#mysteria writes

[mysteria157]

Undone

nanami kento x black fem reader

wc- 2.8k

warnings- angst, heavy themes, mental health and healing, the fluff that nanami brings.

a/n: I have been feeling like poo these past few days and trying to find my voice in writing. So I created a little drabble that helped me feel better. hopefully, it does for others as well. happy reading

divider: @saradika | JJK Masterlist

He hasn’t heard from you in days.

Granted, that first date was 12 weeks ago, but Nanami is used to the string of texts between you that is consistently pinging—a feat that Nanami never thought to reach. He’s used to the late night phone calls, the FaceTimes that are meaningless because he just wants to look at you. But for the first time, you turned him down.

Three days ago, on the morning of a nice dinner he had planned, you called with a scratchy voice, “I’m just really tired today, but I’ll be shipshape in no time!” You had insisted.

With vigilance sewn into his body since the day he could remember, Nanami notices right away something is wrong. Maybe it was the distant crack of your words. Maybe it was the fact that you cleared your throat once, no—two times to make yourself sound as professional as possible. As if Nanami is an employer and not the man you’ve decided to let into his life.

Regardless, he was as polite as always. Content to change the subject and send you well wishes before hanging up. The meme texted to his phone five minutes later, sweetening whatever sour concoction had manifested in his belly from your phone call. But still…Nanami knows. So he waits.

He waits three days of agonizing silence before a maelstrom of worry finally claws its way to the surface of his pool of impassivity. He stops by the market first and grabs ingredients. There’s a soup recipe you love—a recipe he soaked up like a sponge as he hovered near you in your kitchen during your first date. He’ll make that.

On his way out of the market, his eyes catch a bouquet of Asian lilies. Sunset orange petals adorned with long dark stamen. He picks up a modest bouquet—something large enough to make you smile every time you see them, but not too much to make you sneeze from your allergies.

It’s 6:47 PM when Nanami’s shoes touch your welcome mat. Even as his eyes trace the tawny ‘Welcome!’ made of coir, he can feel the unease wafting from behind your closed door. Your spare key rests in his closed hand, the metal digging into his palm in a silent question. You insisted that it wasn’t too soon in the relationship for this, to have access to each other in this way. After all, finally opening his heart to love after keeping it locked behind the demands of work, Nanami wanted to take things slowly. But you had other plans—you always do. And now, Nanami is glad to have relented so quickly when you gave him the spare key two weeks ago.

You’re a tidy person, meticulous to a fault. So it’s easy for him to spot the littering of disarray. The curtains are drawn tight, casting your home into darkness. A trail of clothes starts from the door and trails to your room. There are dirty dishes in your sink—you hate going to bed with a messy kitchen. The air is permeable—a physical being that Nanami can see the particles as they float and scurry with his movements through your home.

He finds you in your room, a tornado of dirty clothes and empty takeout containers, three blankets deep, with only the top of your hair visible. The air is just as stale in here—heavy with the kind of silence that comes to life from too many hours alone with dark thoughts. Your phone lies on your nightstand, face-down, notifications from others probably neglected along with Nanami’s. He hates the sight, angry at whatever malevolent force that’s decided to torment you, and now he fights it.

The rustle of Nanami setting his things down makes you stir, the lump of covers oscillating with your movements as a flash of your melanin-rich skin pokes from the dark hole where you reside. Your eyes meet his—surprised, alarmed, and immediately angry.

“Get out,” you snap, your voice gravelly from disuse. Through the curtain of your textured hair, Nanami catches a sliver of your icy gaze, foggy with the heaviness he can smell in the room. He takes a step closer, and it’s a step too far. Your tired eyes widen with a simmering fury that makes Nanami think twice.

“Why can’t you listen?! You can’t be here…” you stop short, squeezing the covers around your already decaying form like a lifeline. “Not when I’m—like this.”

He takes another cautious step—your eyes narrow, a weak challenge—then another until he sits at the edge of your bed. The dip from his weight causes your feet to curve into the cavern, toes touching his thighs from beneath your covers.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The still air seems to vibrate from your fury, dust motes zipping haphazardly as if being pulled back and forth by an invisible force.

“Call you? Call you?? So you could see this? So you could see how I can’t even—“A lump of confusion and rage dies in your throat, the sound gurgling like a sewage pipe. His hands clasp the blanket that covers your shoulders, pulling you up gently with no resistance. You want to smack his hands away, to yell at him to leave and never come back. Because you’re not ready for him to see you like this. Not yet.

But despite the bark of your bite, you’re exhausted—mentally and physically.

“I wanted to wait a few weeks,” you ramble, eyes turned away from him as you shiver from the cold air on your exposed upper half. You’re still wearing the same shirt from three days ago when you called Nanami to cancel; your eyes had already been filled with tears, your throat suffocating beneath torrential thoughts and negativity that springs to life when you least expect it.

“No one wants to see this so soon.”

“From that statement alone, I’m going to assume the men you dated before were below average in all respects.”

“Everyone expects some grandiose gesture to make all of…this go away. And it’s not that fucking simple.” You don’t acknowledge his assessment. Still rambling, still trying to push him away even as he stands. He pulls you up with him with a firm grip still on your shoulders, his care poking at your defenses with inquisitive fingers.

Your knees buckle, threatening to give out without the reassurance of his hold. Your rambling falls to the wayside, fading into the air around you as you finally comprehend your new position in front of him. Standing for the first time in days, the strength of his hands radiates warmth down to your toes. The room falls quiet, opening its ears to your uneven breathing and the smell of tears.

One beat. Two beats. Three.

“It seems you’re standing now,” he says simply, the low crooning timbre of his voice wafting over your face. You heave in a stuttering breath, suck down his air, and let it fill you from the inside with care you’ve neglected. Nanami doesn’t leave his words open for discussion. There is no question hidden in his matter-of-face statement. There is no undercurrent of judgment.

“A bath.”

“What? Kento—no. I don’t need—I don’t deserve—“ His hand slides from your shoulder to cup your cheek, silencing you with its warmth. You resist leaning into his touch, too embarrassed that he can see you like this—stinky, tired, so utterly crestfallen that you can barely function.

“I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll make you dinner. And once I’m sure you’re at least full and clean, then I’ll go. Until you’re ready for me again.”

Steam rises around you in the bathroom, carrying eucalyptus and lavender from the bath oils you like to indulge in on a terrible day like this one. You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your limbs to bury your head in the gap it creates. Your eyes catch the water droplets on your skin, hydrophobic and suspended in time before sliding into the bath water.

When you turn your head to the side, you catch your living room from the open door. He’s cleaned up—opened the curtains, picked up the laundry, and vacuumed the floors. One of your candles burns bright, the low whir of your washing machine sashaying through the apartment. All things you just haven’t had the energy to do.

It started off small, it always does. One thought—fleeting and infinitesimal—but still heavy with a nervousness that plants in your mind like a maggot, burrowing its way through the meat. Your symptoms are more anxious thoughts, more poor remarks of yourself, more he’s successful who are you kidding? More maybe they don’t like you, why can’t you see that? More once Kento sees this side of you, he’ll never want you again.

More, more, more even though those thoughts hold little evidence to prove true. But for you, those maggots burrow until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell, a husk that has no choice and no energy but to lay down in bed and sleep the days away until the meat heals again.

Beneath the steam, you can spell the mix of thyme, peeled tomatoes, and garlic. The tomato soup you showed him how to make on your first date. He was inquisitive, watching silently, his eyes falling on yours too often to take good notes. Now, it’s another show of this man you’re growing to love, crafting something for you with his own hands, affection beneath the veil of reservation that he shows everyone else.

It’s too much for you. The tears come quietly, spilling down your cheeks and into the bath water, polluting the love that was used to create it.

You hear his footsteps, padded feet on your now clean floor as he walks into the bathroom and takes in the sight of you. You blink against the rush of embarrassment, too tired to wipe the tears away, too tired to hide a vulnerability you wanted to keep a lid on for awhile longer.

He walks to your sink, gathering product, a hair bottle, and a wide-toothed comb before coming back to you. He kneels beside the tub and rolls up his navy sleeves without ceremony, pinching off his glasses before he sets them on the floor. He’s soft but efficient in the way he rubs your bar soap on your loofah, getting it nice and sudsy. He’s relaxed but observant—his tie loosened but not completely off, his forearms flexing with quelled strength as he washes your back and shoulders, the slight furrow of concentration in his brows as he measures his next words.

“Strawberry and cream cheese danishes.”

“Hm?”

“If I eat one, I’ll want more. So I try to stay away when I can.” Nanami continues, washing the soap off your shoulders before he hands you the loofah. You take it without question, watching him disappear to sit behind you as you wash your limbs.

“After Yu…I would bury my sorrow in work. I worked and worked and worked until my boss forced me to take time off. It’s a sneaky sickness. It likes to watch over you and strike the very moment your guard is down.”

You hear the squeeze of your hair bottle behind you, your snarled strands soaking with rosemary-scented mist in his gentle fingers.

“It’s been years. But when it does hit, that darkness that seems to strangle me and tell me that I should have tried harder, that I should have protected him….I like to go across the street from my home and get a strawberry and cream cheese danish.”

You know Nanami has a sweet tooth. You’ve seen the way his eyes light up from the pies that you like to make, always bringing him a slice to work. You’ve seen the sidelong glance he gives strudel that steams behind glass display cases at the bakery he takes you to. But to imagine him leaving his apartment in the dead of night, wrinkled clothes and bags beneath his eyes, not showered in days—paying for a danish…you hitch a breath, a chuckle squeaking and dying in your throat with a painful lurch.

“Why are you laughing?” He admonishes. You can practically feel the lifted brow and gentle smile on your back. Your skin tingles with the movement of his fingers as he works them through your hair, detangling with rosemary and leave-in conditioner

“Do you buy the three-pack?”

Silence. A pause in your hair before baby hairs flutter from the puff of air he shoots out. You bite your lip to keep the dry smile from forming.

“No,” he lies, playfully.

The heaviness in the air gives way to a light current of brightness from your fleeting smile, from the smell of the tub, and your hair now detangled and loose before shrinkage claims it.

“I’m not sure what’s compelled you to think there’s a proper time to tell me that your thoughts grow dark at random moments in your life. Now, two months from now, it doesn’t matter. I love you.”

The declaration wraps around you, sliding down your ajar mouth and curdling in your lungs with certainty, taking root in the muscle for the foreseeable future.

“And if it is alright,” he continues, carding his fingers through your hair to plait it into a single braid. “I would like to love every part of you. Even the parts you try to hide. The parts that make you think that you’re not good enough—for me, or your friends, or anyone else. If anything, being able to be here, right now, is a privilege I’ll cherish.”

When the fresh tears spill over again, they no longer taint the water you soak in. They cleanse, collecting and filtering away the depression and anxiety that claims so much of your life when you least expect it.

After, when you’re clean and smelling of Shea butter that Nanami slathered you in, you sink into your now clutter-free sofa. The exhaustion settles on your bones in a different way. Well earned after a long battle instead of invasive and unasked for.

Your eyes rest on the lovely bouquet of Asian lilies on your coffee table, fresh with stems cut, curling toward you with open petals so you can see the beauty inside. The gesture fills you with more of that feeling, of love that you never imagined to come so soon with a man like him.

Nanami walks around the sofa, a tray that he sets in front of you carrying his own rendition of your tomato soup, toasted sourdough grilled cheese, and a tall glass of water.

“Extra basil?” You ask, lips wobbly around a smile as you take in another form of his adoration that you’ll have forever if he allows it.

“Extra basil.”

When he returns with his own tray, his hair falling over his eyes in a heap of hard work, he offers you a look. A measured look that’s filled with everything he wants to give, an excitement in his warm brown eyes that you can’t wait to see more of. But it’s shrouded in a gentle reservation with gaps only visible to you. Soft smiles for you. Loving touches for you. A beacon in storms that brew seemingly out of nowhere just for you.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, a safe place where he can take some part of you while you heal. But you’d like more. So you tilt your head for him, soaking the warmth from his lips that press against yours softly.

Suddenly, your worries, your dark thoughts, your misery that you let keep you beneath your blankets for days all smoothed over from his touch. Satiated until those maggots in your mind wiggle to life again when they’re hungry.

“Marcus didn’t give a rose to Janine.” He says casually as he draws back to his side and turns on the TV, nonchalant as if he didn’t just spend the evening putting you back together with gentle hands and quiet love.

You relax into his side, looking at his arm with teary eyes as he rests it on the couch behind you, offering a blanket of comfort and safety that you haven’t had in a long time.

“Gojo spoiled it,” Nanami continues, grumbling and annoyed at the two syllables of Gojo’s name touching his tongue. He blows at his spoon of soup, eyes locked on the screen, his sharp features colored with flickering blues and reds.

He notices your stillness—of course, he notices—and offers you another kiss on your cheek before turning back to the show.

“I’ll steal his kikufuku as punishment,” you offer, arm shaking with the gentle chuckle he gives in response.

The soup steams in your hands, your hair soft and braided, your body worshiped and clean, Nanami’s heartbeat permeable beneath his clothes as you sink into him and sip your delicious soup.

For the first time in years, you know when the world feels heavy, he’ll be able to lift that weight off of you before it buries you away.

[mysteria157]

Half of me smiling softly at the fluffy moments in this, the other half of me kicking my feet.

His Hands [Nanami Kento]

an: it's been a hot minute since I wrote for him, but with the latest developments and the insane amount of Kento content on my dash, I couldn't help myself. This is a love letter to his hands...

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: hair pulling, manhandling, light choking, mark marking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mating press, doggy (all implied), some comfort and fluff because he deserves it

Masterlist

Nanami Kento is not a white knight.

He is not a righteous man, nor is he morally virtuous. Nanami makes no qualms about expressing what matters most to him – his time, his students and most importantly, you. If that means he has to stray into the murky grey areas of ethics then so be it. If that means there is collateral damage in ensuring the safety of his precious priorities, it matters not. However, Nanami Kento is a good man.

Fatigue has been his constant companion these past few weeks. His eyes are weary and less focused than usual, his jaw tight with seemingly endless worry and his hair tousled as if he had run fingers through it time and again. You didn’t know the exact cause of his current demeanour, all you did know was that it was your job to relieve it, at least temporarily.

Hazel eyes met yours. A tight smile faint on his lips whilst you moved from being tucked into his side to straddling his lap. Kento’s head fell back against the couch, his gaze bouncing between your eyes, simply content to observe whatever it was you were up to. Your fingers delicately wrapped around his wrist, brushing against the heavy weight of his timepiece and lifting it to your chest. His hands were rough, callouses built up along the edges of his fingertips and palm through extended training and workouts that would see him dripping in sweat.

“Y’know… I’ve always loved these hands.” An exploratory finger ran over his knuckles, the skin shiny and new from where they had not long been split open. It wasn’t an exaggeration–you did love his hands and what they could do.

An amused huff was his reply, fingers flexing in and out of a loose fist whilst you continued your journey over the wide expanse that was his hand—traversing the depths of his life line only to circle down and stroke over the pad of his thumb. How many times had you helped to patch him up after being injured in the line of duty? Too many. Bloody rags filled the bathroom sink and the smell of antiseptic stung your nose, but you’d rather do it yourself than let him tend to himself. There was no point in telling him you worried, he knew that, instead you filled the silence with the mundane moments of your day to distract him from the stark contrast of his horror-filled one.

“They’re strong and they keep me safe,” you muse almost to yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Kento’s eyebrows lift. His eyes sharpen, throwing off the dregs of tiredness to watch more fixedly at you touching him with a reverence he didn’t believe he deserved. Would you still love them if you knew what he had done with them? Of the violence they had been a part of, the injuries and deaths he had inflicted with them. As if you didn’t already know…

“Sweetheart–” The argument he had readied fell away when you lifted his hand higher, towards your throat. His thick fingers could feel the steady beat of your pulse, no jump in fear of danger, only complete trust. He swallowed; the bob of his Adam’s apple near painful.

Your breathing sped up, knees shuffling forward to bracket his lean hips and pressing your delicate skin further into his careful grasp. Memories rose to the surface of your mind like stones skimming across a peaceful lake, rippling outward until the phantom sensations of days gone by washed over you.

The searing burn of Kento’s large palm swatting at your soft ass; whether in encouragement when your thighs tired of riding him to completion or in admonishment for some very deliberate attempts at stealing away his attention in the midst of his paperwork.

The gentle grip of your ankles when he folded your thighs flush against your chest to be able to plunge deeper into your sopping cunt. His tender hold was the perfect counterbalance to how savagely he was splitting you open. Lazy circles of his thumbs against your delicate ankle bones all whilst you ringed his cock with thick cream and his pelvis smacked wetly against you.

The prickle of your scalp at the sudden yank at the roots of your hair. That deliciously big, thick hand that you adored wrapping your hair so tightly into a makeshift ponytail that you had no choice but to rear back. Warm breath fanning your cheek and neck, the deep rasp of Kento’s words caressing your ear despite how depraved his words were. “Fuck… that’s it, baby… Taking Daddy’s cock like a champ… Let me see that arch… Look at this pretty pussy sucking me back in…”

Nanami had a way of handling you exactly as you needed at any given moment. He wasn’t afraid you’d break like some fragile doll, knowing that you more than enjoyed his manhandling. He could sense how turned on it made you when he would scoop you up like you weighed nothing. Taking your weight into his arms when he fucked you against the hallway wall in those moments he simply couldn’t wait to reach the bedroom. You were his pliant little cocksleeve. His perfect pussy.

With the rough came the smooth. How tenderly his fingers would coast down the length of your spine in the warmth of the morning, stopping to admire the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips and the ripple of your backside when he squeezed it lightly. 

The soft touches against the bruises he had left the night before on your waist and hips. Each one a mark of his possession that he would never fail to become aroused by. The marks of his fingertips, the indent of his teeth on the swell of your sensitive inner thigh. If he were an animal he would scent mark you like the dog he sometimes felt like, rub himself all over you until you were bathed in his musk.

Interlocked fingers and tickles on the palm of your hands. The reassurance that you were by his side when you strolled the sidewalk together, Kento always nearest the traffic and the ability to tug you close with the flick of his wrist.

“I don’t care what these hands might have done to those that deserved whatever fate they befell. All I know is that I love them, and there isn’t anyone I would trust more to hold my heart.”

He nodded, and you knew that would be the best you would get in the form of agreement to your words. The coiled muscles in his forearm tightened, tendons contracting and his fingers squeezing a fraction tighter atop your carotid arteries. You hummed in contentment, eyelids growing heavy and his hand slipped free of your loose hold to rest over your heart whilst the other pressed between your shoulder blades to bring you to his lips.

So, no, Nanami isn’t a white knight but he is the best man you’ve ever been fortunate enough to meet. You would help him face whatever demons were lurking nearby, and with your support and unconditional love, maybe–just maybe–he’d make it back to you in one piece. 

Heaven knows he deserved some time off.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

rare matchup trade with @mysteriawrites

for one of my very cute friends. i was in a major writing slump over the summer but she encouraged me to get out of my slump by offering a matchup trade! this is my first matchup for someone and very overdue on my part so i'm excited wehe

☆ and even though it’s a matchup i tried to write a full fic with her in mind, but applicable to anyone. especially because this is a whole entire fic with 5,905 words.

mysteria sent me a super detailed description in our dms so here's a summary of it:

mysteria is 5'2, african american, a capricorn and an infj! she's kind, responsible, moody, soft-spoken, and introverted. she also describes herself as a social chameleon that can match the energy of a room, from quiet and clumsy to sassy and teasing if she's comfortable enough. she likes animals, books, reading and writing, personality quizzes, rpg/mmo/rhythm games, and sweets. however, she dislikes loud sounds, math, trypophobia, spiders, and inconsiderate people. she also dislikes when people she cares about don't properly take care of themselves, but tends to forget her own needs. she's really a caring person at heart!

your matchup is under the cut for the drama! i match you with...!

Mischievous but observant, the Phantom Thief Alban Knox!

tags: gender neutral reader, getting together, hurt/comfort, reader is an overworker, bad work environment, happy ending, breaking and entering (and other thief-typical crimes lol)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There's this little convenience store right in your neighborhood that happens to be on your daily commute to work.

The first time you visit, you realize it's about five minutes away from your home and open 24/7, perfect for late-night snack runs.

The staff is so small, the same guy works the graveyard shift whenever you visit: tousled mocha-brown hair, a lanky body too thin for his uniform shirt, and two differently colored eyes. One is dark, while the other is so vividly green it makes him look intelligent.

It doesn't take long before he starts to memorize your usual order, and for you to memorize the Hi, my name is Alban! name tag over his apron.

With time the friendly customer service starts to become just actual friend behavior. You begin to learn more about one another. He asks you about your day, and when you mention some of your coworkers at your dime-a-dozen tech job he's able to remember who's who.

Meanwhile you've seen the two bowls outside the sliding doors, one full of water and the other kibble. Alban leaves them out for the neighborhood cats, and you've been lucky enough to meet a few of them before they scamper away.

Alban is like a brother to the strays, however, and the konbini tends to be empty whenever you visit, so there's no one to stop him when the cats paw at his leg, begging him to pick them up as you rant about your latest project. They even let you pet them once or twice before they climb over Alban's shoulders, watching you with nighttime pupils. Apparently that's rare. The first time a stray nuzzles your palm, Alban secretly slides you an extra pack of the snack cakes you wanted.

"If she trusts you, then you can keep a secret," he says. The cat's tail curls around his wrist before he nonchalantly drop the cake into your bag. "Our secret, right?"

Over time it becomes a part of your routine. Work during the day, visit the konbini, relax after a good conversation with Alban. Once your company picks up a new security project, your schedule slowly folds over. With Alban's late-night shifts and you working longer hours after getting a lead position, he becomes one of the few consistencies in a hectic career.

You really do treasure the time you spend with him. Now that so much is going on at work it's like his store is the only place you can unwind before you get back to programming at home.

Not to mention he's one of the few night owls you know, and the only one that was there for you when you felt like you were falling apart.

It's not like you wanted to let your defenses down, though. You'd been working tirelessly for weeks on this security system, but today your clients blew a fuse over things out of your control. All this effort, and the way they reacted made you feel like it was for nothing.

"Welcome!" Alban's standard customer service voice disappears once he recognizes your face. "Hey, it's my favorite—woah, wait. Are you okay?"

It stuns you how quickly he picked up on your mood. The second you left work, you spent ten minutes trying to wipe the ‘on the verge of tears’ look off your face.

"Don't worry, Alban, I'm fine." You try to smile. "Just a busy day at work. What're the daily specials today?"

"Oh! Uh..."

It's pretty obvious that wasn't a convincing excuse, but he lists off the menu anyways. You appreciate that he knows how to give you space.

You decide halfway through that you'd rather get your usual, though, too exhausted to think of trying anything new. "And a donut," you add, longing for a comfort food.

While Alban gets started on your food, the aisles of bright, prepackaged snacks feels like staring at a headache. Itching for relief, you stare outside the windows instead. A grayed tail swishes along the glass outside while two nighttime pupils stare right back at you.

The air prods at your skin as the sliding doors open, and you approach the cat. You recognize her as one of the first to warm up to you when you started to visit. She continues to watch you, even as you reach a hand out. Her tail rises like smoke.

The stray's eyes squint up into crescents as you scratch under her chin. "A meal and affection for free," you muse. You're trying to not be bitter, especially since this one is skittish, but you can’t help but feel envious. "Must be nice being a cat instead of a human."

The brisk nighttime air stills. This calm makes everything feel like it’s falling out of your grasp, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. You're a resigned observer to your own life.

"I just don't know what to do," you say. Your job pays well, but you’re so sick of being treated like this, especially after such a bad meeting with your client.

The stray nestles up closer to your hand, nudging the touch closer to her body so you can stroke her back. Not a moment later, she backs away. With powerful legs and silent breaths, she pounces down from the ledge, while the smoke trails into the shadowy brush on the other side of the parking lot.

So you lean back against the wall. Cold brick outlines your back. Damn. Not even the strays are cooperating with your shitty day.

By the time you return to the inside of the konbini, your nose is reddened from the chill. The overhead lights wash the color out of your face, so bright that the night outside seems jarring.

At least you can smell your food. Alban returns to the counter with a paper bag that feels warm to the touch, and a to-go box full of donuts.

You cock your head. “I only ordered one donut, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” He seals the box with a sticker. It’s a cute cat with the same mismatched eyes as him and ‘Freshness Guaranteed!’ underneath its paw.

“So why…?”

“Because I want to give you some. It’s nice to get freebies, especially when it’s for a friend that could use ‘em,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, but you’re not doing so hot, are you? If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I’d be happy to. Help you, I mean.”

He slides the bag of food and the donut box to your side of the counter. “But for now, you just keep those and take a moment to yourself.”

A steady aroma follows the bag while the donut box is warm under your fingers, freshly baked and at no extra charge, simply just because. One green eye and one dark stares up at you from the sticker, blending into the white fur as your vision blurs.

"Alban."

"Yeah, what's—?"

Alban’s question falters. Instead you speak, with one hand up at your eyes, glossy and turning wetter by the second. “Thanks.”

It seems the mask has fallen now. You hunch over as you sniffle. Hot shame seeps down your back like burning oil, the tears feeling more and more like they’re boiling. It only makes you more embarrassed and frustrated, which causes even more heat behind your eyes, and the cycle continues. Now here you are, crying in the cold light of a konbini while the poor cashier has no way out. You don’t even have the heart to look up at Alban’s face.

“Sorry,” you say. Your voice sticks together. “I-I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m acting like a big baby, and I’m fine, I’m just—just making it weird, a-and you don’t even want to know.”

“But I do!”

Even though you don’t have the strength to raise your head, you can see Alban’s hands through mottled vision; namely, how they clutch at the counter—right before he sets them both over yours. You’ve never seen him without a pair of food-safe gloves, and these are no different, a solid black that sticks to your skin while fingers rest on your knuckles.

At his outburst, you dare to look up. His eyes are closed, mouth set in a crinkled frown, barely pursed as if he wants to say something. Alban reconsiders just as he opens it. Hesitation crawls into lowered brows, and your heart pangs even harder when he looks down at the hands. Either you’re seeing things, or there’s a bittersweet look in one eye and concern in the other. “If you trust me, then I want to know.

“Because you’re not ‘fine’. If you really were then you wouldn’t be crying at someone doing one tiny nice thing,” he blurts. “Did someone hurt you? Because if they did, I’ll give them a piece of my mind, no questions asked.”

“It’s… not a someone.”

That gets him to squeeze your palm. A wave of understanding bleeds through and travels up your veins. “I’m all ears.”

You squeeze back, eyelids smashing together as another fat tear rolls down your cheek. “It’s my jobbb.”

You aren’t exactly proud of how you weep, but the way Alban listens to you erases the regret. You spill your guts about the client, the meeting, the mismanagement, and that stupid security system you’ve been working on. Halfway through, Alban flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, thumbs off his gloves, and sits next to you properly.

By now his touch returns, resting fingertips on your knuckles and rubbing up your wrist. Without the gloves, he’s warmer than ever, and softer. He passes you a box of tissues from the office, too, and doesn’t even flinch when you honk into the tissues in-between sobs.

You explain everything, even the tiny stresses in your career. “I’m lost. It pays so much but I’m so exhausted,” you say. “I don’t want to leave but sometimes I just wish I could, I don’t know, transfer to a different location, or give the client to someone else, or hell, some kind of payback.

“But I’d not that kind of person. And even if I was…” Your eyes cast downward. The tears have slowed but they’re still so wet with misery. “I’m so tired.”

Your heart aches just at saying it. The realization has set in now. You’re tired.

That’s putting it mildly. You never noticed until now, but there’s an indescribable weight in your neck and shoulders, just about ready to snap you in two under the pressure. You used to love this job, and you still love what you do, but only now are you realizing you’ve put far more into it than your superiors deserve.

“That’s fucked,” Alban finally says, and you almost snort at how plainly he says it. Instead it comes out as a weak chuckle.

“Can’t your boss put two and two together and realize you’re already giving one hundred percent—no, two hundred into the project?” He asks, even though you both know the answer. “That’s stupid. There’s a whole staff of people, so they need to get their head out of their ass and give you a break.”

“I wish.” You sniffle. “I’m just a generic worker, but I’m the only one that knows exactly how everything operates. Makes me feel like I can't even rest.”

“Do you have any time off?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So take it. You need it,” Alban says. Then he playfully nudges you. “You know you deserve to treat yourself.”

That gets another chuckle out of you, louder than the last. He smiles softly and points out, “You’re laughing more.”

“You say things so simply that, I dunno, it makes things feel less difficult. Like when I think about it, it’s like this swirling black hole.” You exhale. “I was thinking about taking time off, earlier, but I told myself to tough it out instead of giving up. But now it doesn’t feel as extreme.”

“It’s not giving up. It’s resting. That’s a requirement.”

“Yeah. It just… doesn’t feel like it when I’m talking about me.”

“Then let me be the first to remind you that you’re allowed to relax just like the rest of us.”

You wipe your eyes again, this time with a tissue while Alban rubs your back. You’ve known that for as long as you can remember, but hearing Alban say it out loud is the beginnings of understanding. Internalizing that need.

You sniff, but rather than with hopelessness, a different feeling swells in your throat. Something like recognition, warm and loose rather than tight.

“Thanks,” you say. “For the food. And, you know, all this…”

The words get lost along the way, so you settle with a gentle tilt of your head to gesture.

Alban seems to get it without much trouble, though, and pats your back reassuringly. “It’s nothing.”

“I’d argue otherwise. I must have been a nuisance—“

“It's nothing,” he repeats. “No problem at all. If you ever walk in here crying again I’d do anything to make you feel better, you know.”

“Oh.” That makes you look away, almost scared of the fact. This type of caring is unfamiliar, and now that you’re all cried out, you can’t make heads or tails of the feeling. “That’s really sweet, I think.”

Alban lifts his hand off your body. The absence picks you up and out of your thoughts, so you raise your head. You watch as it rests back on his neck, right underneath his tousled brown hair. “Don’t mention it. Uh, how do you get home?”

“I usually walk.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but you’re not about to walk home by yourself after crying your eyes out. I’ll drive you.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to! I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Hey, I’m offering. No one visits at this time of night anyway, except for you.”

“Yeah, but it feels like I’m being a burden or something, and I don't want to cause more trouble for you than I already have, and—oh, forget it.” You bury your face in your hands. Your cheeks are still tempered from crying earlier, but now you can feel the unmistakable heat of embarrassment as well. “You’re not going to let this up, are you?”

He says, “Only if you’re sure you’ll get home safe. It’s late.”

“Fine, you can drive.” You pat at your face with the tissue. Your tears have long since dried, but maybe this will hide the blush. “I can’t say thank you enough.”

Alban shrugs that praise off as well, so intent on refusing your gratitude that it comes across as either sheepish or blasé. He busies himself with locking up the store while you clean yourself up (again) in the bathroom. He opens the car door for you before you can open it yourself.

The stick shift is a few years behind, but the console is rigged up to connect to Alban's phone. Before he starts driving, he hands it to you. "You can choose the music."

You thumb through a streaming service before finding a title your recognize from one of your own playlists, and at the first few notes of the song, the car enters motion. It's a quiet, comfortable silence filled up by the song and your directions to your home.

The walk to the konbini is fast, but driving is even faster, and the song barely ends as he pulls up to your home. "You got everything?" He asks.

You nod. "I do. Thanks, Alban."

"It's noth—"

"Oh, quit playing yourself down already." Before you can slip out of your seat, you lay a hand over Alban's as it rests on the stick shift, just like how he comforted you earlier. "No one at work took time out of their day to hear me out, not even my friends. You did. That means something."

"Still!" Alban says. "I wouldn't just ignore you."

"A lot of people would, and did. You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for." You poke his cheek. "Now repeat after me: you're welcome."

The poke makes his face squish up, cheek smushing into the corner of his lips while one eye closes. He blinks, uncertain, as if he entered uncharted territory. He likely has. If it wasn't apparent before, it certainly was by how long it took him to avert his eyes and say the words. “…You’re welcome.”

You squish his cheeks a little more as friendly affection. Barely visible under the overhead light, his face tints pink under the pressure of your hands. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you later, Alban.”

“Right. Rest well?”

“I will.”

The door shuts and the headlights shine long shadows behind you as you walk away. Alban watches as you pull out your keys. You notice the shining lights only dim out after you’ve stepped inside your humble abode, and the warm feeling rises up again. He made sure you were inside safe and sound before he drove away.

It’s with that warm feeling that you speed through your nighttime routine and fall asleep in your bed.

It returns each time you visit the konbini after that night, too. Alban, in all his selflessness, still insists on giving you even more freebies than you know what to do with.

“Damn, Reader, if you visit even more often, I’ll have to order extra shipments of candies,” he quips as he scans your items—then snatches a king-size snack and slips it into your bag without charging you a cent more.

You snicker. “It’s not like I ask. You’re the one that won’t quit giving me things for free.”

“I’ve got more than enough to go around.”

“But you just said you’d have to order more.”

“How’s work? Still doing the security thing?” He asks.

You roll your eyes to the ceiling and huff not a second later. “Yep, same old, same old. One of my coworkers used the wrong parts on something, so I had to spend my entire shift today disassembling and reassembling it myself.”

"You know what I'm going to say—"

"That it's unfair and stupid?"

"—Among other things, but you're just going to say the pay is too good to leave, aren't you," he finishes.

You focus on the counter rather than Alban's movements. It's been a while since that night he drove you home and the wound has healed, but there's no mistaking the beginnings of a scar at the memory, all puffy-pink as it tries to recover to what once was.

You hate to admit it, but he's right. He quoted something you said word-for-word last week.

"I'm not just predictable, I'm mad," you say. "And tired of being mad."

"Not at anything new, is it?"

You sigh. "Nope. It's more like a lot of little things building up and just whittling me down. Same ol' soul-crushing machine as always."

The cash register dings as Alban places all your items into the bag, and you pay for half of what you should. "There isn't anything keeping you happy or loyal, is there?"

"Not really. It's all miserable, even the other departments." You even laugh bitterly. "I guess the employees get paid so much because there's no budget going into decent HR."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"Don't waste your breath."

"I can't tell you what to do."

"Gotta pay my bills somehow." The receipt inches out. Alban tears it off and slips it into the bag. "I'm looking, but I can't just quit yet. At this point, I don't care what happens to the place, as long as I get paid. Need to finish the security system before moving onto another job."

"I hope someone gives you a better offer soon. Workplace culture included."

"Me too." He offers the bag to you. You take the handles from Alban with crinkles and a skim along his fingertips. "At least I've got nothing planned tonight but binging a TV show over snacks." You jostle the bag, and the many candies inside. "In no small part because of you."

He beams at that, just before wiring his mouth into a thin smile to cover up his happiness. "We're always open! And I'm always here."

"I'm counting on it." That happiness spreads to you like watercolor on paper. "I'll come back soon, Alban."

He sees you off with the good cheer and well-wishes you've come to expect from Alban, and a request to keep out of trouble. Once the crisp white of the konbini's lights fade away into the night as you walk home, the dismal feeling returns.

Maybe you should take his advice and quit while you're ahead. It's no secret this job will kill you one day.

You bite back the thought as soon as it comes to mind. You need the cash. Quitting is tempting, but if you leave now, you won't have enough savings to fall back on.

"Until this commission is over," you mutter under your breath. You'll put in the two-week notice then, once the security project is complete, and that stuck-up client coughs up the high price for all your effort.

Until then, until then, until then. Your mind echoes as you go down the familiar path home, staving off the urge to think any more on it. All that's left for you to do today is watch some shows, relax, and hopefully, get a good night's rest before doing the same thing again tomorrow.

Even though the night in serves as a good distraction, you remember the grind ahead as you tuck yourself into bed, and with it, Alban's wishes for your happiness pushes the harsh thoughts away as you drift off.

As you'd expect, the days ahead are predictably mundane, save for the awful work environment you've become so used to over time. Some days it feels like you're the only competent person in the building. Other days you know it's true.

Which brings you to now. The coworker that sits closest to you left to go file some papers in another office—or take a personal call for the next twenty minutes, it's always a toss up with them—leaving you to your own devices as you work on something that should've been completed earlier this week. Again.

The office you're currently in is built for three at most, though it rarely fits that many. Usually you're by yourself or with another coworker, and now that you're alone, you have the freedom to sigh. You know how these things work, but having to pick up so much slack is just plain exhausting.

The lights go out.

The first thing you think is if the latest updates were saved. Your brain reminds you that the program was on autosave every minute, and you haven't typed in five. It'll be fine.

The next thing is that considering your industry, there's more than a few backup generators. There's no way it would take this long for one of them to kick in and get power back to the building.

Something's wrong. You don't have a clue, but outside your office windows, you can catch glimpses of other workers evacuating. There's no way it could be a natural disaster, and you doubt a fire would cut the lights, but considering how fast the other workers clear out, you aren't staying to find out.

You're one of the last people to leave a personal office, and you presume the last to start moving. The halls twist in the darkness, but you've memorized the layout, and your phone's flashlight guides the way.

The sound of keys on keys jingle behind you. You pivot with a start "Who's there?"

No one responds. Your light reaches a few feet ahead before being swallowed by the darkness. The ceiling boasts some LEDs for detectors, cameras, and the far-off 'EXIT' sign but not much else, and none of them are helpful at the moment.

Something else whooshes ahead, and you turn again, now starting to feel like a fish being circled by a shark.

"This isn't funny," you call out. That was stupid of you. Maybe the job is rotting your brain, and it'll be the reason behind your death, trapped in your shitty office while everyone else evacuates.

With steeled nerves you keep walking, twisting your phone around to get a piece-by-piece view of the hallways. The light bounces off the waxy leaves of a houseplant by a door. The water cooler where you refill your water bottle. Two pointed strikes of orange that shine one-at-a-time as the light flashes.

Cloth covers your mouth before you can scream.

They wire around as the orange comes into focus, now identifiable as two pins in a head full of shaggy hair. The intruder rests a finger on his lips as he shushes you, one green eye and one dark reflecting the light from your phone.

You manage to shake off his grip and hiss. "Alban?"

He blinks before widening his mismatched eyes. "Wh-what are you talking about? I don't know anyone named Alban."

"Oh, cut the crap, you—" You start, but remember the LED lights up on the ceiling. The cameras! You tug on his jacket sleeve as you dive into a corridor hidden from the security cameras, and luckily, he's shocked enough to stumble along. He slips out of your grasp in a matter of seconds, but instead climbs along the walls and hops between structures to obscure himself like a superhero out of a movie.

You push yourself flat against a wall as if it would hide you any further, while Alban clings onto the ceiling and inches down, dangling in midair. A strap is attached to the roof and around his body not unlike climbing gear.

"I'd recognize you anywhere," you say, "and if I didn't before then I definitely did the second you started talking."

Alban looks away. "Oh. Right. I should've expected that."

"Never mind that, what are you doing here? I work here!" You push him lightly, and he sways in air from the force. "Don't tell me you're behind the power outage."

He scratches the back of his head and gives you a coy smile, only half-apologetic, until you push him more. He flails before steadying himself by holding onto your shoulders. "Wait, I had a reason!"

"Uh-huh, and you're going to tell me it right now before I call the cops!"

"Psh, they couldn't catch me even if they tried—" Shove. Alban swivels around aimlessly. "Okay, okay, fine! I'm a phantom thief."

You grab him and glare. "So you decided to target my workplace after hearing me complain about it for eons. Give me one good reason not to twist you so hard we test if motion sickness can result in death."

"I mean, not entirely off?" He says with a sigh. "Okay, hear me out. The konbini isn't exactly a moneymaker. So I steal things here and there, but only from people who don't deserve it. You know, the types that steal their assets, treat everyone like dirt, exploit hard-working, good people... You see where I'm going with this, right?"

"Go on."

"I like to take only a little bit of it for myself, then forward whatever else I find to the original owners, or community projects that would use the cash way better than some hoarder. Which is why I decided to come here. It has an awful rep despite its net worth, and I dunno, it just seems like it sucks more and more of your soul out the longer you work here." Alban frowns. Even upside-down in the air, his concern is heartfelt, as genuine as that day you confided in him.

You can't even say he's wrong, not entirely. He really did listen to all your woes.

"So... I did some research. Didn't like what I saw. I don't think it's news to you, either."

"It's not great, no." You cross your arms. "So you decided to steal from them."

Alban pats down his pockets. Each of them has a hidden zipper, you realize, which must explain how he hasn't dropped any of his loot until he produces it and shows it to you. One by one, he hands you small boxes covered in secure foam. Your eyes widen as you open them. Each is a different minuscule computer part. "You recognize these."

"How could I not? These are upcoming designs. Not entirely complete, but once they are, they'll be gold standard. Maybe even more."

"Exactly. I did some rifling around in the offices, too. They'll be sold at an insane markup from the true estimated value once they're released to the public." Alban bites the inside of his cheek. "Most of the information and programming has been ripped off from programmers that either didn't consent or were severely underpaid."

"You're telling me. And the employees here will be earning pennies once it goes public."

He nods, serious as the grave. You've never seen him this dead-set on something but you recognize the blazing ambition in his eyes, and the curve over his mouth that forms when he's dedicated. He set his hand over the boxes you hold. "If you really want to return them, I won't stop you. I just want to do the right thing."

The packages aren't much bigger than jewelry boxes, and just as light, but holding them feels like handling priceless masterpieces. After all, they are.

"Why?" You ask.

"Because I trust you."

"Even after I spun you around like a piñata."

"It takes more than that to knock me out," Alban says. "Besides, even if you did, I wouldn't regret it. I think I'd endure a lifetime's worth of it if that's what it took for you to know how much I care."

You readjust your grip on the parts as Alban turns his head away again. "That sounded wrong. I mean, you work for them, not me. If this feels wrong, then you can call it off and I'll leave without anything."

He cares for me. You squeeze your lips together in deep thought. "You think so highly of me, even though I'm just a wreck that has a shitty 9 to 5 and mooches off your konbini food."

"Not a wreck," he corrects, voice tilted high in protest. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're such a handful." You present the boxes out and away from you. "Put them back in your pockets. There's the camera outside that I pulled you away from, and a few others in each corner of this floor."

Dumbfounded, Alban gingerly takes them just as you start doodling on a piece of paper. "You're just giving them back to me?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? There's only so much time before any authorities show up." You wait until Alban secures the parts away before pressing the paper flush against his upside-down chest while you stand at eye-level with him. "Not my best blueprint, but you can figure out the best route to sneak out from with that map I just drew up."

Alban stays still in the air, but you let go of the map as it rests under the collar of his jacket. He fumbles for the paper, narrowly avoiding any stray hits to your body due to the proximity.

While he's occupied, your eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness as well as how close you are to him. He doesn't notice you staring at all, nor how his cheeks are a rosier tone than the rest of his skin.

He manages to nab the paper and holds it back over his heart, where you pressed it. When he makes eye contact with you, you see to his core; both the smarmy phantom thief that infiltrated your office, and the understanding, generous dork that works nights at the konbini.

Your hand brushes with his as you take the cloth of his jacket collar. "It didn't sound wrong at all." In the dark, he tenses, gloved hands clutching the paper tighter while that blush grows into a muted red.

You drum up the courage he's shown you time and time again as you lean in. The momentum fuels you as he reciprocates, paper forgotten as it flutters to the floor in favor of holding you tighter as his lips brush along yours.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You let go of Alban's collar, all lightheaded and woozy after a long-awaited kiss. It breaks off, but his arms are still tangled around your back in a loose hug. The dopey grin on his face is full of emotion; surprise, adoration, and a shred of greed like that wasn't enough for him.

"You need to get back to business," you say, breathless.

"Uh-huh?"

"And I should go before people think I went missing."

"Oh, duh. Yeah. Yeah, you should." Alban shakes his head to jostle him out of his stupor. He raises one limb after another as the cord retracts. "I'll be—ack!"

He flops face-down to the ground with a yelp. Then a groan.

You flinch. "Alban! Are you okay?"

"Ughhh."

Expecting the worst, you crouch down and hold his arm as he rises. "Ow, that hurt... No damage done, though."

"If you say so." You dust off his shoulders as he recovers. Sure enough, there aren't any scratches nor bruises immediately forming, and the concern turns into amusement as he presses his lips together. "Alban, your face is so red."

"Wh—no, it's not."

You pinch his cheeks. His brows are drawn together, all shy and flustered. "Oh, I can't wait to see what this looks like in daylight."

"It's just because I was hanging upside-down! Blood rushes to your head!"

"Yup, right after falling flat on your face."

He wiggles out of your grasp and up on his feet in no time. "You're teasing me and I won't stand for it. Bye!"

And with that, he bolts out of the room, grappling off the walls like a parkour artist until he becomes one with the darkness.

You watch him until he disappears, but you've got places to be, too. You rifle into your pocket where your phone and wallet rest.

That is, until you realize your wallet is nowhere to be found.

You frantically search your pockets until you realize the first one you checked, the one your wallet rested in, had a card inside that wasn't there before.

It's one of the generic business cards your company provides, likely lifted from another worker's office, but along the blank white cardstock, someone had drawn a cat paw alongside a note.

"You just got mugged by the robber! (But visit tonight to get it back.)"

There's a scrawl in the corner, scratched out to the point you can't tell what it was, but a few lines against the scribble makes you think the writer doodled something.

You'll have to ask him later.

"Tonight," you say out loud. It's been a long day, and like you said, you need to get back to the rest of the employees.

But after that, the workday is sure to be cut short as the higher-ups manage the police, and now you have plans.

And you could do without a 9 to 5 looming over you for a while.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊mysteriawrites

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[queersrus]

Mystery theme

[mystery theme]

all things mysterious and in that realm of a concept

tagging: @hewasanamericangirl

(Nick)Names:

Arvoitus bab/babb, babs, barbra/barbera, barbi/barbie/barbee, barbette, babbette, baffle, bi conundra, conundrum

dieu, dieuhuyen

enigma gizem, ghamid, geheimnis huyen, huyenbi

israar/israr kereenyaga, khwam latif, luklab

mystery/mysterie, mysteria, mysterious, mysteriette, mysterielle, mysterio/misterio/mystirio, mysterietta, mysterine, mysteriella, mysterina, misteri, mistri, misterij, mysterium, mystere, mystiriodis, mister/myster

puzzle, peculia, peculiar, perplex raaz, raziela, riddle shiraz, shenmi, sinbihan, sinbi, shinpi, shinpitekina

tayemnytsya, tayemnychyy, tayna, tajemniczosc uhjia zahada, zagadochnyy

1stp prns: i/me/my/mine/myself

mi/me/my/mysterine/mysteryself my/mystere/mysteriousine/mysteriouself ei/ene/eni/enigmine/enigmaself(enigmyself)

2ndp prns: you/your/yours/yourself

mo/myster/mysters/mysterself mo/mysteryr/mysteryrs/mysteryrself mo/mysteriour/mysteriours/mysteriourself eo/enigmar/enigmars/enigmarself

3rdp prns: they/them/theirs/themself

my/mystery, my/stery, mystery/mysterys, mystery/case, mystery/book, myst/ery, mystery/mysterious, myster/ious, myst/erious, myserious/mysterious', mysterious/[object]

eni/enigma, eni/gma, enig/ma, en/igma, en/enigma, enigma/enigmas, enigma/enigmatic, enig/matic, en/enigmatic, enigm/atic, enigmatic/enigmatics

Titles

the mystery, the mysterious, the unknown, the enigma, the enigmatic, the puzzle, the enigmatic puzzle, the mysterious puzzle, the puzzling mystery, the person shrouded in mystery, the puzzling being

*one who loves mystery, one who is hardly known, one who reads mystery, one who writes mystery, one who is hidden in the unknown, one who solves the unknown, one who solves mystery cases

*one can be replaced with any pronouns

[mysteria157]

So, so beautiful, Fuku!

A Post-Shibuya Nanami will never not make me smile and this had me smiling the entire time.

These past few days I’ve come across so many writers and their wonderful stories, and I’m so glad you were one of them 💕

Time for me to read the rest 😏

content warning: fluff, hurt and lots of comfort, written in mixed style (head canon + fic), non-explicit smut, post Shibuya scarred Nanami. Loosely inspired by the song “gilded lily”.

Nanami Kento, who opened his eyes while on a hospital bed, barely feeling the left side of his body after Shoko tended to him, just to find you by his bedside finishing wrapping him up with bandages as a hurricane of emotions took over your face — fear, panic, anger, sadness, eagerness... 

Relief.

Nanami Kento, who reached towards your forearm with his unburnt hand, completely ignoring the bandages covering a good portion of his own face, glad to know that the last time he saw you wasn’t, in fact, the last. He had lived a proper life without regrets, or so he thought, up until those fateful moments in which he believed he was about to die without ever telling you how he truly felt.

Nanami Kento, who for the next few days, while bedridden and feeling useless after Gojo’s sealing in the prison realm, had the time to contemplate the life he’d been living so far, and wondered with an untapped honesty if the death of a pawn soldier — what he had been reduced to after such an influx of special grades — would really be relevant in this war. Would he be missed?

Nanami Kento, who had many visitors throughout the following days, such as Yuuji, Ino, Ijichi and Megumi, and shared the quiet comfort from your companionship every time you weren’t elbow-deep assisting Shoko with the wounded. He’d ask you to read for him. He said it was only needed while he got used to seeing with one eye, but the truth of the matter was Nanami just enjoyed listening to your voice. You knew and you didn’t mind. In fact, you actually enjoyed reading aloud by his bedside as you both ventured through Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms.

Nanami Kento who, for some reason, woke up on the wrong side of the bed the morning he was to remove his bandages, and cringed as he saw the scarred, burnt skin that was hidden underneath. Not because of any aesthetic discomfort, — he’d grown accustomed to seeing far worse on the daily — but because now he’d forever be engraved with the violence and viciousness of the life he chose. A constant reminder, literally in the flesh, of everything he almost lost. Every future, chance or opportunity that would’ve been thrown away on a whim during that night in Shibuya. 

Nanami Kento, whose jaw unclenched and shoulders untensed when you wrapped your fingers around his burnt hand, and who turned to regard you with his bandaged head and eye. Who genuinely and warmly smiled when you gave him the small eye patch in yellow splattered fabric you had sewn using one of his ties, apologizing in advance for rummaging through his things without talking to him first. You explained about asking for Ino’s help to fetch one of those. With this eye patch, you told Nanami, he would “have an all matching attire.”

Nanami Kento, who made a half-hearted remark about chastising Ino for using his copy of Nanami’s apartment key to go behind his back, but spared no time in actually removing his final bandages — while turning away from you — and covering the gaping hole where his eye should be with the accessory.

Nanami Kento, who one day before getting officially discharged, felt he was once again letting the opportunity of telling you how he felt slip through his fingers. The fear and the urgency from before were gone, life was once again moving in its own settled way, and you both would surely go back to tiptoeing quietly around the unsaid.

You both knew what it meant, and neither could muster up the courage to say it out loud, even with him having just survived certain death. Not even then.

Nanami Kento, who on that very evening wrapped his fingers softly around your wrist as you got up to leave for the night. Who, after you asked him if he needed anything, absentmindedly answered “you,” making your heart skip a beat.

Nanami Kento, who instantly regretted it, and wondered what could’ve possessed him to say that, but as he began apologizing, his words got muffled by the pressing of your lips against his. Who didn’t think twice before pulling you closer, having you almost fall on top of  his supine body.

Nanami Kento, who was too tired. Exhausted, even. Exhausted of waiting, of pretending, of denying himself the comfort of a less grueling existence in the comfort of your embrace, of your kisses, of you. 

Nanami Kento, who gasped into your mouth the moment you straddled over him, so gently that the bed barely moved, and drew his hands up your back, leaving a trail of heat wherever they traveled. Who hesitated for a moment when your fingers motioned to remove the eye patch you gave him, but obliged after you asked him “please, let me see you,” melting into the soft pecks you laid all over his scarred cheek, imprinting your affection on him one kiss at a time.

Nanami Kento, who was genuinely surprised to see that you, too, had a good portion of your body covered in scars from previous missions after you propped yourself up and took off your shirt. He gently descended the tips of his fingers in between your breasts, where the deepest of the marks laid gravely over your sternum. “I never knew,” he whispered, to which you replied “It comes with the job, I guess. None of us survives this truly unscathed.” 

Nanami Kento, whose dexterous hands kneaded around your body, committing every inch to memory, as all of your garments slid down onto the floor, like all the other things that didn’t matter at that moment — the losses, the fear, the past, the duty.

Nanami Kento, who had you with urgent kindness, as you both gave yourselves entirely to each other. He felt your body wave and flow on top of him, just like the soothing, fresh waves from the beach he thought he’d never get to see.

Nanami Kento, who for the first time ever since waking up from a sure death, felt a warmth capable of pushing away the cold grip of death around his throat, your warmth. 

Nanami Kento, who had survived. Who was glad that you did too, and loved you with no apologies through each second of it all, all touch, and kiss, and tongue, and smell, and taste, and breath, and promise.

Nanami Kento, whose arms wrapped around your body as he whispered against your lips, soft pleas none of you could put into words, but both knowing what they meant. He held you tightly as you unraveled for him, muffling your cries of his name with his mouth.

Nanami Kento, who was enthralled by the sound of his name in your voice, your need, your pleas, your smell, your flesh, your desire, and it was all too much, as he filled you whole while sinking his palms over your thighs, pushing himself as deep as he could.

Nanami Kento, who kept you in his embrace while your ear rested right over his chest, and you could hear each and every heartbeat echoing through him. Who asked you to stay the night, and you knew, right then and there, that you would.

You, who knew that no matter what happened, you’d never leave Nanami’s side from that day on.

End notes: I always wanted to write a post-Shibuya Nanami piece, and the inspiration finally hit! A huge thank you to @redlikerozez and @rahuratna for beta reading this.💜

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[fourtyfourcatss]

[████████ 100%] — @astralmysteria !

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ RECORD #01

[a/n] hey mysteria! i’m sorry this took so long, i was really busy for a long time, but here it is! i hope you enjoy.

Upright this represents femininity, beauty, nature, and nurturing. Reversed it represents creative block and dependence on others.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ YOUR ARCANA IS… EMPRESS!

𑁍 From your described personality traits, I was very torn between TEMPERANCE and EMPRESS, for your arcana. But, after some long and hard musing, I must give you empress.

𑁍 The empress is a card that is assigned to many characters in the series, one of which is Haru, which you and her embody a lot of the traits it pertains, whether upright or reversed.

𑁍 Perfectionism and people pleasing (dependence on external) tends to lend aid to a creative block, and not only that, you told me that you were trying to get back into writing.

𑁍 You’re motherly, kind, empathetic, and I can tell by your personality you may either come off strong at times. Many of your traits indeed feel like what an empress would have, and you take pride in the things you do have and nurture and take care of it.

…loading match…

⚘ YUSUKE KITAGAWA

𑁍 Oh this match was perfect.

𑁍 First of all, your love languages. Yusuke is someone who is in need of gifts, in need of being spoiled. When you appear in his life to stay— he is very pleasantly surprised. Not only is he a man of gratitude and returning acts of affection so you would not feel unloved or perhaps even taken advantage of for your kindness, he is filled with anticipation for every gift, and surprisingly, wait a long time to use them if if can be used. He probably has a section in his place dedicated specifically to you, and treats you like a queen has graced the mortal realm. You seem hard to impress— so he will do his upmost in order to win your heart!

𑁍 He’s attracted to your kindness, but specifically, it had to be paired with all your other traits to make it right.

𑁍 so, so many nicknames. this man is going to shower you in the most sweetest of them. maybe it is a simple but tender “mys” uttered in his breath, or perhaps a “love?” — he tends to stick to the more formal sounding ones because of how he is, and yet, there will be times where he drops some funny ones jokingly, and that beckons not embarrassment or humiliation but rather good-hearted fun.

𑁍 You are a muse for him; with the vibes of your being and your singing. Yes, you are a beautiful woman, but he is more focused on how your characteristics enhances your attractiveness. He finds you talking whether it be to him or yourself very endearing, and he’s definitely going to draw whilst you sing. The way you inspire feelings out of him is a gratifying experience, its a passion. The two of you would be able to encourage and help each other out of creative blocks— but also, yusuke also has problems with taking care of himself. the two of you have problems taking care of yourselves, but now you have each other to take care of the other so extremely well. the rest of the cast is very soft and happy at this, hoping that this translates into treating yourselves better.

𑁍 yusuke is not loud, or inconsiderate in terms of jokes. he is a sweet lover, and he is perfect for you. the two of you would be super cute, i think. soft, with romantic tension in the air. i think you would exchange some sassy remarks, but it is a very healing process to be around each other.

as for runner ups: ryuji was one, and akihiko from P3 kept popping up in my mind. i think akihiko may be your one true love actually.

I AM THOU, THOU ART I… COME FORTH!

𑁍 TITANIA! 𑁍

The Queen of the Fairies, Titania is a character from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. She is the wife of Oberon. Because of her grand power and charisma, people consider her the Queen of the Fairies. While she is rather delicate and graceful in appearance, her power and knowledge over magic easily match those of Oberon, the king of Fairies.

The description above fits you well, and Titania has manifested as a result! The reason why I chose her for you is because of the character studies I read for her over the ages, excluding the sections regarding extra-martial affairs she may have participated in. The compassion she holds for the changeling she wants to adopt is one of motherly. She is principled, standing up to her husband.

Not only that, I think her movesets fits you.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ HOW IS SHE AWAKENED?

you are on a battlefield. your blood is singing through your veins, and you have just stepped out like a lamb to the slaughter.

how one awakens is a hard question, because it involves getting pushed to the brink by someone who is somewhat close to you in any manner, hostile or not. in your case, it would be a betrayal of a friend. you had introduced them to almost everyone you had known because you trusted her— and in a fit of rage, they had cursed out everyone they knew, you, and all you adored.

unable to take this slander towards your loved ones and aggrieved in your heart, you opened your resolve, and a mask appeared on your face.

“I am thou, and thou art I,—”

“I am Titania. I will become your mask. Now, let us enjoy a midsummer night's dream.”

𖤣. for weapon— you would have a RAPIER [The Sword of Sinai] or a BOW [SOURCE YUMI]

𖥧. for a gun— you would have a RAY GUN [SIRIUS]

𖡼. for outfits— school uniform would be like makoto’s with the jacket, and regular outfits would be like yukari and rise’s.

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

[mysteria157]

Finished the last 2 chapters in 15 minutes and it’s never enough!! Mimi, you beautiful angel, I love this series so much 😭

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX.

Rule no. 9: Make Sure Instructions are Explicitly Clear

When you came back to the kitchen, Uraume was still there. In fact, upon further inspection of your kitchen, the place looked cleaner than before. Cleaner than the first time you moved in. You were grateful but felt strange. You didn’t ask them to tidy up but Uraume did it without your request. You came back before leaving to set the record straight because you didn’t need nor want a housekeeper. 

You eyed the empty plate that laid in front of Sukuna with disdain. It was practically clean, the greasy streaks from the meaty meal painted the white porcelain.

“Uraume, you don’t need to do all of this,” you gestured around to the house. “You’re a guest here. Please, take it easy.” “You’ll confuse them,” Sukuna said gruffly. “But as of today, Uraume will not be confined in the house.” 

You cocked your eyebrow at Sukuna who stood up from his chair. You already sensed that whatever today’s agenda held would get under your already itchy skin. 

“You will take Uraume with you to work.”

Ah there it is. The start of a headache right behind your eyes because of his overbearing protection. “There wasn’t a question mark in that statement.” 

“I was not asking,” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest with a heavy finality. “Uraume will go with you.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you gritted out. “If anything, it would be better for you for Uraume to stay with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get to.”

On your way out of the door, you found Uraume holding your work bag along with your tumbler cup filled with your favorite drink. You awkwardly took it out of their hands while muttering thanks. “And you do not have to come to work with me. Take a break,” you added before you left the house to your coworker waiting for you in her car. 

“Finally. I thought I was gonna have to drag you out of there myself,” Jess joked when you buckled yourself up in the passenger seat. 

“Sorry about that,” you laughed weakly. You eyed your house, your face barely able to hide your forehead scrunching up in a wince. 

“Is something wrong? Is Cleo still sick?” 

“What? No, she’s fine… just fine…”

Jess nodded but did not believe you. “Okay. Let’s try this again but this time don’t be as cryptic. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

You were unsure of how much of your situation you should reveal to your coworker. You were close enough to call her a friend, she’s the one who even offered to take you to work for as long as you needed until your foot healed, but you didn’t know just how deep that friendship was. You decided to test the waters with a very generic situation. 

“I’m just having… relationship issues.”

“Shut up, since when?!” Her eyes lit up even as she kept them on the road. “You know after Toji I didn’t think that you would be interested in men anymore. Are you still dating guys? Or are we talking about a lucky woman this time around?”

“Worse,” you snorted under your breath. 

“Huh? I can’t really hear you.” 

“I said it’s still a man. I just– I think I’m in over my head here. He wants to get… married.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “He proposed to you?”

“God no,” you quickly corrected. That was technically true. No proposal but apparently soulmates. “He keeps on bringing marriage up. He’s very serious about it.” 

Jess tilted her head side to side, carefully preparing her next set of words. “Getting married is a serious matter. I mean, it’s not permanent. It’s messy, but you could always get a divorce if he switches up on you.” Jess gave you a quick glance from the corner of her eye. “But you never mentioned wanting to be a wife before. Don’t let him rush you.”

“I’m not,” you promised. “I never thought about it, but…”

“But what?” Jess prompted. The car was stopped at a redlight so she could fully look at you. You sat with your hands in your laps, palm up, tracing the lifelines over and over again. 

“I don’t know. I don’t hate it? He gets on my nerves like no other. He’s old fashioned, bossy as hell, kinda sticks out like a sore thumb,” you listed off with knitted eyebrows.

“So what do you like about him?” Jess snorted. Your face uncharastically softened. Jess wondered if you knew how much affection for this mystery man you held in your body.

“He’s not ugly, for one. I happen to like his face a lot,” you admitted. “There’s also a sense of understanding that comes with him. And, we have… history with each other. Don’t worry, I’m not getting caught up in the nostalgia, but it does make things complicated.” 

You hadn’t realized it but you and Jess made it to the library already. She parked the car and shut off the engine, plunging the car in silence. You both stared out the windshield, watching your other coworkers mill into the building. 

“How long have you known him?”

You shook your head. “If I told you that you’d think that I’m crazy. I’m talking straight jacket and padded walls crazy.”

“Alright then. Keep your secrets. I’m not telling you this because I want to be a bridesmaid for your wedding, but I do hope you guys work it out. Fully commit yourself like you are a married couple and see how it feels. I mean, you’re only dating right now, so you can always back out.” 

If only it was that easy, you thought to yourself. Still, you appreciated her help. “You’re right. Thanks, Jess. I really needed to get that off of my chest.” 

Jess beamed at you and you couldn’t help but to smile back. “I can’t wait to meet him once you feel comfortable. And if he does break your heart, I will break his legs.” 

The thought of Jess, who was smaller than you, taking a crowbar to Sukuna’s knees tickled you deeply. The image made you laugh loudly and Jess was happy to see you back in high spirits. You both climbed out of the car hand in hand, giggling all the way to your work stations. You separated, leaving you to hobble over to the front desk for your shift and you prepared the desk. Suguru would not come in until a few more hours, but you watched the door like a hawk for the return of the book Sukuna came from or Suguru. You were only interrupted from your task when a small voice coming from the other side of your desk called out your name. You peered over to find one of your favorite patrons with multiple books teetering in his hands already. 

“Yuuji,” you crooned. “You’re here early.”

“Good morning! We’re going on a road trip so Dad said we have to run ear-rands! I chose the liberry first!” 

The pink haired boy grinned up at you with a smile full of missing teeth that warmed your heart. 

“A road trip right before school starts. Lucky you,” you nodded. You reached over to take the load out of his arms and began to scan them. “Do you think you have enough books to keep you busy?”

Yuuji nodded furiously. “I really like this series.” 

You inspected the book you checked out and saw that it was a fantasy book about dragons that was the latest craze with kids. It had amazing illustrations along with a simple but captivating plot. You gave Yuuji a thumbs up. “This is a good choice. You gotta tell me how it ends when you come back.” 

Once again you were given a bright flash of teeth from the young boy. For a second you had a bout of deja-vu. You’ve known Yuuji since he was in diapers, but you had a strange feeling that you have seen his face somewhere else before. The thought was gone as quickly as it came by when Kento Nanami came up with his own set of books to check out. 

“Good morning,” he greeted in his velvety voice that slid in the air like jazz. He gently placed his stack on the desk and lifted Yuuji from the floor to rest on his hip. 

“It’s always a good one when you stop by,” you winked. You spied Jess shelving books from across the floor but her gaze was firmly stuck on the blond man. You bit back a giggle from the way she was missing the shelf multiple times from staring too hard. 

“You know, since Yuuji likes fantasy so much, I would recommend a knight story over there where Jess is standing. It would be right up his alley,” you offered. Nanami craned his neck to your point and Jess ducked below the shelves to hide in record time. “Well, she was standing over there,” you scoffed. “Yuuji said you’re taking a trip?”

“Yes, it’s last minute,” Nanami mused. He looked almost disappointed that he didn’t see your friend in the section you directed him to before he turned to face you with a soft smile. “I’ve been so busy. I want him to have at least one fun memory besides the activities held here.” 

“I hope you two enjoy yourselves,” you said earnestly. Just as you were printing out the receipt for the books you saw a familiar swish of white hair disappear behind the nonfiction section. You have only seen it once but you were sure of who it belonged to. 

“Thank you. We will,” Nanami promised. You helped him pack the books in his tote bag without putting Yuuji down and fixed it on his other shoulder. “We’ll see you soon.” 

“Of course,” you waved, but your attention was already drawn elsewhere. You had enough patience to make sure there was nobody else in line that you needed to help before stomping wobbly over to where you saw Uraume. They were not-so-subtly stuffing their face in a book larger than their head to hide their identity. 

“Uraume,” you said in a low warning tone. They slowly dropped the book and looked at you head on. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought I told you to stay at home.” 

Uraume skillfully only responded to your last statement. 

“Lord Sukuna insisted that I come and watch over you. He’s worried over your condition.” 

“He should be worried about his condition when I get my hands on–”

“Did Kento say anything about me?” Jess said behind you, scaring you out of your body. You put your hand over your chest to calm your frantic heart and Jess apologized. 

“Oh I didn’t know you were talking to somebody. I love your hair,” Jess complimented Uraume and they blushed. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool or whatever,” you grumbled, pulling her away from Uaraume before she got a better look. You would have to deal with him later. As you were walking Jess back to the front desk she repeated her question. 

“He would’ve, if you didn’t do that little disappearing act.” 

“I just didn’t expect to see him,” she groaned. “Nobody should look that fine so early in the morning.” 

You found Uraume moving from section to section, seemingly not concerned with your whereabouts but you knew better. You were very annoyed, practically seething internally from Sukuna’s blatantly sending Uraume even though you had said not to. There was no getting through to him. 

“Aw man,” Jess sighed, looking down at her phone. You looked at her expectantly and she turned her phone to you. “Suguru’s not coming in today. One of his daughters is sick.” 

Fucking fantastic. “Poor girl,” you said instead. 

“Yeah, he said she got a nasty fever. I hope it’s nothing serious.” 

You already zoned out from the conversation, trying to come up with ways to work around his absence in relation to your demon issue. You slumped down into the nearest empty chair and spun around despondently. 

Jess poked your shoulder. “Lighten up. You don’t have to take on his shift, somebody else already took care of that.” 

“That’s great,” you mumbled without any real conviction. 

All you could do is hope that the universe was still on your side and you could get the journal back with or without Suguru being around. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[hangmanbradshaw]

10, 19, 20, and 30 for the ao3 list! i was gonna ask the one about what artist you listen to the most but i think we all know the answer there ;)

Someone looking at everything I've written/my blog: I think...she might like Taylor Swift (92 out of 100 on wrapped might agree)

(also hi Georgie how exciting you're on tumblr)

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Oh gosh....it's gonna sound weird but it's probably IWTBY? In the sense that it was 225k and I did it all in 3 and a half months. That little farm has been pouring out of me, or this real special one I wrote recently that involved skis only took me a few nights ;)

19. What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

I want to write a main pairing with Nat!!! Not sure who with- maybe Javy? Maybe Callie? Someone asked me if I'd ever write floydshaw or jake/bradley/bob so idk potentially that too hmmmm

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

I am a MOOD reader and writer for sure. Overall Magical mysteria (my jurassic park AU) or dreamland (my princes one) probably? More recently I've re-read specific parts of IWTBY repeatedly though and I have a feeling that little farm will be a big one (my fave things I've written are all my newer ones tbh cuz ya know...growth and all)

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

How much I love it, how cathartic it is. Literally sat down with a blank word doc and a dream in February and it's turned into this lmao. Little hamster wheel of a brain is always churning, but now I have to get it onto paper and you've heard my story crafting rants so you know how I feel about that and just working through emotions or world building. It's been SO FUN, especially the friends and community from it. Like the people who've read everything i've done since the beginning, or like I literally didn't think anyone would give a crap about IWTBY and it turned into what it did which is still fucking mind blowing to me.

(also tbh did I think I'd be writing a taylor swift/travis kelce inspired fic for hangster a few months ago? Absolutely not)

As always I can't be short about anything (except my height) so sorry! xD

[mysteriawrites]

EVENT ANNOUNCEMENT

The 20 Days of Mysteria

Hello everyone happy holidays! Lemme cut to the chase.

Imma be having an event to celebrate 100 followers and my birthday on like 3 weeks! For the whole month of December requests and matchups and matchup exchanges are open but that’s not all! Remember the 50 followers event poll that I never went through with?

This one.

Well for this month only I will be doing all of the above type of matchups instead of just one! So get creative choose whichever you like and I’ll try my best to actually write them on time this time (i make no promises)!

And in my birthday hopefully I’ll have a new fun fic released or something (I’ll try my best)

And to those of you who requested from me like forever ago ans never got their matchups I’ll try and finish those soon

Have Fun EVERYONE And HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!

(Even tho i don’t actually celebrate any winter holidays but shh)

[artsartblog]

So I’ve decided to create a full on art blog. This is where I’ll be posting my art and anything related to my art. My main account will just be for other stuff, aka reblogs that consumes my art lol.

Since this’ll be a pinned post I’ll introduce myself.

I am Grace/Art/Marshy, you can call me any of those names. I’m 21 years old and have been making art for 8+ years and writing for just as long. I’m into a lot of different fandoms, but currently my hyperfixation is Lego Monkie Kid or anything Monkey King related. (I honestly don’t know what else to say about myself lol).

I’ll reblog my art from my main account, not all but some recent bits to put some art on here. Then it’ll all just be actual posts. Feel free to ask about an AUs or ocs I’ve made art of because I love talking about the different things I’ve come up with. You can send asks in the ask box or just comment through reblogs. Also please if you like my art be sure to also reblog it to circulate it around tumblr since likes do nothing for artists.

My aus and ocs below

My AU List:

•Lego Monkie Kid•

1. The Sunlight Princess (Bao's AU)

2. Shadow Twin (Xiaoyue's AU)

3. Zodiac Goddess (Qingling's AU)

4. Water Dragon Girl (Piper's AU)

5. Possessed Bao (Bao gets possessed by LBD)

6. Monkey Prince (Mk is Bao and Wukong's son)

7. Monkey Twins (Xiaoyue and Mk are Bao and Wukong's kids)

8. Chaos Trio/Mentor Trio (Wukong, Bao and Macaque equally train Mk) {+ Xiaoyue like in her main au)

9. Imprisoned King (Wukong was imprisoned in a cage then freed by Mk)

10. Double Trouble (Mac joined Wukong on his journey of becoming immortal and ended up going west with Wukong)

11. New Host (Bao becomes LBD's host) {Alt. Xiaoyue becomes LBD's host}

12. Pirate Crossover (A pirate crossover with RC9GN)

13. Lotus Maiden (Shuchun's AU)

•RC9GN•

1. Roleswap (Himori and Finja switch roles)

2. Uncle Raised (Clarissa is raised by her uncle McFist)

3. Pirate Crossover (a pirate crossover with LMK)

4. Miraculous Ladybug AU (Randy is Ladybug and Clarissa is Chat Noir)

5. Double Ninja (The ninjanomicon and mask are "missing" so Clarissa takes up the mantle of ninja until the nomicon and mask are found by Randy and becomes the actual ninja)

5. Revived (Finja and Himori are accidentally brought back to life by Randy)

6. True Reincarnation (An au that involves a friend's oc that is Finja's reincarnation)

•TMNT•

1. Spider's Daughter (Em ends up as Big Mama's adopted daughter)

2. Unnamed TMNT AU (Splinter's human sons are reincarnated as the turtles)

•Miraculous Ladybug•

1. Ladybug!Dani (Dani is Ladybug instead of Marinette)

•FNAF•

1. Fazbear's 80s Adventures (it's kinda like a Scooby-Doo type au, but staring the Afton Family, Charlie and my ocs Ella and Lottie)

•Steven Universe•

1. The Forgotten Diamond AU (Sophie's AU)

2. Pink's Other Spinel (Spinny's AU)

•The Lost Boys•

1. Comic Story (A what if au where pretty much all of the events of the movie are a story Sam came up with after Michael nearly became a vampire)

My OC List:

•Lego Monkie Kid•

1. Bao

2. Piper Dragon

3. Qingling

4. Qi Xiaoyue

5. Shuchun

•RC9GN•

1. Himori Kitamura

2. Clarissa Knowles

3. Camellia Knowles

4. Candace "Candy" Woods

5. Hachirō Norisu

•DC•

1. Grace Kyle/Wayne

2. Propheta (Mollie Sanders)

3. Guinevere Reeves

4. Regina Jekyll

5. Evelyn King

•Marvel Ocs•

1. Mysteria (Molly Darkholme)

2. Ally West (Miss Flare)

3. Jake West (Blue Frost)

4. Kathryn "Katie" Moss (Kinetic Waves)

5. Athena Stark

6. Leiah Engebresten

7. Phoebe Parker

8. Lacey Honeycutt (Big Hero 6 oc)

•FNAF•

1. Isabella "Ella" Schmidt

2. Charlotte "Lottie" Schmidt

3. Kelly

•Danganronpa•

1. Miyuki Takayama

2. Karin Tokomaru

3. Hanako Pekoyama

•Psychonauts•

1. Anastasia "Ana"

•TMNT•

1. Emlyn Jones

2. Paige Wimbledon

•Sonic•

1. Peach the rabbit

2. Mindy "Pinky" Prower

•Nancy Drew•

1. Briar Throne

•Creepypasta•

1. Mk (Musical Kitten)

2. Lunar Painter

3. Doll Face

•SvTFoE•

1. Red (Rose) Velvet/Red Butterfly

•Danny Phantom•

1. Elizabeth "Beth" Karton

•A:TLA•

1. Kiyomizu

•Bleach•

1. Fuyuka Urahara

•Sally Face•

1. Nikki Rosenberg

2. Katelyn Campbell

•Ducktales•

1. Bonnabelle "Bonnie" De Duck/De Spell

2. Constance "Connie" De Duck

•Encanto•

1. Rose Porter

2. Aura Vela

3. Simón Hernández

•NATM•

1. Selena Katz

2. Lateefah

•Scooby-Doo•

1. Dawn Kingston

•Miraculous Ladybug•

1. Danielle "Dani" Barnett

•Steven Universe•

1. Spinel "Spinny"

2. Sophia "Sophie" Baker

3. Aubergine "Aubie" Pearl

4. Amethyst "Amy"/Purple Diamond

•Toon•

1. Lila

•Kingdom Hearts•

1. Elizabeth "Liz" Hart/Zixl

•The Lost Boys•

1. Jinx Miller

•Resident Evil•

1. Samantha "Sam" Winters/Sam Bogdan

•Non-Fandom•

1. Madelyn "Maddie" Masters (The Suits)

2. Shanae Wang/Wang Xifeng (The Suits)

3. Randall "Randy" Newell (The Suits)

4. Jayden "Jay" Wembley (The Suits)

5. Ashton "Ash" Thompson (The Suits)

6. Ronald "Ron" Lewis (Eldritch Adventures)

7. Vincent/Vashoula (Eldritch Adventures)

8. Vlad (Different Paths)

9. Vanessa "Ness" (Different Paths)

10. TH8/Tina Honeycutt (Different Paths)

11. Fran (Different Paths)

12. Megara "Meg" Mortimer (Different Paths)

13. Esmeralda Baker

14. Jacob Daniels

15. Berry the Demon

16. Q/Quin (No Face)

[mysteria157]

THIS is most definitely IN my mind, forever. It’s branded, actually, etched into my brain matter next to the other smutty/fluffy glorious fics and drabbles by Haitch.

Asking the JJK Men if it's in yet

"Is it in yet?"

feat. Nanami, Toji, TrueForm!Sukuna and Higuruma

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami:

Kento stopped dead in his tracks, his cock only pressed halfway in. Embraced beneath him, cuddlefucking in missionary, you tried to keep a straight face, as if you weren't about to eep! from the delicious stretch of just half in.

Without glasses on, Kento still, somehow, managed to look over his glasses at you. His voice was mild, almost conversational, as he sought clarification.

"Is it...in?"

"...yeah, is it in yet?"

Something prickled over Kento's shoulders. He scoffed, heaving a sigh and bracing himself on his elbows. He unclipped his watch in one deft movement, laying it on the pillow beside your head.

"Ask me again in one minute. Then three. Then five."

You felt a droplet of sweat run down your soul.

"...Kento, I was just fucking--"

"--no, no, I insist. One minute."

"What are you going to--"

Kento slammed his cock into you so hard, you jolted up the bed with a shriek. If his abs hadn't held you in place beneath him, you'd have hit the headboard. Shocked, groaning from the wet slaps of Kento absolutely railing you, bottoming out until you could hardly see, you couldn't help but let out a breathy giggle.

"--c-can't...can't-- haaaaah, Kento!"

Time lost all meaning. Kento braced on his elbows, dragging his cock halfway out again with a grunt, and stopping. He glowered down at you.

"Ask me again."

You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. You swallowed, trembling in anticipation.

"Is...is it, uh...in yet--"

Kento slammed into you again, creamy white lube squelching out of you onto the bed as you muffled your cries into the pillow, swearing you could feel him in your ribs.

Kento continued this for three, five, seven, nine, eleven minutes, until you were forced to admit, begrudgingly, that he and his seed were definitely in.

Higuruma:

Hiromi's eyes fluttered open. Having just released a sinful whimper from you sinking down onto his length, his brain suddenly short-circuited in fractious self-doubt and hyper analysis. In the end, nothing he could think took precedence, apart from a dumb:

"I'm-- I'm sorry? Is it...?"

Hiromi grasped your hips, pulling his shirt up and gripping it between his teeth so he could see where you were joined in his lap. He bucked up, just once, pausing for just long enough to shiver and moan at the slick, wet velvet of you. His head tipped back again with a weary sigh.

"You know," Hiromi chastised, grasping your hips to roll you over his cock, his hands strong, confident, "I'm so fucking tired, I'd have believed you. That I wasn't in."

You smirked above him, eliciting hushed whimpers and groans as you started to ride him. Hiromi allowed you to settle into your rhythm, before he berated you again.

"But also," he bickered, "how dare you, you cheeky cow, 'is it in yet', like I don't rail you blind every night with my 'is it in yet'--

You laughed, his chastisement turned punishing as he bounced you on him with glee, comedy turned feral.

"Oooo-ooohhh fuck-- love it when you-- when you think you're being funny-- love it--" Hiromi groaned, his voice muffled, his shirt hem between his teeth again as his eyes fixated on your stretched pussy sliding down his cock. You laughed, whimpering, breathless.

"I--I am funny--"

"--yeah yeah, alright, sweetheart-- keep telling yourself that--"

Toji:

Intending to hold onto your hair just a bit, Toji instead pulled you up fully, from your hands and knees. With your back to his chest, speared upon him, you squealed. You felt the bulbous tip of him bully against your cervix, and squirmed, gasping his name.

"The fuck you mean, 'is it in yet?"?"

You groaned, regretting your decision already. Toji reached up and gently slapped your cheek, until your eyes opened, and he pointed to the mirror in front of you. You could see him smirking over your shoulder.

When he saw your eyes drift to the base of his cock, slick with your arousal, deep inside you, and angled upwards so you could see the bulging underside, he smirked again, twitching his erection once, twice, three times so you could see.

Snapping your moan in half, Toji fucked upwards once, hard.

"Is it in yet?" He mocked, his breaths heavy as he fucked, and you squealed, and he fucked, laughing.

"Is it in yet? Come on baby, tell me. Is it in yet? Is it? Shit, kid. I dunno, I need you to tell me. Is it in yet? Is it in yet?"

If only he'd stop impaling you on him for long enough for you to answer.

True!Form Sukuna:

He laughed. He actually laughed. He only stopped laughing when you, sweating with fearful uncertainty, started laughing too. Then, he grabbed your face, rough in one long-nailed hand.

"What do they teach girls these days?" Sukuna rumbled, tsk-ing, batting your cheek from side to side with his palm and the back of his hand; a cat with a mouse.

"Whatever they teach you," he sighed, with your thighs spread upon his, sat on his throne, "I will offer you the chance to be untaught."

You nodded, panting as he let go of your body, and you choked out and whimpered as you slid further and further down his lower length. You felt the heavy, thickening weight of his upper length, resting against your back.

Sukuna left you like this, hands-free, to be slowly impaled as he watched, almost bored. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well, come on then," he drawled, his jaw leaned on one hand, with one finger lazily circling your clit, just to feel your cunt flutter around him, "beg me."

Your brain stuttered, your pussy so stuffed you could hardly think; "Beg--b-beg for...for what...my Lord?"

"Beg me to unteach you whatever drivel it is they taught you, that you should think it funny to ask your master 'is it in yet?'"

You didn't hesitate, babbling, one of his hands circling round to grasp you by the throat as you did. "P-please unteach me, my Lord, I was just being silly, just--just--forgive me--"

Sukuna hummed, his half-smile almost gentle as he began to lift you off him again, enjoying the way your pussy clenched around his lower cock as you choked.

"Lovely manners." He purred. You jolted, gasping as you felt the thick tip of his upper cock begin to squeeze into your ass. You saw stars, blinded by the enormity of him, made dumb by your own stupid attempt at comedy.

"Let's make sure you understand the perils of the situation you chose to place yourself in, hmm?"

[paganarch]

Hearing Voices

This essay is part of my recurring series The Mysteria, which is also the name of a book I am writing. Normally, essays in this series are for paid subscribers only, but I’ve decided to make this one free for everyone. If you’d like to support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber of my substack, or you can also buy me a coffee. “Oh, they’re gonna be a handful, those two. One’s…

[queenimmadolla]

there’s so many little details in Magical Mysteria and I don’t think I’ll ever revisit them again because it was perfect as a oneshot, but if anyone has any questions or notices any of those details, please let me know! I might not write more of it but I love talking about it ☺️

[mysteria157]

This was so sweet! I have yet to watch Windbreaker, so I’m fandom blind, but this story was still so beautifully made that I could follow along just fine!

You set the scene so well and even though you describe the air around you in so much detail, what matters is that it’s just you and Hajime.

The fact that the email was a really thing is CRAZY LOL.

I’m so glad you decided to write your first fic. Hope to see more in the future 💕💕

Pairing: Umemiya Hajime x f!reader (f! reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader)

WC: 728

CW: Alcohol, mentions of beer

A/N: Hey there, this is my first time sharing my writing. I'm feeling extremely nervous about it. The email really did happen at my first job after graduating!

@spookuna thank you for your support 💖

The bar is crowded. Its dimly lit corner filled with laughter and clinking of glasses. At a small, round table in the center, a group of coworkers leans in closer, their voices mingling with the bartender’s playlist of choice as they share tales of office frustrations, each drink in hand serving as a temporary escape from their corporate hellscape. Along the fringes, cozy booths cradle pairs of lovers, their playful giggles punctuated by whispers and stolen kisses, creating intimacy amidst the chaos. Nearby, at the polished wooden bar top, a pair of nervous first-daters fumble for comfort, their knees grazing awkwardly in the crowded space, each glance revealing a mix of anticipation and uncertainty about their budding connection. 

Seated at the far edge of the bar, Umemiya lounges comfortably on a high stool, his eyes glued to the flickering images of a cult comedy projected on the TV screen above the bartender’s head. He takes slow sips from a bottle of cold beer. The condensation forms droplets that trail down the neck of the bottle, creating a ring on the bartop. Clad in his iconic fitted white t-shirt, the fabric gently outlines his lean physique, while the round glasses perched on his nose--usually reserved for cozy evenings spent lost in the pages of his favorite novels--add a charm to his thoughtful demeanor. You slide onto the vacant barstool to his left, the one he intentionally left unoccupied, reserving it just for you. As you settle in, you carefully hook your work bag beneath the bartop, ensuring it's safely out of sight while also maintaining a sense of closeness to Hajime. 

“Hi baby,” Hajime greets warmly. His voice fills with a familiar affection as he shifts his gaze from the film to meet your eyes. A soft smile spreads across his lips, lighting up his steel gaze, and with a gentle lean forward, he closes the distance between the two of you, planting a tender kiss on your lips. Hajime twists his body and raises his index finger to signal a number one to the bartender. A moment later a cold beer is set down in front of you, mirroring the one already in front of Hajime. 

“Do you want to hear some juicy office gossip?” Hajime’s brow, marked with the deep scar that tells the story of his past trauma, arches in intrigue. His usually downturned eyes crinkle slightly, hinting at a flicker of interest at the prospect of something scandalous. He turns back to you, moving in closer, his posture eager and inviting, subtly urging you to spill the secret that sits at the tip of your tongue. “You might be worse than Nirei,” Hajime quips, “but I am listening.” A playful glint dances in his eyes and the smile that lit up his face moments ago lingers as he sips his beer.

“Okay, so remember the colleague I was telling you about who found out that her husband was cheating on her?” Hajime nods, clearly intrigued by what will come next. “Well, she composed an email stating that she is going to file for a divorce, attached a naked photograph of him, strategically edited to have the word ‘cheater’ embellished over his groin, and sent it to the entire department.” Hajime chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and respect. “Now that takes guts,” he replies.

You take a sip of your beer and casually scan the dimly lit room, searching the faces of the other patrons for any signs of surprise or intrigue, wondering if they too had caught wind of the office scandal. As you continue weaving the tale, Hajime's laughter fills the air, momentarily lifting the weight of the surrounding chaos, and for a moment, it feels like you are the only two souls in the crowded bar. 

Talking to Hajime has always come naturally to you. From the very start of your relationship, you were amazed by the comfort he possesses, allowing you to freely share the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind. Every time you spoke, his attentive gaze and warm demeanor reassured you that your words were safe, creating a sanctuary where you could express your deepest worries and dreams without fear of judgment or dismissal. Some years have passed since those days, yet the comfort you find in your conversations remains unchanged. 

[roastedlizlow]

I wrote a London Detective Mysteria Akechi/Emily fic! Contains spoilers, please check it out if interested, thank you!