Work Text:
Megumi wakes to warmth.
Hands first, large and calloused, handling him like something holy, sliding beneath the edge of his binder, palms spreading over his ribs, thumb pressing just hard enough to prove he’s solid, as if Toji’s afraid touching him wrong might make him disappear. A shiver runs up Megumi’s spine before he can stop it. Toji’s cock, heavy and half-hard, hot against his back, presses into the swell of Megumi’s ass, like even this is something to be careful with.
“I can tell you’re awake, blessing.” The words rumble out of Toji, warmer than usual. “Your breathing always gives you away.”
Megumi opens his eyes, but doesn’t move away. He turns his head to meet the dark green stare hovering inches from his own, leaning into the touch a fraction. An innocent movement, small enough to lie about. If he wanted to. He won’t.
“I was sleeping on the couch,” Megumi says, voice still hoarse from sleep. He ignores the comment about his breathing, everything it implies.
“Mhm.” Toji noses along the curve of his neck. “Brought you to bed when I got home.” He trails a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses down Megumi’s throat. “Y‘looked cold.”
Megumi doesn’t know when this started. Doesn’t know when the lines blurred and the touches and kisses and I love yous turned into—whatever this is now. Something softer, hungrier. Something he should’ve stopped.
He doesn’t have an excuse, really. The simplest explanation is that his brain is just fucked up. Short-circuiting every time Toji looks at him like he’s the reason he wakes up in the morning. His body going warm and embarrassingly wet when that look drags from his eyes to his mouth to the rest of him.
But. It feels nice to be the one someone wants for once.
It’s not all Toji’s fault—eight years in prison would complicate anyone’s parenting—but maybe Megumi wouldn’t have grown up worshipping his father the way he does if he’d actually had Toji instead of the revolving door of foster homes he was dumped into. Homes full of adults who, with varying levels of cruelty, made sure he knew that Fushiguro Toji never wanted him.
Megumi never believed them. Because despite all of his circumstances, Toji tried. He tried so hard, even if Megumi still grew up seeing things he never should’ve been exposed to.
Toji tried in the only ways he knew how. And for Megumi, that was gospel.
He tried to have him live a normal life, despite everything he had done to help them survive. He never spoke to him with pity or disdain, never blamed Megumi for where they ended up, and how they ended up there, even though Megumi knew everything was harder with a kid at his side.
And that's why the words Toji whispered to him after his sentencing bore their way into his skull and made a home there: “I’ll come get you the second I’m out, blessing. My sweet baby, I’ll buy you all the dresses and toys and anything you want when you’re with me again.”
Those words were prayer, whispered into pillows and bedsheets for years while his hand was shoved between his thighs, touching himself to the memory of a promise that was never meant to be kept.
He could survive anything as long as he never let anyone get close. Kept those shields Toji had built for him up, never let anyone touch him in a way that mattered. Because Toji was the only one who would ever be worthy enough to shatter him.
When Toji’s sentence finished, Megumi had no idea what to expect when he walked into the custody office. He was no longer the soft little girl Toji had kissed goodbye eight years ago. He was a boy now, sharp-edged and quiet and angry, beaten and broken by everything he’d survived to get here.
He remembers the way Toji looked at him, startled and tense, but unbearably warm in a way that sent something sour crawling up Megumi's throat.
“You’ve grown up, Me—” Toji started, stopping on the name he used to know.
“Still Megumi.”
And Toji’s smile had widened, slow and genuine and very, very devastating. Megumi hated how easily it undid him, hated the way his chest loosened before he could stop it.
“Still my blessing,” he’d murmured. “That makes me glad.”
Megumi supposes that’s why he’s ended up where he is now.
He turns so he’s on his back and Toji’s hands follow without hesitation. The movement hikes his further up, Toji’s palms dragging down the soft plane of his stomach, tracing the lines of his waist like a path etched into memory. His hands stop at the waistband of Megumi’s boyshorts, fingers idly toying with the tiny white bow on the hem.
Heat coils in Megumi’s gut as his breath picks up, everything hitting him at once, squeezing his thighs together in a poor attempt at self control.
“How was work?” he asks, clearing his throat, trying to focus on anything other than the whimper trying to claw its way out.
Toji huffs a quiet laugh against his neck. “Fine.” His thumb rubs the bow once, twice. Then his fingers slip under the waistband, moving until they find the soft patch of dark hair below. “Shiu was on my ass because Itadori didn’t show up.”
His palm spreads over Megumi’s mound before sliding down, parting his folds lazily, collecting slick like Megumi has no dignity left to defend. “As if making sure Sukuna comes to work is my responsibility.” His middle finger circles Megumi's entrance once before pushing in all the way to the knuckle.
Megumi isn't able to stop the choked sound that tears out this time. His legs snap shut automatically, trapping Toji’s hand there and forcing him in deeper. His heart is banging against his chest loud enough that he's sure Toji can hear it. This is the worst part, his want pooling low and heavy in anticipating.
Toji talking like he isn’t wrist-deep inside his son does not help.
Megumi inhales, fights for a steady voice, and somehow manages to speak. “Itadori’s always a problem at work, isn’t he?”
“Mm.” Toji buries his face into Megumi’s hair and breathes him in. “Maybe I should put a hit on him myself. Pisses me off enough.”
The words are muffled, but Megumi isn’t listening. Not really. Not with his hips betraying him, trying to grind down as Toji’s finger curl just right inside of him, the wet, obscene sounds his body is making drowning everything out.
Toji’s hand moves up, broad thumb pressing lightly on Megumi’s clit. He teases the nub, circling it a few times as Megumi squeezes his thighs tighter.
“Easy,” Toji drawls. “Lemme in.”
The second finger pushes in beside the first, stretching him. Toji starts a steady rhythm, scissoring him open, but it’s Megumi’s body that takes it farther. Always.
He clamps around Toji’s fingers as his thighs tremble and toes curl, bringing his arms up to grab Toji's wrist so he can push him further in, nails sinking into skin as he bucks up into it. Every grind of his hips drags his clit against Toji’s palm, sweet friction that turns his brain to mush.
Megumi bites his lip, shaking as the pressure builds. He tries to breathe through it, tries to keep quiet, but a helpless, high whimper escapes anyway. If he pretends he doesn't like it, that means he doesn't have to think about it, right?
Toji hears the sound and curls his fingers, picking up the pace, thrusting in and out so quickly all Megumi can do is sink his nails further into Toji's skin. It's like Toji wants to see how quickly he can break him.
Megumi hopes he draws blood.
He comes with a moan he has no hope of stopping, vision whitening at edges. His hips jerk, slick soaking Toji’s hand as his body convulses around the stretch, heat flooding his cheeks in humiliation and relief all at once.
“Good boy,” Toji murmurs in his ear. “Knew you needed that.”
Megumi melts into the sheets, boneless, chest heaving, vision still hazy.
Toji presses a lingering, satisfied kiss to the back of his neck, almost tender, before shifting his weight. His fingers slip free as he sits back onto his knees and takes Megumi with him by the hips, lifting him upright.
“Turn around and lift your hips for me, baby.”
Megumi nods and Toji guides him down and forward, arranging him on his stomach. Megumi follows without resistance, letting Toji move him however he wants, as if he belongs wherever Toji decides to put him.
But he doesn’t lift his hips.
He likes it when Toji does that part for him. When those big hands take hold, spread him open, and press him down into the mattress like he's nothing more than a cheap whore.
Toji’s palms slide down the curve of his waist, nails digging into his skin, marking him. He inches closer, knees nudging between Megumi’s thighs, spreading them wider and tilting Megumi’s hips up without a single word spoken.
Megumi feels the heat of Toji’s cock drag against the seam of his boyshorts, thick and heavy and impatient, rubbing against him like Toji can’t help himself. The fabric catches on the head, damp already, and Toji lets out a low groan.
He barely even bothers with Megumi’s clothes. Just hooks his fingers under the waistband at one hip, yanks his underwear down far enough to expose him, and lines up like he’s been waiting hours, days, years for this exact moment.
Megumi shudders, feeling that warmth pool into his gut again, already close when Toji isn’t even inside him yet. This part always happens fast, like Toji was holding himself back until Megumi was on his stomach, open for him. Like this is what makes everything in him snap.
When Toji lines up, he doesn’t thrust. He sinks in slowly, unbearably slow, the thick head of his cock pushing past Megumi’s entrance and Megumi immediately feels the stretch. It’s too much and not enough at once, Toji moving like he's carving a place for himself there. His hands tighten on his hips, fingers flexing on Megumi’s skin, grip faltering like he’s losing the ability to pretend this is gentle.
“Toji—” Megumi whispers, and it comes out broken, needy.
Toji pushes in another agonizing inch, like he’s forcing himself to savor it. Like going gently is its own punishment. Like every little bit of movement threatens to show what he really feels inside. What he's been trying to hide.
Megumi feels the tremor in Toji’s arms now, how his fingers twitch, the faint shake in his breath as it brushes hot over Megumi’s shoulders. Toji’s forehead dips to his back for half a second, like he needs the anchor just to keep himself from losing all control.
“Fuck,” Toji chokes, voice wrecked, “you’re—ngh—too tight—so wet and still—fuck, I can’t—”
Megumi hears the breaking point, feels it in the stutter of Toji’s hips, in the way his grip tightens like he’s bracing for impact. And Megumi’s lips curve against the pillow. Satisfaction he’d only ever admit to himself.
Toji tries to correct when his restrained rhythm falters, tries to drag back out another inch, but his hips jerk forward instead, instinct overriding everything.
The snap is instant.
He slams in with one hungry, helpless thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a sound that’s half a snarl, half a prayer ripped out of his chest. Megumi cries out, back arching, clenching tight around him. And Toji breaks, rhythm dissolving into something raw and feral, rutting now, hips snapping with need, pace messy and desperate. His chest crushes Megumi into the mattress as he snarls into the skin under his ear.
“Gonna breed you, yeah? My little blessing—fuck, I should give you a baby.”
Megumi’s whole spine lights up like a struck nerve. He hates this. Hate how Toji’s words bloom inside him, poison-sweet and humiliatingly familiar. Hates how wet they make him. Hates the way his body responds before his brain does, clenching down around Toji, sucking him in, like he wants Toji to bury himself into him and never leave.
Like some part of him has always been waiting for Toji to take him apart like this.
Toji drops his forehead against Megumi’s shoulder, arm locking possessively around his waist, dragging him closer as he thrusts harder, filthier, hitting that perfect, shameful spot inside him that Megumi can never quite brace for. His fingers curl helplessly in the sheets, shoulders tightening as he gives in.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? My sweet, beautiful boy,” Toji growls. “All big and swollen carrying my baby like you were made for it. Made for me.”
He’s mumbling a litany, half prayer and half possession, words spilling out quicker than he can probably think them, branding themselves against Megumi’s neck.
Megumi never realized how beautiful it could feel to be used. He wishes he’d known sooner. Maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty.
Toji’s moan is low and guttural as he spills into Megumi in a hot, overwhelming rush. Megumi feels it all at once, the pressure alone enough to drag him over the edge again, choking on a moan as he comes again. His body spasms around Toji, clenching and unclenching like if he tries hard enough, he really will get what his daddy wants.
Toji slumps over him but stays buried deep, grinding slowly, little pushes that keep Megumi open around him, mixing his cum with the slick already inside of him until it’s one perfect, obscene heat.
Megumi turns his head to get air, cheek brushing the pillowcase, pulse still stuttering as Toji keeps grinding into him like he’s trying to make sure none of it escapes, like letting any bit of the mess inside of him escape is some type of blasphemy.
Megumi’s breath is barely starting to even out when Toji suddenly stops. Before he can register it, Toji’s hands are already sliding under his hips and lifting, flipping him onto his back like he weighs nothing, legs falling open because Toji’s body is already there, already between them, already pushing him back into the mattress.
Megumi’s cheeks burn. He can feel everything inside him shift when Toji moves, attempting to slide out before Toji’s thumb presses just above his entrance.
“Uh-uh,” Toji murmurs. “Not wasting a drop.”
He watches Megumi’s face as he slides back in slowly, his own cum slicking the way. Megumi melts, lips parting around a shaky breath. Toji’s finger inches up from his cunt to circle his clit, languid strokes that match the unhurried push of his cock.
Toji settles wholly inside him with a sigh and Megumi feels so full—so incredibly full it feels like Toji is the only thing he knows. Toji slides his hand up until it meets the small rise under Megumi’s skin, thumb brushing over the bulging skin.
“Perfect fit.”
Toji presses down, gently, and Megumi’s vision blurs. The pressure makes him feel held open from the inside, filled past reason. Toji’s mouth curls up into something that’s barely a smile. His teeth catch on his own bottom lip like he’s holding himself from sinking them into Megumi again, from marking him more than he already has.
His grip tightens on Megumi’s hips, possessive and hungry, holding him in place like Megumi is something he’s claiming ownership over rather than someone he’s fucking into the mattress. His thrusts are a steady grind that push his cum deeper with every roll of his hips. Megumi feels every inch of it.
Toji leans over him, hair brushing Megumi’s cheek, mouth close enough to taste his breath. “Pretty thing,” he murmurs, hips snapping harder now. “Gonna fuck you right. Want this all the way inside you.”
Megumi’s toes curl, embarrassment and arousal crashing through him with the same equal, unbearable force.
“Toji—” he gasps, throat tight.
Toji simply smiles against his jaw, a creeping drag of heat that feels like a vow.
“Good boy,” he breathes. “Say my name baby. You’re mine. Always will be.”
And the words feel like teeth. Sinking into the softest parts of his psyche, tearing him open piece by piece. Like being used and worshiped and defiled and claimed is exactly what he was built for. And God help him, he doesn’t want Toji to ever let go.
He wants Toji to bite him down to the bone.
Every thrust forces a sound out of Megumi, something between a gasp and a whimper. His body keeps fluttering around Toji, too sensitive, too much.
“Toji—please—” Megumi chokes, not even sure what he’s asking for.
Toji hears it anyway, the cracking edge of overstimulation, and his rhythm changes, angled to the spot inside Megumi that sends electricity ripping down his spine.
“C’mon,” Toji growls against his mouth. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Megumi doesn’t know what does it. The undivided attention. The way Toji looks at him like he’s a deity. The tiny part of him screaming they shouldn’t be doing this at all. All of it sends him crashing over the edge once more.
His orgasm surges up out of nowhere, white-hot and violent. His whole body locks, then breaks open, slumping back against the bed, boneless and shaking, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes because it’s too much and too good.
A raw, humiliating sob escapes him.
Toji freezes for half a second.
Then, he crushes Megumi against him, gathering him up like nothing, one big hand sliding under Megumi’s thigh to lift and open him, the other locking around his waist. Megumi's arms loop over Toji’s shoulders, legs curling around his hips, tugging him in with the same type of urgency. Their bodies press together so tightly he can feel each exhale Toji lets out against his collarbone.
It doesn’t feel like clinging; it feels like surrender, like some part of him recognizes this closeness as inevitable. Like his body was made to open for this man and pull him deeper. And once he’s there, wrapped around Toji and held in place, Megumi’s body takes over where his mind can’t.
He’s worn out, barely able to form coherent thoughts, but he still moves without being told, hips lifting into Toji’s thrusts, swollen clit dragging against Toji’s stomach. He feels the faint scrape of friction through every inch of his body, tears spilling down his cheeks, until he’s gasping against Toji’s throat, too overwhelmed and helpless to stop any of it.
“Fuck—Megu—keep doing that—” Toji snarls against his throat.
Megumi can’t stop shaking. Every snap of Toji’s hips is too much, every drag of his cock keeps Megumi stretched past its limit. The tears don't stop, so he buries his face in Toji’s neck, trying, and failing, to hide how undone he is.
“Shh—God, look at you,” Toji hisses, hips moving messy and desperate. “Let it out. Take it—good boy—yeah, ride it out for me. I’m right here.”
Megumi shudders helplessly, nails digging into Toji’s shoulders. His own version of sinking teeth.
“Toji—nngh—Toji, I—” His voice cracks, a humiliating sound. “I—I can’t—”
“You can.” Toji bites his jaw, panting against his skin. “You’re milking my cock—fuck—you want this.”
The moan that spills out of Megumi feels stolen, wrecked loose like Toji is taking the sound straight out of his throat.
Toji comes again, face pressed into Megumi’s neck, hips stuttering through the last thrusts. Megumi feels the heat spill into him, filling him up even more, feels Toji’s whole body shudder like breaking is the only way he knows how to love.
For a moment, they just lie there.
Toji’s weight settles heavy over him, arm still wrapped around his waist, thumb brushing absent circles into his stomach like he forgot how to stop touching him.
Megumi feels it happen, the subtle tightening in Toji’s hold, the slow blink of returning awareness. Something settles between them, what they keep choosing. The bitter taste of knowing.
Toji exhales against his throat, too soft for the man he is, like he almost let something slip. “Gotta clean you up,” he mutters, voice still raw, like he hasn’t quite let go of what they just did.
Megumi nods. Words would be dangerous right now. Words make things real. And everything Toji murmurs into his skin when he’s buried inside him are just that. Words. They don’t mean anything. They can’t.
Toji pulls out slowly, warmth spilling out onto the sheets. His eyes follow it before his head snaps away like he was staring at something he wasn’t supposed to.
He heads to the bathroom. Water runs. Megumi lies there catching his breath, binder bunched around his chest, legs still trembling, heart refusing to settle.
Toji returns with a warm cloth. His expression is calm, warmth still lingering around the edges. “C’mere, blessing.”
Megumi goes. Of course he goes.
Toji touches him like Megumi is something fragile, something he's scared to break even though he already has. Over and over again. And when Toji wipes him clean, Megumi keeps his eyes on the wall. Not because he wants to avoid Toji, but because the tenderness makes everything inside him twist, makes the want curling in his chest too hard to hide.
This version of themselves that lives in the dark has no where else to go. They both know it.