Chapter Text
Every time I close my eyes
I wake up feeling so horny
I can't get you outta my mind
Saying Mista was quite abnormal was certainly not wrong. He still remembered as clear as day that time in Hell-bent Boarding School for the Promising Youth when a group of older incubi had called him 'human lover', 'reconsidering angel' and other offending slurs that had granted them ripped wings and a couple of broken horns. Mista was everything except forgiving.
But after passing adolescence, a rather difficult age some could say, he realized that the preference he had desperately tried to hide all those years wasn’t so bad and came in terms with his nature, showing obvious distaste in his peers’ habit of preying on innocent humans as a pastime. Labelled as problematic and an outcast he had struggled to find his place in an unforgiving system such as Hell until he was taken in by Bucciarati, a gentle fallen angel that had accepted him for who he was and in fact let him use his powers to help humans with their nightmares.
"We really needed an incubus here at the Agency of Unusual Fiends. You start Monday," he had said cheerfully before introducing him to his other misfits: a perpetually drunk jinn called Abbacchio; Fugo, a fallen angel with anger issues and a half-blood malebranche named Narancia. A mismatched group that took the dirtiest jobs other demons didn’t want for a gaunt wage that could barely buy them food.
After some initial scuffles with the eccentric clique due to incubi’s objectionable reputation among other demons he had actually started liking his bizarre life as a demonic alternative to what some humans knew as The Sandman.
And it was right during one of his shifts that Mista had an encounter he wouldn’t forget that easily.
'Man, this one looks real fucking bad.'
The guy couldn’t be older than twenty. Bright blond hair splayed nicely like a halo reminded Mista of not so nice flaming swords, tons of wings and eyes and that other weird angel shit.
'Oh the irony' thought Mista, a frown creasing his impeccable demonic eyebrows. The pseudo-angel’s pale hands were gripping the sheets with so much force Mista was surprised they weren’t torn. Mista absentmindedly traced the blue veins under his alabaster skin, every small detail and crevice of flawless skin reflecting in the demon’s eyes. Without hesitation the incubus straddled his hips and settled one thick bronze leg on either side of the other’s slender body, his ass settling unceremoniously on his groin. Well, finesse wasn’t really a demon thing, was it?
The boy’s face was scrunched up in evident distress. Enthralled by the expression Mista brought a taloned finger to touch the many creases on his forehead, his hand instantly retracting when he felt something wet. He believed it was called sweat? Human were such strange creatures, but always so fascinating.
Caressing his forehead to wipe away the so-called sweat Mista leant in and, taking a small breath to concentrate, dipped with ease in the dense fluid of the human’s restless mind. It felt cold and dark, like being swallowed by a bottomless ocean of ink.
'This never gets easier.'
He quietly tried to slip into his conscience, careful to go unnoticed or else he’d be thrown out and wake the poor human up in the process.
He swam, turned, spun, dived deeper and deeper. The faint sound of crying woke Mista up from his daze. A door slamming, someone screaming.
He had found the nightmares.
Faces and laughs and cold eyes so loud and distorted that Mista found himself wondering what the hell (no pun intended) could cause such a state.
He was used to seeing people tormented by all kinds things, the impending fear of death or losing a loved one, failing an exam (whatever that was), even fear of spiders and all kinds of creatures with six or more legs, but that feverish terror and doom was not normal.
It was even worse than the stuff he had seen in his six-month internship in the eighth circle of Hell. He shivered. Never again was he going to accept those kind of shitty jobs to try and win a scholarship to enter the Order of the Fly or some other prestigious elite full of pretentious high-ranked assholes. Hell really had a terrible education system.
But let’s not digress.
"Time to get to work," sighed Mista, too worried for the poor human’s mental health to take his time studying the nightmare like he usually did with his 'victims'. Actually, he preferred the term 'patient'. Gave it a more professional vibe. With a snap of his fingers, Mista’s body slowly started morphing. His dark curled hair grew longer and longer until it reached his shoulders, which were shrinking and becoming rounder. The hair on his body disappeared and his now smooth chest swelled into two round breasts, shrinking hands absentmindedly drawing circles on the silk pajamas under him as he readjusted his position.
"Let’s see… oh, you like men. Sorry dude, my bad." And like nothing ever happened the transformation reverted in an instant.
"Now, I think you would like a nice date before doing the hanky-panky with someone right? What’s your type? Hmmm, interesting. Yes yes, I can definitely work with this." He chuckled. "Didn’t know you liked ‘em hot an’ stupid. Someone could almost say I’m your type, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
No response came.
"Bah, trying to flirt with sleeping people is always the worst. It almost seems like they’re ignoring you." He scoffed to try and hide his embarrassment. For some reason this guy wasn’t making him think straight. Too pretty.
Holding his hand out, Mista blew gold and pink glittery dust onto the human’s face.
"So, you’ve gone out with your boyfriend, romantic place and all that. Flowers, wine, whatever you want, I know you’re classy. Then after a very expansive dinner you get back to your house. Maybe a little smooching on the doorstep. Yeah I know I’ve read too many of the mortal world’s stories. And now, it’s show time." Mista grinned. This was always his favorite part.
As quickly as footprints being washed by the waves the human’s forehead smoothed, what were first whimpers of agitation turned into small moans and huffs of pleasure. Mista grinned and caressed his tensed arms, proudly feeling him relax under his warm ministrations.
'You really needed it huh? Poor thing.'
His face now looked as serene as the one of a saint, fears and worries long forgotten. Mista couldn’t stop a goofy smile spreading his face.
"Glad you like it dear. Sadly I don’t get a lot out of it, but it’s still better than eating souls. It bugs me out so much seeing the others do it for fun. Those creeps." He pulled his tongue out in disgust.
Something suddenly shifted under his backside, unbalancing him.
"Oh, shi-" his hand flew to the pillow as he desperately tried to steady himself. He was now very very close to the boy’s face, who was now turned over and was snoring loudly with his mouth open.
Mista went rigid, his eyes blown comically wide and face becoming hotter and hotter by the second. He held his breath and stayed completely still, afraid he could wake him up. The pretty boy snored again. He sounded like a chainsaw from a horror movie.
'Such charming creatures of majestic beauty. I wonder if this sounds are some sort of mating call.' thought Mista intrigued. Slowly getting himself up he hurriedly fished a notebook and a quill pen out of his tiger striped loincloth (how he was able to store numerous items in such a skimpy piece of clothing was a mystery. Dark magic perhaps?) and started writing while mumbling to himself.
A golden reflection shone in his eyes. It was dawn. He had literally spent at least two hours ogling at the human and taking notes. Talk about embarrassing. The writing material vanished into thin air as Mista stood up with force. He checked his watchless wrist feigning nonchalance.
"O-oh Satan, Abbacchio’s gonna be pissed if I don’t get to the fifth circle in like ten minutes. I sure hope Charon isn’t gonna bitch about me being late, the old fuck." He babbled, his cheeks burning in shame as he launched himself out of the window and directly into a tree, garbled curses about this or that blazoned overlord filling the morning air. With a last desperate flap of his wings he finally freed himself from the offending vegetation and made himself scarce with the suave grace of a limping elephant.
It was a lovely morning, the birds were singing and the streets were busy.
Giorno Giovanna sat up and stretched his arms, his gorgeous face still heavy with sleep and a content smile (if the slightly curved lips on his permanent resting bitch face could be called such) lighting up his beautiful features.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a nice night of sleep. Giorno sighed and stared longingly out of the window like a bedridden 19th century maid wondering if her fiancé was going to survive the war and come to see her one last time before her tuberculosis could take her life at the young age of twenty-one.
"Damn," he said, his eyes shining in whimsical wonder. "I’d never seen such a perfect ass."
No. 3 was staring at Mista with a disapproving gaze. "So," the small imp took a bite of the salami and shifted into a more casual pose on Mista’s knee, "you’ve found another human."
Mista let out an outraged gasp. "He’s not just 'another human', No. 3! How dare you making me sound like a shallow idiot."
No. 1 emerged from the hole he usually dwelled, a piece of hamburger clutched in its small hand. "Well, aren’t you?"
"Oh why you little-" Mista stood up, making No. 3 and No. 6 fall to the ground with a dull thud and plenty unrepeatable curses.
But the offending gremlin had already disappeared.
"Such an ungrateful kid, insulting your master like this! I should’ve left you on that street corner where you were standing!" He yelled into the small burrow.
"Butcha didn’t."
Mista sighed, his wings flapping in annoyance. "Imps these days, I bring you all kinds of cool shit from the mortal world because you’re too weak to go up there and you treat me like this. Assholes." He sank in the armchair he’d stolen (or rather 'borrowed indefinitely') during one of his night visits, arms crossed and a pout on his face. The Pistols, that was the name he’d given the little bastards, ignored him and kept eating or playing with his stuff. Except No. 5.
Its small hands tapped on Mista’s elbow to get his attention. "Don’t worry Mista, you can talk to me." It said with a reassuring smile on its face.
The demon sniffed and patted its head. "I can always count on you, No. 5." He held the imp in his hand and leaned on the chair’s backrest. "You see, it all started when I was just a little demon…"
"Oh come on, this again? Give it a rest buddy," yelled No. 6 over the beginning of 'Yesterday Once More' by The Carpenters it had put up out of boredom. Mista ignored him.
"He’s just…so pretty you know? He looks like an angel, the good ones I mean. I could feel this, this electricity when I touched him, an’ he looked so scared, I wanted to talk to him and hold him close and tell him he’s safe and I think he’s the one," Mista sighed with a dreamy gaze. He certainly wasn’t good at verbalizing his incoherent thoughts, but he had the spirit.
All the Pistols (except, of course, No. 5) let out a single disgusted groan.
"I wish I could see him again."
No. 5 nodded. "I’m sure Bucciarati will let you. He’ll understand." At this Mista snapped back from his daydreaming of slender hands and golden hair and turned a deep shade of red with some hints of violet and bordeaux.
"L-like Heaven I’m gonna tell him this! It’s so embarrassing, he always gives me the birds and the bees talk because he somehow forgets I’m a fucking incubus. I know like, at least fifty different ways to seduce a human."
"To be honest though," retorted No. 6 with an unimpressed look. "Have you ever actually done it?"
Mista turned even redder, if that was possible. "Of, of course not! I’m not doin’ anything unless there’s consent. I’m no pervert!"
"You should try with this one if you like him that much."
Mista started gesticulating, too agitated to realize he was being mocked. "Me? Seducing a human? Just what kind of demon do you think I am?! How dare you, I-"
"Mista, please calm down." No. 5 said while all the other Pistols disappeared into their holes.
"I can’t even talk to humans! How am I supposed to ask him out if I can only see him when he’s sleeping?!"
"M-Mista-" The small demon sniffled as it sensed his master’s sadness and helplessness.
Mista's obsidian eyes started glowing a bright ruby red, his demonic aura growing now that he was too preoccupied to control it. The air became heavier and No. 5 started trembling. "And he’d just be scared or disgusted if I show myself in this form. But we all know what happened the last time I tried to disguise myself. I don’t care anymore, I just want to be by his side. To Heaven with everything else! Is it that difficult-"
He stopped shouting as he heard someone sniffle by his side. No. 5 held its hands to its face, trying to wipe away the tears that were forming in its eyes. Mista ran a hand through his hair and flopped to the ground. Contracts and their damn emotional connection. "Sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry." He brought his knees to his chest.
He let out a heavy sigh.
He was in deep.