chapter 1-8

a Toji Fushiguro x y/n short story

The café was too quiet for a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of quiet that made you check over your shoulder twice. You should have listened to that instinct.

The door chimed as someone entered, and you glanced up from your laptop to see him—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a scar that cut across his lips in a way that should have been off-putting but somehow wasn't. His eyes swept the room with practiced ease before landing on you.

Something electric passed between you in that moment, a recognition that had nothing to do with familiarity and everything to do with danger.

He ordered black coffee and took the table directly across from you. Every time you tried to focus on your work, you could feel his gaze burning into you. When you finally looked up, he was watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"You know," he said, his voice carrying easily across the small space, "staring is considered rude in most cultures."

Heat flooded your cheeks. "You're the one staring."

His laugh was low, rich. "Guilty as charged." He stood and walked over, coffee in hand. "Mind if I sit? You look like you could use some company."

Every rational part of your brain screamed danger, but you nodded anyway. He slid into the seat across from you, and suddenly the small table felt impossibly intimate.

"Toji," he said, extending a hand.

Your fingers brushed his as you shook hands, and you swore you felt sparks. You gave him your name, trying to ignore how it sounded when he repeated it back to you.

"So what brings you to this thrilling establishment?" he asked, gesturing around the nearly empty café.

"Work. You?"

"Waiting for someone who's very late." His eyes never left yours. "Though I'm starting to think I found something better."

The conversation flowed easier than it should have with a stranger. He was charming, dangerous in a way that made your pulse race, and when he smiled—really smiled—it transformed his entire face.

When his phone buzzed, the spell broke. He glanced at it and his expression darkened.

"I have to go," he said, standing abruptly. "But this isn't over."

He was gone before you could ask what he meant, leaving you with a racing heart and more questions than answers.

You didn't expect to see him again so soon.

Three days later, you were walking home from work when footsteps echoed behind you. The street was darker than usual—half the streetlights were out. Your pace quickened, but the footsteps matched yours.

Just as panic started to set in, a figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of you. Three men, blocking your path. Your blood ran cold.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" The one in the middle smiled, and it wasn't pleasant.

You spun around to run, but there were two more behind you. Trapped.

"Easy now," the leader said. "We just want to talk. Maybe have a little fun."

That's when you heard it—a low, deadly chuckle that made the hair on your arms stand up.

"Five against one? That hardly seems fair."

Toji stepped out of the shadows like he owned them, hands in his pockets, completely relaxed. The men turned toward him, suddenly uncertain.

"Walk away," he said simply. "Now."

"Listen, buddy—"

The leader never finished his sentence. One moment he was standing, the next he was on the ground, clutching his throat. You barely saw Toji move.

The other four looked between their fallen friend and Toji, who still looked perfectly calm.

"Anyone else want to discuss this?" he asked pleasantly.

They ran.

Toji walked over to you, his expression shifting from dangerous to concerned. "You okay?"

You nodded, still in shock. "How did you—where did you come from?"

"Right place, right time." His hand touched your shoulder gently. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

The walk was quiet, but you were hyper-aware of his presence beside you—solid, protective, dangerous. When you reached your building, you turned to thank him.

"How do I know you weren't following me?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His smile was sharp. "If I was following you, you'd never know it." He stepped closer, and you could smell his cologne. "But I wasn't. Lucky coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"Smart girl." His fingers brushed your cheek, feather-light. "Neither do I."

He started showing up everywhere.

The coffee shop where you grabbed your morning latte. The bookstore you browsed on weekends. The park where you jogged. Always at a distance, always watching, but never approaching.

It should have scared you. Instead, it thrilled you in a way that made you question your sanity.

Finally, you'd had enough. You marched over to where he sat on a park bench, pretending to read a newspaper.

"Are you stalking me?"

He looked up, completely unfazed. "Stalking is such an ugly word. I prefer 'maintaining awareness of your general vicinity.'"

"That's literally the definition of stalking."

"Is it bothering you?" The question was serious, his eyes searching your face.

You should have said yes. Should have told him to leave you alone, to stop this dangerous game you were both playing. Instead, you sat down beside him.

"Maybe I like the attention," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

His smile was slow, predatory. "Careful, sweetheart. You're playing with fire."

"Maybe I want to get burned."

The air between you crackled with tension. His hand moved to rest on the bench behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of his skin.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said, his voice low and rough.

"Then show me."

For a moment, you thought he might kiss you right there in broad daylight. His eyes dropped to your lips, his body leaning slightly toward yours. Then his phone rang, shattering the moment.

He answered with a curt "What?" then listened, his expression growing darker.

"I have to go," he said, standing abruptly. "Stay away from the east side of town tonight."

"Wait, why—"

But he was already walking away, leaving you with a racing heart and the distinct feeling that Toji Fushiguro was far more dangerous than you'd ever imagined.

You should have listened to his warning about the east side of town.

But curiosity killed the cat, and you'd never been good at following orders. So when your friend texted about a new club that had opened in that exact area, you found yourself getting dressed and calling an Uber before you could think better of it.

The club was packed, music pounding, lights flashing. You were having fun, dancing with your friends, when you felt eyes on you. You looked up to see Toji at the VIP section, his face thunderous.

He was down the stairs and cutting through the crowd before you could blink, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was barely controlled fury.

"Dancing? It's called having fun. You should try it sometime."

"I told you to stay away from this area."

"You don't get to tell me what to do," you shot back, yanking your wrist free. "I don't even know who you really are!"

Something shifted in his expression. Without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere we can talk."

He led you to his car—expensive, black, like something out of a movie. The ride was tense and silent until he pulled into an empty parking garage.

"You want to know who I am?" He turned to face you, his eyes reflecting the dim overhead lights. "I kill people for money. Sorcerers, curses, doesn't matter. If the price is right, they die."

Your blood went cold. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a small blade, but as you watched, it shifted and changed into something larger, more menacing. "This is the Split Soul Katana. It can cut through anything—including souls."

You should have been terrified. Should have run screaming. Instead, you found yourself leaning closer.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know what you're getting into before you get in too deep." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "I'm not a good man. I've done things that would give you nightmares."

"And yet you saved me from those men. You've been watching out for me."

"That's different."

"How?"

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Because you make me want to be different. And that scares the hell out of me."

The confession hung in the air between you. Without thinking, you reached out and touched his face, your thumb tracing the scar on his lip.

"Maybe I'm not as innocent as you think," you whispered.

His hand covered yours, pressing it against his cheek. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Then show me," you breathed, echoing your words from the park.

This time, he didn't pull away.

His lips crashed against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. This wasn't the gentle, tentative kiss of new lovers—this was desperate, consuming, like you were both drowning and this was your only source of air.

His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you closer, the center console of the car the only thing keeping you from climbing into his lap. You could taste the danger on his tongue, the violence he was capable of, and it should have scared you.

Instead, it set you on fire.

"This is crazy," you gasped against his mouth.

"Absolutely insane," he agreed, trailing kisses down your throat. "Tell me to stop."

But you couldn't. You were too far gone, too lost in the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he said your name like a prayer.

"Your place or mine?" you whispered.

His smile against your neck was pure sin. "Mine's closer."

The ride to his apartment was a blur of stolen kisses at red lights and heated glances. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles that made concentration impossible.

His apartment was exactly what you'd expected—minimalist, expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city. But you barely had time to take it in before he was kissing you again, backing you against the door.

"Last chance," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Walk away now, and we pretend this never happened."

Your answer was to grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you.

He lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the bedroom. The feeling of being completely at his mercy should have terrified you, but all you felt was anticipation.

He set you down beside the bed, his hands framing your face as he kissed you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from before.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice rough with want.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

His smile was soft, genuine, transforming his entire face. "Good," he whispered, "because I don't think I could let you go now."

What followed was a night of passion and discovery, of learning each other's bodies and boundaries. He was gentle when you needed him to be, demanding when you asked for more, and through it all, you felt something fundamental shift between you.

This wasn't just physical attraction anymore. This was something deeper, more dangerous than any weapon he carried.

As you lay tangled in his sheets afterward, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, you realized you were in trouble.

You were falling for a killer, and you didn't care.

You woke up alone.

The sheets beside you were cold, and there was no sign that Toji had ever been there except for the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow. A note on the nightstand simply read: "Had to work. Stay as long as you want. -T"

Stay as long as you want. Like you were a guest, not someone he'd made love to until the early hours of the morning.

You got dressed quickly, embarrassment and hurt warring in your chest. What had you expected? Hearts and flowers from a self-proclaimed killer?

You were almost to the door when it opened, and Toji walked in carrying coffee and what looked like breakfast from an expensive café.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, taking in your obvious attempt to flee.

"I thought you were gone."

"I was getting breakfast." He set the bags down and studied your face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just... I should go."

"Should you?" He stepped closer, and you hated how your body responded to his proximity. "Or do you want to go?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tight. "I don't know how to do this, Toji. I don't know what last night meant or what you want from me."

He was quiet for a long moment, then reached out to cup your face in his hands. "Last night meant everything. And what I want..." He paused, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I want you to stay. I want to have breakfast with you and argue about what to watch on TV. I want to wake up next to you and fall asleep holding you."

"But?"

His smile was sad. "But I'm not sure I can give you the life you deserve. What I do, the people I deal with—it's dangerous. Last night was selfish of me."

"That's my choice to make, isn't it?"

"Is it? When you don't know the full extent of what you're signing up for?"

Before you could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at it and his expression darkened.

"I have to take this." He answered with his usual curt "What?" then listened, his face growing increasingly grim. "When? ... I'll be there in an hour."

He hung up and looked at you with something that might have been regret.

"I have to go. There's a job."

"What kind of job?"

"The kind you don't want to know about." He grabbed his jacket and what you now realized was a weapon bag. "Stay here. Please. I'll be back tonight, and we can talk about this properly."

He kissed you quickly, desperately, like he might not see you again.

"Promise me you'll be here when I get back," he said against your lips.

"Toji—"

"Promise me."

You looked into his eyes and saw something that made your heart clench. Fear. Not of whatever job he was walking into, but of losing you.

"I promise."

He didn't come back that night.

Or the next.

By the third day, you were pacing his apartment like a caged animal, checking your phone obsessively and trying not to imagine the worst. You'd called him dozens of times, but it went straight to voicemail.

On the fourth day, you couldn't take it anymore. You were getting dressed to leave when you heard the key in the lock.

Toji walked in looking like he'd been through hell—bruised, exhausted, dried blood on his shirt. But alive. Wonderfully, frustratingly alive.

"You bastard," you breathed, torn between relief and fury. "Four days. Four days with no word."

"I know. I'm sorry." He dropped his weapons bag and reached for you, but you stepped back.

"Sorry? I thought you were dead!"

"The job went sideways. I couldn't contact you without putting you in danger."

"What happened?"

He was quiet for a long moment, then sat heavily on the couch. "There was a sorcerer. Stronger than intel suggested. He had... friends. It took longer than expected to clean up the mess."

"Clean up the mess," you repeated. "You mean kill people."

"Yes."

The simple honesty of it hit you like a slap. You'd known what he was, but hearing it stated so matter-of-factly made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

"How many?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

He looked up at you, and for the first time since you'd known him, Toji Fushiguro looked vulnerable. "Twelve. There were twelve of them."

Twelve people. Dead. By his hand.

You sank into the chair across from him, suddenly dizzy. "Twelve people had families. Friends. Lives."

"They were sorcerers who were trafficking cursed objects to the highest bidder. They weren't innocent."

"But they were human."

"So am I. And I did what I had to do to survive and come back to you."

The words hung in the air between you. You wanted to be horrified, to run screaming from this man who killed without apparent remorse. But all you could think about was how relieved you were that he was alive, that he'd come back to you.

"I can't do this," you whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, disappointment, resignation. "I understand."

"Do you? Because I don't think you do." You stood up, pacing to the window. "I can't sit here for days wondering if you're dead. I can't pretend that what you do doesn't affect me. And I can't lie to myself and say that I don't care about you too much to walk away."

He was behind you suddenly, his hands on your shoulders. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if we're going to do this, really do this, then I need to know everything. No more secrets, no more protecting me from the truth. I need to know what I'm signing up for."

"You don't know what you're asking."

You turned in his arms, looking up into those dark eyes that had haunted your dreams. "Then tell me. All of it. Let me decide if I can handle it."

For a moment, you thought he might refuse. Then he sighed, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"Okay," he said quietly. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He told you everything.

About his family, the Zenin clan that had cast him out for being born without cursed energy. About his wife and son, lost to the violence of the sorcerer world. About the jobs he'd taken, the people he'd killed, the reputation he'd built as the Sorcerer Killer.

He told you about the gambling, the debts, the way he lived from one job to the next with no thought for the future. About how empty his life had been until he walked into that café and saw you.

"I'm not a good man," he finished, his voice hoarse from talking. "I've done terrible things, and I'll probably do more. The only thing I can promise you is that I'll never lie to you again, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe."

You were quiet for a long time, processing everything he'd told you. The smart thing would be to walk away, to find someone safe and stable and normal.

But when had you ever been smart when it came to Toji Fushiguro?

"Okay," you said finally.

He looked up sharply. "Okay?"

"I'm in. All the way in. But I have conditions."

Something that might have been hope flickered in his eyes. "Name them."

"No more disappearing acts. If you're going on a job, you tell me. You don't have to give me details, but I need to know you're alive."

"Done."

"I want to learn to protect myself. Self-defense, weapons training, whatever it takes. I won't be a liability."

He started to protest, but you held up a hand.

"Non-negotiable. If I'm going to be with you, I need to be able to take care of myself."

"Fine. What else?"

"This apartment gets a security system. A good one. And I want to know your real name."

"My real name?"

"Toji Fushiguro might be what you go by now, but it's not the name you were born with, is it?"

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, so softly you almost missed it: "Toji Zenin. I was born Toji Zenin."

"Thank you for trusting me with that."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you might disappear. "There's one more thing you should know."

"What?"

"I love you." The words were rough, like they'd been torn from his throat. "I've never said that to anyone except my wife, and I never thought I'd say it again. But I love you, and that's going to make everything more complicated and dangerous."

Your heart stopped, then started again at double speed. "Why?"

"Because now I have something to lose. Something worth protecting. And that makes a man do stupid things."

You cupped his face in your hands, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against your palms. "I love you too. And you're right—this is going to be complicated and dangerous and probably a terrible idea."

"Probably," he agreed, leaning into your touch.

"But I'd rather have a dangerous life with you than a safe life without you."

His kiss was soft, gentle, full of promises and possibilities. When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.

"No going back now," he murmured.

"No going back," you agreed.

Outside, the city hummed with life and danger, and somewhere in the shadows, enemies waited. But here, in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the most dangerous man you'd ever known, you'd never felt safer.

Love was a risk, but some risks were worth taking.

And Toji Fushiguro was definitely worth the risk.

The End