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sommerflue-22 · 11 months

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Hi! I just read starting over and I'm kicking my legs rn!! Anyway, I wanna request something where the hashiras are hanging out, (which is very rare, so according to Mitsuri, a hashira not coming is a no) but Mui decides to ditch them and cuddle with reader under the shade. Then the hashiras went to go find him but instead they find reader and him cuddling. Oh, they're in a secret relationship btw, so yeah, wonder how that'll go.

Thank you❤️

A/n: such a cute prompt i'm combusting >.< sorry for the long wait, i got caught up with uni stuff T^T i hope you like this :D

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Under the Cherry Blossom | Muichiro Tokito

Featuring: Muichiro Tokito, Shinobu Kocho, Mitsuri Kanroji, Obanai Iguro, mention of other Hashira

Content Warning: gn!reader, reader lives in the Butterfly Mansion, reader is a year older than Muichiro, fluff, mention of death, secret relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

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Usually, the Hashira never really got together after their meetings. They always had patrols, emergency missions to go to, or reports to write. So when Tengen's half-drunk ass suggested to Kyojuro for the Hashira to hang out, and after Kyojuro took the initiative to coordinate the whole thing ("It's a good morale booster!"), the pillars gathered for lunch. Kyojuro had reserved a private room in one of the most popular restaurants in the area.

However, Kyojuro realized that there were only eight of them.

"Wait a minute, where is Tokito?"

"Oh no!" Mitsuri exclaimed. "Is it possible that he forgot about this gathering?"

"There's no way he forgot. I wrote the details with semi-permanent marker on his hand," Shinobu said. "Though, I did see him walking to the opposite direction when we left the headquarter."

"He likes that small park nearby, doesn't he?" Obanai piped in.

"Maybe he did forget. We should go get him!" Mitsuri stood up from her seat and hurried to leave the restaurant, Obanai following closely right behind her.

༻❁༺

You closed your eyes and inhaled the spring air. The scent of cherry blossom was pleasant, and the sun was shining but not scorching hot. Such a perfect day to sit back and relax. You were lost in your thoughts, enjoying the nice weather, when a finger suddenly prodded your cheek gently.

"What's wrong, Mui?" You smiled, eyes still closed.

"Hmm," he mumbled, "You're sleeping?"

"No, I'm not. Why?" You finally opened your eyes and was immediately greeted by Muichiro's face, only a few inches away from yours.

Muichiro tilted his head and leaned back into his original position, arms around your torso and his head rested on your shoulder.

You cooed at him and caressed his cheek. It's one of your most favorite thing about Muichiro, his soft cheeks. You remember the first time he let you touch them, how you felt so warm and fuzzy all over your body.

You've always adored Muichiro ever since you first saw him in the Butterfly Mansion. You were assigned to take care of him when he came back from a mission. Every day for almost three weeks, you delivered his meals, changed his bandages, gave him his medicines. He never started a conversation, but one day you entered his room and he stared at you with wide eyes.

"You... Do I know you?"

You were aware of his memory loss, so you answered him kindly. "Yes, I always bring you food and medicines."

"...Deer."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're like a deer."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, so you just continued to give him his meds and talked about the weather outside.

Muichiro often visited the Butterfly Mansion for his check-ups with Shinobu. You weren't always around, busy doing your chores. So, you were really intrigued (as well as Shinobu) because apparently Muichiro often asked where you were. Muichiro didn't know your name so he referred you as "Deer Nurse". Everyone knew you were assigned to be Muichiro's caretaker, so they knew who he was referring to. (Shinobu ended up telling him your name, because he wouldn't stop calling you Deer Nurse).

Eventually, you started waiting for his visits. Every time he's in the Mansion, you dropped whatever chores you had and stopped by to greet him.

"Hello, Muichiro-san!" "Nice weather, isn't it, Muichiro-san?" "How did your last mission go, Muichiro-san?"

You called him Muichiro-san even though he's a year younger than you, out of respect. He didn't react much to your cheerful remarks, but he did answer them.

"Hello, (Y/N)." "It's too sunny." "Huh... I don't know..."

Sitting under the tree had been one of things you started doing after knowing Muichiro. One day you found him under a tree, sleeping as he waited for Shinobu to finish her other business. You curiously sat close next to him, muttering 'good afternoon, Muichiro-san' and accompanied him. He woke up surprised. Not only he didn't sense you coming closer in his sleep, his head was also on your shoulder. You assured him it was fine and you just wanted to keep him company. Muichiro didn't react much, but his mind was racing. He didn't understand why he wasn't aware of your presence in his sleep, why he was leaning on you, why he remembered your face, why he even remembered your name...

...why he wanted to see you every time he's in the Mansion.

Muichiro didn't understand that he was having a tiny crush on you. What started as a tiny crush began growing, getting bigger and bigger. Because you were always there for him, waiting for him with a smile, eager to tell him about things you did or learned while he's away. He didn't understand why his heart was beating fast every time you're around. He noticed those things and reported this to Shinobu.

"...I think I'm going to die."

"What made you think that way?" Shinobu asked.

"My heart races faster than it usually does... and I'm sweaty."

"Do those symptoms occur almost every day?"

"...no, only when I'm..." His eyes widened before he could finish his sentence. Shinobu quickly picked up what caused the young pillar to come to her today, despite not having a check-up appointment.

"Yes, Tokito-kun?"

"...I have to go..."

"Sure. I believe (Y/N) is hanging the laundry outside."

Muichiro didn't even bother to say anything to Shinobu, he just bolted outside her office and made his way to you.

You were hanging the last two sheets that you just washed, thinking about the next chores you were supposed to do. It had been cloudy the past few days, and you just hoped it wouldn't rain that day.

A small, slim hand grabbed your elbow and you yelped in shock.

"W-what..."

"(Y/N), I think like you."

You tilted your head to one side, Muichiro followed. "Muichiro... san?"

"Do you like me?"

Your face turned red. Did you like him? You actually asked yourself that question, again and again. Did you actually like Muichiro? If you're being honest with yourself, you did. That's why you always made time to see him whenever he's visiting the Mansion. That's also why you decided to sit next to him that one time, under the tree when he was taking a nap. However you weren't quite sure, mainly because of two things:

One, you didn't know if he's actually ready for a relationship, considering his job and his memory loss. You thought it could be quite difficult, dating Muichiro. He might not know what to do, he might even forgot that he's dating you. You weren't sure if you're patient enough for that.

Two, you didn't want to lose him. You were aware of his position as one of the pillars. You were aware of how dangerous this job was. You had witnessed many lifeless body brought to the mansion, either for autopsy or for getting cleaned up before the coffin was sent to their family's homes. You didn't want to open a coffin one day and saw the person you've loved and cherished the most lying inside it.

But staring right into his wide eyes, knowing that he meant what he said, all of your doubts and fears were washed away. Muichiro had became an important part of your life in just a few months. He remembered your name, remembered a few things about you, remembered a few things that you liked. Little did you know, he remembered more things about you than he did with anyone else.

"I... do like you."

Muichiro didn't say anything. Instead, he lift his hands, reaching out to cup your face. His eyes were still wide open as he traced his thumbs on your cheek.

"My heart... it's beating faster again."

You chuckled, "Are you happy, Muichiro-san?"

"I think so..."

You knew he probably wasn't familiar with the feeling, so you just smiled. "Can I hug you, then? My heart is also beating faster."

"Yes."

You slowly pulled him into a hug, giving him the time if he wanted to pull away. But Muichiro didn't move, he let you engulfed him in a warm embrace. You could feel his heart beating fast and so could he.

"Does this mean you're mine, (Y/N)?"

"If that's what you really want."

"I want you."

"Then, I'm yours."

"What are you thinking about?"

You snapped out of your thoughts, reminiscing the day Muichiro kind of asked you out.

"Nothing," you answered, looking down to his mint orbs. "It's been a year since you asked me out, Mui."

"Oh... really?" He hummed. "I didn't know..."

"Well, now you know." You pecked his forehead. "I'm happy you did, Mui."

"...You are?"

"Yeah, I'm happy being with you." You hugged him even tighter. "Not gonna lie, I wasn't happy when you said you want to keep our relationship a secret. But, I know that you're just trying to keep us safe."

Muichiro sighed and buried his face on your chest. "One day."

"Hmm? What was that?"

"One day we will live together."

"Ah..."

You couldn't help but imagining a brighter future. No demon, no more fighting. You could maybe get a comfortable, little house on the mountain with Muichiro. Maybe his memory would improve, maybe he'd remember your anniversary date and bought delicious food from the town nearby.

"Yeah, we'll live together."

Muichiro hummed and sighed, content with the warmth of your embrace. "I like you, (Y/N)."

"I like you too, Mui."

Maybe it's too early for the two of you to say the word "love", but it's okay. You still have a long way to go.

Unbeknownst to you and Muichiro, two figures watched from afar as the two of you held each other close under the cherry blossom. Mitsuri was covering her mouth with her hands, trying so hard to suppress a squeal. Meanwhile, Obanai stood next to her, his usually sharp eyes grew soft at the sight of you two. So young and full of love.

"Good for him." He murmured. He really hoped the two of you make it until the end.

"Iguro-san, what should we do? They're so cute... but the lunch!" Mitsuri clutched his striped haori. "Oh, but they're so precious... I think they're asleep..."

Obanai turned around and started walking away. "Let them be. I don't think the kid would want to leave, anyway."

Mitsuri finally squealed once they were far enough from the two of you. "I wanna cry, Iguro-san! They're so lovely! What are we going to say to the others, though?"

"...Just tell them we couldn't find Tokito."

"Eh?! But we did find him, though..."

"You never heard Tokito mentioning anything about his partner, right?"

"Oh, that's right..."

"He might want to keep it a secret. For their own safety."

"You're right... Oh, I hope nothing but the best for them."

Obanai nodded, "They deserve the best."

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny headcanons #kny imagines #kny x reader #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer x reader #reader insert #tokito muichiro #muichiro x reader #muichiro x y/n #shinobu kocho #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #mitsuri x iguro

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shibaraki · 2 years

Text

KINGDOM OF ASHES ┊TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: when you are suddenly uprooted from your life to enter an arranged marriage with Prince Touya you are unprepared for how greatly he defies your expectations, nor for how quickly you fall for him.

tags: AFAB FEM reader (referred to as ‘wife’ ‘daughter’ and 'my lady’), royalty au, prince todoroki touya, arranged marriage, no quirks, historical setting, perceived unrequited love, fictional contraceptives, horseback riding, fluff, angst, protected vaginal sex, vaginal oral sex (reader receiving), dubcon, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, hurt/comfort, canonical child abuse, bathing together, outdoor sex, talk of not having children/preventing pregnancy

wc: 12k

The evening before your wedding is quite fitting. Dark clouds have blanketed the skyline and large drops of rain cascade lazily down the windows, accompanied by a cold draft that intrudes the confines of your quarters, wailing like a lost child. Arriving earlier in the year than anyone expected, the Todoroki kingdom was known for its unbearable summers, but what followed was always a season of rainfall that felt unending.

Prophetic, maybe.

In the morning that follows, you would be wed to Prince Touya Todoroki, the firstborn son of King Enji. Your union had been entirely arranged with between negligent fathers, a Lord with land that held valuable ore, and the King in need of a bride for his son.

Your knowledge of the prince was limited, but that was the same for both nobles and commoners. Prince Touya was something of a ghost to the peoples, a determined boy known for his frail body; he'd been born too early and suffered for it. For years it had been rumoured that King Enji had ordered him killed, his weakness a dark stain on the family name. Touya had not been seen publicly since he was 11 years of age.

Upon your arrival to the palace, you had been covered in a white shawl and quickly led by a servant to the large bedroom you currently reside in. They relayed strict orders for you to stay put until the morning, insisting that you were not to wander the grounds nor come into contact with anyone but the handmaidens assigned to you.

Where you could not see much, imprinted into your memory are the hallways leading to your bedroom, imposing and dull. Walls that tower drastically above your head, littered with tapestries and family portraits featuring only the youngest children. You’d scanned every single one, and none of them included the eldest son, your dearly betrothed, and each of the siblings had worn a permanently detached expression.

As your escort had been making the bed, you’d asked about the absence of your soon-to-be husband and pity had flitted across her face before being carefully masked. The blatant caution surrounding him had not comforted you in the slightest.

The wind picks up and your hair stands on end at the sharp drop in temperature, arms crossed over your chest in an attempt to keep the warm kindling. Sparing a glance at the clock sitting on the bedside table, you realise that the night has drawn closer while you were lost in thought. If you wanted to be at your best for tomorrow's events you would have to retire to bed.

So you rest fitfully, the bed is nothing like your own and you’re scared, but the morning comes sooner than you expect. The assigned handmaidens bustle into the room before you have even rubbed the sleep from your eyes, rushing into your bathroom and beginning to fill the tub. With a heavy heart you slip the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders, the material pooling at your feet, and allow them to guide you into the water.

The maidens manoeuvre you as if you were a doll, lifting your arms and washing you with a cloth, pouring various divine smelling salts into the bath with you. Despite the lack of autonomy, you’re grateful that they’re here. You aren’t sure you could bring yourself to do it in their absence. Practiced hands scrub at your skin until you are a clean slate, a blank canvas for the prince to paint as he pleases. No crevice of your body is left untouched, not even the underneath of your nails, which are scraped free of any dirt. With morbid curiosity, you cannot help but watch as the water retreats down the drain — the ashes of your identity along with it.

When you return to the bedroom you find your dress hung from the large wardrobe door, silhouette haunted and draping across the flooring where the train flares. The fabric is notably heavy and expensive, white in colour to signify your proposed innocence, silky under your fingers. Beside it hangs a thick veil that appears to go on for miles. You would have to wear it for the entirety of the ceremony, forbidden from removing it until you are alone with the prince.

“You will look beautiful, I’m sure,” the oldest maiden present reassures you as she pulls down the gown with great care, her fingers crooked and wrinkled from decades of work. You wish you could have known their names, but after today you would likely never meet again.

“Not that anyone will truly see me,” you murmur, stepping into the dress stiffly, your movements mimicking that of a soulless puppet.

“Your husband will see,” she insists firmly, tugging the straps over your arms in two gentle motions. You'd been informed that there was no need for undergarments — the dress needed to be easy to remove. It was elegant, albeit simple, but not at all what you imagined you’d be wearing on the day of your wedding.

“Are you able to tell me about him?”

The elder handmaid's motions noticeably pause for a short moment before she gestures toward the vanity chair. Once seated you are given the chance to see your reflection, barely recognisable, and patently flawless.

“He doesn’t talk much with the staff, so I can’t be of much use to you. But I can reassure you that he is kind in his own way, my lady. I don’t think he will mistreat you”.

You meet her narrow eyes in the reflection of the mirror and they are nothing but sincere. At the very least, she believes what she is saying, and you take great comfort in it. Brick by brick you attempt to rebuild your mental fortitude, stilling the shake in your breath. Resolved, you nod, and her shoulders visibly relax with the relief.

The veil is lowered over your face.

All that is known to you in your journey to the ceremony are the floorboards beneath your feet, dark in colour and unnaturally charred in certain areas. You do well to ignore the implications, and quell your anxiety by counting each knot, tethered by the grip of a maternal hand. It squeezes in succession, tighter with every step, coaxing your thoughts from any fear as you stumble. The only thing to indicate distance is the daunting, heavenly song of a choir as it grows in volume.

You enter another room. Murmurings and whispers tell of it's grandeur — but it is nothing you are permitted to see. Stifling is the pointed weight of their stares against your back, pervasive in a way. Undoubtedly, given the chance, the lords and ladies of the Todoroki Kingdom would peel away the fabrics from your body if only to placate their own short comings. An understandable curiosity.

Why was it you were chosen, not them?

The elder guides you to a large cushion laid at the foot of the alter, plush beneath your knees as you kneel. You are left bereft in her absence. It was entirely possibly that you would not feel a kind touch again.

Not soon after you are seated, the hushed voices echoing throughout the venue are halted all together. There is no solace in the ephemeral silence, soon broken by the thunderous sound of a group of people rushing to their feet.

A body kneels on the cushion beside yours, mirroring your posture. It cannot be anyone but the man you know to be your betrothed.

“…In the presence of His Royal Highness we will begin the ceremony…”

You find difficult in swallowing. A bitter tang on your tongue. Throat swelling with the bloat of your heart, ears filled only by a pitched, white noise, you wonder if your family is in attendance; if they felt any guilt, or perhaps, they were simply glad to reap the fruits of your involuntary sacrifice.

“…Now, if you will join hands…”

Still puppeted by metaphorical strings, you do as instructed. Holding your right hand out with your palm facing upwards, it is all you can do not to flinch as a large scarred hand appears above your own. Prince Touya appears to hesitate, before decidedly intertwining your fingers together. You do not quite fit the spaces between each knuckle — the skin is smooth, blistering. It carries a heat you suspect will never truly dissipate.

In your periphery, the priest leans forward with a long, elegantly embroidered piece of cloth, and rests it over your wrists, swaddling the space where they kiss. He loops it over twice, symbolic of how your lives are now tied together.

You cannot look away from the hand now legally bound to your own. The skin is discoloured, a deep shade of russet that you recognise to be burn scars. Above the static, the priest is still waxing poetry to the guests about love and duty, how one cannot exist without the other, and your jaw aches with the effort to keep it held shut.

Unexpectedly, from the right you hear a hushed muttering of, “Didn’t think I’d be falling asleep at my own wedding”. To your bleeding heart, it feels like something of an olive branch. You can’t help but to laugh quietly, returning the sentiment. Given the way his figure immediately stills, Touya hadn’t intended for anyone to hear. Yet in the same breath, his grip squeezes, and you begin to hope.

The vows are shared — scripted and foreign in your mouth. Promised to him in mind, body and soul. You daren't count all the lies you had told before the Gods. Something dark and ugly settles in your gut as the both of you are each handed a small cup of red ginseng tea, a well known aphrodisiac, in order to encourage the consummation of your union. To you, it felt like confession. We know you do not truly want one another.

You drink it. The ginseng is slightly salty, the taste clinging like powder to the corners of your mouth, but it is otherwise easy to stomach. The applause that reverberates around the room is not. Wincing at the pinch of your now-husbands nails into the back of your hand, you are atleast comforted by his own discontent. It lessened the loneliness.

It was done. You are now the wife of a Prince.

Surprisingly, there is no room for shame to brew within you as Touya takes you to his quarters, delicately guiding you to the large bed and helping you atop it. The veil falls, the weight of it audibly thudding across the linens, and finally you come face to face with the man you are to spend your life with. Stray strands of saturated red hair hanging over narrowed eyes, paired with irises a piercing blue. His features are strong and distinct in the Todoroki family, yet you do not fear him. A soft curve to his cheeks that is almost youthful, no air of cruelty. He’s terribly handsome even when expressionless.

The stretch of silence causes you exceeding discomfort, though, infuriatingly, your husband seems completely unperturbed. Almost expectant. Touya scrutinises your reflexive flinch at the abrupt knock to his door, enacted in a quiet rhythm that must be purposeful. Due to his lack of surprise, this must be an expected visit. Unveiled but not yet bedded, you turn your head so whoever is there will not see your face, given you are still not broken in — it’s still forbidden.

“Did you manage to find some?” you hear Touya's low murmur, a frown settling on your face as he thanks the stranger and returns to his knees in front of you. Before you can question him, a cup is thrusted towards you, and you take it with both hands, gasping at the stinging heat. Rippling in staccato rings, the liquid appears to be wine, a dark rouge colour, aside from the flowered plant floating on the surface.

“This is…?”

“Boiled pennyroyal and wine,” he says, voice entirely flat and void of emotion. It's both explanation and instruction. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach, the evolving tremor in your hands causing the wine to lap messily at the rim of the cup. It was a tea well known for preventing pregnancy.

“You... do not want children?” you ask weakly. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sound ricocheting between your ribs.

“No,” he replies sharply, before his tone lowers into something considerably softer, adding, “not right now” in what is a poor attempt at making you feel better. It's difficult to say whether or not you are relieved by the prospect. Bringing the hot lip of the cup to your own, the liquid warms your throat as you swallow it, and the aftertaste lingers awfully bitter.

Touya is slow to undo your gown, gently slipping the fabric over the curve of your shoulder. It is neither sensual or teasing, rather he’s being cautious, as if he expected you to run off like a skittish animal. The skin of his palms are rough with scarring but he handles you with so much care you barely notice, his fingers hooking into the sleeves and exposing your breasts to the tepid air.

You had never concerned yourself much with the appearance of your body until that very moment. Insecurities crawl their way into the forefront of your thoughts and you shrink into yourself, worrying that he might not want you, might not like what he saw.

He exhales shakily and shifts closer to you, your knees now touching. “Stop that,” he mutters. His tone is firm but not scolding, and he takes your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look back at him. Reflecting back at you is nothing short of lust.

“You’re beautiful”.

“You aren’t unhappy with me?” You ask meekly, hearing the quiver in your voice. There is a flash of frustration in his expression, which is quickly painted over with one of amusement. He lifts a hand to undo the buttons of his shirt, tugging the collar roughly to the side to expose the extent of his scars.

The laugh he offers in response is hollow, “I should be asking that of you”.

In an aborted motion, you move to touch him, your hand hovering awkwardly in the space between your bodies. Touya huffs irritably at your hesitance and pulls your arm forward, fingers coming into contact with the marred skin. He’s warm, and his pulse flutters beneath the heel of your palm.

“Could I ask, how did this happen to you?” you ask.

“Not very good at dirty talk, are you?” he laughs again, comforted that this one is bright and genuine. He gently guides you back until you are laid out along the mattress with only your upper half unclothed. Touya looms over you with both arms resting either side of your head, his knees tucked under your legs. Your blood thrums at the realisation that you are now pinned to the mattress, like a butterfly.

“Have you ever fucked anyone?”

Dilated pupils flicker across your face in search of any discomfort or anxiety. You shake your head, too embarrassed to speak. He hums in acknowledgement but seems neither pleased nor disgruntled by the confession. The seed of insecurity in your stomach takes root as you ask, “Have you?”

“Yes,” he says plainly. It doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“Will you continue to?”

There is an edge to your voice at the thought of him sharing a bed with someone else. You’re aware that some wives allow their husbands to take a mistress -- it is looked down upon, yet especially common in arranged marriages in which there would be no love lost. But even though he was practically a stranger you felt deathly possessive of him. As your husband, he was now yours alone to love.

“Would that bother you?” he smirks, an infuriating air of condescension along with it, “will you tell me to stop seeing other women?”

Jealousy has caused you to overstep. “You’re my Prince and my husband,” you shiver, wishing you could move away and bow your head in apology, “I shouldn’t make demands of you”.

No punishment follows. Instead, the fleeting, tender press of his lips to your temple. “You are my wife,” he murmurs, “if anyone is going to demand things of me, let it be you”.

His given permission sparks like flint to rock in your centre, and you try not to preen. “It would bother me”, you tell him, and the smirk softens. In some way, you think he looks enamoured by your jealousy, by you, as if being wanted wholly was completely new to him.

“Then no,” he relents, “I won’t”.

Relief clouds your senses, and you are startled from your lull of security by the touch of a hand to your breast, his thumb slowly circling your nipple. Instinctively, you arch upward to follow the warmth amidst the chill of the room, skin alight under his touch. You ache to see more of him, weighted by a sense of vulnerability given your own nakedness, but as you reach to unbutton his shirt mottled fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you. A quiet thought whispers that perhaps you weren’t the only one here feeling insecure.

Wordlessly, Touya's hands then clutch at the softness of your hips in order to turn you onto your knees, so you would present yourself to him. You resist it, twisting to give him what you hope to be a pleading look. “I’d like to stay on my back,” you tell him, “I want to see you”.

His mouth falls agape, shaping around words that he can’t find. In processing your request, the pressure of his blunted nails grows steadily against your skin. The answer becomes clear when he relinquishes your hips, dragging your lower half unceremoniously into his lap as you turn. He begins to unbutton his shirt with a trembling hand, the other preoccupied with mapping out the lines of your body. Your knees press together reflexively as he hooks the back of your thigh, prying them open to expose your sex, and something about the salacious look in his eyes makes you feel as if you’re being revered.

A shiver rushes through your body as his thumbs settle into the creases of your thighs and gently pull apart your labia. “Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, silken shirt finally falling open and revealing the expanse of his torso. He’s lean, toned, his shoulders and chest broad, his stomach seems to be the softest part of him. He’s held together by scars, raised and uneven, the pigment a little darker than the rest of his skin.

“Still want to be on your back?” he asks expectantly, as if it were a given that you want to be turned away from him.

“Yes,” you insist, bravely tracing the pads of your fingers along the glossed skin that covers his forearms, only pleased that he’s allowing you to touch him. His breathing shutters, eyes falling closed briefly under your tender ministrations.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not if I take my time with you”.

Your worries must show patently on your face, you think, as he immediately seeks to reassure you in an offhanded manner. It was already becoming obvious to you what kind of man Touya is, one that does not seek comfort or depend on anyone – a man that hides his affections in plain sight.

Without a modicum of shame, Touya laps at his fingers until they're sodden, and your lungs seize as you feel them press up against your pussy. Their movements are languid, lightly circling your entrance before spreading your wetness over your clit. You can’t help the appreciative hum that vibrates through your chest like a soft purr.

“Touya,” you breathe.

You’d touched yourself before but it had never felt like this. A mans touch was foreign. His fingers are longer, thicker, and acted with more experience than your own. He sinks into you slowly, instructing you to exhale and relax your hips, lips grazing along your inner thigh. Heat simmers under your skin the longer he stares, not at your pussy but at your face, waiting for any indication that you’re uncomfortable.

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. All this intimacy wouldn’t be good for your heart. You knew it wasn’t common. With only the horrors passed to you through word of mouth, in the months leading up to your wedding, you’d prepared yourself mentally for pain and inconsideration. The expectation was that you would be manhandled and sore, not that your body would be gently coaxed into bliss.

Two fingers curl upwards inside of you, a come hither motion towards your belly, and both thighs clench against his shoulders. As if to sate his own urges rather than your own, Touya leans forward with haste and takes you between his lips, tongue tensed to trace patterns over your clit.

His breathes come hot and laboured through his nose. “Fuck,” you choke, barely a whisper that tapers helplessly into another moan. Almost. The sensation begins as something like a trickle, pleasure slowly seeps into your lower body and the intensity grows into a wave, your chest rising and falling with the tide. Your fisted grip on the silk linens tightens, legs seizing forcefully around his head, and he groans happily as you cum around his fingers.

“Gods. Look at you,” barely cognisant, you watch as Touya grins while bracing himself over the pillows, forearms either side of you, mouth pulled taut and still slick with arousal. When he licks his lips to taste you again, you finally think you understand what temptation means.

“You’re perfect”.

Spurred into action, you fumble as you reach for his belt and pull at the buckle, the tremors of your orgasm still fluttering between your legs. He laughs warmly at your attempts, taking purchase of your hands and resting them atop your sternum so he can attend to it himself. Embarrassment floods you, having wanted to do something for him, too.

All is forgotten when he rolls his hips, the length of his hard cock sliding against you. Pleasure frissons through you as a relieved sigh falls from his lips. He’s big, you think. From above he seems to get lost in it, lost in you, his hands kept busy massaging firm shapes into your thighs. When the head of his cock catches against your entrance you tense involuntarily, and he hushes you.

“Breathe,” he commands gently, pressing himself into you slow, “I’ll make it feel good”.

The stretch is unfamiliar and minutely uncomfortable, made easier by your earlier release. As you exhale, the sting lessens until there is no pain at all to be felt. Skin to skin, he waits in the cradle of your hips, letting you adjust to his length, his expression straining as your sex pulses around him.

“Please”.

Given permission, Touya moves. The tedious pace inwhich he pulls out has to melting into the sheets, savouring the drag of his cock. Your breasts shake with each rock of his body, his eyes enraptured, half lidded and following every movement. Your inhibitions are lost, hands flying up to grip his biceps, nails embedding themselves into the pinked skin of his shoulders. He indulges, bends to nip at the sensitive skin of your chest, and you arch into his mouth as he continues to transverse the length of your body to tuck into the crook of your neck.

The rhythm is purposeful, deliberate, playing to the obscene wet slap of skin bouncing around your newly-wed quarters. He groans and the sound is so unrestrained it has your toes curling against the bed. “I’m going to– again–!” you warn between stuttered breaths, too far gone to be ashamed by the clumsy jerking of your own hips as you attempt to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck– yes,” he grunts, movements devolving with the desperate need for release, “cum for me, baby”.

Quaking, tension weaves into the sinew of your body as the air catches in your throat. Eyes squeezing shut, your arms lock around the expanse of his back as you crest, in a feeble attempt to cling to reality.

You resurface in time to feel the final, abrupt thrust of his hips as he cums inside you, abdomen clenched as he curls into himself. Panting through it, Touya's brittle whines are hot against the underside of your jaw, limp arms still wrapped around him to keep his comforting weight close. You don’t want to let go.

The contentment does not last. Your arms fall away as he sits upright, his cock gradually softening inside of you. His vermillion hair dishevelled in all directions, a thin sheen of sweat along his forehead, a blush adorning his cheeks. The unkempt and blissed is a charming look on Touya -- it tempts for further intimacy that you aren't sure is allowed.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

Blinking, you reply in wonder, “There was no pain at all”. He snorts, a tired yet cocksure smirk pulling at his lips. He is considerate even as he pulls out, massaging aimless shapes into your pelvis to soothe any aches, but that does not stop you grimacing at the emptiness that is left behind – nor at the sensation of his cum slipping down onto the bedsheets.

The chill is gone, air thick with the smell of sex. He curses grumpily at the mess and gets to his feet, hastening over to the bathroom only to return with a wet cloth to wipe you with. You fight the haze just to watch him kneel between your legs and gently clean, exhaustion seeping steady into your bones, wearing a tired smile at the small act of care. You think that perhaps, you really could grow to love one another.

It isn’t until you are falling into sleep that you realise he never kissed you. Not once.

The morning after the consummation of your union you awoke alone in your bed, and as your arm had slid along the mattress you noticed there was no warmth to be found. In hindsight, the absence of a loving kiss was somewhat predictive; as for the entire month following your wedding is largely spent alone or with the gardeners, Izuku and his mother Inko, whose family had supposedly been hired to tend Todoroki land for generations.

It did not take you long to realise you might have been naïve in thinking this marriage would be a loving one so soon.

Prince Touya seemingly avoids you at every turn, even going so far as to retire to bed late when he thinks you are already sleeping. He treats you like you are unsightly, yet when he climbs under the sheets he would cradle you against his chest, unaware that you’re awake, and press a tender kiss to the back of your hand – never your lips. Not only do you find his behaviour confusing, it hurts, much more than you thought it would, given you had been strangers not long ago.

But you’d vowed to him your life and your heart, let him have your body and honour. You hoped he would eventually do the same.

Regardless of his attempts to stay away, you would still make the effort to find him on the palace grounds. As lost as you might become in your endeavours, you were determined to have him face you at least once a day as a reminder. I am here, I am your wife.

Such is your goal for the day. Left to your own devices once again you find yourself wandering by the kitchens, lured in by the delicious smell of baked goods. You weren’t often informed of happenings in the palace – even after being wedded to the Prince you held no real standing – but you had heard excitable whispers from the staff that morning. Princess Fuyumi would be visiting, and she was known to have a sweet tooth.

The scent is tempting, and it calls to core memories from your childhood that you might’ve otherwise forgotten. Muffled voices and girlish tittering can be heard down the hallways, interrupting your moment of nostalgia and piquing your curiosity.

“...It’s too bad Prince Touya is married now, he never comes to see me anymore...”

You stumble at the mention of your husband's name and quickly conceal yourself flat to the wall, hand pressed against the cold brick to steady yourself. The maidens seem to have taken no notice, and had they caught you there would be no consequence, yet your pulse still echoes loudly in your ears.

“He’s a good lay, isn’t he?”

“I’ll miss his mouth, that’s for certain,” another laughs, “my beloved husband has never made me feel that good”.

Your blood turns to lead, a heavy stone settling into the pit of your chest with the realisation that these were the women he had been with in the past. He had touched them, tasted them, much in the same way he had you.

Touya hadn't been dishonest about his conquests, there was no reason to be. And you had been aware, even before his admittance to you, that he’d likely had other partners. But simply knowing and coming face to face with them were entirely different. Their gossiping offers kindling to an anger you hadn't known existed before now; it is less about him bedding them, rather, you wished they wouldn't discuss it so openly. At the very least, out of respect for you.

Twenty seconds is all you'll allow. As the time is up, you slap your hands to your cheeks to startle the tears out of your system and supress the hurt. A valley fold, a reverse tail -- one corner at a time, you take the insecurity and shape it into the mental image of an origami swan, and you tuck it away.

Clutching at the fabric of your skirt, heart steady, you choose to focus instead on the positive. Even though he clearly wasn’t touching you, Prince Touya was no longer seeking them out for sex. He’d respected your wishes, and the knowledge placates your anxiety.

Lifting the drapes of fabric pooling at your feet, you quickly turn to flee the corridor as the voices grow louder. Following the winding corridors, you make your way through the palace in search of the training area where you knew Touya would be with his brother, Natsu. You were still completely lost on the layout of your new home, every day that passed you seemed to find a new place to explore. In truth, you didn't think you were ever going to get used to living here.

Stepping through a large doorway into a padded room, your sights are set in on the distant figures of two men parrying with their swords. The left figure built, the right more lithe, quick on his feet. Your husband is smiling, and it is not because of you. A draft billows into the open space, and you wrap your arms around your chest, all the while childishly fantasising about Touya rushing over to offer you his coat.

“Are you alright?” a gentle voice calls out to you, and your body flinches at the sound.

“Heavens,” you gasp, alarmed hands clutching at your chest as if to smother the startled beat of your heart.

You whip around, and in doing so, come face to face with your new sister in law. Much like her other siblings she is undeniably beautiful, but with eyes much brighter in person, and a sweet smile that naturally begins to undo the knots in your sternum.

“My apologies, Princess Fuyumi,” you bow deeply and meet her gaze as you lift your head. “I was just looking for Prince Touya”.

At the mention of her brother, the placid smile widens into a grin. She is so content in her own presumptions of your marriage that you almost feel guilty. She takes your hands into hers with renewed enthusiasm, “How is he treating you? I trust all is going well?”

You try to muster up a genuine smile, intermingling a smidgen of truth in with the lie so it might be more acceptable, “It is going well. Though, I haven’t been able to spend much time with him”. But the Princess is as observant as she is kind. Fuyumi’s expression fractures slowly, grip tightening around your fingers and running the pad of her thumb along the line of your knuckles. The act of comfort is overwhelming after so long without a kind touch.

“Arranged marriages are difficult in the beginning, I can tell you from experience,” she offers sympathetically. “you were two strangers, now forced to navigate life together, you mustn't let yourself be disheartened by these growing pains”.

“It will eventually get easier”.

You nod in agreement. Fuyumi needn't know that she was only repeating to you what you had already been telling yourself -- though from her mouth, you heard it as a plea for her brother rather than a comfort.

“My elder brother has been through a lot of hardship,” Fuyumi continues with an almost motherly cadence, casting her gaze across the training grounds to observe as Touya and Natsuo continue to spar, the sharp sound of their weapons colliding can be heard even from this distance.

“He doesn’t know how to show love because it was never shown to him. He was hidden away and told he was unsightly. When Shouto was named heir and he had his claim to the throne stripped from him, political marriage was his only use. And even in that, he had no choice”.

A frustrated, pained retort of 'neither did I' sits heavy on the edge of your tongue. You remain silent, briefly glancing towards the tall ceilings to will away the sting behind your eyes. Unawares of your presence, Touya moves seamlessly with his weapon, wielding it as if it is an extension of his body. In spite of his irregular bouts of ill health, his body is lean and strong, his instincts impressive and reflexes refined. You knew from the books he kept in his personal library that he was intelligent, driven and curious. He would’ve been a good king.

Fuyumi settles her hand between your shoulder blades, the warmth seeping through your clothes, “If I know him as well as I think I do, I would say he likely avoids you because he thinks that is what you want”.

You balk at the notion, brow pinched with doubt as you glance towards her. “Why would I want that?”

Her expression is melancholy, and not once does she look away from her brothers. “He knows that if given the choice, you would not have picked him”.

“That's--!”

“--But! I think you’ll be good for him,” she interrupts, “I trust you’ll make him happy, though I didn’t expect him to run from his feelings so quickly”.

Before you can give a rebuttal, a yell of victory calls for your attention. Across the room, your husband throws his hands up in celebration as he stands over his brother, the tip of his sword tucked against Natsu's throat. Touya brandishes a bright grin, genuine and joyous; one that steadily dims as he meets your eyes, and narrows at whatever he sees beyond your figure.

A squire strides in through the doorway, pausing at your side. Your back straightens expectantly. Touya helps his brother to his feet, all the while keeping his dubious glare on the attendant, his shoulders strangely stiff. You had never seen him so apprehensive.

Voice monotonous and dutiful, the man falls forward into a deep bow, “King Enji wishes to meet with you before the evening feast, my Lady”.

Touya's strides forward with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, footfalls loud as he hurries. He does not slow in his approach, crowding in uncomfortably close until he has inserted himself between the two of you, and the squire takes tentative step back.

“What does the bastard want?” Natsuo demanded, while Touya's remains surprisingly silent, maintaining a wide stance with half of his body shielding you from view. Fuyumi reaches forward for your hand, clasping it between her own, and pulling you further back to her side for reassurance.

You sought no comfort from the action, rather it frightened you. They were defensive on your behalf for reasons you couldn't understand. They were protecting you from a servant who was here at their father's behest, and seemingly, they did not want you anywhere near the king.

“I am not privy to that information, Your Highness,” the squire replies, “and the King does not think you are either”.

In the end, it is a helpless affair, one you cannot run from. Fuyumi releases you as you are beckoned, and the concern in her expression so stark it disarms you. As you pass Touya, he reaches for your arm.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, gently circling his thumb against the sensitive skin of your wrist, holding you in place until the servant pointedly coughs.

Guided deep into the maw of the Kings quarters, you feel a daunting sense of nostalgia. A prophetic dread hangs over your disposition just as it had the night before your wedding, only this time your source of comfort is the phantom warmth of your husbands hand.

The squire takes pause outside two large doors, arching atleast ten feet tall and guarded by two armour fitted knights. Without preamble, he pulls taut the rope hung beside the doorframe. A bell rings and both doors slowly swing open in return, the wood complaining beneath the movement.

King Enji stands foreboding by a wall of full length windows that look out onto the gardens. The room itself appears to be an office type space, a grand and beautifully carved desk sitting in the centre of the room with a large cathedra behind it and two cushioned arm chairs opposite.

The squire bows to his King, and then to you, before taking his leave.

“Sit”.

The fine hair on your arms stands on end despite the lack of a chill. Now alone together, King Enji stirs an instinct buried deep in your marrow that is almost primal. You, a well meaning rabbit, lured into the den of an apex predator. Enji is a colossal, imposing presence even without his armour. A king revered and feared by millions and rightly so – if the sensation of fury could be given a human form, it would surely take on his appearance.

“It’s an honour to finally meet you, Your Royal Highness,” you speak clearly as he prefers, and keep your back straight when you bow before taking your seat. Any attempts to smooth the tremble in your reply prove to be futile, but as you meet his calculating, amused stare, you realise that it pleases him.

“Touya was born a month early, were you aware of that?” Enji asks as he walks the length of the room to an array of glass bottles, the sound of wine being poured only slightly louder than the blood rushing in your ears. You shake your head in response, still unable to trust your voice.

“He almost killed his mother. A monstrous little thing,” he hands you a cup, half full of red wine, and the liquid swills against the lip of the glass as you shake.

A baby, you think. Not a monster, a baby.

“For months he refused to be taken from his mothers breast. He was weak, falling ill at the slightest change in weather. An embarrassment to the bloodline, really”.

There is a pregnant pause, and for a moment you fear that he expects you to speak, but he instead glares at the wine you have not yet sipped.

“Do you dislike wine?” he asks, and you quickly hold the cup to your lips, swallowing back the bitter taste while fighting to keep your expression neutral. It was strong, and left your tongue unbearably dry, but it satisfied him.

“He grew to be stubborn and sharp tongued. Qualities that I would not mind had his confidence not been so baseless, pathetic. He caused me nothing but trouble,” the King returns to the grand chair adjacent to where you sit, his form still seeming to tower over you even while seated.

“It is unfortunate that the fire did not kill him”.

You feel your helplessness more than ever in that moment, beneath the weight of his heinous grin. He is telling you all this because you cannot do anything about it, because he wants you to view your husband as weak, pathetic and disfigured. Touya was born into failure, that’s what his father thought, and he would not let his son escape from that reality. Not even with his own wife.

“Your union with Touya has been of great benefit to me, and for that I thank you,” he says, his index finger tapping heavily against his wine glass. “I can only apologise that these are the cards you were dealt”.

He felt sorry for you. He pitied your marriage to his son. This was not a meeting between a father and his new daughter, no, you were here to be undermined and intimidated. It was all a show of power, a show of wealth and status.

‘I did this to my own son, think what I could do to you’.

“You will forgive my imprudence,” Enji begins after swallowing all the liquid in his glass in one, quick gulp, “but did Touya finish inside you on your wedding night?”

Momentary white hot embarrassment, coupled with anger, flashes through you at his question, his lack of respect for privacy within your marriage, and his lack of respect for your husband. Your grip on the wine tightens so much you fear it might shatter.

“Touya may have failed as my heir, but he still has a duty to carry on our bloodline,” he continues, “that falls to you”. You remember what Touya had given you to drink that night, the lengths he had gone to ensure you could not be impregnated, and allow yourself a deep inhale to steel your resolve.

Loosening your shoulders as you meet his prying eyes you answer, “yes, Your Majesty”.

You are met with another member of staff upon your dismissal, there to escort you back to your quarters. The journey across the palace feels longer, suffocating, and paranoia prickles at your heart.

You had lied to a King.

To your surprise, Touya is waiting for you on the edge of your shared bed as you are led back to your room. There is an apparent nervous energy puppetting his body, wild eyes flickering across the length of your clothed figure.

“Bathe with me,” he instructs you.

“What?” you stammer, crossing your arms anxiously across your stomach. He huffs with frustration.

“I said, bathe with me”.

The bathroom you share together is much larger than you think it needs to be, but you find yourself grateful for the length of the tub as your husband undresses himself beside you without a care. He climbs in, the surface of the water rising slightly against his weight, gentle waves washing against his chest.

Once it becomes clear he is not going to look away you reach for the clasp at the back of your neck, undoing the buttons and shifting your arms out of the sleeves. This gown in particular has two underskirts, proving troublesome to remove without the help of your maidens, the material eventually pooling at your feet.

Your nakedness in front of him still stirs feelings of vulnerability and insecurity in you, despite having slept together. Touya’s stare is inescapable, the weight of it can be felt on every part of your body. In his eyes is an odd glimmer of trepidation, as if he were searching for something, but you weren’t sure exactly what.

You enter the bath at the opposite end of the tub, thankful for the depth as the water rises to cover your breasts. He doesn’t comment on the distance, but he does lean his body forward to rest his arms atop his knees.

“It is not like you to want to spend time with me,” you mutter with cautious annoyance. He scrutinises you, hesitant as his fingertips tease the surface of the water, almost close enough to reach for your own hand.

“Did he hurt you?”

It clicks, then, what he had been studying your body for. Bruising, or injuries, left behind by his father.

“No,” you reply quietly. You dare not look at him, watching the expression on your face distort within the water's reflection, “he did ask me if you had… tried to conceive with me, on our wedding night”.

A sharp inhale. “What did you tell him?”

“That we tried, of course,” you frown, lifting your head in brief irritation, “do you not trust me, or do you simply take me for a fool?”

“You ought to be careful what you say to me, or else you could land yourself in trouble,” his eyes narrow, cerulean irritation reflected back at you but you felt no true malice from him. You never had.

“You would not hurt me,” you reply in a whisper, far more afraid of your own tendency to be too honest than you were of him, though he could not have known that. Your hands wring together nervously, the water rippling around the movement, lapping the skin of your upper arms.

“What gave you that impression?” he snorts humourlessly.

“Everyone I’ve conversed with…” the words catch in your throat, your anxiety, a prong collar around your neck. Acknowledging that you saw through his act felt like you were stepping out of line, that you were disrupting the script. “They spoke of your unique kindness. You are known as a considerate man, Touya, not a cruel one”.

There is a brief period of unbearable silence, wherein neither of you know how to move forward. Your thoughts run amok in your mind, having learnt so much in so little time, you didn’t even know whether it would be appropriate to ask Touya about his mistreatment. He had been so sure that his father would harm you that he’d abandoned his plans for the evening just to wait for you.

“You don’t feel safe here, do you, Majesty?” you murmur.

He feigns ignorance at your words, denying you a response in favour of reaching for one of the many washcloths folded on a shelf by the tub. He dips in between your bodies, the cotton growing dark as it absorbs the water.

He tips his head toward you, holding the cloth out while nervously swiping his bottom lip with his tongue. “May I?” he asks.

“Oh!” you fight the urge to sink beneath the surface and stew in your embarrassment, heat simmering beneath your skin that you naively wish to blame on the steam, “do not feel obligated, your Highness, I can–”

“You are my wife,” he interrupts, “even if I weren’t obligated, I want to”.

There it is again, the intimacy, the sudden affectionate actions that cause your mind to reel. You wished he would just decide what he wanted, to leave you be entirely or to let himself be loving.

“Why are you crying?” He frowns, reaching out his other hand and hesitantly swiping his thumb across the dampness of your cheeks, yet you pull back from his touch. His voice is quiet, rough, it mingled so softly with the echo of the water you almost mishear him. You’re tempted to laugh at the question, at how oblivious he has been to your loneliness, words coming between stuttered breaths, Touya’s expression blurred behind tears.

“You needn’t pretend to care about me, Touya—” He clicks his tongue sharply with frustration, fingers gliding down your throat to cup the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his.

“That is quite an assumption to make,” he rasps.

“What am I supposed to think?” You tremble, fingers meeting the raised skin of his chest as he moves to your end of the tub, “you haven’t touched me since our wedding night. You haven’t even kissed me”.

“That’s what this is all about?” He breathes, the words warm against your lips, his nose pressed to your cheek, “my sweet little wife wants me to kiss her?”

“Don’t mock me,” your voice still meek despite your efforts. To your disappointment he pulls back, only slightly, instead choosing to run the wet cloth over the curve of your shoulder and down the planes of your back.

“My sister scolded me while you were gone, you know,” he eventually says, “she said you do not have the ‘glow of a newlywed’”.

You don’t know how to respond, so you remain silent under his ministrations, complying when he quietly asks you to raise your arm from beneath the water. He takes your hand delicately, thumb twisting your wedding ring as he drags the cloth down the length of your bicep to your wrist.

“I’ve been... neglectful,” he admits in place of an apology, giving a subtle shrug of his shoulders, “I was never meant to be anyone’s husband, and I don't particularly know what love is”.

An exhale of breath, his fingers intertwine then with yours, ”but I would like to try”.

“Okay,” you faltered, a small flame of hope flickers in your chest that you’re quick to smother. At the very least, you would give him the opportunity to try, nothing else.

A strained air of awkwardness descends upon you both as you exit the baths and begin to dress yourselves. Touya still hovers close by, lifting his towel to dry the stray drop of water that cascades the dip of your collar, your heart stuttering where it sits beneath your ribs.

His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your nape when you struggle to hook the clasp, carefully fastening the back of the gown for you.

“Thank you,” you bow shortly, fighting the heat spreading through your body. Somehow, you find that small touch flusters you far more than bathing with him did.

The feast for Fuyumi is a moderate affair, attended only by close friends of the Royal Family. Uncharacteristically, Touya keeps his hand resting on the small of your back as you enter the dining hall together, and to your relief, neither of you seem to garner much attention from the guests.

A musician is seated at the grand piano, playing a soft alluring tune to serve as background noise to the conversations around you. You distantly wonder if your wedding had taken place here, unaware of the heterochromatic eyes following you across the room.

You take your seat beside your husband, a server immediately leaning over your shoulder to place the starter in front of you, then another cutting in from your left to fill your glass with sake. Now that you’re surrounded by families of wealth and high standing it becomes glaringly obvious how little they think of your husband, and by association you, as evidenced by how the two of you are blatantly ignored.

Touya slumps back into his chair with a loose grip on his drink, the other arm sliding across your lap to take your hand with a pointed glare toward the head of the table. You dare not look and begin using your free hand to eat.

“What is it?” you inquire under your breath, savouring the taste of the wagyu beef. Your circumstances could certainly be much worse.

“Shouto is staring,” he gripes, lifting his chopsticks and playing with his matsutake gohan like a picky child. Todoroki Shouto, the youngest sibling and heir, the one you had yet to meet. You raise your head to glance in the direction of the King, knowing that is likely where he’d be seated.

He is staring. Unblinking, his head tilted toward his father as if he were still listening to the man, yet his gaze remained on you. Even at this distance you can sense he is young, a youthful swell to his cheeks and a peculiarity you cannot seem to put your finger on.

But his eyes are harrowing. He seems desperately lonely.

“Do you dislike him?”

Touya snorts, “he is the golden child. Everything I am not”.

“He’s only a boy,” you say, tone forlorn and low with the King's words fresh in your mind, “just like you were”. The sharpness in his demeanour dulls into something soft, contemplative, and the squeeze of his hand causes your wedding ring to press uncomfortably into your skin.

Somehow you manage to eat from all five courses, conscious of the leftovers and not wanting to seem rude, but the people around you have no issue pushing their plates aside once they’ve had their fill. Even with a Lord for a father you’d been taught to never waste a meal, and it served as a harsh reminder that some people did not need to concern themselves with such customs.

Touya does not eat much, his distasteful scowl remains a permanent fixture well into the evening. Once people begin to step away from the table to socialise he suggests that you retire to bed early, the sharp rebuttal on your tongue quickly swallowed as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Believe me,” he rasps, “you will not be missing anything. I almost envy you”.

The bed is cold when you climb into it, as it always is, and Touya joins you late, as he always does.

You are coaxed from sleep by the sensation of a warm, heavy hand cupping your cheek. Blinking against the morning light that floods into the bedroom, your eyes slowly adjust to the silhouette of the figure still laid beside you. Touya watches as you shake off the last dregs of sleep, his lips crooked as he fails to stop himself from smiling.

“You’re here,” you mumble, voice still slurred and dipped in exhaustion. The smile tightens, a flash of guilt reflected back at you in azure eyes.

“I’m here,” he assures quietly, “I thought if you felt up to it, I could take you riding”.

You recall then his promise of trying to be better. Pushing up onto your elbow, forgetting yourself as you reverse your positions, you lean into his space excitedly. “A date?” you ask, rubbing the thin overnight crust from your eyes. Touya smirks, the chub of his cheeks deepening the laughter lines by his eyes, your enthusiasm entirely contagious.

Once you’re dressed, switching your skirt for riding pants, he leads you out to the stables. You had not yet explored this part of the gardens, a little wary of the stablemen and perhaps the horses themselves, but Touya navigates it well. In the castle the staff will often avert their gazes from him, but here he is greeted loudly, giving you the impression he visited often.

“It’s good to see you again, Your Highness!” an older man with fair, sand-coloured hair calls out to him, a wilting piece of hay hanging from between his lips.

“Jin,” Touya raises his hand in a familiar manner, “my wife and I both require mounts. Bring out Yua for her”.

The man nods before turning to comply with the demand, opening the gate to the third stall and guiding a beautiful chestnut horse that you recognise to be a Morgan.

“She’s our sweetest girl,” Touya murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, “suits you, don’t you think?”

He brushes a surprising kiss to your temple and you lean back into his warmth, ignoring his flirting in favour of watching Jin saddle up your mare. Adjacent to Yua’s stall stands another mare, this one a little taller and blue in colour, that seems to be growing impatient.

“That one’s Nozomi, she’s mine,” Touya explains after following your line of sight, “she’s a Blue Roan”.

“She’s beautiful,” you reply in awe. Jin quickly saddles both Yua and Nozomi, Touya leaning forward to observe with obvious contentment. This was something he enjoyed, and you can’t help but smile at the fact that he was sharing it with you.

“I’ve had Nozomi since I was young, but she’s still cautious around new people,” he says, hooking his fingers beneath the girth strap of Yua’s saddle to make sure it’s secure enough for you. As he’s distracted the Blue Roan stares at you inquisitively and exhales a low, breathy whinny, as if to say ‘come here’. You step forward and raise your hand slowly, allowing time for her to duck her muzzle into your palm affectionately.

“Traitor,” he scolds half heartedly, poking Nozomi in the thick of her shoulder, and she huffs a snort in response.

Touya offers to help you mount and you accept, an abrupt squeak falling from your lips as he lifts you effortlessly and deposits you onto the saddle before swinging himself up onto his own steed with ease.

You welcome the cool caress of the breeze as the two of you ride out of the castle gates. Touya turns his mare toward a clearing in the woods, her relaxed walk evolving until she is galloping ahead of you, his vermillion hair blowing against the wind.

“Race you!” he yells over his shoulder, and you laugh incredulously.

Yua is spirited, but she listens well as you loop the reins around your hands and squeeze your legs against her sides, encouraging her to follow. Her easy trot speeds up until she’s galloping, only a few metres behind Touya and Nozomi, your body rising and falling with her movements.

Despite the ugliness that lies within the family, the Todoroki land is beautiful, fertile and green even with the sparse seasons of rainfall. As you ride the forest seems to breathe around the two of you, inhaling the scent of petrichor and wildflowers as the wind combs through your hair, taken by the sensation of freedom.

You could understand why Touya, of all the siblings, came to love riding.

Nozomi begins to slow as she nears a meadow and Yua sidles up beside her elder, whinnying loudly. You take a moment to appreciate the surroundings – wildgrass untouched, splashes of colour found in every corner and the gentle sound of running water in the distance.

Touya climbs down from her, and with assistance you dismount your horse into his embrace. “There’s a stream just ahead, we can sit and let them drink,” he says, eyes appraising the length of your legs in the riding breeches.

“Stop staring,” you spluttered, the embarrassment only making his grin widen.

“A man can’t stare at his wife?”

You tuck your chin to your chest in an effort to hide your own smile, knowing it will only encourage him. Leaning into his side as his arm wraps around your shoulder, he begins guiding you down to the brook with both reins in hand.

As the stream comes into view the mares walk forward instinctively, ducking their necks to lap at the clear water. He knots the reins loosely around a thick tree branch, patting Nozomi firmly on the back before gesturing for you to sit on a clear spot in the meadow.

You sit with your legs curled to the side, leaning against his shoulder as he plays with your fingers in his lap. The day is perfect, a rare day of clear skies without unbearable heat, the sun warm on your cheeks where she kisses your skin.

“Would you be angry if I asked you something personal?”

“Only if you won’t be angry with my answers,” he conceded.

“Why don’t you want children?” you ask, your voice suddenly startling a partridge out of the long grass. Touya inhales sharply, twisting to watch as it takes flight, a far-off look in his eyes.

“At present, Shouto will be the one taking the throne,” he begins with a shallow sigh, “I was deemed unfit because of my condition. Fuyumi is a woman, and therefore has no claim. Natsuo rescinded his right to the throne when he took the oath and became a knight”.

You nod as he speaks, keeping your gaze fixed on his expression as it sours, “If we were to have a son and something happens to Shouto, the claim would go to him, because I was the first born”.

“Oh,” you whisper.

He turns his hand, your palms kissing as he intertwines your fingers, “I wouldn't want our child to bear that burden”.

His reasoning is understandable, and it placates the small insecurity you held that perhaps he simply didn’t want children with you.

“Do you want children?”

You hum amusedly. “I’d want happy children,” is your decided answer, and he snorts a short breath of laughter, grip squeezing. An silent show of gratitude.

The breeze picks up momentarily and your body turns into his embrace to syphon his natural warmth. His chin nudges against your temple in a bid for attention, and you lift your head to grant him it. His face is closer than you expect, eyes heavy-lidded and dilated as he gauges your reaction.

Short, soft breaths ghost against your lips, and you feel the ache in your chest spread to your stomach, tilting your chin towards him with want. You jolt as he finally kisses you, a tongue tentatively tracing along the seam of your mouth, waiting for signs of discomfort just as he had on your first night. The longing has been accumulating for so long that you feel as if your strings have been pulled taut.

And so they thin, and inevitably snap.

His hand finds your hip, shifting until you are laid amongst the wildflowers, bracing himself over you on his elbows and knees, but as he deepens the kiss he lets his weight sink onto your body. It is every bit as comforting as you remembered it to be.

Like a flood gate had been opened, yearning and want takes ahold of you. Your hands flock along the length of his arms, needing to touch everything, everywhere, but not wanting to seem clumsy or naïve.

He smiles against your mouth, a welcome feeling, and slides his hands beneath your hips to squeeze at your ass through your breeches. The moment slows and the surroundings fade away, your husband seemingly content only to press himself to every inch of you and kiss you breathless.

“Touya,” you sigh happily, muffled by his mouth. He pulls back minutely, followed by a wet string of saliva still connecting your lips.

“How’s that for a kiss?” he asks, and it might’ve sounded mocking had it not been so eager, “or was that not enough for you?”.

Your legs fall open when he pulls you into his lap, hands tightly fisted into the material of his shirt. “We shouldn’t,” you sigh, your resolve crumbling as he begins to forge a path of wet kisses down the column of your throat, “not... not here”.

“No one will see or hear us,” he mouths at the exposed skin beneath the collar of your blouse, “but if you truly want to endure the twenty minute ride home to our bed, I’m happy to oblige you”.

He knows neither of you have the patience for that. You’re right where he wants you.

“Will you kiss me again?” you ask, and his lips align with yours. He kisses you tender, over and over, coming up only for short breaths of air before returning to you.

You feel as your body loses rigidity, melting like softening butter beneath his hands, the heat pooling notably between your legs. He pulls the hem of your blouse out from your waistband, his fingers quick to slip beneath and bunch the material above your breasts.

Emboldened by his affections you begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and this time he doesn’t stop you. Resting your hand against his bare chest, right where his heart sits, you marvel at the pace of his pulse.

You excite him just as much as he excites you.

“I need to taste you again,” he says, the request thick in his throat as he lets himself want, “it’s all I’ve been able to think about”.

“Please,” you breathe.

His movements are a touch frantic as he pulls off his shirt and carefully lifts your hips from the soft grass to spread it beneath your body. Once you’re comfortable he makes work of your breeches, tight as they are on your thighs, and tugs them off your legs.

He hooks the crotch of your underwear and pulls it aside, resting his thumbs in the crease of your thighs. Propped up on your elbows you watch while he slowly eases your legs apart, his gaze unblinking and ravenous.

“Such a pretty pussy,” you recall the words he’d said to you on that first night and feel yourself throb, his mouth falling slack at the sight.

Touya bows forward and takes you into his mouth, running the flat of his tongue through your folds and laving over your clit as he inhales deeply through his nose. Your thighs clamp either side of his head reflexively, and the hazy groan given in return frissons through you.

You feel his fingers flirting with your entrance, his tongue focused only on caressing shapes into your clit. He plays with you, sinking into your warmth only to the first knuckle and retreating, rubbing your wetness between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re not being fair,” you whine, hips rolling up desperately to entice him, and he gives in easily. You remember his instructions to breathe when he finally presses his deft fingers inside of you, fucking you slowly with his hand. A sob falls from your lips, hands dashing into his windswept hair, your cunt pulsing as you squirm with sensitivity.

The pressure builds gradually until it is spreading like wildfire, thighs trembling where they hang over his broad shoulders. Your back arches, chest heaving and hands still tightly fisted into his hair. He moans wanton at the muted sting in his scalp, and you chase the sensation, holding him firmly to your sex as you crest. Molten bliss washes over you, diffuses through you, warming from the inside out.

Touya sits up to brace himself, forearms either side of your head and his grinning mouth obscenely wet. A soft gasp passes your lips as he reaches between your bodies to pull his cock from his pants, sliding himself through the mix of saliva and cum.

This time, as he sinks his cock inside of you, he does so with his mouth pressed to yours. Heat rises to the surface of your skin when he tempts your tongue into his mouth, suckling on it with a pleased hum that reverberates like a purr.

The drag of his cock inside you is as good as you remembered, the smooth rock of his hips seducing you into bliss, whines muffled and swallowed by his fervent kisses. The sun is bright above you, bathing you in her warmth where you lay hidden between the tall grass, the slap of wet skin drowned out by the rush of the stream.

His rhythm changes, both arms slipping beneath your body and holding you tight to his chest while he grinds tight circles into you. “Touya,” you moan languidly, nails curling into the marred skin of his shoulders as you cling to him, his pants hot against your cheek.

He pulls your orgasm from you like loose thread from a sheet, slowly unravelling and unending, your body trembling in his embrace all the while. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, “so fucking beautiful like this”.

You finally feel blanketed by loves potential, held, as he rides you through to your last wave with leisurely strokes until his hips slowly come to a stop.

He lifts his head to look at you, a blush blooming from his neck to his ears and his hair pointed in all directions. It takes a moment for you to realise that he’s still hard. You hadn’t taken the medicine, so he couldn’t risk finishing inside of you.

“Let me,” you mumble, still catching your breath as he complies and pulls out of you. There are a few seconds of mourning, your pussy fluttering around the emptiness as you wrap your hand around his cock. His brow furrows, collapsing onto one arm with his mouth agape in relief.

He grunts, “Tighter”. With three long, firm strokes, he cums across your bare stomach, whimpering as his hips buck clumsily into your fist.

“That was…” your voice tapers off in disbelief, and he laughs breathlessly.

His cock begins to soften and he leans his forehead against yours, eyes held shut and savouring the afterglow before pushing himself upright. He presses a tender kiss to the inside of your knee as he tucks himself back into his pants, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to clean you up.

You reach to cup his jaw as he does, brushing your thumb along the line of his cheekbone, the pink skin smooth beneath your touch.

“Do you apply any ointments to your burns?”

He turns into your palm, “No, there’s no point”.

“That isn’t true,” you say, your voice purposefully gentle, “it’s important to protect your skin, scars are far more susceptible to sunburn you know”.

“Is that so,” he murmurs offhandedly, his lips moving against your love line, folding the soiled handkerchief and shoving it back into his pocket to dispose of later.

You hum an affirmative. “I could make some for you, I’ll have to find some beeswax and…”

He studies you wordlessly through loose, crimson bangs with fond eyes as you list off the ingredients you’d need. Nozomi and Yua whinny impatiently from the brook, reminding you that if you did not return to the palace soon a search party may be sent out. You wished you could carve out this space in time and remain there forever.

The sun dips behind a cloud.

“Let’s go home”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader

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