#Paresse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mizho-babe · 10 days ago

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Meet the Parents

Summary: Mizho’s parents want to meet Paresse. Mizho is mortified. Paresse has more fun than he thought he would.

Pairing: Mizho / Paresse

Word Count - 3,930

Notes: Takes place right before the evil doji meeting in volume 6.

A notification sound - a bubbly ringtone, obnoxiously set to the beat of some overly cheerful teen show – broke the blissful silence, waking Paresse up.

He had leaned his phone against a half-empty bottle of strawberry Calpis, screen positioned just so. His master had insisted that he use her burner phone so she had someone to play her silly phone games with from time to time. Usually it remained on 5% battery.

The cracked screen bathed his face in an unwanted artificial glow. He squinted, lazily cracking one eye open.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: My parents want to meet you.

Paresse shifted his arm out from underneath his side. Slowly reached out to swipe the notification away. The screen obediently went dark again.

Perfect. Problem solved.

A second later, his phone vibrated again with two more pings.

New Text Notifications (2)

M I Z H O: Tonight.

M I Z H O: 19:00

“......” Paresse reached up again, this time swiping to unlock his phone, opening the chat he had with his master. He activated his shortcuts – keyboard presets he had laboriously programmed to save precious energy: essential phrases like "napping," "tired," "hungry," and "not now." It was a lot of work for the doji of Sloth to set these up. It took all of 5 minutes. A true gift to himself so that his nap times went as undisturbed as possible.

He swiped to the right before swiping down to lock his phone.

Paresse: sleeping

He closed his eyes. That should do it.

Ping - pong - ping

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: You are coming.

He groaned now, too aware of the weight of her stare. With a reluctant glance upward, he caught sight of Mizho herself sprawled on her bed, not even five feet away, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Leave me alone.” Paresse mumbled, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm.

“Don’t think so.” Mizho said, her fingers flying over her phone’s keyboard with alarming vigor for someone as lazy as him.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: Or we’re going to Vice and that man’s place early tonight.

Paresse’s face twitched, a sense of dread clawing through his usually relaxed exterior. Just earlier that afternoon, K—the wild-haired, overly enthusiastic master of Vice - had texted the Evil Doji Masters groupchat with an invitation for what he called a "super critical, ultra-hands-on, team-building powwow," scheduled for 22:00.

Of the eight people in the chat, only one had responded: a singular thumbs-up emoji.

He tried to suppress a shiver. Sure, Mizho seemed to find K’s buck-toothed smile and spindly glasses gross, but Paresse felt a much deeper fear. Vice was the problem. The ultimate personification of evil glaring him down, calling him a lazy piece of shit, probably finding ways to tear him apart for fun. He already got enough of that from Mizho; two-on-one seemed excessive.

Summoning the last of his energy, Paresse turned his head to the side and reluctantly swiped up on his phone screen once more.

Paresse: You wouldn’t dare.

Paresse: You hate K.

A beat later, he heard Mizho mutter, “Ew, don’t say his name,” followed by the soft ding of a notification. She had deleted his last message from their chat.

M I Z H O: I would dare.

M I Z H O: Lazy

M I Z H O: USelsse doji

M I Z H O: Useless*

M I Z H O: I think Vice almost ate your arm last time.

Paresse sighed, his finger hovering over the keyboard shortcuts. Clearly, this was going to be one of those nights. He swiped to type his response, knowing exactly how to get under her skin.

Paresse: Remember when that man called you a cutie patootie?

A deadly silence filled the room, punctuated only by Mizho’s fingernails tapping at her phone screen in a fury.

M I Z H O: Stfu.

M I Z H O: disgusting

M I Z H O: anyways. It’s happening. 19:00. Get ready.

Paresse frowned, side-eyeing her from his place on the floor. “Do I…. have to get ready? Can’t I just…..come like this?”

Mizho didn’t look up from her phone. The phone screen’s glow illuminated her face, casting shadows from her long eyelashes on her cupid’s bow. “Nope. You’re not going to show up looking like you just crawled out of a coffin.”

“But you like that aesthetic,” Paresse mumbled, mostly to himself. He knew it was no good. He had to do as she wished.

He looked at his phone’s clock. It was 18:49. Sighing, he sat up, a zombie rising from his comfy coffin that was the plush carpet in Mizho’s room.

Before he could fully settle into the idea of being awake, his face was smacked by something. He looked down at what fell in his lap. A pink hair brush.

“Comb that mop into something presentable,” Mizho commanded, hopping off her bed and sliding on her boots, wrapping them swiftly with bandages to complete her look.

“….Any particular reason why your parents want to meet me?” he asked, reluctantly starting to brush his disheveled hair, before stuffing it under his school uniform hat.

“Nope.” Mizho replied in her usual deadpan, though he could sense something evasive in her tone. She crossed the room, pushing the window open with a practiced ease that hinted this wasn’t her first stealthy exit.

He glanced down at his phone one more time. 18:56. For someone who was supposed to be the embodiment of sloth and apathy, his master had an annoyingly strong sense of punctuality.

Without another word, Mizho gave him a nudge toward the window frame. He barely had time to brace himself before she unceremoniously shoved him out, sending him tumbling onto the side street behind her house. He landed with a rough thud, dusting himself off just as she swung a leg over the window sill.

“Help me down,” she whispered.

Paresse sighed, holding his hands out. She hopped down, landing in his arms with a graceful ease. It was a routine they’d perfected since they found each other in this century.

Usually Mizho would stay in his arms & make him carry her to the park where they would practice her french martial arts. This time, she immediately jumped to the ground with an odd urgency.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t respond with any snark. Don’t mention that we see each other anywhere but school.” Mizho barked directives in quick succession as they walked up the street and turned right, now facing the front of her house.

Paresse slouched along, two steps behind her. She seemed weirdly…. nervous. He found it hard to believe she thought he’d let slip the truth—that they were bound across timelines as master and dôji, tethered together for an ancient, larger-than-life battle of good versus evil.

“If this goes as planned, we’ll be out of here within five minutes.” Mizho said, moreso to herself than her doji.

They reached the front steps. It occurred to Paresse that maybe she was giving him warnings, preparing him for what was to come. After all, even before they met, Mizho was still a goth teen. What kind of parents let their daughter decorate her room in all black with skulls, candles, and chains all around? She was much sassier in this lifetime as well - no doubt nurtured by parents who were just as, if not more, aggressive and mean-spirited.

“....One more thing.” Mizho said. Paresse could hear slow footsteps nearing the front door.

“What?” Paresse said, half-distracted by a growing sense of impending doom.

“I told them you were my boyfriend.” Mizho blurted out, so quickly he almost missed it. “To explain why we hang out every day.”

It all snapped into place for Paresse - he whipped his gaze down at the girl, who was now stubbornly staring straight forward, a light pink tint coloring her cheeks.

Before he could say anything in response, the door opened.

“Mizho my darling!!” Her parents cooed in unison, practically lunging forward to envelop her in a hug. They embraced her as if it had been years instead of just a few hours since they’d last seen her. Mizho’s face, barely visible between her parents’ shoulders, had turned an even deeper shade of red. With a stiff arm, she managed to awkwardly pat each of their backs.

“Mother. Father.” Mizho said once they stepped back, in an uncharacteristically shaky & formal tone. “This is Paresse.”

“How do you do, young man!!” Her dad’s handshake was vigorous, his enthusiasm rocking Paresse’s entire lanky frame up and down. Out of the corner of his eye, Paresse saw Mizho’s mom nudge her daughter and whisper, “He’s cute,” a comment that made Mizho’s gaze sink even further.

“Well, come in, come in!” They let the two teenagers step inside. “Paresse, we have a pair of Mizho’s slippers that you can use.”

He looked down. Mizho had already slipped into her black fuzzy slippers adorned with hot pink skulls, leaving him the only option: a pair of pastel slippers with oversized bunny ears. With a silent sigh, he slid his feet into them, the floppy ears bouncing with every step.

He had never seen Mizho’s house, at least not in the light. He recognized a few surfaces where he’d napped - a couch here, a rug there -, but seeing everything brightly lit felt surreal. Mizho’s parents practically sparkled with pride as they led him on a cheerful house tour, pausing every few steps to point out details.

“Over here’s our family wall,” her mom said, gesturing at a collection of framed photos. One caught Paresse’s eye: a 5-year-old Mizho dressed as an angel for Halloween years ago, complete with feathered wings and a halo.

Mizho rolled her eye. “I preferred the reaper costume. Less... hope.” Her parents laugh. “Our little goth girl! Always such a character!”

“Wasn’t she just adorable?” her mom beamed. Paresse gazed at the photo. The girl looked like a cherub with her fluffy cheeks and long eyelashes.

“…Very.” Paresse answered honestly. He felt Mizho shooting daggers behind him.

“And here’s her kindergarten graduation photo,” her mom continued, pointing to another picture of Mizho in a miniature cap and gown, frowning as if the whole ordeal had inconvenienced her.

“Aw, remember that day, Mizho? You refused to go on stage until we bribed you with an extra scoop of chocolate ice cream!” her dad laughed.

“Father, enough,” Mizho muttered, her voice barely audible.

Paresse couldn’t help himself. “She still needs chocolate to do anything.”

“Some things never change!” Both her parents laughed, charmed. At that moment, Paresse felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: I am going to chop your head off and feed it to that man’s birds, slice by slice

Paresse maintained his blank, unbothered expression as he looked back up and followed her parents down the hallway.

“We’ve cooked a large dinner for you two!” her mom announced, pulling them toward the dining room. Paresse felt Mizho tense beside him, and he couldn’t help but stifle a yawn, feeling the sudden urge to sleep through whatever was coming next.

Her parents moved to the other side of the table to sit down. He turned to his left and saw that Mizho had pulled out a chair for him, her gaze still fixed firmly on the floor. The sight of his master actually being a courteous host for once was too much. Paresse remembered that he was an advanced robot with unmatched photographic memory capabilities, and immediately logged the scene for his later enjoyment.

“Thanks, girlfriend,” he said nonchalantly, slipping into the chair. He was still a head taller than Mizho even while seated. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she pushed his chair in with a force that wasn’t entirely necessary.

“You’re. Welcome.” She hissed through gritted teeth. He knew he was pushing it, but he let a lopsided grin spread across his face.

“We’re so excited to finally meet you.” Mizho’s mom, not picking up on her daughter’s murderous aura, smiled at Paresse. Her mom’s smile reminded Paresse of the rare, genuine smiles Mizho sometimes flashed—those fleeting moments when her guard was down. If only he could see those without the usual glare & bloodlust that followed.

“After all these months of knowing Mizho had a boyfriend, we told her last week that we had to meet the lucky man tonight!”

Paresse suppressed a guffaw. Under the table, he felt a small foot connect with his shin in a brutal kick that would’ve snapped a normal person’s ankle.

“So!” Her dad said as they began to pass around appetizers. “How did you two meet?”

“Father,” Mizho responded with a half-strained plea. “I’ve already told you and Mother—”

“Mizho-bunny! So cute, being all mature and calling us ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’” her mom interrupted with a doting smile, oblivious to Mizho’s discomfort.

Mizho’s cheeks flushed, and she looked like she was about to sink through the floor.

“Well?” her dad continued, now focusing his attention on Paresse.

Paresse glanced at Mizho, who shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut steel, clearly communicating, Do not mess this up.

Got it. So leave out the part where they had met a century before when she was a he.

“…School,” Paresse replied, feigning thoughtfulness. In truth he was being careful to omit details about the accompanying bloodbath that had surrounded their first encounter in the 21st century. “She, uh… ‘noticed’ me in class. Said I was hard to miss.”

Before Mizho could kick him again, he pinned her foot under his with a firm pressure, using a strength he typically reserved for more intense activities—like beheading foes or lying across her to stop her from bonking him in her sleep during their shared naps.

Her dad chuckled, oblivious. “Sounds about right! Mizho always was observant.”

“Yes.” Paresse agreed, taking a sip of his water.

“I love high school sweethearts.” Her mom said. “Tell me, who made the first move?”

Paresse saw Mizho about to interject, but he beat her to it. “Mizho, of course.” He responded. This was not as boring as he’d thought it would be. It was fun. “She was….direct. Hard to say no to.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mizho furiously typing on her phone under the table, fingertaps sounding like mini gunshots.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: You have a death wish.

Paresse leaned back in his chair, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself.

Her mom turned to him, eyes wide with curiosity. “So, Paresse, what’s a typical day like for you two? Mizho said you participate in a lot of extracurricular activities together!”

Actually, most mornings they usually skipped school and hung out in Mizho’s dimly-lit room all day, napping together. Then came her brutal “training” sessions, where she used him as a life-sized punching bag to practice her Savate techniques, leaving him bruised and sore but too lazy to complain.

“Well, let’s see…” Paresse began slowly. “We usually meet after class and…..read together.” Reading in this case being Mizho showing Paresse an explicit video playlist of executions she had curated while he was sleeping.

Her mom clasped her hands, clearly pleased. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I always knew Mizho was a reader.”

“Yes, and then we, uh……. go to…….. basketball practice,” Paresse added, thinking of the first sport that popped into his mind. Wasn’t that the sport Orgullo’s master was a champion in? Or maybe it was tennis? Something with a ball.

“Basketball! How nice!” her dad said. “It’s good to see Mizho getting out there and trying new things.”

“Yes, she’s… enthusiastic,” Paresse replied, recalling how she’d once kicked him squarely in the chest during “practice.”

As the conversation moved on, her mom’s eyes sparkled as she remembered something. “Oh! I have to show you the baby photos!”

She stood up and hurried to a nearby bookshelf, pulling down a thick album and placing it on the table in front of Paresse. She flipped through the pages, showcasing an array of photos of baby Mizho. She is not smiling in any of them, and even when she was below the age of 3 her arms were already crossed as though deeply unimpressed with the world.

“And here’s my little girl in her favorite outfit,” her mom cooed, pointing to a picture of Mizho dressed as a tiny plague doctor, complete with black cloak and a plastic scythe. “Even back then, she had such a unique personality!”

Mizho groaned softly, slumping in her chair as Paresse leaned forward, admiring the photos with a lazy grin. “These are… priceless,” he said, savoring every second of her discomfort.

“Isn’t she just precious?” her mom sighed, beaming at Mizho, who was now hiding her face in her hands.

“Yes,” Paresse replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “She’s… adorable.”

Mizho grumbled under her breath, but before she could protest, her dad turned to her with a warm smile. “Mizho,” her dad asked, directing the next question to her for the first time, “What do you like most about Paresse? What made you wanna make the first move?”

“He shares my worship of death.” Mizho deadpanned. “We enjoy watching our enemies fall and rot.”

Instead of being horrified, her parents chortled. Paresse decided that they were just as weird as their daughter.

“Oh honey,” her dad said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Now seriously, what brought this on? We know you’re usually such a shy girl. We definitely weren’t expecting you to have a boyfriend so soon! What made you reach out?”

Mizho’s hands stilled, and she visibly tensed, caught off guard. She shot a panicked look at Paresse, who raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her discomfort. After a moment, she looked down, her fingers fiddling with her skeleton phone charms.

“Well…” she began, and for once, there was no sharpness in her voice. “I guess… he’s just always there. I mean, like… he puts up with me.” She said the last part in a mumble, her cheeks turning pinker. “And, um, I know I’m not exactly… easy. But he doesn’t care. He’s just… there.”

Paresse was silent. After a moment, he felt his phone vibrate again with new text messages, but this time he ignored them.

“So, Paresse, you’ll have to tell us more about yourself!” Mizho’s mom chimed in, refilling Mizho and Paresse’s glasses. Paresse realized that, unconsciously, they had each downed at least five glasses of water in the past ten minutes. “Mizho hasn’t told us much, but we know she wouldn’t date just anyone.”

Paresse paused, glancing at Mizho for guidance, but she was still looking away from him.

“....Not much to tell,” he replied. “I enjoy… quiet activities. Long naps, watching the world go by…” He trailed off, realizing he sounded exactly like the dôji of Sloth. “And I don’t like to rush things.”

“Oh, a slow and steady sort of person!” Mizho’s dad chuckled. "AllI gotta say buddy is that I hope you take things slow! Took us months to even meet ya!"

Paresse didn’t mention that he’d spent the majority of the last few months in Mizho’s bed. He guessed that wouldn’t fit her parents’ definition of “taking it slow.”

“That’s nice to hear. Mizho can be a bit intense sometimes. A good balance is important in any relationship, don’t you think?”

Mizho’s mom nodded. “And it sounds like you’re both comfortable being together even in silence. Not many young people can do that these days!”

“Yes,” Paresse replied. “I’d say silence is one of our strongest connections.”

Mizho shot him a withering look.

“So, Paresse, besides basketball, how athletic are you? Mizho is a sickly one, as you know,” for the first time they nodded towards the bandages that covered their daughter’s entire body, along with the heart-shaped eyepatch.

“Hm…. I’d say I get a fair amount of physical activity,” Paresse said carefully. Physical activity to him counted as rolling over in his sleep. “Mostly… resistance training.”

“Great, just great!” her dad said. “Y’know, I’m proud you two are participating in sports together. Mizho could use someone who can teach her how to be stronger despite her, let’s say, fragile disposition.”

“Funny you should say that....” Paresse murmured, glancing at Mizho with a smirk. “She’s been giving me a real run for my money lately.”

Mizho’s mom chuckled. “Oh, that’s our Mizho! Always so tough. But she’s got a soft side too, you know.”

Mizho groaned again, visibly mortified.

“Oh, yes,” her dad agreed, turning to Paresse. “I remember she had this little stuffed raven she used to carry around everywhere. She’d cry if it wasn’t nearby!”

“Father,” Mizho interrupted, her voice strained. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“Why not? I’m sure he’d like to know that his ‘death-worshipping’ girlfriend has a sentimental side,” her mom teased, winking at Paresse.

Paresse gazed at Mizho, who had gone an even more impressive shade of pink. “I already suspected that,” he said, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Her mom leaned forward, eyes shining. “And, Paresse, if I may ask… what do you like about Mizho?”

The question caught him off guard, and he paused, feeling a sudden shift in the air. He thought he heard his master stop breathing.

“Uh….Well… she’s fierce,” he said. “She….stands up for what she believes in, even if it’s… unpopular. She’ll do anything for the people she cares about, no matter how hard it gets. And… that’s rare. I’d be pretty lost without her.”

Her parents beamed, clearly touched by his response. Her mom reached across the table to pat Mizho’s hand, which laid on the table with dead weight. “That’s beautiful, Paresse. You two really do bring out the best in each other.”

The rest of the dinner passed with lighthearted conversation. Her parents told Paresse many stories of Mizho as a young girl. Mizho herself was silent for the rest of it, before half-mumbling that she and Paresse were going out that night to meet some friends.

As they slipped out of the house slippers and into their actual shoes, Paresse finally remembered his phone and took a peek at it.

New Text Notifications (50+)

M I Z H O: i will staple your eyelids back. you will never sleep again.

M I Z H O: get your stinking foot off mine

M I Z H O: srsly P my foot is falling asleep

M I Z H O: ??????? basketball????

M I Z H O: stop SMIRKING.

M I Z H O: remember where you’ll be sleeping tonight.

M I Z H O: SHE’S GETTING THE BABY PICTURES HELP

M I Z H O: it’s not “adorable.” stop saying that word.

M I Z H O: ignore what i just said

M I Z H O: ignore

They stepped out of the house into the cool night. The crisp air was a welcome relief after the close warmth of the dinner table.

They walked silently, side by side.

Paresse’s phone vibrated in his hand once more.

M I Z H O: Stop smiling.

Paresse let out a small chuckle before he tucked his phone into his pocket. Neither said anything as they continued walking in comfortable silence. He decided this was the perfect ASMR to fall asleep to later, and logged it. Glancing over at Mizho, he noticed her eye focused ahead, a soft expression on her face that he made a mental note to remember—another rare glimpse he decided was worth storing.

#karakuridoji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #fanfic #mizho #paresse #ultimo

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mizho-babe · 10 months ago

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Halloween Party

A Mizho/Paresse fic I've had in my tumblr drafts for years now. Hope you enjoy :)

Summary – AU prompt: “I came to the Halloween party as Frankenstein and you came as Frankenstein’s Bride, now everyone thinks we’re dates”

Pairing - Mizho/Paresse Word Count – 4,431 Rating/Warnings - T - swearing, irresponsible drinking, flip cup

Mizho took a scoop of the spiked punch and poured it right back where it came from, the bits of fruit, fake spiders, and glitter falling out of the ladle into a brown, murky bowl. Her dark-painted lips downturned into a disdainful pout.

Her brother, Rage, dressed as Freddy Kreuger, shared the same disgusted expression. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Absolutely not.” Mizho agreed. She was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, complete with the dark makeup, bandages wrapped around her arms, and black & white streaks through her hair. Instead of a long caped dress she opted for a too-short white bandage dress. (Costume be damned, Mizho didn’t do long & drapey clothes)

“Stop being pussies,” Vice, wearing a dark tattered cloak & a Ghost Face mask, drunkenly snatched the ladle from Mizho and poured himself a large portion into his red solo cup.

“There’s literally a dirty sock in there.” Mizho deadpanned.

“Well then stick to shots!” Fussa loudly slurred next to them. He was dressed in what Mizho thought was the laziest costume - a 70s disco jockey, which required no effort on his part except to keep his sunglasses on and to wear a patterned shirt. Despite being obviously drunk, he was expertly cutting several limes with a large machete, a costume prop someone had left behind in the kitchen.

Vice chugged his cup before burping loudly. “Isn’t that guy supposed to be your DD?”

“He’s also way too old to be here.” Mizho chimed in.

“I’m also your manager and producer, '' Fussa added, shooting daggers at Mizho for suggesting that he wasn’t young. “Making sure my stars don’t ruin their music careers with a stupid scandal at this random party in the middle of bumble fuck.”

“We just performed at the local amphitheater.” Rage said. “If anything, blacking out here will cement our legacy with these people.”

“And it’ll all be worth it.” Mizho said sarcastically.

“I see someone is still in a bitchy mood that they couldn't go to some bullshit movie.” Rage glared.

“It was Nosferatu! The original vampire movie.” Mizho had only agreed to visit this town on their fall tour because it was home to a famous vintage film center that only showed movies before the 1950’s. That Friday, the theater was screening one of her favorite old horror movies, but of course, it was the same night as their concert.

“You’re such a nerdy freak.” Vice sneered. “I don’t even know what your costume is supposed to be. A pirate covered in striped toilet paper?”

“Watch it.” Rage scowled, his temper flaring up as it always did when someone made a reference to Mizho’s eyepatch.

“It’s the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, moron.”

“Bride of Franka-whata?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“These shots aren’t going to drink themselves!” Fussa interrupted, almost maniacally giggling as he pushed the shot glasses over to them, the liquor spilling over the small glasses’ edges onto the kitchen counter.

The group downed the shots, Vice and Fussa’s faces souring - and Rage and Mizho remaining stoic.

“You kids,” Fussa chased with his lime slice. “I don’t know how you handle your liquor so well.”

“Hey!!” Orgullo stuck his large redhead in from the kitchen window. “Your drummer is getting his ass beat in the backyard.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Fussa pinched his nose bridge, still wobbly from the shot. “There’s always something.”

“Also your boyfriend is outside by the tree if you were looking for him.” Orgullo continued, looking at Mizho.

“Huh?” Mizho kept her arms crossed but glanced around to see if the bulky redhead was in fact speaking to someone else near her.

A loud shout and a crash was heard from outside and Orgullo left the window before he could respond.

“Boyfriend?” Rage looked at her, and Mizho could tell by his voice that he was slightly inflamed. It was cute that he was still a protective older brother at their adult age. It almost made Mizho forget that just hours earlier, they were screaming in each other’s faces because she was taking too long to do her makeup in the bathroom.

“No idea.”

“We’re all shitfaced here.” Vice said. “I bet Orgullo doesn't even know who your drummer is.”

“It’s probably him.” Fussa and Rage said in tandem. While Fussa has been trying to shape them up into a respectable indie band, their drummer was proving to be a bit of a hassle, constantly picking fights with the backstage crew and pushing back on Fussa in the recording studio.

“I’ve been telling you guys that he sucks. Plus he bores the hell out of me when he rambles on the tour bus.” Mizho said.

“Everyone bores you Mizho.” Fussa pointed out.

“I wanna see this fight.” Vice had poured himself another tequila shot and slammed it down on the counter. “I’m bored by this fuckin’ party and I need some entertainment.”

“Help me murder - and fire - this piece of shit drummer and I guarantee you it will be fun.” Fussa sighed and cracked his back, getting ready to go outside.

“You gonna be alright?” Rage said to his sister, more of a statement than a question. He knew she could handle herself.

“Yeah. I’ll just ask my ‘boyfriend’ to save me if I need help.” Mizho responded. Rage rolled his eyes.

“Catch you later.” Rage adjusted his black Kreuger hat on, hiding his long blonde hair underneath it, and ran away with Vice and Fussa.

Mizho looked around, realizing she was alone in the derelict kitchen with only drunk party goers raiding the fridge or throwing up in the sink.

–

Standing outside by a tree, Paresse narrowly avoided being decapitated by ducking just as a machete threw past his head and lodged unto the trunk of the tree.

“FUCKING STOP YOU ASSHOLES” a guy wearing a red striped Freddy Kreuger-esque shirt roared as he, a 70s disco man, and Ghost Face ran into the growing crowd near the backyard pool.

Paresse shrugged and drained his beer, deciding he wanted a new drink if he was going to watch the rest of this fight, and turned to head inside the house.

As soon as he walked in, he realized he was a bit overdressed. It was already an atypically warm October night, but the temperature inside the house felt like a sweltering hotbox, the dark lights casting neon purples, blues, and greens across the slick wooden floors. Everyone looked sweaty, drunk, and purposefully underdressed.

Paresse did not like parties one bit. He didn't care if it sounded pretentious - he much preferred staying home and sleeping after work. The pulsating beats, the crowded spaces, and the forced small talk were a trifecta of discomfort for him. The chaos of a party only served to drain him, leaving him yearning for the tranquility of his room, where he could immerse himself in the rhythmic hum of his drum kit or the soothing melodies of his favorite dark tunes. The idea of navigating through a sea of strangers, feigning enthusiasm, felt like an exhausting ordeal. Paresse had mastered the art of evasion, often slipping away unnoticed to the outskirts of the gathering, finding solace in the shadows rather than the spotlight.

He was only dragged here on short notice by his cousin and roommate Desir, who also insisted that they follow the party’s Halloween theme. He was woken up on his day off today at 3pm by Desir throwing shirts and sweatpants out of his closet. Since he only had black & dark green clothes, Desir decided to dress him as Frankenstein’s Monster, layering his black blazer on top of his faded olive t shirt. Paresse was too tired to protest when Desir finished off by covering his face and neck in green face paint, and covering his sand-colored hair with a black wig outfitted with the iconic bolts on each side.

Now, Paresse could feel the heat on his back. Wearing a heavy oversized blazer maybe wasn’t the right fashion choice by his stylist.

“Bro.” Two drunk guys bumped into him, and instead of apologizing they looked up at him and reached their hands out to dap him up. “Your girl is bad, I need a piece of that.”

Paresse had no time to be confused, as his cousin also happened to bump into him straight afterwards.

“HAH! There you are!” Desir, costumed in a white & red suit as Tony Montana, was carrying a bottle of whiskey, and behind him Paresse could see he was already building a harem of drunk men & women who were all hanging onto his arm.

“Where are the drinks?”

Desir gestured backwards with his chin. “There’s a couple of coolers by the kitchen.”

“Thanks.”

Desir reached up and dusted a leaf off Paresse’s shoulder, the bottle of whiskey bumping into Paresse’s chest as he did so. “Why does it look like you’ve just fallen out of a tree?”

“There’s a brawl happening outside.” Paresse simply replied, as if that explained everything.

“Hm. I heard there’s a band touring in town this weekend.” Desir mused. “Apparently they are a hot-headed bunch.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a good thing.”

“Oh it is. I came here for dinner and a show.” Desir winked and moved past Paresse out the door, his followers giggling & chatting behind him. “Have fun, Frankenstein!”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse mumbled.

Paresse’s plan of action was to get a drink, maybe another beer, and then blend in with a dark corner somewhere in the backyard until Desir had enough fun & they could leave. Considering what happened last time Desir dragged him out for a party……it was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, Mizho sipped from a can of hard seltzer as she wandered through the rooms of the house. She thanked herself for wearing her heavy platform lace-up boots tonight, as the floor was slick with alcohol, and she saw multiple drunk casualties as people tripped and spilled their drink all over themselves. Not to mention some random asshole tried grabbing her ass, and she had to swiftly stomp down on his foot, almost breaking it as he squealed and ran away.

She was getting bored of all this.

“Oh my God,” a girl stopped in front of Mizho and squealed. “Your couple’s costumes are so cute! My favorite tonight!!”

“...Thank you.” Mizho responded, not sure how else to react. She scanned the room she was in but couldn’t find anyone else dressed up as Frankenstein’s Bride. Lots of Marvel superheroes, witches, and inflatable dinosaurs, but no tortured Mary Shelley monsters.

She moved from that room to the main living room, where a DJ had his setup ontop of a bunch of cardboard boxes in the corner. The music was blasting, and it looked like there was an impromptu dance competition in the middle of the room. People were constantly walking through the crowd, their costumes & faces going in and out of the neon lights as they passed by.

Mizho decided to stand against the wall right in front of a cooler and claim the rest of the contents as hers. She did not enjoy parties not because she was anti-social (ok, maybe she was), but because the chaotic energy, deafening music, and over-the-top debauchery simply weren't her scene. Mizho preferred the calm of a dimly lit vintage movie theater, the subtle thrill of a suspenseful horror novel, or the solitary introspection of her music studio. In this sea of raucous laughter and blaring beats, she found solace in observing the madness from her vantage point. If there was anything good about these large parties, they made for good distractions, and Mizho relished the notion of escaping into her own world, even if it meant standing against a wall and claiming a cooler of drinks as her makeshift throne.

“Excuse me.”

Mizho looked up at the tall - too tall - man. He had a layer of green paint covering his face and neck, his black wig almost brushing against the room’s low ceiling.

He was so tall that she had to tilt her head all the way back to make eye contact with him.

“So… you’re the Monster.” The boyfriend and couples costume remarks clicked for Mizho, staring up at the man. His costume was genius in its simplicity, perfectly matching her more dramatic getup.

Paresse looked down at the girl dressed as Frankenstein’s Bride, instantly understanding the comment those two random guys gave him earlier. Her white mini dress showed off her curves in the best way. He couldnt help but give her a once-over, his eyes scanning up past her legs, her hips; past her chest to her face. Her face had soft feminine features, tempered by her fierce feline-shaped left eye and a leather eyepatch over her right eye. Definitely the most beautiful girl he had seen in a long while, maybe ever, in this town.

“Some party, huh.” Paresse said, immediately kicking himself for the stupid conversation starter. Usually he didn’t converse with anyone, much less an attractive woman, and he didn’t mind that, but that lack of experience did not come in handy now.

Mizho raised a hand to her ear, pretending she couldn’t hear him.

“I said-“ Paresse spoke louder over the pounding bass beat. “So you’re Frankenstein’s Bride, huh?”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Mizho replied, amused that he switched up his response on the second try for her. This guy wasn’t her type, at least from what she could tell in the dark room, but he had a nice voice.

Paresse paused, remembering that he wanted a drink from the cooler she was standing in front of, and abruptly forgetting about it when he locked eyes with her again.

“Apparently we have the best couple’s costume here.” Mizho filled the dead air. She was used to people attempting and failing to talk to her. Might as well throw this guy a bone to pass the time.

“...I mean… look at the competition." Paresse gestured subtly to the crowd, where various costumes ranged from the mundane to the downright bizarre. As he turned his head to the side, the strobe lights shined on the side of his face, illuminating his strong jawline & facial features to Mizho.

She followed his gaze, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Yeah, hard to believe someone thought dressing as a giant banana was a good idea."

The DJ, stationed at a makeshift booth with blaring speakers, grabbed the microphone, his voice booming over the lively crowd. "Alright, party people! Who's up for a game of flip cup? It's time to show off those drinking skillz!"

Mizho pulled her attention from the tall Monster and rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "Flip cup? Seriously? I thought we were at a party, not a college frat gathering."

Her snide comment caught the attention of the DJ, who decided to play along. "Well, well, well, looks like we got a flip cup critic over here. How about you and maybe your boyfriend there come down and show everyone how it's done?"

Mizho sighed, her sarcasm undeterred. "Sure, why not? I could use a good laugh."

As she made her way to the impromptu flip cup table, Paresse observed her from a distance. Despite her petite frame, Mizho emanated confidence and a subtle defiance that piqued his curiosity.

The DJ handed Mizho a red solo cup, a smirk on his face. "Let's see if you're as good as your mouth."

Mizho shot him a dry look as several men in the crowd laughed and whistled. Her opponent, a woman dressed as a butterfly, already looked at her with deep condenscension.

“Your costume is dumb.” The girl drunkenly said.

“So is your face.”

“Stupid comeback.”

“Not as stupid as your boyfriend,” she glanced with her one eye at the girl’s partner, whom Paresse recognized as the one of the guys that bumped into him earlier. “He tried grabbing my ass earlier. Ask him why he’s been limping all night.”

The girl, enraptured, threw her red cup of jungle juice on the front of Mizho’s dress, staining the white ribbed material red. Paresse noticed the juice dripped down her chest, right in between her cleavage, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oops!” The girl snickered before returning to her posse on the other side of the table.

Mizho looked down at her ruined, red-blotched dress, silent but the tall man could see her full lips were in a large, rageful frown.

Mizho looked up at Paresse, and he nodded in silent agreement. “Let’s kick her ass.”

They approached the table, lined with 8 beer-filled cups on each side.

“You any good at flip cup?” Mizho looked at Paresse. She unwrapped her costume’s white bandages from her hands, hoping her partner wouldn't catch on to the fact that she has only watched her older brother & his dumbass friends play these kinds of drinking games - she’s never played them herself.

Paresse, still processing the unexpected turn of events, shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not bad."

“We have our opposing team now!” The DJ announced. “We have Frankenstein-”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse and Mizho corrected at the same time, and looked at each other, caught off guard by their in-sync response.

“-And his Bride!” the DJ finished the introductions, waving his hand at the players.

“"Alright, party people! Gather 'round, here are the rules of the game in a nutshell: you and your date must chug each solo cup like you're the thirstiest duo in town, then channel your inner acrobat and flip that cup upside down! First team to flip all 6 cups wins the round!”

A buff guy blew a blaring horn and the first round began. Paresse quickly picked up the first cup and dunked it back before laying the cup on the edge of the table. He flipped it on the first try, and looked to see Mizho was already drinking her cup before she also positioned it on the table and flipped it. They won the first round with ease, with the other couple barely making it past the second cup.

“You’re actually good at this.” Mizho raised an eyebrow of surprise.

Paresse’s neck got a little hot from the compliment. “I’m a drummer, I have somewhat good hand-eye coordination.” He looked off to the side and noticed Desir had entered the house again and was casually watching on the sidelines.

“She’s hot.” Desir mouthed to Paresse, gesturing with his bottle at the petite woman he was playing flip cup with. “Get it in.”

The beginner’s luck didn’t last as they lost the second round, which resulted in Mizho having a brief but screechy argument with the DJ over whether or not the other couple cheated.

Paresse, now fully feeling the heat and the multiple cups of beer, shrugged off his blazer for the third round, revealing surprisingly large biceps to Mizho. She blinked multiple times. Maybe the alcohol was distorting her vision.

After four rounds, it was a tie for 2-2. Paresse cannot remember the last time he was this active outside of drum practice. His throat burned, and his green face paint was gone after all of the drinks he’s had.

“All right,” the DJ yelled on the mic. “Time for sudden death.”

“Choose one player to do this last round…. And they’re SHOTSSSS”

They poured 8 shots into the solo cups on the table. Paresse felt woozy just looking at the clear liquid in the cups. He looked over at Mizho and she was staring straight forward, not even blinking.

“I got this.” He immediately said, even though all he wanted to do was call quits on this stupid drinking game.

“No, I got this.”

“I don’t think so.” He was already drunk, and she was half his size. No way was she going to handle 8 shots in a row.

Mizho grabbed his shoulder - as far up as her arm could reach - and violently pulled his face down close to hers.

“This is my round.” Mizho stared, her hazel eye dangerously narrowed.

Intimidated, and a little turned on, Paresse nodded and Mizho let him go & stepped in front of the table.

When they blew the horn, Mizho knocked back the first shot with precision, her eye closing in silent acceptance that tomorrow’s hangover was going to suck. While the other person’s strategy was to take shot after shot in quick succession, Mizho took a brief pause between each cup to take a deep breath. At the last cup, she decided to just go straight for it, drinking the shot and then flipping the cup - while her opponent couldn’t even finish, rushing away before his last cup to throw up in a garbage can.

The crowd cheered. Mizho remained stone-faced, and Paresse couldn’t tell if she was all right or completely gone.

Everyone cheered, including the girl who had originally thrown her drink at Mizho. Mizho caught sight of her, and she reached under the table for the remaining bottle of Malibu. Paresse watched - in slow motion, doing nothing to stop it - as Mizho unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle on top of the girl’s head.

Paresse placed a light hand on Mizho’s shoulder and pulled her away from the now-screaming and drenched girl, slightly scared that Mizho was going to flip and target him next. “Let’s… go outside.”

He gently pushed her through the crowd and out the front door, his large hands completely covering her tiny shoulders. Halfway to the door, it hit Mizho that she had actually poured the bottle on that girl and she started cackling.

Her laugh rang clearer once they were outside in the night air, and the sound made Paresse smile, and then eventually crack up as well.

Their gazes locked, and a shared realization dawned upon them. The absurdity of their presence at this party, winning in a drinking game, struck a chord with their typically reserved personalities, prompting peals of more laughter that echoed on the front porch.

“I don't even think I caught your name.” Paresse admitted, still catching his breath.

“Mizho.”

“Paresse.”

“Back there,” Mizho flipped her hair, the ice now fully broken. “You mentioned you were a drummer?”

“Yeah, I mostly do studio sessions and substituting at local bars whenever they need someone.” Paresse mumbled ‘fuck it’ and took his wig on, revealing his messy sand-colored hair.

“Nice.” Mizho paused, studying him with a discerning gaze. “I’m a singer.”

Paresse could see it. She had the looks and the dont-fuck-with-me attitude that one needed in the entertainment industry. Plus, and most importantly, now that they were in a quiet area, Paresse could also tell that her voice was smooth and youthful.

“My band and I are in town for the weekend.” Mizho continued, after a beat.

“So you’re the group that performed at the amphitheater.”

“Did you go?”

“No,” Paresse said, hoping that wouldn’t turn her off. “….I was at a movie.”

“What movie?”

Paresse shifted, continuing to hope that he wouldn’t look like a total loser. “Nosferatu. The original one.”

Mizho’s eye widened. “No fucking way. I wanted to go to that.”

“Really?” Paresse cracked a small smile. "You… have excellent taste. It was a rare chance to catch it on the big screen."

Mizho's eye sparkled with enthusiasm and it made Paresse’s heart beat faster. "Absolutely. The atmosphere, the darkness in every scene, it's a horror masterpiece. I can't believe I missed it."

"Well, you had a memorable alternative tonight," Paresse remarked, gesturing vaguely towards the chaotic party behind them.

Mizho let out a brief chuckle, the melodious sound blending seamlessly with the night air. "True. I guess this was entertaining.”

As they continued talking, it became evident that their perspectives on parties were remarkably similar. Both not fond of the raucous energy, they preferred the quieter, more introspective pursuits. Mizho's disdain for parties was rooted in her appreciation for vintage media and the solace of her music, while Paresse, being a drummer, found comfort in the calm after a day's work.

Paresse couldn't help but be captivated by her presence—the way her eyes lit up when talking about music, the subtle nuances in her expressions, and the confident yet enigmatic aura she exuded.

“I've been playing drums since forever.” Paresse looked beyond the porch at the line of cars in the driveway and on the street. “It's a bit of a cliché, but it's my passion.”

Mizho smirked, leaning forward on the porch railings next to him. “Well, clichés exist for a reason. I'm guessing you have a favorite genre?”

He nodded. “Rock, mostly. But I appreciate the rhythm in other genres. How about you? What's your favorite style to sing?”

“Rock suits me too. Something about belting out powerful lyrics just feels right.” Mizho paused, unexpectedly shy for a moment. “Though, I do have a soft spot for French jazz sometimes.”

Paresse nodded, and Mizho thought that his calm demeanor was a breath of fresh air among the asshole men she usually spent her days with.

"So, what's your verdict on this party?" Paresse asked, genuinely curious.

Mizho smirked, her hazel eye gleaming mischievously. "Not sure if it was interesting or just utterly bizarre, but I suppose it's a story to tell. How about you?"

Paresse chuckled. "I'm with you on that. Tonight's been... unexpectedly entertaining."

They exchanged a knowing glance. The silence that fell between them felt natural, and Paresse could feel the anticipation and a subtle tension in the air.

The magnetic pull between them intensified, and Mizho, feeling a surge of boldness, teased, "Are you always this chatty with your studio mates?"

Paresse chuckled and answered honestly. “Not at all.”

She closed the gap between them and kissed him, Paresse hesitating before snaking his hand down her back, and another through her long hair. The touch of Paresse's hand in her hair sent shivers down her spine, and she deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

“Hey…” he breathed when they broke away. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Sure,” Mizho suggestively smirked, before spotting, over Paresse’s shoulder, her brother in the backyard catching sight of them. Rage looked at Mizho, then at Paresse - one hand on her ass, another in her hair - and started storming over.

“Did I mention my band needs a new drummer?” Mizho quickly said.

“...No,” Paresse continued kissing her cheek, and then her neck. “You haven’t.”

“Hmm. Okay, just thought you should know that for when you’re trying to get back on my brother’s good side.”

“What-” Paresse started, before being interrupted by Mizho pulling him back down for another kiss.

#karakuridoji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #mizho #paresse #fanfic #their drummer was fighting K btw

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