you there. I don’t take calls after hours.”

“Yes, I know, but nobody knows Fushiguro-kun as well as you do.”

Gojo’s brows raise in slow curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, and the woman takes it as her cue to continue – ah, it seems that Megumi has escaped. He tsks in annoyance at the matron’s gross negligence; he’s never liked her, eyes just a little too shiny, too interested in him. All he does is fend off her advances; respect is something reserved for the worthy, and she’s far from what he considers worthy.

“I know. Such an unruly child.” She must think that the click of his tongue is in response to Megumi’s antics, which prompts him to cut her rambling off short.

“I will keep an eye out.” He hangs up on her, brows furrowing as he contemplates.

Megumi had always been one of the more rebellious kids, but he’d present as omega any day now. In fact, Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if that was what drove him to escape. For the past few weeks, Gojo had been smelling it in the air between Megumi’s weekly sessions with him – a heady scent that drove all the other kids into uncomfortable squirming, their yet-unpresented bodies not recognising the blooming of the boy who’s yet to turn sixteen. Two more years, and he’d be released from the custody of the state; that is, if Gojo didn’t get his hands on him first.

The state requires weekly check ups for yet unpresented children of the state, so as part of the mandatory hours assigned to him by the hospital, he visits the orphanage weekly. He’s not particularly interested in the job, but he is particularly interested in Fushiguro Megumi.

The omega – for he knows that the boy surely must’ve presented as one – is quiet, reserved. Megumi doesn’t yap on incessantly like some of the other boys, nor is he rude. He doesn’t touch Gojo’s things without permission, and he doesn’t ask intrusive personal questions or make sexual jokes that fall flat like the other teenaged boys.

Gojo slowly makes his way back to the kitchen, swirling the eggs once more before folding the mixture in. As he presses with increasingly distracted hands, he recalls the first time he’d accidentally brushed his bare hands over Megumi’s skin – he always, always wore gloves – but the medical office had ran out of large ones, and just as he had pressed onto Megumi’s bent back, fisting handfuls of his sides to check that his kidneys are fine – the small gloves had ripped apart with a truly loud rip of rubber.

That was the first time he’d seen the boy display emotion other than polite disinterest. Megumi had flushed like the pink of a lotus, petals unfurling beneath the large hole of what was left of the gloves on Gojo’s palm. It became almost like a game to him – he’d find increasingly creative ways to rip his gloves ‘on accident’, and it was fun – a game of seeing just how far he could push before the boy finally said or did something.

He never did, not even during last week’s session, when Gojo had clenched his fist hard before he spreading his fingers wide, pretending that he wasn’t banking on his gloves tearing just before he had to press his stethoscope to Megumi’s chest. It did rip, perfectly, and he’d let his bare fingers brush just the slightest over perky, puffy nipples – which tightened beneath his watchful stare.

The heat that the boy had radiated after had clued Gojo into how close he was to presenting.

The ringing of his doorbell knocks him out of his reverie; he sprinkles a generous helping of flour onto the ball of dough that’s seemingly materialised out of nowhere, distracted as he was by Megumi.

He opens his door to a flushed and fragrant omega. “Megumi, what are you doing here?”

“I feel weird, sensei,” the boy says, stepping without invitation.

It puts the boy directly in Gojo’s sphere of personal space; he sees wide, blown pupils and the beginnings of a flush high on the omega’s cheeks. A sudden heat starts beneath his skin, like lava flowing beneath the earth that compels him to step away before his teeth itch any further.

He pretends that he doesn’t smell it in the air; how ripe Megumi is.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asks instead, closing the door firmly shut behind the boy. The catching of the latch draws the boy’s eyes for a split second.

“You mentioned living in this neighbourhood, and I – um… I saw your car,” the boy says, scuffing the carpet of his entryway with old shoes.

Gojo steps into the kitchen, intending to cover the ball of flour up and fetch some glasses of water for his underaged guest, but to his surprise, Megumi gravitates into the heart of his home – seamlessly, without prompting – soft footsteps following behind Gojo’s lead.

“What are you making?”

“Spaghetti,” he answers, turning his back to Megumi’s slight form that’s peering at the ball as he shuts off the flame beneath his ragu.

“Where do you feel weird?” Gojo asks, even though he knows what the answer’s going to be. He wipes the beginnings of his smirk off his face before turning back to the boy.

It’s enticing; does the boy even realise what he’s doing? He’s flushed a soft red, avoiding eye contact with Gojo, hiding his hands behind his back.

“D-Down… there,” he says, squirming in place, avoiding eye contact altogether.

Gojo almost coos. “Down where?” he asks, fighting to keep his mask on, tilting his head obtusely.

“My… my vagina,” Megumi replies, and this time he reddens more, turning a fetching shade of pure omega. “Is… am I presenting?”

The corners of Gojo’s lips threaten to curl. It’s easily discernible from a simple whiff of the omega’s scent, but Megumi doesn’t have to know. “I’ll have to conduct a physical examination to make sure. How are you feeling elsewhere? Any discomfort?” He folds his arms, leaning against the counter behind him.

“My nipples are sore.”

Gojo has to dig his nails into the meat of his palm. He lets the boy stew in his discomfort for a while longer, taking his time in laying the tea towel over his flour. When the boy starts squirming, he throws out a bone, “Do you want me to check for you?”

“Yes, please,” the boy answers immediately, finally looking up again and meeting his eyes, pleading etched across his features. “Please… um, I need to know if-” he trails off, biting his lip. "If I'm fertile."

Oh, he definitely is. Fertile, that is.

He should really be more aware of what he’s offering a man like Gojo Satoru. “I don’t usually take patients when I’m off work, but I’ll make an exception for you. Anything else you're unsure about?" Gojo asks, playing the part of a good doctor.

"Can you prescribe me some... birth control pills if I am?"

"Of course," he smiles, eyes creasing in a way that he knows makes people swoon.

“Thank you, sensei.” Megumi smiles gratefully, not unlike an innocent lamb marching toward his slaughter.

Of course, if Gojo has his way with him, he'll have no use for them.


Green eyes widen when Gojo shows Megumi to his office, Gojo making a presentation of pulling out the tray of equipment for the examination.

“Are these all…?” Megumi trails off, eyes staring with apprehension.

“Male omegas are built slightly different from female omegas, Megumi. I need to check your cervix to see if you’re presenting, if you’re fertile, and the cervix is only accessible when you’re aroused, so to speak,” Gojo hums, pulling out the breeding bench and adjusting it to a comfortable height.

“These are the toys to help with that,” he says, smiling. “Of course, I can use fingers too.”

His words bring a delicious flush to the omega’s face, filling him with muted pleasure. He does like beautiful things, after all.

“Do you do house visits often?” the omega ventures.

“Not too often, no. Sometimes I have omegan patients who are uncomfortable with check ups in my clinic, so I do house visits, but they’re somewhat rarer nowadays.”

“And I have to be aroused for you to check?”

“Yes.” He stares at the way Megumi’s eyes linger on the bench, eyes tracing the flush that seems to have made a permanent home on the boy’s face. “Still want me to check?” he asks casually.

Megumi’s throat bobs before he nods. “Do I need to take off my clothes?”

“Yes, please. You’ll have to remove your underwear, trousers and shoes for the examination. You may keep your shirt on if you wish to.”

“Okay.”

Gojo lets his eyes sweep over the exquisite sweetness that is Megumi’s features, turning his back to give the omega a semblance of privacy – though what good it does remains unseen – it’ll all be bared to him soon, anyway. He busies himself with disinfecting the equipment. They’re mostly there for show; Gojo could never allow what was his to be satisfied by mere toys.

“Done,” Megumi calls out softly.

Gojo turns around in place and clenches his jaw, and it’s a testament to how tightly leashed his control is, because he doesn’t jump Megumi then and there.

Megumi is all planes of smooth, creamy flesh – and with his baggy clothes completely off, Gojo can see just how far the flush extends on the dips and curves of him. If there’s one thing that Gojo Satoru knows, it is beauty – he’s seen it since the first time their skin had brushed – and he stares and stares, until Megumi’s eyes, first trained on the floor, starts slowly trailing upwards – his lush cheeks burning a hot, flattering red at the scrutiny of his flesh.

Gojo digs his fingers into the meat of his palm, guiding the boy onto the bench. The first touch of Gojo’s palms onto his bare skin has the omega shivering lightly, and Gojo watches in fascination as Megumi’s skin erupts in gooseflesh.

He lets his hand linger.

Gojo stands to the side as Megumi climbs on at his own initiative, draping his smooth, unblemished torso over the slight decline of the bench that keeps his rear end raised. The ferocious blush on his skin only spreads further; Megumi jumps when warm, burning hands brush over his ankles.

“I have to strap you into the stirrups so that you don’t inadvertently hurt yourself,” Gojo murmurs, soft and low.

“O…kay,” he swallows the noise that threatens to erupt from his throat when the alpha straps him in securely, leather and metal keeping his thighs in position.

“Am I positioned right?” he blurts, feeling hot all over from the way his legs are spread akimbo. He feels completely exposed to Gojo’s eyes – it makes his muscles clench involuntarily.

Gojo allows himself to smile in satisfaction, the corners of his lips tugging up. Megumi’s arched his lower back perfectly, presenting himself purely on instinct. His tiny mound, lightly haired, is barely visible from Gojo’s height – he crouches down, securing Megumi’s arms to the front legs of the bench. Each sweep, each brush of his fingers against the boy’s skin only makes pink bloom, and he swallows the praises lodged in the back of his throat.

The root of his teeth itch, a deep, forceful ache that doesn’t go away, when his position brings him closer to Megumi’s core; the scent of pure, potent omega fills his nostrils. He licks his lips.

“There you go,” he murmurs, gently pressing Megumi’s head down and securing it in place with the neck restraints.

Megumi takes it all in stride, calm and silent for the most part. He only wriggles once, testing out the give of his restraints; he’s fully strapped into position. He breathes in deeply to even out his breathing, letting his head loll against the neck brace.

“I’ll start the examination now, Megumi. Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any time, and I’ll stop,” Gojo reassures (lies). He’s not sure if he can stop or if he wants to stop once he starts doing this. Gojo eyes the gloves on his tray, eyes flicking away and to Megumi’s folds, and licks his lips again, tasting omega in the air.

“Would you prefer fingers or toys?” he asks, surprised when his voice comes out even.

“Um… I don’t know- I mean, I haven’t used a toy before,” Megumi exhales, trying to turn his head but only managing to twist a little. “So, I guess, I don’t… have a preference.”

“Okay.”

The first touch of his fingers to the omega’s folds has the metal of the restraints creaking – Megumi’s flighty limbs twitch, jerking against his stirrups.

Gojo parts the omega’s outer lips slowly, spreading them with two fingers, tracing the outline of his folds. “Did you know,” he says, trailing fingers over and around the outside of the soft, satiny skin, massaging some spots with slow, soft circling motions. It makes Megumi bite his lip, thighs tensing in place. “That massaging the glands at specific points around your vagina helps with lubrication?”

“No,” the boy says, shaking his head minutely, voice coming out pitchy.

Gojo lets his long fingers graze the boy’s labia, taking note of the way Megumi’s shoulders tense, like he’s waiting in anticipation for Gojo’s next move.

“Yeah,” he replies, exerting the barest touch of pressure, parting the omega’s folds again – this time, his fingertips glide through wetness. “Do you feel that?”

Megumi’s cut-off whine echoes in the room. “Y-Yes.”

He teases at the slick, smirking at the thick, frothy consistency of it; rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. Ah, it’s perfect. Thick, blunt, bare fingers tease, alternating pressure until he spots Megumi’s hips straining.

“This,” he says, leashing the part of him that wants to bite and devour, swallowing his urge, his impatience down. He lets his fingers part Megumi’s folds gently, pointer and middle finger landing where the boy is most sensitive. Gojo watches with hungry eyes as Megumi’s back tightens, trying to tilt his hips up further – trying to arch into what Gojo deems the ‘whore presentation’ like he’s trying to entice the alpha in the room – soft and flexible, the curve of his hips wriggling. He stills his hand, toys with the small nub. “This is your clitoris.”

At Megumi’s answering moan, he chuckles, low, hard, predatory. “Good, huh? There are many thousands of nerves packed here, but what people may not know is that,” he moves away to a softly spilled whimper, “It extends past this one spot, Megumi.”

“Can you feel it?”

“U… uhhh, yes,” the omega moans, trying to turn his head around but kept in place by the restraints.

Gojo lets his fingers trail back, past the soft, untouched folds, back to where Megumi clearly wants them to be. He idly swirls his fingers in clockwise motions, then counter, then flicks them languidly, cataloguing every twitch, every tense, every shudder wracking the omega’s body.

“A majority of omegas can’t orgasm by penetration itself, Megumi. They need their clits stimulated too.”

“I… um, feels- ah! Feels good,” the boy says, losing his train of thought.

Gojo hums, drinking in the sight of slender, curved hips straining against the bench, trying to buck into his touch. Since the boy is so desperate for it, he gives it to him, slowly teasing at his opening – where most of the nerves are clustered – unable to help the grin that rises on his face when he hears a harsh intake of air. Every muscle in the bound boy’s body holds itself still, like he’s afraid of moving an iota, else Gojo’s fingers leave where he most wants them.

Megumi waits with bated breath, forces his hips to still – it’s hard, because he’s so sensitive.

And because he’s such a good boy, Gojo lets the praise slip from his lips, testing the give of Megumi’s pussy; smirking triumphantly when his middle finger slides in with minimal resistance. It’s so hot and so wet – he swirls his finger, tugging at Megumi’s channel from the inside – which invites a soft moan.

A virgin alright, he thinks to himself. The involuntary clenching and the tightness of a first-timer is hard to replicate outside of the real thing. There’s no way that he’s letting this boy go untouched after tonight. After all, the omega is sprawled, legs akimbo, presenting himself and –

And moaning Gojo’s name, and he feels his erection go from half-mast to rock-hard in about two seconds, pressing hard against the front of his slacks.

“Oh, you naughty little whore.”

“Gojo-sensei, ah!” Megumi moans, pulsing around Gojo’s finger. The long finger is… oh god, it reaches so deep, and Megumi wants more. His own could never compare – it’s never felt this good, not with his own fingers, not with the awkward twist of his body when he does it and the weird angle that leaves him unsatisfied. Not like this; he pushes his hips back as much as he can.

Gojo presses in, in, in, dragging the pacing out.

There’s a spot inside that drives omegas crazy – it’s where the head of a cock would rest and rub against when they’re being knotted – but he also knows that if he presses against it, touches it at all, the boy will come immediately, so he avoids it, merely swirls his fingers around it – fluttering, teasing, but never firm with the pressure.

What’s the rush? He has all the time in the world, so he pulls his finger out. The protesting whine has him grinning, lips spreading wide on his face.

He slants his fingers, plants them firmly on the swollen clit – many omegas prefer a slanted brush of fingers, like a seven-two motion on the face of a clock – perhaps it’s the newness of it, or its a testament to how good he is with his hands, because he flicks his fingers, once, twice, watching intently as Megumi’s back contracts, relaxes, and then again, undulating like the back of a snake; he stills his hand, but a voice inside him tells him to do it, so he does, pressing directly into the mound firmly with two fingers, twitching in a rapid swirling motion – the boy unravels and comes.

The omega cries out, body going limp – his instincts tampering down the jittery anxiousness and the natural flightiness of his limbs – his folds pulsing beneath Gojo’s still-moving fingers.

“Perfect.” The gooseflesh that erupts across the entirety of Megumi’s back has him smirking, like a dog taking to bone. “What, you like being praised, hmm? What a dirty little boy. Come on, tell me what you want,” he coos, sliding his fingers through the mess – Megumi is dripping, slick staining the leather of the bench beneath him, spreading slippery between his thighs.

Megumi swallows dryly, twitching against the stirrups. “Please, Gojo-sensei. Can I have more?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Gojo slides two fingers in, humming low beneath his breath when Megumi barely fights it, just lies limp, moaning softly. His scent is turning sweeter by the moment, ripening beneath Gojo’s forceful touches.

He can’t help himself; barely stretching the boy any further, he slips his fingers out, immediately adding a third in. The tight channel strains against his intrusion this time, pulsing and clenching down, like it’ll expel him, like it has the power to force him out. He only presses deeper, swiping an admiring hand down Megumi’s flank, soothing his small twitches and shuddering.

“That’s it, Megumi. That’s it,” he reassures, allowing himself to touch, to feel, spreading one wide palm over the boy’s unruly hips, pinning fragile bone beneath soft skin when he works in a fourth – which sinks in seamlessly; that’s how soaked the boy is.

“Ahhhh!!” Megumi’s cries must echo through his entire house, he thinks. “Ah, ah!!”

“Relax, boy. You can take it,” Gojo coos, biting his tongue at the sight of the omega’s toes curling. “Omegas are made to take it, baby. Relax for me. Take me in, okay?”

He shushes the wails that spill forth from Megumi, staring at the desperate clench of the boy’s pelvic floor, his asshole clenching and unclenching together with his soft, satiny insides. Gojo falls to his knees, nudging his fingers in, slow and deep, caressing the taut, stretched walls with his thumb. Megumi moans, high in the back of his throat, drunk off of the sensation of slowly being stretched.

Keeping it up is easy; it’s holding himself back that’s difficult. Gojo rocks his hand slowly, working the omega open further, smirking in satisfaction at the way Megumi’s walls soften. The sight of the omega beckons him in; he licks at the small, tight furl at first, laving at the messiness that’s spread all over.

Megumi cries out, thighs jerking.

The saltiness and the intoxicating scent has his tongue curling against the roof of his mouth; the noises in the room have morphed from a smattering of moans here and there to a high keening and yelps of his name that strokes at his ego. He eyes the way Megumi’s pussy clenches around his fingers, feeling just how swollen the boy’s passage is, how ready he is.

Gojo slowly pulls all four fingers out, licking at them noisily before descending on the soft, stretched walls.

It’s like sipping from God’s goblet – a high so potent, so heady – he spears his tongue in, pressing his face into Megumi’s folds like he’s a man starved for nourishment. There’s a trick that he’s learned through the years, but the cries of sheer helplessness from the boy makes him take pause, “You’re so ready, baby. Ready for a knot. Should I give you one?” he muses, palming the soft meat of Megumi’s ass.

“Unh, am– am I ready?” the boy stutters, his soft folds fluttering against Gojo’s tongue. “It won’t- It won’t hur-!!” He cries out, the last of his question lost to the air.

Gojo licks his tongue in a broad swipe, sucking on the boy’s clit; the bench creaks from how much Megumi thrashes. He licks in, in, in, tasting the boy again purely for his own enjoyment, swirling his tongue in the impossibly soft folds.

“Of course you are, baby. Let me show you,” he growls deep in his throat, a hoarse promise whispered in the deepest darkest of nights.

“Ready?” he asks, positioning himself in place. He doesn’t wait for an answer, slowly pressing in, working all four of his fingers into Megumi again, but this time, he only allows his thumb to trace the boy’s opening for a short moment – even if the boy moans at the feeling – before he smooths a soothing hand down the omega’s flank.

He wriggles his thumb in alongside his other fingers, smirking at the utterly debauched noise that slips out of Megumi – and he can’t resist it, the urge to bite rising in him.

Gojo sets his teeth on the meat of Megumi’s ass, biting down softly as the entirety of his fist sinks in slowly.

The first of the intense, ferocious cries start when the thickest of his fist – where his knuckles are – breaches the omega’s channel. It’s particularly animalistic, which just urges him to bite down harder, mirth bubbling up in him at the way Megumi’s soft curves shudder beneath the set of his jaw and the slow pressure from his fist.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, laughing throatily when Megumi’s slender hips buck further into his hand, just a slight twitch against the restraints.

“Is this- uh! Is this what a real knot feels like?” the boy pants, closing his eyes against the uncontrollable bone-deep shuddering wracking his body. He heaves when the whole of Gojo’s fist breaches him, clenching his teeth against the fullness, against the urge to beg.

“It feels nothing like a real one,” he hears, prompting him to whine high in his throat.

“I-” he swallows down the saliva pooling in his mouth, eyes rolling back when Gojo clenches his fist. The doctor presses in deeper, and he clamps down in muted jerks. It feels so good. “I want a real… a real knot,” he slurs, heat licking at the high, elegant planes of his face, spreading slow everywhere.

“What, is my fist not enough for you?” Gojo teases, grinning wildly at the answering shake of head.

“Hmm, how should we do it I wonder. A toy, maybe?” he asks obtusely, licking at the imprint of his teeth on Megumi’s ass.

“Nnnn… no,” the omega replies, biting his tongue.

“What should we do then?”

At this point in time with the man’s fist up inside him, Megumi has no pride left to feel embarrassed, or to feel humiliated – all he knows is that he wants. How he wants.

“Your knot,” the omega insists.

“My knot? Do you know what you’re asking for here, dear Megumi?” he asks, pure, unadulterated pleasure colouring his tone. "Is that why you came over tonight? You wanted some babies put into you, hmm?"

“Yes, Satoru, unh, Satoru-sensei!”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Gojo replies, not even trying to deny Megumi the opportunity, uncaring for anything else. The roof could cave in this instant and he wouldn't bat an eye, wouldn't stop. He’d wanted to drag it out at first, but seeing the omega begging so prettily has his razor-thin patience stretching taut. He unzips his slacks, thumbing the button open. The retreat of his fist forces a loud, broken mewl from the omega’s lips.

“Ready, baby?” he asks again, teasing at Megumi’s folds with the thick glans of his cock, brushing against the crease in a slow up-and-down motion, biting his lip at the heat and slick that spreads messily over his skin.

“Y-yes,” gasps Megumi.

“Okay. Daddy’s coming in,” Gojo sing-songs, beautiful blue eyes flashing and curving into half-moon slits.

He notches his cock against Megumi’s softness, spreading his broad palms over Megumi’s hips, humming in arousal at the meatiness of the slender boy, feeling the hard bone of the flared pelvis beneath soft, smooth skin. Gojo tilts the wide, beautiful hips just right, savouring the moment.

He tilts his head to the ceiling, listening to the boy’s soft cooing, the omega in Megumi enticing him just so.

Gojo barely does anything; he leans his weight forward, watching, enraptured as he sinks in like a hot knife carving through soft butter, spearing the virgin omega apart on his cock.

Virgin no more, he thinks, as he immediately presses deeper.

And Megumi, oh Megumi.

Megumi shrieks when hands position his hips just right, the thickness in him sliding through his slippery walls and nailing a spot inside him that has him seeing stars. His jaw falls slack, and he gasps when he feels his walls pulsating, clamping down with a mind of their own.

Gojo pulls out languidly, all the way to the tip, pausing to admire the sheen of glistening slick wetting his dick. He holds a moment longer, smirking when Megumi’s hips twitch, pressing in all the way, sliding thick and heavy, in, in, in, until he’s pressed up against that spot again.

“Ahhh!” the omega wails, fighting against his restraints.

He grinds into the spot, rocking his hips; he’s barely retreating at all, seemingly just pressing in, in, in. Deeper and deeper again, until the omega is a shaking mess beneath him; he grinds his hips, pressing just a little deeper, unclasping the collar around Megumi’s neck with his other hand.

The boy’s head twists to meet his, licking sloppily into his mouth. It just makes him harder.

He presses in just a little more, rocking his hips and spreading the omega’s ass cheeks.

A shudder starts up in the omega’s body again, and Gojo closes his eyes in bliss. He barely pulls out, nudging the spot that he knows is driving Megumi crazy, the spot that’s invoking the bone-deep shuddering and the heaved breaths.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, fucking in shallowly with sharp, precise jabs of his hips. Any time now, he thinks, grinning to himself when Megumi doesn’t answer, fucked into a nonverbal state of being. The omega grunts and whimpers, hips twitching up in plea for more.

The thickness spearing Megumi open thrusts in brutally one last time, hitting the spot dead on. He chokes on air and throws his head back, moaning and grunting wildly. His muscles cramp, once, twice, and he feels something in him give way. He screams when the floodgates flip open and he starts gushing, muscles milking the alpha for all he’s worth.

“Mmmm!!”

Megumi comes and comes, overwhelmed by his first cock, his first fuck, his first everything.

The cries echoing through his room, through his house has Gojo’s hips thrusting out of his control, fucking wildly into the omega beneath him. He humps his hips again, kissing and licking into Megumi’s slack mouth, groaning low when he feels his knot swelling.

“Knot,” Megumi growls softly like a puppy.

How cute. Megumi has no idea how much Gojo wants to cackle right then and there. Dropping hints of where he lived was a great idea – Gojo decides that he’ll give himself a small gift for his intelligence and cunning.

Nothing big – just a mate, and a baby.

After all, who is he to deny the omega’s wishes?

“I need you to relax, okay, baby? Be good for me. Don’t fight it,” he blabs, grunting at the exquisite pleasure washing over him, spreading through his veins. His back erupts in a light sheen of sweat. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, licking his lips and working his hips in slow, deep circles, encouraging his knot to catch.

The omega only nods mindlessly; he opens his mouth but nothing comes out except for a resounding wail, a mating call from his omega. A low growl reverberates from behind him, answering in earnest. A large hand presses down on his hips, pinning him in place. The knot shoves in at just the right angle, the fat head of Gojo’s girth slotting into place; Megumi’s tears fall in fat globs down his face, and he lets out a garbled scream as he comes again, his walls spasming uncontrollably, catching at the thick, bulbous knot.

“Yes, yes, yes!!” Gojo roars, bending bodily over the boy’s form, balls drawing up as he noses along a pale nape, arching into Megumi’s body at the vicious clenching of the omega’s walls; Gojo cackles, laughing wildly as he finally starts coming.

“Baby,” Megumi slurs.

“Yes,” Gojo laughs. “Baby.”

He sniffs along the omega’s soft, unmarred neck, fragile like the yolk of an egg, grunting at the throb of his balls as he spurts deep inside the omega.

His omega.

Gojo Satoru bites down savagely.