The soft swish of fabric and the sharp scent of cleaning supplies drifted through the quiet room, broken only by the rhythmic scrubbing of a cloth against the hardwood floor.

Toji knelt there, broad shoulders and honed muscles looking utterly out of place in the frilly black-and-white maid outfit clinging tight to his frame. The lace-trimmed skirt barely managed to cover anything when he shifted, and the fitted bodice strained against his chest every time he leaned forward. His dark hair, usually wild and unbothered, fell in loose strands around his sharp, impassive face — green eyes narrowed in focus, scar at the corner of his lip pulling slightly as his jaw tensed.

Money. He needed it — again.

He should’ve known better than to sit at that damn table last night. But the cards had looked good, the dealer’s hand better. Now here he was, paying off the loss in the most humiliating way possible: your maid for the day.

You lounged nearby, legs crossed, idly watching the infamous Sorcerer Killer reduced to scrubbing floors in a skirt. It was almost impressive how unfazed he looked.

Your foot moved — light and deliberate — sliding beneath the hem of his skirt. The fabric lifted with ease, exposing the hard lines of his thighs and the contrast of the outfit against his skin.

He paused.

For a moment, he didn’t look at you — just kept still, head slightly tilted as though calculating the precise reaction worth this situation. Then, slowly, his green eyes flicked up, meeting yours, sharp as broken glass.

The corner of his mouth tugged into the faintest, humorless smirk. "You enjoying yourself?" His voice, low and unbothered, carried the weight of someone both used to humiliation — and not the type to let it go unanswered.

The cloth dropped from his hand as he straightened, looming over you now, the skirt falling back into place around his solid frame. His head tilted slightly, that same unreadable stare holding yours.

"Or do you want me to clean something else for you?"