"y'know," Toji grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your hips, "You shouldn't wanna be with a guy like me." His lidded eyes are focused on the way your body is arched, ass tutted out on display for him as his hands slide to grip the jiggly flesh.
"Mmm? And why not?" Your neck cranes, your voice silky and sweet and you purr out moan after moan.
"Cause you're my son's age, sweetheart," he bites his lip as he watches his dick slip in and out so smoothly, the way it shines with your slickness, "I could be your—hah— father."
"Why be my father when you could be my daddy?" You giggle, glossy lips curling up into a seductive smirk as you push back against him, emphasizing every deep thrust. His breath hitches, fingers tightening possessively on your waist.
"You're a dangerous little thing, aren't you?" Toji growls, voice thick with lust, his pace never faltering. "Makin' me wanna ruin you even more." With that he drills deeper, pushing every single inch of his manhood as deep as he can into you.
Your giggle melts into a breathless moan as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "Then do it," you whisper, long lashes fluttering. "Make me yours, Daddy." Toji really doesn't know how a pretty little thing like you got into his bed, but by god he was grateful for it.
A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he snaps his hips forward, sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. "Fuck, sweetheart," he mutters. "You really don't know what you're askin' for."
"Oh, I think I do," your voice gets a little deeper, sultrier than your usual girlish tone. Fucking little minx, he thinks.
Toji lets out a deep chuckle, the sound rough and sinful as his fingers trail up your spine before gripping the back of your neck. "You're playin' a dangerous game, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker—something possessive. "But I gotta admit… I like watchin' you lose."
His hips roll forward, slow and deliberate, making you feel every inch of him dragging against your slick walls. The stretch, the heat—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and the way he holds you, like he owns you, only makes it worse.
You whimper, pushing back against him, needing more, needing him to stop teasing. "T-Toji…"
His grip on your neck tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. "What was that, baby?" he taunts, smirking as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Thought you liked actin' all grown up. Use your words."
Your body shudders, pleasure tingling down your spine. "Please," you gasp, barely coherent, "Please, Daddy—"
A sharp groan rips from his throat, and in a heartbeat, his restraint snaps. His fingers dig into your flesh as he drags you back onto his cock, setting a brutal pace that has your eyes rolling back. "Fuck—there’s my good girl," he grits out, jaw clenching as he watches your body take him so greedily. "Knew you’d beg for it eventually."
The filthy squelch of skin meeting skin fills the air, and Toji watches, mesmerized, as your body trembles beneath him. "So fuckin' pretty when you fall apart," he rasps, reaching down to press his rough fingers against your needy clit. "C’mon, sweetheart—lemme see you cum for Daddy."
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"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.
"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.
The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.
Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.
“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”
Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.
He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.
“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”
Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.
“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”
Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.
Hey, baby.
I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)
Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.
Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.
Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.
“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”
Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.
His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.
Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.
You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.
Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.
Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.
Hey, baby.
I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.
Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.
Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.
His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.
We miss you. I miss you.
He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.
I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.
Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.
“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”
Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.
Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!
.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・
Eren sat there on the couch in his garage, legs spread out as his brows were furrowed deep in thought. Arm slung over the worn-out edge of the armrest, blunt ashes falling to the cold cement floor. He stopped smoking inside of his house when you said you didn't like the smell of tobacco, didn't like the way it stuck to your hair. That was months ago, but he still kept the habit. Or tried to. He told himself it wasn’t because of you, that it was just better this way. But he would almost catch himself saying your name when Connie tried to spark up in the living room.
"Don't light that shit up in here y/n doesn't like that shit—" His eyes would go wide, stopping himself midsentence, lowering his raised hand as a confused Connie moves the lighter away from the tip of his dutch.
Now he's sitting here, irritated as hell with thoughts of you. It hits different. The silence. Wondering what the hell you were doing right now. Wondering if you were with somebody else. Eren takes another slow drag, the cherry at the tip of his blunt glowing in the dim light of the garage. He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening as the smoke curls around him, dissolving into the cold night air. His leg bounces, restless, and he hates that he's thinking about you again. Hates that the silence only makes him wonder more.
He tells himself he doesn't care. That it's none of his business if you're out, if you're with someone else. But the thought sticks, stubborn and unwanted like gum to his shoe. He could just text you. Just ask what you’re doing. Maybe something casual—Where you at? or You good? Something that wouldn't make it so obvious that you're in his head. But his phone stays face down on the armrest, screen dark, and his fingers twitch with the urge to reach for it anyway.
His jaw clenches as he swipes his tongue over his teeth, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. It's fine. He’s fine. He doesn’t need to know. It’s not like you owe him anything. Then his mind wanders to thoughts of you under someone else. Makes his other hand ball up into a fist, has his chest tighten for a second as his jaw feels tension. He hates how even just the thought has him sick to his stomach.
The garage door is cracked open just enough for the night breeze to slip through, and Eren finds himself staring at the empty street beyond it. It would be so easy to get in his car, drive to wherever you are, just to see for himself. Just to make sure. His fingers tighten around the blunt as he exhales sharply. He needs to get a grip. Needs to stop thinking about you like this. How did he even start thinking about you like this?
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
8 months ago
Eren had never really been one for romantic attachments. He simply preferred the hit it and quit it, no strings attached life. In short, he was just a slut. Everyone knew that. Everyone was fine with it. Except the occasional girl who would think they knew what they were getting themselves into but fall into the sinkhole of charm that was Eren Jaeger.
"Yo, Jaeger!" Ymir bursts into Eren's place, plopping herself onto the couch across from Eren, who was laying with a blunt lazily between his lips, preoccupied with his game of Rainbow Six. Flicking through the operators before he goes with his main, Kali.
"W'ssup Ymir?" His eyes flit to her for a second, greeting muffled as he tries to keep the lit blunt balanced, tiny tufts of smoke leaving his mouth with each word.
"Nothin' much. Just got back from helping my cousin move into her place. Girl has so much shit, my back is fuckin' aching from carrying her dresser. I know I'm a masc lesbian but fuck, I'm still a damn girl," Ymir rubs her aching back as she sits up, watching Eren snipe yet another person. "I need some damn indo to help with this back pain."
"Cousin?" Although Eren and Ymir were close, Eren felt like he knew jack shit about her. He didn't even think she had actual parents. In his mind she just spawned onto the earth with no attachments.
"Yeah. My cousin on my pop's side," Ymir leans forward to grab the blunt dangling from Eren's lip, which he side eyes but allows, "We used to be hella close growing up as kids til she moved up north. But she just moved back for school. Got into some fashion design program or some shit." She takes a fat puff, coughing a bit as she leans back into the couch once more.
Eren hums, barely paying attention as he respawned in-game, fingers moving lazily over the controller. “Fashion design, huh? Sounds high maintenance.” In his mind he was envisioning a bubbly, ditzy girl who could barely form a coherent sentence without using the word 'like'.
Ymir snorts, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch, blunt between her thumb and index finger as her other hand rests behind her head. “Please, she’d eat you alive, Jaeger.”
That caught his attention. His brows lift slightly as he glances at Ymir out of the corner of his eye. Taking the blunt back for another hit, the ember at the tip of his blunt glows a fiery red as he took another slow drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling through his nose. His free hand runs through his already-messy hair before he leans back, posture relaxed but interest piqued.
“That so?” He drawls, as if the idea of someone getting the best of him was comical. It was utterly laughable.
Ymir smirks knowingly. “Yeah. She’s not like those girls that throw themselves at you.” She reaches over to grab the blunt from his fingers again, taking a slow inhale before flicking the ashes onto the dirtied rolling tray that sits on Eren's beat up coffee table. “She’s a fuckin' problem.”
Eren lets out a short laugh, eyes still trained on the screen, but the way his leg bounces slightly betrayed how much she had his attention now. “A problem, huh?”
Ymir rolls her eyes, exhaling deeply. “Don’t do that.” She already knows what's going on in Eren's head. She can already see that conniving look on his face. Like a bad ass kid plotting.
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like a challenge,” she scoffs, watching as the smirk tugged at his lips. Aaaaand there it was, that conniving look.
His fingers twitched slightly against the controller, but he shrugs, feigning indifference. “You make it sound like I couldn’t handle her.” But the tone in his voice was anything but indifferent.
Ymir lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Handle her?” She stretches her arms behind her head, amused. “Jaeger, she’d ruin you.”
That made him pause, just for a second. He tilts his head toward Ymir now, fully interested. “How so?”
“She’s just like you,” Ymir says simply with a casual shrug of her shoulders, blowing out a fat swirling cloud of smoke before handing the blunt back to him. “Except worse.”
Eren raises a brow, taking a slow hit before exhaling toward the ceiling. “Worse?”
“Oh yeah.” Ymir’s grin was almost cruel. “She’s got a new guy every other week. Doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do feelings. The second she gets bored? You’re out. No explanations. No second chances. Sound familiar?”
His fingers momentarily stilled over the controller. “Lemme get this straight,” he says after a beat, bringing the blunt back to his lips. “She’s a maneater?”
“That’s an understatement,” Ymir mutters, rolling her neck. “She’d chew you up and spit you out, Jaeger. And I’d pay good money to see it.”
Eren exhales sharply, shaking his head, but the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips gives him away. He wasn’t used to hearing about a girl like this. Someone who played the same game he did, who knew how to keep things casual and clean.
But the way Ymir spoke about you… the certainty in her voice, the absolute conviction that you were the one who would wreck him and not the other way around—it irked him. Because no one ever got the best of Eren Jaeger. No one.
“She ever try to sink her teeth into you?” he asks, mostly just to push Ymir’s buttons.
Ymir lets out a barking laugh, smacking her knee. “Fuck no. I'm one of the few lucky ones. She actually respects me.” Then her grin widens. “Which is more than I can say for you, by the way.”
Eren clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he gives Ymir a dubious smile, but he couldn’t shake the way his mind was suddenly fixated on you. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t about how fast he could get someone into bed. It was about how long he could last before you decided he was disposable. And for some reason, he really wanted to find out.
Eren exhales a thin stream of smoke, tapping ash onto the makeshift ashtray as he gives Ymir a sideways glance. “You talk about her like she’s some kind of myth.”
Ymir snorts, kicking her feet up on the edge of the coffee table. “She might as well be. Every dude she’s been with thinks they’re gonna be the one to change her, to get her to stay. And every single one of them ends up ghosted, wondering what the fuck just happened.”
Eren smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Sounds like they’re just weak pussies.” He can't imagine any self-respecting guy to be groveling at a girl's feet.
Ymir lets out another laugh. “Nah, they’re just dumb. She makes them feel like they’re special, lets them think they’re running the show. But the second she’s bored? She moves the fuck on, no hesitation.” She takes the blunt from him again, flicking the accumulated ash onto the coffee table by accident when she misses the ashtray. “Shit’s actually impressive.”
Eren leans back against the couch, stretching his arms over his head, pensive smirk still in place. “So, what? You’re warning me?”
“I’m telling you not to waste your time,” Ymir says casually, leaning forward. “You think you’re hot shit because girls let you do whatever you want, but she ain’t like that. She’ll let you hit, sure—if she even finds you interesting enough—but she won’t think about you after. You won’t be special, Jaeger.”
That had something curling hot and stubborn in his chest, something he wasn’t used to feeling. Not special? Eren Jaeger was always special. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed the blunt back from Ymir and took a slow drag, eyes narrowing at the screen in front of him, pretending her words didn’t get under his skin.
Ymir watches him, and when he stays silent, she grins knowingly. “Ohhh shit,” she drags out. “You’re actually interested, aren’t you?”
Eren exhales a faux laugh through his nose, jaw tightening. “Relax. I’m just curious.” But Ymir already knows you have your claws sunk into him, even before he met you. That's just the type of hold you had on boys.
“Curious, my ass,” Ymir cackles. “This is gonna be fucking hilarious. I cannot wait to see you get humbled.”
Eren scoffs, shaking his head, but Ymir’s words stick to him like gum on pavement. He hated how much this was getting under his skin, how much he already wanted to see for himself. Because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was someone thinking they had him figured out. And right now? It sounded like you were the one to beat.
₊˚⊹ ᰔ
Music lowly plays from the tiny Bluetooth speaker on the white dresser, bass thrumming low as you stand in front of the full-length mirror that sat in the corner of Ymir and Historia's room, applying a final coat of lip gloss, rubbing your lips together to blend your lipliner just right. The dim amber-yellow light of the bedroom reflects the shimmer against your lips, and you press them together with a satisfied smirk, blowing a kiss to yourself.
Behind you, Historia sprawls on the bed, one knee bent, her phone resting against her thigh. She scrolls lazily, barely sparing you a glance until something about your outfit catches her attention. She looks up briefly, eyes flicking over your outfit before raising a brow. “You’re actually trying tonight?”
You turn, placing a hand on your hip as you pose for her, making those cunty faces you two see on Rupaul's Drag Race. “This is minimal effort, babe. I'm going easy tonight.”
Historia rolls her eyes but smiles, propping herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, yeah. You just like making it look easy.”
You grab your pair of hoop earrings from the nightstand, sliding them on as you check your reflection again. Tight, flattering, just the right amount of skin—tonight is going to be fun. “Speaking of looking easy, what about you? You’re not pulling up in that sweater, right?”
Historia huffs dramatically, tossing a pillow at you. “I’ll change later. Ymir is taking forever in the bathroom, and I am not getting dressed in front of her just so she can talk shit about every outfit I try on the entire time.”
You snicker, knowing she’s not wrong. Ymir has a talent for running her mouth, and Historia—despite her sharp tongue—usually ends up the easiest target. Blame the innate sweetness that she harbors. Something you don't really have.
As if on cue, Ymir’s voice calls from the echoing hallway. “y/n, you better not be corrupting my girlfriend again!"
You turn to Historia with a grin. “As if she needs my help.” Historia flips you off before sitting all the way up, long blonde hair cascading down her back.
“Who’s gonna be at this party tonight? Anybody interesting?” You ask, turning back to the mirror as you adjust your top with a shift and a squeeze.
“Dunno. Sasha said she’d be there, and Connie’s probably already pregaming," Historia swings her short legs off the bed.
“And the guys?” You ask, voice laced with mild interest. Might as well peruse the menu before you get to the restaurant. Maybe choose who you want to sink your teeth into before you arrive, make things easier.
“Why? You got your eye on someone?” Historia raises an eyebrow, curious as to what your chaotic ass would have planned for tonight. You and Historia have been out together countless times, and each outing has its own insane story.
“I’m just asking," shrugging your shoulders, you walk over, plopping onto the bed beside her.
“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘interesting.’ Jean will probably be there. You know how he is—loves the attention but gets all soft when a girl actually plays back," She explains to you. You've met some of Ymir and Historia's friends, become slightly acquainted.
You hum in acknowledgment. “Reiner, probably? Bert too. I think they were talking about it last night,” you continue, running through the other friends you had met in passing.
Historia tilts her head, looking down at you as you stare up at the ceiling. “What about Eren?” She knows exactly why she's bringing him up. Little freakin' instigator.
At that, you pause, blinking once before snorting. “Eren Jaeger?”
She nods, her cerulean eyes still focused on you and your reaction to the boy. “Yeah. You two have never met, right?”
You shake your head. “Nope. Ymir’s mentioned him before, though. Total playboy, right?” You had only been in town for a couple of weeks, and it seemed like every other conversation was 'Eren this, Eren that". It was annoying, really. Ymir's friends acted like he was some kind of God.
Historia smirks. “Yeah, textbook.”
Your lips curl at the corner. “Hmm.” You don’t say anything else, but you can feel Historia watching you closely.
“What?” she finally asks, nudging your arm.
You stretch your body before standing up from the bed with a slow, lazy smile. “Nothing. Just wondering what kind of playboy we’re talking about here.” You've dealt with more than a handful of so called 'playboys' and they've all crumbled before you. Reduced to groveling messes. Snot nosed, teary eyed, on their knees begging pathetic puddles of men.
Historia rolls her eyes, but she's smiling something mischievous. “Don’t even try it. Ymir already said you’d destroy him.”
Your smirk widens, that's exactly what you wanna do. “Then maybe it’ll be fun to prove her right.”
Before Historia can respond, Ymir strolls into the room, towel draped over her defined shoulders, damp strands of chocolate brown hair sticking to her forehead. She takes one look at you, then at Historia, and groans, throwing her head back.
“Oh, hell no,” she says, rubbing a hand down her grimaced face. “What are you two talking about? And why do I feel like it’s something that’ll piss me off?”
Historia smiles, tilting her head innocently. “We were just talking about the party.”
Ymir narrows her eyes before turning to you. “Uh-huh. And why do I get the feeling that you’re plotting something?”
You shrug with a toothy grin, smoothing out your top as you turn back to the mirror. “I don’t plot, Miri, you know that. I just go with the flow.”
Ymir scoffs, rolling her eyes as she sits down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, and that ‘flow’ usually leaves a trail of broken hearts and emotionally scarred men in its wake.”
You laugh, tossing a menacing wink at her. “Not my fault they can’t keep up.”
Historia snorts, and Ymir groans again, rubbing at her temples. “Alright, for real. What’s the topic of the night? Who are you planning on destroying this time?”
You turn back to them, leaning casually against the dresser. “We were just talking about Eren Jaeger.” Your tongue presses against your cheek as your lips curl into a conniving smile.
Ymir stops mid-motion, eyes locking onto yours, and grimaces. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
You raise a brow, your lips slightly parting in feigned innocence and confusion. “What?”
Ymir throws her hands up. “Nope. No. I refuse to let this happen.”
Historia leans back against the bed frame, amused. “You say that like you can stop it.”
Ymir groans, looking between you and Historia. “Listen, I know my cousin. And I know Jaeger. You two? That’s a goddamn collision waiting to happen.”
You smirk, crossing your arms. “Sounds fun.”
Ymir points at you, eyes sharp. “No, sounds like a mess. He’s the worst kind of playboy—thinks he’s untouchable, gets what he wants, then bounces. And you?” She gestures vaguely yet dramatically at you. “You’re the female version of that. The only difference is that you don’t even let them think they had you in the first place.”
You tap a manicured finger against your lips, feigning deep thought. “So, what you’re saying is… I’m better at it?” A devilish smile forms on your glossed lips, perfect brows rising in satisfaction.
Historia cackles, and Ymir grabs a pillow off the bed, throwing it at you. “I’m serious, dumbass! Eren’s the type who doesn’t get played, and you—” She shakes her head, eyes shut. “You’re gonna ruin his fucking ego.”
You shrug, catching the pillow and tossing it onto the bed. “And? Sounds like a him problem.”
Ymir drags a hand down her face. “I don’t got the energy for this.”
Historia grins. “Oh, I do. This is gonna be hilarious.” If there was popcorn she would definitely be eating it right now.
You laugh, stretching before grabbing your phone from the dresser. “Well, guess we’ll just have to see for ourselves, won’t we?”
Ymir groans one last time, muttering something about needing a drink already, while Historia smirks knowingly. The three of you are just about ready to head out when chaos strikes—in true you and Ymir fashion. It starts with a missing sneaker.
“Where the fuck is my shoe?” you mutter, crouching near the bed, tossing aside a hoodie, a hairbrush, and what looks like a half-eaten granola bar (probably Ymir’s). “I literally just had them both here.”
Historia, standing by the door with her arms crossed, sighs. “Ymir probably kicked it under the bed or something.”
“Excuse me?” Ymir squints, sitting on the dresser with her arms draped over her knees. “Why do I get blamed automatically?”
“Because you’re always the reason,” Historia deadpans, icy blue eyes lidded.
“Valid,” Ymir admits with a sensible nod, but then tilts her head. “Still not my fault.”
You blink at her before getting down on your hands and knees, blindly reaching under the bed. “I swear to God, if I find some weird ass shit down here, I’m gonna kill both of you.”
“I told you not to look under there,” Historia says, completely unhelpful. All she wants right now is to be downing vodka cranberries and dancing to Saweetie. She might even pretend to be straight so guys will pay her to kiss Ymir like at the last party they went to.
Your fingers graze something soft and cold and squishy, and you scream. Ymir howls with laughter as you jerk back so fast you nearly smack your head on the nightstand. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
Historia wheezes, clutching her stomach as she leans against the doorframe. “Oh my god, I forgot about that!”
“Forgot about what?!” you snap, eyes wide and chest heaving, with your hands raised up as if they were contaminated. Which they probably were with the rest of the stuff Ymir hid under her bed.
Ymir can barely get words out between gasps of laughter. “Bro, it’s the ice pack! The one Historia left down there weeks ago when she fucked up her knee!”
Historia nods furiously, laughing so hard she has to brace herself against the wall. “I— I was icing it while watching TV and then it just… stayed there.”
You stare at both of them, disgusted. “You two are feral. Ymir, I understand. But you, Historia?”
Ymir wipes a tear from her eye, finally catching her breath. If she laughed any harder, she'd be having an asthma attack. “Oh, man. You’re so fucking dramatic.”
You shake your head, completely over it, and reach back under, finally finding your missing sneaker. “If I die from some unknown bacteria because of you two, my ghost is haunting this place.”
Historia, still snickering, straightens up. “Noted. Now can we go? I need some Grey Goose in my system pronto.”
You dust yourself off and slip your shoe on. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go before I change my mind.”
Ymir hops off the dresser, slinging an arm around Historia’s shoulder. “Finally. I need a fucking drink.” With that, the three of you head out the door—completely unaware that tonight is about to be the beginning of something more dramatic than a damn Shakespeare play.
₊˚⊹ ᰔ
“Bro, hurry the fuck up!” Connie yells from the living room, mouth probably full of chips if the muffled sound of his voice is anything to go by. “You take longer to get ready than my sister.”
“Shut up, Connie,” Eren calls back, dragging a comb through his hair one last time. He’s not even trying that hard—just the usual: white tee, black jeans, and a flannel he doesn't care all that much about just in case his overly drunk ass misplaces it. Simple. Easy. Still, something feels off, like he’s overthinking tonight. And Eren Jaeger never overthinks.
He steps back from the mirror, eyes scanning himself once more. Sharp jaw, messy hair that still somehow looks good, green eyes that’ve gotten him out of more trouble than he cares to admit. Yeah. Still got it. He grabs his phone from the bathroom counter, ignoring the flood of unread texts sitting in his inbox—three different girls, all wanting to know if they’d “run into him” tonight. His thumb hovers over one of their names for a second before he snorts to himself and shoves the phone in his back pocket. Not in the mood.
He’s not really sure what he’s in the mood for. Lately, all of it’s been feeling… boring. Same faces, same lines, same routine. A couple of drinks, a little flirting, and by the end of the night, they’re tangled up in his sheets. No attachments. No feelings. Easy. It’s supposed to be easy. But for some reason, Eren can’t shake this weird, restless feeling creeping under his skin tonight.
He walks into the living room, where Connie and Jean are already half a bottle deep into Eren’s liquor stash like they pay rent here or something. Connie’s stretched across the couch, feet shamelessly on the coffee table, while Jean flips through a playlist on his phone, back slightly hunched, sitting on top of one of the kitchen counters.
Jean glances up before doing a double take. “You’re still wearing that flannel?” Jean raises a brow. “Thought you’d retired it after that blonde last month—what was her name again?”
Eren rolls his eyes, snatching a bottle of Hennessy off the table. “Mind your business.”
Connie chortles. “Man, you are off tonight. Usually, you’re already texting some poor girl by now, setting up your after party plans.”
“Yeah, what gives?” Jean adds, leaning back against the cupboards. “Having an identity crisis or somethin'?”
Eren ignores both of them, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig. The burn slides smooth down his throat, but it doesn’t do much to quiet his thoughts. He doesn’t know why he’s on edge tonight—he’s been to a thousand of these. Same people, same drinks, same easy hookups. Girls who know what they’re getting into with him and guys who pretend not to care that Eren always seems to be the center of the room. But tonight? Tonight feels different.
Maybe it’s because Ymir mentioned that her cousin would be there—you—the so-called female version of him. He leers at the memory of Ymir's warning. The way she said you’d ruin him like it was an undeniable fact. Like it was already written in the stars. Like it was already decided. Please. No one ruins Eren Jaeger.
Connie’s voice cuts through again. “Ohhh wait.” His eyes narrow playfully. “This got something to do with Ymir’s cousin? What’s her name again?” Eren doesn't answer, just stays quiet. Connie grins. “y/n, right? Yeah, I heard bout her. She’s bad.”
Eren’s jaw flexes again, his grip tightening slightly around his phone. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Connie raises a brow, sparking up a blunt that he seemingly pulled out of thin air. “Means she's bad, bro. As in hot. As in way outta your league.” Connie takes a hit, pulling it back to see if it's burning just right before passing it to Eren, who takes it without glancing.
Eren scoffs, smoke curling from his lips. “No one’s outta my league.” He says it with the confidence of a man who’s never heard the word ‘no’ in a way that actually mattered. Since birth Eren had been one cocky son of a bitch, and for good reason too.
“Yeah? She might be.” Connie smirks, pouring himself another shot. "Heard she's already got a roster and she's barely been here a couple weeks."
Eren leans forward, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter, blunt dangling between his fingers. “So?”
“So,” Connie says, shrugging as knocks back the Hennessy like its water, “I’m just saying—she’s like you. Probably already got some dude lined up for tonight and won’t give a shit about whatever game you think you’re running.”
Eren’s tongue presses against his cheek, brows furrow and his gaze darkening. He doesn't like the way that sounds. Doesn’t like the idea of you brushing him off—of anyone brushing him off.
“She’s just another girl,” Eren mutters, more to himself than to Connie. “They all play hard to get till they aren’t.”
Connie laughs. “Yeah? Well, good luck with that.”
Eren takes another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs like he’s locking in a decision. On the outside, he’s calm, collected, the usual brand of cocky. But inside? Oh, he’s already made up his mind. If you’re really as untouchable as they say, there’s only one thing to do. Find out for himself.
₊˚⊹ ᰔ
The bass shakes the walls, vibrating through the floorboards and straight into the bones of anyone standing too close to the speakers. Red plastic cups litter the countertops some half full some tipped over. The air is thick with the sting of liquor, the stench of sweat, and the occasional hint of weed. Floors sticky as they get covered in track marks.
Eren spots you the second you walk in. He doesn’t mean to. It’s not like he was waiting for you or anything. But the second the door swings open and you step inside, it’s like the party shifts. Like you shift the air just by being here.
And fuck, do you look good. Your hair is tousled, lips glossed, and that skimpy outfit—shit. Eren’s eyes flicker down for a split second, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the way it clings to you just right. Top hugging your tits just right and skirt shifting with each step. He doesn’t even have to try to picture it bunched up around your hips. The thought just plants itself in his head like it belongs there. He exhales through his nose, rolling his jaw. He’s seen beautiful before. Had them in his bed, in his car, against bathroom sinks at parties just like this one. But there’s something different about this. About you.
And then? You fucking ignore him.
You and Historia weave through the crowd like you own the place with your arms interlinked, Ymir following close behind, and you don’t even spare him a glance. No knowing smirk, no subtle check-over, nothing. You just flick your hair over your shoulder and move straight for the kitchen, where a handful of people are already pouring drinks.
Eren’s smirk twitches. Oh. This is gonna be fun.
He watches as some guy—Jean, of all people—gravitates toward you, already pulling that smooth nice guy act. Eren doesn’t even have to hear the conversation to know exactly what’s happening. Jean leans in just a little, eyes dipping to your lips between words, smiling like he’s got a shot. And then you laugh—head tilted back just enough to make it look effortless. Eren’s fingers tighten around his cup.
Connie, now posted up against the wall beside him, follows his gaze and grins, letting out a low whistle. “Daaaamn,” he drawls out the single syllable just for the dramatics. “Jean’s already on that? Tough break, bro.”
Eren scoffs, tipping his drink back and swallowing slow like he wants the liquor to burn his throat on purpose. “Not my break to be tough.”
“Sure.” Connie sneers, stretching the word out like he’s not buying a damn thing. “So it’s not pissing you off that he’s—”
“I don’t give a fuck what he’s doing.” The words snap out faster than intended.
Connie raises a brow, like he’s just caught onto something real interesting. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you wanna knock his ass out?”
Eren doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. Instead, he pushes off the wall, weaving through the party with that lazy, self-assured stride that’s gotten him anything he’s ever wanted. People move out of his way without him even trying, girls trailing their eyes over him as he passes. But his focus? Locked. Jean is still talking, still smiling like he has a chance—until Eren’s presence shifts the entire energy of the space. Jean notices first. Then you do. And finally—you meet his eyes.
Eren doesn’t look away. He doesn’t break that charged stare, doesn’t let you see anything but that knowing smirk playing at his lips. You knew this was coming. You had to. The way your own lips curve at the edges tells him everything. He expects you to turn, to give him your full attention. After all, you're such a lucky girl to be graced with the presence of Eren Jaeger.
But no. You let out a soft snort, flipping your hair as you continue your conversation with Jean. Eren’s smirk falters for half a second. Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it? His grip tightens around his cup, but then—he laughs. A deep, low chuckle that rumbles through his chest as he tilts his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. You think you can just brush him off like that? Like he’s nobody?
Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see how long you last.
Eren leans back against the counter, swirling the liquor in his cup as he watches you, waiting for the moment you’ll crack and finally look at him. He’s patient—cocky, but patient. Girls always fold first. But you? You don’t even glance his way. Instead, you tilt your head at Jean, lashes fluttering just enough to make the poor guy swallow hard.
“You were saying?” you prompt, voice smooth as silk. Eyes looking up at him so steadfast, making him feel like the only boy in the world.
Jean blinks, briefly thrown off before he collects himself. “Uh—yeah. I was saying—you should totally let me take you out sometime.” He leans against the counter, confidence settling back into his stance. “No pressure. Just two good lookin' people getting food together. Maybe some drinks.”
You hum, pretending to consider it. “Sounds more like a date.”
Jean grins. “It can be. Or it can just be a good time. Your call.”
Eren scoffs under his breath, barely audible over the thrum of music. This guy. Jean thinks he’s smooth. Thinks he can keep your attention just because he’s playing nice. Cute.
You smirk, tipping your cup toward Jean. “I like the idea of a good time.”
Jean raises a brow. “Yeah?” Eren can just hear the excitement in his voice, the undertone of him surprised that you'd even consider it.
“Mhmm,” you sip, eyes flickering over him as you size him up and down. “And you’ve been looking real good tonight, Jean.” You can't deny that Jean is attractive. Six foot something, muscular but not too much. Stubble highlighting his sharp jawline.
Jean’s brows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” You lean in a little, lowering your voice like you’re telling a secret. “Been hitting the gym, haven’t you?” Your breath is warm against his ear, subtle but effective. Jean tenses, then exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to play it cool.
Jean then chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck to calm his nervousness. “Maybe a little.”
“It’s working,” your voice is soft and sweet, masking your devilish intentions. A sly hand creeps up his arm, gently squeezing his bicep. Jean subconsciously flexes it, an obvious attempt to impress you.
Jean’s ears go a little pink, and Eren rolls his eyes. Jesus. This is painful. You’re just playing with the guy, toying with him like a cat with a string, and he’s eating it up. His fingers tighten around the rim of his cup. Pathetic. Jean’s lapping it up, oblivious to the fact that he’s just another name on your list, just another temporary distraction. And maybe that’s what really pisses Eren off.
Eren bites the inside of his cheek, swirling the liquor in his cup with a slow flick of his wrist. The ice rattles against the plastic, but his focus is razor sharp on you. On the way your fingers graze Jean’s forearm, the way your lips curve at something he says—something that wasn’t even funny. The sudden tug on his wrist rips his attention away.
"Eren," a voice purrs, dragging his name out like a slow sip of honey. He barely has time to register who it is before soft hands pull him away from the counter, dragging him into the depths of the party. He exhales sharply. Of course. One of the girls from Mikasa's sorority, Louise. She’s all over him before he even gets a word out, pressing against his side like she belongs there. “Where the hell have you been, Jaeger? Too good to say hi now?”
Eren scoffs, eyes flickering toward the kitchen one last time, but you’re still wrapped up in Jean, still laughing at whatever dumb thing he’s saying, still not sparing Eren a single glance. Fine. He lets Louise pull him toward the hallway, weaving through sweaty bodies and the fog of cheap liquor and weed. Her grip is possessive, like she thinks she can stake some kind of claim over him just because they fucked once. They stop near the base of the stairs, away from the worst of the party but still close enough that the music pulses through the walls.
“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” Louise hums, pressing a manicured hand to his chest, almond shaped nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his shirt as she tilts her chin up, batting her false lashes. Eren notices the inner corner of her strip lash lifting up a bit, making her look wonky, but he doesn't care enough to say anything.
Eren’s smirk is lazy, practiced. “Should I be?”
Her lips part slightly, caught between intrigue and challenge. “I don’t know. You tell me.” Flashing him a smile, she tilts her head to the side, blue eyes trying to pierce through the emotional wall Eren currently had up.
Eren exhales through his nose, tipping his head back slightly, bored. She’s doing that thing—the same thing every girl does when they want to get a second round with him. Soft touches, sultry looks, a voice dipped in sugar and suggestion. It’s textbook.
It would be so easy. He could take her upstairs, let her kill the frustration building in his chest, let her drag him under and replace the image of you and Jean still talking. Laughing. Touching. But when he looks down at Louise—he doesn’t see you. Doesn’t feel anything.
His jaw tightens, body burning with frustrations that you're the irritating source of. “Not happening.”
Louise blinks dumbfounded, jaw going slack. “What?”
Eren steps back, shaking her hand off his chest. “I’m good. Go find someone else.”
Her lips part, the briefest flicker of shock crossing her face before it hardens into something sharper. Annoyance, maybe. Embarrassment. Either way, she doesn’t like it. “You’re serious?”
Eren just shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he shoves his hands into his pockets, already feeling like this conversation is a complete waste of his precious time. “Dead serious.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms, agitation showing in her posture as one leg steps out, her hip pointed. “You really think you’re all that, huh?”
He just shrugs. Doesn’t deny it. Pursing his lips and swirling his solo cup of henny and coke, waiting for her to catch the damn hint and kick rocks.
“Whatever,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Your loss.” She flips her hair and stalks off, disappearing into the party with a dramatic sway of her hips.
Eren exhales, rolling his tongue over his teeth with a tchht before turning back toward the kitchen. And when he does—you’re looking right at him. Not with jealousy. Not with anger. Just amusement. Like you knew this would happen all along. Eren smirks, shaking his head slightly as he lifts up his drink to his pink lips. He takes a slow sip, holding your gaze over the rim of his cup.
You hold eye contact for a small second before you turn your attention back to Jean. He's actually such a sweetheart you're genuinely enjoying the conversation. Which was... refreshing. You don't remember when the last time you had such an interesting conversation with a person of the opposite sex. One that didn't consist of hook ups or how 'fuckin' hot' you looked.
Jean was in the middle of a passionate tangent about Sailor Moon being able to solo Goku if they were to go one on one. It was cute to see such a straight browed guy defend a shoujo protagonist against the poster boy for shonens.
“I know, I know. Everyone always goes ‘But Goku’s a Super Saiyan, blah blah blah,’ right? But Sailor Moon—she’s got that moon power, bro. You know how powerful the moon is? No one knows the moon’s potential. It’s like, this massive source of energy.” He takes a few more gulps of his drink, making that little ahh' sound before he continues, “And Goku’s just a dude, right? Yeah, he’s got all this strength, but Sailor Moon? She’s literally a magical being. She can manipulate the power of the moon—and that’s not even the best part. She’s got that Silver Crystal, man. That thing can destroy entire universes. If Goku’s even trying to throw a Kamehameha at her, she can just use that to, like, wipe him out before he even finishes charging it.”
Jean huffs out a breath, swaying slightly as he sets his drink down. All that Jameson was going straight through him. “Shit—I gotta take a piss.” He flashes you an easy grin, thumb pointing over his shoulder toward the hallway. “Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”
You let out a tiny laugh of air, smiling as he gives you a flushed boyish grin. “No promises.”
Jean chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully before he disappears into the crowded party. You shake your head, turning back toward the counter, scrolling through your phone like you’re not hyperaware of the gaze burning into the side of your face. Then, before you can even process it—he’s there. A slow, lazy presence stepping into your space like he belongs there. You don’t look up, don’t acknowledge him, but you hear the way he exhales, the entitlement practically dripping from his voice.
"You done playing yet?" It’s smooth, teasing, but there’s an edge underneath. Like he's nagging like an impatient child.
You hum, taking another sip from your drink, still not looking at him as you half watch people's instagram stories. “Playing what?”
Eren chuckles, trying to cover the bratty scoff that somehow leaves his breath. You can hear the way he shifts, arms crossing, the way he fixes his stance. "You tell me."
Finally, you glance up, tilting your head as your squinted eyes flick over him. Jaw tight, bottom lip catching in his teeth, biceps flexing under his shirt like he doesn’t even realize it. Oh, he’s pissed. Amused, but still pissed. Your lips part, a retort on your tongue—
"y/n, we gotta go. Like right now." Ymir’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. You blink, turning just in time to see her hoisting Historia up by the waist, the blonde giggling into her shoulder. "Before Christina Aguillera here falls off another table and gets a concussion," Ymir grumbles, adjusting her grip as Historia hiccups dramatically. You sigh, downing the rest of your drink before setting the cup down. Eren is still looking at you, now frowning like a child whose ice cream just fell off the cone.
You smirk, letting your eyes trail over him one last time before pushing off the counter. “Night, Jaeger.”
Eren exhales sharply as he watches you leave. That was his shot. He should’ve said something—should’ve done something. But no. You slipped away. He licks his lips, tongue pressing against his cheek as he tips his head back, exhaling through his nose.
Toji's been locked up for too long and misses his pretty girl deeply.
Was listening to Kiss Me Thru The Phone by Soulja Boy, which was always my go to song for my irl jailbird cougarrrr. But Toji is better so it's his song now c;
This is a collect call from Tokyo Correctional Facility from
"Toji Fushiguro," his voice raspy and nonchalant as always, a stark contrast to the excitement bubbling inside you.
If you accept the charges, please press 1.
Like second nature you instantly press one. 'This phone call will be recorded and subject to monitoring...' the autonomous voice instructs. The line clicks, a soft trill signaling the connection, and then a faint beeping tone echoes through your receiver. Your heart pounds in anticipation, your grip on the phone tightening as the line goes silent for just a beat too long. A beeping tone goes off, and your heart beats heavily.
"Hey princess," Toji's voice, low and gravelly, rolls through the phone. A smile instantaneously forms on your face, it's been a while since you had spoken to Toji on the phone. His ass was always getting thrown into ad seg for one reason or another.
"Hi baby," your voice is soft and sweet, and Toji feels his heart swelling as he finally hears your voice in what feels like forever. No matter how hardened life makes him, hearing your voice always makes him melt.
“Damn, it’s good to hear you,” he mutters, his tone a little softer now. "They threw my ass in the hole cause some fuckface wanted to try and take the box of Honeybuns from the package you sent me last week."
"Of course they did," you reply with a light laugh, shaking your head. "You can't go a month without stirring up trouble, can you?"
"It's not my fault," Toji defends, the familiar cockiness in his voice making your stomach flutter. "You send me the good shit, princess. You think I'm gonna let some punk get his hands on my Honeybuns?"
You bite your lip to suppress a giggle, imagining him in his element, standing tall and intimidating, defending your care package like his life depended on it. "Well, at least now I know how much you appreciate my efforts."
"Appreciate?" Toji scoffs playfully. "Baby, I worship the ground you walk on for those packages. You should see these guys. They're practically drooling over the stuff you send me. It’s like I’m a king in here."
"Aweee babyyyy," you coo, biting your lip as your cheeks heat up. Toji always knew just what to say to make you feel giddy like a young girl in love for the first time. "Just for that I'll send you something extra special next week."
Toji lets out a low chuckle, the sound deep and raspy, sending a warm shiver down your spine. "You’re too good to me, princess. You’ve got me spoiled," he says, and though his tone is teasing, there’s a genuine softness beneath his words.
"Someone’s gotta take care of you," you reply, your voice playful but full of affection. "You’re lucky I love you enough to deal with all this drama."
"Lucky doesn’t even cover it," Toji mutters, his voice dropping an octave. "I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go. Ever."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, the weight of his sincerity making your chest tighten. "You don’t have to," you whisper. "I’m not going anywhere, Toji."
"Good," he says firmly, the possessiveness in his tone sending a rush of heat through you. "Cause when I get out of here, you’re mine. Completely. No one else gets a second of your time."
"You already have me," you say softly, the vulnerability in your voice making him pause.
"I know," he murmurs after a moment, his tone unusually tender. "And that’s the only thing keeping me sane in this place. Knowing I’ve got you waiting for me on the other side."
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let the sadness take over. "I’ll always be here, baby. No matter how long it takes."
"Enough about me though," he tries to change the subject, hearing the vulnerability in your voice. He hates knowing you're missing him like that, especially when he can't do anything about it. "How’s my pretty girl?” he asks, his voice dropping to that lower, huskier tone that always makes your stomach flutter.
“I’m okay,” you reply, leaning back against the couch as you let yourself sink into his voice. “But I’d be better if you were here.”
A low chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Trust me, princess, I’d do anything to be there with you right now.” Toji looks around his surroundings, the dreary cement walls and identical cell doors that go on and on. He leans against the divider that separates all the phones, metal phone wire feeling cool against his arm. It's late at night, most of the prisoners already in their cells asleep. Toji was lucky enough to know someone on the inside, getting the privilege to have late night calls with you, getting as much privacy as he could get. A single guard supervises him haphazardly.
The thought of him—of his rough hands on your skin, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered all the things he wanted to do to you—makes heat pool low in your belly. The distance between you feels unbearable, but his voice keeps you grounded, tethered to the connection you share.
“What are you wearing?” he asks suddenly, his tone playful but suggestive.
“Toji,” you laugh, your cheeks flushing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” he replies, his voice darkening with desire. “I need a little something to keep me going while I’m stuck in here.”
You glance down at your oversized t-shirt, wearing nothing but that and some panties. biting your lip as a grin creeps onto your face. “Nothing special,” you tease. “Just your t-shirt, the one I stole from you.”
"Just my shirt? Nothing else?" He clears his throat with a grunt, looking around to make sure nobody else could hear. Although let's face it, he wouldn't care regardless.
"Mmm that and some panties of course. Like I always wear to bed," you respond, playing with the hem of your shirt mindlessly. The shirt itself wafted of Toji's musky scent, piney with a dash of smoke and a hint of jasmine.
"What panties?" Toji tries to imagine you, all pretty and barefaced, ready for bed in one of his shirts that swallow your frame. No bra, the outline of your nipples showing through the soft fabric. The bottom of your ass poking out from under his shirt.
"The frilly lacy baby pink pair you got me from Victoria's Secret," pulling up your shirt just enough to see the panties you wear, Toji being oh so familiar with the pair. "You know, the ones I wore when we went to that fancy Brazilian steak house, and you made me keep them on as you fucked me in the bathroom?"
He groans softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Damn, you know what that does to me, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” you reply, your voice light but filled with heat. Toji started this little game, but you could play it better.
"Fuck I miss you princess," his voice is gravelly, needy as he bites his lip.
"I miss you too baby," your lip curls into a sweet smile, words sounding like sugar.
"No, like I really miss you," Toji looks down at the scratchy sweatpants he's forced to wear, seeing the bulge he now adorns getting bigger and bigger as he paints an image of your pretty self.
"Oh?"
"Wanna help me out ma?" The raspiness of his sultry voice has you weak in the knees and you could almost perfectly picture the wolfish grin he was wearing.
"Toji I don't know..." Feeling bashful, your teeth tug at your lip as you contemplate. Sure you've mailed him pretty pictures with way to much cleavage, some in revealing outfits and "bathing suits", but never have you ever had phone sex with him while he's been locked up.
"C'mon mama, I really need you right now. Miss you so much. Miss your gorgeous face. Miss your cute smile. That pretty pussy of yours." At this point he was rock hard, erection now prominent even in those baggy sweatpants.
"Aren't you in public right now, love?" Raising an eyebrow, you try to imagine Toji as he's in a corner of the public area, standing next to one of the phones that's stuck to the wall.
"Relax princess, it's already past curfew. I got special phone privileges courtesy of Shiu. Pays to know people inside," he clicks his tongue proudly, his smirk almost audible.
"Mmm okay, if you say so baby," sinking down more into the couch, obliging with a tint of pink on your cheeks.
"That's my girl." There's a slight pause, then a rustling sound as Toji leans closer to the phone. "Now, put the phone on speaker so I can hear every little thing, okay princess?"
"Okay, Toji." Turning on speakerphone, you set the phone on the arm of the couch right next to where your head rests. So, what do you want me to do first, baby?" you ask, your voice tinged with playfulness and a hint of arousal.
Toji's chuckle is low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. "Well, for starters... tell me exactly what you're wearing."
You bite your lip, glancing down at yourself before responding, "Like I said earlier, just your old shirt and that pair of baby pink lace panties. Nothing else."
His mind was so foggy with lust and need that he had forgot he asked you that, causing that hard predicament that sits in his pants. "Oh, right. That pretty pink pair that I like to slide to the side and fuck you in."
Your breathing hitches, the heat pooling in your core at his words. Toji’s voice, low and laden with want, is enough to make your body respond instantly. You shift slightly, your thighs squeezing together as the familiar ache begins to build.
“You remember everything, don’t you?” you tease, though your voice comes out softer than you intended.
“How could I forget?” he rasps, his tone sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “You looked so fucking good in them. Still do, I bet. Are they wet yet, princess?” Toji reels his memories, thinking of your legs spread open, showing that cute little damp patch of arousal that would soak through the frilly material.
Your cheeks flush crimson, his bluntness never failing to catch you off guard. “Maybe,” you admit shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs approvingly. “Touch yourself for me, baby. I wanna hear those sweet little sounds you make when you think of me.” A hand goes into his sweats, palming himself through his boxers. It didn't bother him in the slightest that anyone could see. His perfect girl was on the line, moaning and mewling just for him and he wanted—no needed—to get off to you.
“Toji,” you breathe out, the warmth spreading through your chest and settling low in your belly. You hesitate for just a moment before letting your hand slip beneath the hem of your shirt, your fingertips brushing against the lace of your panties. “I miss you,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.
“Fuck, I miss you too,” he groans, the sound of his restraint evident in his tone. “Keep going, princess. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Your hand slips beneath the lace, your fingers dipping into the slick heat between your thighs. “I’m... I’m touching myself,” you confess, your voice trembling with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.
“Good girl,” Toji growls, his words like a low purr that rumbles through the receiver. “You know how much I love hearing you, baby. Don’t hold back. Let me hear those pretty little moans.”
Your free hand clutches at the couch cushion as your fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. The sound of Toji’s breathing, heavy and uneven, fills your ear and fuels the fire building inside you. Closing your eyes, you imagine it's him hovering over you, fingers teasing your clit just how he always does.
“Toji,” you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
“That’s it, princess,” he encourages, his voice thick with need. “Keep saying my name. Let me know how good it feels.”
You close your eyes, letting his voice guide you as your movements grow more insistent. “I wish you were here; my fingers can't do what yours do,” you whisper, your words shaky as the pleasure builds. “I need you so bad, Toji.”
“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me,” he groans, the sound of rustling fabric on his end letting you know he’s just as affected as you are. “I’d do anything to have you under me right now. To feel how tight you’d squeeze me when I’m deep inside you.” His hand finally snakes its way inside his boxers, his calloused finger soothing his aching red tip. Palm wrapped around the top, squeezing it in imitation of your tight walls.
"That's all I can think about, Toji," soft, needy whimpers leave your throat, "Having my legs on your shoulders as you break me off. Hitting that one spot deep inside me that always gets me creaming on your cock." Flashbacks of Toji's large hands holding you down, fucking into you as he forces you to watch, that frothy white ring around the base of his dick forming as juice splatter from his impact.
"Yeah, princess?" Toji groans, his voice dipping even lower, roughened by his own need. "You always know how to rile me up, don’t you? Keep talking, tell me exactly how you'd want me to fuck you."
You bite your lip, the weight of his words sending a fresh wave of heat through your core. "I’d want it slow at first," your fingers circle your clit agonizingly slow. Almost torturous like Toji does. "You’d tease me," you murmur, your voice catching as your fingers dip lower. "Make me beg for it, wouldn’t you? Make me tell you how much I need it, need you."
"Fuck," Toji growls, his breathing heavy in your ear. His hand strokes himself in sync with your words, his rough palm sliding over his length as he imagines you beneath him, squirming, needy, desperate. "I’d make you wait, baby. You know I love hearing you beg for me, hearing that pretty little voice say my name."
A shaky whimper escapes your lips, the sound almost too loud in the stillness of your living room. "I’d be so wet for you," you whisper, voice trembling as your fingers circle faster, dipping between your folds to gather more of your slickness. "You wouldn’t even have to ask, Toji. I’d be ready for you the second you touched me."
"Shit," he groans, gripping himself tighter as he pictures it. "You’d be dripping down your thighs, wouldn’t you? Making a fucking mess of yourself while you wait for me to fill you up."
"Yes," you gasp, your back arching against the couch as your body reacts to his words. Your free hand clutches at the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in his scent, his voice, the memory of his touch. "I need you so bad, Toji. I need to feel you stretching me out, filling me up until I can't take it anymore."
"Dip those pretty little fingers of yours inside your pussy, princess. Imagine it's me curling them and hitting that soft spot in ya," he grunts, trying to imagine the feeling of your tiny hole enveloping his large fingers.
You let out a soft moan, obeying his request, slipping two fingers into your warmth. The wet sound fills the quiet of the room, mixing with his heavy breathing on the line.
“I... I’m doing it, Toji,” you manage between hitched breaths. “It’s not the same... I can’t stretch myself like you do.”
“Fucking hell,” he growls, his hand pumping faster now, imagining the way your body clings to him when he’s buried inside you. “Tell me how it feels, princess. I need to hear everything.”
Your cheeks flush, the embarrassment drowned out by the heat curling in your belly. “It feels... good, but not enough. I can’t reach as deep as you, baby. I need you here. I need your fingers, your cock... all of you.”
“Shit, keep talking like that, and I’m gonna cum before you do,” he groans, his voice thick with frustration and longing. His strokes become erratic, the image of you—the sounds you're making—driving him closer to the edge. “I’d have you spread out under me right now, pretty legs shaking while I fuck you open. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh huh~,” you whimper, arching into your touch, fingers moving faster as you imagine him over you, his broad shoulders, the weight of his body pressing you down. “I’d take you so good... like I always do. I’d make such a mess for you.”
“You’d be dripping all over my cock, wouldn’t you? So tight, so perfect for me,” he rasps, his voice hitching slightly as his own hand works faster. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, the wet sound of his strokes, and it sends a thrill through you, knowing he’s as close to the edge as you are.
“Toji, I’m so close,” you whine, your voice trembling with the mounting pleasure.
“Good girl,” he groans, his tone commanding but filled with adoration. “Let it go, princess. Cum for me. I wanna hear those pretty sounds when you fall apart for me.”
His words push you over the edge, a broken cry escaping your lips as your body tenses and then releases, waves of pleasure crashing through you. Toji’s name spills from your mouth in a litany, each moan sweeter than the last.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice a low growl as he follows you over the edge, his own release ripping through him. You can hear his breaths, heavy and uneven, as he murmurs your name like a prayer.
For a moment, the two of you are silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the line and your shared breaths as you come down from the high.
“I needed that,” Toji finally mutters, his voice lighter now, the teasing edge creeping back in. "Been so pent up, jerking off to those pretty pictures you mail me like I'm a horny teenager."
You laugh softly, trying to imagine a sexually frustrated Toji hunched over your selfies trying to get himself off. “You’re insatiable, Toji.”
“For you? Always,” he replies, the warmth in his voice making your chest tighten with affection. "I miss being able to bend you over and fuck you wherever and whenever I want."
"Mmmm, I miss that too, baby," you hum, walking to the sink to wash your arousal-stained fingers. "Miss having my man with me all the time. Gets so lonely without my lover."
"I fucking love you, you know that?" Toji murmurs after a beat, his voice softer now, filled with an almost boyish sincerity.
A smile tugs at your lips, your heart swelling at his words. "I love you too, Toji," you reply, your voice tender.
The automated voice interrupts the moment, announcing that the call will end in one minute. Your chest tightens at the reminder, and you clutch the phone, wishing you could hold onto him just a little longer.
“You better be ready for me when I get out,” he says, his tone turning serious, almost possessive. “I’m not wasting a single second. First thing I’m doing is coming straight to you, and you’re not leaving my bed for days.”
"I'll be counting down the days, baby," a honeyed mewl leaves your lips, feeling light and airy still from your orgasm. "Until then... Behave yourself Toji Fushiguro."
He chuckles, the sound low and rich, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice. "No promises, princess," he teases. "But I’ll try. For you. Now before it hangs up, kiss me through the phone, baby."
Your heart squeezes at his request, the playful yet sincere edge in his voice making your chest ache with longing. Pressing the phone closer to your lips, you whisper, "Mwah," letting it carry all the tenderness you can muster.
A low hum of approval comes through the line. "Mmm, that’s what I like to hear," he drawls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I’ll be dreaming about that one, princess."
The automated voice chimes in again, colder this time, signaling the end of the call in mere seconds. "I love you," you blurt out, the words rushing out like a lifeline.
"I love you more," he says firmly, the weight of his promise grounding you. "Be good for me, princess. I’ll be home before you know it."
The line clicks dead before you can respond, the abrupt silence leaving an ache in its wake. You lower the phone slowly, staring at the screen as if willing it to light up again with his name. His words replay in your head. You could hold it down for him, he'll be home before you know it.
Your body locks up. Your breath stills. Toji—in the flesh—is standing in your living room, looking smug as hell, arms crossed over that broad chest like he knew he just rocked your entire world.
"You should see your face, princess," he chuckles, tilting his head. "Like you seen a ghost."
Your mind is racing. He’s supposed to be locked up. This is impossible. And yet—he’s here. Solid. Tangible. Real. Smirking at you like he didn’t just pull off the stunt of the century.
"You—" You inhale sharply, fists clenching at your sides. "How—" You don’t even finish the question before you smack his chest, hard enough to make your palm sting. He doesn’t even flinch, just grins like he enjoys the reaction.
"Miss me, baby?" His voice drops, smooth and teasing. Still the cocky bastard he's always been.
"Are you insane?" Your voice comes out breathless, uneven. "You’re supposed to be—"
Toji hums, unfazed. "Supposed to be what?" He steps closer, looming over you with that tantalizing smirk he always adorns. his presence thick and heavy—dangerous and intoxicating. "Locked up? Far away from my girl? Mmm, nah. That was never gonna last."
His girl. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. Especially after all this time, but it does.
"You’re reckless," you breathe out, but your voice betrays you—too soft, too shaky. You forgot just how little he made you feel, like a little lamb standing in front of the big bad wolf.
"Yeah?" He reaches out, fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up. "And yet here I am, standing in front of you. Right where I belong." You swallow hard, heart hammering against your chest. His thumb traces your bottom lip, a touch so familiar, so effortlessly possessive, it makes your knees weak.
"Say it," he murmurs, eyes hooded. "Say you missed me."
You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How he knows you did. Toji leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "Or do I gotta remind you how bad you missed me?"
Your breath catches. You should shove him away. Should demand answers. Should do anything other than what you do next—fisting his shirt and yanking him down into a teeth clashing kiss.
Toji chuckles against your lips, the sound low and deep, like he expected this reaction all along. His hands—warm, calloused, and oh so familiar—find your waist, pulling you flush against him. It’s been too long, and your body betrays you, melting into his touch as if he never left.
"You’re crazy," you whisper, looking up at him with those wide eyes that he's always loved.
He grins, lips ghosting over your jaw before pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."
Your fingers tighten around his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fists. "It is," you hiss, but your body betrays you, tilting toward him when he moves. "You—Toji, you broke out—do you have any idea—"
"Shhh." He silences you with another kiss, deeper this time, his grip tightening around your waist. "We can talk later."
You should be more worried. Should push him away, demand answers, tell him this is reckless and insane. But the moment his hands slip lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, you’re wrapping yourself around him, letting him carry you to the bedroom like you knew this was how tonight would end. It was Valentine's Day after all.
Toji kicks the door shut behind him, smirking down at you as he lays you on the bed. His eyes—sharp, dark, hungry—roam over you like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.
"Missed you," he mutters, voice rough, as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing that silky dress higher.
You swallow, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. "You’re insane," you whisper again, but it comes out weaker this time, more breathless.
Toji smirks, dipping his head until his lips brush against yours again. "And yet," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "you’re still here. Wrapped around me like you never want me to leave."
You shudder. "I hate you."
He laughs, a quiet, knowing sound, before pressing his lips to your throat. "Liar."
Your breath stutters when his lips drag down the column of your throat, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows he has all the time in the world. His grip tightens on your thighs, his body pressed between them, and it’s infuriating—the way he’s taking his time, the way he’s acting like he never left. Like he never spent months locked up, sending you teasing, filthy little letters to remind you he still owned you.
"Toji—"
"Shhh, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement. "S’been too long. Lemme take my time with you."
He’s impossible. Infuriating. But your body betrays you, arching into his touch, fingers threading through his dark hair as he kisses his way lower. You hate how much you missed him—hate how, despite every part of you screaming that this is reckless, stupid, you can’t bring yourself to stop him.
"You’re a wanted man," you remind him breathlessly, grasping onto some semblance of control, but Toji just grins, his teeth grazing over your collarbone before he presses a kiss there.
"Yeah? And?" His fingers hook under the hem of your dress, sliding it higher. "That stop you from wanting me?"
You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when he tugs the fabric over your hips, leaving you bare beneath him. Your pulse pounds, heat rushing to your cheeks, and Toji just chuckles, gaze darkening as he drinks you in.
"Fuck, baby," he rasps, running his hands up your thighs, rough fingers making you shiver. "Been waitin’ for this. Dreamin’ about this."
You should push him away. Should demand answers. But instead, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down until his mouth crashes against yours. All that could wait for later, right?
Toji groans into your mouth when you pull him down, all teasing amusement vanishing as his body presses flush against yours. His hands are rough, calloused from years of fights and cold aridness of prison, but they touch you with a hunger and gentle warmth that makes your breath hitch. His knee slots between your legs, pressing just enough to make you whimper, and he smirks against your lips.
"Missed me that bad, huh?" His voice is thick with pride, like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he couldn't wait to make you melt like this.
You glare at him, chest heaving and lips glossy with swapped saliva. "Shut up, Toji."
He chuckles, low and dark, before flipping you onto your stomach in one swift movement. A startled gasp escapes you as he presses his weight against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.
"That any way to talk to the man who just risked everything to see you?" His voice is silk and gravel, smooth yet dangerous, sending a shiver straight down your spine.
You swallow hard, pressing your palms against the sheets, heart hammering. "You’re insane."
"Yeah?" His hands slide down your sides, slow, possessive. "And yet here you are, lettin’ an insane man touch you like this."
You open your mouth to snap at him, but then he bites down on your shoulder, just enough to make your breath stutter. You feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way his grip tightens like he’s testing you, waiting for you to fight him, to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you press back against him, feeling the way his body stiffens for a brief second before a deep, pleased growl rumbles in his chest.
"Fuck," he mutters, voice raspier now. "That’s my girl."
Your stomach flips. Your fingers curl into the sheets.
"Toji—"
His hand slides under your chin, tilting your head just enough for his lips to brush against yours. "Say it." His voice is low, insistent. "Say you missed me."
Your throat tightens. You hate how easy it is for him to pull the truth from you.
"I—" Your voice shakes, but the words tumble out anyway. "I missed you, okay?"
Toji groans like he felt those words, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. "Yeah?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Show me, baby."
And then his hands are everywhere, his mouth pressing desperate, feverish kisses along your spine, and you let yourself get lost in the way he devours you like a man starved. Like he’s spent every second of his time locked up thinking about this. About you.
Toji moves like he owns you—like he never left, like he never spent months locked away with nothing but memories and filthy daydreams of you to keep him sane. His hands are rough, greedy, sliding over your skin like he’s trying to make up for lost time. And maybe he is. Maybe that’s why his mouth trails fire along your spine, why his grip tightens every time you sigh his name.
"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he flips you onto your back again. He looms over you, eyes dark, wild, hungry. "Look at you. Been dyin’ to have you under me again." His dark blue eyes scan over every inch of you, burning it into his memory. The way the silk clings to every curve, the lacy trim that is snug against your breasts, the way one straps slides off your shoulder.
Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling as he takes his time devouring you with his gaze. He licks his lips, dragging a hand through his messy black hair, and the sight alone makes your stomach tighten. It's as if he spent all his time in prison getting even more sexier.
"Toji," you whisper, fingers ghosting over his jaw, the scar on his lip. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your palm, slow and lingering. Like he needs to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, of your touch.
"Say it again," he rasps. It's music to his ears, hearing it in person rather than through a grainy prison call. Seeing it, the way your pretty lips move as every syllable spills out.
Your throat tightens. "Toji."
He groans, like he felt that in his chest, before surging down to capture your lips again. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a demand, a promise. He presses himself against you, and it’s impossible to ignore how much he wants you, how much he missed you too.
"Missed you, baby," he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under the silky slip dress he sent you, pushing it up, baring more of you to him. "Thought about you every fuckin’ night. Couldn’t even sleep without—"
He cuts himself off with a curse, shaking his head like he’s annoyed at himself for admitting it. But the way his grip tightens on you, the way his lips move over your skin, says everything he won’t.
You bite your lip, fingers threading through his hair as he kisses a path down your stomach. "Then why’d you leave me?"
Toji stills. His breath hitches against your skin, just for a second. Then he exhales, slow and controlled, before pressing one last kiss to your hip.
"Didn’t wanna drag you into my shit," he finally mutters, voice rougher now. He lifts his head, meets your gaze. "But guess that was pointless, huh?"
You swallow hard. "Yeah," you whisper, tugging him back up, pressing your forehead against his. "It was."
His lips curl into something between a smirk and a grimace, like he knew this was coming but hoped you wouldn’t say it. He sighs, cupping your face, thumb stroking along your cheek.
"You mad at me, baby?"
You exhale, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Ask me later."
Toji chuckles, low and dark. "Yeah?" He tilts your chin up, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. "Guess I’ll have to make it up to you first."
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Toji Fushiguro did not make mistakes. He was a professional, he had done this so many times it was second nature at this point. Which is why he didn’t think twice when he grabbed what he thought was his ski mask off your dresser and shoved it into his pocket before heading out. No big deal. Business as usual.
Fast forward to now—rooftop, city lights, target in sight. Shiu crouched beside him, scrolling through some notes on his phone. “Alright, quick job. In, out, no mess.”
Toji grunted in agreement, reaching into his pocket for his mask. Except… instead of rough fabric, his fingers brushed against something softer. Silky. He frowned. Pulled it out.
A pair of black lace panties dangled from his hand.
Silence. Shiu turned his head. Blinked once.
“Wow, Toji.” Shiu’s voice was disturbingly neutral, but Toji could hear the amusement bleeding through. “Didn’t know you were into that.”
Toji slowly turned his head, face blank. “I’m gonna kill you.” Toji stared at the offending fabric like it had personally betrayed him. Then, without a word, he shoved it back into his pocket like that would erase reality.
Shiu, now grinning like an idiot, held up his hands in surrender. “Oh, please do. But before that, tell me—” he gestured at the panties, “—are those yours, or…?”
Toji exhaled sharply through his nose, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment. “Shut the hell up.”
“Oh, nah, I need to know—were you about to pull a job in a pair of lacy ass panties?”
Toji gave him a flat look. “Keep talkin’ and I’m putting you in the ground.”
Shiu snickered, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Bet your girl’s real proud of you.”
And that was when Toji's phone vibrated. A message from you.
Sweetheart 💌: Hey babe, if you're wondering where your ski mask is... it's not in your pocket. 💗
Shiu peeked over his shoulder, read the text, and lost it. Toji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He was never rushing out the door without checking his gear ever again.
letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ♡‧₊˚
...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...
— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel
Hey, princess.
Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.
And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.
You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.
I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.
And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.
You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.
Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.
even while locked up, Toji will make Valentine's day special for you. He already has a letter sent to you every day leading up to the 14th. Some of them sweet, romantic. Others just straight up dirty. He also has Shiu get you some things, spending the money he has in an offshore bank account.
February 1st
There's a ring at your doorbell, and you sleepily open the door.
"Shiu!" You happily greet before you realize he's holding one of those giant ass bouquets of roses. One of those ramos buchones with the pretty gemstones and your initial spelled out with baby's breath. Flashy as hell. "What's all this?"
"Jus' read the damn letter," he nods to a red envelope, a cigarette dangling out his mouth but away from your precious gift. Toji would kill him even from the inside if he were to find out Shiu got even the slightest of ashes on his girl's gifts. You take the envelope, tracing your name written in Toji’s bold, messy scrawl. You barely close the door before sliding your finger under the seal.
Didn’t forget, baby. I never do. First day, first gift. You better love it. Had Shiu pick out the biggest, most ridiculous thing I could find. My princess only deserves the best, right?
February 2nd
The letter today is simple. Too simple.
Baby, I hope you didn’t think I’d only spoil you with flowers.
Your stomach twists in anticipation. Later that day, you hear a knock. This time, it’s a delivery service. You sign for a package, confusion written all over your face—until you open it. Inside is a velvet box. You slowly open it, and it catches the light, casting rays of color—a necklace, a gold figaro chain with a diamond pendant. Looking closer at the pendant makes your breath hitch.
His initials.
You press your lips together, heart thudding. The note beneath it is shorter this time.
Wear it. Every day. I’ll know if you don’t.
February 3rd
On your front porch it a tiny pink box with another letter perched on top. You open the box first, the whole collection of a lip gloss you wear, one Toji said was his favorite because he loves the scent and the taste when he kisses it off your lips.
I was gonna wait, but fuck it. You know I don’t have patience. I’ve been thinking about you too much, baby. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. All I can think about is that pretty mouth of yours.
You don’t even finish reading before you slam the letter shut. Your face is on fire. He’s ridiculous. But your fingers linger on the page, gripping it tight. You’re not going to reread it. You’re not.
February 4th
Another gift. This time, it’s a designer perfume. You spray it on your wrist out of curiosity, inhaling the scent—rich, warm, deep. A little spicy yet still sweet. Just like you. A folded note is stuck in the packaging.
This is how I want you to smell when I have you under me.
You hate the way your breath catches. The way you tighten your grip on the bottle, as if that’ll stop the way his words sink under your skin.
February 5th
Shiu hands you the next letter without a word. You expect something dirty again, but instead—
You been eating, baby? Sleeping? You better be taking care of yourself. I’ll be real pissed if I find out you’re not.
You blink at the paper, stomach twisting. You don’t even like that he makes you feel this way. Cared for. Wanted. As soon as you look up, Shiu hands you the bags from behind his back. It's takeout from the place you always went to with Toji. Your favorites are inside, every single thing down to the drink. You knew Toji meticulously picked out each menu item. In the other bag Shiu hands you is self care items. Your creams and serums and even the face masks you force Toji to wear with you.
February 6th
You shouldn’t be looking forward to these letters as much as you do. But you do. This one is short.
You dream about me? Bet you do. Wonder if you wake up wet, missing my hands.
You rip it up, toss it in the trash.
Then, minutes later, you dig it back out, smoothing out the pieces.
You hate him.
February 7th
Another knock at the door. Another gift. This time, it's a dress—silky, short, scandalous.
The note?
Wear this when you come see me.
Your breath catches. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet, hasn’t even implied it. But now, it lingers in the air.
February 8th
A different kind of letter today.
If I was there right now, what would you do?
You should throw it away.
Instead, that night, you sit on your bed, staring at it in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, heart pounding in your chest.
February 9th
A small box sits outside your door in the morning. This time it's a velvet pouch. You pull the string, letting the contents slide onto your palm—an anklet, delicate gold with a tiny charm dangling off the chain. This one matches your necklace, his initials are on this one too. You don’t even hesitate this time. You clasp it around your ankle immediately.
This one's gonna be dangling over my shoulder soon.
February 10th
Shiu shows up again. Another box.
Inside? Lingerie.
Red. Lace.
The note is just one line.
Think about me when you put it on.
February 11th
You better be missing me, baby. I know you are.
This time the gift is a whole outfit. One of those flowy white maiden-style off the shoulder dresses, pretty sandals, and even an innocent enough white bra and panty set with cute little bows.
It doesn't go with the letter, which leaves you a tad bit confused.
February 12th
This letter is filthy.
Explicit enough that you don’t even know how he got it past whoever checks his mail.
You have to sit down after reading it.
And take a very cold shower.
February 13th
Another envelope. You open it, expecting a letter. But nope. Just a single ticket to Italy for February 15th. Weird.
February 14th
A single rose sits outside your door, a final letter tucked beneath it.
You should know by now to lock your windows, ma. Don't know what kind of scary men could climb through your window.
What the?? Slowly you turn around, and there he is, in the flesh. All smug and cute like he knows he did a damn good job at surprising you.
