Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru was brilliant at many things. Management, for one. Any type of management, accounts, personnel, social media. Line it up and watch him knock it out the park. He was charming, charismatic, and could pick the perfect outfit for any occasion. He also had a knack for interior design and perfected pastry making in his first attempt.
One thing that seemed to be infuriatingly outwith his control, however, were his own ruts.
Try as he might, he couldn’t handle them. Over the counter rut blockers may as well have been syringes full of water for how little effect they had. Anti-libido pills didn’t help, he was closer to being the first alpha in recorded history to overdose on the things than he was to getting any relief from them. The best and most industrial strength, heavy duty rut toys lasted mere hours until they were nothing more than shreds of plastic over his den and he was sick and tired of getting new flooring laid in his bedroom from all the times he’d scratched it up with raw and bloody fingertips as his body ached for something he couldn’t provide it.
On the surface, Gojo was the dream alpha. He was strong, powerful, benevolent and beautiful. Underneath, he was broken. His will had shattered, he lived in fear of every rut, every accursed week he’d have to spend alone in agony, writhing for mercy that only came when the fog of rut cleared.
He was due again within the month. And his anxieties had bled through into his work, which for anyone else, would have been a social death warrant.
But since his only boss was his own father, it was more of a social suicide.
The old man had been threatening him to find an omega for years now, settle down and calm those “persuasions” of his. Damn old people and their stupid prudish codenames.
This time was different. The look in the old boot’s eyes was serious. And the threat that followed rang clear and horrifying in Gojo’s ears.
“Take an omega, or the company and inheritance is gone.”
Gojo had snarled, eyeing up the trinkets on his old man’s desk and briefly wondering which would be the most expensive to replace if he happened to smash it. But unfortunately, the man had a point. Having an omega was the absolute last resort, the only avenue he hadn’t gone down. But with the violence of his heats, he’d tear an omega apart.
Not that that was something he ever wanted to admit to his father.
“Fine. You win for now, Pa. I’ll take an omega if you want grandkids that badly.” He sighed, plucking a handful of candies from the jar on the man’s desk and watching him shudder in revolt.
Gojo had turned on his heel and left, the sound of his father muttering and cursing his insolence carrying him from the room like the sweetest melody.
After that lunch, his father’s assistant had appeared by his office with a manila folder marked “highly confidential” in a red ink stamp.
He had sighed, dragging a hand across his face while compiling a financial report that was due that very afternoon. He took the folder and bid the assistant goodbye with as much strained courtesy as he could muster up to avoid looking like a dick.
The woman, closer in age to his father than him, smiled in sympathy. The corners of her eyes crinkled and she left, giving his wrist a gentle touch on her way out.
The envelope went untouched for a while after that.
Gojo had stared and stared at the jumbled mess of figures on his screen in desperation, as if him boring holes into the spreadsheet would somehow make up for his total lack of knowledge in the subject field. It couldn't have happened at a worse time.
For years, his finance department had been one of the smoothest and most reliable in the entire company. They were constantly praised for their attention to detail and efficiency across the board.
Until they fell apart just over a week ago. A singular member of staff had disappeared, no notice, no contact. And with his unexpected departure, it became glaringly obvious there was only one person doing any of the actual work.
Gojo grunted, a dull ache already kickstaring behind his eye as the figures in front of him struggled to stay in their boxes.
Poor bastard.
Whoever he had been, Gojo hoped that wherever he was now treated him a hell of a lot better than this place did, lamenting the fact his unsung meticulous dedication to his own professional standards for years was reduced to a legacy of a scandalous departure and an increased workload for Gojo himself.
It was well into the evening by the time Gojo finally called it a day, packing up and ready to leave with a sense of hopelessness that pressed on his shoulders and sternum until breathing became a manual chore.
It wasn't until his arm knocked a folder off the far corner of his desk on the way out that he even remembered its existence at all. He shoved it in his bag and headed to where his driver was parked out front, only pulling it out again once he had settled in for the journey home.
The first document he pulled out was smooth and glossy, and it sent a flush of embarrassment bursting across his face. He looked around, scandalised, as if his driver suddenly developed eyes in the back of his head and an ability to see through the partition. It was a brochure for a heat house.
The rest of the folder contained a pretty consolidated collection of brochures, all from the most high end, luxurious heat houses in the city. Ones that promised discretion and utter hedonism. There were also pre-signed, pre-approved rut leave forms starting that day and ending after the turn of the new month.
Gojo was glad of the laptop burning a hole in his bag, he would need to tie off a bunch of loose ends before he slept that night if he was to be absent for so long.
But all that had been the beginning of the week, back when he still had an ounce of hope that he’d find a solution before his next rut.
By the time Thursday dawned and brought with it yet another disappointing, sterile conversation with an establishment’s owner, that faint optimism had been vanquished.
That last woman was the worst of all, hawk eyed and greedy. She had given him a catalogue of some of the staff on retention, but it was exceedingly obvious that the most extreme clientele they had were dirty old rich geezers down for a bit of taboo roleplay.
Try as he might, he simply could not get her to understand the danger he posed.
And he had walked out, utterly defeated and empty handed.
He was down to the last place on his father’s list. One that seemed slightly less alluring, more practical.
Gojo defied the glimmer of resurrecting hope in his chest.
Just like the previous places, he made the arrangements and called this establishment himself, not too keen on the idea of passing the message through a poor admin assistant.
He could barely imagine that conversation.
“Hi, could you phone this ‘omega-for-hire’ place and tell them I need to hire a stranger to fuck for over a full week? Oh but don’t forget, my ruts are so intense and dangerous that I can’t guarantee they’d get their omega back in one piece! Thank you! Can you reschedule my 2pm as well? You’re a star!”
His reputation would be in tatters.
Every other place on his father’s list had boasted glossy brochures, paid advertisements and sleek, well designed websites.
This place was simply a number and an address on a post-it note.
It rang an unfortunate bell in his mind, and he knew he had to bite back his pride once again this week and ask the one person on the planet he would sooner rather die than discuss his ruts with.
The contact page had been open on his phone for an embarrassingly long time, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button.
He currently found himself immobile in the back of his car, soundproof screen up between him and his poor driver who he really needed to tip more this month for his impeccable display of impassivity. He twirled the post it note in between his fingers, watching the big bustling cityscape bleed past in a sea of metallic blues and sparse greenery.
He growled, hitting his head hard against the window of the car before letting his thumb land on the fateful button.
The phone rang.
Good sign, he hadn’t been blocked.
It rang again.
And again.
Before it connected.
“Who died?” A gruff voice barked down the receiver at him, and all his bravado left him at once. He was hoping it would go to voicemail.
There was no way he could ask this. Of all the stupid ideas he had conjured up in his lifetime, this was a contender for the top spot.
“Oi?! Are you fucking dying? Call an ambulance, not me.”
The voice was snappy, its owner obviously in one of his infamous moods.
Gojo took a deep breath.
And the words poured out of him in one breath.
The name of the heat house, the location.
“Isn’t that where you went?”
Seconds ticked by in silence before the man on the other line sighed heavily, with the benevolence of someone deciding to spare another from vicious mockery for now. The tone of the call shifted, less frenetic with adverse air, more resigned recognition of a suffering that had grown larger than pride.
“Not exactly. Your ruts are getting that bad?”
Gojo hummed softly, defeated.
“Shit,” Sukuna said. Shit indeed.
“I did go there. I had an appointment set up with them and everything, but I went the night before to scope the place out first. That’s when I met meathead over here-“ A scuffle down the phone that sounded more like a genuine fight than a cute lovers’ tiff.
“- Working night security. Hunted me down and fist fought me right there in the car park. The rest was history.” A grin wormed its way into Sukuna’s voice as he recalled his ‘meet-cute’ as if it was anything other than horrifying.
Gojo grimaced.
“Morning, brat.” A second voice filtered through the phone to Gojo’s unwilling ear.
He scoffed.
“Morning, Toji. If you’re both going to be all over each other I’m hanging up now.”
Sukuna’s voice broke through the line and Toji’s relentless teasing drifted into the distance. Sukuna was on the move, his voice low and measured.
“Look, I can’t vouch for what it’s like once you’re actually in but you just have to be honest with them. If they find you a match, awesome. But then it’s up to you and your omega to work out your limits. Your only worry is if they recognise you. In that case they might be more interested in securing your money than keeping their omegas safe. But you’d have given a fake name and everything and will be wearing a disguise right now because you’re not a total fucking moron so just… be honest. Be careful, and make sure you and your omega have an escape plan sorted if you do get too much for them.”
Gojo cringed, but thanked Sukuna regardless.
He clicked off the call just as his driver pulled into the premises. Dirt and gravel crackled under the tires and the building loomed large, industrial, sterile and intimidating.
An unfortunate man in an ill-fitting grey suit stood outside the big double doors, a sleazy smile plastered across his greasy face. He brightened up as Gojo stepped out of the car, dressed simply in a white shirt and slacks, no disguise to be seen.
“Gojo Satoru! What an honour!” The man bowed and shook his hand with far too much enthusiasm.
And Sukuna was wrong, Gojo was a total fucking moron.
As the man shook his arm out of its socket, Gojo wallowed in self pity and the glory of hindsight.
“This way, please!” The man held the door open and Gojo took a second to stare up at the sky, sighing heavily at his own idiocy before resigning himself to his fate.
The reception area was vast, really hammering home the clinical warehouse vibes the place was giving off.
It felt more like a factory than any heat house he’d ever heard of.
Most heat houses went above and beyond to display their accreditations, to show that their establishment was legit and above board. They had long and arduous background checks and medical screenings before an alpha was even allowed near the premises to begin their compatibility tests with the omega staff. They competed for awards for best treated omegas, supplying benefits and bonuses and incentives that made them look a hell of a lot more glamorous than they actually were.
This place appeared entirely unperturbed by industry standards.
The man, a beta, introduced himself, but the money signs in his eyes and the cloying way he spoke combined with the bright LED lights overhead struck an ache deep within Gojo’s skull. And he was in no mood for games.
“You are our guest of honour, my good man! I will prepare our stock momentarily. If you like anything you see, just say the word and we’ll get everything ready for you.”
The man waddled over to a reception desk, and since Gojo was their guest of honour, he figured he wouldn't be told off for following. Bent at the waist with one foot off the floor, the man scrabbled for something just out of Gojo’s eyeline.
Gojo frowned, the lazy antics and overall unprofessional dirtbag impression he got from the man was a bad omen, no doubt heralding in more misfortune.
Still, Gojo was desperate, so he grit his teeth and clenched his jaw hard enough to ache before forcing a courteous look on his face as the man turned back to him, sweat on his brow and a stack of papers in hand.
“Shall we?” He asked, and led the way through the first set of double doors.
Immediately, the scent hit him with a gale force. The lights were even brighter down the hallway, almost blinding as his senses struggled to adjust to the onslaught. He groaned, blinking heavily as the sounds of desperate, needy omegas moaning and whining filled his ears.
The beta was speaking, but Gojo couldn't hear him, didn’t care to try. His alpha was rioting internally, mouthy and aching in the tender balance of pre-rut.
His gums ached, and cold sweat prickled at his swelling mating gland as it trickled down his nape.
“Gojo-sama?” The beta asked, the honorific a clumsy attempt at flattery.
Gojo’s nostrils flared as he calmed himself down.
“I’m fine.” He stood to his full, impressive height, tamping down his instincts in favour of continuing his visit.
The doors fell shut behind them with a heavy click of finality. He was past the point of no return.
They were in a long hallway, metal grates underfoot with rows of glass fronted boxes on either side.
Each box contained at least one omega, in varying stages of heat. Some were writhing and presenting, mewling for the attention of a desirable, virile alpha. Others seemed content to pleasure themselves, unhurried and indulgent in their iniquity.
The first omega Gojo saw seemed to be the gold standard. Small, petite, curvy around the hips with glossy lips and doe eyes. Gojo met the young man’s eyes, and a flush appeared on his skin before his legs fell open, and his hand trailed down to slick folds, fingers coming back glossy and wet.
Gojo looked away, the young man was too small. Looked too cute. Unease crawled over Gojo’s skin, the omega was attractive, sure, but memories of his previous ruts flashed through his brain. The power, the rage, the uncontrollable primal rage to take, bite, claim.
That omega couldn’t handle him.
And there was no way he would ask him to try.
“Our more popular guests are situated at the front of the stage.” The beta spoke, breaking the concerned trance Gojo had fallen into. “Beautiful, dreamy omegas. Everybody falls over their own feet for these ones. Cute, petite, angelic, butter-wouldn’t-melt.”
The beta’s voice took on a wistful quality, and Gojo could sense the man wanted at least some of these omegas for himself. He also couldn’t blame any of them for their disinterest. He’d rather rip his own knot off with his bare hands than let the slimy dirtbag anywhere near him.
The two walked in relative silence, with Gojo observing each omega with an almost clinical severity. Any one of these people would have sent a lesser alpha into a crisis of choice. But to Gojo, he only had one criteria: could they handle his ruts?
The answer had not changed from the very first heat house he visited.
In one pen, two omegas lay on top of each other, grinding their slick pussies together, their clits bumping against the other. They paid the alpha no attention, content with the others’ company as their tongues danced together languidly, as if this was a vacation and not what Gojo assumed was a heat leave.
Gojo observed, contemplative. If he would be too much for one omega, could two be enough to handle him?
The beta hummed beside him, the smell of his sweat permeating in the air next to Gojo.
“Ah yes, these two are my personal favourites-“
Gojo was walking away before he finished his sentence. Absolutely not.
The beta’s stench soured the sweet mix of the omegas’ scent enough to pull him back from the precipice of rut he was teetering dangerously on.
Further down the so called ‘stage’, the beta explained that thanks to generous donations from anonymous clients, they had bought toys and equipment for some of the more ‘volatile’ omegas.
To his left, a machine mounted knot toy churned endlessly, fucking mechanically in and out of a trembling, blissed out omega on the verge of collapse. On the right, someone was curled up with her back to the glass, her hand trapped between plush thighs as she fucked a small dildo in and out of her mouth.
“So how does this work?” Gojo asked, coming to a stop in front of a heavy looking door marked “restricted.”
“Someone’s caught your eye?” The beta grinned, greed flashing across his face.
“Not at all.” Gojo shrugged. The beta balked. “Are these people volunteers? Hired staff?”
The beta cleared his throat.
“Our guests are a mix of both. That sweet honey you first saw is our special top earner. He started off as a volunteer but realised he preferred getting fucked to working a real job.”
Gojo’s face soured at the man’s careless words. He’d be lucky if he left this place without giving the beta a black eye, never mind his hunt for an omega.
The air seemed to slowly thicken, an irresistible quality to the scent curling up into his nose, settling across his brain in a beckoning haze. Gojo’s nostrils flared, trying to get as much of it into his system as he could.
One of the omegas must have the most exquisite scent he’d ever encountered.
Either that or he was rapidly running out of time.
“But every omega we have here is either on payroll or a volunteer. Every last one.” The man wrung his hands together, his eyes shifting strangely between Gojo and the door behind him.
“Well let’s not linger around here! You must want to see everything we have to offer.”
The man reached to physically herd Gojo away from the door and alarm bells began to blare in the alpha’s mind.
It didn’t take a genius like Gojo to realise the beta was suddenly weirdly shifty.
He was hiding something.
Gojo flinched away from that greasy outstretched hand and stepped back, closer to the door.
The beta made a small noise of distress and before Gojo could open his mouth to question what the hell had made him so jumpy all of a sudden, he heard it.
The faint sound of heavy chains rattling.
The beta started to speak, but he was promptly cut off by a cold, stern look from ice blue eyes.
Moving closer to the door, Gojo realised the scent in the air that had his mouth watering was coming from underneath the door.
There was someone in the restricted section.
But why?
Then he recalled the beta’s previous words, and why he seemed so desperate to hide something.
“But every omega we have here…”
Gojo’s eyes went wide with realisation.
“You house alphas here too?” He asked, and he did not miss the panic that struck in the man’s eyes.
“No, we don’t.” He cleared his throat and with it, the stricken expression cleared from his face before a careful mask of neutrality slotted back across his features.
He stepped forward, away from the door and tried valiantly to move on to the next stage of the tour, but Gojo wouldn’t budge.
The chains rattled louder now, more urgent. Muffled machinery whirred and above it all, cutting through the metallic crunching was the unmistakable growl of something truly formidable. A ragged groan followed, almost too faint for even Gojo’s keen ears.
Gojo strained his senses for any more of that irresistible enigma under the heavy door.
“Sir, please may you follow me.”
Gojo looked at him, the weight of his anger and desperation clear on his face and something in the beta died.
“I am sorry sir, but-”
“What’s behind that door?” Gojo asked, taking a step towards the beta. The beta backed up.
“Sir that area is restricted for staff only.”
“You said yourself. I am the ‘Guest of Honour’ am I not? Let me in.”
The beta raised his arms in surrender, sweat drenching the underarms of his shirt.
“I’m afraid I really must insist-“
“Open that door.”
The entire factory seemed to fall into unsteady silence at the command of a prime alpha, the omegas in the cells hushed, the refusal died on the beta’s lips - even the insistent rattling of the chains behind the door ceased.
Normally, Gojo would feel mortified for letting a command slip out like that, but after the week he’d had, and the headache that had steadily worsened since he stepped foot in this godforsaken place, nothing but sheer relief flooded his veins as the beta slumped defeated, and obeyed. He held his head down, a sweaty hand fumbling with the badge around his neck before swiping it across the panel in front of the door.
“Very well, Gojo-sama. Follow me.”
He punched a code in on the panel beside the door.
“I’m sorry, everyone. I really didn’t mean to startle you.” Gojo said, raising his sheepish voice just loud enough that the gathered omegas could hear.
The door slid open with a heavy groan.
If Gojo thought the smell in the main area was bad for his rut, it was but a drop in the ocean against this room.
A broken moan ripped its way from the depths of Gojo’s soul, the heady scent drowning him, mingling in the air with his own. It seemed bio-engineered to drive him crazy. He shot a hand up to his mouth as he felt his fangs drop in preparation to bite. The blood in his veins felt like fire and his clothes were suddenly cloying, irritating. He blinked desperately, fighting back the rapidly descending fog of rut.
Blood drained from his face and raced south and Gojo at least had enough sense left to be mortified at the possibility that the scent was enough to make him pop a knot in his slacks like he was a teenager.
“I did try to warn you, Sir.” The beta started, misinterpreting Gojo’s all-encompassing need as disgust. “I apologise for subjecting you to this.”
But his voice fell on deaf ears as Gojo stood, finally daring to gaze upon the cage that housed the source of the scent.
His hands gripped the railing until pale knuckles turned pure white.
It was an omega, the beta hadn’t lied.
But he was the biggest, strongest, most devastating omega Gojo had ever seen.
Heavy duty steel chains held huge, muscular arms taut high above the omega’s head, which was bowed. Sandy hair fell over his face, obscuring his features. He was muzzled, a metal cage type that had been outlawed years ago, only fit for use on particularly nasty animals. Sweat poured down his skin, running in rivulets down the impressive swell of his chest, which heaved with every growling breath taken.
His legs were tied, bent and shackled on his knees. The thickest knot toy Gojo had ever seen plunged quickly and punishing into his glistening cunt, and ropes had been tied across one - frankly obscene - thigh, tight enough that fat and muscle bulged over the edges. Strapped to the ropes was a vibrator, nestled snug to his clit.
“This one is different. A real nasty piece of work. He was surrendered to us about a week ago. Went half feral on a commuter train and nearly mauled an Alpha to death.” The beta shuddered in disgust.
The omega snarled, fangs glinting in the light with spilled venom and spit. The beta took a tactical step behind Gojo.
“It took five of us to subdue him and he’s been resisting heat this entire time. We thought he’d eventually calm down but he’s only getting worse.”
Gojo scoffed, the urge to snap the beta’s neck at an all time high.
But he looked back at his omega and his breath stuttered. The man smelled absolutely divine, and to have fought against his heat for almost a week with no relief? He was tough as nails.
Pride welled up within Gojo for this total stranger.
And with a frame like that, he was perfect for Gojo. Beyond a dream. He was built to withstand, to endure, to take.
“Beautiful.”
The word fell from Gojo’s lips, unbidden, and the omega’s head whipped up. Gojo got a good look at him. His honey brown eyes, stern cheekbones and his strong jaw clenched beneath snarling teeth that had momentarily lost their bite. The moment their eyes met, the omega’s blew wide and his features twisted beautifully as for the first time in a week, he surrendered to his instincts in the face of his alpha and came.
Hard.
His body locked tight, muscles jumping in his arms and thighs as slick poured from his cunt, glistening in the harsh light. He threw his head back, exposing the long, thick column of his neck to Gojo and his highly volatile predator instincts.
A high, reedy whine that spoke of monumental relief tumbled from his lips before the trembling started. Such a tall, broad frame, reduced to shaking like an autumn leaf. Gojo fought back a laugh of pure elation.
He couldn’t wait to ruin him.
“I want him.” He said, his eyes locked on where the toy had come loose from the omega’s hole, spiderwebbing slick attached to the tip.
The beta let out an undignified squawk, rushing in front of Gojo and waving his arms.
“Sir, please reconsider, we have-“
Gojo held up a hand, far past the point of niceties.
How dare this pathetic, snivelling excuse of a man stand between him and the man he was certain was his mate.
“You remember our discussion on the phone?”
A frantic nod.
“So you remember my single stipulation?”
Another nod.
“And you said so yourself, I’m a VIP. I tell you I want this man, this man appears to accept me, and he’s been nothing but a pain in your ass. Let me have him instead.”
The beta suddenly seemed to be far more open to the thought of getting that beast of an omega the hell out of his facility.
“Well he is rather troublesome.”
“Exactly. Come on now Mr…” Gojo trailed off, suddenly realising he never bothered to remember the man’s name. He glanced over the beta’s head to the omega, who had recovered enough from his orgasm that he rolled his eyes and mouthed something to Gojo that he didn’t understand.
“Come on Mister.” Gojo changed tactics and lightly hit the man’s arm, as though they were old friends. “I can take him off your hands for good.”
The omega scoffed behind the glass, shaking his head.
The beta lit up, falling for Gojo’s age old, tried and tested charm.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Gojo-sama!” He grinned, pulling a radio out of his pocket and calling for a specialised extraction team.
“Let’s sort out some paperwork while the guys get this one ready for you.”
Safely back in reception, the beta seemed rather pleased with himself, no doubt figuring out a way to brag to everyone in the know about how the entire thing was his idea in the first place.
The ‘paperwork’ in question was a single page document entitled “permanent release”, that essentially said they accept no liability if anything goes awry for either party. Gojo shuddered at the crudeness, knowing full well the only thing that he wanted from the omega was a rut partner.
Maybe morning after cuddles.
And breakfast in bed.
And perhaps cute dates, and coming home to the omega, and burying his face in those giant tits, and eating him out until he cries, and movie nights, and someone to hold him after a tough day at work.
Well shit, if it all went well he might just buy a ring.
He was pulled from his delusions of domesticity by a previously unnoticed door clicking open, heralding with it the sound of heavy footsteps.
His omega emerged, muzzle and handcuffs still firmly wedged in place.
He was clothed, barely. Clad in a simple pair of black slacks and torn and tattered shirt, most likely the clothes he had been taken in. A nondescript black messenger bag was slung across a broad shoulder and Gojo figured he was probably a salaryman prior to this.
The omega held himself with a regal air. Back straight, shoulders down and chin high in the air. He was almost as tall as Gojo, which was an impressive feat regardless, but for an omega it was almost unheard of.
The beta took an instinctive step back and Gojo’s lips quirked up at the sight. He pressed a set of keys into Gojo’s hands.
“Hi.” Gojo said, suddenly shy in the face of such a handsome man.
Despite the flush on his face and the lame excuse of an introduction, the omega let out an amused exhale.
“Hello.” He said in return, and his voice was sin.
“Shall we?” Gojo extended his hand, sweeping his arm towards the door where his driver had been dutifully waiting.
The omega nodded, stepping forward to join his alpha.
Unable to resist, just as he passed the beta, the omega surged forward with a half-hearted growl, scaring the smaller male half to death as he jumped back and squeaked.
Gojo laughed, loud and light before they left side by side.
“We’re gonna have so much fun.”