#princes

You woke up ridiculously warm. Like a log in a fireplace that was just put out. And it wasn’t from the sunlight piercing through your curtains. Not even the five cartoon blankets you had piled on the bed. No— it was Toji, pressed up against you like a sloth on a tree with his arms fully wrapped around your body.

You shift and groan as you try to stretch a little, and he stirs in response. And then that rasped morning voice calls out, “Mm-mornin’ princess.”

You look to the side at him. “You feel like a furnace.”

He hums, pressing his face onto your shoulder, “Better than freezing, right?”

Sure. You roll your eyes, wrestling your way out of his grip, making your way to the bathroom. You barely get to rub the sleep from your eyes before you hear the sheets rustling behind you.

“…You comin’ in?” you call, turning on the shower.

He’s already at the door. Shirtless. Sleepy. Very obviously trying to act casual, like he didn’t rush to follow you the secondyou moved.

“I can help,” he offers, scratching the back of his head. “Y’know. To save water ‘nd stuff”

You stare. “You’re 6’2 and take up half the tub.”

He shrugs. “Could still help. Like holding your shampoo…or you.”

You deadpan. “That second one isn’t helping.”

He smirks. “Maybe not for you.”

But you let him in anyway. Because you’re not heartless. And also… he’s kind of cute like this. Groggy, quiet, lingering too close while you rinse your back.

He’s never touched. Not unless you asked him to. But he watches. Eyes trailing every movement like he’s hypnotized. Like your morning routine is sacred. When you lather your body wash across your chest, he whimpers…for some reason.

You ignore him.

He’s leaning against the tile now, arms crossed like he’s pretending this could be casual. His hair’s damp from steam, curling a little at the ends, and his eyes track the way you drag your hands down your sides. He doesn’t even blink when the suds slip lower.

“You’re pathetic,” you mutter, rinsing off.

“Mm,” he hums like he didn’t hear, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch.

When you reach for the scrub, his hand moves quickly—catching it before it topples off the slick ledge. He doesn’t hand it over right away, though. Just lingers, fingers brushing yours when you take it back. You don’t miss the way his throat works, like he’s swallowed words he doesn’t trust himself to say.

“You’re seriously that excited in the morning?” you tease, working it on your leg slowly.

He laughs, low and sheepish, running a hand down his face. “Yea. Just… for the view.”

You flick a little water at him, and he acts surprised, glaring like you’ve just mortally wounded him. Then he’s grinning, leaning in until the steam carries his voice right into your ear.

“Careful,” he murmurs, “you keep playin’ like that, I’m gonna forget this was meant to be cute.”

You arch a brow, rinsing the scrub from your leg. “I see it doesn’t take much to wake you up. Maybe I want you flustered before breakfast.”

The sound he makes—half laugh, half groan—is all the proof you need that he’s already lost his own game.

You’re sitting at your vanity now, cream satin robe with darker stripes. You did this every morning, applying your skin care like it was a ritual instead of a routine. Toji usually watched as you patted in serums and rubbed in moisturizers.

Behind you, he’s sprawled across the bed, hair wet, shirt scrunched from where he couldn’t be bothered to finish pulling it down. You catch his gaze in the mirror—lazy, but sharp enough that it pins you in place.

“You’re unreal, y’know that?” he mutters, voice scratchy like it wasn’t just steamed in the shower.

You smirk, tapping cream onto your collarbone, watching his gaze lower from your eyes. “And you’re still staring. Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Not any time soon, I can promise that.” His grin is slow, almost cheeky, like he knows the effect his words land with.

You shake your head, reaching for the next jar, but your fingers hesitate when you catch him shifting in the reflection. He props himself up on an elbow, cheek pressed into his palm like he could watch you forever from that spot.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through me if you keep staring like that,” you tease, smoothing cream along your jawline.

He chuckles, low and rough, eyes half-lidded but never moving off you. “Better you than anyone else.”

For a minute, the room softens—your careful dabs of skincare, his quiet observation, the steam still lingering in the air from his shower. Domestic in a way that almost doesn’t fit either of you, but somehow, it works.

“You act like you’ve never seen me before,” you murmur, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Every time feels like the first,” he fires back without missing a beat, and you have to roll your eyes to mask how cute you think he is.

When you glance again at the mirror, Toji’s eyes are already there, fixed on you like you’re his favorite thing to see...you are.

You hum at his answer, dragging your finger along your face as if smoothing cream. “That’s poetic for a guy who doesn’t even use conditioner.”

His brows shoot up. “The hell does that have to do with this?”

“You’re watching me like this”—you gesture vaguely, still facing the mirror, preoccupied with patting in your serum—“like I’m some grand vision, but you can’t even be bothered to treat your hair and skin with the respect it deserves.”

He huffs a laugh, arms folding behind his head. “So now my split ends are ruining the romance?”

“Yes,” you say, flat and immediate, but your smirk betrays you.

The bed creaks behind you as he shifts, and you don’t even need to glance up to know he’s grinning. “Alright then, princess. You gonna do it for me? Sit me down and lather me up like a fancy spa client?”

You finally twist around in your chair, crossing your arms with mock severity. “Don’t tempt me. You’d cry the second I get to comb through your hair.”

“Really?” He leans on his elbow now, chin propped up, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Bet I’d sit through the whole damn thing just to watch you fuss over me.”

It’s ridiculous how easily he flips it back on you, how every joke turns into a thread of tenderness pulled taut between you. You toss the lid of your cream at him—it bounces harmlessly off his chest—and roll your eyes.

“Hopeless,” you murmur, turning back to the mirror, though the warmth in your smile gives you away.

“Mm,” he agrees, stretching out again, voice dropping into that low rumble that settles. “Hopelessly yours.”

You let his words hang, smug in the silence they left behind, before setting the cream back on your vanity. “If you’re going to stare that hard, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He quirks a brow in the mirror, slow grin still curling. “Useful, huh? Thought I was already doin’ my part, sittin’ here lookin’ pretty for you.”

You roll your eyes, then crook your finger. “C’mere, tough guy.”

Toji pushes off the bed with a groan that’s more dramatic than real, padding over until he’s towering behind your chair. You pat the space in front of you. “Sit.”

He snorts. “You talk to me like I’m one of your little pets.” But he does it anyway, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, legs sprawled loose.

You spin the chair just enough so he’s framed between your knees, and before he can ask, your hands are already slipping into his damp hair.

Toji goes unnervingly still.

You rake your nails lightly along his scalp, working in small circles, and his shoulders twitch. “The hell—?” His voice is rough, but there’s a waver there you catch instantly.

“You’re tender-headed?” you gasp, delighted. “Oh my god. You? My big bad mercenary?”

“Shut it,” he mutters, glaring at your vanity like it’s betrayed him. “Didn’t say stop, though.”

You laugh, soft and wicked, slowing your motions as he melts back against your knees. He’s still grumbling under his breath as you rake your fingers through the strands. Every few seconds, a sigh escapes—low and almost embarrassed.

“You’re so cute,” you tease, massaging just behind his ears now, “acting like this is torture when you’re purring.”

He tips his head back to look at you, eyes half-lidded, mouth twitching between a retort and surrender. “It’s like you want me back in bed with you.”

You smirk, thumbs pressing into the base of his skull until his eyes flutter shut again. “Mm, sure. Right after I finish spoiling you.”

And if he wasn’t the dangerous, terrifying Toji Fushiguro who looked like he could fall asleep there, hands brushing your thighs, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. You could’ve sworn he was a different person.