#mito.txt

your hands are gripping onto his shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his skin in a way that should be painful, but instead just makes everything feel ten times better. he has a hand on your hip, gripping it firmly, his fingers forming slight dents in your skin. his free hand is wandering over your body, moving up from your clit to your tits, pinching your sensitive buds. he swears he's falling even more in love with you when you toss your head back and let out a long whine of pleasure when he does so. you look so beautiful.

how are you even real? he wonders. he's never had eyes for anyone the way he has eyes for you. he's seen and experienced so many beautiful things, explored so many different worlds in his dreams, in his past lives, but none of them compare to you. anything in any universe that is considered beautiful is nothing when it comes to you.

the way you moan his name is like the strings that play in his mind when he's feeling the rush of his highs, but somehow you're always able to make them sound like a beautiful symphony instead of just a jumble of noise like it used to be, before you. he wonders what type of magic you hold inside of you that makes you capable of making even the ugliest and most broken of things look so beautiful. he notices your legs are giving up on you and smiles at how endearing it is, the fact that you're practically struggling, but you need him so badly you're doing everything you can to keep up your movements. his hand grips your hip tighter, almost enough to bruise your skin, and he moves his free hand to your lower back to help you keep your balance.

he wonders, for a moment, if he knew you in the past life, or all those years ago. he can't really remember since it's been so long, and the memories of when he was cast out of heaven clouded his brain. but it's almost as if he can see for a brief second, something otherworldly when he looks at you, the way your skin glows with splendor when your back arches as you cum on his cock. for a moment it's like you're a real life angel right in front of him, it's such a sight to behold. was god testing him? were you sent to him as a lesson in disguise? would you be gone as soon as this was all over? whatever it was, he didn't care, as long as he got to feel you as close as possible even if you turned out to not be real when he opened his eyes again.

it's almost a relief when he does and he sees you there, still on top of him, panting heavily, eyes hooded, hair sticking to your face. a beautiful mess. the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. he's so in love with you. he reaches up to brush your hair off of your damp cheeks, smiling and delicately taking your chin to make you look at him, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, the way you lean down to kiss him and smile against his lips making everything feel a little more real.

but he remembers how warm it felt when he looked through your bedroom window and saw you for the first time, sleeping peacefully, beautiful as ever. it was nearing the negatives where you lived, the cold could be felt even through the thickest of fabric. yet somehow, when he saw you, it was like he'd stepped into a huge furnace, the warmth engulfing his body like a fire and searing through his skin, going straight to his chest. he remembers how it felt like time came to a standstill, as if it ceased to exist. he's existed for a very long time, so you could say he knows what eternity feels like, but when he saw you it was like even eternity itself came to a stop. he'd never been so mesmerized by anyone or anything in his entire existence, much less someone such as a human being, like you. he never paid attention to humans much, but you're different.

mito also remembers what your soul looks like. he has photographic memory. although he can't see it anymore, he knows it's still the same. you still haven't changed, even though he has—he's gone through so much change, and yet you still treat him the same. you still make a little extra food for him when you cook dinner in case he decides to drop by. you still wash and put away the clothes he forgets at your place. you still let him crash in your bed. still let him fuck you in it too.

with you, it's like nothing ever happened. it's like he never fell from heaven. if anything, it's like he's still an angel in your eyes. he's realized he finds solace in that, knowing that you still see him the same way, despite everyone else betraying and abandoning him because of what he had become. even his own god, his own creator didn't have the heart to even look him in the eye. he didn't have anywhere else to turn, and admittedly, the only thing he could really remember was your soul. he'd lost a lot of his angelic abilities, everything he'd ever known was stripped away from him, but he could still picture it like he was really seeing it right then and there. he didn't even have to try. it was the only thing he could truly see and find comfort in as he realized it was real and there was no turning back.

it's the only thing he could remember as he was plummeting, helpless, his wings shredding from the speed of the fall. it felt like an eternity, and mito knows what eternity feels like. the sudden pain he felt when he hit the ground felt like it would kill him right then and there, because he'd become aware of everything—the limited concept of time, the pain of his skin scraping across the gravel, getting caught in it, the realization that he was no longer a heavenly body. he was simply a man now. but in the midst of all of it, despite the millions of thoughts running through his now very limited, overthinking mind, he saw your soul.

it was a lot more beautiful than his, even before he fell. he always thought his was dull and boring compared to yours. if he had to be honest, everyone else's soul was the same, plain canvas, filled in with boring colors. yours was like a magnificent array of colors he didn't even know existed, molded together perfectly. he'd never seen such a beautiful coexistence, not even in heaven itself. he even remembered how it sounded—a gentle hum, not too loud or quiet, accompanied by soft strings, like a lullaby of some sorts that only you knew. it was almost haunting in a way, and it made him wonder sometimes if his creator was taunting him with the melody, as if it were a silent reminder of what he'd lost that day.

he wasn't sure if he really cared, though. it's hard to care, especially when he has you under him, calling out his name so sweetly the way you always do, soft pleasured whines escaping your lips. the only thing he can really care about is the way your warmth feels around his cock, clenching with every sharp movement of his hips. he pins your arms to the mattress when he fucks you, thrusting into you slowly but roughly, because he loves the little squeaks and gasps that you let out when he does so.

your bottom lip is swollen and bleeding a little from his teeth nipping at it when he kisses you and the way you're biting it so roughly to stifle your sounds, and your faced is flushed, pupils blown out with lust. he's already made you cum twice, but you're still begging for more, and he loves how you're now so overstimulated and fucked out that you can't even think for yourself anymore.