#THE FACT THAT THIS IS A CANON CONVERSATION | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tswhiisftteedr · 3 days

Note

Not to be rude but you accidentally put val's story in vox's masterlist instead. Srry I didn't feel comfy dming you. Nothing against you at all I'm just a coward wanting to hide in anon haha. Ig while I'm here could I get vox general hcs pls?

What the Tv do? ☆ Vox General Headcanon + Drabbles (SFW & NSFW)

☆ Vox General headcanon + Vox x Gn!Reader(Employee!Reader??):

Some general thoughts about the tv man and also his relationship with the ‘reader’. This is silly, this is fun, fluffy and smutty.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, Death(literally overdose on coffe nothing gruesome), Drug use(c0caine and others substances), Sadistic Tendencies, Dub-Con, Power Imbalance/Power Play, Obsessive and Possessive Tendencies and Acts, Stalking, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Boss x Employee, Pet Play?(Just collaring and slight animal based pet names), Valentino.

Words: Total: 5496 = Sfw - 2609 + Nsfw - 2887

Note: I only wrote 1 drabble, i might add more if people request it about the specific headcanon they want more on. so I’m not good with request like these, I like when they are more specific so I have sort of something to base my writing on, so sorry if you anon or people don’t like what I’ve wrote, r.i.p. >:/ Though tell me if you want more!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

SFW:

☕︎ Coffee addict and 𓏊 Alcoholic

Vox is the figurative and quite literally incarnation of the ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ phrase.

But we’re talking coffees instead of coffee with him — two cups straight out of bed to be precise. When totalling the day’s consumption, Vox indulges on average, 6-7 cups of 10 oz coffee; in addition to his morning coffees, he likes to have a mid-morning cup, then two during lunch and finally 1-2 cups during the afternoon depending how late he is working.

Is this per say, ‘healthy’? No, not at all, Vox couldn't care less — worst ‘worst’ case scenario, he quote on quote dies, the coffee he had intake ends up intoxicating him due to the splurging amount of it, turning this mondaine drink into a lethal liquid for the overlord’s body. His heart would stop, sub-consequently, him and his body would be out.

Though the good thing — or bad, it all depends on your angle — about hell is that in about the span of 10 minutes his body will have fully regenerate and be back open for business. Some sinners call it it a curse, he calls it a blessing, as this part of the ‘eternal punishment’ practically makes him immortal.

So is he going to work on regulating his caffeine intake? Obviously not!

Worst thing he gets from his ‘little problem’ is a heart attack, and they don’t permanently keep him down. — Sure, they hurt like a bitch, and he would rather not be having them at all to be truthful.

But he honestly he doesn’t see his bimonthly cardiac arrests as that steep of a price to pay. (Honestly how can such a smart businessman be so dumb about his health. * face palming and baffled at the idiocy of it all *)

Now when alcohol is the subject of conversation, Vox takes a slightly different approach, albeit one still characterized by overindulgence.

You see, he prides himself on being the epitome of a charming, classy, and self-controlled casual drinker, compared to his drunkard of a pattern —Valentino— our lovely show host with anger issues and both inferiority and superiority complex is a sophisticated and savvy man.

However, beneath this facade of self-control, which he upholds quite well to the public eye, hides his obvious alcoholism issues.

While he may not be stumbling and blubbering around, picking fights,— in most instances at least— Vox is certainly what you might call a “day drinker."

In fact, this is actually a canonical trait, which was displayed in episode two of the show; Him discussing with others Vees on how to deal with the radio demon’s comeback, a drink in hand.

I presume thatit was a scotch on the rocks due to it’s colour but also it’s historical relevance in relation to Vox’s person— Scotch whisky poured over ice, gained popularity in the 1950s primarily in Western countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

It became a symbol of sophistication and leisure, often enjoyed in upscale bars, clubs, and lounges frequented by the affluent and fashionable crowd of the era.

Additionally, its popularity was bolstered by the rise of cocktail culture during the mid-20th century, as well as the increasing availability of Scotch whisky in international markets. — this fits quite nicely Vox’s character as it is both a drink of his time on earth but also one that remains relevant in the contemporary era.

It easily mirrors Vox's overarching desire to maintain relevance and significance, both in the present and in the ever-evolving future.

The overlord definitely adhere to ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’ religiously. Though he does prefer to enjoy his daily drink around 5 p.m. PRT (Pride Ring Time).

He will occasionally enjoys a drink with his lunch, often opting for wine, although this isn't a regular occurrence for the man.

As someone constantly under stress, with his mind racing to keep up with the ever-changing trends and opinions in hell, Vox is a type to indulge in a nightcap or two before bed.

It helps him unwind and achieve the relaxed state of mind necessary for a restful night's sleep.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Sleep

While the notion of ‘Vox's dreams playing on his screen while he's asleep’ is an amusing concept for fanfiction or artwork, I personally find the idea of ‘the VoxTek logo bouncing around like the DVD logo’ to be more fitting for Vox.

Before delving further, it's important to note that initially, it wasn't necessarily the VoxTek logo projected on his screen; however, I'll address this shortly.

The reason I lean towards the DVD logo concept is because I find it unlikely that Vox's screen would be completely black during sleep. A completely dark screen would imply the device is completely off, no energy is being received or given by it, which would suggest that it is no longer alive. Having some activity on Vox’s screen while asleep would signify that his program is still active, indicating he's still functioning, essentially alive.

Now regarding the widely shared headcanon, I have my own personal take on it.

When Vox first manifested in hell, his 'real name' appeared on screen. By 'real name,' I mean the one he had on Earth, which I believe wasn't Vox —That name seems too futuristic for a person born in the early 1900s or the kind of name you'd associate with a 1950s businessman— Vox is a name he chose for himself after death, symbolizing a fresh start, though I do think that his real name might also have started with a V.

(This perspective extends to other 'Vees' as well, although Velvette seems more plausible as a given name, I suspect it might not be her original one. Valentino, on the other hand, feels like a name assigned to him, but he too might have adopted a new one after death.)

Initially, Vox was unaware of his old name appearing on his screen while he slept since he wasn't conscious during that time. It wasn't until about half a year into his time in hell, during which he introduced himself as Vox to everyone, that one of his acquaintances pointed out this aspect of his physiology. Something along the lines of "Who's V———?" or "Why does V——— show on your screen while you sleep?" triggered a cascade of reactions in him.

Firstly, he panicked, realizing that people had access to his old identity. Secondly, he was puzzled by this phenomenon since no TV he had encountered displayed such behavior, which was normal considering DVDs weren't invented before 1996. — Hell sure was weird, he possessed technological features as part of his physiology before they were even invented— Lastly, this revelation instilled in him a new fear of sleeping.

This behavior stemmed from Vox's desire to construct a fresh existence in hell, complete with a new identity, image, empire, etc. The thought of others accessing his old name and exploiting it to uncover details about his past, including his behaviors, weaknesses, and tactics, filled him with dread.

As a result, he became hyper-vigilant, refusing to sleep unless he was certain of his solitude, fearing the potential repercussions of his former identity being known.

It wasn't until the mid 1960s that Vox had finally managed to upgrade his system, replacing ‘V———‘ with 'Vox'. However, even after this upgrade, he still harboured reservations about sleeping around others for about a year or two. He feared a potential glitch that could revert his screen to displaying his previous name.

Around the late 1970s he had made an adjustment to this aspect of his body once more, replacing 'Vox' with the VoxTek logo after a certain moth had suggested it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sexuality

Our beloved Tv Demon a canonical bisexual man, but I personally believe that while he may have bisexuality as his sexual orientation, — his attraction to men was something he only came to realize after death. Although there were subtle hints of his attraction to the same gender based on how he felt about them, he unfortunately didn't grasp them while still alive;

It would have been the late 1950s, and Vox had been in hell for about a year or two. In his earthly life, he had been with his fair share of women, and even in the "surprisingly not so fiery pits of the underworld," his ability to attract partners hadn't diminished much once got over his TV head appearance and let place for his charming and savvy persona to take over.

His love life seemed unchanged, perhaps with occasional exploration of new kinks, until that fateful night of October 11, 195X...

Vox had gone out for a drink after a grueling day at work, back when he was still toiling away at a low-paying job in an electronics factory, toasters, vacuum, etc. Despite the shitty work he had to go through, he had the perk of taking home broken scraps, which eventually played a role in his rise to success. But let's refocus on his night out, shall we?

He walked into his newfound favorite spot, a comedy bar where he sought solace in laughter and libations after a hard day. Arriving just as the performer began their set, he headed straight to the bar for his usual whiskey on the rocks, with nothing else on his mind. It wasn't until the comedian delivered a particularly hilarious joke that Vox turned to look at them and found his attraction piqued.

It was evident that they were a man with the specific style flashy outfit and makeup they wore. The voice was also a dead giveaway. The person now standing on stage, delivering one funny punchline after another, was a drag queen – a stunning one in Vox's eyes.

He couldn't tear his gaze away; there was something irresistibly captivating about the humorous individual on stage.

After the performance, as they made their way to the bar, Vox seized the opportunity. He introduced himself, and they exchanged pleasantries. They shared drinks and engaged in lively conversation, making for a truly enjoyable night that ended with a bang, quite literally.

In the morning, as clarity returned, Vox couldn't help but feel confused. He had never been attracted to men before, so he initially chalked it up to the alcohol or the fact that his night companion appeared so feminine that he mistook them for a woman.

However, as memories of the night flooded back, he couldn't deny his genuine attraction to every aspect of his partner, even the unmistakably male parts.

Initially, it felt strange to Vox as he reflected on the experience. However, after hours of deep contemplation, everything started to fall into place.

Vox realized he had always felt an affinity towards men, though expressing it as "liking men" might have appeared odd to outsiders. When he used that phrase, it wasn't in the context of sexual or romantic attraction but more of an admiration.

Yet, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that his feelings surpassed mere admiration.

He had never entertained the idea of it being anything akin to sexual or romantic attraction, but his recent encounter forced him to reconsider as he contemplated his life and the events of the previous night.

Vox liked men;

— Vox had always been drawn to the men of his time who exuded masculine confidence and assertiveness, finding their presence alluring and desiring to be in their company constantly.

He liked when they wore classic masculine fashion, such as tailored suits with narrow lapels, fitted jackets, and straight-leg trousers. These outfits oozed sophistication and professionalism, and Vox admired the attention to detail displayed.

Additionally, he liked when men would add classic accessories like fedora hats, skinny ties, cufflinks, and pocket squares to their outfit, they added to the polished and stylish appearance.

The preppy style also appealed to Vox, as he admired men who wore V-neck sweaters, button-down shirts, khaki trousers, and loafers. This style exuded a sense of casual elegance and refinement that he found attractive.

He also had a penchant for rebellious men who embraced a non-conformist aesthetic, often seen in leather jackets, denim jeans, white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Vox liked when men were smart and witty, could keep up with the conversation and also teach something along the way.

Vox liked men who exuded strength and athleticism, finding their ability to handle themselves physically appealing. For instance, witnessing a fistfight between coworkers would stir his emotions, initially attributing his excitement to the violence of the altercation.

However, he would inevitably find himself gravitating towards the winner, intrigued by their display of strength and skill, and feeling drawn to them in some inexplicable way. There was something about winners that captivated him and sparked his desire to get closer to them.

He like men who were daring, adventurous, and unafraid to push boundaries, they appealed to his sense of excitement and thrill-seeking.

He liked men who were ambitious, goal-oriented, and willing to pursue their dreams with determination might have resonated with Vox on a subconscious level.—

After his one-night stand, Vox was determined to clarify things once and for all. Following another grueling day of work, he ventured out again, this time to a gay bar, seeking the company of someone who embodied the traits he found most appealing in men, wanting to ensure it wasn't just the alcohol or the femininity of his previous partner. Without delving into detail, let's just say he had quite the night and afterward, there was no doubt in his mind: ‘he liked women, and he definitely also liked men.’

Following that experience, Vox began seeing more individuals of the same gender. However, he still held onto the notion that while he might be attracted to men, he didn't believe he would be interested in them as anything more than sexual partners. That was until he met Alastor...

Initially, Vox approached the radio demon seeking friendship or perhaps a partnership, given Vox's burgeoning company and rising status as an overlord. However, he soon found himself enamored with Alastor. Unfortunately for Vox, his feelings were not reciprocated. After that, Alastor distanced himself from Vox, leading our TV host to regard his old love as an enemy.

In response to the rejection, Vox decided to cease seeing men altogether, engaging in a series of short-term relationships with women. However, he soon realized he was simply idealizing Alastor and shifted his focus from woman to men for meaningless relationships, attempting to prove to himself that any other man was better than "that Bambi bitch."

But this approach only intensified the emptiness he felt. Recognizing the detrimental effects of his frantic behavior on himself and his company, Vox resolved to regulate and get back on a more business focused path.

The fact that rumours began circulating about his supposed "homoerotic relationships," was also a big push into getting back on track, as a word like that getting out was detrimental to business, since being gay was still stigmatized even in hell, during this time period.

It was around the late 1970s, with the rise of gay rights activism, that Vox began publicly dating men. Coincidentally, this was also when he met and began his business partnership (and more) with Valentino.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Names

Vox has a penchant for using endearing or patronizing nicknames, regardless of the gender of his employees. He will refer to them as "sweetheart," "doll face," or simply "doll."

In moments of frustration or when faced with resistance, he's not shy about using terms like "little girl" or "little boy," or even "kid," to belittle those who question him.

Additionally, he might employ terms like "Princess" or "your highness" as forms of condescension, no matter the gender of the person he is addressing.

NSFW

𓊔 Party

Despite Vox's obsession with his and the Vees' image, when it comes to partying, he becomes a total animal — I’m talking ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ type of wild.

Lavish gatherings marked by obscene spending and excessive drug intake, especially cocaine.

Vox typically indulged in doing lines off his desk or the luxurious crystal table in the lounge. However, what truly exited him was snorting lines off someone, getting his rocks off at their inability to refuse his advances and delighting in the control he exerted as he pinned them down to prevent any squirming.

The slight anxious tears and nervous mewls from whoever served as his snorting surface always stirred something within Vox. While he would grow irritated if they moved too much, the subtle signs of fear, such as the wetting of their eyes and trembling breath, would quickly reignite his unstable emotions. He found himself intensely aroused by their scared state, and more than once, he acted on these desires…

Drabble:

You were a VoxTek employee, more specifically; Vox’s secretary.

As Vox's secretary, navigating Alastor-related tantrums and enduring the grueling hours could be incredibly taxing, but the job itself had its perks.

Thanks to your position in the company, you enjoyed luxurious accommodations in the finest suites the V Tower had to offer.

Despite the challenges, Vox could be surprisingly pleasant, his charismatic charm reminiscent of his earlier days when his hypnosis wasn't as potent. And beneath the unconventional exterior of his TV head, there was no denying the appeal of his well-built physique.

Given the close proximity and constant interaction with Vox, it was inevitable to develop a small crush on your boss. His magnetic presence and the fact he was practically the only person you interacted with regularly since he requested you to work closer to him about three months ago only fueled this infatuation.

You liked your boss, but at this moment, you couldn't stand him;

It was 3 a.m. on a Sunday, the one day of the week you were supposed to have some semblance of off-time, with the luxury of sleeping in until noon.

But instead of enjoying your well-deserved rest in bed, you found yourself reluctantly entering the elevator, begrudgingly making your way to the usually closed-off top floor of the building.

Why? Because you had received a threatening and slightly slurry phone call from your boss, demanding your immediate presence or else face termination.

With your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance, you complied without questioning, even though you loathed every second of it.

After punching in the code provided, you entered the lounge area of the top floor to find all three Vees lounging about. Valentino was enveloped in smoke, while music filled the air.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Come 'ere," Vox exclaimed, his gestures frantic, urging you to approach quickly. He appeared laid-back, friendly, and strangely excited, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of coldness and condescension.

Confusion clouded your expression as you approached the couch, unsure of what to make of Vox's sudden change in behavior. Velvette, noticing your bewilderment, chimed in with an explanation. "He took some MDMA before he called you — actually, he couldn't stop blabbing about your ass once that stuff kicked in," she divulged matter-of-factly, adding another layer of peculiarity to the already bizarre situation.

‘Ah, he’s high — that explains the weird friendliness.’ You thought to yourself.

But before you could dwell on it too long, Valentino's words snapped you out of your thoughts, "Yes, little Voxxy over there couldn't stop talking about how much he wanted his little secretary with him right here. He just had to call you, despite it being the middle of the night. I'm sorry you're losing your beauty sleep right now, cariño," he said, his tone tinged with insincerity from false remorse. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he finished speaking, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment.

“Val, Vel! You can’t tell them that! Or they’ll, they’ll… fuck!” Vox began to say, but something mid-sentence seemed to frustrate him.

Before you could question it for too long, Valentino answered that question for you. “They’ll figure out you have a little crush on them. Aww, don’t worry papi, it’s not like they can say no to you either way,” the moth darkly announced, frightening you, as it was technically true that you had to obey whatever order your boss gave you; it was in your contract after all.

To your somewhat relief, Vox scoffed at his part-time boyfriend's comment, as if to convey that he wouldn't behave in such a manner.

"Shut the fuck, Val!" Vox began, his frustration evident, before redirecting his attention back to you. "And you, lay down on the table." Confused by the request, you briefly wondered if he was joking, but the seriousness etched on his face made it clear that he wasn't. Resigned, you followed his instruction and laid down on the table as he commanded.

As soon as you complied, a smile spread across Vox's face. "Good, good. Now be a good little secretary and stay still as I do some lines off you, m'kay?" he instructed.

Before you could process anything or say something, he pushed your shirt all the way up, ending just under your chest, and tugged your bottoms down slightly — exposing your whole stomach.

Attempting to voice your discomfort, you were promptly shushed by Vox. "Shhh, you're being a table for me right now, and last time I checked, tables don't talk, now do they, sweetheart? So be a doll and shut up," he said, eliciting laughter from the two other Vees.

You complied with his instructions and remained silent as you felt him pour some powder onto your abdomen. Knowing the drugs he usually made you order on his behalf, it was probably coke.

With that, he quickly formed about three lines and began snorting them. The sensation felt odd and somewhat ticklish to you, but what you didn't expect was for him to lick the parts of your belly where the powder had just sat — long lines that started from top to bottom, causing you to squirm involuntarily.

Vox didn't appreciate your movement, because ‘how dare his table move?’. In response, he firmly gripped your waist on both sides and forcefully slammed your hips against the table as a warning to ‘stop moving’.

However, his claws dug into your skin, causing you to cry out slightly. Upon seeing the small tears in your eyes, his mood shifted once more, from aggravation to something more lustful.

He relished the sight of you with tears in your eyes, so he decided to inflict a bit more pain. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he bit at your sides, knowing that you couldn't retaliate due to the hierarchical difference between you.

His bites started from the top, gradually getting lower until they ended up just above your crotch. With a slight, heavy breathing, he remarked, "Now what do we have here? A snack for me? You shouldn't have." As he removed your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear, a slight moist patch formed due to the position you were in.

Sure, Vox was an entitled asshole, but god, did he look and sound incredible when he was being mean and bossy. How could you not get aroused, especially when his face and long tongue ass were so close to your intimate parts.

"You want me to play with you, darling?" Vox asked in a manner that almost made it feel like you had a choice. There was something about it that suggested he might respect your decision if you said no—sure, he wouldn't like it, but he definitely had this thing where he wanted you to want him, to beg for him, to need him. Forcing himself on you wouldn't align with that desire.

You nodded, but he tutted at you, wanting a verbal answer. "No, no, no, it's 'Could you please, sir?' or 'Would love to, Mr. Vox,' or 'Please, I need you, Vox.' You've got to speak up if you want me to do anything to you, got it, dollface?" he clarified, emphasizing the importance of explicit consent, whether it was due to genuine respect for your boundaries or just his enjoyment of your yearning for him, it was a bit unclear. However, knowing Vox, he probably just got off on your embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," you said, feeling embarrassed. "So? Do you want me to give some love to these," he asked, tracing the outline of your underwear, "lovely parts?" He perked up.

"I would love for you to, sir," you managed to speak out. With a 'perfect' from your boss, he was now eagerly devouring you with his tongue, sending small pleasurable shocks through you as he did. No part of you down there was left un-licked.

Just as you were about to reach that sweet, sweet release — Vox removed himself from you, causing you to whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Don't worry," he said, but before you could complain too much, Vox lifted you up and threw you onto the couch, your face soon hitting the satin pillows. As you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you felt your hips being repositioned, leaving you face down and ass up.

Vox quickly pumped his cock a few times, not needing much as it was already hard from the sight of you writhing due to his tongue. Getting close to your ear, he whispered, "Cuz I'm not done with you, dollface."

Then he promptly shoved himself inside of you. Thankfully, whatever he was doing with his tongue a couple of instances ago had prepped you, because, woof, did the stretch sting.

After giving you a few moments to adjust, he began pounding you into tomorrow, playing with your front and sending small shocks here and there. With no regard for his colleagues sitting right beside him —or should I say colleague, as in singular—Velvette had left as soon as he began working you with his tongue. However, Valentino remained, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Your soon came undone due to his rough ministrations, but he was far from done with you...

⫘⫘⫘ Ownership, ⛌⛌⛌ Humiliation & Collar

If you haven't already figured it out yet, Vox is a sadist. He thoroughly enjoys power dynamics and the act of humiliating others.

Continuing from the previous headcanon, picture yourself as either hired as his secretary or as a low-ranking demon in his company who catches his eye. If you're the latter, he'll undoubtedly arrange for you to be transferred to work closer to him.

But anyway, my point is, as soon as you're in his close proximity, he'll literally makes you his bitch on call in the blink of an eye. And obviously, you can't refuse because, one, he's your boss; two, he's an overlord; and three, he's Vox.

Who would refuse that hunk? Even if you weren't initially attracted to him, you'd find yourself becoming so after a couple of weeks, even if it's just some weird mild attraction—you're still into him.

Once he's got you in his grasp and has fucked you at least once, this is when he begins to play with you. He'll make you start wearing a vibrator under your clothes at work, ordering you to remove your clothing every morning and show him, to ensure you did it. Then he'd send you on your merry way.

If he wasn't physically with you, he'd be watching you through his cameras.

And every time you would be talking to someone and he deemed it too long, you weren't paying attention to him, or you were zoning out/getting distracted, he would turn the vibrator on to 'get you back on track'.

Though he did like to sometimes turn the vibrator on just to tease you. For example, you're in the middle of telling him about a shift in his appointment in a room full of people, and he would suddenly turn it on to fuck with you.

He also has a huge thing for pulling you by your soul chain. He just loves, loves, loves summoning it out of nowhere and just tugging you along with it.

For instance, you could be telling him about some issue concerning a recent project, and he would tell you to come closer so he could hear better.

As you walk closer towards his desk, he deems your pace too slow. Without warning, he summons and tugs at the chain around your neck, causing you to fall to the ground.

In an attempt to brace the fall, you put your arms out, catching yourself and ending up on all fours.

But as you try to get up, he would tut at you, ordering you to “Crawl to me.” You’re humiliated, but you still do it as he watches you like a hawk, a satisfied grin on his face.

If you also happen to scrape or bruise yourself when you fell and some small tears form in your eyes, let me tell you, he would get so bricked up as soon as he noticed them.

And of course, he would make you blow him, though it would end up with him face-fucking you, as it usually did.

He would also hold your head down as he dumped his cum down your throat, then he would pull your nose with his free hand, saying that “you don’t get to breathe until you’ve swallowed it all.” And of course, you would do it because you don’t want to literally choke to death on your boss’s dick.

Once he was sure you had swallowed it all, he would finally release you, allowing you to take some air in. Then he would make you stick out your tongue, and he would spit in your mouth, making you swallow that too.

𐂯 Training

He liked using small electrical charges as a ‘training method’, and this method has two stages. This would happen after he already had you as his personal toy— I mean, ‘secretary’.

At first, he uses electricity to reprimand you whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, questioned him, said no to things, or did anything that he considered as bad behaviour.

He would shock you, making you associate ‘bad behavior’ with pain, so you would end up automatically correct yourself before you even do or say something.

If you take a bit too long to ‘adjust’ to this new way of acting, he might resort to a little bit of hypnosis, but he would prefer not to.

He gets off on the fact that he can train you to behave just with his words and actions, without the help of any special ability.

Anyways, when he is sure that he has drilled into you what proper behavior is, he’ll employ phase two. He’ll start training you to enjoy the sting of his electricity.

So, whether he's fucking you, giving you head, touching you, or basically providing any sort of pleasure, every time you would be close to reaching your peak, he would send jolts of electricity through you, gradually increasing the dosage over time.

Things would get to the point that a small shock from him would be enough to get you turned on, and bigger shocks would be able to literally make you cum.

ฅ Pet

For the most part, he wouldn’t see secretary!reader as a partner. It’s only after a while, like a year or more, that he would start considering it.

He views them as his romantic interests, but not on his level. To keep face with the other Vees, even though they both knew about his crush from the beginning because he was so obvious with it, he would call you his pet.

Sometimes literal ‘pet names’ like puppy, kitty, bunny, etc. (Personally, I would love for him to call him his bunny <3.)

What he calls you all depends on your appearance and behaviors. For example, if you manifested with a more feline appearance, he would call you his kitten or kitty. If you didn’t have animal-like features but for example, were very needy, had a tendency to follow around, and were a sucker for praise, he would likely call you his puppy.

𓌏 Punishments

Besides using electric shocks, he is definitely into spanking as a form of punishment—whether it involves pulling down your pants or lifting your skirt, spanking you for every ‘transgression’ you’ve committed is something he’s totally down for.

It can be a really strange experience if you weren't a masochist to begin with because he'll end up having you conditioned to enjoy physical punishments;

For example, he would be spanking you, and you find yourself getting turned on, arousal literally leaking due to his rough treatment of your behind.

Edging and overstimulation are also big in his book, though each has its own set of circumstances where they would be implemented.

For instance, if you weren't paying attention to him because of someone else, he would overstimulate you to the point where you couldn't think about anyone but him, asserting his superiority over whoever had your attention.

If you weren't paying attention for any other reason, he would edge you, because ‘how dare you ignore him when he should be the most important to you!’.

Thanks anons for requesting!

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strawberrystepmom · 2 days

Text

pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’.

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him.

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left.

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap.

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room. Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you.

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself.

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously.

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you.

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him.

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling.

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs.

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand.

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come.

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it.

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamite agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamite’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children.

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body.

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment.

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing.

Mirio.

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home.

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.”

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose.

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.”

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.”

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed.

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return.

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day.

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm.

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in.

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours.

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.”

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times.

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead.

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go.

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized.

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too.

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face.

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight.

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day.

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have.

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit.

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life.

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist.

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed.

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer.

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head.

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is.

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

#all might x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #mirio togata x reader #lemillion x reader #kendall writes #cw death

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