cw; mommy kink, pegging, wife!reader, fem!reader, domme!reader, recording/vouyerism??, baby boy ‘zuku
Shy!pro hero izuku who goes stiff in front of flashing lights and rolling cameras. His lips tremble, shaky smile and awkward wave as his cheeks set themselves ablaze for the focusing lenses, looking for that viral shot of number one pro hero Deku, newly appointed.
Many a things have changed since U.A. He’s bigger, taller, sturdier, stronger — physically, at least — but then the camera starts rolling and the press come in hot on his heels, like fuming bulls after a fleeing Recortadores, and his whole body lights up like a Christmas tree. The cherry on top, quite literally.
He stutters, and fumbles, and makes a fool of himself, he thinks, but his fans think it adds to his charm. Has the women swooning and the onlookers falling to their knees in worship at ‘just how sweet a person can get!’ It’s no show, really, the attention is horrifying and he never got over that fear. Can’t. So he bares it with flaming cheeks and a shivering timber, stiff as a board.
Maybe that’s why it’s a bit cruel, when you, his wife, bring those rolling video’s into the bedroom, and watch through a focused lens as his fluttering pink whole sucks up slow inches of plastic cock into himself. His mouth drops open in honest ecstasy, whimpering out the fruits of your labor with eyes rolled into the back of his brain, watching the pink muscle as it short circuits in pleasure and melts into a goopy pile of mush.
He becomes so pliant, and soon that feeling melts into humiliation as you coo the words “smile for the camera!” Into buzzing ears. Smooth sheets and a fluffy comforter stretch for miles in waves, and he feels like a man lost at sea, gripping for semblance in a wild untamable place, sinking below the surface and drowning in its unbearable salty depths as you push further on his insides and see-saw your way into his stomach. His toes curl so delicately, and he mewls sweetly like a little kitten begging for reprieve.
“C’mon, tell mommy how good it feels— so I can watch it later, huh?” The crème skin of his back arches like a sculpted bow pulled tight, almost as ready to release as his swelling cock and aching balls as you abuse the walls of his fluttering hole. In and out, in and out — he can feel the presence of your phone, too — and it makes his ears and chest blaze with a bright red flush. The only difference is performance anxiety has no place here, not when you’re forcing his orgasm out of him like a roller flattens pliable cookie dough.
Your hips jut forward, and he squeals.
“Oh, like that? Listen to those nasty sounds ‘zuku -kun, you’re a natural, sweetheart!” You’re words pour like hot tea into his ears, and his head feels like mud puddles after a rainstorm, wet and squishy as you assault his body in all the right ways.
“Just a little more, baby boy. Then we’ll flip over and get a full frontal, ‘mkay?”
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
