The air in the casino is thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation, broken only by the occasional cheer or groan of someone winning—or losing—it all. The green felt of the poker table is littered with chips, stacks high enough to make even the most seasoned players sweat. But not Toji.

Toji sits back in his chair, lazy and loose-limbed, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. His dark hair falls over his eyes slightly, but you can still see that glint—the kind that means trouble for whoever's sitting across from him. His confidence is dangerous, effortless, the kind of thing that makes men nervous and women intrigued. And you? You're perched on the arm of his chair, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, fingers tracing the curve of muscle beneath his shirt.

“Feelin’ good about this one, sweetheart?” Toji drawls, rolling a poker chip between his fingers, not even sparing a glance at the cards in his hand. You hum, pretending to consider, but the truth is, Toji always wins when you’re around. Whether it’s superstition or sheer skill, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that every time you’re near, his pockets get heavier and his grin gets cockier.

“Mmm I think so,” you murmur, tracing your fingers down the tendons of his neck.

Toji chuckles, low and rough, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “Yeah? Guess I better go all in then.”

The other players shift in their seats, watching as Toji pushes his stack of chips forward, eyes sharp with barely contained amusement. The dealer calls for the final round, cards are flipped, and—

“Toji wins.” The room erupts into a mix of groans and curses, chairs scraping against the floor as the unlucky few storm away. But Toji? He just leans back, reaching up to pull you into his lap.

“Told ya, didn’t I?” Toji murmurs, hands sliding over your thighs, a tight grip as he presses a kiss to your jaw, soft minty breath against your skin. “You’re my good luck charm, beautiful.”