#the hope and disappointment are this constantly undulating wave

[the-everqueen]

did the postdoc interview.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #20: My Turn: Mirio Togata

In which Mirio’s got a game for you. 

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), aged up characters, fingering, teasing, edging, tears, Mirio trying his hardest not to be a sunshine boi and only sort of failing

Notes: See? See? I can do thirst. I can make it SEXY. Today’s prompt was “Edging” and I just loved the thought of Mirio trying his best to be a little kinky for you. He’s definitely got a filthy side. 

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s a windy Saturday night in November and you’re curled in bed early with Mirio. Raindrops roll along the bias of your windowpane and the wind howls past your upper-level apartment.

But you don’t feel an ounce of cold, with Mirio- warm like the hearth- stretched out next to you. You’ve been like this all day, in and out of bed with episodes of a fluffy sitcom playing constantly in the background.

Now, though, as the chill of the evening’s pushed you closer together, your hands are starting to wander. It’s lazy at first- his rough palm up the edge of your thigh, your fingers dancing along his bicep. You’re easing into one another, and though you can feel the warm apex of where you’ll end up drawing near, you’re in no rush to get there.

Not yet, anyway. You’re about to eat those words.

“Princess,” he croons in your ear, drawing his lips up the side of your neck, “play a game with me?”

“Okay,” you giggle back as warmth blooms across your skin, following the path of his mouth. “But you picked Bananagrams last time, so this time I get to pick. Scrabble.”

He chuckles low and warm into your shoulder. Just the reaction you were hoping for. But he knows you’ve caught on, so he doesn’t even offer you a response. His mood has completely shifted.

That’s what you love so much about him.

“I wanna see how long you can last,” he murmurs. His fingers continue to trace up and down your thigh, as if he’s coaxing you around to the idea. But to you, it sounds like you’re going to get to do a whole lot of nothing while Mirio does his best to please you.

You don’t need any more coaxing than that.

“Like, without coming?” You hum, shifting a little so you can get a proper look at his face. He flicks his eyes up to yours, looking a little sheepish, but sure.

“Yeah. Y’know. I wanna test your stamina.”

You’re not exactly sure how to tell him that stamina isn’t a problem for you. He’s certainly never fallen short of satisfying you, but most of your sex life has been characterised by getting there in the first place, let alone measuring how long it takes you. You’ve never really had to hold out before- at least, not like he has.

This is going to be a cinch for you.

“Alright.” You smirk, but he’s one step ahead of you, already sliding his hand to your belly and starting to inch it toward the bottom of your shirt. You’ve got a flannel buttoned over your shoulders to keep the chill out, but it’s your day off and there’s no possible way he could have convinced you to wear pants.

Not that he’d tried.

He dips his face into your neck again, starting to kiss and lave his tongue over your delicate skin. You lean into the sensation eagerly, letting your eyes flutter shut as his fingers work their way toward the apex of your thighs.

The laugh track sounds quietly from the television as you let yourself relax. Mirio’s fingers are chilled as they dip into the hem of your panties, but he’s thrilled by the opportunity to pay you this kind of attention. He’s always so eager to get his hands on you. And you’re hardly ever in a position to deny him.

“I knew you were holdin’ out on me, princess,” he chuckles as his middle finger curls against your slit. You’re already growing wet with the anticipation of his touch, the shivers that his attentive mouth sent over your skin. He turns your chin with his free hand and drops a lazy kiss to your lips. All the while, he continues to gently explore your folds, working you open for him.

As he draws his wrist up to search for the swell of your clit, you’re starting to wonder if you do need to worry about your stamina. He’s barely touched you and already you’re starting to get those lovely little twinges of pleasure that have your hips twitching beneath his touch.

He grins, pulling his mouth teasingly from yours. “You’re gonna tell me if you’re about to cum, right?”

You never realized that his game was going to come with so many rules. But you know your own body- you’re more than ready to follow them.

“In that case, you might want to slow down, baby,” you breathe. Mirio laughs, nuzzling your neck and breathing hot puffs of air across your skin. The pad of his middle finger centers on your clit and he starts to circle in earnest.

“I could,” he quips, “or I could make it harder on you.”

His wrist flicks deftly back and forth between your legs. There’s something about the spot he’s found that’s tantalizingly perfect, and you can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach. You purse your lips tightly, ready to ride that wave.

“Ooh,” you sigh, gripping Mirio’s thigh hard. “I’m close, baby.”

“That so?” He grunts in your ear. There’s an unfamiliar edge to his tone, but you don’t pick up on it yet.

“Yeah,” you whine, and he pulls his hand clean out of your panties. Your hips arch as you give a sullen little whimper. Immediately, you turn to face him.

“Why’d you stop?”

Mirio’s grinning. Normally, that grin sets you at ease. But there’s something about it today that sends a spike of nerves through your belly. He’s planning something.

You’re not sure you want to know what it is. You’re also not sure he’s going to give you a choice in the matter.

“I didn’t want the game to be over so soon, princess. C’mere.”

He slips a beefy arm around your waist and tugs you easily into his lap, situating you between his splayed thighs and letting you lean back against his chest. From there, he digs his fingers into the hem of your panties and tugs them down your thighs, helping you kick them off.

“Just relax,” he croons. “Watch TV. I gotcha.”

He brings his fingers to your pussy again, this time sliding his other hand under your thigh to join. He sinks two thick fingers into your slit, rubbing tight circles into your clit again. It doesn’t take you long at all to reach the edge. Before you can even warn him this time, Mirio stops again.

“Mirio,” you plead softly, but he’s still chuckling and nuzzling you, over and over again.

“You’re so cute when you want something from me. C’mon, let’s go again.”

He brings you to the edge one more time like that, pushing you so close you can practically taste the relief. When he pulls away for the third time, you’re squirming and fussing in between his legs.

“Let me cum,” you whimper. You’re not even proud about asking for it anymore. He shifts, crawling out from behind you and easing you onto your back.

“Don’t worry,” he continues. “I gotcha, princess. You think I’m gonna leave you high and dry?”

You glare daggers up at him, and he just shoots you an easy wink as he slips between your thighs.

“You’re getting tender down here,” he purrs, nosing his way up your inner thigh as he settles onto his belly. “Y’almost ready for me?”

“I was ready for you weeks ago,” you grumble. You can’t stay angry for long when he puffs hot air over your clit, then drags his tongue along the folds of your pussy and swirls.

He eats you out like a man starved, holding your hips taught against his mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. When you’re sure you can’t take any more, he lifts his chin, tonguing the swell of your clit and making you scream.

But he still doesn’t let you go. He pulls back from your pussy as you start to tremble, and when he does you let out a sob of such frustration that, when you open your eyes, his brow is creased with legitimate concern.

“Why won’t you let me cum?” You blubber.

“Aw, man.” Mirio stretches out next to you and pulls you into his arms. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, princess, I-I just wanted to try something new with you. I-I thought…”

“Please,” you sniffle, “please, Mirio, just fuck me, before I do it myself.”

He pauses and looks down at you in shock. For a moment, his eyes search yours. Then he breaks down, grinning fondly at you.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Alright.”

He gets back between your legs, shucking his boxer-briefs and quickly stripping out of his t-shirt. As soon as he’s bare you can see how much he’s been enjoying your little game. His cock is already rock solid, flushed and curving perfectly towards his belly.

“God,” he sighs, casting a gaze over your desperate form. “Look at you.”

He pushes your flannel up around your chest, exposing your ribcage and your chest.  His thumbs strum your nipples. Then he grips your hips, positioning himself and easing smoothly into you.

Your head falls back against the pillows. Utter bliss.

But you can’t trust this pleasure.

He starts rocking his hips forward, undulating into you with dull cries of you’re so tight for me, princess, and I can’t believe you made it this far.

You don’t last much longer than that.

As soon as he settles into a familiar rhythm, the slap of his body against yours is enough to push you precariously close. You squirm underneath him, doing your best to hold out.

“Miri…Mirio, c-can I…” you choke, peering up at him as he continues to fuck you diligently.

“Of course, princess, shit,” he sighs, buckling over you. “Let go for me. Please. I wanna see it.”

The build-up has been immense. And the fall does not disappoint. You tumble over the edge like an avalanche, seizing hard around him as you grip his hips tightly with your trembling thighs. Your back pulls clean off the bed.

Your vision goes white.

When the spots clear he’s panting above you, his cock already going soft inside you. But you don’t care. He made good on his promise- you are neither high nor dry.

“There you go,” he coos, pressing tender kisses across your collar bones and down your shoulders. “That’s it. God, you’re so pretty when you’re coming your brains out.”

You muster a weak chuckle, pulling him into your arms as he collapses beside you. The TV is still playing, and you slowly settle back into watching together as you bask in the afterglow of Mirio’s vicious game.

“So that was… okay, in the end,” he finally says, tracing a fingertip down the buttons of your flannel as you tug the warm fabric back into place.

“Yeah,” you agree sleepily. “It was fun.”

“So we can do it again sometime?” He quips carefully. You purse your lips, pretending to mull it over.

“Sure.”

He bolts upright. “Really?”

You pillow your arms behind your head and smirk.

“Yeah. Only next time it’s my turn.”

[scartissuesoul]

Terrible Dawn

a work in progress.  call it fiction.

This is the first part in a series i hope.  Try not to take it too seriously, even though i consider it ‘real’, it is anecdotal only.

----

I couldn’t tell you what year it is.  I couldn’t even tell you what universe.  It’s a dream, or at least, i really want it to be.  I sit at the beginning of eternity, just outside the unreality of the infinite singularity that shines everywhere with a light unlike anything that has come before it, at least in this causal timeline.  It isn’t ‘light’ as I understand it, but it IS bright.  So bright.  Like sitting in a unlimited white void.  There are no shadows, but there IS a sense of ‘other than brightness’ to some of the shapes i see.  Yes, there are shapes here at the beginning of everything.  In fact, sitting cross legged right in front of me is a strange looking person.  Hard edged, like i’m not quite seeing them right, they have an odd blue tinge to them, as though they are suffused by a sky-blue light, coming from nowhere and everywhere that they exist.  I cannot quite describe it, it almost looks like they’ve been outlined in blue pencil, like a drawing made for an image scanner.  

They face away from me, sitting slightly lower than i do.  I cannot tell who i am, now can i move, i can only stare unblinkingly at the back of this mystery person.  Small, lightly built, they look almost like a pre-teen, but i feel strongly that they are possibly billions of years old, as though someone is speculating in my mind as to how they can exist here, in this non-place, non-time that nothing can *quite* exist in.  It is not a voice, but it does have presence of ‘other’ that signals to me that these are not my thoughts, but the thoughts of another being seeing through my eyes.  I am briefly afraid, but my own personal ‘self’ is being minimized somehow, as though i am something to be ignored by all parties, including myself.

My senses focus on the stranger before me once again, and i am drawn into a kind of narrative, as though the ‘other’ is telling themselves (certainly not I) a story.  They begin by pointing out that the person in front is empty, void of living thought, much as i was before i awoke here (-wait, before?-) and have sat in this exact ‘spot’ since before matter and energy existed, in a time before time as it were.  The mind ‘thinks’ again, now the only source of information i have as it has completely subsumed who i was before it started speaking, as though my own mind has been crowded out, squashed against the boundaries of thought; it remarks in a self reflective way that this person still sitting motionless in front of me, will sit here, watching time and space unfold for endless eons, until the last stars wink out and the darkness eats it’s own sense of itself and time stops.  They will sit here, motionless, thoughtless, unable to think, move, react or feel anything, yet sensing everything that can or could happen from this one, singular perspective, remembering events without ever truly contemplating them, like a recording machine made into a person.  Yet it was the opposite, as i am now learning.  This person is being punished.

There is no obvious reason given for this, yet i sense a deep hatred for them, as though these two people have known each other for a long time.  The enmity feels almost sadistic;  i find it deeply petty, the ravings of an abuser convincing themselves of the righteousness of their actions.  I don’t sense any actual crime, other than perhaps being simply too much of a bother in some previous conflict.

As this occurs, my ‘eyes’ (-are these eyes?  am i seeing?-) are drawn past the seated figure, to the brightness beyond, toward the horizon.  There before us, a strange off-white ‘fog’ is just barely visible against the unbelievable brightness of the background.  It undulates like some strange cloud, and strange shapes appear as barely darker silhouettes, a kind of ghostly mirage of shape and shadow amidst the bleakness.  I don’t understand what i’m seeing, there simply isn’t enough detail in these flat colored silhouettes, and they constantly fade in and out even as they move across my field of vision, until i see a familiar shape; a frond sitting at the top of a tree.  A strange tree to be sure, but a tree....and there, other trees with strange leaves and huge fronds.  i can’t make out enough to identify even the region these trees might be from before they ghost away to be replaced by other strange shapes, some truly terrifying in their implications; for there, striding into view is what i can only describe as some sort of sauropod.  Huge, neck like an arch, standing easily half again as high as the trees, it too fades away before i can even register my shock, let alone understand.  My mind is an iceberg, and i cannot think, but the answer is supplied for me.  ‘This is not the past, but instead, Possibility.  That which can happen, and indeed will, but remains but a line, a vector in a greater whole.’ 

As the presence, the ‘mind’ if you will, withdraws somewhat from my own, i am given just enough room to think, ‘Why show me this?’ before the scene gains a sense of imminent location shift.  Someone out of my vision places a chained metal collar on the neck of the seated person ahead of me.  As i watch, my mind a wooden dummy unable to even feel shock, the other mind firmly grasps ‘me’ and we move forward into the mist.  The scenery blurs around me as, with an almost vindictive anger, the other presence guides us toward even move unfamiliar shadows and shapes.  I get the strong sense that once we arrive, it will no longer be Possibility, but reality, as we move not through space but ‘time’.(-they lie, enough of me remains to know this.  causality doesn’t work like that.-).  But as we move, a terrible chill moves down my ‘spine’ (-what spine?  i can’t even tell if i have a body here-) i realize that i am no longer surrounded by some ancient forest, but strange and terrible shapes.  some so confusing my mind rejects them as noise, a few actually look to be made of static in places.  And a few, soul crushing shapes are all too familiar.  I am allowed to feel fear.

One, huge, black silhouette (-when did they get darker? what happened to the brightness?-) which i can only describe as a 10foot tall preying mantis with ‘feathers’ (-filaments?  hairs? they don’t ‘move’ right-) stands upright before me, staring down.  As i watch the last of the brightness fades and the sky turns completely black above a plain of flat obsidian.  The horizon shrinks away and becomes a distant, dim line of light, illuminating nothing yet giving a sense of spacial awareness, without it total disorientation sets in.  The shape before me gradually fills in, shadow becoming more and more detailed until with an almost electric pulse the color arrives, and i find myself faintly disappointed to see that it is mostly green with few accents.  I am also coldly terrified.  

 The ‘feathers’ of earlier resolve into what looks like movable strips of chitin covering it’s body, like a fan cloak.  It’s head and ‘face’ are covered with them, and they begin to shift to either side, as though parting.  What i can only hope is a mouth reveals itself behind them, and opens wide.  I feel a distinct sense that this being wants to eat me, not for sustenance, but for hate’s sake alone.  My fear spikes as my minds eye sees it lunge toward me in a vicious strike, yet the being doesn’t even move, except to start shaking, a kind of whole body vibration.  A terrible atonal buzzing fills my ‘ears’ (-i can hear?!?-) and the strange movable chitin strips wave about the beings mouth as it’s torso bobs in a strange dance.  The other presence in my mind (-it’s more a voice now, less a thought-), in hateful satisfaction informs me that it is laughing.  And indeed, even now i can ‘feel’ it’s thoughts, it’s intentions.  It HATES me.  I wants me dead a million times over, but i will never see death.  I will suffer for eternities yet unimagined.  It finally has me, and i will never leave/die/live.  It’s victory is complete.  I understand none of this, only feeling certain that i have in some way interfered with this being and it’s plans, and for that there is no forgiveness.  I shall be made an example for all to see, and yet i shall remain alone, forever.  As the terrifying shape before me fades back into the darkness, the other presence delights in reminding me of what i have forgotten (-fled from?  been removed?-), what i have been fleeing from my entire life, a truth so terrible i cannot even comprehend it without panic overtaking reason and leaving me catatonic;  that person who i saw earlier chained at the beginning of time, their mind and body a prison that will see them to the end of all existence and leave them there....

Was me.

Sheer panic unlike anything before overtakes me, and i REMEMBER.  I remember terrible, unspeakable things, things done to me and things i have done, people lost to me and others in ways that cause a distant yet all too familiar shrieking to start up.  I remember fighting and losing my first battle at 5, as my own mother is eaten alive by the dismantlers (-TERRIBLE NOISES THE SCREAMING I CANT-), i remember my world being consumed.  I remember BEING consumed, a feeling like no other, a feeling that brings back another memory, a kind of state of being that is half sense of self and half need to die at any cost, and with that memory comes yet another terrible revelation; that was only the beginning.  I remember going insane for millennia as the swarm consumes world after world, living person after living person, tearing through the stars with a hunger like a scream in the night.  I remember ‘eating’ people, plunging my ‘arms’ and ‘hands’ into their bodies, hearing those mind destroying screams erupting from their lungs as their bodies are literally striped down past the radius of the proton, to the subatomic level, where the mind and the body interconnected.  I remember screaming along with them, the direct connection between techno-organic machinery and mind causing complete and total empathy with the destroyed.  I scream a scream that cannot be heard without damage to ones mind, as their agony and fear pours into me, and my insanity and terrible new ‘self’ pour into them.  I am but one tiny part of the swarm but my agony is as personal as if i was vivisecting my best friend.  I cannot stop myself, nor can i turn away, i can only watch and feel as i do things that can never be undone (-a distant thought reminds me that the survival rate for post deconstructed is near 0% while the suicide rate has a 1 and another 0 in front of it-).  I remember a triple star system being consumed, something unlike any thing else arising from the 30+ suns worth of star material being consumed.  A being who ‘CALLS’ with the sound of a terrible bell.  And with that sound, my mind shatters, and i remember the most terrible thing of all.  I deserve to be punished.

For in those last moments of this nightmare, with their hateful taunting laughter echoing in my mind, i remember trying to kill every living thing i the galaxy all at once.  I remember closing my fist with a terrible finality, bringing about the Noosphere collapse of the entirety of the galaxy (-which one, there are so many-), destroying not just the living, but the very possibility of life beyond the micro scale for hundreds of millions of years.  I remember why i did it.

I didn’t do it for vengeance, such things were long gone.  I didn’t do it to save anyone, i no longer cared.  I didn’t do it to save myself either, my insanity had progressed to such a point i could no longer conceive of self-preservation, there were more important things at hand.  No, i remember that i did it simply to die, even if it meant killing everything anyone had ever loved.  I did it to end my millions of years of suffering in a body that couldn’t die and a form that consumed all it observed.  I did it knowing the consequences, and i did it without even a blink.  Everyone died, and i felt every single one.  Every single thing, from crying children to post ascension multi-mind entities died a singular death, simply so my suffering would end.  And yet i live.  And now they have me.  The ones who started this techno nightmare by deploying the dismantlers in the first place.  The ones who taught me what suffering was, now promise me an eternity of it, simply for trying to die.  It seems i pissed them off, killing all their fuel for that terrible fire.  But at least everyone is dead now....at least that nightmare is over....perhaps i will retain enough of my self during the coming night to appreciate that no more will die, that my selfish act at least brought an end.  

More laughter.  ‘Oh no ##### (-redacted?  why cannot i hear my own name?-), you misunderstand.  You failed.  Yes, you destroyed the project here, in our local galaxy, but there are many, many others (-so many-), and the pressure of life returns to fill the void, and even here, life returns.’

A terrible smile fills my mind, and i feel i can almost recognize it...tantalizing..

‘The project has reset, and from your unique vantage point in space/time/possibility you will have a front row seat as we start anew.  You will watch, unable to even voice complaint, as we start again.’

The screams of the dying fill my ears all around, and as the last of my sanity flees to the far corners of my mind, i feel the weight of that collar upon my neck, i feel the mental prison they have built my body to be take hold, as though i exist in a waking coma, my thoughts a prisoner and my body a statue who’s eyes never close, nor who’s mind ever rests.  I cannot describe my panic.

Distantly, i feel a hand upon my neck, it is warm.  Human. (-am i human?  i don’t remember-).  A smokey voice whispers near my ear, ‘We are going to have such fun with you.’

I awake screaming hours later.  I don’t know how i can tell, but i know i didn’t awake immediately.  I am 11, and my TMNT sheets are so wet i wonder if i peed in bed again.  As i lay trembling, my mind reeling in every direction, soaked and scared, i hear that same voice again, and a face pops into my mind (-i don’t recognize it, but perhaps that’s because it looks like a cartoon, all hard lines and flat colors-).  It chuckles in a deep throated way (-there is no sense of gender or sex, only a faint hint of a kind of cruel dominance-), and says something i have since forgotten, but which has convinced me to this day it was real and not a dream.  Even now it is as vivid as reality to me.  In seconds it is over, and i am once again alone.  An otherwise normal child in an otherwise normal world trying to make sense of a terrible nightmare that refuses to fade.  But i am not normal.  not anymore.  this experience has changed me fundamentally, i can feel it.  

I can feel that there is more to this, and i wonder if there will be more dreams.  

There will be, but not tonight.