Chapter Text
He’s tougher than his kid and takes cock better.
Toji knows the first thrust hurt because Itadori’s whole body goes bright pink and rigid, but the brat spares him no complaints. Grips the sheets and palms his own cock roughly, whispering: “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
When Toji goes to slap his hand away — ‘cause it’s a little early to be shaking — Itadori catches his fingers and squeezes them in his fist.
“This is how I like it,” he snarls. “Now fuck me before the rest of your pubes turn gray.”
It takes the last shred of self-control Toji finds he apparently had, bedding a baby-faced teen in a cum-stained motel. He stretches Itadori’s legs as far as they’ll go and splits him over his cock. Violent for a first time, but Itadori lasts despite his near-constant masturbation, only letting himself cum when he hears Toji groan his own release—timing it so he’s tightening and convulsing, milking the last drops of Toji’s dick, and that’s something Toji hasn’t seen often, so it bonds them, this dumb kid’s willingness to please and be perfect.
✽✽✽
Itadori looks at his puffy asshole in the mirror when they’re done, fingers spreading his cheeks open. Toji considers it a personal victory how wide his eyes get when he notices the bruises marking his ass.
Once he’s satisfied that he’s fine — gaping and fucked out — but fine, he returns to the bed to steal the lit cigarette off of Toji’s lips. Smokes with the confidence of a slutty teen told this makes them grown and seductive, the same confidence that landed him here, losing his virginity to a man twice his age in a matter less than sweet.
“What’s this from?” He pokes at Toji’s lip. Toji lets him prod, run his fingers up and down the pale scar cutting his mouth and find the less noticeable ones, a gash on his eyebrow, where the hair won’t grow, the burn marks on his neck.
“Could ask the same about yours,” Toji says, taking the cigarette back. “But I don’t really give a shit.”
“Does it make me ugly?” Itadori climbs on his lap, flattening his hands on Toji’s hairy chest. He presses his thumbs on his nipples, but Toji has never been sensitive there so the kid gets bored quick and moves lower to his muscled stomach, the coarse, black hair leading down his slacks.
“You have a real person job?” he asks, fidgeting with the button of Toji’s pants like he can’t quite decide. Toji takes one look at his spit swollen lips and makes the choice for him.
✽✽✽
The scar slashes through an otherwise pretty face, stretching from the top Itadori’s forehead down his nose to end on the opposite cheek. It’s red and angry, more prominent when he flushes. He gets bullied about it more than he lets on and it bothers him intensely. Toji knows without having to ask.
When it comes to fuck-toys, these are all good things. Toji loves a good praise whore, and praise makes Itadori sing like a canary. He only loses himself, that big boy front he puts on, bracing for Toji’s thrusts, when Toji slips and calls him pretty boy, darling, sweet thing.
He’s insecure about being fucked missionary, deems it boring when really it’s the eye contact he can’t stand. If Toji insists, manhandling his body and flopping him on his back, he’ll throw his arms over his face or turn his head to the side.
But with cock-sucking there’s no escape. He’s forced to accept that when he’s choking on Toji’s fat dick, his ugly, little scar will be on full display.
“Don’t look,” he blurts the first time Toji ushers him to his knees. It’s important to break whores in like this — on the floor while you stand above them — or they might think you’re a good guy.
Itadori keeps whining so Toji gives him something to be embarrassed about. Tells him as much as he spit on his face and watches the saliva slide past his cheek.
Big, brown eyes find his: a ridiculous mix of aroused pupil and shiny tears.
“And I’ll still fuck your hole,” Toji says. “So quit thinking that thing on your face makes you any less fuckable. You’re fucking me, aren’t you?”
✽✽✽
The kid looks good with cum on his face, with his eyes rolled all the way back, with his tongue hanging out, with his mouth open and wet, with tears on his lashes and rolling past his cheeks, with dried blood and black eyes from fights he loses and men who aren’t as kind.
He looks good sat on his cock, struggling to keep himself upright, hands on Toji’s body, in his hair, blunt nails on his back and the back of his ass when Toji slams into his mouth hard enough to have him reeling.
Looks good fucked out and before fucking, when they meet under broken street lamps, share cigarettes and coffees that have gotten cold. Weekly, then nightly, because once isn’t enough.
Looks good passed out on his chest, the only thing Itadori fights him on. He has since stopped touching himself — lets Toji take him there — but won’t stop touching Toji when he lays on him with Toji’s softening cock slipping out his hole.
“If you wanna fuck me, you’re gonna be good to me,” he growls if Toji tries to leave. “So get the fuck over yourself and hold me, and make it good too, believable.”
And Toji shows him why so many people in his life have fallen for someone who has nothing but rage.
✽✽✽
But Toji’s kid is better looking and there’s nothing Toji can do about that. He got his genes after all, a splitting copy of Toji’s good looks and great metabolism. Like fucking himself with the same impassive attitude Toji had as a teen riding rich cocks for the money.
Megumi’s bad at head and a real bitch in bed, but he’s hot and, meeting him, Itadori spirals like a scorned wife. Not that Toji would know what that’s like; he got rid of most of his before they got to that flavor of domestic resentment.
Megumi is his karma, popping up on his doorstep, eighteen and fucked up beyond discipline, fresh from the claws of the Zenin, wanting a place to crash, money for school, and a good dicking (for the evidence), so if Toji tries to get rid of him, Megumi can have him locked up. Toji doesn’t know whether to be murderous or impressed when Megumi plays him the audio of the two of them going at it like savages and asks for a skateboard in the same breath.
✽✽✽
“Is it me or do they get younger the older you get,” Megumi comments when Toji finally runs out of money to spent on motels, and the brat sticks around despite that. Sex is all Toji can give him, and they need a place to do it.
Itadori hides behind his body, poking his head out to take in the moody teen lounging on his couch.
“He’s your age so shut it,” Toji grunts, heading for the fridge to get himself a can of beer and leaving Itadori to stutter through greeting bows by himself.
“Huh,” Megumi says. “Remind me to bring that up on take-your-trash-to-school day.”
He glances over and Toji knows the tactless son-of-a-bastard is gonna bring it up just off that smirk he wields like a knife. “Fuck happened to your face, flavor of the month?” he mocks, eyeing Itadori’s scar.
Itadori stiffens and Toji feels an odd itch in his fingertips, telling him to grab the boy and place him behind his back so no one, least of all his son whose viciousness rivals Toji’s own, can look at him like that ever again.
“You know you can fight back, right?” Megumi won’t let up. Like a shark smelling blood and lunging for it blindly. “I’d go for the right knee. He got stabbed there once, didn’tcha, dad? Trust me, he goes down like a lump.”
“I’ll fight you.” Itadori jumps to his defense.
As amusing as it would be watching who would take that round — his feral monster raised by a pack of wolves or the little fucker he has groomed to take zero shit — and, really, Toji would not know who to put money on, though he loves a good bet, he’s selfless enough to stop them.
Yanks Itadori by his sweatshirt before he can get anywhere and rests a hand on his hair, settling him. “Get along.”
“Or what?” Megumi snaps, realizing Toji is not going to let Itadori make the mistake of the first move and doing the walking himself, eyes twinkling in malice as he stops so close Itadori has to lift his chin to take his glare head on. He does without flinching.
“What’s this j-pop-looking bitch gonna do?” Megumi spits.
Toji catches Itadori’s arm as it flies up. Pushes Megumi back by his forehead. “Or they’ll need a hellhound to find your body,” he threatens.
He pulls Itadori to himself, putting space between them. Itadori clings to his forearm, sweet and docile, enough to have Toji straining against his boxers. He’ll reward him for this.
“If anyone even looks,” he adds when Megumi sounds like he’s not finished.
Megumi scowls at him. His green eyes narrow into slits as they move to Itadori. “He fucks me too, you know?”
✽✽✽
They fuck extra rough for Megumi’s sake since Megumi’s next door, blasting loud, angry music and kicking at the wall.
Itadori is a star when provoked. Toji should have done this sooner because damn, the boy can ride. He can do anything he sets his mind to and his current mind is on screwing Toji’s brains out of his nose with every accidental grunt that escapes him on particularly deep thrusts where he swears he can see himself bulging Itadori’s belly. Toji hasn’t moaned for anyone and that’s not about to change.
“Daddy,” Itadori mewls suddenly, head thrown back, as he bounces up and down on Toji’s cock, and a sound dislodges from Toji’s throat, a random, semi-panicked one.
“You feel so good, daddy, ah, you’re so big, you fill me up so nice,” Itadori’s wailing, alternating between slapping his ass and balls on Toji’s body, and rocking his hips to grind down Toji’s cock on his clenching walls.
His hand moves to his own small, stiff cock. He twists his wrist, getting himself off, whining any time Toji tries to help.
“I wanna use you,” he growls.
“Use me, babydoll,” Toji spurs him.
✽✽✽
“Why is he like that?” Itadori mumbles when Toji’s giving him his due, petting his soft hair and swaddling his body in his arms.
Subspace, Itadori explains when Toji asks why it takes so long. It’s a good thing and he feels good in it, though that numb stare gives Toji the creeps. He follows the path of least whining. If rocking Itadori’s little body against himself gives his ears peace, he’ll do it for hours on end and even find himself liking it.
“He’s mine.” Toji laughs. “What did you expect?”
“You have a son my age and we fuck,” Itadori surmises.
“Yup.”
Though he was screwing the occasional teen before he knew he had one for himself so it’s not as correlated as a shrink might deduce. And wasn’t it psychology that invented son-fucking in the first place? He won’t have someone half his age figure out which screws of his are loose. If God wanted him to be moral, he would have him born to a different family.
“Where’s his mom?” Itadori asks.
“No clue. Only met him a year ago. I’d suspect he’s lying to scam me but you take one look at him and tell me he wasn’t once in my balls.”
“Damn.” Itadori lifts his head off his chest to judge him properly. Toji feeds him the cigarette, swallows the smoke leaving his lips. “You’re kind of a shit dad.”
“Really?” He’s hurt! “When d’ya figure that?”
Itadori grins, reaching for his lips. “When you let me call you daddy,” he purrs. “You don’t know what that word means.”
“I know it gets you wet.” Toji flicks the butt aside to grab his waist and flip them around so Itadori is trapped underneath his much larger body. “That’s all I care about.”
✽✽✽
The next time they’re alone, Megumi grabs him by his hair and yanks his head back, forcing his eyes off the television. He has been fuming since that night, begging for a confrontation Toji won’t spoil him with. If he wants his ass spanked, he’ll have to earn it this time.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Toji grunts, swatting his grip away easily.
Megumi shoves it on the couch next to his face and throws one of his legs over Toji’s body to press his knee against his groin, applying enough pleasure to have it be uncomfortable.
“You can fuck him,” he sneers. “And you can pretend you’re worth something, just so someone will love you. But he will not call you ‘daddy’ and you will not call him that.”
Toji smirks, fisting his shirt. “Then come reclaim your title.”
Megumi straddles his lap like belongs there. “I’m not fucking you,” he whispers, nosing Toji’s jaw to tease the words on his neck.
Toji grabs his ass and rocks him against his clothed erection. “Show daddy what those pimps taught you.”
“Jealous?” Megumi taunts, hips rolling seductively, trained, undulating, teasing and pushing against his cock, forcing him to full, rigid length. “Someone broke me before you could.”
It’s not a question. Toji has seen the punishments, the welts, the brand. Felt Megumi shake underneath him from something as small as a shadow on his body. Felt the fury in his chest, the undeniable oath that he will murder them if it’s the last thing he does. He lives to kill.
Megumi is his, no doubt, but it’s hard to have fatherly thoughts about a being he never knew existed, who never relied on him like that, never gripped his thumb with tiny fingers or burped milk against his chest.
“Is that what it’s about?” Megumi presses himself to his body, nipping under his ear. “Why you picked him? Is he me, daddy?”
He shoves his arm between them to grip Toji’s cock, causing Toji to buck up in his touch and hum his approval.
“Or is he you?” Megumi squeezes. “Heard they sold you for a pretty price—”
Toji grabs his face. “One more word, I crack your jaw.”
Megumi smiles cruelly, flicks his tongue out and licks at his thumb. Toji’s hands are shaking. The only way to compensate is to grip harder, hurt him, shut him up, shatter him.
“Pick your next words wisely,” he warns, wetting his mouth.
Megumi picks ones that skewer him. “Why do you think I found you?” he murmurs, blinking too fast for comfort. Both panting synchronous, out-of-control breaths.
Toji releases him, cups his face and brings him to his chest, rocks him as he cries.
[ 1 of 5 ]