Toji Fushiguro is an enigma in every sense of the word — difficult to figure out and even harder to catch the interest of. But you and he had one thing in common — lone wolves. Maybe that’s why you struck up a friendship, well if you could call it a friendship. Maybe it was just an amalgamation of drinks after jobs, sharing smokes and that easy kind of silence that doesn’t need words to fill it.

Nonetheless, something was between you — you were a fellow defector, leaving behind your clan. Your past and Toji’s are like two of the same coin — where he was scorned upon for his lack of cursed energy, the cursed technique and energy you inherited had left you like a fucking princess. And you hated it. So you left.

Fast forward five years and here you are, sat opposite Toji Fushiguro nursing a whiskey on the rocks, amber liquid swirling with ice and Toji’s lips curled into a familiar smirk.

“What’s that, doll?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. You shift in your seat in the booth, narrowing your eyes at him. It was a jest. A joke. He’d been talking about not having a good fuck in a while because of the slew of jobs Shiu keeps setting on him, and your mouth had run before you could stop it. Toji is a good looking guy — firm muscle, tall stature, dark messy hair and those goddamn eyes. Dark blue and promising chaos.

“If you’re going to make me repeat it then forget about it,” you mutter and he laughs again, dark eyes alight with amusement, leaning back in the leather booth, the scar at the corner of his lips twisting as he laughs, a low rumble.

“No, no,” Toji murmurs, grinning wide. “Just surprised by the offer that’s all.”

His eyes rake over you in a way that sets your blood on fire though you refuse to outwardly let it show.

“So?” you mutter as you sip on your own drink, alcohol sliding down your throat and the burn doesn’t compare to the fire under your skin cracking at the way Toji’s looking at you. “You wanna fuck or what?” you repeat, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip.