Tag: erasermight

I think about toshinori being like the go to person when one wanted a nice deep fuck before he was injured but he always secretly wished that someone would take on the “challenge” of fucking him instead and giving his the A1 anal orgasms that he craved, so when he got injured it was kinda a blessing I disguise because now his poor dick doesn’t get hard anymore so he’s on the receiving end of those nice deep fuckings he craved as a young man

Even before All Might – before he’s gotten the gift of being the hope of the people – Toshinori has been handsome.

He knows it, too – though it hadn’t been on the forefront of his mind most of the time.

He’d been just as tall and optimistic; muscular, if not as beefy as All Might would be.

He’s never had trouble finding partners to share a night, and he thinks – hopes – they’ve had their fun, even if the encounters had been a bit… lacking for himself.

It’s been humbling – maybe even a bit humiliating – to find himself unable to perform the way he used to after his life-changing injury. Not that it mattered much at the time. 

It took him a while to come to terms with his body slowly starving away in front of his own eyes; watching his hair go frizzy and loose its shine; his eyes sinking in deep, skin stretched tight across his skull.

He is a far cry away from the handsome man he had once been, and suddenly nobody was lining up in front of his door anymore.

For All Might they still come, yes. But not for Toshinori. Not for him.

Until they did – sort of, at least. Eraserhead and Present Mic – Aizawa and Hizashi… and suddenly his inability mattered again, made him feel ashamed on a bone-deep level that unnerved him fundamentally.

Had him shying away from Hizashi’s overt, and Aizawa’s quiet advances, waving them off with a forced grin and a half-hearted explanation about how he was tired – because there was no way he’d be able to satisfy them. Not like this – and…

“Maybe you should just stop assuming things,” Aizawa murmurs moist and warm against his thin neck, dragging him down to the mattress with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt. 

It’s not hard for them to peel him out of it; it is one of All Might’s shirts and large enough to pose as a nightgown for Toshinori. His boxers are just as precariously hanging from his frame, easy to drag off his long, skinny legs. Exposing him to the cool air of the room.

He’s not sure he shivered, but he must have been because two bodies descend on him and keep him warm. Hizashi is babbling, fingers quick and intrusive, and Aizawa is quiet and intense, and there is little else Toshinori can focus on when they overwhelm all his senses.

.o.

Hizashi fucks him first, and deep down he is thankful for it because it means Aizawa is at his front; calm and collected, dragging fingers through his hair and staring down into his slowly watering eyes as Hizashi fucks him in sharp, tiny thrusts.

“That’s it,” Aizawa mumbles, one of the few things he says, and Toshinori holds on to it like a lifeline as he is too weak to hold himself up and needs Hizashi’s hands around his hips to keep him in place.

“So warm. Such a good little hole to fuck; isn’t he, Eraserhead???”

“Can’t say. Haven’t fucked him yet,” Aizawa grunts, and then after a second of deliberation continues: “Sure does look like it, though.”

Hizashi cackles, a little out of breath, hands warm and gentle and so in contrast to everything else. He’s not moving much; basically just drags his cock along an inch of the quivering, nervous walls of Toshinori’s insides, but he doesn’t need more than that.

His body is alight with a bone deep sensation; a.. a need that makes him feel like he has to constantly bear down on the cock; like he has to pee; like he has to come immediately, but not really…

It makes him whiny, maybe. A bit. He can’t tell, but Aizawa is shushing him with low hums and takes up his petting once more.

Hizashi is halting, nearly stopping, makes considering noises and then changes his angle, and pushes –

and Toshinori can’t help his cry, so sudden and visceral, tasting blood in the back of his throat as his fingers, thin like twigs, claw at the bedding, body thrumming, cock feeling so tender even though he knows – he knows it’s soft between his skinny thighs, pathetic and pink, and he feels like he’s going to come but that is impossible, and

“You’re doing so well, Yagi,” Hizashi hums, voice vibrating across his back, raising goosebumps. “You feel so warm and perfect. Clenching down like a good boy. Can’t believe you’ve never done this before – look how sensitive you are. So easy for us. So easy.”

And suddenly he comes; bone deep, throbbing, the sensation robbing him of his senses as his body spasms and they hold him through it, gentle him down as his eyes roll up into his head and he’s drooling; just a few watery drops of cum dripping from his foreskin as his intestines nearly vibrate with the sensation, muscles clamping down, undulating, massaging–

and Toshinori has never felt anything like it before, but it is more encompassing, more mind blowing than any orgasm he’s ever had. It takes him so completely, so deeply that it is almost frightening, taking his breath and mixing a little blood with the saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth-

and he doesn’t think he’ll ever even want to feel anything else. Not when he hears Hizashi sing for him; sounding so satisfied even though Toshinori hasn’t done a thing.

Lazy morning, soft sleepy sex with erasermight is my new favorite thing. Let those old men rest and be happy

Aizawa is fucking him lazily; almost slow enough that Toshinori wonders if he fell asleep again: forehead pressed between the sharp cuts of Toshinori’s shoulder blades, his warm, moist breath fanning against the valley of his spine.

Every now and then, though, Aizawa will twist his hips; give his thrusts a new angle that makes Toshinori’s toes curl and his breathing speed up.

There are a few drops of blood soaked into the towel he’s dragged across his pillow, though nothing to be worried about yet.

The constant throb of pain in his side is dull, almost as sleepy as their coupling.

Aizawa is mumbling, but it is too indistinct to make out anything – his hands are gentle as they trace Toshinori’s painfully visible ribs, and his lips leave wet little smears when he presses sloppy kisses against his back.

He might not be able to hear him, but he can quite imagine what he is saying, and it is enough to make him want to squirm in embarrassment, pressing his forehead against his arms, and breathing quick and warm into the little space he created.

“Don’t,” he rumbles. He can taste the blood frothing at the corner of his mouth, but the feeling of his impending orgasm low in his shivering belly is more prominent than anything else.

Aizawa hums and lifts up higher on his knees, easily taking Toshinori’s slim hips with him. He can’t possibly reach in to nuzzle his face into the back of Toshinori’s neck, but he makes due by gently biting whatever he can reach; leaving distinct points of dull pain behind that makes Toshinori squeeze down on his cock.

Aizawa swears he’d only closed his eyes for a second, but when he drags them open again, Toshinori is just there next to his desk, leaning a bony hip against the wood, looking down at him with a grin.

“Sleepy?”

Aizawa grunts and shifts, shouldering the layers upon layers of scarf higher to hide the frown of his mouth.

“There is nothing dishonorable in taking a break, you know,” Toshinori continues. It is annoying. He is annoying. As All Might it is more bearable; the unceasing optimism that gets the students fired up, and inspires them to do their very best. As Toshinori, however, it sets Aizawa’s teeth on edge, even though he is so much more subdued in this form. (His true form, if Aizawa had any say in it.)

It makes him feel more… inadequate. Fake.

Aizawa is battling a constant, throbbing headache; eyes dry and scraping in their sockets. Hankering to sleep for ten years or never to wake up again in the first place.

Next to the pain Toshinori has to feel on a constant basis, half his lung, and stomach ripped out… coughing blood… he feels pathetic.

“Eh? Eraserhead?” Toshinori leans down, crystal blue eyes fixed on Aizawa’s tired gaze. He’d drifted off while Toshinori had been waiting for an answer. 

Annoying, annoying, annoying.

“Ah. Why don’t you let me get back to work. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get home.”

Toshinori straightens, gaunt face so very serious as he lifts both arms, giving Aizawa a double thumbs-up.

“You are honorable, Aizawa. Dutiful. I respect you, even though your methods are too harsh. I recognize, however, that you are just as harsh to yourself as you are to your students, and that is admirable.” 

Aizawa watches him warily from the corner of his eyes, pencil held loosely in his fist. He wonders what Toshinori is up to; he looks almost nervous.

“Still,” Toshinori continues, and even though shadow has swallowed his powder blue eyes again, Aizawa feels like he is being watched from the deep set gauges beneath Toshinori’s brow. His arms are still extended, still giving him a goofy double thumbs-up. “You deserve a break every now and then, Eraserhead. You deserve to relax.”

Aizawa is getting intrigued, turning his head minimally, and taking Toshinori in. Tall but continuously slouched. Ill-fitting suit hanging off of his emaciated body. Yagi Toshinori thinks that he is the impostor; the front – not All Might. He caters to his huge alter-ego body. Wants to be prepared to change at the drop of a hat wherever he is. Wants to be prepared to help.

“What are you on about?” he mumbles, vowels slurring – half from sleep-deprivation, half because he just doesn’t care.

And then he does wake up full and sharp as Toshinori suddenly moves; sliding down and beneath the table, quick and fluid – folding his tall, lank body in on itself with a deftness that shows how clearly he knows himself despite everything.

“What are you-” Aizawa starts, then chokes on his own words. Toshinori’s hands are at his fly; opening it quick and clever.

“You deserve to relax as much as anybody else, honorable Eraserhead,” he hears Toshinori’s deep voice mumble from beneath.

He feels a sharp pang of nervous shame as he thinks about how late it is; how he has to smell – but then Toshinori’s warm, moist breath is huffing against his cock; so effortlessly slipped from his underwear; and a nose is snuffling into the unkempt thatch of hair at the base of his dick. Inhaling. Exhaling.

Warm and gentle, just as the broad, long hand that is holding him upright. Keeping him steady for Toshinori’s welcoming mouth.

Aizawa curls forward, hands balled into fists, eyes wide as he stares at the divider giving him modest privacy in the office from the other desks closely pushed against his on each side. 

Nobody is here. It is dark other than a few stray lights.

Nobody is here other than Toshinori beneath his desk, suckling the tip of his cock warm and gentle into his mouth; tongue lapping at the slit, coaxing him to fatten up and fill out the space.

“T-Toshinori,” Aizawa grinds out, toes curling in his boots. His knees want to lift and clamp reflexively around Toshinori’s bushy blond head, but the man’s hands are there, holding them down. Keeping him seated as he crawls further in and slides down the throbbing shaft.

Taking Aizawa in deep, deep, deeper without a hitch until he can feel the crown push along the soft palate and even farther.

He holds his breath, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks bulging with little puffing breaths as he feels the wet resistance for a second before Toshinori shifts and relaxes and then he pops past that, too – and he can’t believe it, but Toshinori is deep throating him like it’s nothing special. Lets him deep dick his throat with an unending patience that brings water to Aizawa’s usually perpetually dry eyes.

Someone is taking heaving breaths that border on sobs, and he realizes with a start, that he is the one doing it. He clamps a hand across his mouth, and the other shoots down; fists in Toshinori’s thick fringe, then slides farther back to the untamed nest on the back of his head.

His hips jerk and jutter but he doesn’t do much in terms of moving. He’s fixed quite neatly behind his desk and he can’t believe Toshinori is sucking him off.

Great, long pulls as he bobs his head smoothly, his already gaunt cheeks hollowed even more to cushion Aizawa’s cock lovingly – and when Aizawa’s trembling hand manages to let go of the fist full of hair and slide down, he can feel the bulge of his dick through Toshinori’s thin cheek.

The sensation makes him bite the flesh of his palm, hips jumping, balls clenching.

He comes too fast. Way too fast. It is embarrassing.

Annoying, annoying, annoying.

But Toshinori doesn’t seem surprised. He swallows him down, then laps like a kitten at the silky head, trying to get every last drop.

When he slips out from beneath the table, he has put Aizawa neatly away and looks as put-together as gaunt, slouching Toshinori does. 

Aizawa isn’t looking at him. He is staring at the divider around his desk, chest still heaving, eyes wide open. Cheeks a deep red.

“I hope I could be of help,” Toshinori’s deep voice mumbles. There’s his warm hand in the middle of Aizawa’s back, giving him a small, friendly rub.

“You should go to sleep soon. Eraserhead.”