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If I could can I please get All Might x fem reader trying to kiss under a mistletoe for their first kiss (they had just begun acknowledging their feelings for each other after months of steady flirting but I like to imagine one or both of them are still kind of nervous about taking things further) but maybe someone walking in scares Toshi into spitting up blood into readers mouth NOT AS A SEXY THING I JUST REALLY LIKE TO IMAGINE AN EMBARRASSING FIRST TIME LOL maybe reader has to comfort him and say that it’s alright and end up making up for it later more in private?? It can end in smut I would love anything anything with praise or body worship or maybe even a mating press position BUT if you want to keep it sfw I’m totally okay with that too!!! I love anything you write especially for Toshinori YOURE A BRILLIANT WRITER 🥹 happy holidays !!!!

Held Together

Toshinori "All Might" Yagi/Reader (3k words) FANFICTION MASTERLIST | MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST [AO3] [Fanfiction.net] [Wattpad]

Summary: A first kiss in the staff lounge goes wrong in the most Toshinori way possible. It’s messily interrupted by the lingering consequences of his old injuries, and his instinct is to apologise for a body that no longer behaves the way it once did. Later that night, in your bed, you make it very clear: you don’t want the Symbol of Peace. You want the man who survived it all.

Warnings/Themes: Reader Insert, Retired!Toshinori, Teacher!Reader, First Kiss/First Time, Mild Blood, Vaginal Sex, Emotional/Tender Sex, Cowgirl Position, Mating Press Position, Creampie, Large Cock, Size Difference, Light Angst, Scars, Chronic Illness/Health Issues, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Body Image/Self-Esteem Issues, Insecurity, Vulnerability, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Awkwardness, Embarrassment, Canon Compliant.

Notes: I was so late writing this, I had to alter the request slightly because writing a holiday fanfiction in February feels a bit redundant. Hopefully it's still just as enjoyable! You can see the list of characters I will take requests for here.

You don’t plan for this—no one ever does. Weeks of giggling and low-key flirting in the staffroom, a thousand "good mornings" and sneaky, lingering glances over your lesson plans. Toshinori’s even more careful than you are. You’ve watched him skirt the edge of confession half a dozen times, each one steady, deferential, almost bashful. It would be easy to mistake his restraint for shyness, but you see the effort in it: the work it takes him to be gentle with his want.

Tonight, the school is quieter than you’ve ever heard it; most of the faculty have already gone home. The last traces of daylight slant in through dusty windows, striping the lounge in gold and shadows. Toshinori stands by the sink, sleeves rolled, humming some casual little tune. Whatever this unspoken thing is between you, it always seems to keep you both in the same room long after your duties have ended. The sight of him in his rumpled suit—tie askew, shirt slightly untucked—does something dangerous to your pulse.

You lean against the edge of the table, noticing the way his hair, always so wild and gravity-defying, has wilted just a fraction with the lateness of the day. He looks up, catching your gaze, and the tired lines around his eyes seem to disappear.

Your grading is long finished. You don’t have many excuses left to stick around. With a quiet huff, you walk over to where your coat and bag are hanging and pretend to fuss in the pockets.

"You know, for a man who claims he’s so bad at parties, you always make cleaning up look pretty heroic." You say, trying for casual.

He laughs. You love his laugh. It’s such a warm and honest sound, and it brightens his whole face. "I suppose I’m better with a broom than a ballroom."

You set your bag aside. "You’re good at a lot of things, Yagi."

It’s meant as a tease, but you watch the compliment land, softening the worry at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t quite meet your gaze. "That’s… kind of you to say."

You cross the room, joining him beside a half-dry tray of mugs. Close enough now to see the blue of his eyes, the scatter of late-day stubble along his jaw, the thin curve of his mouth as he tries to hide a smile.

The room goes quiet. You hear the low hum of vending machines, the distant scrape of chairs from a far classroom. This flirtation has been a slow burn, a series of lingering touches on shoulders and shared pots of tea, but right now, the pretence feels as though it’s evaporating right in front of you. Toshinori’s hand lingers on the mug he’s holding, thumb tracing the handle—a nervous tell you learned months ago.

"I, um," he starts, then stops, swallowing. "I wanted to say thank you. For… everything, really. Transitioning from hero work to teaching has been… more difficult than I anticipated. But you’ve made it far less daunting."

You shake your head, your heart aching. "You don’t have to thank me. Working with you is one of the best parts of this job, Toshinori."

His shoulders round, just a little. "I hope so. I worry sometimes that I—"

The moment tips like gravity. Your fingers find the cuff of his indigo blazer, and he turns to you, surprised. Sunlight has soaked into him through the glass, leaving his skin warm to the touch, and when your thumb rests at his wrist, you find a beating, measured rhythm—steady as the man himself. There’s a fragile sort of hope in the blue of his eyes, edged with hesitation, and it tugs you forward before you can think better of it.

The distance between you shrinks, like it’s inevitable. Toshinori looks down at your mouth, then back to your eyes, asking a silent question that you answer by tilting your chin up. His hand lifts, hovering at your cheek, then he leans in. His lips only brush yours, but it’s enough to send every thought scattering. You feel his breath shudder against your mouth before he presses in again.

The kiss is careful at first—tentative, almost chaste. Then, emboldened by the way you sigh against him, he eases the kiss open, a little surer. Your hands find his shoulders, the slope of his back, and his fingers curl at your waist with a grip that reminds you he once held villains in place just as easily. You find yourself melting into it; tasting mint and tea on his tongue, smelling the amber and spice of his cologne—letting his warmth and scent fold around you.

The door handle rattles—boots on tile, a burst of laughter from the hallway.

The sound is sharp, a mechanical intrusion that shatters the silence. You both jerk apart, Toshinori’s entire body tensing with the ingrained reflex of a man trained to respond before thinking.

He tries to straighten, flustered, but the spike of adrenaline and the sharp intake of breath collide in his damaged chest. He doesn’t just cough. He heaves. Once, then again—harder, shoulders hunched. You reach for him, but too late: he splutters, a thin streak of blood slips past his lips, and—before either of you can react—lands, unceremoniously, on your bottom lip, the copper taste of it sudden and hot.

He stumbles back, one hand clutching his side, the other clamped over his mouth as he tries to stifle his coughs. His eyes widen, panic flashing, but the immediate, crushing mortification that follows unsettles you far more than the accident itself.

"I—oh, oh no, I’m so sorry—please forgive me, that wasn’t—" He’s already searching his pockets, frantic for a handkerchief, hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. "Are you alright? I didn’t mean—what a—"

You’re a bit startled, but not at all upset. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then gently take the cloth from him, pressing it to his lips instead. "Hey, breathe, Toshi. It’s fine. I promise, it’s fine."

"I am so sorry," he stares at you, wide-eyed and stricken. "That’s… not how I wanted our first kiss to go."

You manage a laugh, soft and reassuring. "Not exactly the swooning romance I pictured, but it’s a story, at least. "

His hands are still trembling. You cup his cheek, thumb smoothing the worry from his brow. "More importantly, are you okay?"

He nods, but you still see the shame lurking beneath the gratitude. "I should be more careful. I—this body, sometimes—"

"This body is the one I want. You didn’t break it by being careless. You broke it protecting people. Don’t you dare be ashamed of that."

For a moment, he’s too overwhelmed to speak. Instead, he squeezes your hand—hard, as if he’s holding onto the truth of what you just said. The sound of footsteps fade again, and the two of you are left in the quiet, still clinging to each other, a little shaken but laughing now, too.

"I’ll make it up to you," he whispers, earnest as a prayer.

You brush your lips over his cheek. "Come over to my place tonight. If you want to try again."

He nods, a blush blooming high on his cheeks. "If you’ll have me."

You squeeze his hand. "There couldn’t possibly be a better way to spend my evening, Yagi."

**********

Two hours later, he’s standing outside your apartment door. He’s changed into a soft, oversized cream sweater and dark lounge pants. He looks scrubbed raw, his hair messy and still a little damp, his expression uncertain.

You barely get the door closed before he’s apologising again. "I spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower attempting to compose a proper apology. I’m terribly sorry. That was not my finest moment."

You reach for him, yanking the collar of his sweater to pull him down to your level, and press your mouth to his before he can get another word out. It’s a deep kiss; intentional, with nothing left to chance. The kind that insists, gently but unmistakably, that he’s wanted here—no more apologies needed. You feel the last of his nerves melting, tension unspooling beneath your lips.

"I like you a lot, Toshi," you say, lips brushing his as you speak. "Nothing’s changed."

He draws back, searching your eyes. His huge hands come up to your face, palms framing your cheeks. "You are extraordinarily gracious," he manages, voice barely above a whisper.

You shake your head, smiling. "No. I just know what I want. Come with me..."

He lets you lead him down the hallway, shedding his shoes and sweater as you go. The apartment is soft with lamplight, shadows flickering across the walls, every detail feels intimate: the hush of the street outside, the faint warmth radiating from the heater, the scent of him—clean laundry and that familiar cinnamon cologne—lingering in the air. He stands at the foot of your bed for a second too long; someone used to charging into danger but far less certain when it comes to being wanted.

You make it easy for him. Your fingers slip the buttons of your blouse, revealing skin an inch at a time. Toshinori’s gaze drinks you in, awestruck, and when you don’t look away, the hunger he’s been holding back finally shows. When your shirt falls to the floor, you see his throat bob.

"I want you to see me, Toshinori," you tell him quietly, unclasping your bra, letting it slip away.

His eyes rake over you, stalling at your breasts, the curve of your stomach, the line of your hips. You step out of your skirt, hook your thumbs in your underwear, and peel them down. Toshinori’s breath catches, and for a moment, all he can do is stare, transfixed, mouth parted in silent worship.

He strips off his shirt too, then his trousers, and when he stands before you, stripped bare, you take in every inch of him: sharp bones and roped muscle, the jagged scar tissue that ripples across his left side, the rise and fall of his ribs. You lean in, pressing your lips to the edge of the old wound, your final vow of acceptance. His cock is already hard, thick and unapologetic against his stomach, and you feel a jolt of want so sharp it makes your knees soften.

"I know I’m… not much to look at any more."

You cup his face in both hands, close enough that your chests brush. "You’re beautiful," you say, letting him hear the reverence in your voice. "All of you."

You guide him gently down and crawl up into his lap, settling so your knees bracket his narrow hips, and take your time kissing him again. He shudders under your touch, and his hands begin to roam your body with a worshipful intensity. He treats your skin like something precious, his palms sliding over your curves with growing certainty. His mouth is hungry, but he doesn’t rush. He touches you as though he intends to learn every part of you properly.

Your fingers comb through his wild hair, dragging his head back so you can mouth along his jaw, the pulse in his neck fluttering rapidly beneath your lips. His hands roam your back, sliding up your spine, then down again to cup the swell of your ass, squeezing gently.

He mouths at your shoulder, breath shaking. "Your body is… incredible."

You rock your hips forward, letting his cock drag through the slick between your thighs, and he lets out a soft, strangled groan, his hands tightening, barely keeping himself in check.

He settles back against the bed, bracing himself on his elbows, watching you. His blue eyes have gone dark with longing, his restraint thinning by the second. Your fingers wrap the thick base of his cock, feeling him throb, hot in your hand. His breath turns ragged, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.

Carefully, you guide him into place, teasing the head against your entrance, before lowering yourself onto him, inch by inch. He’s large—much larger than his slight frame would suggest, and your body stretches to accommodate him. The fullness is dizzying. Toshinori’s hands hover at your hips, eyes fixed on where your bodies join, trying desperately to keep himself still.

You pause when you’re halfway seated, your thighs trembling. Toshinori strokes your hip. "Would you like to stop? Is it too much?"

You shake your head, a shaky laugh in your throat. "No—I just need a second to catch up..."

He nods, his jaw clenched tight, sweat starting to bead at his temples. You take a few slow breaths, then press down again, the stretch turning into a delicious ache. When he’s fully seated inside you, filling you to the hilt, you’re gasping, pleasure burning through every nerve.

"Oh my," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You’re… so tight. So perfect."

You lean forward, kissing him deep, swallowing his groans. You roll your hips experimentally, grinding down until you find a rhythm that feels good, the slide of him inside you making your breath catch with every movement. Toshinori lets you set the pace, his fingers pressing gently into your thighs, thumbs brushing soothingly into your skin.

"I need you to touch me," you moan, your voice raw with want.

He does. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbing your nipples, drawing little circles that send sparks through your core. His mouth follows, lips closing over one breast, sucking gently, making you arch into him, grinding down harder. He moans, hips bucking up involuntarily, and you both gasp at the sudden surge of pleasure.

You ride him like that for a while, savouring every thick inch, every stuttered breath. He murmurs praise between kisses, broken and honest—"So beautiful. You feel incredible. I don’t quite know how I deserve this." Each word sinks into you, making you ache for more.

When your legs start to quiver, Toshinori takes over, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently rolling you beneath him. He lifts your legs, settling them over his shoulders, and braces himself above you; long, lean muscles corded, careful not to press his full weight down.

He looks at you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe—and as he enters you again, he does so with a painstaking slowness, his eyes locked on yours to catch even the slightest hint of discomfort. He grinds in so much deeper at this angle. It makes you whine, hands clinging to his back.

He leans down, kissing you hard, tongues tangling. His breath is hot against your mouth. "Tell me if I hurt you.. Please." He murmurs.

"You won’t," you manage, nails digging into his shoulders. "Make love to me, Toshi. I want all of you."

Your ankles cross over his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he lets out a hoarse, helpless noise, his head falling back. He begins to move with a rhythmic, grounded strength, his movements building in intensity, the air growing warm and close, charged with sweat and skin and breath.

He worships every inch of you—hands everywhere, mouth tracing your calves, your feet, lips whispering a constant, low-muttered stream of endearments into your skin. He’s all angles and heat, his hands settle on your hips to anchor you as his pace quickens, as he drives into you over and over, filling you completely.

You feel the pressure coil inside you, tightening with every roll of his hips. Toshinori senses it, his rhythm faltering as he tries to hold back.

"Are you close?" he asks, voice trembling with restraint.

You nod, biting your lip, and he redoubles his efforts, angling his hips just right, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you. It’s too much; your body arches, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

Your orgasm is a quiet, world-shaking collapse, legs shaking where they rest on his shoulders, gasping his name. Toshinori falters. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hips snapping forward as he follows you over, emptying deep inside you with a guttural, vibrating groan.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him down so you can feel the thud of his heart against your own, both of you shuddering with effort. Your fingers follow the sharp line of his shoulder blades as his breathing slowly levels out.

He draws back to brush your hair back from your face and kiss you softly. "Thank you," he breathes, voice wrecked with feeling. "For letting me try again. For wanting me at all."

His blue eyes shine as they hold yours, and in this moment, he looks impossibly beautiful. "There’s no one else I want."

He pulls you close, pressing kisses into your hair, your brow, your lips—holding you like something precious, something irreplaceable.

After a while, he eases out, careful, and you both settle into the soft tangle of fresh sheets. Toshinori wraps you in the hollow of his chest, his long limbs tangling with yours in a messy, comfortable knot of recovery.

The warmth of him seeps into you. His heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek, stubborn and alive. You lie there, tracing the scar along his ribs, and wonder how many times this body stood between strangers and death. How many times that heart has nearly stopped. How easily tonight could have been a story you never got to live.

You are grateful for every scar. Grateful for every breath he still gets to take.

You fall asleep listening to the proof of it.

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