Chapter Text
Since your second semester of college, you’d become very aware of how popular your roommate was with women— painfully so, in fact.
Despite the occasional teases you’d give him, you didn’t necessarily mind that Satoru had girls over at the apartment every other day. So long as they kept out of your room and he kept them (relatively) quiet, you didn’t have a care in the world. Though your other roommate, Suguru, was indifferent on the subject, he hadn’t spoken against it in front of you aside from sarcastic remarks about the evidence that Satoru would leave behind.
It was funny, at first, albeit a little gross— yet the more frequently you’d discover remnants of his little flings, the more you’d find yourself gradually starting to become bothered by it.
Some were hardly noticeable. A well loved tube of lipstick sprawled on the kitchen table, a phone number neatly doodled on the back of a receipt, or a lingering trace of perfume in the halls.
Most things you’d find, however, didn’t spare you the grace of being so innocent.
You could’ve sworn that you’d pulled at least a dozen miscellaneous bras out from the crevices of the couch, yet you’d be grateful if that were all there was to it. Torn lingerie strewn behind furniture, tiny vibrators innocently resting on the coffee table, even used condoms often littering the floor surrounding your communal trash can– but hey, at least he tried making it in.
One particular afternoon, after collapsing on your apartment's sofa after an exhausting day at work, you swore you could feel something prodding against your thigh from deep within the cushion.
Curiosity getting the better of you, you pried apart the cushions, searching for the culprit. When you found it, however..
“It’s disgusting!” You later scolded the man child, his crystalline eyes sparkling with amusem*nt as you tossed a phallic pink toy at his feet. Despite his neutral expression, it was easy to tell that he was holding back his laughter.
“Alright, alright.” Satoru chuckled, bending down to peel the traumatized object off the floor.
“I’m so serious! Clean up after yourself!” A warning swat of your gloved hand punctuates your words, yet the very fact you were wearing gloves just to pick up the dild* was enough to have him cackling at you again.
You grumble a slew of curses at him, his obnoxious laugh resulting in you tackling the man to the ground as your latex clad hands administers a flurry of slaps that only cease when Suguru enters the room.
“Idiots,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he walked out of the cave that was his bedroom. “You both make it impossible to sleep in.”
Gojo opens his mouth to apologize, but you snatch up a decorative pillow from the couch and stuff it against his face before he manages.
“Suguru, tell him to stop leaving messes after he’s been f*cking around!” The words sounded so unserious, but he can tell from your frustrated expression that you’re being genuine.
Your roommate runs a tired hand through his hair, yawning as his head bobbed subtly in agreement. “It is gross.”
Gojo’s persistent jabs at your arm eventually have you dragging the pillow off of his face, a smug grin on your own lips at Geto’s concord. “Told you.”
“Yeah, I said alright.” He huffs, shoving you off of him as he lifts himself back up to his feet. The motion is playful, yet the fact you’re practically going flying is another reminder of just how much stronger he was than you.
By the time you sat up, he was already in the kitchen, mumbling to himself as he sifted through the cabinets for a clean glass.
Suguru leans over to offer you a hand, which you grasp to haul yourself up onto your feet. An arm drapes around your waist, tugging you in for a tender side-hug. “What’d you find this time?”
“Some cheap dild*.”
“It was not cheap!” The voice in the kitchen corrects you.
You roll your eyes, whispering so the eavesdropper couldn’t hear. “It was.”
He does, though. Of course he does– he’s Satoru Gojo. “I bet you’re jealous.”
“I assure you, I am not.” You grumble through a tense jaw, courtly nudging out of Suguru’s embrace to enact in a (not-so) threatening saunter towards the kitchen.
“Mm. I’m sure you’re not.” He mocks. His pale fingers snake around a mug that almost certainly did not belong to him, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he dragged it over to the faucet whilst chiding: “If you weren’t jealous, you wouldn’t be getting your panties in a twist over other people’s fun.”
To your annoyance, you can feel a heat spread throughout your face in response to his ludicrous teasing. “Have your fun, I don’t care. Not ‘till your dild*s are disturbing my peace.”
“You don’t care?” He echoes in disbelief. “Bullsh*t. You’re jealous.”
“I’m not!” You repeat, easing over the counter so he’s fully subjected to your irated glare.
“Yeah? When was the last time you f*cked?” Satoru jabs with a sh*t-eating grin. “Better yet, when was the last time you left the apartment unprompted?” He raises a finger to shush you when your lips part to respond, clarifying: “Grocery runs don’t count.”
Suguru stifles his chuckle as you sulk.
No matter how (excruciatingly) annoying your asshole of a roommate was, you couldn’t deny that he had a point. You were almost painfully boring, especially in contrast to Satoru. Even the more reserved Suguru went out every once in a while, even though most of those instances were a result of his reluctant indulgence to Satoru’s obnoxious pleading.
You declined every invite to go out— from your roommates, friends, coworkers, it didn’t matter to you. The answer was always a feigned apology or a warbled excuse.
Exam season is coming up, so…
That restaurant makes me nauseous!
I have work tomorrow, I probably shouldn’t.
And, of course, a pliant f*ck no! to Satoru’s fruitless attempts at dragging you out.
Not even Suguru’s hushed follow-ups would do much to convince you, as you were far too enveloped in whatever you happened to busy yourself with that day.
You didn’t even want to think about the depressing concept of your sex life, which was somehow even worse than your hermit habits. It was almost impossible to recall the last time you’d gotten laid, considering that it’d been well over a year, pushing two.
It’d been even longer since you had been in an active relationship, the last being one with a guy who was a thousand times more engaged with his job than he was you. Both of your roommates knew you’d been celibate since that messy breakup, and Satoru especially never passed up the opportunity to pick on you for it.
Puffing out your lower lip in a frustrated pout, you sink into one of the barstools that lines the marble countertop.
“That’s none of your business, anyway!” Groaning out in frustration, you sink your burning face into your open palms.
“Exactly.” Satoru concludes, curtly bowing his head with that same amused look smothered on his face.
“I could get laid if I wanted to.” You insist.
This was enough to have both of the men laughing, as if Satoru wasn’t enough. Another groan rumbles in your chest.
I could get laid if I wanted to.
… right?
The lingering doubt gnaws away at you for the rest of the night, long after the conversation had ceased and your roommates had gone to bed. It loitered at the forefront of your mind through the next morning, dawdling within even while you were at work the following afternoon.
It was if you couldn’t shake the thought of not being able to get laid. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but since Gojo had emphasized your involuntary celibacy, you’d only grown bitter at the reality
I could get laid!
You tried desperately to convince yourself that evening, as you swiped through mind-numbingly boring apps and miscellaneous websites boasting that they’d deliver your fix.
This was a new low, even for you.
It was a Friday evening, and you were miserably forcing yourself to look for something (better yet, someone) to do. Dating sites were fruitless, full of guys who looked exactly like they belonged on them. Not that you had any room to judge.
You were absolutely set on going out tonight, determined to sort out exactly what that would entail. And with only a moderate bit of reluctance, you settled on a bar a little less than half an hour away from the apartment.
Having heard nothing about it apart from the so-so remarks of your friends from high school, you figured you had nothing to lose by scoping out the place in hopes of finding a temporary suitor. After all, what better place to find a hook-up than a bar full of sleazy dudes on a Friday evening?
Yeah. That sounds like a horrible idea.
You’re squeezing yourself into the skimpiest dress you own before you can change your mind. With the solitary motivation of getting laid, you shoved your pride into the most contemptible corner of your consciousness while dressing yourself in such a revealing manner. The dress was a gag gift you’d received from one of Satoru’s friends at a holiday party. It appeared to be a completely normal, albeit slu*tty, dress— what made it a gag gift was the fact that every attendee present in that room knew you would never wear it. It may as well have been the equivalent to gifting a nun with lingerie.
You’d laughed it off, but complained to Satoru in private how embarrassing of a joke it had been. As tone-deaf as he always seemed to be with you, he only preached to you that his friend was known to be a bit of an asshole, and to shrug it off as you would anything else.
As expected, the discarded garment had been collecting dust in your whirlwind of a closet, introduced to the fluorescent lighting of your bedroom for the first time since its concealment.
It was… a little questionable.
The fabric was tight, squeezing and emphasizing any and everything that would be an object of attention to prying eyes.
However, you had to admit that it was quite flattering. It hugged all the right parts of your figure— dipping low enough to expose just enough cleavage without bordering on the line of exposure, cut short enough to expose the pliant lining of your ass without granting ample access to the flesh. When you caught a glimpse of your unrecognizable reflection, a strange, almost foreign feeling of excitement bubbled within the core of your gut.
That feeling lingered as you did your hair real pretty, painted your lips with a sticky gloss and forced your feet into a pair of uncomfortable heels. It remained even as you sauntered out of your bedroom, relishing in the unusual silence of the apartment. You’d hoped to avoid the boys on your way out, as they’d immediately bombard you with questions if they saw you dressed like that. Slowly trailing out into the living area, your eyes cautiously trace the coffee table in which your car keys almost always resided, only to find them missing— a messily scribbled note left in their place.
Borrowing your piece of junk tonight! :P
The airy, excited expression that had settled onto your features almost immediately simmered into a scowl. Despite the fact the culprit didn’t sign off, the haphazard pen strokes gave you all the indication you needed to know that Satoru had taken the car.
A frustrated groan is practically ripped from your throat, thrusting your hand into the tiny purse slung over your shoulder to retrieve practically the only item that fits inside: your cell phone.
The pads of your thumbs rapidly press against the screen, typing an angry message to the car-jacker, but you hesitate before you send.
You hadn’t told Satoru or anyone else you planned on going out. If you expressed frustration that he’d taken the car, he would immediately be suspicious as to where you were going on a Friday night— coincidentally following the homebody accusations. He’d never let you live it down if you returned from the outing unsuccessful.
Begrudgingly, you delete the message, reasoning to call for an Uber instead.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
The first blaring red flag that you should’ve accounted for was the fact that the car that arrived to pick you up was completely battered. It looked as if it shouldn’t legally be allowed to drive, not even on the safest street in the country.
So, why did you climb into the rackety vehicle?
The driver was the most breathtakingly gorgeous man you’d ever seen.
You had only caught a brief glimpse of his face when he pulled over to grant you entry to his unique ride, yet that glimpse was enough to have you wanting to practically throw yourself into the backseat.
From the side, you first noticed his perfectly chiseled jaw leading down to the lining of his throat, soft looking tufts of midnight hair framing his face. You managed to pick up on the scar lining the edge of his lips, your eyes inadvertently lowering to trace the contours of his upper body. The thick knot of his Adam’s apple hung centered within his throat, prominent when you’d lay your eyes on it as he swallowed. The thin black t-shirt he wore did absolutely nothing to conceal any of the godlike stature beneath it. The hardened definition of his shoulders, the tightly woven muscles of his chest— you were in absolute awe, a complete loss for words.
Somewhere in your brain, you were silently pleading that Satoru would crash your damn car and force you into getting an Uber each and every time.
A gleam of diopside eyes swept briefly over the increasing proximity of your body as you reached for the door handle, tugging three times before it finally pried open.
Another red flag awaited you in the backseat, several crumpled duffle bags strewn across the leather and piled on the floor. You blinked a few times, darting your cautious gaze between the cargo and the eerily beautiful man in the driver's seat. Were you supposed to sit on them?
Not a word comes from him, as if the solution was supposed to be obvious. And it was, in theory. The passenger’s seat was wide open, not a single bag tainting the slightly worn cushion. You thought it a bit unprofessional, having never seated yourself in the passenger's side of an Uber— apart from a crowded ride home after one of the few parties Gojo had managed to drag you to. As such, you were ogling hesitantly at the messy backseat.
The silence was deafening.
Albeit nervously, you close the door and make your way around the car to the passenger’s side. You could feel the man’s eyes on your cropped figure through the window, sure he was getting quite the eyefull as you leaned over and tugged the door open. It did so far easier than the other had.
You shimmied inside, slightly reassured due to the fact that the frontal interior of the car was far more put together than the exterior. It smelled nice, at least— a heavy, musky fragrance intertwined with earthy frisks of pine and lumber. The scent almost made your knees buckle, completely enveloping you and easily overpowering the fading smell of your own faint floral perfume.
Maybe it was your nerves, but you were struggling with the flimsy handle of the car door, tugging it repeatedly with weak attempts at closing it once you’d climbed inside. Apparently, it was just as busted as the other door had been. With each tug, you felt your face grow hotter underneath the Uber driver’s gaze.
“Sorry.” You warble helplessly, beyond embarrassed.
“S’alright,” (his voice is just as attractive as the rest of him!) “Thing’s been jammed for months.”
Completely unfazed as if he’d done so many times before, he easily leans forward, reaching across your flustered frame as he shuts the door with one firm tug.
“There we go.”
The low baritone of his voice practically forced your reproductive organ to twist into itself.
A hushed “thank you” is all you can manage, and you were certain the sound was lost in transit as he’d already pulled away from you. Only one hand on the steering wheel, you noticed— the other leisurely hooked onto the padded center console.
His hands were so pretty. Thick fingers that gripped tantalizingly against the wheel only emphasized the taut veins that lined the surface of the appendage.
“Where we headed?”
You clear the frantic heartbeat in your throat, pulling up a subpar Google search result for the bar you’d intended on going to. At this point, though, you weren’t so sure you even wanted to go anymore. Any guy you’d meet there would end up being a devastating downgrade from the man in the front seat.
The stranger almost laughed when you flipped your cracked screen, shaky hands suspending a blurry image of the only bar in your area.
“Really? All dolled up for a place like that?” His laugh was hearty, and it made yours flutter.
You nod, the compliment (if you were lucky enough to even call it that) leaving your cheeks stained a unique hue of scarlet.
He’s quiet, after that, having turned his attention to the GPS to punch in your destination. Only a 17 minute drive. Not nearly enough time with this beautiful stranger.
The car makes a concerning set of noises as he twists the key into the ignition, the warped sound of 90s metal on the radio screaming to life alongside the engine. He awkwardly twists down the volume knob, shifting to drive and pulling out of your apartment’s windy curbside.
“Name’s Toji, by the way.” He informs you after successfully pulling out onto the empty road.
It’s a cute name, you realize, almost unfit for a man of his stature. You’re eager to reply with a chirp of your own name, and you notice his scarred lip twitch up into a smirk in your peripheral. He repeats it, and you like the way it sounds coming from his mouth.
“What’s a girl like you doin’ headed to a bar this late?” A glint of his verdant gaze is just barely visible through the corner of your eye, yet it’s enough to have your thighs impatiently squeezing together through your dress.
“I don’t go out much,” you admit sheepishly, turning your attention out the window to divert it from the bolstering heat between your legs. “So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt this once.”
“All by yourself?” There was something about his voice that was alluring to you. It had a deep, low undertone that filled you with warmth.
“Yes, sir.”
Toji chuckles. “So prim and proper. Loosen up, won’t you?”
Something about the way he said that had you sucking a breath into your throat, your flustered gaze immediately finding something to be interested in outside of the car window.
“No need to be shy. I don’t bite.”
You wished he would.
“Of course not.”
He twists the volume knob fully down, completely silencing the screamo that’d been just hardly perceptible behind the conversation. Judging by his body language— the way his posture was shifted just the slightest bit towards you, he seemed keen on talking with you.
If only you could talk.
Every ounce of the attitude, of confidence, of personality you so regularly carried had completely diminished from your body. You were sitting like it were an office interview, your legs squeezed together and palms neatly folded on your lap. Even your posture was maintained with an astute awareness, your spine perfectly pressed into the back of the seat, too nervous to move even an inch.
“You don’t take Uber’s much, either?” He taunted with a tiny chuckle, seeming to notice how tense you were.
“I do!” You defend yourself halfheartedly, shrinking your flustered frame into the seat and unfolding your hands.
“Right.”
His expression was amused. Yours was not.
Some part of you felt the need to make clear that you weren’t some sheltered weirdo who didn’t even know how to sit regularly in a car. But who could blame you for being nervous? It was true that you rarely went out, and never by yourself. Yet you were more nervous about being in the car with the male equivalent to Aphrodite than you were with the prospect of being alone at the bar. His eyes were on the road, but every time he reached a light, you swore you could feel them lingering all over you.
“Why is it that you don’t go out?” Toji hummed, tapping his fingers on the wheel patiently as a side swept glance towards you relayed his interest.
“Oh, well..”
You weren’t so sure yourself. In all honesty, outings like this didn’t really interest you. You weren’t much of a social person, kept yourself busy with school and work and the occasional drink or two with your friends. Your outings paled in comparison to Satoru’s sporadic ones, and Suguru wasn’t far behind him.
Maybe you were just boring.
“My roommates don’t really invite me out to things,” you lied, “so I haven’t got many excuses to leave.”
Toji mulls this over. “They sound like assholes.”
That was at least halfway true, you reasoned. “They have their moments.”
You didn’t really feel bad for lying about your roommates like that. Payback for taking the car without asking, a voice inside of you silently decided, and you nodded along with the thought as if you’d spoken it. The little fib had granted you an opportunity to keep talking to Toji, anyway, and for that you were grateful.
“What about you?” You managed, tilting your head up and over to gaze at the man. “I imagine you get quite active at bars or whatever.”
To your surprise, he shakes his head— the movement shifting the eloquent raven strands along his ears.
“I don’t drink.” He states plainly.
“Really?” He’d striken you as the type to be a notorious bar hopper, but clearly your radar was way off. Not that you had much confidence in it to begin with. “You don’t like it?”
“Can’t get drunk off of nothin’. There’s no point, really.”
“So you just go for the social aspect, then?”
“I don’t go at all. Lot of assholes in places like that,” he recalls, kneading the wheel beneath his fingertips before continuing with a lazy grin, “I’m sure you’ll be making their day though.”
The sentiment catches you off guard. “Making their day?”
Toji chuckles, clicking his tongue. “You’re a looker, sweetheart. Real easy on the eyes.”
It takes more than a few moments to register that those words had left the sanctuary of his mouth. No, you must have been so desperate that you must have hallucinated them in the first place. There couldn’t be a world in which such an otherworldly man was complimenting you.
But there was, and he had.
His gaze was fixated on you intently, not a shred of attention cast to the empty road ahead of him. Undoubtedly, he’d notice the way your face flushed a few shades from its authentic tone, a rosy hue painting the expanse of your cheeks. He’d notice the way your thighs pressed together, the way your hands sunk into the leather beside you and clutched it as if trying to ground yourself to the seat. And of course, he’d notice the way your breath hitched in your throat as you shot him a look of disbelief.
“It’s a shame,” he continues, twisting the nail in its place upon your coffin, “that I won’t get to be one of those lucky deadbeats tonight.”
Toji had spoken the words so casually, the implications of them making you suck the air into your flushed cheeks. To make things worse (or, better?), you’d notice a lasting glance cast at your legs before those emerald eyes of his made their way back to the road ahead.
A pitiful attempt at a laugh escaped your quivering lips at his statement. “I hadn’t planned on getting, um, lucky tonight,” you lied, fingers sliding along the fabric of your dress, pulling it taut.
“Pity.” The word was gruff, made to sound as if he were disappointed in you. Toji’s humor was tainted with a flair of sarcasm— something you found you enjoyed, though it was at your own expense.
No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to find something else to say to him. He didn’t seem to have nearly as much trouble with making conversation, apparently, finding it easy to tease you.
“It’d help your argument if you weren’t dressed like a brothel’s favorite.”
His sneer was met with a scandalized gasp from you, a lithe hand raising to cover the laugh that almost escaped from you. You should be offended, you knew it, but his words only churned that subsistence deep within your gut.
“I’m not!”
“Oh, come on,” he chuckles, casting you a knowing glance. “Don’t go out much, but you’ve got something like that,” he gestures to the dress, “hanging around in the closet?”
“It was a gift.” Your terse statement is met with a huff.
“Oh, oh.” Toji coos heartily, scarred lip twitching up into an amused grin. “Your poor boyfriend. I’m sure he didn’t intend for everyone’s eyes to be on that gift of his.”
Your face was hotter than you imagined possible. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Bullsh*t.” A little chuckle could be heard from him, his fingers tapping at the wheel. “Nobody would give you something like that unless they were trying to see you in something like that.”
Briefly, your mind wanders towards Satoru’s friend at the party, the one who’d passed along the gift to you with a co*cky grin on his face. An annoying grin, coincidentally the same type of smirk that Toji had been flashing you the entire car ride. The type that you gave someone that you knew had some sort of underlying interest in you. And while that most certainly wasn’t true about that friend, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t true about your Uber driver. There was an infatuation lingering beneath your annoyed facade, one that Toji seemed to read well.
“Gag gift.” You finally admit through pursed lips, yanking your hot face towards the window to shield it from his humored gaze.
This only seems to amuse him more.
You were cute, excruciatingly so. He could tell just from talking to you that you seemed genuine, but he saw right through you. From the little conversation you’d shared, it was clear to him what you were hoping to achieve by going out tonight, and it was impossibly intriguing to him. With a certain level of confidence, he’d say he had you all figured out.
Yet judging by the flustered look on your face, he decided he’d lay off on the teasing— for now.
“Brothel or not, be smart tonight, you hear?”
You blink. “What?”
“Pretty little thing like you, all alone in a bar? Can’t imagine a real safe scenario with a plot like that.”
“Oh, right.”
“Mmhm. Just stay safe,is all.”
His request was laced with a strange genuity, all things considered. The words didn’t seem as airy as all his others had been. He was yet to omit an air of concern, yet there was a hint of such in the delivery of his words. And something about that made your heart flutter, made you almost shrink back into the seat to avoid his warm, fleeting glances.
“I will,” you manage, voice soft as a whisper.
“That’s right. Good girl.” A lazy smile creeps upon his features, the praise flowing out casually without so much as a second thought.
Though you’d disguise it well, his praise had you as malleable as putty, your heart pounding disgracefully against the cage of your chest. It was starting to get to a point where you were dreading the impending arrival, knowing by the patterns of the buildings outside of the tinted windows that you were drawing very close to the bar. About two minutes, if you were to guess— and the periodic chirp of the GPS confirmed your suspicion.
You swallow thickly, palm bunched into the rim of your dress. Maybe if you asked him with the sweetest tone you could muster, he’d turn the car around and take you somewhere nice.You’d much rather prefer spending the evening with him than some random sleaze. Apparently, your standards had raised significantly in the past 15 minutes.
With an expert twist of his vascularized hand, he’d shifted the wheel and turned onto the street which bore your destination. It was uncharacteristically packed, you’d realize— the street completely littered with parked cars. So much so that there was no room for him to even safely pull over and drop you off.
“Busy tonight, huh?” He notes, switching off the GPS and turning onto an alternate route to find more suitable parking.
“I’ve never seen it like this.” You point out meekly, your two prior visits having been significantly less crowded.
He waves his hand dismissively along the wheel, easing out of the tight road and granting you the blessing of a few more minutes with him in the car as he drives a bit further along.
Toji managed to maneuver the car into a scarcely occupied lot a minute or two down the street. It was just far enough to escape the trafficked road without making it too much of a long walk for you.
After he parked, there was a moment of uncertainty that hung almost palpably in the air. It now felt as though the car were condemned, the walls closing in. You had grown frighteningly attached to this man in the time it took to drive to a bar, to the point where the thought of leaving him for some sleazy bar patron had your lips pursing into a scowl.
Realistically, all you needed to do was hand him the few crumpled bills from your handheld and wish him a half hearted goodbye, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You wanted, needed more from him, and he knew it, too. The tension that filled the space between you was overwhelmingly prominent, enough to make your head spin. Helplessly, you lift your gaze, dragging it to him as if desperate for him to say something that’d give you reason to stay.
The glint in his eyes screamed that he could see right through each and every one of your thoughts, which only infuriated you further. A reluctance to leave was there, written across your features like an open book.
“You alright?” His deep voice knowingly coaxed you, pasteurizing an air of interest around you that you hadn’t even realized you craved until now. There was a glint of amusem*nt in his eyes, and though it annoyed you.. for a split second, even if it was delusional or irrational, you wished you could stay with him like this. Permanently.
“Totally fine.”
The way he greeted your response with a soft, humored smile only fuels the fire stoking inside of your belly. You haven’t found something as satisfying as that serene smile in a very long, fruitless while. You’d like to imagine that very smile plastered on his lips in more sinful contexts— painted on his expression as he watched you gag on his co*ck, or lazily cast upon your trembling frame as he stuffed you full of it.
Alas, you’re quick to blink away the fanciful thoughts, well aware that you’re at odds with whether or not the sudden, insatiable want overshadowed the loneliness you’d come to terms with.Yet your heartbeat paced within your chest at the veryprospect of leaving this man, of abandoning the tension that’d built inside of you. You didn't want to leave, didn't want to get out of the car, didn’t want to go find some random guy to f*ck you as a last ditch effort to prove your roommates wrong.
You wanted it to be the man across from you.
Almost pathetically, a final attempt at conversation broke from you. “You.. really dont drink?”
“No ma’am.” he replies with a little shake of his head.
Just your luck, then. Any plot to invite him along to the bar was immediately discarded. There were no more excuses you could make, nothing that would constitute keeping him close longer.
You twiddled with your thumbs upon your lap, an anxiousness bubbling within you that hadn’t made an appearance for as long as you could remember. You hadn’t been this nervous over a man since your ex-boyfriend, and it felt foreign to you after all this time.
It was infuriating how hard this was for you.
Having given up at this point, you begrudgingly reach into the purse slacked over your shoulder. You can feel Toji’s expectant gaze boring into the back of your head as you hook your fingertips around a disheveled twenty dollar bill, expecting that to be enough to cover the fare of the short trip.
“Thanks anyway,” you mumble, finding it impossible to disguise the disappointment in your tone as you hand the money over to him.
His hand lingers over your own for a moment as he accepts the payment. Your eyes weren’t anywhere near his, but he still managed to pick up on the disdain within them.
“You know all you have to do is ask, right?”
Taken aback, you lift your head up. “Huh?”
Toji sighed, crumpling and tossing the stray bill somewhere in the abyss of the backseat. “It’s a bit too late to play innocent, don’t you think?” He hummed expectantly, turning to face you with an airy look of amusem*nt plastered on his chiseled features. “You’re only out tonight to get some dick, aren’t you?”
The words were bold, direct. Simple enough to get the point across, yet abrupt enough to have you squeaking out a little gasp of disbelief.
“Just ask.” He repeated, his voice a lower octave than it’d been prior.
Toji was a keen man. He’d seen you squirm, fidget, and curse the very air around you. He'd seen the confused mix of lust and annoyance that had marred your expression throughout the evening, and he’d known that you were fighting an urge within you that was just as obvious as all of your other telltale signs. And, not that he was necessarily an egotistical man, but he was well aware that he was a good looking one. Just as well, he had a certain level of confidence that you wouldn’t turn him down.
“Why waste your time in there when you know what you want is here?”
The words were spoken casually, yet the implications of them were undeniably obvious. You wanted him, and you knew it. He knew it.
It was even more infuriating how easy it was for him.
“Don’t be absurd!” You squeak out through your trembling lips, the denial penetrating them against your better judgment.
Toji took in the words with a co*cked eyebrow, noticing the shrinking of your slender form in the leather seat, the way your features softened under his glance. It was clear that you were unable to fully mask the want that was so obviously relayed through your reactions. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that you didn’t want him, not after the way he’d seen you fidget. He’d seen the way you’d looked at him, watched as you’d tried so desperately to deny it.
“I’m absurd?” He grins, co*cking an eyebrow and intentionally casting a slow gaze down your collarbones and to the exposed flesh of your cleavage. “Look at you.”
You felt hot under his gaze, shrinking impossibly further into the seat.
“All dressed up. Practically begging, pleading for some attention.” His words weren’t necessarily accusatory, but the way he’d emphasized certain syllables was provocative. Intimidating, if you were to be honest. The implication of his words were all too clear, and it was apparent that he waited only for you to voice your admittance.
You bite your lip, trying to scrounge up any possible way to deny it. You’d been waiting all night for some little bit of backbone to reach out for him, and he came offering that opportunity up on a silver platter.
“I’m not!” Man, weren’t you a convincing liar.
"Oh, come on, now," he chuckled, "Who do you think you’re fooling?” The words were drawn out like a hum, an amused smile traveling over his lips.
Toji's eyes, overwhelmingly intimidating, had a glint of challenge in them, as if daring you to push back against him. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that you were utterly infatuated with him, and he could already picture the way you'd crumble under his touch.
It was hilarious to him.
Truth be told, his eyes had been on you since the moment you tugged open that stubborn car door.
But despite the way that he himself wanted you, he wasn’t a cruel man. He allowed you the opportunity to deny it, to question his intentions, or even to leave. He could be patient, for now.
However, that didn’t mean he’d keep his hands to himself.
Before you even realized it, his hand had inched stealthily from its complacent position on the wheel. It ghosted over the gear shift, sneaking along the exposed flesh of your kneecap as casually as it could. You stiffen, heart fluttering helplessly in your chest as you steal a brief glance at him, desperate to read something in his expression that would confirm that he wanted this, too.
As if those words of his weren’t enough, a distant part of you taunts, but it’s impossible for you to disguise the heat on your face, and the sight has the scarred line of Toji’s lip twitching upwards with an amused smirk.
The look in his eyes gave no room to mistake his intent. His thumb lazily traced the curve of your kneecap, slowly inching up your thigh as the flesh was met with an unapologetically eager squeeze. Almost instantly, the heat that burned within your abdomen swelled unbearably, a muffled scream for more that you refused to articulate to him.
“Poor girl. You really don’t know what you want?” Toji cooed, his voice dripping with a mock sense of sympathy to contrast the way his hand slid further up the flesh of your thigh.
In a moment of weakness, you uncrossed your legs, welcoming the tainted intimacy. There was a delirious part of you that wanted to pull away, to deny it, but the other part that realized this was exactly what you needed.
“I don’t,” you gasped, trembling as the severity of his touch grew palpable within your chest. “I.. don’t know.” Liar! There hadn’t been a time where you were more certain of what you wanted.
He was unphased, however, that picturesque grin painted wide upon his scarred lips.
“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll help you figure yourself out.” His free hand slid down from the wheel, perching itself upon your hip as the other trailed further up your thigh. It was enveloped beneath the fabric, that infuriating smirk on his face as the tip of his index finger grazed the edge of your dress. He let it linger there, teasingly, for a moment before pushing it higher, revealing more of your smooth, soft skin.
"Go on, baby," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against the roof of his mouth, "Do something about this."
His hand trailed up your inner thigh, until it reached the thin, lacy fabric of the garter that hugged your flesh, the very same one you’d hastily fastened on earlier that evening. Toji glanced up at you, a wicked sparkle in his diopside eyes. "What a little slu*t you are, hm?” He cooed, slowly peeling the garter from where it squeezed your thigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "You just wanted to get f*cked tonight, didn’t you, darlin’?” He unclasped the band, sensually tugging it down your leg and allowing it to litter the car’s floor.
With your quivering lips parted agape, you weren’t granted even a moment to protest as he gently hoisted your bare leg up over the center console, parting you easily as he leaned over your frame with hungry eyes.
Gently, he started brushing his thumb across your inner thigh, running it up and down the smooth skin as if to coax a reaction out of you. "You’re just going to sit there, pretending to be stubborn?” He taunts, relishing in your soft gasps and diluting your squirms with a hand on your hip. “You just want someone to take care of you, huh?”
It was getting harder to deny the blatant want etched within your distorted features, given the way they crumpled with need at the lightest touch. He was so assertive, so sure of both himself and you that each movement was laced with an air of practiced ease.
With your legs spread so pliantly for him and your dress crumpled and folded over the curve of your hips, he had easy access to the damp, vermillion fabric of your panties. Too swiftly, his calloused thumb pressed into the sensitive seam between your legs, watching as you arched into his touch with a soft gasp. His movements were slow, measured, and they did a number on your insides. It felt as if he’d pressed on a delicate, hidden button that you never even knew you had.
Maybe it was the way that he looked down at you with such a look of malevolence in his emerald gaze, or the way he held you in place when you writhed to alleviate the sensation of his fingertips pressing against your hot, clothed sex. It didn’t matter what it was, but you couldn’t deny it any longer.
There was no way that you were getting out of this car without him f*cking you, and that was exactly what you wanted.
