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Ever since Gojo Satoru killed Toji, he has never needed to use the trains.
On occasion, he does, it’s not like he can teleport in and out of a crowd without someone noticing. And sometimes it’s easier, and less of a hassle to just walk over to a station five minutes away than actively think of the distance he needs to transport him and his teammates. But he’s never needed the trains the way the average commuter does, reliant on their punctuality for every aspect of their life, missing exams, promotions or parties when they fail. The trains here are so efficient that their presence is the established norm. And so the average person takes the trains for granted. Satoru thinks it’s a little hilarious. The only time anyone ever really thinks about the trains in detail is when they don’t come on the dot.
That’s precisely why Satoru’s thinking about them now, stuck on the station as he reads the the pixelated display system roll through a string of text that tells him that his train has been delayed by an emergency service repair. It’s not a long one, ten minutes at most, but to the throng of people frantically texting bosses, teachers or meetups on their phone, Satoru guesses it’s a lot. Time ticks by and he subtly mulls over the fact it would’ve been much easier if he’d just teleported. It doesn’t take much cursed energy, just a lot of brainwork. But he’s already here, and he might as well. The train’s already pulling in, and he’s pulling in too, holding onto a latch and lining himself up with the many handrails that hang above. It’s almost like the weight of killing that man never occurred to him, never held him down. He doesn’t feel guilty. He deserved it. He deserved it for killing Amanai, for sending Geto into depression, for ruining everything. In fact, he should feel lighter. Happier. Glad that such a freak of nature was wiped off the face of the earth, but that would be only if he really killed him.
Because if he really did kill Toji Fushiguro, why is he standing right in front of Satoru Gojo right now?
“Fuck,” Toji is the first to speak. His lip is still cut, curled up in that mocking snarl of a smile he gets when something’s going his way. His teeth are pearly white, the muscle of his cheek perfectly functional, all things Satoru associates with people who are not dead, but alive. Alive. He can’t believe it. The realization has him frozen into place, eyes unable to process anything but the dark-haired man in front of him. “Thought it was just your buddy who lost weight. Looks like you’ve been keeping off the sugar too.”
Geto. Did Toji see Suguru first? Is he dead too? That first strikes Satoru, and the second is absolute disgust and repulsion, because Suguru’s not avoiding sugar. He’s avoiding every meal they put on his stupid plate, and stacks of bento boxes full of spoiled food only rise in the trash can outside his dorm room, one he never has the energy to take out. Swiftly, Satoru raises an arm to activate something — his domain, his technique, he doesn’t know — but none of that matters when a very alive Toji Fushiguro is standing right in front of him. His arm never rises higher than a few inches from his waist, because Toji holds it in place. Tightly. His biceps flex as he does, and Satoru can immediately feel the pressure on every single artery and vein that passes blood past his elbow. The blood has been blocked, choked out, and soon his arm will turn purple, then blue. Toji looks better. Almost more muscular. Even unflexed, his lats poke out of his shirt. He’s taller. He used to be only a head tall, but now Satoru’s eyes are at the same level as his pecs. He has to crane his neck up to hiss at Toji: “You should be dead.”
“Shhhh,” Toji says, holding a finger to his lips as the train doors shut close, leaving Satoru trapped in a carriage stuffed with people. To Satoru, they’re humans, to Toji, they’re shields. He knows Satoru can’t activate his technique at all, not when the sheer pressure of so many humans in one place has forced them chest to chest. “I ain’t kill him. And I ain’t plan to kill you either, you little shit.”
“You should be dead!” Satoru repeats, and he feels the grip on his elbow tighten.
“That so? Should’ve finished the job then. Like I did, except you came back to fuckin’ life for some reason. If you’re so pressed ‘bout it-“ Toji lets go of Satoru’s arm completely. “Finish the job now.”
“Don’t taunt me.”
“No, no, I’m serious.” Toji says, flashing him another grin. “Kill me here. Kill everyone in this carriage. I wanna see just how hard the Gojo clan’s gonna work to fix the mess you made here.”
“You’d be too dead to see it.”
Toji thinks about it for a while. “You ain’t wrong. But take this-“ He leans down, gets all up in Satoru’s face. “I wanna make them work to save you. Stupid shit like you, never needed saving your whole life. That’s wrong. Being useless builds character in kids. Reminds them that their little mommy or daddy loves them, or something, whatever. Reminds them that they can’t do everything themselves. That they’ve gotta be smart and cut their losses every now and then.”
“I don’t need to cut any losses.” He says firmly. “I’m Satoru Gojo.” And it’s as soon as he says that he realizes he’s fucked up. The crowd stops at another station, but no one gets off, and only more people flock in. It’s rush hour, after all. Now Satoru can’t hold onto the rail above, but is firmly held in place by the force of crammed, packed commuters. Sardines. This is a can of sardines and Toji is a hungry man picking it off the shelf, peeling the tin lid off and fishing around for the fattest one. That that makes Satoru’s stomach sink with a feeling he otherwise can’t identify. Something animal, something not fully human.
“And that’s all you are,” Toji remarks, as the train hits a particularly large curve, spinning so hard to the right that people falter in their stand. Ultimately, he is pushed up against the wall with Satoru, and Satoru swears the body he feels pressed against him is less man and more muscle and power haphazardly stitched together in a vessel close to bursting at the seams. “Who are you when you’re not the strongest? God knows. Maybe you’re just another fuck up like me. And you know that, Satoru, you’ve known it ever since they robbed you outta your mom’s arms and put you in a robe and sashes that barely fit. You ever go to see your ‘nan? Your old man? You don’t. And even if you did, you could hardly call ‘em that. They sold you, baby. I sold my kid too. But they won’t do him like they do you. Ain’t nobody in the world would pass the chance to profit off you, and you brought that on yourself by never needin’ no one.”
“I-“ Satoru tries to protest, but it’s too late. The train opens, and a rush of commuters floods out, and he stands counterflow against the current.
“Anyways,” Toji says carelessly, leaning easily along the tide of people. “I’ve no reason to fuck with you and the others. So you’ve got no reason to kill me. Focus on your own world, kid. I’ll focus on mine.”
And with that, he wades into the schools of people, vanishing into the train station.
.
.
.
“You saw Toji Fushiguro?” One of the higher-ups speaks through the paper screens that shield their faces and bodies. “I thought you finished the job!” He yells, the violence of his voice shaking the panels. The screens are supposed to hide their identity from whatever sorcerer they’re speaking with, but the Six-Eyes allow Satoru to see past that. And this man is a knobby old thing with eyes that barely peer past sagging lids, hair growing out of his moles, when it had neglected to grow on his head. His skin is a mix of pale white streaks and age spots that mark him like a toad’s would. Even then, toads were endearing. This man was simply not.
“Well, he’s alive now.” Satoru says recklessly. If really wanted, he could have them all dead within the next minute. Anything he wants to happen will happen. Of course, the only reason he’s not doing it is because it’d be too much to explain away to the clans, and it’d cause a power vacuum only he could fill. And then there’d be retaliation too. He could quell most rebellions, but he can’t find a battle on all sides without some collateral. Collateral. Is that all people are to him? It can’t be. Toji’s a liar. He doesn’t see his family like that. Promises are based on mutual keeping, and he believes his family would fight for him not because he was Satoru, but because he was their Satoru. Their shared blood promises that, because like it or not, he was theirs. He has to believe in it.
“Well! Well, he says, as though he does not know the implications of this!” Another higher-up speaks, one that Satoru can’t quite identify. He knows the face, it’s that of a stern older woman whose cheeks are permanently concave, almost forcefully punched in. But he’s associated this image with so many other people in power that he actively has to memorize what differentiates her from the rest of them. Horribly plucked brows. Stubborn, receding gums. Cakey gunks of fuschia lipstick. She has a face that looks like it reeks of old perfume he’d hate to be crammed next to on a packed rush hour. “Understand your words, boy. You aren’t anything without our power.”
Satoru doesn’t even remember what they were supposed to be talking about. Yes, he knows that Toji being alive is a problem. So what? He’ll just kill Toji again. And even if he doesn’t, Toji has no reason to bother them. He only did it for a bounty once, when Satoru was a teen, but no one’s stupid enough to put a bounty on him now. Satoru sighs, as another one starts speaking, and this time the words pass through one ear and out the other. He tries to recall what they were trying to say. Something about the rising amount of high level curses in civilian areas where Satoru’s abilities would be dangerous to the population. He was supposed to be recommending other competent sorcerers to take his place.
“You know what we can do, right?”
“My family will not go down without a-“
“Not that one.” This higher-up dismisses easily. “The actual one. Your students.”
And Satoru’s heart sinks.
Toji never lied once, never. Satoru sold the story to himself, because if promises are made off mutual keeping, then he’d broken that oath first.
“There’s a kid you’d brought to us a while back. Yuko… Yuta, his name was? You fought to stave off his execution.”
“No one deserves to take youth away from the young,” Satoru hisses. “If you have a problem, take it it on me and my clansmen. The students have nothing to do with this.”
“We don’t bother trifling with the clans, Satoru. That’s out of our jurisdiction. But the students, your…” There’s a pause there, a pause he’s heard so often when referring to him. “…Suguru.” Yours, they prefix, as a way to introduce what they suspect what him and Suguru truly were. They’d never say it out loud, never question him, but they won’t deny the truth on his behalf. “You have a history of alliance and corroboration with actors that stand against our will. You wouldn’t do that if you truly cared.”
“You misunderstand. I care about my relatives deeply-“
“There is no need to feign it, Satoru. Such is the fate of any and all that wield unfathomable power. You have no family. You have a name, and maybe blood, but you have no family. The students are your closest thing to one. You play house with those children for nothing in return, you make them feel happy for a few years. And then what? They outgrow their need for you. Perhaps you see yourself in them. Perhaps you don’t. That is not our concern. Ultimately, all we want is results and tonight, for once, you have failed. It is about time you remedy your wrongs.”
“I don’t want to hear anything from an old thing like you.” Satoru spits out, and he says it with full offense, with every intent to have the higher-ups lunge angrily at him so he can have an excuse to kill them all here, right now.
“You don’t have to.” The voice speaks, and Satoru can barely gather as to whether this is a man or a machine’s voice, the sound of a pre-recorded message playing over a subway intercom. “Kill Toji Fushiguro. The rest can wait.”
.
.
.
The alley where Toji lives is rancid with rat piss and rotten trash, and is not marked on any maps. Overhead, a railway line shakes every thirty minutes with the weight of a packed train. Have the people here grown callous to the commotion, or do they live forever aware of the ten thousand tons of metal that rattle above their heads like clockwork? Satoru can’t say. But he does know that one of those trains stopped at a station nearby, and Toji must’ve stopped too, and walked all the way down to the rodent infested complex that Satoru stands before now. The concrete is caked with soot and some other black tar-like residue he cannot identify. It stands next to a series of apartments just as ugly, the space between each one barely enough for more than two people to cross shoulder to shoulder. A rat skitters nearby, and Satoru enters the building, eager to leave.
Turns out, buildings this decrepit don’t get an actual lobby. Just a tired security guard taking a nap by the door, and an older woman smoking a pillar of ash out of a cigarette at the reception. Satoru heads to it and hesitantly speaks up. “Hey,” he coughs out. “I’m here to see someone.”
“See someone?” The woman repeats, and Satoru realizes how poorly he’d worded it. In a place this slimy, no one would assume a better conclusion first.
“Uh, I mean, I’m visiting a relative. His name’s Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro. I know he lives here. Just don’t know what floor. Can I get that from you, miss?” He lays it on thick, emphasizing the miss when this woman clearly is a missus or madam at best. Unfortunately, not all women are as weak to his charms, maybe age had worn down her urges, but she shakes her head and says: “Can’t do that, sorry. Not supposed to give out personal information of residents to strangers.” For a second, Satoru thinks of a million different ways he could force his way inside; a stairwell, the fire escape, climbing in through a window. But then he looks at the time and decides it’s not worth it.
Really, he doesn’t have to. Satoru simply has to think of the devil, and he will appear.
“This kid’s no stranger to me,” Toji calls out from behind Satoru. Today he’s wearing a grey sweater that’s got holes at the hem, and black joggers that pool at his busted up sneakers. He’s got a cigarette tucked in between his teeth, and the neck of a bottle of liquor in his fist. He grins. “That’s my nephew.”
“Your nephew?” The woman asks.
“Yeah.” And before Satoru knows it, Toji’s around him, his free arm slung over his shoulders. He reeks of tobacco. “Just gotta talk about something with him outside, yeah? Thanks.” Soon, they are out in the cold, back to the rats. Beneath their feet, the ground starts shaking in anticipation of the train above that shoots past their heads. Toji takes one more puff and drops the cigarette on the cement, where it joins thousands of other ashed out stumps.
“So, you here to finish me off?” Toji says.
Satoru doesn’t respond. He can’t. The words of the higher-ups keep ringing through his head. Satoru wants to kill Toji. Every fiber in his body wants to pull apart Toji’s sinewed body like he would to the tendons of simmered meat. He wants him dead. If Toji had just stayed put, had stopped fucking with his life for a few wads of cash, then everything would’ve been fine. But Satoru knows he’s lying to himself again.
“Hey, you listening? You should know I ain’t going without a fight.” Toji says. “You ain’t a teen no more, but that don’t mean I’m any less capable of putting your head in the ground, kid.”
“I don’t-“ And before Satoru can continue he is slammed against a dumpster, stumbling over his legs, with immeasurable pressure on his throat. He is met with a fist to his face. It knocks the breath out of him, whatever he had left. And he feels that feeling he had in the train earlier — something he now understands. For once in his life, Satoru Gojo feels need.
“You ain’t even fighting back, kid. What? Got a spine all of a sudden? Thought you just did whatever the higher-ups toldja to do. Fuckin’ toy. Did I scare you shitless?”
“I don’t,” Satoru tests out, and Toji doesn’t stop him. “…want to kill you.”
“That’s a new one.” Toji says, squeezing down harder around Satoru’s neck. He cries out in pain, his blood and brain screaming for more supply of oxygen. Instinctively, his hands clutch around Toji’s wrist. So this is what a human feels. This is what someone who isn’t as powerful as him experiences when met with Toji, an unstoppable force in motion. If Satoru activates his infinity, he could easily be the immovable object. Easy. Life has been easy for Satoru, or at least that’s how he wanted to see it. It wasn’t easy losing Suguru. It wasn’t easy losing Amanai. Nothing in life is easy for him. And no one in the world can understand what it is to be the strongest, and still suffer like any other man.
Oxygen is almost non-existent in Satoru’s body now. He briefly wonders if this is how he dies, at the hands of a man who ruined everything he loved. Will he die ruined by him too?
“You’re learning,” Toji says, as Satoru starts to see white. “See what I told you?” He says, landing another crushing blow to Satoru’s skull that has his ears ringing.
And Satoru sees. The rest of Toji’s hits do little damage to him, truly, because they aren’t meant to kill, but rather meant to burn a lesson into him. He lets Toji hit him until his nose bleeds, and then, and only then does Toji stop. For a moment, they lock eyes over that dumpster. It is exactly like the day Satoru died, fully and totally surrendered to the violence that is Toji, angry and desperate. Has Toji ever felt helpless like this, too?
“This is how it’s supposed to be.” Toji says, not even out of breath. “Tell me, kid, how do you feel?”
“I feel…” Satoru’s lip is busted open and it makes speaking hard. “Miserable. Like I fucking hate you. I want you dead.”
“Mm, yeah?” And Toji gets all up close and personal to Satoru. “…What you gonna do ‘bout it, kid?”
Satoru doesn’t know how the first kiss lands. He doesn’t know how the second one does either. But by the third, he knows what he’s doing, and sinks his teeth down onto Toji’s lips, biting with the intent to see him bleed. Toji shoves him off, and the back of Satoru’s head hits the dumpster with a clang that scares off the rats. He wipes his mouth off on his forearm, and Satoru takes that time to sit up and press his lips against the column of Toji’s throat. He dots wet, open-mouthed kisses at first, that turn to bites that break skin. Blood runs down Toji’s shoulder, the same way Satoru’s nosebleed drips down his upper lip. Toji groans, a hot, heady noise that has Satoru wet in his pants. Toji begins to palm his, a sizable bulge starting to form. With his other hand, he weaves his fingers through Satoru’s scalp, and shoves him down on his knees.
“Mouth. Open.” Toji orders, firmly holding Satoru’s chin in between his thumb and forefinger. Less out of his own will and more out of the force of Toji’s grip, Satoru’s mouth hinges open. Toji inspects it for a second. He scoffs, harshly taps the side of Satoru’s cheek. “Wider,” He commands, before spitting straight into Satoru’s mouth. It catches in his throat, and he leans down to cough it up, but Toji doesn’t let him. He grabs Satoru by the hair, to meet his eyes. “Don’t fucking spit, boy, swallow.”
Satoru does. Toji’s spit tastes like tobacco and ash and burns on the way down. A wave of disgust washes over him, but he doesn’t even get the time to feel it before he’s hoisted over the dumpster. It doesn’t take much to have Toji hooking his fingers around the straps of Satoru’s pants to pull it down.
“Fuuuuuck…” Toji drawls, admiring the plump, glistening pussy between Satoru’s legs. “Did your sorcerer friend get a taste of this too?” He runs his knuckles down Satoru’s pussy, spreading the folds apart and rubbing circles over Satoru’s swollen button clit. Strings of arousal sink underneath their own weight, running down in rivers past Satoru’s thighs.
“Stop talking about him,” Satoru gasps out. “Please.”
“I ain’t gonna stop unless you make me, kid.” Toji says, spanking Satoru’s pussy hard, in a way that has him squeaking and clenching his toes. Toji does it again, palm so big that it covers all of Satoru’s vulva when he smacks it. Roughly, he plunges his fingers into Satoru in a way that isn’t intended to make him feel good at all, but Satoru doesn’t care. The pain feels good too. Satoru squeals as Toji slaps his pussy over and over again, until he can't tell where his cunt ends and his ass starts. Currently bent over a dumpster, his toes are least a couple inches away from the ground, wiggling his legs aimlessly in search of any kind of footing. He doesn't really have to. Toji’s grip on his waist is suffocatingly tight, but Satoru knows he gets off when he struggles. Toji gets off on the idea that Satoru is completely incapable of running despite his best efforts, so Satoru screams and screams for help, thrashes and cries and begs Toji to not hurt him. It's all play, after all. Significantly more fun for Toji, perhaps, but Satoru is playing too. The sting continues, three fingers slammed into his cunt, pulled out to deliver a slap, repeat. Satoru’s close to tears by the end of it. Anyone could see them. Anyone could walk into them and catch Satoru with Toji grinding his bulge in between those legs — and someone does. It’s a line cook, he assumes, from the restaurant next to them. He’s got a bag of garbage in his hand, and stares at them horrified.
“Toji-“ Satoru whimpers. But Toji doesn’t stop. Satoru doesn’t stop him, either. They leave the man watching as Toji grunts, and lines up his cock with Satoru’s cunt.
Satoru’s first instinct is to cry out, and he does, so viscerally that it has the man dashing away. Toji makes no moves of softness. His grip on Satoru’s hips are so harsh it feels like he’s purposefully tightening up his insides like he would a fleshlight. “You like this,” Toji grunts. “You like this, huh? Ain’t no one ever humble you like the way I do, right, kid?”
“Shut up.” Satoru says, trying to focus on the feeling of getting fucked like an animal. Toji’s cock is so big it fills all his stomach. The veins that line it are so prominent he feels the walls of his pussy tighten over them even as Toji pulls out. Red hot spikes of pleasure flood his body and drive him insane, and he ruts his hips back to meet Toji’s. “You’re lucky I didn't kill you.”
“You’re lucky I fucked ya. How long’s it been since anyone touched this? Your last lay must’ve been that sorcerer boy with you. He ever fuck you like this?”
“No, and stop talking!” Satoru yells, which makes Toji stop right in his tracks. For a moment, silence. Then Toji laughs and slowly pulls out of Satoru’s tight pussy, which almost resists.
“Fine, kid. Have it your way.”
Satoru doesn’t know what washes over him. “No, no — Toji, wait! Come back! Stop!”
“I did.”
“No, please, Toji, fuck you; fuck you, but please, don’t stop.”
Toji contemplates this for a second, leaning back against the dumpster, with his still-hard cock hanging by his thigh.
"Then strip." Toji chuckled as he saw Satoru’s throat constrict, giving a slow roll of his hips, cock in his fist, picking up speed, fucking harder and harder and harder. "Want me to fuck that little cunt of yours? I'll fuck that little cunt of yours." Satoru has no idea what possessed him at that moment, but he nodded and whined desperately, begging for that cock, tears welling up in his eyes as he kicked off his pants. What is he even doing? What the fuck is up with him? Why is he stripping naked to be used like nothing but a hole?
“Ride me.” Toji says, encircling his hands around Satoru’s bare waist. His stomach is toned, muscle straight and firm right down to his pussy. “Get what you want from me.” He lifts up Satoru onto his lap from where he sits on the dumpster. Satoru presses down, easing his cunt lips to envelop just the tip of what he knows is already Toji’s cock. He jerks his hips up and down for good measure, letting his clit drag over Toji’s leaking tip.
“Toji, I-“
“No, use the other term.”
“Daddy!” Satoru sobs, rocking down onto that gigantic cock killing his pussy. “Daddy, fuck, take me, please!” All his life he’s been so devastatingly, so disgustingly alone and untouched it makes him want to vomit. Toji fixes that. This stranger ruining his cunt, hurting him until he cries, fully clothed while he’s naked and cold, and so, so afraid — fixes the part of his brain that has forbidden him from feeling helpless. Because people deserve to be helpless. People deserve the right to lack the ability to help themselves and selfishly be of no use to others. Satoru is useful. He is useful like the trains that run through the city, the trains that go on forever and are only ever noticed when they sputter and fail. His excellence is the default. Toji doesn’t see any of that, and reduces him to the user, to the commuter fatally in need.
“Fuck!” Toji grunts, core tensing as he feels Satoru riding him in earnest. “That’s not what I expected you to call me, kid.”
“I don’t care,” Satoru gasps out, far too past the point to be embarrassed. “Fuck me, daddy. Pay attention to me, please!”
“Who taught you to say such things?” Toji questions, scoffing. “Did you say this your little boy toy back then, huh?”
“No, daddy, no-“ Satoru gasps, crying. The tears have been fucked out of him. “I’ve never, please, just fucking…”
Toji’s dick stretches Satoru’s cunt so open it disgusts him. The moan he lets out is visceral, more of pain than anything else at the moment, before then turning into that of ecstasy as Toji starts pistoning into him. Toji pulses another sharp thrust to Satoru’s oversensitive cunt. "What was that you called me? Say it again." He repeats. No response but a gasp. "Daddy,” Satoru begs, “Please, I'll be good!"
“I’m going to cum.” Toji states, leaning back and practically ignoring Satoru’s fervent bouncing on his dick, hips sore and tired from the little knee hops he’s been doing to get it deeper. His thighs ache too. He wishes Toji would do that thing again, where he’d held him down and just pounded into his aching cunt over the dumpster.
“Cum inside me,” Satoru says. “Cum in my pussy.”
At this, Toji raises a brow. “You want me,” He breathes out, the only show of exertion he’s made throughout this entire situation. “-to cum raw in you?”
“Yes, please, Toji I-“ Satoru’s words are cut short from a sharp slap to his face.
“What, can your technique plug up your womb too?”
“I can take it!” Satoru sobs. “I can take it daddy, please, please! I’m a defect, Toji. I couldn’t have babies if I wanted to, they’d kill it before I got to have any, because I’m too useful, so please-“
“So you’d kill my kid, kicking inside your tummy, just so you could be useful? To what? For what?”
“I’ll keep it, daddy! I can have babies, I can pop out a litter for you, just please, please cum inside!” Satoru begs, pussy clenching just as tightly as his legs wrap around Toji. He shouldn’t be talking like this. He shouldn’t even think of acting like this. But the begging goes on anyways, his mouth moving before his brain does. “You don’t have to stay, promise. I can pump out as many babies as you want. How many do you want? Two? Three? Just please keep fucking me! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-“ The sound dies in the back of Satoru’s throat as Toji hoists him up and slams him up against the concrete wall of the building across. His back scrapes against the rough texture. It goes up and down against the wall as Toji starts pumping into Satoru as if he were no more than a toy. He might be. Hasn’t he been one his whole life?
Toji crushes Satoru’s thighs with his grip. His cunt is weeping with wetness, struggling, choking over the cock slamming through it. Toji’s cock is so big that on the way out, it gets caught in his Satoru’s grip, the only reason it manages to pull in and out of that pussy being the sheer force of his hips. He gasps. Toji pulls out fully, aligns his tip with Satoru’s swollen cunt again, and then shoves up. Satoru screams. Toji fucked something open in him. A part of his body has been split open. What is it? His womb? He’s shaking. Satoru feels the world trembling around him.
“You’re gonna have my kid, Satoru. You’re gonna go back home and feel me dripping down your thigh, and in a few weeks, your belly’s gonna swell. You ain’t gonna say who’s the daddy. And I’m gonna find you, come back, and put another one in ya as soon as this one’s gone.”
“Yes, Daddy-“ Satoru sniffles, snot rolling past his upper lip. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Good girl.” Toji says. With a kiss, he cums into Satoru’s womb, filling him up.
Toji’s cum is warm and sticky in Satoru’s guts. In the heat of the moment, it feels like love. Led on by that afterglow, by the irrationality of the thoughts that come with such loaded words, Satoru tries to land another kiss, but Toji pushes him away. “M’not a fag,” He says halfheartedly, dropping Satoru right on his tailbone. The impact stings, but not as much as rejection.
“You came inside me, Toji, I-“
“So? Imagined you was a girl the whole time. Not much difference anyways, it just ain’t like you’d get kids.”
“Please, Toji, just…” Satoru presses his lips tightly together. A fat bead of Toji’s load rolls down his thigh, and what once had been so warm now feels cold. “Just… go.”
“Clean me up first.” Toji says, holding out his softening dick. With a stammer, Satoru leans forward from where kneels on the ground and envelops his mouth around it. He tastes himself on the tip. Satoru almost gags at it; all of Toji’s cock is so slippery and wet that he can’t shake the thought that even his very cunt was fucking crying for it. He licks up and down the sides, making sure to get the folds of the sack. For good measure, sinks it all down into his gullet once, which has Toji flashing him a sick smile. “Attagirl,” he praises, tucking his cock back into his joggers once he’s done. “Now get lost.”
A train shoots above Satoru, full of commuters who go back home to houses to wake up fixing the same mistakes they made yesterday. Satoru will still never be in need of them, but for once in his life, he’ll go home tonight, desperately, frighteningly helpless and in need of someone to make him forget.