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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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seven

Rich and powerful men can marry seven different women in a wild attempt to produce the perfect heir. Todoroki Enji is one of these powerful men, and you’re his seventh bride.

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pairing: todoroki enji (endeavor) x fem!reader

warnings: edo period!endeavor (king henry viii inspo), forced marriage, alcohol consumption, 18+, smut, non-con, dub-con, size difference, breeding kink, rough-sex, pain, degradation, & mind break

word count: 5,750

a/n: fuck that family who started the fire in socal. my campus is literally raining ashes up in oregon. im so tired. two exams monday. im going to be going on meds for anxiety and adhd soon, so thats new. uh,,, this is like LOL its a bit bad,,, but I really, really lust over asshole enji who only wants to breed bitches and thats it. this is for the bnharem fantasy au collab, i wan’t that creative sorry see ya later skaters.

PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS.

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One.

Fate: Spared.

Two.

Fate: Executed.

Three.

Fate: Died during childbirth.

Four.

Fate: Spared.

Five.

Fate: Executed.

Six.

Fate: Executed.

Seven.

Fate: Unknown.

Silks and expensive cloth held a scent that was irreplicable.

The smooth smell of the layers upon layers of fabric wrapped around your body did nothing to quench the building layer of ice in your stomach.

You were scared.

Rightfully so.

Six women came before you, and if you wanted to live, you would have to do better than them.

Marrying the Todoroki Clan head was something that most women could only dream of accomplishing in this day and age. The Todoroki’s, after all, are strong, rich, powerful, undefeated. They held the real power in this age, more influential and notable than the emperor that repeatedly begged the family for support, be it in power, strength, or money.

But, it was also known knowledge that the man who sat at the head of the clan, who held the power of the Todoroki name and future, was a man not to be trifled with.

Todoroki Enji was an endeavor of a man.

There had always been whispers about the head of the family, how he stood eight feet tall, and how his body was not lean like most warriors, but thick and savagely sturdy. His hair was red, blessed by the sun some claimed, or cursed by the devil others alleged. His temper and barbaric nature on the battlefield were, of course, rumored by the people on your lands, who had been indebted by the Todoroki Clan because of their protection and profits.

Todoroki Enji was not a man to be trifled with.

Especially not if the rumors were true.

He was painted as a demon by everyone. Still, Enji was no demon, he was human, and if he was to allow the Todoroki Clan's legacy to continue, he needed an heir… but since he was human, he was aging.

Six women.

You knew that it was six women because you had been alive to experience five of them.

You remember the newly married couple being paraded through the streets.

Todoroki Enji remained hidden within his vehicle's confines while his new wife, doe-eyed, smiling, effervescent, would greet the gathered crowds. You often wondered what they thought when you would conjure in respect for the man who ensured your childhood and adolescence were not corrupted by thieves and horror.

You wondered what she thought when promising the village elders that she would produce a strong, male heir. You raised an eyebrow at the thought that maybe, just maybe they believed that they would be different -- be able to birth a strong, capable male heir.

Six wives.

Twenty children.

Two weak, sickly boys.

A whole clan of girls.

Were they idiotic, blind, or batshit insane to ever believe that they would be different?

You undoubtedly didn’t know.

Three of the six had been executed.

Three of six had been proud to state they would produce a strong male Todoroki heir, noting that his two sons -- Touya and Natsuo -- would be removed from the family as soon as their strong son was born.

One of those three birthed a weak, sickly baby boy. She passed in childbirth and took him with her one day after.

Another of those three birthed four girls, two sets of twins because, of course, they were given two chances. She was executed on treason.

The final of those three had simply pissed him off; rumor had it. Her pussy was too tight, unwilling to sheath the thick massive cock that belonged to him… no point in breaking something that wouldn’t bend when there was more pussy out there (you remember she had been ugly too).

But what you didn’t expect was for his clan members to come through your village's streets with an announcement in hand.

Of the six women before you, three had held significant political power -- the three that survived.

Of the remaining three, there was a poet, the other a woman soldier of his, and the last being a clan member.

You had never known what the decision process was, not even a little bit, so when men dressed in dark robes with the Todoroki sigil and katana’s strapped to their sides infiltrated your village, you were on edge.

“All women who are fertile and beautiful, line up, and no, we don’t care if you’re married,” was the short, almost taunting order, and you had never felt sicker.

You were among the seventy females in your village that matched the requirement they demanded.

Your sight was almost glued to the floor as they walked through you all, your fists grabbing your light blue kimono as the men groped the women in line, teasing the breasts of the pregnant women, rutting their poorly concealed cocks through the valley of asses, shoving between some girls thighs with loopy, proud smiles on their faces, beating any man who attempted to protect any one of their honors.

But you were towards the end of the line, standing where they decided to save for last, and you were helpless to it all. You watched knowing that of the sixty-something women ahead of you, none of them remained.

The whimpers, cries, and whines grew louder by your ear, your spine rigid and sore with its tightness as the girl beside you dropped to the floor in her fear. You couldn’t bother looking at her as the parting of their robes seemed to be akin to gunpowder going off in your ears. The horrified squeal on her tongue being silenced when a cock slammed through her lips, the tears pouring down her face useless, if anything, only encouraging their roughhousing.

Your lip curled at the sound of her pathetic whining, the incessant need of her to tell them that she was not okay with this was nails on an iron plate. It annoyed you, it pissed you off.

“Look at this one,” the snickering laughter of a man breathed by your ear, instantly stilling and freezing the anger that was once radiating like fire from your chest. “She doesn’t look ashamed… she looks like she’s jealous. Maybe these common bitches do have someone good enough for Boss.”

Spluttering gasps and hiccuping cries came from the ground, and you couldn’t even bother glancing at the woman you had known all your life laying on the floor, kimono ripped open, and white, sticky cum dripping from her mouth.

“Well, there’s nothing like taking her out for a test run,” came a sleazy smile, and when two hands gripped at your clothed breasts, you didn’t so much as raise a brow at their perverted actions.

You had won in the end against them. Each perverted, twisted intention they placed against you, dirt crusted fingernails digging into your arms, purpling, throbbing cocks pressed into your backside… it hadn’t mattered.

You didn’t budge.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t make a noise.

A simple smirk remaining on their faces at your inevitable victory against the other women in your village -- against the crying, cum stuffed women who stared at your victorious and stubborn form without a clue on how you managed.

And where did that land you?

In a room with only one window too high up for an average person to reach, white silks and fabrics adorning your body, and ceremonial ornaments in your hair.

Six women came before you, but today, you would become the seventh.

With you, there would be seven women to have wed Todoroki Enji, but you weren’t scared because you feared the fate of the six before you. No, you were much better than them; you already knew that for a fact.

The anxiety that coursed through your veins created that ice pit in your stomach came from one place and one place only.

Your cunt already sobbed at the thought of even attempting at taking his thick, veiny cock you knew was the size of your thigh later tonight.

A virgin like you had no chance of survival.

The doors to your room soon slammed open, and your back stiffened at the sight of a familiar face of an escort you had. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they were focused at the wall, his face tense and tight.

“It’s best we leave now, y/l/n, Todoroki-sama doesn’t like waiting.”

The weight of the white silk on your body felt like a brick when you stood up from your position, and you wondered if the sweat from your pits and palms would damage the kimono -- if it was noticeable. But you had a duty, and as number seven, you had no motive to be executed before even getting the chance to prove yourself.

You knew how wishes worked; the secret was in being silent about your desire… never reveal what your wish was, or the world wouldn’t grant it.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself every time you heard the all too familiar words of: “I’ll produce a fine Todoroki heir,” through the lips of the dead and the divorced. They had spoken it to the universe, acknowledged what they needed, and the cruel world failed them each and every time.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, so consumed by the idea of what would happen tonight, you hardly realized that with the heaving puffing breathes you took to keep up with the man’s ridiculous strides, that you had made it to the shrine that you had been brought to wed.

But you couldn’t even take in the beauty of the shrine to your left because you were more interested in who was standing in the pathway towards the shrine.

Todoroki Enji.

He stood on the stone-paved path, his bulky, beefy arms folded across his chest, the fabric of his kimono taut and tight against his flexed muscle, and a sour frown on his face. It was as the rumors had spoken, you realized when you stopped mere strides away from your future husband, he was a man that looked both godly and cursed.

Bright red hair glistened like copper pans under the sunlight, waving and flickering like a raging fire with every small burst of wind. He stood at almost eight feet high, maybe eight feet, you had no idea. All you knew is that as your feet stumbled when getting near to this man, you were dwarfed, feeling like a child next to their father as you gazed up at his unmoving, scarred face. His eyes didn’t look down at you, but even you could see the clear, sharp blue in them, and for the first time, you questioned reality.

Was this man truly human? Was he genuinely Japanese?

Seeing him before you made your knees buckle in fear, arousal, and anticipation.

You wanted to see what had made the sixth scream to stop.

You wanted to see just what he was hiding behind the ridiculously tight fitted kimono, but your thoughts were yanked away when his hand -- no doubt bigger than your head -- pressed to space between your shoulder blades and pushed you.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” he merely growled, his eyes burning at something a million miles away, and with a small, pitiful whimper, you allowed him to lead the way.

The wedding ceremony was… odd, to say the least.

While you had never been married, you had attended a few weddings within your lifetime already, and never once had it felt so disturbing dead and raw as it had today. This Shinto ceremony, typically doused with symbolism and motifs for the greatest possible outcome for the union between you and Todoroki Enji, was stripped from the shrine walls, leaving the walls barren and cold as both he and the priest proceeded through the ceremony at breakneck speed.

It wasn’t something Enji wanted; you realized that clearly the moment he refused to meet your gaze; his blue eyes remaining on the priest.

Everything the both of you performed together was done haphazardly, the lack of symbols you had always wished to see in your wedding ceremony forgotten, undoubtedly seen as a farce by a man like Todoroki Enji, but still, your heart ached.

You hadn’t noticed when the ceremony had ended; Enji never once allowing you to move, or do anything for that matter, by yourself. There was no use in fighting against a man who’s entire hand fit around your forearm, his thumb even resting against his fingernail -- oh yes, this man was huge.

There was no telling when he paraded you through the streets of his territory, allowing you to numbly speak to the village elders, to allow your parents to press their sweaty palms to your cheeks because god, please, please survive this, their touch practically sobbed. You smiled at them, eyes numb with the reality of what this was going to be for you, but the cheerful tone on your tongue remained optimistic and bright with every passing word.

The scornful thoughts of the sixth woman being too weak to handle Enji had dissipated, and you wondered just what the other five did to survive what you knew was a massive fucking cock hidden beneath the shrowds of his black kimono.

You would survive, you would survive, you would survive.

But far before you were ready to, you arrived back at the Todoroki front, the wooden estate standing sturdy and strong, the air of power and aura almost tangible. The samurai and clansmen who had undoubtedly awaited for you and your now-husband (that was still odd to think about) to return. Pairs of warm, weathered hands helped you from the carriage, and without so much of a whisper of thanks, they escorted you away, heads bowed at the mercy of their leader.

Once more, you were abandoned in your room.

The window no longer allowed the streaming setting sunlight in, your room was in the eastern part of the estate, and with the nighttime coming, the setting sun was merely a memory to you.

And in that room, the tiny, unspacious room that seemed much more for a prisoner than the seventh wife of Todoroki Enji, you tried not to cry.

The door slamming open hours after you had fallen asleep had taken you by surprise.

Enji had left you to your own entertainment, and long after you were served dinner, and informed that no, Todoroki-sama would not be visiting you right now because he was busy, you had sat on the bed in your silks and robes, numbly looking at the star-filled sky. Sleep was the only thing you could do, and with the last servant visit being past midnight, you took to sleep.

Except that you forgot a sparing, important detail.

This was Todoroki Enji’s world, and you were merely his legal fuckhole.

The heavy footsteps of Enji entering the room echoed in your ear, and the door closed behind him, solidifying the end of the beginning of what you once knew.

“Seven,” he growled into the night, and your spine snapped straight.

He loomed above you, the tatami mat suddenly feeling like a brick wall against your side, and you swallowed pathetically at the way his deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine.

This had been the first time you had heard him speak, all other forms of communication between him and the priest and he and his clan members had been nonverbal, solely told through those piercing blue eyes that only let you dream of what he sounded like -- of what he was demanding. But you lay confused, your eyebrows scrunched at just why he had called out the number seven?

Seven what?

You twisted where you lay, your eyes meeting his own, and despite the lack of light in the room, you could see the cold, distant glint in his eyes.

“Oh good,” he mocked, his voice low and dangerous, eyes squinted in his apparent lack of approval. “You can hear.”

“S-Seven what?” you stammer, your elbow pressing into the mat, pushing you up so that you could look at your husband, uncertainty and discomfort scorching every nerve in your body.

You didn’t know what to do.

Then, it hit you. The bitter, numbing smell of alcohol coated in a fine layer around his skin, the small puffs of angry air from his mouth letting you know that your husband was inebriated, and your throat clenched when he began to dismantle his kimono.

“T-This isn’t a good idea!” you stammer, the white silk robes you were still dressed in because they refused to allow you a set of sleeping clothes because the marriage needed to be consummated, felt stiff and not protective enough. “You won’t produce a proper heir if you’re intoxicated.”

Enji raised an eyebrow at you, and your thudding heart failed to cease as his robes hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Whiskey dick wasn’t something foreign to you; the countless men you had sucked off in your time, the numerous sex stories you had been shared with always had some instance of a man getting drunk and being able to get their cock hard, but this…?

If this was Enji’s whiskey dick, you weren’t sure what to expect of his sober cock.

His cock was already hard, the veins in his cock large, plentiful, and bulging in many areas. It was thick, without a doubt thick enough where it would take both your hands to circle around his cock, and it was long, the swollen weeping tip leaking against his abdomen. His cock was magnificent yet deadly, and your pussy spasmed in fear of having that monster all twelve plus inches shoved into your virgin cunt.

“The fuck are you doing, seven?” Enji snarled, his powerful naked legs moving toward you, his feet pressing into the mat, and his hand reaching out to you. “I didn’t marry you for you to just stare at my fucking cock like some piss-shit baby.”

There was no time to panic, protest, or even prepare yourself for the sudden sharp, dull ache in your jaw when he pressed his monster cock past your chapped, chewed lips.

Immediately, it was overwhelming.

The engorging cock had barely passed your lips, but you were already gagging against the unwelcomed size, the horrid ache sending spilling tears down your cheeks, doing nothing but annoying the man before you. His hands gripped your hair, his eyes not even bothering to look at you as he fucked your mouth.

“Stop fucking resisting,” Enji snarled, his hips coming to meet your mouth in a vicious, unpleasant snap, the head of his cock pressing down your clenched throat, and so much of his cock still remaining far from your mouth. “Take my cock like the fucking whore I know you are, seven.”

You gasp for air, but with his cock ramming further and further down your throat, the scalding heat emitting from his skin burning your throat, making you gag and choke around him in your fear. You couldn’t breathe, you realized in a panic, and your eyes widened in fear, drool and spit spilling down your chin pathetically as Enji hums contently.

“Don’t feel so scared, seven,” Enji cruelly smirked up at the ceiling, his hips lazily, sloppily, yet powerfully delivering his cock into your bulging throat. “I heard what you did to my men, how you let them fuck you however they saw fit, how you scoffed and scowled at the other pathetic weak bitches who couldn’t handle a little groping… I thought you would like this? What is it? Never had a real fucking cock before? A little whore like yourself only gotten shitty little cocks?”

Wordlessly, you begged to be shown mercy, your vision blackening as he choked out all forms of oxygen, his war weathered body unbothered by your clawing fingers on his thighs. No, you were too weak for it to hurt him.

His hands left your hair, and you collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, choking, and coughing for oxygen that only burned all through your system, sitting unpleasantly in your lungs while tears and saliva mixed on your throat.

“Where the fuck are do you think you’re going, seven?” Enji barked, his body suddenly looming over yours, and you felt trapped, unable to move as the mountain of a man trapped you between his sturdy arms and legs. His cock, warm and sticky with your spit and his precum, sat heavily on your stomach, the size difference between the two of you even more pronounced when the tip of his cock rested at the bottom of your ribcage. “All you did was lube up my cock for your stupid, tight pussy. Don’t think I was satisfied with that childish blowjob -- next time, if you want to cry, make sure it’s loud enough that I feel it against my cock.”

You pathetically moan at his words, the tears still falling from your eyes because your throat and jaw hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

“Please,” you gasped as his cinder hot hands pressed to your breasts against your kimono, he quickly enveloped your tender flesh in his hands despite the fabric. “Please, no more.”

“I don’t remember this marriage being about you,” he mocked, and with no more of a glinting snarl of his mouth, he tore the kimono straight off your body. The horrified scream that left your lips was silenced by the echoing slap across your face.

Pain blistered at the side of your face, and the resulting tears couldn’t be felt against your numbed skin as Enji continued his conquest, his fingers pulling and ripping any and all fabric pressed against your body.

“Get away!” you weakly whimpered, body trembling and twisting as you attempted to escape the man looming above you, finally ridding you of all dresses, hands pressing to the back of your thighs to push you into a position that he liked. “Leave me alone, leave me alone…”

There was no fire in your words, nothing but the aching fear and undeniable terror.

But the words did nothing to Enji, who continued to move you so that your tight, virgin cunt lined up with his throbbing, red cockhead. Even like this, your face was pressed into his chest. His body unworldly larger than yours, incredibly goliath compared to you.

“You know, seven, if you keep trying to escape me and you keep trying to save yourself, then why are you so fucking wet with everything I’ve done?” he growls down at you, his piercing blue eyes staring straight through you, the tears falling down your face doing nothing but encouraging him because he was right… your cunt, just like his cock, was wet, dripping with the undeniable pleasure of this all. There was a fire, a shameful fire, in your pussy, throbbing in time with the stinging pulse in your face that begged for Enji’s cock despite it all. “You fucking tiny little slut… I can feel just how my actions -- how my words -- affect you, getting you off like a bitch in heat! Your efforts to hide it are pathetic, fucking useless.”

Pain.

If you thought you knew what pain was before right now, you had to be wrong.

Enji’s girth was overwhelming, nearly splitting your shuddering tight walls while he buried his cock entirely within you. Nausea builds in the back of your throat, a soundless shriek breaking past your bleeding lips, your hips bucking in their relentless attempt to adjust to the way that he was splitting your walls in two, and your face flushed in pain and lust press into his chest, the only part of him you could touch.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!” you cried, fat and painful tears pushing past your eyes, dripping down the apples of your cheeks while Enji sighed at the feeling of your hot cunt against his cock, blood seeping out of your pussy in such a pretty way he couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve got a really tight cunt,” he observes, his hips slamming against you without warning, his mind only caring about him, setting off another round of painful screams while he situates within you. “Mhm, this is nice. A tight, young pussy always means a good womb, you’ll give me the heir I need… I’ll make sure to fuck you full of my cum.”

His hips then begin to thrust upward into you, the tip of his cock unable to reach the beginnings of your walls that he seemed to attempt to get to with each powerful blow. But it was his girth that had your body tensed, back arched in pain, eyes clenched in nothing but pain.

Pain.

“Hey.” SLAP. Your head snapped to the side, a burning, stinging pain on your cheek, alerting you that your eyes were closed. Your piqued breathing spluttered and so spaced between it was as if you were having some sort of asthma attack. Enji looked down at you, blue eyes burning demonly down at you (you wondered if this was the same look those who survived to see him on the battlefield claimed he had), his lips curled into an unapproving snarl while his hands pushed at the bottom of your knees. You pressed further into the tatami, the angle of penetration only furthering with your desperate screams to be gentler. “Shut the hell up, you’re annoying me with all this fucking screaming. Don’t waste my time.”

You whimper loudly, the feeling of his forcibly moving hips not becoming any easier on you, no longer a wave of intensive horrifying pain, but still a throbbing pain than had your fingernails cutting into his skin. “You have to be gentler! Be gentler, please be gentler! You’re so much bigger than me!!! My pussy can’t… my pussy can’t handle this!”

The fabric of the kimono under your body seared with heat when Enji shoved you further onto the mat, your legs twitching almost pathetically around his waist while your sight nearly blackened with his next action. He slammed your knees into the mat, increasing the angle of his penetration by a tenfold, sending you into another round of howling pain and pleasure as his cock slammed into your cervix -- bruising and scalding your puffy, sensitive walls with every powerful thrust. With his drilling hips and snarling speed, your screams and shouts of pain and pleasure and fear were cut off by an enormous fist around your neck, and his voice echoed from above you.

“Didn’t your dad teach you fucking whore to be quiet, seven?” Enji hisses, his thick hand clenching around your neck. Oxygen refused to flow to your lung, you went light-headed and limp, choking noises emitting from you while he continued to slam his cock in you, your clenching and splitting walls unable to keep up with the speed of the esteemed nobleman of Japan. “You’re my breeding whore, do you understand? You have no value to me except to be breed, to be full of my cum, to carry my child. You are nothing more than an object. Do. You. understand?”

Your head throbbed, the blood forcibly kept in your head, and the lack of oxygen made your world spin.

“Y-Yes!” you choke on your tongue.

“Repeat it!”

“I’m your breeding whore! Fill me with your cum, I wanna… fuck, I w-wanna carry your children! I’m your object, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“There we go,” Enji sighs contently, his broad chest pressing your thighs further into the bed, cutting off what limited oxygen you had left, and increasing the jabbing pleasure within you by a tenfold.

“Shit, such a filthy fucking cunt you have,” he groans, your walls spasming against him with his wild, obscene thrusts. He moves his hands further up your legs so that they press against your knees, your legs then wrap around his body, shaking as he makes no effort to slow in his advances, your finger drawing blood from where they raked down his back because he was burning an outline of your body into the mat. Your strangled scream goes unnoticed by Enji, a desperate plea for him to be softer.

But he wasn’t someone who cared.

You were only here to be bred, to give him a son, the strongest son the entire country of Japan -- nay, the world -- has ever seen.

Pathetically, your hips attempt to rise up to meet him, a prayer that it would ease this brutal force he was using. It was too much -- his cock easily overpowering your throbbing cunt.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping pussy created loud wet noises that made you cry in embarrassment. Your face felt like it was seconds from popping out, Enji’s weight crushing you on top of the abhorrent position he was fucking you in, but he found it as an excuse to speed up. His rugged grunts are warnings in your ears as his cock finally hits your cervix with consistency that makes you wail. The stretch he gave you was boggling, and you were progressively less cognitive aware as he drilled in harder. His slams were so hard that the sound of his thighs hitting your ass let out a continuous and loud slap.

His fingers gouge into your skin, and you cry his name like a hopeful prayer as he is fueled by your appraisal, your breath hot and sticky between the valley of his chest. Your tongue pressing against his skin akin to some infant looking to suck their mothers tit.

The force in which Enji slammed his hips to meet yours. Above your ear, the growling pants that mocked you for enjoying this demeaned you for thinking you were anything more than his breeding whore sent a liquid fire that could never match the heat of a conflagration to your core. When your head smashed against the mat because you could no longer keep your head up.

“That’s fucking right,” he laughs, drool pouring past your lips with your mindless babble, your eyes fluttering closed. Pleasure drowned in pain sobs expelled from your lips, invigorating something powerful within the entire family who watches on with impatient stares at the sight of your squeezing cunt around Eniji’s cock. “Take my fucking cock, bitch, don’t fucking pass out yet, we’re far from over.”

Enji was raw power, destruction, and strength. He pistoled into your sobbing core with the intent of getting his sperm into your cunt, to get his sperm that would get him a son into you, other than that, he was uncaring, unmotivated by your pathetic whining and crying. Your thrashing and wailing do not stop Enji, nor do they lessen the pace and the force he’s settled in as the floor begins to creak with every powerful thrust.

“I needa — holy shit, r-right there! M-More, more, more, more--”

“What? Do you need to come already, seven?” Enji mocks you pushing up off you so his back is curved, and your body so small underneath him. “Do you really think I’ll let you cum before me?”

Your eyes can no longer stay open as the only noises leaving your mouth are whines and begs for more. You forcibly clench around him to stir a reaction from him, but all he does is snarl quietly as he continues his rutting force. The pounding is rhythmic. His balls bruising your ass where he hits you. The feeling of Enji’s cock entering and leaving you draws your eyes to the back of your head as you pathetically whimper his name, his thighs hitting your ass at bruising force, only adding to your pleasure.

Each powerful snap of his hips sending your back arching to the heavens, the balls of your feet digging bruisingly into his back. In and out he goes, your cunt nothing more than a cocksleeve for him, and your wanton screams and mewls taking him further and further.

Enji all but laughs into your ear, his hand moving from pressing onto the tatami mat and pushing into your opened mouth, pressing onto your tongue. “Suck my fingers like a good whore, show me that you’re not gonna disappoint me. Suck my fingers.” you sob in the thought, not because you’re fearful of disappointing the man, but because the feeling of his fingers in your mouth makes your cunt throb ludicrously, your tongue desperately wrapping around the appendages, pushing through the space of his fingers. “I’m going to fill you up so good, breeding whore. You’ll be leaking my cum for days. I’m going to make sure you carry the Todoroki gene, and I hope that it’s my son you carry.”

The words incite clenching heat in your core, your lips unable to form anything but a weak, pitiful moan because the thought of being filled to the max with Todoroki cum makes your mind spin. More, you want to milk them all dry. You want nothing more than that. With a ragged breath, a consecutive full thrust that sends his cock slamming against your cervix, Enji cums fully within you. His load is long and heavy, your belly feeling like it’s bulging when he finally emerges from your cunt. His once hard cock limping in his hands while you lay there defeated, his and your intermixed cum spilling from your pulsing cunt.

Your mouth opened, sobbing at his absence, a need for him to return despite your core's undeniable tremor and ache. He’s off your body as well, and oxygen floods your lungs in dizzying and shallow pants, your vision fuzzies out, and you stare almost brokenly at the window painted with the rising morning sun.

Your room was in the east wing, after all.

You didn’t even protest when he pressed a smooth wooden plug into your cunt to “ensure you were bred to succession.”

He would soon leave your room, stumbling out with a drunken hiccup, leaving you to lay on a once white kimono… a once white kimono drenched in cum, blood, sweat, and tears.

You wouldn’t know until two weeks later, but Todoroki Enji had succeeded in breeding you, and you would eventually lay in a birthing room with blood and sweat and tears soaking your skin as a silent baby boy was placed in your arms.

“And what will his name be?” the midwife asked, her eyes wide with joy for you and Enji.

“...Shouto.”

#endeavor x reader #todoroki enji x reader #endeavor smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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disgrays-on · 6 years

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kiss the rain

Word Count: 4.0k

Pairing: Jason Todd // Fem!Reader

Summary: AU of sorts? pre-established relationship, jason and reader have been together (married?) for a few years already. news of a new addition to the wayne family puts all sorts of ideas in the reader’s head. jason’s just a bit all over the place.

A/N: I'm supposed to be working on a reincarnation/25 lives au but got distracted by this instead lol. This is self-indulgent stuff that's vaguely ooc and incredibly messy but I enjoyed writing it. Also, I have no shame in admitting that the only reason Babs is in this fic is because I needed her as a plot device ashdhdj. I’m not familiar enough with her to be writing about her tbh but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

A new addition to the sprawling Wayne family comes in something like a decade later. It's an invitation from Barbara that leads both Jason and you to a comfy little restaurant a while away from the apartment. The invitation is certainly not the first of its kind – you find Barbara’s company just as delightful as Jason does, especially now that everyone’s mellowed out and feeling slightly more appreciative of each other – so it doesn’t really take much for Jason to agree. Still, it is awfully curious, just a touch out-of-the-blue, and Jason isn’t naive enough to think that it’s not without reason. He flips through a couple of reasons, but all of them come up short.

The sun is just barely up in the sky when you clamber into the front seat, right next to him. You take a moment to fiddle with the radio before leaning against the window. The trip is filled with only the lull of the songs you've chosen, but it’s nothing new. You take a while to warm up, Jason has learned, slowly, quietly, like the cool morning air. The early sunlight pours over you, splashes of a subtle gold contrasted with quiet shadows, a sigh of something quiet leaving your lips. It would have been nice, he thinks, and it’s a stray thought, it would have been nice to still be wrapped around you in bed.

It’s an odd feeling. Preferring the warmth and peace of your company over the desolation that he wanted to need. Watching as rays of the morning sun spilled across soft sheets, hearing your quiet snores, a soothing change from coming back home to a cold and empty bed. Trading the violent nights for calm ones, tangled together on a lumpy old couch whilst catching up on shows he missed. He’s more settled now. He’s carved his place beside you where he’s found more joy than he has elsewhere. This is a different pace, a different track, a different life altogether. All the years together with you have made him soft, he realises, catching himself in the clouds of fondness with a slight curl to his nose. You’ve made him soft.

(memories of the distant past always seem to stir up the dark and heavy sludge of his old heart, but you've always known him more than he'd like to admit. there are still sweet little flutters in his stomach when you reach over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, knowing, comforting, as if tracking his train of thoughts. the action is slight but it's just enough to make affection roll like crashing tides in his stomach.)

The parking lot is unsurprisingly bare this early on in the day, and both of you are seated across Barbara in no more than ten minutes. She's glowing, Jason notes as he slides into his seat. It’s...weird. It hasn't always been there but it is the first thing he notices now. It’s not anything so obvious, nothing so palpable, but it’s there. You press comfortably into his side, picking up the conversation as if you’ve only been gone for a quick second. Jason orders breakfast, you order breakfast, Barbara orders something heavy and she eats it heartily.

“You alright?” You ask, head tilted slightly, eying her plate of grease and meat and potatoes, top of the ceramic mug pressed gently against your lips. It’s that glow. You’ve noticed it too maybe. He squeezes you close, sliding his plate over to you slightly and you happily trade the mug for a fork to slice into the stack of fluffy pancakes that he’d ordered. Not because he has a preference for them, particularly, but because he knows that you’d want them too. He steals bits from your plate in return.

“Just a bit hungry,” She answers earnestly, sipping on her drink quietly, “I've been craving this.”

She's still glowing. Jason knows this. She has cravings. His brain tells him he should know this. He's seen it before, on some of the women that he's come across over the years, on some of the women he knew. And she's always been a wicked sort of thing, Barbara. Piercing green eyes and blazing red locks, an unnerving smile and a balance of authority and softness to her that has always had Jason flipping between fondness and a deep familial annoyance for the woman. Her insane cleverness has always allowed her to hide things that needed hidden when imperative and nothing of Jason's would have ever been able to crack it.

But this time around, something just clicks into place and he realises.

“I’m going to be a mother,” She confesses, in the same moment. It seems like it's a quiet admission to herself more than anything, like she’s still trying to come to terms with it herself, breathy and in hushed awe, before she says more firmly, “I'm pregnant.”

From beside him, Jason hears your strangled choke at her sudden words, the spluttering of your drink and the clattering of your mug as you slam it back down onto the table. Take care of you first, his mind instantly moves, the news afterwards. He pushes the plates and cups to the centre of the table, grabs a couple of tissues for the spill, hands you a few more as you gather yourself. It makes sense, he supposes, it’s been quite a long time coming so it’s not too surprising.

“You’re pregnant?” You say, a sunny grin blooming across your face. You turn to him, and it's infectious. He finds himself smiling as you reach over to grab at his arm, “She's pregnant!”

A baby. Jason's not really sure how he's supposed to act, what he's supposed to say or supposed to do. It's not what he thought it would be and he's never really been in this position before. There's a rush of emotions swelling in him, but they're all quick and fleeting and there doesn't seem to be enough time for him to stop and examine each one. Jason watches you move around the table to give her a hug, a congratulations on the tip of his tongue. You’re going to be an uncle, you tell him excitedly afterwards. It’s an odd thought but you seem to love the idea. The rest of breakfast is less messy, but the air around the table still vibrates with eagerness.

(later on, cast in the silver spears of moonlight, you sigh out pleasantly, a sparkle in your eyes that rivalled the stars, “A baby, Jay, can you believe it?”).

❀❀❀

“How about this one?” You hum, holding up a ridiculously tiny yellow shirt up for Jason to see. He’s not sure how long the both of you have been in this part of the store. He’s not even sure how you managed to drag him along.

(he does know, to be honest. he’s weak for you, starshine eyes and sunny smiles, and what you want, you get.)

He’d been happy enough, at least at the start, to go along with your whims, but now all the stores and the items of clothing were starting to blur and look the same. He’s not really sure why the baby would need so many shirts when they would outgrow it quickly enough. You seem pretty insistent on spoiling the little one though.

(you and jason have bickered about all the shopping once or twice, late-nights, exhaustion-fuelled. it isn’t like he’s not happy about it all, he is, but he can’t seem to be as thrilled as you are. still, he doesn’t mind spending money on the child if it makes you happy. you refuse to take it, huffing and frowning. slipping a couple notes, some hefty amount that he doesn’t even care to count, into your pocket is an easy enough task.)

(you slump into his shoulder at the end of the day, muttering over how unfair it was of him to do so. jason readily wraps his arms around you, and tells you that all he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy.)

“I knew I should have just gone shopping alone,” You sigh, knowing him best. Your lips are pursed as you pull out a tiny little onesie next, white with small little blue and green and yellow triceratops, similar to all the ones that you’ve already dumped into the basket he’s holding onto, “I wonder if you’d be more enthusiastic if this was our kid.”

The both of you have talked about this before, however sparingly. They’ve always been more of a distant possibility than a definite probability. The idea is always incredibly novel to entertain: you with his child, his eyes maybe but most definitely your smile, the smarts that everyone in his family is known for. And if, for whatever reason, that wasn't possible, adoption was always an option on the table. But faced with the chance of dealing with one now scares Jason to a level he has yet to comprehend. Still, all you could seem to think about now were babies and it’s a bit confounding. It’s all the baby talk, all the excitement around the kid. It’s caught on to you.

“Humor me, husband dearest,” You say as you flick through the rack of clothing, eyebrows furrowed as you examined each one with thorough precision, “You’ve never had an issue with it before.”

“But I’ve also never said yes either.” Cowardly answer, sure, but it’s true. It isn’t as if he has a deep hatred for them or anything. Jason has always liked kids, has always felt the need to look out for kids, the ones he sees scampering around on the streets, but they’ve always been much older. Not so new and small and terrifyingly fragile.

You move on to a different section next, an array of tiny little shoes for presumably tiny little feet. Jason slips the metal handles of the basket over his wrist, trailing along after you.

“Bet you Bruce would love another grandkid.” You tell him, a playful little smile playing on the corner of your lips. As if he cared about what Bruce wanted. He presses his lips together and throws you a pointed look as a pair of shoes make it into the basket.

(he does care, maybe, deep down.)

(and it's not like he doesn't want his own kids. he does, maybe, deep down.)

“Can you really blame me for being a little excited?” You ask him, lips pursed, after much bickering over who would pay - Jason had won, so he'd paid. You’re by his side, of course, the bags at your side swinging with the rhythm of your walk. You’ve deflated slightly, and there are tiny specks of hesitancy in your tone.

It’s cold outside, a bit too much for his liking so he slinks closer. Swaps the bags to his other hand, drapes the free one over your shoulder to pull you close. He doesn’t like upsetting you, but he doesn’t see this one ending too favourably. Jason’s changed, sure, not so angry anymore, not so wrapped up in his own world, but a child? It isn’t something that he’ll allow himself to think about so lightly.

“All of it’s just a bit sudden, don’t you think?” Jason replies. You haven’t looked at him ever since you left the store. It unsettles him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” You frown, shoulders drawn in, “It’s just. It’s not like we’re getting any younger. And besides, it’s you. It just doesn’t seem all that right not to have them.”

His eyes, your smile, the smarts that everyone in this family is known for. He releases a small puff of air, ice cold in his lungs.

“How about a pet instead?” Jason offers.

“A pet,” You echo, blinking, before quiet laughter bursts out of you, a grin creeping up onto your face. You turn to him, finally, and Jason’s heart soars. He wants to keep your smile. You roll your eyes playfully, “That dog you’ve always wanted?”

“Not the worst idea I’ve had,” He admits with a shrug.

“Think about it for me?” You whisper to him, just before entering the car, fingers curling around the hem of his jacket. Starshine eyes imbued with hope and sunny smile filled with affection.

There was a time when he thought he could never quit the vigilante life because Gotham needed him. There was a time when he thought he could never have you. Oh, it’s just comical now, how wrong he was.

He doesn’t say no. He doesn’t know how to when it comes to you. Soft, he reminds himself. “I will. Promise.”

❀❀❀

“I don’t know what this is supposed to be,” Tim says, after he spends a good twenty minutes examining a bright yellow and pink box. Once again, Jason finds himself in a similar store like the one you brought him to a month or so ago. Why him, he’s not sure but he’s as interested as he was when you were the one he followed around like a lost puppy.

Jason shrugs carelessly, pushing the cart along. He didn’t exactly have a model childhood - none of them did, actually - so it’s not like he’s particularly versed in any of this. One thing is for sure though, this child’s already so spoiled, having so many aunts and uncles and relatives who had more money than they know what to do with.

“Heard the both of you are looking at new apartments,” Tim sets the box down and moves on to a different section. This time there are baby furniture, cribs and highchairs and swinging chairs. Jason pokes one, and it jostles pleasantly, “Should I be expecting another kid soon?”

“We’re not having any,” Jason answers, clipped. You’ve been floating up in the clouds, in threads of daydreams. There's a new three bedroom apartment that you've been looking into. You want a kid, that much is clear. As much as he loves you, however, as much as he enjoys entertaining the sweet fantasies of him and you and a child, he needs to be more grounded. Needs to stop this before it gets out of control. It’ll only hurt more when both of you don’t have it.

“I thought you liked kids,” Tim hums as he easily tugs out a big box, a crib of some sort, before he crouches down to inspect it further.

“It’s just a bad idea,” Jason bristles. You tell him that he would make a great father but it isn't like he has many points of reference.

“Well,” Tim answers distractedly mulling over the printed details, sparing glances up at Jason from where he’s crouched, “Do you think they’d mind if we modified this a little bit?”

Jason shrugs, nothing wrong with that. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing, not when the baby was being born into this family. “Why not.”

“Babysit the kid in a while, and see how it goes,” Tim says unhelpfully as he loads the box up into the cart. Jason holds it steady, wishes life was as simple as that. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you’ll give in.”

Jason glares at the younger man. This is what he gets for spoiling you so often.

“Work your issues out,” Tim says, before he steals the cart and leaves.

❀❀❀

“Catherine’s not a bad name.” You tell him, eyelids heavy, a sleepy smile on your face and it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s not sure how to feel about that. It's been long enough that he's not so bitter about his rocky start in life anymore. He's come to terms with most things in his past. But the tenderness in your voice catches him off-guard, makes his already soft insides all gooey.

He hums, tugging you closer by your waist, “Is it?”

You hum in agreement, a rush of soft air brushing against his collarbones with your every breath, “What would you name her then? She’d be a Todd too, no?”

He’s never thought of it really because it’s never mattered much to him. Catherine’s not a bad name, sure, but he knows that regardless of what his kid's going to be or what they're going to be called, he’d love them just the same. And he may be Jason Todd to most but legally, he is a Wayne. He supposes that’s a better name than any. Being a Wayne comes with it pros and cons, but the both of you could sort it out later. The child would have a better life than any of them, that much too he's certain.

You pull back when he says as much, brightness seeping through the crescents of your eyes, “You spoil me.”

He does. Talking about kids when he's uncertain whether he wants them or not. But it makes you happy, for however short that break of time may be. Still, you understand, not wanting to push him, not wanting to force this on him.

It's okay, you tell him, kind. We'll be fine, you and I.

It'll be the last of this talk, he thinks, at least for a while.

You smile, “Thanks, Jay.”

❀❀❀

Barbara’s due date is about two weeks away so an ultrasound is a reasonable course of action. Things like this were more of your thing but you’re pulled away by work today so Jason makes time. She sits down, slowly so late in her term, a hand in the crook of his arm. He’s seen pictures of the kid, remembers you grinning as you shared it with him.

Look at it! You coo to him, pointing out what you think is his nose, isn’t this exciting?

But it’s this that disorients him slightly, being here now, in person. Barbara’s different now. The glow is there, just about. She’s softer now, stern in the way that reminds him of how a mother would be. And isn’t that a thought. She is going to be a mother. She’s well into the role already.

“You okay?” She asks, green eyes searching his face. She shouldn’t worry, not about him at the least. It’s been interesting to see her, to be around as she deals with the pregnancy. She’s excited, he thinks, a tender smile whenever her baby is spoken about, hand splayed on her stretched belly. It’s a boy, he remembers discreetly, one whom he’s sure will be blessed with the good looks of his parents.

The team of people they have for Barbara - all vetted a few times over before they could even think about coming near her, all paid for by Bruce, of course - bustles around the both of them today. He remains quiet for the most part, but he interjects when needed. She talks comfortably with her technician as the ultrasound goes underway, cold gel against her belly, the glow of the screen cast over the room.

It happens quickly. The furrow of the nurse’s eyebrows, the spill of emotions as she tried to control the emotions showing on her face, the professional smile as she excused herself. Barbara’s always been a rational person, could always keep her head clear, but her trepidation is in the little things. She reaches out to squeeze his arm, her forehead sweaty, her face stormy. It’s a scramble of doctors and nurses and phone calls and family.

Jason's meant to be here to accompany her for an ultrasound, but he's here for the birth too. Many hours later, her baby is born, greeting the new world with a loud, healthy wail.

❀❀❀

“Have you seen him?” The first thing you ask as soon as you see him, visibly tired as if you’ve just ditched work and ran all the way here, but you’re happy. An excited smile creeps up your face, arms coming up to rest on his sides. Jason takes his hands out of his pockets to give you a small squeeze. You fit nicely, all the years have told him, so he’s kept you, because you’ve always been meant for him.

“A bit. Came out here to give them space.” He says, breathing slow and deliberate, as if trying to fill your lungs up himself. The room’s big but it still felt too crowded with the amount of people trying to get a glimpse of the new baby. He was getting restless, a bit suffocated.

Your fingers come up to caress his face, knowing him best, “You’re okay?”

He nods, sneaking a kiss on the tips of your fingers before they move up to run through his hair. If he leans into your touch, no one has to know.

“Is he cute?” You ask him, quick, spritely like sparks of flames. “You’re cuter,” He shoots back because it’s the only truth he’s ever known, even if you roll your eyes at him after each time he says it.

❀❀❀

Jason’s in trouble.

Both of you see the baby every other week and it’s bad for him. Bad for his thawing heart. Bad for his mushy insides. Seeing you with the baby, cooing and talking sweetly and smiling softly, is different sorts of bad for him. It’s not just him that’s soft, your adoring eyes lit up like the dawn sky looking at Jason whenever the baby does anything remotely cute. You’re vying for the title of favourite and you’re doing excellently if the times that he’s left in your care is anything to go by. You insist it’s him that the baby likes more but he would understand if it wasn’t. It's still a mystery to him too sometimes, the how and the why, but he’s absolutely enamoured with you.

Predictably, the baby grows on him, with his pudgy cheeks and his light laughter. He pads around the apartment, not too long after his second birthday, giggling with high glee as you chase him around the apartment. You cuddle with the kid, reading him a quiet little bedtime story. It’s sweet. And it makes him want.

He’s in trouble.

❀❀❀

“You have some other names that you’ve thought of?” Jason asks, curling his arms around your waist. You’re busying yourself, sorting papers and books scattered around, the errant crayon and the stray loose papers after another day of babysitting. He has half the mind to have his way with you sometimes, flashes of you with his child urging him on but this much he has to get off of his mind.

You whip around as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he makes sure to pull back a bit to avoid the crash. He's known you for long enough to recognise the hope that's trickling into your eyes, slow but steady.

“Jay,” And it's as much of a plea as it's a hesitant warning, he hates that he's made you feel this way, “Don't joke about that, please.”

“I’m not,” He admits, one hand slipping down to cup your hips where it's warm and wide against you. The other moves to cup your cheeks. He musters up a smile and it's shaky, at best, but he hopes it's enough to convey what he's feeling. After all, you did know him best.

“Really?” You ask, starshine eyes looking a touch glossy and sunny smile trembling. You were always his centre, the one he revolves around, his own sun. You lean into his touch, looking at him with so much adoration and love and he basks in it all.

“We have to talk about it some more, but if it happens, it happens.” He says, a bit sheepishly, “Is that okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, Jay, of course, my god. I love you,” You ramble, before giving up with words altogether and just pulling him into a kiss, fumbling, squeezing, spoiled.

Something like flowers bloom in Jason's heart, explosive and bright. He sighs, when you grin up at him excitedly, watery eyes shining with hope like the dawn of a new day. As much as you always get what you want, it’s always aligned with what he wants. What’s the difference this time around.

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