Toji didn’t believe in shaving. He found it was a waste of time, absolutely unnecessary because „it’ll grow back anyway“

So he didn’t shave. Sure, maybe trim his bush a bit, shave away his stubble because it irritated him. But never his happy trail.

Oh he kept that dark patch of hair on him. He wore it like a trophy. Not because he wanted it— quite frankly he didn’t give two fucks about it. But because of you.

You who eyes his dark patch of hair so intently every time it peeked from underneath his shirt. You who let her hands go straight at it while feeling him up. You who rubbed herself against it until it was coated in slick arousal.

And gods, he lived for that shit. Watching the mess after a good fuck. How sticky and slimy his pubes got, how the mixture of your juices and his cum made it seem even darker than it usually was. How the thick clumps just hung there, almost disgustingly so.

He sat around in the living room,lazily flipping through channels— shirtless, with his sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips.

He was bored. He glanced over to what you were doing, head resting against his side, scrolling on your phone and using him as a rest for it. rude.

„Thinkin‘ about shaving it off“ he grins idly, the scar twitching smugly as he shifted with a lazy sigh „Getting a clean trim, avoid the mess and all“