rating: R18+
cw(s): 18+ content/MINORS DNI. sub! izuku, dom+gn! reader, izuku is into being called your wife, everyone is sort of a freak here
wanna make a housewife outta IZUKU.
i mean, it’s all just teasing at first. the occasional comment meant to pull that rosiness out of his cheeks whenever he makes you dinner or does your laundry for you.
“you’d make a good wife, izuku.” paired with a laugh that grows with the way his face blooms afterwards.
it’s all jokes, and he knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but slowly the jokes become more and more frequent. calling him your trophy wife, cute little housewife, telling him how pretty a ring would look on his finger.
when you have him laying against your chest, comfortable between your thighs, the jokes keep coming, even after you’ve already fucked him tender and dumb.
“y’could be my cute lil’ wife, you know.”
the soft feel of your lips against his skin has him shuddering a bit. the feeling only just feathers along his neck, then below his ear, until eventually your pressing kisses trailing across his temple.
“just stay home and look pretty f’me. never have to do all that horrible hero work.” your finger slides down from his soft cheek to his chin, turning his head to face you, all the while he’s staring into your eyes with a glazed over, fucked out expression that has a smile spreading across your face. “wouldn’t you like that, honey?”
“uh huh,” he nods, though the words aren’t reaching his brain. there’s only the light post-orgasm buzz warming him up inside, not a single thought can come through. he’d say yes to anything you’d propose right now, because in his eyes you’re divine, and he is nothing if not devoted to you. “please…”
“sweet thing,” you coo, “of course you would.”
“i’d get home from work n’ you’d be makin’ dinner while wearing that pretty ring i’d get you. as a present, i could bend you over the counter and fuck you on it, just like that…wouldn’t that be nice?”
the blood is starting to make its way back into his cock, and all he can do is stare wide eyed and stupid.
“could dress you up all nice and introduce you to my boss ‘n coworkers. And when we leave the party i’ll screw your pretty brains out in the backseat of the car for being so good f’me.”
you giggle a little, and it’s a sound so delicate and innocent he can hardly wrap his head around the filth coming out of your mouth. but that doesn’t stop the way it twists him up inside and leaves him squirming against you.
“bet you’d love that, huh baby?”
“Y-yes…yeah…oh—,” he groans. “please.” his face is starting to get hot, the rest of his body is already beginning to ache with the need searing in is cock. your words paint pictures in his mind that almost leaves spit trailing under his chin, and he’s not quite sure what to do. beg, cry, whine, it’s horrible, the way you toy with him. “please!”
“what’re you sayin’ please for?” Your fingers trail over his bare chest and teas across his pert nipples. “c’mon angel. use your words.”
“f-fuck…fuck me….!” he gasps. “please! make me…make me yours I—I wan’ it! i wan’ it! wanna be y—yours! please…please…please!”
“yeah? you wanna be mine that bad?”
“yes! oh…oh fuck—! yes!”
“but you’re already mine.” you press a kiss to his cheek. “tell me what you really want.”
his breath catches in his throat and it comes out a strangled whine, one that forces another shade of pink across his face.
‘what you really want’ it’s absurd, it’s embarrassing, but the longer you tease him the more he unravels, and he can feel himself slipping. “don’t—“
“oh c’mon angel…humor me won’t you?”
his lips press together tight as he stares at your hands, which lay on either side of his hip bones, thumbs tracing light circles against his skin. it’s a tantalizing feeling, a dull ache forming in his chest that threatens to bubble up into his throat, and he’s trying with the last threads of self control he has left to keep it at bay.
“do you hate the idea that much?”
“no!” he cries, shaking his head like he’s desperate. “n—no I….I….”
it’s too much. this feeling is too much, your touch is too much, the idea is too much.
But he loves it. he holds onto it like a secret he’ll only share with himself, but with you prodding this way, he’s worried he’ll spill.
He just can’t admit that he loves the joke a little too much.