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Izuku is the most dedicated person you’ve ever met. Staying up late to grade papers and rewrite lesson plans until the sun’s peeking above the horizon.
He loves being a teacher, coaching the next generation of heroes. That being said, the man seriously needs a break.
Tonight is your last straw. His face illuminated blue from his computer screen, one hand balled in his curls, brows pinched in concentration.
You shift behind his rolling chair, reaching over for a pen you don’t really need.
“Oh, sorry. Am I in your way?” He leans to the side to accommodate you, fingers stalling on the keyboard.
“No no,” you assure, plucking a pen from the cup. “Just needed this.” Wiggling the pen between your forefinger and thumb.
“Whatcha workin’ on?” That always gets him talking. It’s the perfect play.
Izuku rubs the back of his neck, scrolling through the lesson plan he’d rewrote at least three times.
“Just trying to figure out how to get the kids to feel as enthusiastic about rules and protocol on the field as they are about using their quirks. I mean, I get it. I wasn’t always great at that part either. They get excited and want to show what they can do—and I wanna see it. Seriously, I do, but…“
This was better than you could’ve hoped for, a long winded ramble about his students. He didn’t even realize you’d dropped to your knees between your “mhm’s” and nods.
“Maybe, if I can just—oh.” His muttering ceases, wide green eyes finally catching onto your new position. Your fingertip tracing along the buckle of his belt, cheek pressed against his firm thigh.
“What—um—what’re you doing, baby?” His voice comes out clipped, throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.
“Listening.” You reply sweetly, looping your finger underneath the leather to pull it free.
“Go ahead, Izuku. Keep going.”
His eyes nearly bulge from his head, managing a nervous nod.
“R-right, yeah, okay—so uh, field protocol…”
While he continues to sputter out whatever thoughts remain in his head, you finish working on his belt and button. You drag the zipper down over his growing bulge slowly, each small click of the teeth has his fingers flexing against the armrest.
You lean forward to press a long kiss just below his navel, using his freckles like a map to guide your lips lower. His hips lift naturally to aid in sliding everything off, the motion muscle memory. When his cock springs free, tip flushed and leaking, you nearly take him into your mouth right there.
Your head lifts up, cooing at the sight before you.
“Oh, baby,” spreading the sheen across his slit with your thumb. “You really need this, huh?”
His hands grip the armrests so tightly they groan from the strain, focusing on not bucking his hips into your face. He won’t try to deny his need, not with you looking up at him so prettily.
“Yeah, I really—fuck, I really do.”
The temptation to draw this out more is there, but he rarely admits to needing pleasure. You’ll play nice this once. Your breath ghosts over the tip long enough to pull a gasp from him, smirking at the sound before taking the first couple inches into your mouth.
Swirling your tongue over the tip, tonguing at the slit to appreciate his taste.
Izuku’s right hand abandons the armrest, threading thick fingers through your hair. It’s not to push you and you know that. He’d never. It’s just to hold onto you, ground him in the moment.
You hum approvingly, encouraging his hands to wander as they please. The vibrations ripple through his shaft, muscles tensing from the sensation as you sink further.
“Oh god—that’s so good—you’re so good.” He groans through a shaky breath, guiding your head up and down his shaft. Spit gathers in the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin in stringy globs.
“Hah—shit.” He bites out, unable to pull his eyes away from you taking him so well. Gagging through his length, pushing until your nose bumps curly hair at the base. Your watery eyes travel up his happy trail, abs flexing uncontrollably. When your eyes finally meet he nearly busts right there.
The man before you is no longer the greatest hero, a pillar of strength and justice. He’s wrecked. Drunk on pleasure, gasping through a whimper and fucking up into your mouth because he just can’t take it.
“S-sorry—fuck! I’m sorry, baby—n-need to.”
Your fingers dig into his thighs, nails biting into flesh to anchor yourself. Tears leak, spit dribbles down your chin and drips onto the hardwood floor. You endure every thrust. Breathing through your nose with each gag when he bottoms out. You take it all because he deserves to let go.
Sweat gathers along his hairline, dampening curls that stick to his forehead. He’s close, grunts turning desperate and whiny. Fucking into your mouth with no sense of rhythm, simply chasing the high building deep inside him.
“Gonna cum,” warning rushing out so quickly the words blend together.
“Fuckfuckfuck—can i? Please, please let me.”
You wouldn’t dare pull off him to answer, not when he’s unraveling just the way you hoped. Squeezing his thigh is enough of a silent indicator. His hips jerk up with no rhythm, pushing himself to the back of your throat in desperation to chase the high building up inside him. Your eyes close to focus on every sound, listening to his cues for when to hollow out your cheeks just at the right time.
Izuku spills into your mouth with a choked sound, it’s pure relief. He whines through it, fingers laced through your hair to keep you in place, too lost to worry about being gentle.
Cum clogs your throat, you strain to swallow it all down while watching your teeth. Not stopping until you’re sure to milk every last drop.
You pop off and take a big breath in, earning the dramatic inhale after nearly suffocating on cock.
Izuku’s hands shift to hold your face, tilting it upwards to inspect the mess.
“You okay?” He asks breathless, panting through his concern. His fingertips grazing the column of your throat.
“Never better.” You smile despite the ache, any hoarseness tomorrow is worth every second of this.
Carefully, he guides you up into his lap, leaning back to make things comfortable for you.
He does his best to not cringe at the cold, sticky aftermath dripping down your chin and neck.
“Don’t start,” you mumble, wiping at your cheek. All it accomplishes is spreading it further. “This is your mess.”
He huffs a tired laugh into your hairline, combing it back. “I take full responsibility.”
“Good,” you reply, smugly satisfied.
Izuku doesn’t even look at his laptop the rest of the night. He shuts it and carries you up the stairs to your bedroom. He’s snoring into the back of your neck minutes after laying down.