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Sweat-stained clothing acting like another layer of skin atop his as he frustratingly thread through the halls of their house. The dried blood formed a crust of maroon, itching. Plopping himself atop the sofa, sighing with content as he smells the aroma of dinner, “Darling?”
“I told you to stop calling me that,” you say, entering the room, brushing dirt off your hands as you face him, making an immediate sneer at the blood where you can see them. “Can’t you even clean yourself up before you enter the house?”
“I’m sorry, the day’s been rough, Y/N… agreement about clan territory’s going bad, I’ll go clean-up.” limbs aching as he stood up from the sofa, planting a kiss on top of your head as he passed your sneering form.
As soon as he’s out of view, you sigh, tensed shoulders that always seem to be there when he’s around go down again. You don’t understand why he tries, why he wants to try. Hating him for so long and not knowing what else to feel as you hold onto that anger.
Hissing as he cleans up the shallow wounds from the earlier conflict between the Bakugo clan, he lays back at the chair in his study, silent as he faces the ceiling as bringing his palm gently across his face sighing in frustration as he thought about something far more concerning than the temperamental Oyabun of the Bakugos, “It’s inevitable.”
Despite hating his existence, you do what you always do: prepare him tea when he comes home, because that’s what’s expected of the housewives of Oyabuns, be obedient and serve your husband. What you need to do. The tea is hot but not too scalding, and you brace yourself again when you near his study. You knock twice, not saying anything.
Groaning as his sore body carried itself towards the door, steps heavy across the carpeted floor. Opening the door slowly as he sees your face, annoyance evident on every feature, “Darling, you don’t have to.”
“You know I do.” you bite back, swearing, any more words, as you set the tray on his table, trying not to do everything too fast, especially in his proximity. He smells nice, cleaner. He smells more human this way, less demon of your reality of nightmares. You place the cup and pour him one. “And don’t call me that,” you say as soon as he takes the cup.
Lids heavy not from exhaustion but from sadness from what he was about to discuss, “Endeavor called. He-”, sighing as he combed through his hair with his thick and slender fingers. “You know about it, right? It is mandatory for every Oyabun, especially ones who are handling large clans, to have at least two male heirs.”
You freeze. Heirs. “I thought… I thought we had more time.” You thought you had more time. Before marriage, there were times you thought you could run away. Pack up everything and disappear. But you know he could find you. You know he would. Heirs.
It is inevitable, it’s a must… comfort was what you needed right now, “Y/N, I know-”, but of course you’re frustrated, desperate features that only show you don’t want his trying touch of comfort. A bastard such as him whom you’re only married to for the clan’s benefit… a bastard who you’ll be forced to be one with for the sake of heirs.
Squaring your shoulders, swallowing, “It doesn’t matter. I know what I signed up for. I know my responsibilities. Tonight then, husband?” you meet his gaze, unrelenting.
Sighing, knowing it was no use to do anything but just agree, “Tonight.”, he says as he turns his back from you, sipping the now cold tea whilst looking outside the midnight, star-streaked sky.
You nodded and left, taking the tray and closing the door with an audible click. The hours moved. Waiting in front of the vanity, as you brush your hair with a solid grip. The room, empty, the lights low, the only sounds around the silent room seemed to be your fast-beating heart. Until footsteps.
Doubt was laced with anger. Hatred for himself, after all it was his fault, if only he didn’t voice his interest in your clan that day…
Hesitance was the only clear emotion he can process as he began to knock at the door to their shared bedroom.
Hands pausing as you slowly set the brush down. Suddenly, unable to gain feeling on your legs. Heartbeat too loud while you clear your throat. “Come in.”
Legs stiff as a few strides got him to stand in front of you, thumb and pointer finger lifting your chin to face his gaze, “Dar- Y/N… I know that you don’t want this, but at least let me… let me help you enjoy something pleasurable.”
“At least in times like this, let me help you forget all the frustration and hatred that’s weighing you down. Let me help, Y/N.”
Staring in his eyes— blue, electric, sincere — as you move to stand up, rough yet gentle fingers still on your chin. Even standing up, he was still so tall. “I—” There is so much you want to confess, but instead you followed the warmth of his body. Following him in his movements. “I’m not as good at this as you. So you have to tell me.”
A flicker of warmth arises inside his chest, hope?… It’s much better not to, such feelings are reserved, exclusive for only these times; it won’t last, in her eyes he was still the bastard of a husband: Dabi of the Todoroki Clan, “Do what feels natural, love.”
Love . Hands, hesitant as they rest on his toned chest, eyes resting heavily on your own hands, too aware of his gaze. “I don’t know what is natural. You’re… you’re my first.” Before he can react, you reach in your tiptoes to press your lips to his.
Selfish. A creature enraptured by your beauty the first time they met on the street, a bastard who’s the reason for your current circumstance. He knows; have the sanity to judge what’s evil and what’s pure… but the pull to taint such a soul as clean as yours was enticing. A temptation a mortal like him can’t resist.
Your lips were soft, unlike his.
Your skin was untainted, unlike his.
You were pure. He was corrupted.
He can’t help the want- no. The need to feel you. To have his tongue explore your untainted mouth. To have his fingers lay dirtied trails across your skin.
A tight grip on his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady but everything felt so dizzying. His tongue in your mouth as whimpers and soft moans leaves you. Trying to anchor yourself steady against him, conflicted whether you wanted him closer or further, but the want to have him near you made you pull him towards you, a blur, unsure of whether it was a conscious decision or subliminal as you sigh in between breathless inhales.
You can’t enjoy this, you thought, but his movements were precise and you melt under his touch.
It was wrong. A conflict of morals and ethics. Savoring the taste of you, nibbling your bottom lip. Such innocence were meant to be preserved is what he’d always think as you do your duties as his housewife… but now, seeing you all flushed, lips kiss-bruised, skin in heat, was it really wrong of him to enjoy such a display?
Organized tangles of small chaos ruptures from every part of him; mind battling itself as his body runs on its own accord, wanting to relish every sensation the two of you joined can give.
Gaze hazy, fingers curling to the nape of the man before you, reaching for his hair and pulling him away, inhaling sharply as both of your chests move from breathlessness. “I think that’s enough. I. Ah.” Fingers clenching over your robe as you pulled the tie apart and shrugged it all off. Unable to meet his electric blue gaze. “You— uh, you should take it off too.”
Heavenly . You were gorgeous as the robes slipped off your shoulders. It was then that he decided to drown and muffle the voices shouting inside him. Tonight he’ll be true. Tonight he’ll show you the real him. Tonight he’ll show you what feels natural to him; A natural to a monster who’s aching to ravage his sweet housewife.
Every muffled shout inside his head made it all foggy, but he wanted to show you, to let you experience the distinct taste and sensation of being one. You weren’t like anyone else, you were his wife. He didn’t want to overwhelm such an angelic being from lust. It was all gradual. It should be slow and sensual, like the way he moves toward you. It should be passionate, like the way he descends from your lips down your jaw, trailing along your neck once more. It should be done lovingly, like the way he kneads your breast with both hands. But alas, all the shoulds were fighting with his musts, his needs. A must to ravage you. A must to take you. A must to breed you full with his heirs. A must to see such an innocent face transform, streaked with tears, contorted with nothing but pleasure.
You fall back on the bed with a soft thud, the covers are soft compared to the man before you. Hands are calloused, insistent almost, trying to find treasure in places where they bloom. He moans. He yearns; as hands reach for your shirt, feeling the expanse of your skin, feeling his mouth, hot, as it moves on the hollow of your neck. “More,” you whisper. “I want more… husband.”
Liquid heat was what trails from your collar bone, mouth circling around your areola as rough calloused hands that were covered with sinful violent stains gently traced patterns on your hips. A canvas of beautiful curves, of soft supple skin to be painted. Dirtied. Mulberries and mauve an afterthought of the kisses that were beginning to descend down your stomach.
He lifts his head, gaze determined yet questioning, were you sure? Were you ready? Will you forget, leave? Or will you embrace the monster that he is?
But it was your mewl of “More”, your sweet cry of his title. He liked that. Husband. To be truly yours. To see you swollen with his child. To see you reciprocate his loving advances albeit the circumstance.
Your hands trail down his stomach, getting impatient. Pulling his jeans apart, frowning at his gaze. “More.” Hands, soft but clumsy, finding his boxers and palming him through it. Hearing him gasp. Enthralled by the sound, doing it harder as you kissed the corner of his lips, trying to tell him to leave his confusion. “More, please.”
Savoring, studying every feature of your angelic face, looking for an excuse, for a sign of regret, but all he found was a desperate plea for him. A calling for more.
You were to be handled gently, he was intent on showing you another side to remember him by, a side that’ll leave an explosion of lasting euphoria.
It was all he could think of while he began to spread your legs slowly. The muffled voices in his head, agreeing, for the first time in a while as he softly massages your flesh before tracing your nether region’s outer lips ascending to the bundle of nerves that he’s now carefully circling with his thumb as his other hand teases your slit, wanting to ease a sinful finger inside you, pure and untouched.
Your back arches, the feeling foreign, new, fingers curling around his arms in a tight grip. Heaves and gasps, as another finger slides in, forehead hitting his shoulder. Mind going blank as the feeling of that slow stretch of arousal begins to heighten. Just a few more pumps and you were ready to unravel. “More,” is all you can whimper. You want more of him. More of this feeling.
You were tight, as he added another dirtied appendage, three in total pumping you to your release. It was what he can offer to prepare you before he ravages the innocent girl that you are.
Tainted . It was all he could think of as sloshes of your arousal began to gather along his palm, dripping all the way to his wrist. You will be tainted after all of this. His tainted angel.
The band snaps, everything too much, all too fast; the proximity, the feeling, his fingers curling, as you fall apart. So fast, so much. Shudders rack through your body, heaving, gasping through your orgasm. Falling back on the covers as your heavy breathing fills the room. Tears bunch up the corners of your eyes as you stare at him. “I don’t.” I swallow. “I don’t think that’s how you make an heir, husband. But it felt good.”
Such innocence. Pure. Was he deserving of such a vessel for his heirs? But you weren’t a mere incubator now, were you? He loves you, his beautiful angelic wife. You… do you love him back, a monster like him, whose hands were tainted by blood and sins?
“It was to prepare you for what’s to come, love.”, right hand stroking his enormous shaft as his other hand traces random patterns on your inner thigh, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” he says, smiling genuinely as he places a soft kiss on your forehead.
His lips burn on your forehead, the voice, the smile. Everything is tangled in your head and still you stare at his ministrations, at the weepy tip, the angry red, and let one finger slide down it, hitting a vein, hearing his gasps and groans.
Looking up at him as your lashes flutter, “Thank you.”
Taking a little of the wetness that comes out of him, tasting the liquid as you keep his gaze, smirking, “Mmh. You taste nice.”
Thank you? What for though? It was all a foggy mess inside his head, but as you made the bold move of tasting him it was all clear.
Primal. Instinctual. A movement of foundational lust. He didn’t even process the change in his tactic, the growl lacing his every word, “You can taste me after I breed you full of our heirs, wife.”
Shouldering your legs, before plying your heated body, folding you in the process, stabilizing your position with his weight as he eases the thick tip of his dick inside you.
The feel forces a strangled cry out of you, keeling forward as you gasp at the thick length penetrating to every unused ridge inside, fitting between tight walls, nails that brace against his shoulders tighten, deepen. Enough to draw blood. Breed. It was such a filthy word, a primal word. But as you felt him deep, stimulating places your fingers have never reached before, moving at a pace that continued to tighten the band again and again— rising and rising into a fever pitch — the word loud inside your lust-fogged head. Breed, breed, breed. And you want him. More of him. Everything.
Because he’s yours. Everything he is, everything he has.
“Mine.” you didn’t think, just said it out loud, but it was there, in between another choked orgasm and a cry.
Growls and groans, a symphony of animalistic sounds rooting from pleasure. Mine? He was yours already. Yours from the moment he saw you. Yours from the moment you were his wife.
Head nuzzling into your neck as he continues to pound his cock into you, heaving your lower body, hands holding your hips as he aligns your bodies to meet the force of his thrusts. He groans at your skin as he feels your walls tighten around his shaft knowing that his cock brushed against your g-spot, a muffled acceptance of ownership as he marks you with his teeth tickling your heated skin, “L-love. Only yours.”
L-Love. Only yours. The words are so clear when everything feels so loud, when his teeth sink against tender flesh, fireworks explode behind your eyes as everything comes crashing, legs thrashing wildly, but he doesn’t relent, finding that spot, hitting it again and again as if reclaiming something. His position, his title, his ownership. Everything’s so white, it’s in flashes and sparks. Legs locking against his backside, heavy with the weight of another orgasm as you lock eyes, “Breed me. All of it. All of you. W-want your child. Ours. Please.”
Pounding you to oblivion was one thing, but breeding you until your face was streaked from tears of overstimulation, hair a glorious mess, and womb tainted, filled to the brim with his seed, all of it was once a fantasy that’s now coming true before him.
His innocent little housewife, now a babbling mess of slurring words as he uses your tainted cunt, plowing it with a force way too animalistic, primal, for a human.
“M’ gonna breed you every day. Gonna make good use of your hole. Gonna fill you up with my cum, yeah?”, whispers of sinful promises next to your flushed ear, as he nips at your lobe after his chant.
Words going straight to your brain, taking root inside of it, and playing again and again. Losing every sense of thought and action, being replaced by everything he was promising, wanting nothing more than to please him. Be his. Accept everything in this moment. Hips are tilted in an angle where you can feel everything, going so deep, reaching so far. ‘Yes’ are repeated, chanted, as you can feel yourself falling apart again, the spearing of his cock in a never ending procession of nerves— when the world turns white, knees locking, you strangled out a gasp as you felt him throb and groan at the sudden tightness, a vice grip on his dick that he falters.
Sealing a sloppy exchange of heated kisses as he swallows your cries, breathes in your very air, and intertwines your sound in a sinful harmony before his hips began to stutter while pounding deeply into your core, tip bruising your cervix that was eager to welcome his load, womb thirsty for his seed.
The tight fitting of your walls around his length drove him wild as he throbs and shoots his first load of the night, not stopping as he pounds the load that was coming out of his bulbous tip, wanting to prolong, to preserve, to ingrain every bit of sensation, wanting to replay it in his mind every day. Cherishing your first with him. A moment he’ll never forget.
Everything feels so white hot— his body pressed against yours, the overstimulation from moving his hips, even as everything inside of him burned from the pressure, you felt everything. His cum, warm, shuddering when he pulls back, the feeling of being completely full with him, as you look down at the mess he’s made. You’ve both created. Thick globs of his white seed mixed with yours coming out. You made a sound, processing in the back of your mind, a little frown on your face with your arms still loosely around him. You had drawn blood, you could feel it, but you were focused on everything coming out.
“It’s- all of it is coming out. I-” It feels like a sin too, so you tried to lock your thighs tightly. Meeting his gaze, the euphoric feeling simmered lightly like a sin. It feels unforgivable that new tears come out. “I’m sorry. I-”
The image of your arousal combined together was a sight that made his stomach stirred. Images of your children-to be a picture that he’s very much fond of.
Hands reaching for yours he kissed both wrists then placed a gentle kiss on your saliva-coated lips as he reached for the lowermost drawer on the bed side table. His soft loving kisses were a contrast from the rough make-out earlier, a distraction as he eases the plug between your folds. It was instinct, the words naturally spilling from his parted lips, “I love you, Y/N.”
The words come out before you were able to process them, fingers lightly brushing over my stomach where he was just in. “I-I love you too. Husband. Dabi.”
Though it was a twisted start to your beautiful novel, he was now content in the present with you carrying your third child as your little ones run and play around the house.