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Rereading the manga, so naturally this had to be written. Also, I found conflicting stories on his relationship w/ Megumi’s mom. Some say he loved her and that she was the only person he was ever himself with, and some say that he married her and ditched her. I lean towards the first option in this story bc of course I do hahaha.
***
Toji never really given a fuck about beauty. Strength was all that had ever mattered. Strength, and money. His face was marred anyway; it had been cut open when he was a child, a punishment for being an abomination to the Zenin clan.
The girl who worked at the bar had beauty. Or, he thought she did. Not that he was a good judge of such things.
Strength and money.
She liked him. At least, she liked to look at him. She wouldn’t like him if she knew who he was, or what he did for a living. Young, naive, pretty. He knew it was probably wrong to enjoy her attraction to him, but everything he did was wrong. What would having a moral compass matter, in the end? Everyone died all the same, and Toji knew his life probably wouldn’t be a long one. Not in his line of work. He didn’t care.
It wasn’t lost on him that she was probably the reason why he came to this damn place every week. A spot of brightness in hell, as it were.
“Another drink, Mr. Zenin?”
She always insisted on using his last name, no matter the fact that he corrected her every time he visited the bar. It pissed him off a little, her stubbornness. She had a little bit of strength in her, this one. Not physically—she was as fragile as a twig, but there was a bit of rebellion in her, to continually refuse to listen to him. She might not know who he was, but Toji was pretty fucking sure he had “DANGER” written all over him in giant neon letters.
“Toji. No ice this time.”
He couldn’t tell if he was itching for a fuck, or for a fight.
She came back carrying a full tumbler of whisky and leaned over the bar just enough for him to see her cleavage peeking out of the thin shirt she wore. A fuck, then. Although he wouldn’t say no to a good fight; it would get his blood boiling all the same. A fight would probably be smarter, less risky. But the image of the pretty barmaid bent over the counter flashed through his mind, and Toji felt his resolve begin to sway, just a little.
What would it be? A fuck, or a fight?
He glanced around the bar, hoping to find the usual instigators of mayhem. There were a few—the men who sat in the darkest corner of the bar playing some gambling card game that usually ended in a scuffle, but they were too easy. Another man, sat directly across from him, also eyeing the pretty barmaid as if she were a sweet dessert.
Ah, a fight with some emotion involved. That would be a little better. He wouldn’t have to wait long. This was a shit part of town for a woman to work alone in a bar—frankly, he was surprised this girl was still alive and apparently happy to be working. Or maybe she was good at hiding her true feelings about the place. Toji had never been good at hiding how he felt; he wore every single emotion he had on his face, but he was also strong enough to deal with anyone who had an issue with that. This girl didn’t have such a luxury.
The moment he’d been waiting for finally happened, but not from the man across from him at the bar—it was from the damn card players, shouting at the barmaid to show them her tits in exchange for more tips. He wasn’t upset about this change of tentative plans—it would be four on one. Still not a challenge, but infinitely more fun than a singular opponent. He let her handle it first, though, curious to see how that stubbornness would come across in a conversation.
“That’s bullshit, that’s less than the girls at the club charge, and you know it,” she said deftly, standing resolutely behind the bar, leaving a physical barrier between her and them. Not that it would help much, in the end. They’d always be bigger than her, stronger, faster.
Toji snorted at her response, loud enough for the gamblers to hear. They glanced at him, and then quickly looked away, correctly reading the threat that lay within him. But they were drunk, and there were four of them—it wouldn’t take long for overconfidence to jade their decision-making. He looked over at their table, letting his face fall into a smirk, the one that reeked with such arrogance that it pissed even him off.
There. A flicker of anger, of disgust. He saw it on each of their faces, and knew it would happen soon. Would he let them come to him? No, that would only pull them closer to the barmaid, and he’d hate to see her pretty face bruised by a stray punch. So he stood and sauntered over to them, leaving his empty glass on the bar. He heard the barmaid inhale sharply, as if to stop him, but he ignored her.
“Were you saying something?” Toji kept his voice low and angry, the bloodlust already surging through him.
“Just a joke,” one of them said, taking a swig of his beer.
Toji snorted again, dismissing the man, earning himself another look of disgust from the others at the table.
It happened very quickly. The man who’d spoken to him made to stand, but Toji had already hit him, already knocked him out before he could rise fully. He collapsed against his chair, his head lolling backwards. Weak.
The other men shared a look of mingled defeat and fear before grabbing their companion and hauling him upwards. Toji let them pass, his rage only building at having overtaken them so easily, so quickly. And he’d probably scared the fucking barmaid, which riled his temper a lot more than it probably should’ve. He’d liked it, the way she looked at him. She wouldn’t do that anymore.
Toji turned to leave, even though he wanted to stay for another drink. It wouldn’t help stave off any of the frustration boiling within him, but the whiskey was good, and the girl really was pretty. He’d nearly made it to the rusty old door that let out of the bar when she spoke.
“Toji?” she said, at last using the name he much preferred.
Ah, shit. It had been a mistake to tell her that name. She’d said it so softly. It was a rarity than anyone ever spoke to him like that, without any hint of disdain.
He stopped with his hand resting on the door handle, the cold metal biting into his skin.
“Stay, if you want.”
He laughed bitterly and pushed the door open, leaving the pretty girl with the sweet voice and stubborn attitude behind.
***
The rain was mixing with the blood dripping from his forehead, leaving little red trails down his face, staining the white shirt he was wearing. He stripped it off, the fabric littered with holes and even a burn mark or two.
It had been a good fight today. The sorcerer had been tipped off that he had a target on his back, and he’d been more than prepared. Toji had been able to kill him though, eventually. It was the outcome he was always able to achieve. He’d make good money for this one—this sorcerer had been from an important family, an old name, his cursed technique rare and valuable.
It was was worthless now, Toji thought, as he lifted the man’s mostly-intact body, slinging it over his shoulders. All those years of passing down a technique, prized and special, ended by the biggest disappointment to ever grace the Zenin clan. Was there an irony in there? Probably. Toji didn’t care overmuch to ponder it.
He carried the body back to the men who’d paid him. They had waited nearby, close enough to watch but far enough away to avoid any crossfire. Toji dumped the body by their feet, smiling savagely at their disgust. He got his money, the only thing that really mattered, the only thing that really motivated him anymore. It was strange, though. He’d killed his target, gotten his payout—why in hell did he want to go back to that damn bar?
It had been weeks since he’d been there, to that old rundown place in the shit part of town. He’d thought about it though, about the sound of his name on the girl’s lips, about how she’d lean across the bar to pour him a drink, that knowing glint in her eyes when he’d drop his gaze to her tits.
He was going to go back. He already knew it, was already walking that direction, the rain soaking into his body. He stole a shirt from a department store along the way, hating the way it felt against his damp skin. But it covered him, and the fabric was dark enough that any blood remaining on him wouldn’t stain it.
The bar was mostly empty when he arrived, a few patrons tucked away in the shadows, drinking in silence. She was there, serving one of the tables, her dark hair tied back in a braid. Toji slipped inside unnoticed, finding his usual seat at the bar, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the cheap laminate counter. He scraped at the blood that was caked under his fingernails, vaguely wondering whether he ought to have showered before mingling with the general public. Probably. He was so desensitized to it all now, all his kills mixing together until they felt normal, regular, nothing out of the ordinary.
He watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she checked on the other patrons in the bar, her back still turned to him, still oblivious.
It was amusing, sometimes, how ignorant people could be. His senses were stronger than hers, flooding his brain with information, knowledge that she’d never be able to perceive. It was what made him so dangerous.
She turned eventually, finally spotting him. Her lips curved upwards in a wry smile, her eyes following the water trailing down his face.
“Mr. Zenin,” she said, and he felt himself grin at her impetuousness. They were back to formalities, it seemed.
“Toji,” he said, flicking a water droplet from his nose.
She shrugged, unconcerned. “Your usual?”
“Whatever your favorite is.” He didn’t bother to keep himself from staring at her, letting his eyes roam her body.
“I don’t drink,” she said, stretching an arm upwards to the shelves lining the back of the bar for a glass. She almost couldn’t reach—they were stacked high, and she was fairly short.
“Bad choice for a job, then,” he said, a low chuckle escaping him.
“You’re one to talk,” she muttered, still struggling to reach the glass. “You’re bleeding, Zenin.”
“Toji,” he corrected again. He pushed himself up, walking around the bar, standing close behind her. He wrapped a hand around the glass she’d been too short to reach, sliding it into her hand. “You said it once before. Am I going to have to tell you again?”
“Yes,” she said simply, taking a small step backwards, pressing her back to his chest. Toji exhaled a laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her more firmly against him.
“And what do I call you?” he said, leaning forward to brush his nose against her neck. She tipped her head backwards, exposing the column of her throat to him, her most vital points.
“I’ll tell you when I feel like it,” she said, arching her back a little, pressing her ass into him.
“Weren’t you going to make me a drink?” Toji said, snaking the arm that had been encircling her waist a little lower, brushing his knuckles across her hip, resting his palm against her lower belly.
“If you sit back down,” she said, and he could hear her breath come a little faster, could smell a sweet scent coming from her that he knew to be arousal.
“Of course,” he said, relenting. He released her, vaulting easily over the bar counter and back into his seat.
“So, Zenin,” she said, ignoring his glare at the name. “Why are you bleeding?”
“Must’ve gotten cut,” he said, running a finger over the small gash in his forehead that was indeed still slowly oozing blood.
“By yourself, or by the other guy?” She ducked her head under the bar, popping upwards a moment later with a full bottle of whiskey. She poured him a measure, leaving it neat.
“The other guy is bound to get a hit in every once in a while,” Toji said, taking a gulp of the whiskey. He shuddered as it burned its way down his throat, clearing away the bad taste that had lingered in his mouth after killing the sorcerer.
“They didn’t last time.” She rested her elbows on the bar in front of him, her braid falling over her shoulder.
Toji raised an eyebrow. “The guy I knocked out? He was no stronger than a child.” Her eyes were dark as she looked at him, glittering with some sort of emotion he couldn’t place. He could sense it, though, the desire roiling within her.
Why him? She was lovely and fierce and could hold her own—why the shit did she want him? Toji knew he was attractive, roughly speaking. He could understand that, wanting someone on a base level, a quick fuck to take the edge off. He had more than enough experience in that arena.
But she knew he was dangerous now. She’d even witnessed a glimpse of it on that day several weeks ago. So why him? He nearly asked her, but she’d gone off to clear dishes off of the now-empty tables in the bar, her arms stacked high with various glasses and cutlery, dropping them by the sink in the back corner of the bar. It was pointless, really, to wonder about it. He already knew what he was going to do. It would be quick and dirty, and then he’d probably never come back here, to the rundown bar in the shit part of town.
She flipped the open sign on the door to closed and slid the lock into place with a faint click, a sound that rang with an odd sort of finality.
She came over to sit on the stool beside him, that sweet scent assaulting his senses once more. “Are you a good person, Zenin?”
Toji raised an eyebrow, shifting sideways to face her. “No.”
She nodded, as if he’d confirmed her suspicions. “Were you always this way?”
Toji drank the last of his whiskey, contemplating. “No. But I don’t know if I could’ve ever been anything else than what I am.”
She smiled grimly. “I’d ask for more details, but I think I have a good enough idea of what you are.”
“And what’s that?” he asked, curious now. His family had spent years making damn sure he knew he was a disappointment, a failure from the start. It was all he’d ever been, all he’d ever known.
“Broken,” she said, scooting her stool closer to his, so close that he could nearly feel the heat emanating from her body.
“That’s sentimental,” Toji replied, resting a hand on her thigh, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards at her sharp inhale. “I’ve never cared about sentimentalities.”
“No? Why not?” she whispered, her eyes turning heavy-lidded as he stroked up her leg gently, toying with the hem of the little skirt she was wearing. He was testing the waters, seeing what she felt comfortable with, every one of his senses attuned to her.
“Grow up in a family like mine,” Toji said, his voice low, “and you’ll see that it’s all bullshit.”
“Ah, that’s w-why you don’t like your family name,” she stuttered, gasping a little when he leaned forward, closing the space between them.
“Fucking hate it,” he murmured, closing his eyes as her warm breath ghosted across his face, groaning a little when she cupped a hand around his jaw, her soft skin as soothing as a balm.
“Toji,” she said softly, tangling her other hand in his hair. He sighed, leaning into her touch, unused to such gentleness.
“Say that again,” he rasped, opening his eyes to find hers only inches away, darkened and lovely. He rested a finger underneath her chin, tilting her face upwards, dropping his gaze to her mouth.
“Toji,” she breathed, and he groaned again, wondering how something so simple was having such an effect on him.
“You’ll have to tell me now if you don’t want to do this,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “Because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop once we start.”
She smiled in answer, sly and devilish, and pressed her lips to his. Toji, never one to hesitate, kissed her back with a fervor, tracing his tongue around her mouth until she opened to him. He slid his hands down her back, lifting her onto his lap, swallowing the soft whimpers that escaped her. He was already hard, already aching for her. He let her feel it, grinding her body against his cock, sighing at the feel of her.
“You’re going to feel so good around my cock,” he muttered, pulling his mouth from hers, latching his lips onto the pulse point on her neck. “I can already tell.”
She sucked in a breath, pressing on the back of his head, tilting her head to the side for more. Toji gave it, nipping, suckling, marveling a little at how badly he wanted her. He didn’t even know her name.
She pushed at his shirt, still damp from the rain, and he tugged it off. A smug sort of pride rippled through him as she looked at him, tracing her slim fingers over his chest, the contours of muscle that lined his abdomen, a slow smile forming on her face. “Oh. I mean, my god.”
Toji tipped his head back and laughed freely, something he hadn’t done in years. He’d forgotten how fucking good it felt to be wanted, desired. She brushed her thumbs over his nipples, giggling when he shivered at the sensation. “Is there somewhere where—“
“I live in the back,” she said, cutting him off. He blinked in surprise, having expected her to live with family or anywhere else, really, than this drab place. But she slid off of his lap and he followed her to a dimly lit back room. It was small, with a bed shoved against one wall and a desk against the other, cluttered with receipts and various forms. Toji let himself look around, despite the vague feeling that seeing this was almost too personal, adding layers to her that he’d never considered.
Quick sex. Impersonal and methodical. That was what he was used to, what he had expected. He hadn’t been anticipating the desire burning within him to temper itself slightly, hadn’t thought he’d want to pleasure her slowly, to taste and feel and hold her. It was nearly too intimate, too much for him to process.
And he still didn’t even know her name.
But she sat on her bed and pulled her shirt off in one motion, taking her bra with it, and his thoughts faded in an instant. Toji stepped closer to her, pushing lightly on her shoulder so that she lay flat. Fuck, she was beautiful. Long legs and soft curves, somewhat hidden by the skirt she still wore. He palmed his cock through his pants as he looked at her, smirking a little as she blushed, her eyes focused on the movement of his hand.
“Something you want?” Toji said quietly, following her gaze. He gripped his cock a little tighter, the fabric of his pants pressing into him.
Her eyes lifted to his. “Yes.” She lifted her hips and pulled her skirt off, opening her legs for him.
Toji cursed as a wave of that sweet arousal hit his nostrils once more, beckoning to him. “You can have it. In a minute.”
She exhaled a laugh, her dark eyes sparking. “And what happens in the meantime?”
Toji knelt in answer, pulling her forwards to rest each of her thighs on his shoulders, smiling at her gasp of surprise. He hadn’t drank nearly enough whiskey to be drunk, but he rather thought he felt intoxicated now, so close to tasting her.
“You don’t—my period, it only just ended, so—“ she cut herself off at the look he gave her, her eyes darting to the dried blood that remained on his forehead. “You don’t care.”
“I don’t care,” Toji confirmed, lowering his mouth to her. He grunted in approval at her taste, every bit as sweet as he’d imagined. He dipped his tongue inside her, indeed tasting a faint tang of iron, but it only made him crave more of her, more of any fucking part of her that he could get. She threaded her hands through his hair, pulling gently, making soft little noises that made Toji want to bury himself in her until he could see what she sounded like when she came.
He circled her clit firmly with his tongue, watching as her eyes closed, as her jaw dropped open, as she began to lose herself in him. Shit, he’d forgotten how addictive it was, making someone whimper with pleasure instead of pain, having someone beg for more instead of running away. For she was pleading for more, rutting her hips against his mouth, her fingers twisting harder into his hair.
She was murmuring quiet curses, her voice breaking as she shook against him, and Toji knew he’d get to see her come, get to feel it. He lifted his mouth from her and shoved his pants off, leaning forward to cover her body with his own, nudging her thighs up to curve around his hips. She was panting, trembling slightly, her pupils blown wide.
Toji ducked his head to hers, kissing her thoroughly, letting her taste herself on his tongue. He shuddered when she curved her hand gently around his jaw, another of her soft touches that bewildered him. He reached between them, wrapping a hand around his cock, guiding himself inside her.
“Look at me,” he said softly, giving himself to the bizarre intimacy that he felt bubbling up in between them. He tucked a hand underneath her head, supporting her, watching her eyes widen as he slid into her, hearing her breath catch as she stretched around him.
She muttered something that sounded vaguely like his name as she tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.
“I was right,” Toji said, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back into her, unable to tear his eyes from her as she moaned, clenching around his cock. “You feel so fucking good.”
She didn’t answer, her head thrown back in pleasure, her hand still cupping his face like she enjoyed holding him there. He could sense that she was close, though, could see it on her face, feel it in her body, a trembling tension building within her. She was going to come and he was going to see it, feel it, cause it. He fucked into her harder, her soft cries turning to quiet gasps.
“Oh, you’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” he murmured, dipping his head to latch his mouth onto one of her nipples, groaning when she tightened around him. “You going to come for me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, “Toji, yes.”
Toji made a noise deep in his throat at her answer, cupping her face as she was doing to him, meeting her eyes. “Me too,” he said, because he could feel it, a tightness coiling in his abdomen, pushing him to the edge.
“With me?” she whispered, her eyes beseeching him.
“Yes,” he said raggedly, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, wanting to see her let go. He rested his forehead against hers, not stopping his rhythm, a grin splitting his face when she convulsed around him, squeezing him tightly, her face flushed with pleasure. Toji’s orgasm ripped through him a moment later as he fucked into her roughly, filling her with his cum, so much that it leaked out of her, spilling onto both of them.
Toji held her close after, shifting them so that she rested comfortably atop him. His orgasm had thrown his mind into a haze, keeping his body in a relaxed state as he stroked her hair.
Quick sex. Impersonal and methodical. That was all he’d ever done, all he’d really ever wanted to do within the realms of physical pleasure.
This…holding her, the length of her body pressed firmly to his, his cum still dripping from her—it was personal.
He hated that he’d liked it. He hated that he wanted to do it again. He hated that he already knew that he would do it again, because he’d never been one to hesitate, trusting in his instincts to guide him in life.
Yes. He’d do it again. He already knew it.
***
There we have it, my peeps. May we all be blessed by animated Toji in a few months. I am so excited.