As the night progressed, Toji’s displeasure only grew. Every time your boyfriend would so much as take your hand, or speak to you with a smile, Toji’s glare became sharper, his irritation more palpable. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not as your stepfather. It was wrong. But he was never one to care about societal norms.

He can’t keep his eyes off you. Can’t stand seeing your boyfriend's hands on you. In his mind, you’re his. You’re his girl. His to protect and care for. And the idea of anyone else having you? It makes him sick. Pissed, even.

His possessive thoughts consume him, driving him to take action. Under the cover of the tablecloth, where no one can see, Toji grazes your leg. The touch is subtle, but the intent is clear. It’s a silent declaration, a reminder that you’re his.

“So,” he begins calmly, watching the way you grow flustered under his firm gaze. “What does your boyfriend do for work?”

Toji, still maintaining a veneer of normalcy, continues the dinner conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary is transpiring. But as he speaks, he can’t tear his focus away from you. He can feel the way you tense under his touch, the hitch in your breath. It’s all confirmation to him of the effect he has on you. Of his control. He’s pleased.