Work Text:
You’d been blinded before; the red flags marred by the rose tint you had held him in.
At first it had been kind of cute, with him following you to work, to ensure you made it safely. It was sweet that he had been sending you gift baskets and flowers, and you may or may not have blushed and giggled at some of the notes written with them. Sometimes when words were sweet- ‘I miss how your perfume flowed through the rooms you were in’ or ‘I know these are your favorite flowers, but their lovely image dulls when in the same space as you’.
Other times they were dirtier, usually when food was involved. ‘These cakes are sweet, but not as sweet as how you taste when you’re begging for me to slow down or stop’ or ‘The pink of these flowers is close to the shade of your face when you’re squirming and begging for me to fuck you deeper and harder’.
Then it was annoying when he moved into the same building as you and continuously came by to check on you. Always dropping by with food or needing something, just to take up your time.
All of these encounters usually ended in you on your back or bent over something as he frantically made you cum over and over like it would solve all the problems of your relationship, like it might make you move back home. You could deal with all of that, for the most part. But what really started to piss you off was when he began to ruin dates.
You were separated and trying to divorce him. But he still followed you and ruined your dates. Every. Single. Time. Chasing them off, intimidating them, outright threats. Over and over, you ended up back in your apartment alone or with him, once again fucking.
Finally, after a few drinks with a handful of girlfriends of yours, you stumbled back into your apartment, wasted. Staring at the divorce paperwork, you reached for your phone. His number was still programmed in as a favorite.
If mistakes could be favorites, he’d be the golden child.
You’d signed on the lines; you’d crossed your T’s and dotted your I’s, and the ink had dried.
There’d been several attempts to serve him the paperwork, several attempts to end it- but he was an insistent fucker, and he was smart. He’d set the paperwork on fire several times now. He’d scared off the law interns that you’d sent in your stead. He’d fucked you with your face down on that paperwork at least once- made you drool on it, made you cry and come on it, used it to wipe his cum from between your legs, off your ass and back and stomach. You learned to xerox after that.
“You’re a sonofabitch.” Was the first thing you’d said to him when he picked up the phone, he only ever let it ring once or twice- he was Obsessive attentive.
“Mmm, yeah?” He answered, easily, cooly- always so fucking calm, even when you were pissed, even when you were crying, even when he’d threatened to skin your last date alive and gift you a coat made of him. “What’s got you upset this time, baby?”
“Why are you such a dick about this- just sign the damn papers-” You complained, he groaned.
“Now why the hell would I do that?” You could HEAR his pout. “This whole separation business was YOUR idea- I’m just humorin’ you cause I’m a good husband, now, what kind of husband would I be if I let ’cha divorce me, who’s gonna protect you if I’m gone, who’s gonna make you cum those pretty little brains out?”
“We shouldn’t even BE married, we don’t- we just don’t mesh- like- emotionally.”
“I dunno baby, watchin’ you cry on my cock makes me pretty emotional.”
“Dabi! I’m being serious. We don’t work well. You don’t listen to what I say, you brush me off and you don’t even pretend to care about what I feel. You only come around and give me attention when you want to, not when I need it with what I need.” My words are angry and slurred, hissed with how rage filled and bitter I feel, tied up with the alcohol swimming through my veins.
The other end of the call is silent for a few minutes before you hear a quiet “I’ll be over in twenty minutes, and we can hash this out.” Before it clicks and the dial tone sounds. You look at the disconnected call before baring your teeth and then throwing your phone on the counter.
Stumbling to the fridge in your kitchen, you pull out the bottle of cheap wine you like, twisting the top off and taking a long swig from it directly. Somehow you manage to drop onto your couch, the bottle of wine already a third of the way gone and the rest quickly disappearing as well. By the time the wine has just a few inches left in the bottle, you hear the jingling of keys before the front door to your apartment is practically kicked open, the loud slam making you fall off the couch, startled. There’s harsh whispered cursing and fumbling of keys and what sounds like bottles before you can see white strands peeking over the couch before you see his bright blue eyes. The cerulean gaze scans the room before they finally land on your prone form, the ratty t-shirt you’re wearing pushed up over your hips to show a pair of panties from one of the lingerie sets he had bought you before you guys separated.
“Baby, the fuck is this?” He asks, a perfect ivory eyebrow raised. “You’re a mess, still hot, but a mess.” He teases, flopping down onto your couch, putting his feet up on your coffee table, dropping the bottles he brought onto the floor next to the couch.
You lift your leg, kicking his shin harshly, frowning deeply.
“That table was a wedding gift you shit.” You hiss, he snorts, smirking as he rolls his eyes.
“From shithead.” He notes. “You don’t even like it.”
“I like it.” You protest, he scoffs.
“You don’t. You hate dark furniture.” He eyes you. “‘S the floor comfy?” He asks, you scowl. Get on up here, baby, c’mon.” He leans over, offering you a hand. You sit up slightly- sinking your teeth into the side of his hand, working your jaw side to side as you increase the pressure. There’s a sharp inhale from Dabi, his hand jerking back as he tries to free himself from your vicious bite. “The fuck you doin’ that for, doll? ‘m just offerin’ you a hand up off the floor, pretty sure no matter how wasted your cute little ass is, you don’t wanna be stuck there. Although… I can’t lie, I do like the view you’re giving me. ‘s that one of the sets I got you for Easter last year?” He squints his eyes a little, dragging them over your body as you prop yourself up using the coffee table to stay somewhere between sitting and laying. “Where’s the rest of the set? I don’t see the collar or ears anywhere.” His eyes focus on the little bit of the cut out he can see, and he smirks. “Or the cute little tail I bought to go with it.”
“Yeah.” You mumble. “S comfy. I like the lavender.” You admit. “And I’m not gonna wear the ears just on my fuckin’ couch.” You slur, he hums.
“Notice you don’t mention the collar.”
“Think I lost it.”
“You mean like you lost your damn mind, thinking you’re leavin’ me?”
Your eyes narrow, top lip pulling back into a sneer as your derisive reply slips out. “I did fucking leave. I don’t live with you anymore, I don’t sleep in your bed, and I definitely don’t wear your ring. Pretty sure it means I left you.” A smirk curls on your lips as you deliver the next bit of news. “And you missed the last court date for the proceedings. Which means the judge is going to be setting up a date to grant me a default judgement. Know what that means, Daa-biii?” You sing his name, lengthening it with your drunk pleasure at what you’re implying.
His eyes narrow as his mind works through what you mean before a thunderous look flashes over his face, followed by a look you can’t identify, then his face smooths over and he looks at you calmly. Fuck, you hate how calm he always gets, especially when you just want him to show some kind of emotion, anything but the calm collected look. It’s like arguing with a brick wall, and you feel like you look crazy, yelling and/or crying at this immovable, unruffled person. He just-
“Fuck, look at you, you don’t even care.” You accuse, breathless. A phrase that’s been heard and said too many times, practically the motto of your marriage and the root of most of your fights.
“You really think that don’tcha?” He sighs, sinking back into the couch. “I care.”
“You DON’T.”
“I’m fighting every instinct in my body right now not to smack the piss out of you, you know.” His voice takes a deeper tone then, a severe one- you… can't place it, actually- don't recognize it. You’ve never had him take this kind of tone with you before.
“Fucking smack me. Try it and I swear to fuck-” Your words cut off as you’re suddenly on your stomach, a hand on the back of your neck, keeping your face pressed to the hardwood of your floor.
“See, you know I don’t make empty threats, doll. Or promises. Is this REALLY something you want? Do you want to push me?” His voice is right in your ear, rich and smooth as he growls out his questions. You stay silent, recognizing that he doesn’t want an answer yet. “I grew up with an angry man in the house. I’ll be damned if there’s an angry man in MY house, yellin’ at MY wife, hurtin’ HER.” He sighs, and his grip loosens. “I work real’ fuckin’ hard not to put my shit on you. You got no idea how much shit I let slide in the interest of makin’ sure I don’t hurt you.”
His hand slides up from the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back enough that it burns a little. “So, do you wanna rethink and rephrase what you were about to say, little girl? Or do I need to finish it before you get any ideas on who’s in charge?”
“Fuck. You.” Your words are hissed out and venomous as you try to get out from under him, the alcohol from earlier making you more audacious than normal. The silence following is deafening, dragging on for several long moments. You can feel the shift in the situation, the change in expression and body language without looking back and immediately regret and dread curls in your stomach. “W-wait.” You try to back track, body scrambling to get free and away to face him.
Your face collides with the hardwood floor seconds before the sound of fabric tearing fills the air, a harsh pressure on your hips and the juncture of your thighs preluding the sharp crack and burn that begins to radiate through one side of your ass.
“You want me mad?!” He asks, a low, boiling rage in his tone. “You wanna fuckin’ see the shit I could’a been doing? You wanna see what it looks like when I DON’T fucking CARE?!” His voice starts to rise, just a bit- louder than you’d ever heard him. Ever. “Fine.” He snarls. “I’ll fuckin’ show you apathy, doll.” He leans close. “Scream all you fuckin’ want. Remember. I don’t care.”
His hand starts to crack down harder and harder across your ass, his free hand keeping your face smushed against the floor as he puts all his weight on your thighs. Between his flurry of blows being unleashed on your ass, you can feel the burn of his strikes beginning to swelter, not the heat from being spanked, but something else.
His leg presses down harder on your thighs as you begin to fight harder, all his weight distributed between the leg on your thighs and the hand on the back of your head, rendering you immobile as the heat increases. “I suggest you stop moving or I might mess up and have to redo this somewhere else, doll.” The warning comes right before his hand collides harshly on your right ass cheek and pauses. A searing pain hits your system as the smell of burning skin fills the air and a blood curdling scream is ripped from your chest as he presses his hand harder against the fat, pushing more of his weight on your body to ensure you don’t fuck up what he’s doing. “Let’s see if you take this off as easily as you take off my fuckin’ ring, baby doll.” The words are hissed out in your ear venomously, his fingers flexing before he pulls his hand off, his eyes trained on the brand he left behind.
It's quiet for several moments except for his harsh breathing and your soft sobs and hiccups. His weight eases off you a little and you can hear fabric rustling with the jingling of his belt and your body tenses up, small tremors slowly growing as fear builds up.
“Dabi, please. I’m sorry, please don’t.” You start begging, tears streaming down your cheeks as your hands scramble on the floor, your pleas spilling out faster. “I’m sorry, please don’t spank me with the belt, I’m sorry.”
His movements pause before you’re flipped over onto your back, his hand gripping your jaw as he forces you to meet his eyes. “You haven’t been listening to a fuckin’ thing I’ve been sayin’, have ya doll?” He squeezes your face harder, pulling you up closer to his face. “I don’t plan on hurtin’ ya. In fact, I’m gonna compromise with ya and give ya somethin’ you’ve been askin’ for since you’re gonna give me somethin’ I want.”
You don’t get a chance to question his words before he shoves his fingers in your mouth, silencing you as he finishes pulling his belt off. He quickly captures both your hands, using his belt to bind them together before he uses the coffee table leg to keep your hands over your head. “Guess I do kinda like the coffee table, doll. Remind me to thank shithead for it at some point.” His words are mildly amused as he parts your thighs, settling between them as he pushes the ratty shirt up over your breasts. “Also, at some point, we’re gonna have to have a conversation about you tryin’ to leave me, but still wearin’ my clothes.”
“Smells like you.” You whisper, eyes watering. “I miss you.”
“Stop fucking kickin’ me out then.”
“Stop making me have to.”
“I didn’t-“
“I don’t want a divorce.” You sniffle. “I want my husband to act like a goddamn husband. I want you to talk to me- and listen to me- and…” you choked on a sob.
“You want me to be pissed?”
“I want you to let me see you.” You swallowed. “I want you to have some goddamn EMOTION, and stop… stop locking me out.”
“You’re the one that changed the locks.” He mumbles, but you can hear the guilt in his voice. “I… fuck, just-” he slumps against you, sighing into your hair. “I’m shit at this.” He admits. “… I wanna apologize but I don’t even fuckin’ know where to start.” His voice is so quiet you’re not even sure you’re meant to hear it.
“You don’t want a baby.” You mumble. “You’ve said it a thousand times. You don’t want kids.”
“I want you. And I’d do fuckin’ anything to keep you- even shit that fuckin’ terrifies me.” He licks his lips. “I don’t wanna… fuck a kid up. But… you wouldn’t let me, would’ja?”
“You wouldn’t.” You deny. “You’re… you’re too damn patient.”
“Damn right.” He agrees, straightening up. Dabi sighs as he looks up at the ceiling, clearly contemplating something before he slides his hands under your knees, squeezing and kneading as he looks down at you. Clicking his tongue, he makes up his mind and pushes your knees up and out as he starts rolling his hips against yours, coating his cock in your slick before easing his way in. A sharp exhale hisses out from between his teeth as his head tilts back again, his shoulders relaxing as his hips press to the back of your thighs. “’s like comin’ home. She missed me, can fuckin’ feel it.” He pauses and licks his lips. “You doin’ alright, babe?” He asks, meeting your eye. “Too much?”
“No, ‘m okay.” You whisper, he cracks a grin, a dark chuckle slips out of his throat, the look on his face something you’ve never seen before.
“Betcha’d look so pretty with a baby in your belly, don’t ya agree doll? All nice and round with a little brat I fucked in ta ya.” His breath is hot on your neck as he chuckles again, his hands still uncomfortably hot as they grab the back of your thighs, your plush skin bulging between his spread fingers as he applies more pressure. “Gonna make you the prettiest mommy out there, doll. See you try to leave my ass when you’re knocked up with my brat. Kid’s gonna need a daddy in their life, just like their silly mommy, right?” His hips slam harder against your ass, making the burn sing with pain as he fucks into you harder. “Give ya a brat like ya’ve been askin’. They’re gonna need you to make sure I don’t fuck them up too badly. ‘s why you can’t leave. Tha’s a good enough reason, right?”
He coos almost mockingly at you as fresh tears start pooling in your eyes, your lashes still clumped together from when you cried earlier. “Gonna give you enough brats that you don’t think about leaving again, right baby? A whole fuckin’ slew of ‘em.” He leans over, pressing all of his weight down as he pushes your knees higher, your body bent in half as he fucks harder and harder into you. “Gonna breed your pretty little cunt, give ya everythin’ you need so you stop tryin’ to leave. And the judge won’t grant an uncontested divorce if you’re chubbin’ up with my baby. ‘s against the law, doll.” He shifts his position, pushing your knees past your shoulders until they’re pressed to the floor, the head of his cock pushing harder against your cervix as he puts all his focus on breeding you. “Gonna fuck a baby into your cunt, keep you with me forever. Fuckin’ never let you leave.” He snarls, his pace faltering as he feels you start to tense up. One of his hands leaves the back of your thighs to press against your lower stomach, his thumb rubbing rapid circles over your clit. “C’mon baby. Lemme have it and I’ll give ya what you need. C’mon baby, let go, just let go for me. Lemme feel you fall apart.” He demands, ramming into you harder, growling in your ear as he presses down on you.
Your hips rock up as best as they can as you balance on the edge until his hips shift just right and he hits a spot that sends you spiraling, your nails digging into your palms as you cum, unable to move beyond the slight rocking because of how he has you pinned. Dabi follows almost immediately after, hips stuttering thrice more before he stills, painting your insides with his seed. He rests his weight on his forearms as he flexes his hips a few times, pressing deeper as he tries to catch his breath. After several minutes, he looks up at you, a dangerous look entering his eyes as he starts talking, rocking his hips once more. “Y’ didn’t think that was it, did’ja doll? I told ya, I’m fuckin’ a baby into that pretty pussy.”
It was no surprise when several weeks later, the pregnancy test he bought you came back positive. The smug look on Dabi’s face only grows when he throws all the divorce papers you had given him over the entirety of your separation into the fireplace in your home that he had made you move back into after the night in your apartment. “Guess you gotta let the judge know that the divorce is off, don’tcha baby doll?” He chuckles as he slides your ring back on your finger, his hand squeezing over the brand he left on your ass, smirking as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.