#both their brains have their demons sometimes (often)

[kuidore]

Zoeystery headcanons ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ ultimate yapper girl x listener boy

✧ He thought she was cute the moment he saw her bouncing her shoulders to soda pop while Rumi and Mira glared at her

✧ he’s not shy, just quiet. he just isn’t used to being human, and it tires him out a lot more than the others.

✧ He slowly feels like he’s actually relearning his humanity with Zoey, not just going through the motions of a human life like he had felt doing the idol thing

✧ Zoey gets anxious that people aren’t listening to her if they get too quiet. She’s used to being mid-ramble, asking a question, and not getting a response because the person tuned out and she didn’t realize

✧ after the first time she asks Mystery if he’s listening, he starts letting out noises of acknowledgement to reassure her while she’s talking so she doesn’t have to lose her train of thought

✧ he wants her to know that he’s listening very intently, and will sometimes even just say it out loud when he doesn’t have a better comment to make

✧ Zoey thinks it’s adorable, and she slowly feels less and less uncomfortable rambling for hours about television or animals or the songs she wanted to write

✧ She eventually just naturally stops apologizing for rambling or being too over the top, to him and to other people

✧ He starts getting better at conversations, but only with her. He asks social questions he used to think were stupid or boring or useless, because she’s the only one whose answers he actually wants to hear

✧ Mystery remembers nothing from his actual life on earth before the demon realm, and that doesn’t change even as he gets more comfortable as a ‘human’

✧ He couldn’t care less. He outright tells Zoey that it “leaves more room in my brain for the memories we make”

✧ she has to excuse herself from the room for a moment and yell into a pillow about how cute he is

✧ He can hear her doing it. when she comes back with a notebook he’s smiling wider than she thought he was even capable of

✧ she sits him down and they make a bucket list of everything she can think of that she considers “necessary to the human experience”, no matter how small

✧ she feels bad about being *excited* over his amnesia, but she can’t help but chatter about how she was going to be ‘introducing him to all this new stuff!’

✧ items on this list include but are not limited to; seeing the ocean in person, finding a really cool rock that you wanna keep forever, going to the bathhouse, and spending an entire day on the couch

✧ Mystery doesn’t really see what’s interesting about any of it, but he agrees because he wants Zoey to go with him

✧ He likes it, mostly because *she* likes it. He could be literally stranded in the arctic, if Zoey was finding a way to have fun he would be able to do it too. His number one idea of ‘fun’ is just… being around her.

✧ Mystery constantly wants to have Zoey on his lap/between his legs/sitting in literally any position where he can wrap his entire body around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder.

✧ he falls asleep like this fairly often. Zoey calls him her weighted blanket

✧ in general they both sleep a lot, they take afternoon naps together almost every day

✧ After enough time he’s got basically everything human down besides the ‘not barking at people who get too close to Zoey for his comfort’

✧ that one is an active choice. He has absolutely no intention of stopping that one

✧ bad saja boy became bad Mystery fairly quickly

✧ He pouts every time she says it. At first she felt bad about it, but eventually she started to find it cute

✧ he’ll sit with his head in her lap while she writes lyrics. She’s always patting his head and playing with his hair while mumbling about how soft it is.

✧ one day he realizes the whole time she’s been avoiding his bangs, and he grabs her hand and moves them away himself so she can see his face when she isn’t actively trying to kill him

✧ “You already know what I look like. I don’t care. If it’s just you.”

✧ She’s so giddy she grabs him and kisses him for the first time, and they’re both a little shocked by it

✧ it was the first time she saw him blush and she immediately became determined to make him do it as much as possible.

✧ She already has a notebook of things he likes and dislikes so she can remember (she has ones for Rumi and Mira too obvi)

✧ she adds a section to Mystery’s for things that make him blush

✧ she’s studying this guy like a bug and he secretly likes it

✧ He keeps the bangs cause most of the time he’s just so unable to control his own facial expressions that he would probably get into a fight in public

✧ but he starts pinning them back when he’s with Zoey

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part seven]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: the queen of underdeveloped series is back…sincerest apologies for the long wait! im glad you guys have stuck around despite my inability to ever stick to a reasonable schedule

masterlist | series masterlist | sweet masterlist

Time heals all wounds.

It’s a mantra Azzi finds herself repeating in her head all too often. She repeats it when she breaks up with Micaela, although she realizes that the statement would've been more helpful for her now ex, who leaves with angry tears and a litany of curses trailing her wake, than herself, who merely takes a seat on the couch and stares aimlessly at the walls. She knows she should feel more than this—more sad, more upset, more regretful. More of anything. But she's so fucking tired of crying and feeling sad all the time, and Azzi can't really summon energy to even feel bad about the look on Micaela's face when she'd ended it so indifferently.

Again, Azzi repeats the mantra when she flies back home to Virginia after the Big East game, after the night she’d held Paige to sleep, the morning that she’d left her other half crying in the hotel room. And god, Azzi knows that for all the daggers she’s thrown at her best friend, all those furious accusations of how Paige has hurt her, she’s been hiding under it too. That deep inside, she knows full well that she's just as guilty, that she's driven the knife into Paige just as much. But hasn't it always been easier to avoid taking the blame, to scream at someone else instead of confronting your own demons?

It’s better for both of them to have space, Azzi justifies. And time. The further they are away from each other, the less likely they’re able to hurt each other. She has one more month of rehab in Virginia before she returns to Storrs for the rest of season—some state of normalcy will have to have returned by then, right?

Admittedly, she’s not in the best place mentally. She’s separated from her favorite people, forced to cheer them on through a TV screen and text them congratulations while pretending like the ugly, insecure voice in her head doesn't resent them for doing everything while she is capable of nothing. Azzi hates it when those thoughts invade her brain, but late at night, when her knee is screaming for relief and she feels so fucking alone, they take over and they don't stop. Lord knows how many sleepless nights she's spent digging herself into a mental spiral of anger towards herself and everyone else.

Azzi's been through this before, and she knows that pain is part of the process, but still, there are times she dreads having to wake up. Rehab is grueling, and she loves her parents, she does, but sometimes they get so overbearing. It’s not until her teammates come and visit that her moods finally lightens, and she finally feels a semblance of her old self again.

They surprise her, showering her with silly string and confetti. Azzi rolls her eyes, but she can't really hide the smile that breaks out on her lips. Even Kayla shows up, and the two nights they fill her house with chaos are the best of the entire month. She plays board games and hops on Fortnite and has mindless conversations with her teammates, things she missed so terribly, and tries not to feel bothered by the fact that Paige hadn’t come with the rest of the team. Neither had Caroline, and KK tells her that Paige hadn’t wanted to leave their friend alone in the dorms. Azzi can’t find it in herself to hate Paige for that, even though she suspects that that wasn’t the only reason for her keeping her distance.

When the first rolls around, Azzi is nervous. It’s been four weeks of no contact—the closest thing they’d gotten to interacting was Azzi liking Paige’s new Instagram post, for fuck’s sake. She’d stared pathetically for about forty-seven minutes, studying each of the slides, debating whether or not she should leave a comment. It had been a battle between the selfish side of her—the side that had wanted to pop up in Paige's notifications and force her to remember that Azzi still existed, make her feel some of Azzi's torture of always thinking of Paige—and the reasonable part of her, her conscience that said you are the reason why you can't even do something as simple as like a post anymore.

Even more overwhelming is the cycle of what-ifs when she thinks about having to face Paige again. The radio silence between them left no room for more arguments, but now she’s completely in the dark about what Paige’s current feelings are towards her, and she really can’t blame her if it’s anger, or resentment, or something worse, but still, the mere thought of Paige ignoring her or refusing to talk to her hurts Azzi more than she wants to admit.

Trying to focus on the positive, or basketball, or really anything besides Paige, Azzi is thankful when she returns to Storrs with much funfare. As soon as she opens the door to her apartment, there’s a mess of balloons and cheers, and a welcome back cake on the table. It’s a good distraction, until she scans the room and is hit with the fact that Paige isn’t there, again, and an ugly knot begins to form in her chest.

“You good?” Azzi, trying to stress eat her way through her worries, is spooning a piece of sugary cake and whipped cream into her mouth when a hand rubs her shoulder.

“Hey, Nika,” she greets the brunette, pulling her in for a brief hug. “Yeah, I’m good.” She doesn’t miss the way Nika eyes her up and down, clearly seeing right through her.

Azzi hesitates, tapping her fork against her plate, nerves jumping all over the place. She’s not sure how much Nika knows, being Paige’s closest friend and her go-to confidant, but she thinks that she’d be remiss to assume that Paige had said nothing about the ongoing tension between the two of them. But the curiosity in her is too intense for her to tamp down, so she asks anyways. “Thanks for putting all this together. Where’s, uh, Paige?” She winces immediately, knowing her attempts to be nonchalant had grossly failed.

She swears she sees a sliver of a smile on Nika’s lips. “She’s studying right now. Has an exam in an hour.”

“Oh, okay. Makes sense.” Azzi shovels another bite of cake into her mouth, trying to shut herself up before she says anything stupid, but as soon as she swallows, more words are escaping her mouth. “Does she know that I’m back?” God, way to play it cool. But Azzi isn’t all that shocked with herself; she’s never been good at controlling herself when it comes to a certain blue eyed blonde.

Nika’s eyes narrow. “You injure your head too?"

Azzi blinks at her.

Shaking her head, Nika jostles her arm playfully. “Of course she knows your back, dumbass. She was tracking your location and shit. Lili was about to choke her the way she kept bothering her to leave early so you wouldn’t have to wait at the airport.”

“Oh.” Azzi is stunned, the knot in her chest loosening slightly at this new piece of knowledge.

“She missed you, you know.” The older girl studies her carefully with a cocked head. “Refused to admit it, but everyone could tell. We were watching Frozen and all she could talk about was ‘Azzi loves this movie, Azzi’s favorite character is Olaf, oh Azzi laughed so hard at this scene last time we watched.'” Nika rolls her eyes affectionately at the memory. “It’s like she forgets we're your teammates and know you too."

Azzi laughs off-handedly, but inside she's frozen. What does it mean when two people can't stop staying away from each other? What does it mean when Azzi had pushed Paige away, had kept running, had hated Paige for not chasing when that was what she told her to do? Azzi thinks she would've deserved it if Paige never spoke to her again, if Paige refused to even look her in the eye. But no—here Paige was, telling people that Azzi's favorite Frozen character is Olaf, as if that wasn't the most stupidly cute thing Azzi had ever heard her do. Azzi's temples throb. What does it mean that she'd just spent an entire month trying to get rid of her feelings, listing out all the reasons why her and Paige shouldn't be together, but came right back to Storrs loving Paige just the same?

༉‧₊˚✧

The morning of her second day back at UConn, Azzi wakes up to a message from the athletic trainer requesting her to come in as soon as possible to start their rehab regimen. Groaning, Azzi throws on some booty shorts and a tank top, planning to get through the appointment as quick as possible then come back to her bed to sleep all her problems away.

When she walks in, they're wrapping up with the volleyball team, so Azz slumps down in one of the chairs to wait. Her head tips back against the wall; maybe she'll be able to catch a few minutes of rest before the trainer calls her in. She's almost nodding off when she hears a familiar hum followed by increasingly louder footsteps. Eyes flying open, she watches as Paige turns the corner and walks in, typing away on her phone. Azzi’s heart skips a beat when she realizes that she’s not wearing a shirt.

And okay, maybe she’s seen Paige in just a sports bra a million times, but what’s that saying? Time heals all wounds Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Because she swears Paige has never looked this alluring, skin gleaming with sweat, the lean muscle in her arms tensing as she walks. She has the post-workout glow, a happy haze coming off freshly released endorphins, and Azzi's hormones start firing in overdrive when Paige's shorts ride up slightly as she walks, giving a glimpse of the smooth, sinewy muscle of her thighs. It’s even worse that Azzi can just close her eyes and remember, remember the way those same thighs had felt around her hips, or had tensed up when her hand had just grazed the skin there — God fucking dammit. She’s literally falling apart on a cold metal chair in an office. Berating herself, she sits a little straighter as she waits for the inevitable.

Paige’s eyes widen slightly when she finally tucks her phone into her back pocket and meets her stare, but it’s quickly curbed into into a mask of indifference. Azzi clears her throat hesitantly, deciding to go with a small, harmless wave. But it’s awkward, God, why can’t she be normal for two fucking seconds, and she instantly regrets it.

“Hey, Azzi.” Paige’s tone is sweet, and even she seems slightly taken aback by the softness in her tone when it leaves her mouth. But slowly her lips turn into a small smile, and Azzi finds herself smiling as well. It's like two school girls seeing each other again after a long Christmas break, shy with hopeless crushes, and Jesus, Azzi had missed the innocence and blissfulness of just being a high schooler toeing the brink of this devastating and forceful thing called love.

Paige takes a furtive look around before plopping down in the seat next to Azzi. A long exhale leaves her mouth as she extends out her legs. Azzi has to physically turn her head this time in order to stop staring, trying to ignore the fact that Paige has somehow gotten tanner in the winter season. For a split second, Paige’s foot knocks against hers. Azzi is ashamed to say that the brief moment of contact sets her entire body alight with nerves. “How are you?” Paige breathes out finally.

Azzi fixes Paige with a raised eyebrow, half amused as her lips almost twitch into a smile. Normal, she reminds herself. Be normal. “Are you really trying to make small talk?”

Paige laughs a little, and Azzi pretends that the sound doesn’t send a pleasant flush through her body. She knows she’s missed Paige’s laugh, but now she realizes that maybe she’d missed being the cause of it more. “No. I’m really tryna know how you are.” The older girl heaves another big sigh, always one for dramatics. “I’m sorry for not going with the team to visit you in Virginia. Or going to your welcome back thing. I know how it looks after how our last conversation ended, but I wasn’t tryna be salty or prove a point or anything, I swear.”

Paige and Azzi have been to hell and back the past couple of months, yet through it all, the one thing that’s stayed true-blue is their honesty, at times painfully so. Azzi trusts Paige, more than anyone in the world, so she believes her without a doubt. Except she wants to know one more thing. “Would you have ever reached out though? If you hadn’t seen me here?”

Paige nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been good at staying away from you.” She looks away as she says this, as if she's scared to see Azzi's reaction, like she expects for it to be negative, and Azzi so badly wants to reach for her face and say me too, ask is it killing you like it's killing me?, and her hand lifts up of its own accord, and she's so close, so close to admitting everything she's always been too scared to say out loud, but then one of the trainers call for her, and Azzi stands up so quickly that the chair screeches back and almost falls over. Thankfully, Paige catches it before it does, but now Azzi can’t stop staring at her hands, big and veiny, gripping the metal like it used to grip her. She looks up, but Paige’s eyes are already on her, raking over every inch of her body, of her thighs and tummy and clavicle, like someone starved. Azzi stumbles, feeling lightheaded under the older girl's burning stare. "Gotta go,” she stutters. “I’ll - I’ll see you around.” Paige blinks rapidly then nods, as if she didn't hear her.

When Azzi has finished, she's surprised to see Paige still in the same spot as before. "Still waiting?" she questions, sitting down next to her to slide on her shoes.

"No." Paige lifts her arms and stretches, and Azzi swears she can see her v-line poking out from beneath her boxers. "Just finished up like, half an hour ago."

"Oh." Azzi loops her shoe strings together into a tight knot.

"Well, I guess I was waiting."

Azzi's hands still.

"I was waiting for you." Paige pulls the sleeve of her hoodie over her hands nervously. "Was wondering if, um, you'd be down to do something?"

"Do something?"

"Nothing weird!" Paige interrupts, a blush setting into her cheeks. "Just like, something normal. And friendly."

Azzi finishes tying her shoelaces and sits up. "That sounds good."

"Forreal?" Paige doesn't even try to hide her surprise, and Azzi winces. Is this their new reality? Her hurting Paige to the point where she sets her expectations so low that Azzi can't possibly hurt her again?

"Well, yeah." Azzi stands up and grabs her backpack, trying not to let her conflicted feelings show on her face. She's always been an open book. "When?"

"Maybe like, right now? If you're up for it. I know the rehab sessions are tiring, so no biggie if you can't."

Azzi smiles. She's tired, but she's missed Paige, and she's standing there so eagerly she can't find it in herself to say no. "Okay. Can we get ice cream or something?"

"Whatever you want, princess," Paige teases, then she seems to realize how flirtatious her tone sounds and she immediately shuts up. An awkward silence falls between them and Azzi inwardly groans.

"You're weird," Azzi says. Then she punches Paige in the shoulder and starts walking. "Catch up."

"So, like..." Paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Like, I know you're a strong and independent woman and shit."

"And shit?" Azzi echoes, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yeah. And that you can handle your own."

Azzi narrows her eyes. "I can."

"Yup." Paige nods vigorously in agreement. "But like, your backpack looks big as hell. And you're lowkey tilting to your right when you walk. And like, I'm not even carrying anything, so it might be easier for you if I just take your backpack."

Azzi scratches her head. "You did all that buildup to ask if you could carry my backpack?"

Paige flushes an even darker red. "No! I mean, yeah," she laments. "But like, not in a girlfriend way like we used to. Not like, we were girlfriends or anything." Paige groans at herself. "But like in a friendly, your knee is hurt and I wanna help, kinda way. You know?" When Azzi stares at her again, she backtracks, "I just — I don't wanna do anything that makes you think I'm trying get with you, okay? I wanna be a good friend."

Azzi smiles softly. "Don't overthink it." She slips off the strap and pushes her bag into Paige's chest, who accepts it with a grin. "I'm actually insulted you didn't ask earlier."

"Alright, whatever," Paige grumbles, then mumbles "princess" again, under her breath, but it's not awkward this time, and Azzi shoves her and they both laugh, arms brushing as they walk side by side, admittedly a little closer than they should be.

"What should I get?" Azzi muses, her finger skimming over the glass as she stares at all the different flavors.

"You always spend thirty minutes debating just to end up always getting the same thing," Paige accuses. She quickly scans the menu before flagging down the attention of the worker. "A cone with two scoops of vanilla and a cup with two scoops of cotton candy, please."

"Hey!" Azzi objects. "You didn't even give me a choice to decide!"

"I gave myself the choice of choosing between happiness or waiting two days for you to decide," Paige shoots back.

"You never know." Azzi crosses her arms pointedly. "This could've been the day I finally decided to try banana."

"Be so for real right now, Azzi," Paige groans. "You don't even like normal bananas."

"I fucking love bananas so I don't even know what you're talking about." Azzi turns away, pretending to be upset, when she feels hands skim her waist.

"Don't be mad, Az." Paige's hands squeeze a little, and Azzi lets out a small little sigh at the feeling of finally being touched by her after so long. "Come on, lemme see that pretty face," she prods. The younger girl turns around, and suddenly their faces are close. Too close.

Paige immediately takes a step back, her hands jerking away from Azzi's waist as if they'd just been burned. Azzi looks at her, confused at the sudden motion, but they're disrupted by the worker calling out Paige's name.

They walk back to Azzi's apartment, eating their ice cream, but the tension is too palpable for them to ignore anymore. Azzi's heart clenches when Paige shifts away when their elbows almost brush as they walk silently, so far from how they'd been pressed together an hour earlier. You have no right to be upset, she reminds herself. But her heart has never really followed her mind, and so she's upset anyways.

"Thanks for coming." Paige tosses her empty cup and spoon into a nearby trash can and turns to face Azzi. "I had fun."

"I did too." Azzi ducks her head. "Thank you for paying."

Blue eyes shine brightly at her. "Of course."

Azzi unlocks the door as Paige leans against the opposite wall, watching her. As her key slots into the door, memories flood of Paige wrapping her arms around her waist, chin digging affectionately into Azzi's shoulder as she'd opened the door, and they'd stumble in together, giggling like fools.

But she turns around, and Paige's hands are still in her pockets, too far to touch even if she'd reached out. "Bye," Azzi says. "Walk safe."

Paige nods. "See you."

༉‧₊˚✧

Things almost return to normal, except for the fact that Paige's refusal to touch her doesn't stop that night. No brushing away a curl for her when she's lifting and her hair falls over her eyes, no hand resting on her lower back, no contact between their thighs whenever they sit together. When Azzi invites Paige over for a movie night, just the two of them, in hopes of restoring their friendship, Paige is overly polite, conversing like normal but maintaining a respectful distance of at least two feet at all times. But Azzi is optimistic, even though she doesn't feel happy. Paige is doing everything she asked her to — tamping down her feelings (while Azzi's, if anything, are getting more out of control), staying respectful, keeping their boundaries. So why does Azzi still feel so empty?

It's a Friday night when she gets a text from Nika with the message "You've been too stressed lately...let's get lit" and an address attached.

When Azzi enters the bar with Aaliyah and spots a familiar blonde by Nika, she curses, knowing by now that her, Paige, and alcohol don't make a good combination.

But honestly, this really isn't even her fault. She hadn't even known Paige would be at this random ass bar half an hour away from Storrs. I mean sure, it made sense, since Nika was the one who'd invited Azzi and Paige tagged along with Nika almost everywhere as her self-declared twin, but still. How could've Azzi really, surely known?

Azzi immediately knows that Paige is already too far gone when the blonde approaches her with a dopey, tired smile, arms stretched wide for a hug. Azzi reciprocates loosely, hands patting her back before falling back to her side.

She immediately accepts a shot from Aaliyah once Paige leaves, determined to forget about her for one night, except Paige had apparently just gone to the bathroom and was right back within minutes, arm slipping through Azzi's easily, like she'd always belonged there. Azzi sighs. It's not easy to forget someone that's attached to you, and Paige is doing just that, refusing to leave her side for even a second throughout the entire night.

Aaliyah quirks an eyebrow at them. "This should be good," she mutters to Nika, who only smirks in return.

“You drank too much,” Azzi chides Paige as she sits in a bar stool, head tucked into the crook of Azzi’s shoulder while Azzi stands between her legs. But the dark haired girl has always been a softie for drunk, clingy Paige, so she doesn’t push her away like she know she should, instead pulling her closer and resting her cheek to the top of the older girl's head.

"Can I tell you something?" Paige whispers out of the blue.

Azzi strokes her fingers through her hair, enjoying the way the alcohol has made her feel ten times lighter. "Mm."

“Missed you,” Paige whispers. “Packed my bags three different times. Got into my car every single one of those times and was this close to driving all the way to you.” Paige holds up her pointer and thumb finger, pinching them together so that they’re almost touching. "Had my fucking maps navving to your address and all." Then she falls back into Azzi, as if that small action had exhausted her, and tiredly nuzzles her face into her neck. “But then I'd remember the look on your face—and I knew that I couldn’t—but shit, Azzi, I was thinking about you the whole time. Couldn’t stop if I tried. Killed me not being able to talk to my best friend.” Paige's words slur together, but there's a raw honesty in the way she says it so earnestly.

“Did you ever hate me?” The question slips out of Azzi's mouth before she can stop it. She tenses as she waits for the answer.

“Could never hate you, Azzi. Look at you. So fuckin perfect and sweet and pretty, pretty, pretty.” Paige presses a smacking kiss to her shoulder, and although her mouth and Azzi's skin are separated by multiple layers of clothing, somehow the desperation with which Paige mouths at her over her jacket, the way her eyes linger unashamedly on Azzi's face, is far more intimate than anything they’ve ever done before.

Azzi doesn't know how they end back on campus, how they end up in her room. She must be more intoxicated than she thought, even though she only had a couple of drinks. She undresses into her pajamas, and Paige sits on the bed, watching with glazed over eyes.

She makes quick work of her top, throwing it to the side. Thankfully she chose to wear her nice bra, not one of her frayed sports ones. Next is her shorts; she yanks her zipper, but to no avail. It's caught on the denim of her jeans. And she know she could probably fix it if she twisted just a little bit harder, but the way Paige is looking at her, and the way she aches to feel Paige's touch, has her calling her over, voice raspy and breathless. "Can you help me? It's stuck."

Paige's fingers make nimble work of the zipper. When it's pulled all the way down, exposing the white of Azzi's underwear along with the soft skin of her lower tummy, she swears and looks up, meeting Azzi's eyes. "Fuck, Az," she says, voice low and heated. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Azzi subconciously pushes her hips forward, and a strangled sound leaves Paige's throat as her hands press into the groove of her hip, fingers tense and trembling against the denim of her shorts. They haven't even had skin to skin contact, and Paige is already gone. “Azzi,” she begs roughly. “Tell me to stop.”

Azzi doesn’t tell her to stop. She doesn’t tell her that her touch feels like the most right thing in the world. She doesn't tell her that she can't remember why she ever let Paige go, when Paige looks at her like she's the only person in the goddamn world. Azzi doesn't say anything, instead covering Paige’s hand with her own, guiding it up past the safety of her clothes and onto her waist. Paige's fingers splay out against her ribs. They’re cold, and Azzi shivers.

"Don't stop," she whispers, and Paige moves forward, mouth fitting on Azzi's so perfectly she forgets how to breathe. Her tongue, wet and curious, brushes Azzi’s bottom lip, and Azzi’s lips part. They’ve never kissed like this — slow, soft, relishing in each other’s taste. It's always been heated, desperate, but now it feels like they're getting lost in each other before they lose each other completely.

Azzi forgets her shorts are still unzipped until Paige's hand falls back on, tracing the waistband and then her belly button. “Can I touch?”

Azzi nods, guiding Paige to kneel down on the carpet before her. Her best friend kisses her piercing, then licks at the skin around it, wet open mouthed kisses that have Azzi grabbing her head and moving it closer to her skin, chasing the feeling of more, more, more.

“My girl,” Paige slurs as she makes her way down her stomach. “My fuckin girl.”

The pet name slips out, and Azzi used to hate it when guys called her ridiculous names like those, but when it comes out of Paige's mouth, lovely and honeyed, she realizes just how much she loves it. And not just the way it sounds, but how everything Paige does always feels so much sweeter than from anyone else. She grabs Paige's face and pulls her up, kissing her hard, and they're making out for a few minutes before Paige puts a hand on Azzi’s chest, gently separating the two of them. She can feel Paige's heart pounding through her chest, matching her own erratic heart beat.

"Why'd you stop?" Azzi says, chasing Paige's lips, but Paige strokes her chin.

"Azzi, you're crying," Paige whispers, and only now does Azzi see the concern pooling in her eyes. Her thumb brushes ever so gently across the younger girl's cheekbone, coming away glistening with a tear drop.

“No." Azzi shakes her head. "I’m sorry," she chokes out.

“Baby.” Paige’s voice is tender and soft and worn, like it’s been on the tip of her tongue, waiting to escape her mouth and sound so perfect. “What’re you sorry for?”

“For running away."

The blonde inhales, thumb still rubbing soft circles on Azzi's cheek.

"For being too scared."

“Azzi."

Azzi leans forward. The tip of her nose brushes against Paige’s, and she hears the older girl let out a whimper. “You love me?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“I do.” Paige’s thumb strokes across her skin, across the bottom of her shorts. “God, you know I do.”

“Good. Because I love you.” Azzi's lips brush the corner of the older girl's mouth, fleetingly, and Paige can only stare at her as her heart thumps faster, all her jagged edges softening and melting away.

“You were right. I was scared before.” Azzi presses a kiss to the other corner of Paige’s mouth. “And I know I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“You have.”

“And I’m dumb and I’m selfish, and it probably won’t be the last time I hurt you because somehow I always manage to say and do the wrong thing.”

Paige half laughs, half sobs. “Only sometimes.”

"But if it's not too late," Azzi kisses the little scar above her eyebrow, then the bridge of her nose, "I want to try."

"You want to try?"

"You're worth it." Azzi presses one long kiss to her forehead, cupping her head in her palms. "You're worth everything."

"Do you mean it?" Paige's fingertips graze her wrists, voice strained. "Cause I know I'm drunk, but you're drunk too. And—and I don't think I can take waking up in an empty bed. I can't handle another fight, Azzi. I can't."

"That's the truest thing I've ever said," Azzi promises fiercely. "I swear to you."

"Okay." Her lips find the inner softness of Azzi's wrists, kissing the skin there. "I trust you."

"You trust me?" Azzi can't help but be a little wondrous that through it all, Paige is so willing to give her such a big piece of herself.

"I trust you and I love you and I want you." Paige reaches for her waist, movements slow and reverent. "Can I show you?" Her voice is soft, trembling, vulnerable, eyes searching Azzi’s.

Azzi's pulse skips a beat. Her grip tightens on Paige’s shoulder, fingers digging into her skin with pure desire that sets every part of her body aflame. “Show me.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

i love your hc’s about dante and reader being Nero’s parents!! can we get a backstory on how they became his found parents or more hc’s about dante and reader being Nero’s parents?

you and dante had found Nero at an orphanage in the town of Fortuna after a mission, the boy with the glowing demonic arm and white hair that made his blue eyes pop obviously had sparda heratige. There was no doudt about that, especially not to Dante, who was hellbent on giving him the upbringing he deserved.

You pretty much punched someone for calling Nero a ‘child of the devil’ nobody insults your baby and gets away with it.

Dante did the exact same thing when another person called him devil spawn for having such an unsightly arm, an arm only belonging to that of the devil itself. He didn’t take too kindly to religious folk spouting their bigoted rhetoric, especially towards a small child like Nero who was giving you flowers he had plucked from the ground.

Neither of you mess about when it came to Nero and you both were sure as shit to make it known to all that if they spoke ill of your son, they’d have you and Dante to answer to or walk away with a busted nose.

‘Are you my new family?’ Baby Nero asked, his big blue eyes peering up at you and Dante’s he tried to hide his glowing arm behind his back, but was stoped when you grabbed both of his tiny hands within his own and smiled.

‘Yes we are my sweet boy, and you’ll never have to fight for your spot at the table nor second guess yourself or your worth. Not anymore.’ You tell him as you pressed a kiss to his head. ‘Your family Nero and family never give up on each other, never.’

‘Yeah kiddo, you’re stuck with us.’ Dante says as he ruffles Nero’s hair, causing the boy to pout and swat away his hand but it was clear to you and Dante that he was happy to finally having gotten out of the orphanage when he did.

You spoil baby Nero rotten by getting him whether you he wanted while cuddling and smothering your baby boy in kisses until he was laughing, trying to push you away as Dante watched from the doorway, happy to see his little family he was blessed to get back home to after each mission.

It was something that Dante didn’t think he’d ever get with how fucked his life had been thus far, but he was grateful that you had given him a chance and stay long enough to the point where you now have a son that you two would absolutely go to war for just to see smile.

He had to pinch himself most days, hoping that this wasn’t a dream he’d wake up from, alone and without a loving partner and a sweet little boy who’d he knew would one day grow up into a man who’d teach him a few things later on in life. Either way he didn’t want to wake up alone, so he joins you and little Nero by bringing you both into his arms as it was his turn to shower you both in kisses, his stubble tickling you both as you and baby Nero were left laughing and melting into his strong protective arms.

‘I’m thankful for you both’ was a phrase that came out of Dante’s mouth more often then not as he tucks you both into bed, kissing you both on your foreheads before joining you and Nero and holding you to his chest while you held Nero close to yours, a small family sharing a crappy bed but none of that mattered when you were together.

Baby Nero did get a little cheeky sometimes and had eaten some of Dante’s strawberry sundae once, he was immediately proven guilty by Dante as he wiped the melted ice cream from Nero’s cheek, gave it a sniff and knew that his son had taken a little bite out of his strawberry sundae that he had been saving for a while.

Yet he could never bring himself to be mad when Nero was most likely suffering from a brain freeze, and decided to hold his son close to his chest, kiss his forehead and hum a small tune his mother use to use for him and Vergil just before they went to sleep as the brain freeze subsided and Nero fell asleep within the warm embrace of his newfound father.

From then on Dante would split his sundae with Nero, but making sure the boy didn’t have too much for another brain freeze.

You had come across the scene one too many times where Dante and Nero’s face were smeared in the sweet sundae, looking at you with wide eyes as you laughed at the pair, ruffling their hair as you stole some sundae for yourself before reprimanded Dante for indulging Nero into becoming a sweet tooth like him.

‘Guilty as charged sweetheart.’ He’d show off those little fangs of his that he knew made you go a little nuts.

‘Then you’ll be responsible for when he gets a sugar rush then?’ You asked playfully as you picked up Nero after hearing him yawn, nuzzling his nose with your own as he practically clings onto you, babbling his baby nonsense as you rubbed his back.

‘Do I have you?’ Dante asks, pouting.

You peck his lips. ‘If you’re going to indulge our son, then you’re responsible for what happens when he has one too many strawberry sundaes.’ You tell him sweetly as you pecked his lips once more before walking up the stairs to put Nero to bed.

Dante would tell Nero of the tale of how you and him got together, the half demon and the angel as he’s called it becuase what else would he call it? You were borderline perfect -if not- the definition of perfection in his eyes. He told Nero how you’d fell in love, how you were always there for him and how he recalled fighting Hell itself in order to get you back, all the way to the softer moments where you and Dante would cuddle closely and kiss each other before missions and after missions.

‘Our relationship might not be a normal one in any sense but it’s ours and we love it regardless because we couldn’t ask for anything more then each other.’ He tells the quarter demon, who had only baby babbled at him.

‘Exactly son, exactly.’ Dante replies, acting as though he could understand Nero as the baby squealed and laughed, making the red coated half demon smile himself.

Your family maybe small but you and Dante loved your little family more then anything as you had a family album dedicated to all the moments you got with little baby Nero, mainly to embarrass him in front of his future girlfriend, but that was neither here nor there just yet.

[bunniesanddeer]

Touch- Pt 1

Alastor x GN!Reader

Part Two

Plot: Alastor realizes the reader is starting to get comfortable touching the other residents of the hotel, despite their discomfort with touch before. He suddenly realizes that he is not receiving any of these touches, and it annoys him.

Tags: GN! Reader, fluff, angst, short fic.

Word Count: 1,049

Touch Pt. 1

He had never noticed it before, but now that it had been mentioned, he couldn’t stop noticing it. Every time someone leaned too close, or went to bump you, you leaned away, or shrunk in on yourself. It was a visual reaction that lit up his brain; something close to kinship. You were much like him, in the way you cringed at the slightest, unprovoked touch. Unlike himself, however, you never seemed to initiate it, either. 

Alastor could see why someone like you wouldn’t bother. You didn’t have the power to make people back off if you made it seem like you were okay with casual touches. Better to avoid them altogether!

Alastor was confused, however, when you seemed to suddenly grow more… tactile with the others. It had been just before dinner, Alastor had Niffty setting the table, and everyone was slowly gathering near the dining room. 

“Gosh, how do you even do that, Angel?” You exclaimed. Your face was colored in your bafflement and disgust, even as you let a laugh out. “That’s just, overkill!”

“Just say that you’re jealous, toots. We both know ya’ wouldn’t be able ta’ handle that,” Angel said, leaning his large frame down to wiggle his eyebrows in your face. 

You were laughing again. The sound always caught Alastor’s attention. Even down in Hell, you managed to have a very happy sounding laugh. It felt strange and out of place, but not bad, per se. (Alastor did not like to linger on the ‘why's’ of such thoughts. There was no point. The one time he had, it had spiraled out of control. Not again). 

When Alastor turned to look, he always did, not that he would admit it, your hands were on Angel's face, pushing him back with a grin. 

“Keep yourself away from me, you weirdo! You gotta have like a snake jaw to do that. I want nothing to do with it!” Your hands were still on Angel. Why? You didn’t like touch. Why were you doing it now?

That moment plagued him for a few days, especially as he noticed you touching Angel more. Were you and the effeminate fellow an item? He thought for sure that Angel’s tastes swung the other direction. His theory was smashed to smithereens when he saw you and Husker later on.

You were helping Husker clean smashed glass from the ground, listening to the cat-demon talk. It was often Husker listening to others, so the sight cough Alastor’s attention. He lingered off to the side, and watched, as he was wont to do.

Something the demon said made your eyebrows furrow, and sympathy flit across your face. Alastor watched your lips move, as if you were speaking softly. Then your arm was across Husker’s shoulder, a soft squeeze pulling him against you, for only a moment.

The moment was said and done in mere seconds, but it idled in Alastor’s memory. He could not fathom why things had changed. It only got worse as he realized you were doing it with near everyone in the hotel. Charlie got soft shoulder pats, and light hugs. Vaggie received fist-bumps, (what a strange gesture), and some small hugs. Angel got hip checked and often pulled into impromptu wrestling matches, (he could always hear Angel complain about them, but he never bothered to try and stop you. Maybe the spider didn’t hate it?) Sir Pentious, the cowardly snake, was allowed to pick you up and move you sometimes. Niffty got head pats, and she got picked up by you, sometimes. Husker received the least amount of physical contact, but there were moments where the cat’s tail would brush up against you, or you would squeeze his hand.

Over the course of a few weeks, Alastor couldn’t fathom why everyone else in the hotel was receiving these tender touches from you? He couldn’t tell what the change was. You were still your chipper self, and you helped out as normal. Nothing had changed except the way you interacted with the others. And then it hit him. Others. Your interactions with him hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Your smiles were always soft, and you still laughed at his jokes. You still got spooked when he snuck up on you, and you still shied away when his anger made his form change. He couldn’t spot a single difference! It was after a particularly long day of dealing with Vox, that things hit a tipping point.

Alastor had just gotten back to the hotel, having torn apart goons sent to bother him. Vox was always pulling stupid things like that, but it was more annoying when his technique was suddenly being ridiculed on every screen in Hell! He had managed to send a nasty message to Vox at the end of it all, but it remained a dampener on his day. And then he had spotted you, milling about in the lobby.

“Good afternoon!” He had practically yelled, forcing exuberance into his voice. “How are you this fine afternoon, dear?”

You whipped around, a smile already on your face. “Hi, Alastor! I’m doing okay.” Then a wince washed over your expression. “Saw that stuff on TV, earlier. Hope you got back at him, for it.”

Ah, of course you would mention it. Always worried about how others feel. (He would tell himself that it meant nothing. Because it did. Mean nothing, that is). 

“Of course I did, my dear! The belligerent fool will remember today as a failure, for sure!” He had finally made it over towards you, and had moved to pull you against his side, when you ducked under his arms, stepping a few feet back. 

But you just kept talking to him, like you hadn't moved! The static of his power surging made your words blur in his mind. He couldn’t hear a single word as his mind raced. How dare you? Was he not good enough? Why did each of the others get to touch you now, but he was a problem?

It was the frown on your face that pulled him back down. “Are you okay,” you asked, your face full of concern for him. It didn’t help. 

When Alastor had finally waived away your worries, he had shadow-stepped to his room. He needed to think.

[littlegeecko]

Headcannons for the father & son duo :> or just lore- whichever one you wanna talk abt more

(007 & c00l)

Aw yes, my parent/kid bond of all time :J Keep the characters coming!! my askbox is open!!!

Extra deets under the cut

7n7

-He used to have a more...demonic appearance during his prime hacker years, both as self-exploration, scare the shit outta people and not be recognized in public, it worked pretty well but it took a toll on his health after a while so he only used that appearance while hacking. Kidd looks a little like him in his 20s...

-Used to date Noli around college years and a bit after, however after he got Noli infected with the VoidStar, the guilt made him break up with Noli, ghost him, and move someplace else after Kidd appeared at his door, fearing an angry Noli might find him, for whatever reason

-He really, REALLY likes to play being a cute, helpless loser man sometimes just to pass for a non-threat, it makes the sentinels grow soft for him, the worst kindof gay you'll find if you ask me. (but it also keeps them from bothering him too)

-He's slightly paranoid the admins got shit against him even if they're all stuck in hell trying to survive together, so he grows suspicious everytime anyone invites him to the hang outs or simply try to interact with him directly. He tends to be a loner... Guest was the first one to break thru the walls he made around him.

-Sometimes Kidd calls him mama, he doesn't mind

-In this AU he used to have a thing* with Mafioso before being forsaken'd, it scared him shitless to see him as a killer, but he's happy Kidd has a familiar face on the other side.

-Jesus is this man volatile. He's often neutral and even shy in his little corner but he's the type to take Chance's flintlock straight from his holster if he feels threatened, and mumble nasty things about the admins under his breath like a weirdo.

-He forcibly taught himself to cook because he truly had to improvise some kid-safe dishes when kidd was a toddler, he eventually took a liking to it though, "cooking its like coding, in a sense" he says. Nowadays he makes delicious food for the survivors when it's his turn to, most of them won't admit it's pretty good (except Guest, who always throws a compliment here and there)

-Insane typing speed, what that hand do? lmao

-Can do crazy shit with his GUI don't ask me about it

C00lkidd:

-He's energetic and with a contagious (scary) smile!! a true extrovert, much to n7's surprise, though he never had many friends...most of his friends were animals he'd find

-He's actually a really sweet kid like any other, but he likes to "prank" people that mistreat him or his dad, like Elliot making a nasty face at him when they went to his pizzeria (he then proceeded to un-anchor the cash register and made it fall on Elliot's foot, he still has the scar to this day) He had many problems with this attitude at school, specially when the pranks turned from simple hahas to actual violent payback to his bullies, like scratching and biting(You know the school system, they blamed him for reacting)

-Loud noises make him anxious, specially sudden ones. He DESPISES Taph and his mines because of this.

-Used to be very short around 6-8 then had a sudden growth spurt at 9. Now she's average!

-They're, surprisingly, VERY resistant to many things like strong illness, falls, disasters and even fire, they just bruise really easy because of their skin condition and the rashes are their worst enemy most of the time. n7 is not sure if the GUI has something to do with this or they're just built like that??

-Kidd LOVES reading about strange animals, mythos and cryptids, the Drakobloxxer being her favorite by a long shot. Delli was a gift from n7 to her at age 6 and that turned their brain into an chest of crazy information about these topics.

-Likes to draw and make crafts, like their bracelet :3 they have a lot of time in their hands since they're kinda lonely

-He loves swords he thinks they're cool but N7 never got him one, Mafioso on the other hand.... got him a (toy) one. Best uncle ever!!!

-He calls Mafioso "Uncle Mario" and isn't aware of the extent in which he and his dad's relationship goes, but he likes him a lot!!! its nice to have adults that dont treat him like a little freak :]

-Doesn't know who Noli is, n7 refused to tell him much about him so imagine this poor kid's face when Noli tried to play-pretend being a dad for him when becoming a killer. Stranger Danger!!!

-he likes Guest and Chance he think they're cool, he doesnt like it when they attack him though :/

-Just like in her original concept, she has a bigger, scarier AND stronger form while playing Killer, she only keeps half the memories when she goes back to regular form

anyway theres alot more but this shit long already lmaooo

[brisquad-unit-4402]

luxiem and noisy sex

hey guys sorry i was mia for a while you see it was because i was [DEAFENING EXPLOSION AND AFTERSHOCK FOLLOWED BY COLLAPSING DEBRIS, THUNDER CRASH, BICYCLE HORN SOUND EFFECTS]

tags: established relationship, gender neutral reader, smut, bottom/top or sub/dom not specified

⚠️ blow job mention in shu's entry

⚠️ mature content under read more. content under read more is not intended for minors

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🖋 Ike Eveland

relatively quiet. ike doesn't make a racket often— it's more likely that he'll either tease you with dirty talk and come-ons

but once his brain gets too fucked out to stay coy, he's all shaky breaths and little whines

you can hear him quivering under his breath, as if getting caught would be a problem

which it very much isn't

invite him to get a little louder if you want an adorably flustered, adorably hard novelist. he'll feel so dirty if you do, but at the same time, he feels like making noise proves how much he trusts you

if you're noisy:

even though he doesn't make much noise, sex with you isn't complete without coaxing such sweet squeaks out of you

he takes it as a challenge, trying to figure out which part of your body is most sensitive by how loud you react

it makes him feel so sexy, and desirable, and powerful no matter what position he's in

prefers when you can't form words anymore, only helpless cries. oh, and if you actually do cry? god, he'll remember that forever

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

brings a whole new definition to "loud in bed". like seriously, even if you've had noisy partners before, luca puts them all to shame without even trying

he reacts to almost everything, and it doesn't take him a lot to get there. sometimes you wonder if he's faking it, but no, he's just that aware of everything he feels

he starts out with exclamations, and somehow forms words all the way until the end of the night. the sentences stop making sense halfway through, and by the time he climaxes it's a miracle if he can even get through his words without tripping up

if you're noisy:

is he the luckiest guy in the universe or what? it feels great to have someone that gets what it's like to be loud

doesn't even care what you say or do as long as he can hear it. just being able to hear those noises has his engine revving

then again, when you're lips are pressed up to him and he can still hear the muffled sounds and your vibrating throat, he just wants to fuck until you both white out in the afterglow

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

shu doesn't take sex too seriously and just wants to have fun above all else, and you have to wonder if it's because he always laughs at least once when you sleep together

he's actually quite ticklish, and his moans sometimes end in giggles. they sound so sweet even though what you do under the covers is anything but

this is one of the few things he's actually insecure about. he's so worried that it might kill the mood or make his partner feel self conscious

don't take it personally. he whimpers plenty when he's not giggling, and the last thing he wants is a misunderstanding just because of how his body expresses pleasure

if you're noisy:

sometimes he wishes he could commit every one of your noises to memory. they're easily his favorite part of going down on you

he fantasizes about your voice getting excited often. if you're ever apart, he'd love to listen to you masturbate and call his name over the phone

hell, even hearing his name from your trembling lips has his cock throbbing, ready to fill that pretty mouth and give you something to really choke on

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👹 Vox Akuma

tends to make more guttural sounds. growls, hums, and purrs galore. vox doesn't even try to make them sound sultry, they're just so low and irresistible, as expected of the voice demon himself

but if you catch him off guard you might just make him squeak in surprise and satisfaction. he even stutters and trips over his words

which is something he gets embarrassed over, especially since all his other noises are still on the low end of the spectrum, but calling attention to it gets him even more aroused

great sex usually ends with high-pitched whimpers and gasps, and the best ones have him screaming as he orgasms

if you're noisy:

your noises make him so unbelievably horny, you have no idea. the second he realizes you're loud, he wants nothing more than to hear you all night

it's a huge ego boost and fuels him to keep pushing his limits. anything to keep you crying out for him

he'll goad you into responding to his dirty talk just so he can hear you whimper in-between your words

whether you want to be praised or degraded, he tries to mention your voice and noises as much as he can since it's all he can think about

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[werezmastarbucks]

snowball pt2

incarnations masterlist

part one

obsessive, deranged, stalker!yoongi x f!complicit!reader

in which, no matter what you do, you can't seem to escape him

word count: 9015

music: can't get over you by joji, haunting by halsey, basic needs by jonathan davis

author's note: supplied all childhood memories by myself, lol. not funny. a little funny. sorry for yapping but i need you to know that i wrote both parts in one day and speedran into a burnout like i, personally, went through all the abuse.

warnings: violence, casual threats of violence towards the reader (although it never gets to it), toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, yoongi has rage episodes; smut, voyeurism, intense jealousy, hardcore stalking, codependent, dysfunctional relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, abuse? unhappy-happy ending

The mental health has been degrading since the breakup. The built-up trauma of being watched, being observed and controlled, gave you monstorus paranoia which now makes you check your stuff three times a day.

Has the shampoo bottle moved a millimeter? You check the soil of the plants for dryness, putting your finger inside, in case someone watered it without you. You keep a to-buy list of things stuck on the fridge and carry the pen with you at all times, making sure there are no other pens left at home.

Sometimes it feels like things go missing. Pieces of clothing; you find them later on the couch where you left them. The light coming through the cluttered old balcony (wooden, full of the previous tennants' stuff you have no idea about) plays shadows on the walls, so you keep the curtains closed.

The narrow memory of Yoongi's obsessive presence is like a crack on the wall, a thin scar on your forearm; he is a demon, not hated enough and thus, scary. You watch the streets around and gradually, way slower than you hoped for, start losing caution.

People like him, you think with jealousy, tend to lose focus. They are bright and agonizing like a short flame, and they often move on. You wonder who his next victim might be. Wonder if changing laptops helped, or he still could hack your web camera again, because you use the same accounts.

The last year of university begins; thankfully you miss him there, too. He graduated the previous spring. You hope the waters of life carry Yoongi far away from you, because you still get nightmares in which the white figure is standing above your bed like an alien, like a poltergeist. In the first six months without him, you develop the fear of quiet, unexpected noises; and then you also discover he was right. You are forgetful. You skip meals. You bump into things. Toilet paper stops respawning by itself in your bathroom; sheets need changing; and kitchen needs cleaning.

You catch a stare similar to his, from above the mask, in a public place, and the whiplash of the mix of emotions takes away your good mood. Danger and desire. Missing him and hating him. For a whole year you grapple with the existence in which nobody worships the ground you walk on. Nobody goes through your phone. Nobody makes your muscles twitch.

You almost move on.

─────────────── ✧

Namjoon has finally moved out of his mother's house and bought himself a tiny cosy apartment in Jangang-dong with some generous family help. Which reminded you that you have zero contact with yours. Whatever is happening to your sweet little sister, you don't know. She has entered the university and barely texts you anymore.

Without Yoongi, really, you don't have truly loyal people in your life. That is not to say you need him back.

You don't. You know you don't. You agree with your brain when it says so. All the logic and self-preservation instincts make it clear as day.

Then why are you staring. Through the cigarette smoke whirling in hairy vortices, pale, soft, you see Yoongi, also pale and soft - and - bigger. That's the first thing you notice. Not even the girl on his lap. Still student business, although all of you are far beyond graduation. Still the same company of people. Still the same drinks. Yoongi is new. First of all, he shouldn't be here at all; you dart to Namjoon, clinging to his shoulder, and Namjoon is clearly trying to hide his face from you.

"Sorry... I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in months either. Y/N, I didn't know if he would come or not..."

You don't even say anything, just look into his frightened eyes. The buzzcut of Namjoon is glistening with sweat, prettily; it's dense in the room; about twenty people are crammed inside the tiny space. The words pour out of him under your gaze even though you look up.

"It wasn't a secret. Party wasn't a secret. I simply told my pals the address, and... I guess someone still speaks to him".

You never asked anybody to throw Yoongi out of their lives. The looks on Namjoon and Hoseok's faces were quite enough for you to understand that they will have the dignity.

It shouldn't be surprising though, if it's about Yoongi. Yoongi is a shimmering snake. He will always find a way.

Your skin crawls like suddenly dozens of tiny fruit flies cling to it. You hide behind Namjoon for a while, your palms around his round bicep. Yoongi doesn't pay attention to you; he simply exists inside an armchair. His shoulders are bigger. His chest has grown. He is buffer, bigger, softer somehow. His snow-white hair like the center of gravitation. You have no idea who the girl is. Should you tell her? Make a scene? Grab her by the shoulder and tell her Yoongi will put hidden cameras inside her apartment and will visit her place when she's not at home to lie in her bed and do her laundry? Should you make that of yourself?

"Stop staring", Namjoon mumbles.

It's a relief. He doesn't look your way and doesn't look for you. The root of your tongue goes dry. You stroll into the kitchen, tracing the wall, trying to keep your facial expression in check. It's a relief, you tell yourself. Yes, it's a relief: he has leached onto someone else. Later, when everybody gets much more drunk than now, you should catch the girl and lead her away and doesn't matter what she thinks about you. You need to warn her. Yes you need to warn her, and take her eyeballs out with a hot teaspoon. The roots of his white hair are going slightly dark again. Yoongi can be very charming when he works you; his nods are art. He maintains the eye contact, keeps his mouth slightly open, moves his chin like he means it. His intelligent mouth curls into a sexy shape. You walk into the kitchen and look for water bottles, and check the stove out of habit. Namjoon is made of the same material as you. Breaks things. Forgets about open fire. Leaves the fridge door open. A walking catastrophe. You are too similar to ever fall in love.

You reach for the pitcher and then get a glass out of the cupboard. Hand nervously scratches the neck, too hard, grooming you into peace.

No, it's just funny that he used to spend every waking moment trying to consume you, and now he has a new girlfriend. It's funny, that's all.

You gulp water, trying to drown those stupidly obvious thoughts that betray the pathetic weakness of you. Stare into the black mirror of the microwave with smudges of fat on it. Then the white floats into reflection behind you, and leans against the wall. Like the fire entering.

"Oof, very awkward", he stretches his vowels. You bite the glass edge and then unclench your jaws to turn around.

"Seeing your ex at the party".

Yoongi is glowing. His cheekbones are becoming more protruded like he lost weight even though he did literally the opposite. He keeps his hands behind his back, the inner sides of his elbows shot with the same blue veins that cover his dick. You sigh with a shudder. Stupid bitch.

"I'd say sus", you manage. He slightly raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. Then says,

"Oh, yeah. I need to apologize, probably. Sorry. I must have left a crazy impression, ha ha".

His chuckle is low and unreadable. Yoongi pushes himself off the wall and walks to the counter, and you move away, looking at him from under the brow.

"I hope you're doing okay though. I know I was acting totally crazy. Sorry. It's trauma".

He is carrying his new body with the nonchalance of a tiger. Goes through Namjoon's fridge the same way he used to go through yours. Like it's his place. Every place he goes, he acts that way. If you can find a way to slither into a space, you don't even need to claim it.

You tug at the painful spot on your upper lip, tearing the skin off.

"You seem adequate".

"I had therapy for a year. Getting over you, and stuff".

He doesn't look at you directly. The corners of his lips are slightly upturned with half-moons while he is reading the back side of a plastic pack of pineapple slices. He shakes it at you:

"Expired last week. Namjoon is so silly, I can't".

"Still have the caretaker complex. Therapy didn't help", you hammer, still walking backwards, until you press yourself into the window sill.

"Hey, it's not an easy thing to fix. At least I am trying".

It sounds weirdly like a jab at you. Yoongi looks at your face. He doesn't seem desperate. Doesn't seem needy. There's no heated glint in his eyes like before. He looks... calm. Collected. Polite.

"Are you really... okay?" you ask. Your eyes dart to the hand that's holding the expired pineapple slices. Fingers look normal. Yoongi catches your gaze and shows you:

"Yeah, everything's healed. Lucky. You know, I kind of need them".

He wiggles his fingers in the air, and you look away. You know your face is heating every passing second.

"Well, I am glad. Honestly, I didn't expect to see you".

"I missed these parties", he says simply. Then his girl enters the kitchen and immediately goes for his broad shoulders. Yoongi has always had a well-balanced, wide frame. Now it's magnified. Now. He looks irresistible.

She coos something to him, paying you no attention, and he bows his head, letting the hair fall on his eyes. The glimpse of the old, feral Yoongi.

Your heart is eerily empty. You leave the kitchen lighter. Now, you are a ghost. Why does it feel like you lost something?

The night becomes tighter like a python's gut. The room squeezes. You watch everybody dance. Yoongi is inescapable, gleaming. His hands on her body. She is in danger.

The party doesn't seem fun anymore. You take three more shots with Hoseok, who observes you with quiet caution and says nothing. Doesn't like your snappy character. His bony wrists only push tiny glasses towards you, then he nods, and you drink up. Once he is distracted by another song that he agrees with, he gives you a window to escape. It's perfect: Yoongi is gone from the room, probably making out with the girl. You slither among people, ignore Namjoon's weak call. Everybody is too drunk. You try to spot her wine-red dress on your way out, half-heartedly, then leave.

Climbing down two stairs is a challenge on wobbling knees. You do it slowly, without a hurry. You have no idea why you are so rattled, so furious about everything. Alcohol multiplying the awful things boiling in your mind. You push the entrance door open and step into the cool autumn air, and take a deep breath, only to swallow a handful of cigarette smoke.

You cough softly, and the white catches your eye.

Yoongi is leaning against the wall again, light bomber on his shoulders.

"Leaving?" he asks. The chthonic flesh-eating monster trying to act normal. You sway on your two feet. And you're not even wearing heels. There's a hickey on the side of his neck and a tired frown in between his lips, sharing space with the cigarette.

"Yeah", you say. Your eyes can't unclutch him. You try your upper lip with the tip of your tongue, and it's salty.

"You need a lift?"

You scoff. Yoongi smiles in unison, agreeing with whatever is on your mind. Yes, yes, stupid, he used to say. Of course, of course.

"Your girlfriend?"

"We met tonight. Here. She's not my girlfriend", he replies simply, without any disdain, not trying to prove anything.

"You gotta be honest", you press, shifting all weight to the left to steady yourself. Yoongi nods lightly, smoke leaving his mouth like a soul.

"Are you really normal now?"

"That's philosophical. Me being abnormal was always your opinion".

"Don't bullshit".

"Why? It's not like you're going to give me another chance?"

The music booms from up above through the open window of Namjoon's living room. You wonder why the neighbours haven't called the police yet. You notice Yoongi's free hand in the pocket of his bomber, fidgeting with something. Imagine it to be a knife.

"I have to go".

"I can drive you".

It's not urging, or pressing. It's a polite offer. Repeated twice.

"I saw you drink".

"I had one beer".

Yoongi stabs the cigarette against the new yellow paint of the wall. The building has been completed three years ago, it's a freshly born dwelling. The cigarette leaves a stark black spot and glows pale orange on the ground. He walks over to you but moves past, slightly changing the constitution of air around you. He smells like smoke, and sweet cologne vaguely resembling your own perfume.

"Come, I got a new car".

You shouldn't follow him, stupid bitch. His broad back in dark-blue bomber floats against the parking lot.

"You got a job?"

"Of course", he booms gently. Your feet start moving. Head is smoky with alcohol. With the night. Jeans tight around you. You are making a mistake, but he is your mistake. Nobody else's.

"How's the lotus spa going?"

Yoongi walks towards a silver car which you can't identify in the dark, and unlocks it. The lights blink like a warning. He opens the door for you and waits.

"It's in the future".

The cover of the night hides everything. Dissipating orange light from Namjoon's windows has no power here, in the twilight zone of an almost made decision. You touch the cold metal of the door, swiping your fingers up and down, and he clocks your hesitation.

"You don't have to go. Just thought to save you some money, night fares are insane", he says. Yoongi looks away, his throat shining in the blue darkness. You realize the street lamps don't work. You get into the car.

He drives with one hand resting on his lap; if it even knows how to do it. The hand that once shattered a glass bus stop and dripped blood. The hand that got stuck in between the door and the door frame. Hand that wrapped so lovingly around your throat, that balanced you every time you'd stumble. The hand that installed a surveillance device in your kitchen and stole items from your house, and never returned them.

"You feel alright?"

"Yeah".

"Your eyes are rolling".

The old Yoongi would scold you for drinking so much that you sway in the passenger seat. He would call you a lightweight. The new buff Yoongi with his fashionable bomber giving a special silky glint to his skin is driving quietly, shaking the hair away from his eyes. And in a twisted, serene old habit, you reach out and - what are you doing, stupid bitch - push the bangs away, scared that he doesn't, in fact, see around when it's like this. You think of the notion of Yoongi going through the life with the white curtain on his eyes. By the end of your, hmm, relationship, he did reveal them. Now he is fluffy and closed up again. Yoongi doesn't flinch, doesn't even acknowledge it.

"What job did you get?"

"Architectural designer in GBM".

The name of an insanely wealthy company leaves his lips like it's seven eleven. But Yoongi was made for these things. His satanic determination in studies was always clear. What's scarier was, it all came to him so easily. He never struggled with academic stuff. The human... was what he lacked in.

"That's pretty cool".

He nods like it's obvious. Still doesn't call you dummy. It even feels off.

He doesn't ask anything about you. He doesn't stare. Now you almost feel pathetic for touching his hair.

Another thing you totally miss is that he doesn't even ask where you live. You stupid, stupid cunt.

He simply drives you home to the other side of the city, into your new rented apartment with the wooden corridor, and parks in the lot in front of the building, and you drop your head back for a moment. You get out of the car quickly not to share this space with him, so egocentric that you fail to notice the obvious. Only when Yoongi leaves the car as well, does your head snap to him:

"Where are you going?"

"Calm down. You're drunk. To the entrance".

You stroll across the parking lot full of someone's cars. People are sleeping. This new building is smaller, quieter. The neighbours haven't known a Yoongi who bangs on your door regularly, who yells and shouts, and makes you yell and shout, too, in the bedroom. He follows you silently, and you punch in the code to the entrance door, and finally your alarms wake up half-willingly, the baseline self-preservation signals.

Yoongi pulls the door open above your head. His smell envelops you: hard, bitter, sweet, dense, all at the same time.

"Yoongi", you want to say his name firmly, like it's a derogatory term, but it comes out whiney and submissive. He is towering above you, eyes hooded in the lack of expression. White hair shining.

"What?"

"That girl who isn't your girlfriend", you slur, "doesn't even know you left?"

"I don't know her name", he pauses, "did it work though?"

His hand slides painfully slowly, on the edge of the door, until it touches your fingers, and you flinch them away.

"Don't tell me you did it on purpose", you wince. Your foot trips against the step, and Yoongi catches you by the waist. Cinematic. Nauseating. You remember his grab vividly, and yes, it's different now. He is bigger now, and it's the worst thing. You notice all the worst things.

"I did. Shit, it was great seeing you simmer", he whispers. He pushes you both into the building, and the door starts closing slowly, slowly, painfully slowly, like a mouth. You don't look at it. All your own animal wants to do it sink its teeth into Yoongi. For a good while you've been hiding your nature.

"You're still stuck on me", you mutter, accusingly.

"And you're still pretending to hate it", Yoongi grabs the railing and pulls you up the stairs, but you stop him on the fourth step. The new skin slides off him like sheep's fur. The bend of his elbow urges you to move on, your fingers sliding off the silky shoulder.

"The only thing I dislike about you?" he mutters, his mouth barely moving. The light that finally goes up in the stairwell almost blinds you, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. In this, it becomes clear that Yoongi is trying to drag you up without making it completely forced. You spin in his grab like it's a dance, balancing on the narrow steps, and his hand only grips your elbow now. Yoongi returns and pushes you against the hard greenish wall; inadequate, unpretty pale colour; but it goes well with white. He must be a little drunk after all, because he doesn't finish the phrase. His mouth forces itself on you, and you struggle for a good two seconds before recognizing his tongue.

Yoongi doesn't kiss; he devours you. He presses his head forwards, demanding the entrance, and then chokes you with tenderness, tilting your head back. He is trying to reach your throat from the inside, tracing your own trembling tongue. He is the ocean you don't have to leave. He only wants you. He whispers that: i only want you, like he's complaining: am I asking for too much? Your skeleton rattles inside, deprived of him for a whole year, every single system of your body working against your better judgement. So maybe you should screw it. You were meant to be. His small quick teeth never bite you to draw blood, but rather, to gently rehearse the day he finally gets to eat you. It takes a couple of minutes to get to the second floor, it's like in a movie; two mouths unable to get unstuck. You can't even hear the code beeping: the door simply opens, and he pushes you inside. The quiet, untouched darkness of the corridor welcomes him as he reaches for your thighs and squeezes them. It's a cataclysm. As soon as the door closes, he unzips his jeans and guides your hand inside, and you grab his dick, pulling out a soft moan out of him. It's still his trademark pleading. Stroke me, touch me, love me.

Yoongi kisses your wrist before pulling your top over your head, and immediately gets to your breast. Warm, safe, bee nest mouth bites too hard, and you shriek with pain, and he licks it softly to soothe it. What were the odds you'd meet him at Namjoon's house warming party? Yoongi doesn't fuck, he ambushes. You don't see any value in stifling your moans, harmonizing neatly, because it's one thing you never lied to yourself about. You feel so much smaller against him now, and it doesn't help. He could destroy you. Your tongue punches against the lower lip and gets outside, you feel like you're crumbling to pieces. The wetness of a whole year drips down in between your hips clashing together. It's sobering up. Sensitivity returns, and limbs go numb.

"This is fucking heaven", his tongue sanitizes your throat before allowing the teeth to bite. As you scream, you tighten around him, trying to bring legs together, but Yoongi is in between them, and he groans. Slow? Fast? You get what you want. He punches his thighs against yours until it hurts, then twirls you to your stomach and gets you on all fours. His body is fluid around you, like he's orbiting something. He nuzzles his face into your hair, moving his head, and it feels so good like he's never touched you before. All matter is knocked out of your head. Brain shut down. It's just juices, friction, pressure, love. Yoongi keeps repeating: my girl, my girl, my girl, like he is convincing himself. You have no idea what he's been doing for a year, but you sure haven't been fucked like that. Haven't been fucked at all. You think you and Yoongi invented sex, actually. It didn't exist before this. Your two animals kissing on the mouths, celebrating together. It's not you, it's them who kept magnetizing towards each other. Yes, that is easier to accept. His hand traces your arched spine and ends up on the side of the ass. A sonorous slap. Another one. The biting pain makes you feel everything more clearly. Then he cums inside, and the construction of you collapses, knees week, dysfunctional. He kisses it. Everything. As soon as your brain restarts, it advises: it was probably a mistake. Yoongi is licking the pink spot on your ass that he hit, like a kitten, with the tip of his tongue. You've never been loved before.

In the morning, you find him on your chest, his heavy head pressing on the rib cage, so much that it wakes you up. You push him off yourself and slide down instead, and he folds his arms around you through the sleep. Several hours later the day is breaking pale cold air in the bedroom with sunrays, and it burns your face.

The first thing you decide is that you can't go back to him. Wow, morning clarity is debilitating. You see his spider body, even more unbeatable than before. Yoongi has that cunning sweetness in his face, because it's kinda pinchable, and the cheeks are so soft. And it's a perfect disguise: he looks too cute. But when you think of the things he's doing, that mask turns insidious.

You try to slip out of the bed, but his clutch is iron even when he's unconscious. You look down at his hands. Half-fist as usual, short, trimmed, clean nails. The arms are like stubborn bush branches, trapping you in place.

"I want to pee", you whisper.

"Pee on my face", he mumbles, barely moving his lips. He crunches his nose when your movements become too disruptive to his snoozing. Before finally releasing you, he tightens the grip.

Everything in between legs burns. Muscles are sore, and the only thing they need is return into bed, but you force yourself to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

This action brings up a huge question from under the sand of your mind. It's like the cameras all over again. It's like morning nausea. You put the glass back on the table and stare around the kitchen, the paranoia a forever chip on your shoulder. Calm down, you whisper to yourself. Knowing that it's the swamp you danced into happily yesterday. Are there cameras in your kitchen? Are there cameras in your bathroom?

Who unlocked the door to your apartment last night?

You can't remember. All you remember is animalistic desire. The need. The feeling of, if I don't let him in now, I'll die. Two things can be true at once: you are meant to be, you and Yoongi. He is your person. And he is clinically insane.

You walk back into the bedroom, where he is strategically putting on his jeans. The left side of his hair is flat because of the pillow, and he ruffles it with force.

"Yoongi".

You must have met before, in another lifetime: the way his name sounds in your mouth is too practiced. It lands neatly on your tongue like it belongs there. The same with yours. He lifts his eyes and walks around the bed.

"Now what? God, I just woke up".

His eyes are fixated on your right breast where a small bruise begins to form. He looks around and pulls your house robe from the floor. Untidy, the old Yoongi would say.

"Get dressed, or I'll drag you back to bed".

He puts the robe over your shoulders looking at you with such loving eyes that for a second you are ready to believe it's you that's slightly schizophrenic. He can't just leave it be once you put your arms through the sleeves; he drags his palm down your arm, fingers playing with your wrist.

"Who unlocked the door?"

He tilts his head forward and kisses you on the forehead.

But doesn't reply.

You try to remember. At the kiss, your memory fails. You remember the feeling. The light. Being pushed against the surface. Then, corridor.

Yoongi leaves the bedroom and strolls towards the kitchen, hanging his head low. You see he is rubbing something on his stomach.

"Snowball head".

He halts to a stop. Yoongi looks like a leopard now. The muscles in his shoulders lean and round. The neck looks stronger. His eyes peek at you through the hair.

"You're asking idiotic questions like before?" he hisses, "Instead of using your head, as usual?"

You grab the hems of your robe, closing yourself off.

"What does it matter who punched in the code?" he turns back to you. That white demon from your dreams.

"You never bothered to change it, and you've lived here for a whole year. Not a single time has it occurred to you to switch between them since you've moved away specifically to hide from me".

Boom. Just like that, the illusion of home dries down and evaporates like mist in the evening.

You don't want to stutter even though your hands give away the tremor.

"You've been here?"

"When?"

Your chin tilts forward.

"At all?"

"You expected me to just leave you alone or something?"

Yoongi throws it like it's a slight accusation, and goes into the kitchen.

But the plants stayed dry.

Floor moves under your feet slowly, carrying you after him. The jeans without the belt slide down under his stomach, and he pulls them up a little, then bows, looking inside the fridge. You fall onto a chair and feel scared of touching the table.

"Don't fuck with me".

"Don't fuck with me".

"Yoongi..."

He snaps.

Yoongi swings the fridge door closed, and it bashes, opens again and rests half-open, while he stands up and turns to you.

"You are looking for things to complain about", he doesn't yell, he sizzles. "All the times I came round, I haven't even touched you a single time".

Your jaw unhinges and falls down, horror clouding your eyes.

They weren't dreams.

You didn't dream him up. He was there, in the room. White ghost against the bed. Your Yoongi. This is not dating, it's haunting. There was no break up, no year gap. Not to him. Yoongi rakes his hair with his hand, and you look at the knife resting on the counter to his left. The tender spot under his arm, in between top ribs, is asking to be stabbed.

"Get the fuck out", you get up.

"Don't even dream about it", his voice is bitter. You tug on his arm, trying to pull him away from the fridge. He closes it with his foot. Shakes off your hand. You grab again.

"What are you trying to do, baby?" he laughs. "You will throw me out? Again?"

He hasn't asked how you've been because he was there. He saw everything with his own eyes.

"Are there cameras?"

"No, I don't need them", he continues to laugh. Yoongi lets you drag him into the corridor, then loses his patience. Your fingers catch the air. His hand wraps around your throat. And finally, it's that one ring of the bell that should've sounded years ago. It's not the usual neck hold that fixates you in place. He starts squeezing.

"Stop pushing. Me away".

He skips the pleasantries of rhetoric questions and threats. He treats it like you're being problematic about a reasonable demand.

"We have been blessed with the love that doesn't even come to normal people sometimes", he grunts, "do you realize how rare it is? I found you within a week because I fucking read your mind".

"You are deeply unwell", you choke out, your hands scratching against his chest in an almost begging manner.

His eyes search your face, and he loosens the grab a little when the colour of it turns a little red. But doesn't let go.

"There's no shame in belonging to someone like you".

You mouth,

"Go".

Yoongi shakes you like you're a toy that refuses to work. The back of your head meets the wall, and he instantly puts his other palm against it. You kick. Then your fist collides with his unexpecting stomach, and he lets go.

You hold yourself against the wall and move towards the living room. He has to go. You run across the room and crash into the balcony door. Yank it open, and Yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. His weight makes you both step up, and you plunge into the wooden balcony, into the sun.

"He-" his hand slaps your face closed, covering the mouth. You hang from his arm, trying to scratch it, but you forget that Yoongi hasn't cared about pain since he was a child. Nothing can hurt him. Not your rejection, not your nails, not your fist. You mean nothing and everything to him. In a fit of delirious amusement, he bites your neck through your hair, giggling into your ear. You try to kick his shin but with your bare foot, it's ineffective.

"Stop fooling around and talk to me", he chuckles. Yoongi turns his head and spots a pile of someone else's old shit. Some garments, clothes, so old that they even smell. When you employ an elbow, to avoid being hit, he pushes you lightly to the side, and you fall there. Yoongi gets distracted by your leg ending with something he likes very much, as the skirt of the robe gets pulled up. He gets to his knees.

The barrier is so old that there are creases inside the wood. It's more of a hand-made cover, several square planks smashed together under the banister. When Yoongi's hand grabs your knee, you kick him in the chest with the other foot. He stumbles back. All his weight shifts, making him tip. He weighs a little more now - maybe around seventy kilograms? Not a small boy anymore. His back crashes through the barrier, taking it with him. He falls like a real man, without crying. And thumps on the ground, on top of the wooden pieces, three and a half meters down.

You don't even look; first thing you do is push yourself up and crawl out into the living room and run for the phone. Someone in the building opens a window.

You call the police, going through his clothes in your bedroom, looking for the car keys to make sure he won't get away.

Although maybe it's better if he does.

When you return to the balcony, you step carefully and crane your neck to look out. Of course, he's not there. You can't see any blood. His car is still parked in front of the building, although there are several silver ones. And you never bothered to check which one is his.

You sit by the wall, shaking, until the police arrive, and you tell them: my ex has followed me from the previous apartment where he had installed a camera in the kitchen to watch me.

Now, he has been visiting me, most likely at night, because he found out the code to the door.

The flat still smells like him everywhere. He'd been stealing things, too. I threw him off the balcony when he tried to forcefully eat me out after admitting the stalking.

The police say that it's the usual stuff. Shit happens. Lock your door for the night, they advise. If he reports the violence, you might be brought in for questioning, because you shouldn't throw people off balconies, no matter how they employ their mouths.

You collapse the next day on your way to work and spend a week at the hospital. Mental breakdown.

You spend a shit ton of money on therapy Yoongi never bothered with.

─────────────── ✧

Depression comes to you in the shape of irritation at everybody around you.

Two years later, the longer his absence, the stronger your fear grows. Yoongi can't just have disappeared, right, but it's a trick he does the best. You move from one flat to another every two months. You get a mechanic lock with the single key you always carry with you, even when you sleep. You don't meet new people but instead try to ground yourself in your family, or rather, the only member of it, who is still interested: your little sister. Too shy to text first. Too little to understand what's happening to you. You never talk about him. You don't need anybody to tell you that you've gone nuts; therapist does it well. You need someone to just be there.

You cut off everybody you knew from the university, even Namjoon and Hoseok, and feel awful about it, exhausted. After two years of running through Seoul and mapping it, leaving crumbs for everyone to see, you move away to Ilsan where your sister studies. But even then, you don't see each other very often. You install cameras yourself now: a black motionless eye in the bedroom; then watch yourself sleep in the morning, searching for snowy glow in the shot.

Yoongi is gone. This gaping hole smothers you with an unspoken promise of revenge. You don't even know how badly he fell back then - whether he can still walk. What happened to him. You don't get spooked anymore, don't get startled by blonde hair; you're quietly waiting for the day he shows up, to kill him. Live again? You can only do it when you know he is not there, anywhere.

You have no idea if what he's told you about his family, was true. That he had an alcoholic father and the mother that would make him beg for forgiveness on his knees, for every small mistake. That he was a lonely child at school, too small to even be bullied, just invisible. You always doubted half of it, because Yoongi always knew to push your buttons, almost like a real animal, a cat, that adjusts the sound of its meowing to soothe a human ear.

You are like that old dude from Jeepers Creepers 3, who sits with the shotgun, waiting to blow the demon down once it twitches again.

You miss the way he touched you like you were the most delicate, the most beautiful thing in the world. You could tear yourself apart.

Psychologist says it's an extreme case of codependent abusive relationship and that Yoongi most likely has borderline personality disorder and OCD. You scoff at that. You know he is an incubus.

You work from home; don't show up on the street a lot. All deliveries brought to you are under your name. Your apartment is untidy and messy, and owned only by you. No one steps inside, and there's no alien smells. Not bitter, not sweet, not the love. No hatred in your heart. Just readiness.

Mending relationships you'd neglected for years is an ungrateful business. Especially if it's your family. When your mother texts you that there's a gathering, it's not a happy message, a call to get together to catch up. To her, it's a chore, and you wouldn't even go if your sister weren't there. The last time you saw her, she was a worn out graduate, given up fencing and all her old hobbies, just trying to cope with her demanding major and friendship problems. It was a year ago. Once you moved to Ilsan, she had welcomed you and vanished again, leaving you on read for months. Guess you can't ask for more after being such a rotten creature that only gravitates towards the worst people.

You would've worn an armour if you had some, to family gatherings.

It's the most unpleasant faces you've ever seen in your life, all looking at you like you are shit. Mother eyes you up and down, and you recall how you had to kneel before her when you were little, begging for forgiveness. You'd never told Yoongi that; always wondered if it was a coincidence. Not really anybody knows that, except you and her.

She has a softer stare for the younger version of you, that didn't disappoint; from the other side of the big living room, you see the back of the head of your sister, and how the corners of mother's eyes relax, and lids go a little down.

"Did dad text you?" is all she asks. You say no.

"Uncle Namgil is here", she warns. Guess it's her version of taking care. Uncle Namgil liked to carry you around by your ankle when you were small enough to be carried. Almost dislocated your hip every single time, shaking you like a cat. You know well to stay away from him, even now.

"Minjae?"

The cousin who kissed you french style when you were ten.

"No".

She nods at your sister and smiles at her warmly. You get an uneven glass tilt. Once the girl turns and waves at you, lifts her arm, the cardigan on her body stretches, and you notice a belly.

"Oh shit", you utter before you can stop yourself.

"She is six months pregnant", mom explains.

You walk towards each other, and you hug her. She is still the same strong girl with shy eyes telling you things she isn't capable of pronouncing. Now she avoids looking at you, rather usual stuff. You need to nudge her a little, though. Having a baby is no small deed.

"Nani", you coo. The little nickname you gave her when she was little. You never call her the full name. "Congratulations".

She smiles, wrapping her palms around her belly. Then blushes slightly.

The relatives chat around. It's always a fine concussion of a reminder, how many there are, of you. Sister squeezes your hand shortly in gratitude.

"I'm sorry we didn't speak more".

It's a very vague apology. 'Didn't speak more' sounds like an unfinished conversation from yesterday, not a full six months of ghosting you. But you can't stay mad at her for long. You look around, seeing if anybody else is surprised by her growing belly. If there are the typical accusatory glances at you, blaming you for making your younger sister take the burden because you are just so selfish. Your mother asks her about the boyfriend softly.

"Boyfriend?" you ask, surprised, "you're not married?"

She shrugs.

"It was a happy accident".

Her eyes shine with what you know is infatuation.

"Where is he? Has he come with you today?"

She opens her mouth and says nothing at first, but her stare is direct. Your convoluted mind halts, waiting for a response. The voices of your family a hiss of the sea around. The room is yellow.

What enters the living room is black.

"I should've told you", her throat convulses, eyes bulge a little. All features indicate that she is feeling guilty. You look down at her stomach, then back at her face, then again, behind her shoulder.

Because your battered brain refuses to register.

"Sorry", she whispers quickly.

His hand lies on her shoulder, and you stare at the fingers with clean, short nails.

Yoongi is all black, like a swan that's undergone a transition.

He is happy, as well.

"Hi".

Your mother is mesmerized by the handsomness of this dude. He has a trendy cut with sidebangs, an there's a silver earring in his ear, but it just suits him so well. Black shirt is ironed, you know she did it. Yoongi bites his lower lip shyly. His eyes are revealed, and your mom drowns in them. It's in the genes. She can't not see the perfect slant. You bet she is almost fainting at the realization her grandchild will have these eyes.

It's a callback to his kitchen greeting: wow, that's awkward.

It's what you say now, to deelectrify the air. Yoongi's gaze darts to you like he doesn't recognize you. Nani's face gets flushed.

"We used to date", you explain to your mother. She opens her mouth, confused. Nani twists out of his hand gently. And takes the mother's arm.

"We should leave them for a while".

Throws you another cautious look. You had not a single idea this girl was capable of being a cunt. Not a single idea.

She lingers for a moment, looking at him, then at you, then purses her lips and leads mom away.

Yoongi looks at her like he would rather slash his veins that let her go. You feel your eyes go cold.

Seeing him in black is so weird, it's so... it's like you've accidentally jumped into a parallel dimension. You study his hair, shiny, black like his jacket.

"Is this your natural colour?" you don't know why you whisper.

It's the first thing you tell him after three years.

By the way, he doesn't look crippled.

Is this the same person at all?

When he opens his mouth, you recognize the voice.

"Yeah. Why?"

You can't remove the frown from in between your eyebrows.

"You've seen my teeange pictures".

You blink the paralysis off.

Yoongi orbits you a little, choosing an angle, then stands by your side, like you're both observing the living room.

"I have a great family", he sighs, "so many people".

Finally, the ice-cold spear of understanding slides down your guts and settles there, where Nani grows his parasite.

"You fucked my sister?"

He raises his eyebrows at the vulgarity of that. He is slowly changing his young adult face to his man face. It's rougher. Still handsome to the point of annoyance. Cheeks soft. But the white is drained. It's mute.

"She has your eyes", he deadpans.

"That all you got to tell me?"

Yoongi grins a little. There are small creases at the corners of his eyes. He must work a lot.

"One thousand, one hundred sixteen days", he replies. His eyes travel across your face. "And you finally don't fuck around".

"Walk with me".

You turn and make your way into the kitchen that's across the living room, down the corridor and to the left. Nani and mom are sat on the couch and watch you two, a little scared for some reason.

Yoongi strolls behind you soundlessly.

You rake your hair, it helps you think. Yoongi closes the door behind him and gets distracted by the little vase with candy. You stop at the knife stand, staring at it like it knocks all thoughts out of your head.

"You'll be an aunt soon", he says from behind you. Traces his finger on the table as if checking if your mother is as dirty as you are. You barely ever dusted.

"It's a boy".

"I don't believe it. Is it really yours?"

You turn with a swing to face him. He's a crow now. A levelled-up creature.

"Yeah, it's mine. I had lots of sex with her".

You cover your nose like you're ready to vomit.

"When did you start it?"

"About a year ago".

"And before?"

"Huh?"

He is playing fool now. Direct and annoyed Yoongi is taking his time pulling the nerves out of you.

"Where have you been before? It's been three years".

He smirks with his teeth, and takes a step towards you like he likes something in your voice.

"Why are you asking? I was working. I need to provide for my family. While you were drowning in your own shit, I got really loaded and ready to procreate".

He says it with mercy, a soft tilt of the head, a hand ready to catch you.

The balcony flight really cemented your unbalanced seats in this fucking spectacle. It's true. You've been surviving. Him, his aftershock, and then, without him. Bizarre. Your life started revolving around him.

Yoongi sighs through his nose and holds himself against the counter. Looms above you the way he likes to.

"You can't have Nani".

"Oh, shit", he whines, "I can't have you, I can't have Nani. Who am I allowed to have? Your mom?"

He observes you like he actually considers it.

"I actually might get a shot with her".

You chuckle at the cold delivery, so obscenely empty that there's an echo inside your ribs.

You turn slightly, and grab the knife from the stand. It's a good, broad knife with a sturdy black handle. Nothing white anymore, it's all coming together.

"Take off your jacket".

Yoongi obeys, disinterested. He puts the jacket on the high stool and gets back in front of you, eyes slightly curious about the thing in your hand.

"It's bad timing. I am proposing tonight".

He acquired a new expression. It's a condescending smile. His triangular, softly oval face is clean, pale, with the eyes oozing black like never before. He has the capacity to be very safe for the right people.

"You shouldn't have gone for my sister".

"I won't deny it's all about you", he notes softly. The words low, dipped in careful reproach, "but don't get cocky about it. You've hurt me twice".

You raise your hand, and he doesn't react, at all. His eyes, you realize, are so focused on you, like he is drinking the image of you.

What if he hasn't watched you these three years? And hadn't seen you? And whatever's happening now - this stillness, is the waves drawing away from the shore?

Your limbs go numb. Yoongi's mouth is raw pink. The times when he had breakfast on your kitchen, masturbated to you walking around the apartment unaware, and went through your phone, feel so simple now. Almost nostalgic.

"Yoongi", you call, to test the waters. You look where you should - at his hand, suddenly forming into a fist, thumb shaking.

"Why did you choose me?"

His eyes stare through you.

"Did you know I can recognize your smell?"

"I can recognize yours, too", you shake your head dismissively. The knife still limp between you.

"No. At distance. Like a trail. I think we're soulmates".

You have no jabs to throw. You lift the knife and stick it to his chest. Yoongi grabs your wrist.

"At least go for the heart, my love. And good luck; if you think I won't hunt you down in the next life..."

He swirls it sideways so that the tip goes in between the ribs.

Betrayal is what you can't forgive. Not dying the hair is alright. His natural colour makes him more mature. Makes him blend in. Perhaps he has got tired of being the snowball head.

Gaining weight made him look like an apex predator. Strong structure of his jaw gradually lifts into the cheekbones that give up his old blood. The animal bows its head at you and drops the hand, asking for nothing. You have no idea what's going on in his head. You know nothing goes on in yours. Nothing to report.

You press the knife in, and Yoongi helps, keeping himself in place with the hand clutching the counter edge. Bright kitchen light is atrociously yellow. It takes some force to drive it through him, but once you get it going, it gets easier. There's a nasty crack, and he gasps quietly. His chin drops like he wants to watch. Yoongi stumbles forward, and the last thing he does is kiss you. You haven't kissed him for three years. His mouth is warm, like the forest nest where you can hide. Sweat immediately appears above his upper lip, and you lick it clean.

Yoongi falls on the floor.

Then the knife hand clunks against the tiles.

Then, people come in. They scream. Nani screams the loudest. Mother goes pale. Blood. Jail. Death.

No, rewind back.

You let yourself soak in the scene, calculating, your head goes light.

It's not even the jail that stops you, but another, second best thing: the world without Yoongi. The whole rest of your life without him on your scent.

His hand still grabbing your wrist. He calls you pretty. To give him a kiss, you have to cut the distance with the knife.

You press it harder, just to let the anger out, and Yoongi lowers his eyes, unimpressed. Probably far from the pain level to even notice for him.

You press until the tip penetrates his skin and tears the black shirt just a little, then your upper lip twitches in anger.

You throw the knife on the counter.

He kisses you, pressing you against the hard edge, the bulge in his trousers nudging you in the thigh. Some things never change with Yoongi. His hand cradles the back of your head, and you feel loved, the way only a stupid, capricious bitch can be loved, that earned the love of a demon.

You grab his chin hard, digging into the jaws, and feel his teeth with the fingertips. He looks a little funny like this, like a kissable twink again.

"You will never see her again. You never hurt her again".

"Oh, Nani is screwed for life", he promises, with a sigh. "You made me do it".

"And you stop gaslighting me about every little thing", you utter through your teeth.

He bites his lip like he bites his tongue. His eyes come alive. The animal is sniffing you.

"Get your things", he suggests, "we should leave now".

You nod. Half way out of the kitchen, you turn. Yoongi is tapping his chest, lower lip pulled up, and with the other hand, feeling for his jacket.

"You care about the baby at all?"

He shakes his head.

"We could take it from her, but it's undercooked..."

You suck the air through your teeth and shake the door handle before opening the door.

You walk through the living room, shooting one empty glance at your sister.

She looks at you, her hands crossed on her lap. You wonder to yourself if she was manipulated into it; seems way too pliable, even for her.

Whatever. This is utterly your world.

You leave the house and take extra pleasure out of bumping your shoulder into uncle Namgil.

Yoongi emerges five minutes later into the street full of icicle teeth. You have no idea what car he has now, so you just linger outside, away from your mother's house, where, if they throw something out the window, it won't make you.

He waves his hand in an order, and you don't move. Yoongi frowns, but there's a smirk in it. Punches his cheek with his tongue, walks over, gets your elbow. And then crooks his neck and kisses you again, the steam leaving your mouths. The street is muted and white, covered in funeral snow crust; like pieces of his old hair, spread out. Yoongi is a black stain, impossible to lose again. He leads you to a big chocolate-brown Hyundai and gets the door for you.

"What did you tell them?"

"Not to search for us".

You throw a look at the house. Someone is watching from the window.

He drives calmly, one hand resting on his lap. Once he makes sure where you need to go, the hand crawls over to yours, and takes your palm, lovingly. Nobody ever quite mustered the tenderness with which Yoongi always touches you. Like only he knows the code to your door. Like he kills the competition and fucks the copies of you. The fingers interlock, and you think to yourself, if you keep him close, nobody else will get hurt.

You wonder if the lotus-shaped spa is ready.

─────────────── ✧

You rub your eye carefully and adjust the lamp light from your phone. Laptop is on your knees on top of the blanket. Yoongi is in the same bed with you, an elbow away, drawing something on his iPad. He really likes drawing things. It's always some structures; he doesn't draw people. Except for you. He draws you, and buildings. Staircases, lintels, slabs. Like an engineer. And balustrades, pediments and columns, like an architect. Eyes, wrists, ears, hips. Like Yoongi. You rub your eye again, and he says,

"You work too much".

Your hand stops clicking the keyboard. You look at the time. Almost made it a whole half an hour without his comments. Almost done.

You glare at him, tilting head, brows up.

He smirks.

"What? You don't need all that. Ever since we moved in together, you started working more".

It's because you finally got your peace of mind and therefore, productivity increased.

"It's like you're trying to prove something".

He looks away from his intricate, angular black and white molding and peeks at you from under the black hair.

"Because everything I do is about you", you sneer gently. He goes back to his work.

"Well, everything I do is about you. But I'm a fool for hoping my ministrations would be reciprocated".

"If the both of us acted like this", you sigh, "we wouldn't leave the house and nothing would get done".

"By you. I am proactive".

You decide it's best to leave him hanging. He is irritating when he is on his superiority wave. Yoongi loses interest in his drawing when he spots the time. You realize the work is done when he puts the iPad and the pen away, and his hand reaches for your laptop.

"No, no! Not finished".

The tip of his tongue helps him concentrate on catching you. You turn on your side. His fingers clutch the lid of the computer.

"I am your husband. Be with me".

"You're not my husband".

The silent, lazy struggle doesn't leave your square in the bed.

"I will be. Give it to me".

Yoongi is pressing his weight against your free hand, trapping it under, and yanks the laptop away.

"I mean it", you press, slightly angry. You need to win this at least once. You need to know that he sees a human in you, still.

"I don't care".

You sit up, let go of the laptop and go limp. Yoongi hates that the most. Fighting is exciting. But total surrender with no expression on your face is something he is powerless against.

He whines tiredly.

"Come on".

He walks around the bed and puts your laptop on the desk, then gets inside, under the blanket, on your side, sitting on top of your knees. Then stretches his body like a cat, straddling you. Tries to look inside your eyes.

"Y/N".

"You don't care. Fine. Go to sleep".

"Tsk".

You stare through him knowing that it will drive him up the wall in no time.

"I don't mean it like that".

"Uh-huh".

That's the worst part. He totally means it like that. He always means he doesn't care what you think as long as he knows better.

He doesn't think you need to work at all. What has he been breaking his back for then? You should just be a good girl. Enjoy the fruit of his labour. Stay pretty. Stare into his eyes.

Yoongi slides his thighs, taking you with him. His hips are incredibly strong for someone who's never been fucked by a man. You are forced on your back, and he grabs your face, plumping your lips.

"I say things to make you mad, you know that".

Two things can be true at the same time. You press into his cut. One little wound: empty eyes; and he is going desperate.

"If I really didn't care, my dick would be in that mouth four times every day", he narrates, and it's twistedly funny.

"If I didn't care about what you say, I wouldn't memorize every single thing you say, every day".

You wait another minute and blink as surrender. Good enough. His fingers relax a little. His back muscles do, too. Yoongi presses a kiss on your cheek, light like a touch of a moonray. He hovers, moves his lips to the corner of your mouth as an apology but doesn't go further. Begs for permission.

"We're going to Namjoon's party?"

He opens his eyes and lifts himself a little. Your hand swipes through his hair. It's been a new hobby; longer locks are like a coping mechanism for you.

"Do you want to?"

You shrug. Saying you miss Namjoon's smiling face with dimples would be stirring new shit when Yoongi has just demonstrated such outstanding capability for being pliant.

"I want to see everybody. You ever cared about them?"

"Parties?" he curves his lips into a lopsided shape.

"Namjoon and Hobi".

"Oh. I like them. They are the only two people from uni I didn't hate".

You gasp.

"And me?"

Life is unfair. Two disgusting people like you get to enjoy the bliss of being together in a huge, warm bed, while other, less corrupted souls go through their lives struggling.

Well, those souls maybe should've worked better and become architects.

"You... are barely a person", he concludes seriously.

"Weird, I always thought the same thing about you".

"Wow", Yoongi rolls his eyes. "We are so-o quirky".

He drops down, and your hands wrap around his head. He is corporeal, at least when in your grasp.

taglist: @mar-lo-pap , @benyhime

[whoopsyeahokay]

Canvas

summary: prompt fill. there's something truly special about the soft moments Wally spends with you in the Art Room. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. drabble. slice-of-life. being dead isn't so bad.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🎨

Canvas

Sunlight pours through the large windows, music softly playing in the background, the Art Room empty at 7AM in July, apart from you and Wally and the army of Josés—the tabletop mannequins used for anatomical illustration.

Wally's topless, on his stomach across the table in the middle of the room, head pillowed on his arms and his eyes closed. Breaths slow and even. Relaxed even though you're straddling his hips, your weight both calming and exciting.

Every brushstroke sends little tingles shooting under his skin, and he hums or sighs or comments—feels nice—to encourage you to keep going, don't stop, this is the most at peace he's felt since the last time you let him keep you company.

This isn't the first time you've used his body as a canvas, and hopefully won't be the last.

He doesn't know what you're painting. Could be anything. Could be nothing but smears and squiggles. Could be lewd words. Wally doesn't really care much. He simply enjoys spending time with you. Being there for you when you're so deep in your head, you're about to collapse in on yourself and disappear.

Sometimes you have him model for you while you share quiet secrets about your life. Former life. You never have much to say about your death, and Wally respects that. Doesn't pry. You'll tell him eventually. Or maybe you won't, and that's okay too.

He probably shares too much, has a habit of babbling when he's nervous and, the first few times he found you in the Art Room, he couldn't shut himself up. Sat there nattering on while you painted the ocean right on the wall, never saying a word unless Wally stalled. Then you hummed or glanced at him and repeated the last thing he said to coax more of his story from him.

You listened in a way he wasn't used to people doing.

After several intentionally "random" encounters, Wally stopped trying to make it seem like he happened to be there at the right time. Just started showing up when he knew you wanted to purge your latest existential crises with acrylics on whatever surface made itself available.

During crisis six or seven, his arm became that available surface. From wrist to shoulder. A pastel horrorscape with forked-tongued demons in their lacy Lolita best.

Then his leg. His chest. His arm again, both. And both legs. Feet. Hands. Cheeks. Shoulders, neck, eyelids, hair. Now his back.

It soothes something in him, too, if he's being honest. Every sweep of the brush is like the swing of a pendulum, pulling him deeper into a meditative trance. For however long you need him to be still, his mind shuts down and he just...is. Existing without pressure or expectation or a need to react, respond, rebut.

Like a tree, he thinks to himself. Planted and immovable, accepting what comes, growing through the good and the bad, no thoughts, just reaching toward the sun because that's what they're designed to do.

Wally likes being a tree in the soft moments you gift him. He wishes he could be a tree all the time instead of fighting the noise in his brain that otherwise doesn't shut up until it exhausts itself.

Moments like this were sparse for Wally before you joined the afterlife in 2013. Rhonda isn't exactly a calming presence, and Charley's neuroses trigger Wally's more often than they don't. He loves his friends, but they aren't who he seeks out when he needs space to forget he's dead and can't leave school property and everything sucks, he just wants to go to the next block, to the store, to the mall, home—

"Stop twitching," You murmur, face so close to Wally's ear he can feel your breath tickling his skin.

Without looking, he knows you've got your lip between your teeth, eyes narrowed, both hands guiding the tiny brush you use to outline whatever image you've painted on Wally's shoulder.

He doesn't respond. Sinks back into that sweet, easy headspace, half-asleep and comfortable.

When you finish, it takes him several moments to find the energy to lift himself up and check out your work in the nearby bathroom. You follow him, critical of yourself, but, as usual, Wally's impressed. Amazed. Fucking awestruck.

He has no idea what it's supposed to be, but it's layered and deep and colorful, and he loves it. Wishes he could keep it on his skin forever. When he turns around to tell you as much, the words catch in his throat because you've got that look again. Eyes tracing the contours of his chest, and he can see the gears turning in your mind, another idea blooming.

You reach forward, bold, unabashed, and let your fingertips trace an invisible sketch as if trying to calculate the dimensions. Wally swallows when you brush over his nipple, his muscles twitching under your touch.

You purse your lips, consider something, and then, "Come on, I wanna try something else."

Wally nods, breathless, and follows obediently after you as you traipse back to the Art Room. This time he's on his back, hands on your hips, thumbs stroking the skin just under the hem of your shirt while you paint his chest.

He's too relaxed to be turned on by the position; there's time for that later. He just wants to coast on that calm sea and soak in the gentle attention you dote on him when you get like this.

Whatever is on your mind keeps Wally a half-naked evolution of your artistic expression for most of the day. Well until the sun begins to sink below the horizon and you've emptied every tube of blue and purple paint on hand.

When you finally declare that you feel better—"Done," and your smile is soft and a little relieved at the edges—Wally sits up and rolls the stiffness from his shoulders. You stay in his lap, his hands on your hips, thumbs still stroking your skin beneath your shirt.

"Feel better, baby?" He asks, and gazes at you through eyes heavy from dozing.

You nod, lean forward to peck a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Thanks for this." You murmur.

Wally gives you a lazy smile, "Anytime." And, no, really, any. time. because this is always the best he feels.

He looks down at himself, at the forest fantasy you made of his chest and belly. It's beautiful, of course it is, and haunting, and Wally tries to memorize it before it disappears. Either to a reset or—

"Shower?" You ask, your voice low and suggestive, clearly feeling like yourself again.

And as much as Wally loves what you paint on his skin, he loves the idea of having you under a hot spray, paint smearing from his chest to yours, the colors swirling at his feet as he holds you in his arms, against the tile, his lips on yours as he worships your body.

Touches like brushstrokes, kisses like dapples of paint. Making you his own work of art in the way you do to him.

🎨___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Marshmallow Miles.

fluff. smut lite. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride.

[obeythebutler]

Hey, I'm glad to see you back!

I'd like to request "having a water balloon fight in their own backyard" with Leviathan, or "both waking up in the middle of the night and going on an adventure to find the perfect snack" with Belphegor please.

Whichever one you find the easiest to write. ^_^

Humans primarily sleep at night.

To recharge for the day ahead, ensure that new memories are consolidated in the brain and to rest and repair cells.

Belphegor sleeps because his sin compels him to.

Effects of such an extended sleep schedule hasn't been studied yet in demons. You think. There are simply too many books in RAD's library for you to conduct a research project, and nor have you stumbled upon any such scientific papers yet. But it is evident that all those extra hours of slumber have had a positive effect on the demon's memory. You had watched him use the RAD-issued Devildom History Textbook, 671th revised edition as a pillow before his test during second period in class. Your own two eyes can testify that he had not studied; and yet he had scored full marks.

Osmosis; he had told you with a snarky grin.

You roll around in your bed, the movement effective in stirring the demon from his sleep. Belphegor pokes out from the mountain of blankets like a cranky cat being awoken: bedhead glory and all. Gapes at you for a moment or two and groans when you stare back.

"Stop staring at me like that. You're creeping me out."

"But I can't sleep," You counter, nudging yourself closer until your forehead touches his shoulder, and you burrow further into it. "And you always are awake at random hours in the night."

You hear him sigh. Once. Twice. Then a hand stretches out to reach for the D.D.D. on the table.

"You're right," He whispers, voice heavy with sleep. "And now we're both awake together."

“What to do then?”

“I don’t want to get up.”

"Me neither."

"Mhm."

It takes three minutes for you to blurt out the words: “I’m feeling hungry for a snack though.”

"Beel might already be in the kitchen," He states, resting his head under his arm. "And Lucifer is awake at this time."

"Blegh."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh-"

Fifteen minutes later, you and Belphie stand in front of the establishment.

"It's closed."

Belphegor mutters with dejection at the closed sign in front of him. The always open 6/13 is closed. Under repair, the notice glued on the door states.

All that walking for nothing.

You check your D.D.D. "Let's try Uncle Demon. You and Beel often frequent it for donoughts, right?"

"Yes, but I don't want something sweet right now."

"Savoury?"

"Yes."

Belphegor rubs his eyes. "Cafe Lament has revised its working hours from 10 to 11pm to being open till 2am in the night."

"How'd you know that?"

"Beel told me."

An Ignis Owl hoots in the distance, breaking the quiet. You are reminded to look at the time. "We have," You bend down to tie your shoelaces, "Exactly twenty-five minutes before it closes."

"Shit." He says. "Better hurry."'

Countless times Lucifer has had to drag his brother downstairs to the dining table. Innumerable instances have occurred where one of the brothers had to carry Belphegor to whatever destination they were after in that moment. Many a times he fell asleep in your lap.

And now he's grabbing your hand and making a run for it.

The wind roars in your ears as you scuttle along with him. His face is determined, hair tousled by the wind, breath coming out in huffs.

You know he'll be exhausted by the end of it all, eyes droopy and breath slowed. He's so much like a cat sometimes, getting brief bursts of hyperactivity in the night, then settling down near you for a nap.

Lucifer hasn't started blowing up your D.D.D., which means the ruse of pillows arranged like two bodies sleeping has worked. Or that the demon has decided to plop down on his pile of paperwork face-first in exhaustion. Beelzebub has gone back to sleep. You'll get a snack packed for him too, hand it over in the morning.

Later, when both of your cravings have been satiated, and the clock will strike three, you and Belphegor will make it back to the house, the gates opening quietly. They're old iron gates, and usually they would screech, but the House knows the mannerisms of its inhabitants: when to be loud and when to be silent.

You know you're going to wake up late, but midnight adventures like these don't come often.

For now, you're content sleeping with your demon in the attic.

[radioisntdead]

Like him?

Alastor & child! Reader

Warnings: OOC warm up drabble, lyrics may not be accurate as the lyric website I used SUCKS and I didn't realize until I started editing when it was too late >:[

Song used:

How you were born was a mystery to both of your parents, they held hands once after marriage and pop! you were there! Asexual reproduction you supposed.

He never wanted kids but he wasn't going to leave you and your mother, after all they were married.

But he did, your mother told you that he died during a hunting trip gone wrong being mistaken for a deer, a bullet shot through his head killing him instantly and leaving behind his wife and child.

She said that I make expressions like him

Your mother said that you looked like him, that you had his eyes, his mannerisms, his smile.

You didn't have many pictures of him, he didn't like being photographed often your mother said.

my legs to my shoulders and my chin like him

Sometimes you'd visit your grandmother, you'd notice how she would sometimes stare at you for what felt like hours before wiping away a tear from her cheek and pulling you in close.

Sometimes she would slip up and call you his name before quickly correcting herself.

my waist and my posture like him

As you grew you resembled your father more and more each day or so your mother said.

mama I'm chasing a ghost, I don't know who he is

She was right in more ways than just appearances.

mama I'm chasing a ghost, i don't know where he is

You had an interest in the radio like him, you always kept a smile on your face like him, you occasionally killed people like he did, you became a radio host like he was.

mama I'm chasing a ghost, do I look like him?

Eventually you died, not like he did though, your death was natural, lethal brain aneurysm.

you gave me love, and affection

You woke up surrounded by brimstone and sulfur, the smell of rot filled your senses as you stumbled around.

attention, protection

You would go years upon years without running into him, sure you had heard of him, but you didn't know he was him.

You didn't know that he was your father.

how could I ever miss something that i've never had?

That was until you checked into the hazbin hotel and he was there.

The Hotelier, the radio demon, Alastor, your father.

I would never judge you

He didn't recognize you, how could he? He died when you could barely stand on your own two feet, but you recognized him from the little photos your mother showed you.

He was different now but you knew.

cause everything worked out without him

But you still looked like him, even the residents pointed that out, Angel dust was the first.

A pair of fluffy red deer ears adorned your ears like his, red eyes, and that damned smile.

let it go, I've decided to

You tried to get to know him, just a little bit.

anything that lives inside of you

After all this was the man you had been compared to all your life and now he was here, with you.

I would never ever lie you

You wondered how he would react to know who you were? Would he have questions? About how you got here? About your mother? If she was here too?

You tiptoed that line, softly bringing it up one night when everyone was drunk out of their minds thanks to an activity gone wrong.

you ain't ever have to lie to me

And he brought up your mother, someone he only married because a loving husband was less likely to be suspected as a serial killer.

He never loved her, not the way she loved him, as a friend? Maybe, but not as a wife.

I'm everything that I've strived to be

You stared blankly at him for a moment as he changed the subject as if he never brought it up in the first place as if it was like you were talking about the weather.

so do I look like him?

You went out after that, ran to the nearest store that sold hair dye and grabbed the first box you could get your hands on.

do I look like him?

You spent hours dying your hair, bleaching and redying it until it was brittle.

But the red was gone.

You didn't want to look like him, you wanted to get redeemed as soon as you possibly could do you'd never have to see him again.

I don't look like him.

GOOD EVENIN' FOLKS!! I'M BAAAAACK! WITH A MEDICARE DRABBLE BECAUSE I GOT DISTRACTED and overstimulated like trice today, anyways I hope you enjoyed this and as always thank you for tunin' on it I'm gotta go clean my room now, have a wonderful rest of your night folks!!

[saitoakirachan-fangirls]

Obsessed with the idea of a lowkey unethical scientist Wakaba who experimented on Akechi and the complicated feelings generated from this within Futaba and Akechi.

Akechi and Wakaba's relationship was surprisingly cordial. If anything, he quite liked her because she was the smartest of the bunch and also the nicest to him. I mean, he still killed her, but. You know. She would talk about her young daughter and about Featherman, knowing that he's a fan of the show. She would ask how he felt after the experiments and gave him more grace than the others when he couldn't generate the result they were hoping for. (This is both because she's kinder and because she doesn't mind not "getting results." As far as she's concerned, any data is "results.") And yet.

And yet she didn't stop doing horrible experiments on him. Akechi was a child-shaped resource to her. Like a video game child, where you want to be nicer because it's cute and it looks like the real thing, but when it comes down to it, it's not really a person. She won't push as much as the others, and she always asks if he's okay. But, well, that's not her child. So if he says it's fine and the experiment isn't compromised, then who is she to doubt him? Isn't the knowledge obtained through these experiments more precious than the feelings of a teen she barely knew, and who insisted he was fine anyway? Yes, a palace collapsing kills the people inside (they made sure that to double check). Yes, this kid can cause psychotic breakdowns (it proved her hypothesis right). Yes, killing a shadow kills the person. But can't you see? This is all in the name of science. It's bigger than her or him or all of them.

Akechi's feelings about her flip-flops a lot depending on his mental state. Sometimes, he tries to justify killing her because she deserves it for what she did to him (the others wanted to do worse before she stopped them), it was her own fault for researching something so dangerous without knowing how to protect herself (how could she have predicted her team turning on her?) and he was just following orders anyway (a lot of corrupt adults are also "just following orders"), but more often, he settles on her being innocent. Since it was his decision to participate in the experiments, he needs to shoulder all the responsibility for his own pain. It was his choice, because he was obviously in control this whole time. He's a free agent. He's manipulating the adults here, don't you see? He wasn't a child anymore.

When Futaba learned about her human experiments, especially the ones on Akechi, she was shocked and horrified. "My mom was a fucking monster!" And Akechi is like, "Yeah the experiments sucked but I consented to everything." "You were 14-15???" And for a long time she is unable to really reconcile the image of her workaholic but loving mother with an obsessive scientist willing to turn a blind eye to the ethically bankrupt act of using a teen as a brain magic lab rat.

Idk, I just thought it would be funny and depressing if Futaba started thinking her mother was a horrible monster while Akechi has to defend Wakaba cause the truth is that she was kind of horrible but also like, a person. She was Futaba's loving mother, Sojiro's best friend, and an advocate for women in STEM. To her experiment subjects (because Akechi wasn't the only one, let's be real), she was a demon, but to other, she was a genuinely good person. Morally grey Wakaba Isshiki my beloved.

Also also, every adult who was involved with Akechi in any significant way pre-series dehumanized him :3c

[eldritch-spouse]

Idk if this has been mentioned before but a poly relation ship with Morell and Obie.

(I end up with too much food too often, I like to imagine giving ingredients to Morell to make something yommy and then we use it to feed hungry yellow.)

[This is being written in the perspective of a poly "V" type dynamic where you are the joint.]

TW: Unhygienic food kink

Oh, you're putting on weight, it's unavoidable. Assert boundaries repeatedly if you'd like to stay within a certain range. If not, know that they love your body and will be concerned over drastic weight loss.

While both the glutton and the shroom agree that a complete diet is essential to your well-being and will never let you skip a meal, the two can and will bicker over differing tastes.

Morell is a bit of a kitchen snob, as you know, but Obie will just eat asphalt if it looks appetizing enough. This results in Obie often handing you things that Morell categorizes openly as "slop" or "garbage", which wounds Obie's pride as a glutton, and subsequently has them arguing.

When both of them are on the same page however, you're guaranteed to eat some of the most orgasmic meals of your entire life.

This duo is essentially food kink x2, they'll both be all over you while you eat, and often like to decorate your body in little snacks and toppings before going to town. There is now twice the chance that one of them, or both, have cum in your food every now and then.

One negative aspect here is that Obie won't do anything about Morell's sinister desire to sometimes feed you meat of other humans. He can tell what type of flesh is being used, but wordlessly allows this to happen, eventually starting to understand why Morell finds it so fascinatingly hot. After all, it's all the same to Obie, he's torn chunks out of other demons before.

Both of them are great hunters. While Morell takes great enjoyment out of trapping and chasing game during proper events, usually with family- Obie doesn't have this as a hobby. However, just like any demon, he can tap into a viciously primal part of himself and be equally as effective, if not better. What typically happens here is that both will hunt together, Morell being the brains of the operation, and Obie the relentless starved hound.

Rest assured this tactic will be used to locate you, if you ever manage to escape them. At the peril of you possibly losing a limb in the process.

Surprise surprise, both of them have fantasies of eating you. Although, unexpectedly, they can keep each other in line, simply exciting each other when sharing those thoughts, usually outside of your field of hearing.

[witchofthemidlands]

this isn't a criticism at all because they're all ultimately derived of the same source materials, this is something i want to say in the hopes i can nudge someone towards a special interest of mine that invaded my brain & will never leave.

if you liked nosferatu (2024) wow, do i have the show for you! with the same content warnings as you'd receive for nosferatu may i offer upon you all: penny dreadful (2014-2016)

filled with some of the best ever adaptations of the characters from dracula, frankenstein, jekyll & hyde, the wolf man & the picture of dorian grey is (in my personal opinion) the most phenomenal gothic series i have ever seen in all my years of being a gothic literature fan, i have a degree in literature, a segment of it being in gothic literature, i have read these stories over & over again, dracula is my second favourite novel of all time, frankenstein is also in my top teen novels of all time & i love jekyll & hyde & i don’t think i have ever seen a loosely based adaptation get these characters so well. do you vibe with nosferatu's ellen hutter? let me tell you about the beautiful, the love of my life, vanessa ives! played by the ethereal eva green! vanessa is tragic, beautiful & literally possessed by a demon. she is brave & brilliant, not to be a lesbian but oh my god, i rarely cry at pieces of media but i have shed so many tears over her & been in awe of her existence, she is derivative of both lucy westenra & mina harker, the calibre of acting from eva green is like nothing i have ever seen, her possession moments is just a masterclass in acting & the pain & desperation… oh vanessa will ruin your life. harry treadaway must have been touched by some acting deity & i cannot believe he isn't a massive name in television & film because he is the best version of victor frankenstein i have ever seen in any adaptation of frankenstein & this isn't even about just the frankenstein story. harrytreadaway!victor is an absolute cringefail pathetic wet cat of a man (affectionate) who sits there looking like he's on ten different substances whilst sometimes going off on side quests with his best friend vanessa & often judges the rest of the squad nobody is matching his freak. he is THE version of victor frankenstein of all time. if there is anything else that man has done that anyone recommends send it my way because that is an actor. rory kinnear gives the emotionl performance of a lifetime as frankenstein's creature & explores so many aspects of that character in ways i have never seen before in all my years of watching adaptations of frankenstein. josh hartnett as ethan chandler… that man's story is a RIDE, he is a disaster & a gentleman. he is also openly bisexual & for no reasons why & in no way beneficial to the plot, has sexual relations with dorian gray & speaking of dorian gray. i have never liked that book, that story has never been for me but that beautiful singer reeve carney made me see so many different aspects of a character i have never liked & is just brilliant because his character is just there to have sexual relations & not really benefit the overall plot that much at all. there are new iterations of mina murray, her father malcolm murray, a grumpy old man played the same bloke who portrayed niles caulder from doom patrol & basically plays the same character, van helsing, a charmingly sinister iteration of dracula & an otherworldly brilliantly acted version of dr. henry jekyll who seems like he had a situationship with frankenstein.

ultimately vanessa, sembene, malcolm murray, ethan & frankenstein are forced found family, they are strays, they are disasters, they are frenemies, they're forced found family bound together, in the most dysfunctional manner, the only one with a braincell is sembene who's too good for their shit & of course my love, the brilliant & the gorgeous billie piper plays a phenomenal iteration of the bride of frankenstein in the most raw performance i have seen from her. i am absolutely in love with her, she is so beautiful & so talented & did something to my brain chemistry. there is heartbreak, humour, adventure, the gothic, the weird & the tragic. this series is something else & that's not even the half of it.

also broadway legend patti lupone plays a genderbent dr. seward from dracula & i want her to do unspeakable things to me.

[prismuffin]

so for my bday ficcc i have two ideas

idea number one: male reader is based on my demon oc. basically personality wise they very sassy and flirty. kinda a bitch ass ho. idc who u pair it with imma be real. it could be ghost, soap or or price. or like batman. he summons them n junk

idea number 2:

polycule ghost, soap x male reader. male reader is a smart dumbass. like they’re an airhead all of the time minus work. they’re a colonel but honestly dumb as shit outside of work. obvious as hell.

if u want more ideas i can tell u love u mwahhhhh

A/n: Hey Webbie!! Happy birthday!! (Or late birthday depending on when I get this out) decided to go with option 2 kay? also i didnt know how to end this- fight me-

Idiot Boyfriend

Poly!GhostSoap x airhead!male!reader

( summary: Ghost reflects on how he fell in love with two dumbasses )

Warnings?: swearing, mentions of alcohol, talks of guns and violence, reader being a dumbass

!-!more under the cut!-!

Ghost sighed as he watched you chase Gaz around base. He'd apparently tickled you which you saw as a threat, immediately taking off to get your revenge. Hearing a laugh beside him Ghost turned, seeing an amused Soap who was also watching your silly antics. "Go get 'em sweetheart!" He cheered you on and Ghost groaned. "Don't encourage 'em Johnny," "Why not? This is a funny sight," He smirked, sitting next to Ghost, his head instinctually falling onto the taller mans shoulder. Ghost rolled his eyes as he watched you trip, Gaz stopping to laugh at you. "Oh damn, think he's alright Lt?" Soap asked only to get silence as a response. "Lt?" Ghost had heard him, though he was too busy wondering why he was even with such an airhead anyway. He'd already been dating one headache why did he feel the need to worsen his pain with another.

When he'd first met you he was already with Soap, their relationship being monogamous at the time. Though that was more of a suggestion than set in stone. Maybe it was the fact that the first time he'd met you- you were choking some guy out with the power of your thighs alone that'd intrigued him. Either way you'd easily clicked with Soap after meeting him, and after exchanging war stories and silly jokes with the two men all day they both knew at the end of it that they liked you. Initially, it wasn't going to go anywhere but Soap was the one who suggested adding you to their little relationship. Ghost was hesitant at first, not because he didn't like you but because he wasn't sure if you liked him. You'd obviously liked Soap, romantically or not you both clicked immediately, but for some reason for Ghost it was so hard to read you on your feelings for him. Sure you were polite out of respect but could it ever go deeper than that? He knows sometimes his dark humor can fall flat and his stoic tone doesn't help either. Soap had reassured him that he had a charm that couldn't be beat, but of course he'd say that. You and him clicked so easily, you both told terrible jokes and fucked around when you shouldn't. You both had a mutual love for explosives and beer and karaoke and had this natural bond he could only wish for with you. After talking about it they sort of dropped it for a few weeks but it was clear that Soap had liked you and he could understand why. Especially after what he considers the true turning point for him. It was a pretty normal night on base, everyone asleep in their barracks, everyone except Ghost. He often had nights like these where sleep was the last thing on his mind, memories plaguing his brain as he fought desperately to think of anything else. He would wake up Johnny, tell him about the bad thoughts, but he really needed the sleep after the last mission they'd been on. So he thought to deal with it alone, going into the kitchen to hopefully find a stashed bottle whisky to drown his sorrows for the night. Only upon entering he found you, leaning against the counter, pouring yourself a freshly brewed pot of coffee. You both locked eyes, a mutual understanding flooding you both as you held out the warm pot, asking silently if he'd join you. He, of course, was hesitant but had nothing better to do. So he grabbed a mug from the cabinet and watched as you poured his coffee, black.

You'd both sat in silence for some time before you asked quietly why he was up. He told the truth, nightmares, but didn't go into much detail understandably. You hummed, replying with the same answer when he'd asked you a similar question. Your jokey manner was all but lost in this moment, at least for a second. You'd asked him to talk about his nightmares with you, saying that it'd be better than him just holding everything in all the time. He didn't expect it, but you were so easy to talk to. Just the smallest amount of convincing and he did what you asked. That night you both shared the stories of your nightmares with each other. You comforted him, gave him advice and told him things he definitely needed to hear. Him ranting only got the ball rolling as he found himself sitting on the common room couch with you simply talking about anything and everything, your company in the now silent base was warming. You'd even laughed at his horrid jokes, throwing back a few that he's now added to his growing roster of dark humor. He hadn't felt like this since...well...Johnny. As the sun rose and light cracked through the curtains he couldn't help but feel a little glad that he'd gotten to spend time with you. That night alone showed him he did have a natural connection with you. You understood him in ways he didn't even think you could. He found you also shared his insomnia episodes, his love for dogs and specific guns, his respect of stealth and going at it alone on missions. When he saw Soap later that day he nonchalantly added that he's now considering asking you to join their relationship, and he couldn't help but replicate the smile on Soaps face.

One which he held now.

"Lt?" Soap glanced up at Ghost, noticing the slight crinkle in his eye and the small indent underneath his cloth balaclava. To anyone else he'd look completely normal right now, but Soap knew that those miniscule signs meant that he was smiling. Smiling at you as you groaned on the floor. Closing his eyes, Ghosts shoulders bounced in a silent laugh before he moved to stand, Soap following him with his eyes before realizing where he was going, and moving to go to you too.

Rolling on your back, you huffed, the cold floor on your rear as you stared up at the blinding white flood lights that shone down on you. Only they were blocked by a shadow, then two, the smiling faces of your boyfriends stood over you. "Need a hand sweetheart?" Soaps Scottish accent filled your ears and you couldn't help the small smile that found it's way to your face. Reaching out with both hands you grabbed onto one of each of theirs, laughing as they hoisted you up with ease. You felt Ghost pat your back before his arm wrapped itself around you. Looking at him you noticed the small smile beneath his mask and reciprocated his action, now committing to a full side hug. You just held each other there before Soap joined in, now you held both of your boyfriends in your arms. You rocked back and forth between them, your chase with Gaz momentarily forgotten as you accepted this newer task of being held. Only momentarily though as Gaz came back into view you suddenly remembered what you were doing before this, your glare being set on his form. "Garrick!" You yelled and he ran again, you moved to chase him but the hands of ghost didn't seem to want to let you go. "No you don't, come on, we're leaving." "Awww but Simon come on-" you groaned, "I'm starving." He stated bluntly, practically dragging you away from the scene as Soap laughed at your pouting face, following the two of you to the kitchen. Ghost simply listened as you began ranting about some random show that you and Soap had been watching, allowing you to completely forget about the Gaz thing as you got distracted by your own thoughts again. He watched as you and Soap recounted a particular episode that seemingly got on your nerves as it ended on a cliff hanger, silently smiling once again as he relished in the company of his two idiot boyfriends.

----!----

( HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEB I HOPE YOU LIKE YOU BIRTHDAY FIC SEXY !!! )

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

My requests are CLOSED !!

See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!

Masterlist

[meanbossart]

i understand now why i couldnt figure out what the fuck your accent is, i asked some european friends if they could recognize it and one was like "idk he sounds like a gay american"

ive heard (iberian?) portugese once via youtube and its one of those languages that slides off my brain, the sounds refuse to penetrate my skull i know words are happening but it sounds like nothing and everything

the only other thing thats made me feel that way that i can think of are my first time hearing polish it sounded like russian and german being double spoken like a demon, i fucking thought one of my polish friends was japanese for a bit because "idk you sound like hatsune miku", and once i thought someone had a speech impediment but no they were just speaking dutch

i have language processing issues, sometimes i struggle comprehending english in my own regional accent/dialect, everything else is a spin the wheel of whether i know whats happening or not

and this is me assuming that you live in brazil because youre brazilian, and would presumably have brazilian portugese as a first language and arent from somewhere else entirely

You know a lot of people have taken my accent and assumed me to be from some non-english speaking place in europe before, Russia and new Zealand being two main ones. But then, other folks hear that and are like "what no wtf" hahaha.

I am told I have less of an accent than most Brazilians (I have been speaking english for 10+ years and have been to english speaking countries for up to a month, to be fair) but Brazilian portuguese accents ARE tricky to pick up on. Similar to dutch, I feel like we often just sound like we have a slight speech impediment - I've met dutch people before both here in brazil and out and made the same assumption at first.

Language, and the often hundreds of variations within each one is wild LOL

[hermitw]

I think Sukuna might be the best representation of DID in fiction.

after rereading the manga again, I might have a longer analysis [edit to add: check my Sukuna's DID or 4th manga read tags for more] on Sukuna's DID (dissociative identity disorder / multiple personalities). this post is going to have some manga spoilers, but focus mostly on what's been animated.

there are a lot of in-depth analysis on Sukuna's trauma and what they could have been, so I won't speculate about it here [this post linked some that still rotate in my brain]. but what is clear is that Sukuna has severe trauma, which is what causes DID. You can't be born with multiple personalities. it's like a mirror breaking, the mind compartmentalizes in order to survive. your reflection is still yours, but the pieces reflect your face at different angles. (I hope this makes sense, I'll reply to comments / asks if anything needs to be clarified.)

I'm not an expert in this, I just have 9 years of coming to understand and work with my own, and while I'm down to answer questions about DID, for the sake of this post, let's focus on Sukuna with a bit of background knowledge.

Here’s a short little glossary of terms that will come up:

alter: the word “alter” can be controversial to them. I use the word “alter” typically to describe one that we don’t know much about, or to generalize.

Headmate: an alter with familiarity, camaraderie, one who is easier to understand and work with. “Headmate” tends to be the preferred term for themselves.

personality: a vague term that I use if I'm not sure whether the personality is an alter, or just a way of behaving.

(this is just so I have clarity when speaking about alters/headmates/personalities, this is not an official guide.)

In the end, every alter/headmate is like a roommate, just sharing the same body instead of the same apartment.

System: this includes all of someone’s alters/headmates.

Multiple: someone who has DID.

Fronting: the alter in the driver’s seat/front of the car - if they’re the one moving around, speaking to another person, going for a walk, etc, they’re the one fronting.

Co-fronting: Two or more alters/headmates are in the front. Working together on the same task, or having disagreements, trying to do different things. Just meaning that they are both in the front of the car.

I hesitated to write this, thinking that I needed to reread JJK and pay close attention to Sukuna, the expression in all his eyes, etc. and take lots of notes to be able to identify and share profiles on each alter, how many, etc. (and bc we are so often misrepresented, dramatized and demonized in stories but at this point I think Sukuna's like the most innocent jjk character so)

I’m not sure if that’s possible, and that’s part of what makes Sukuna the best representation of dissociative identity disorder in fiction.

DID is called the hidden disorder for a reason. It’s there in order to survive, and survival means to not let the disorder be noticed. Even for the person who has DID, they can be in denial about it for years despite suspecting it, and it can be a thing where some alters are aware and accepting of the condition, while others in the system are not. I get the impression of this calm, emotional awareness from Sukuna at times, but not since waking up in the modern era.

we aren't like Jekyll and Hyde, the changes can be visible but there's also a lot of masking so it's arrogant to think anyone can look at a multiple and identify who is fronting. our physical differences are largely attributed to differences in muscle tension, resting vocals, etc.

I’d also like to note the co-fronting phenomenon, which is when it isn’t just one alter who is in control, but several who are driving the car together, so to speak. Sometimes it can feel like you’re driving, or in the passenger seat, but others are climbing over the backseat and trying to mess with the controls.

and the misconception that every alter has a name and appearance - they don't always come that way. often, they already exist long before coming across some piece of art, a fictional character or a photoshoot and look at it like that's me, sometimes adopting the name as well. but until having that sort of mirror, there often isn't a visual form. alters aren't necessarily human, btw. they can be extraterrestrial or angels or, maybe in sukuna's case, a curse.

[side note: sukuna's disbelief in (or rejection of) his own humanity could be for lots of reasons, not due to an alter, but more like comorbid with DID. things like blacked out medical trauma, religious trauma, growing up queer but without being exposed to any representation or language for it - same could go for undiagnosed disability, physical or mental, not ever seeing another human who looks like him or seems relatable - these can all contribute to that. even if all Sukuna's alters are human, or never specify an identity with anything. Sukuna could also feel like a curse after being called that growing up and internalizing the sentiment - but it isn't realistic with the constant use of RCT that would exorcise a curse. it's common for autistic people to feel inhuman, like we're missing a soul or more closely aligned with robots or aliens or clones etc, and it's even projected onto us (changelings etc). every multiple that I know personally has a very visible physical disability, autism, or both (I'm sure that there are many of us out there without these, but the fact that all these elements easily apply to Sukuna is just. thrashing in my brain). so when Sukuna says "I am a curse", you could argue that it's an alter who believes themselves to be a cursed spirit, but I don't think he means it that way.]

often when you ask a multiple how many their system has, you'll hear something like “it depends on who you ask.” we don't even have all the answers. so how could anyone from the outside looking in?

recently I've learned about subsystems, which would make identifying alters in another person even harder. think of a system like a solar system with the alters as planets, but if a system has subsystems, then that's like a galaxy with its own solar systems which can switch out. that's the best way to describe it, from my understanding.

For a system to work harmoniously, or even integrate, i think the key is awareness, acceptance, and autonomy. To listen and understand the other alters/headmates, even if you don’t share their tastes, to let them have their outlets and expression. If they aren’t given the chance to work together like this, then there’s a better chance of acting out when they do front. Which will be less in control, because the thing that got them to that place was dissociation, the other alters stepping back and now they have the driver’s seat, unsupervised.

DID is different for everyone, each system and alter has their idiosyncrasies while a lot of experience can be relatable between them. In some cases, one (the host, if you'd like to use that term) can feel like a hollow shell, but assumes that whatever nearby alters’ opinions, religion, hobbies, etc. are their own - until those headmates step back, and then it’s like… you can remember spending whatever amount of time working on whatever project, but you also don’t know who did that. it's common for handwriting to change, you won't recognize your own even though you clearly wrote it, friends will say “remember when you did this?” and it doesn't even sound like something you would do. for someone who hasn't spent a lot of time becoming aware of and communicating with their alters, missing time is going to be there. when alters switch, it isn't as smooth of a transition from fronting to co-fronting, but far more dissociative. this can include depersonalization/derealization. or it can even mean watching yourself get dressed (maybe you can tell who is in control by what they put on) and go for a walk while other alters are scared and begging to turn back, but they can't control the body.

for the sake of this post, I'm not going to discuss Heian Sukuna (but if sukuna had reached integration, it would have been 1,000 years ago. integration isn't permanent) much until I've reread the manga again.

DID in JJK

episode 1

so I'll go in chronological order: we first see Sukuna acting crazy with that fish bowl effect, rambling about edgelord villain shit.

we see this same thing later in Shibuya, when Sukuna's putting on some theatrical king type character.

we can view these personalities as alters, if you'd like to. I see them as masks (which can go hand in hand, no mutually inclusive, I'm not confident with separating sukuna into identifiable alters). every time Sukuna wakes up, around strangers, that's vulnerability that he cannot cope with. which can fly someone into dissociation, unable to accept that they have been seen unconscious.

so he overcompensates for it with edgy speeches. acting unhinged or composed, it's all the same to me. DID is the hidden disorder because we adapt to survive in different environments.

overcompensating appears in even more ways in shibuya, which… I have a lot to say about.

but first, let's start with Sukuna's innate domain. this is Sukuna's safe place to go when he isn't fronting. Sukuna might be able to listen in, but prefers not to.

first time at school

and Sukuna speaking through the mouth on Yuuji's face or hand? that's just like co-fronting. it's like when one alter wants to have this conversation but doesn't know how to shut up, Yuuji tries to cover it but that doesn't work. sometimes all you can do is walk away (in this case, from Gojo).

Sukuna and Yuuji's co-fronting is always one of conflict. they could have had a symbiotic relationship (which is like DID after gaining awareness, acceptance, regular communication etc). but Yuuji never listened to Sukuna, just called him annoying to Gojo. Sukuna tried to communicate. this is like DID for someone in denial that they have it, shutting out things that are “crazy” or “not real” (assuming that Yuuji saw his body like a haunted house, because Sukuna was a “cursed object” and not a soul).

Detention Center

Sukuna and Yuuji fighting for autonomy when they share a body is also so early DID to me. they don't get along, so Sukuna can only truly front when the other is dissociating, stepping back and letting him take over.

Yuuji tries to call Sukuna out, but only to make demands and ask for help. which is… not great, and Sukuna (everything Sukuna's ever done was in a desperate attempt to claw for his own autonomy, imo) feels so uncomfortable being manipulated like this, just a puppet, a tool, toyed with and rejected.

Sukuna tries to make up for this, again with his edgelord stuff, threatening Yuuji's classmates. like, yeah i can exorcise the spirit but I'll kill people too.

Sukuna tortured and mocked the cursed spirit that had his own finger in it. this is the only time Sukuna ever tortures anything. (whether it has something to do with his self-image, I'll let go of now but it rotates in my brain.) we could argue that he's just taking his time to drag out this moment of freedom. or to feel as powerful as he can. or even to intimidate Yuuji, in case he's watching.

when Sukuna says “come on, switch back already,” that's so DID. Usually when a body is sick, no one wants to front so one of the headmates just gets stuck there. it's so funny to me bc this is practically a meme among multiples. (not evidence for Sukuna's DID, unless you feel like he's done this before).

then Sukuna goes outside and is in teacher mode. trying to understand Fushiguro's technique and train him. say what you want about brutality of it, but Todo's introduction was so much worse. it took me 5 times through jjk to forgive him for that. and every time, Sukuna just looks more harmless. not to mention that Sukuna has such RCT that he could easily heal Fushiguro. I feel like sukuna's main inherent trait is this caretaking mentor thing, but you could argue adaptability here. like, oh, here's a student without competent supervision. he needs to be taught how to survive and exorcise curses better. I can do that. it's also part of Sukuna begging to be seen.

and ripping out Yuuji's heart… that was an act of desperation. of “if you won't work together with me, then I have no other choice.” but looking at Sukuna's face there, that expression is so conflicted. he doesn't want to do that. he's in such an awful position. Sukuna could have been asking Yuuji to bring him another body, something like a cursed corpse to transfer into. we just don't know, because only Yuuji heard Sukuna's voice then. the first episode shows us they are capable of speaking internally. but Yuuji won't listen unless sukuna speaks audibly. even then he isn't listening to understand.

Sukuna was able to keep Yuuji alive enough (no pulse without a heart, but sukuna doesn't need one) from within his innate domain. Just like Yuuji not being frozen solid in Shibuya, when Sukuna was dissociating hard.

part of me keeps asking if sukuna offered Yuuji another chance at life because he was so uncomfortable in a medical setting. if that's why he disappeared for a second in shibuya, too.

last mission of season 1

when Fushiguro uses his domain for the first time, kills the curse who absorbed Sukuna's finger, and then curls up on the ground with it. we see Sukuna there, giving approval within his innate domain. why?

I think that Sukuna wants Fushiguro to have his own innate domain. that they could have been symbiotic from the start. Sukuna sees himself in Fushiguro, they both crave a lot of personal space, and Sukuna wants him to at least have that. someone without their own domain might be lost when used as a vessel - like the death painting wombs’, like Yuuji if he weren't designed to be this perfect cage.

Shibuya

so much happens here.

Yuuji is trying to rescue Gojo, who sukuna wants to fight more than anything (though maybe Yuuji doesn't recognize this is a love language to those two), but never thinks to ask Sukuna for help. Sukuna who has motivation to unseal Gojo. Sukuna who could easily heal Yuuji's liver.

Yuuji chose to take Sukuna to the grave, no deals to be considered. In the most desperate time. he's just ignoring sukuna completely (a bad sign. alters who are given no acceptance, acknowledgement, or chance of expression will find their own catharsis. they will front when no one else is. and they might be prone to lashing out. not being allowed a healthy outlet? they'll find another).

Nanako, Mimiko, Jogo

first, we get Sukuna waking up with his face being held. it doesn't matter that he'd already accepted death - this is unacceptable. how can hypervigilance live with that? I mean, look at Sukuna's face. we can often find hidden emotions behind the mask by looking at Sukuna's lower eyes. we can use this, and the way they can move independently, as more DID evidence. different alters controlling the eyes? I've heard cases irl where alters seem to reside in different parts of the body.

so sukuna puts on this theatrical appearance, all composed and “bow to me” type shit.

we can watch this mask break, his fronting alter freeze for a few seconds.

when mimiko's head explodes.

first, this is not Sukuna's CT (the explosion thing against mahoraga was a long process, this was sudden and unintentional). Sukuna has some trauma involving Kenjaku, more than just being put into the custom-made cage of Yuuji. I'm not sure what exactly it is, but “stitches in his forehead” was enough for him to know. The twins were asking Sukuna to kill Kenjaku - the one thing that he couldn't do, because of a pact (I'm assuming).

think back to when Gojo explained CE vs CT to Yuuji. those two soda cans. it struck me as weird that it never seemed to come up again, when everything in jjk seems to be on a cycle or parallel of some sort. until finally I realized. Nanako and Mimiko are the soda cans.

Mimiko was killed by Sukuna's uncontrolled cursed energy. her death was an accident. I meant to also write a post on age regression in jjk, especially on this moment and Tengen but idk if I'm the best person to do that. it just seems like there's something there, with kids not being able to control their CT and people dying because of that (inumaki toge, for example). and the many times where Sukuna's face, eyes especially, appear more childlike.

you could argue that Nanako's death was simply self-defense. I see it as overcompensating. Sukuna slipped up, Sukuna watched himself regress in front of witnesses, and he needs to appear in control. so to take back that image, Sukuna cubes Nanako. Cursed Technique.

they didn't know that the freak inside their late parent's body was such a trigger for sukuna. they just wanted sukuna to kill him - I think Sukuna wanted the same thing. oh, they make me so sad.

Sukuna entertains Jogo for a while, and remains in his edgelord era. a few of Geto's family didn't survive when he showed up and said they aren't allowed to move until he says so. not killing anyone directly, but putting on a show of power.

this is the only time I remember sukuna acting so weird, it feels out of character, even. (DID is looking back at memories you have of not being in control and getting mad at whoever was fronting for acting out of character lmfao)

Uraume

Sukuna not recognizing Uraume at first isn't necessarily DID evidence. Uraume's in a different body, Sukuna hadn't come across them since the Heian era. but speaking of Uraume. Sukuna is distant, even with them. partly because he recognizes that Uraume got the please tell me what to do anxiety, and fills the role that they need (another DID trait is filling whatever role you need to in whatever context).

But Uraume didn't know sukuna had a twin (or maybe sukuna felt like it was obvious, considering they met when he had two faces and four arms). it's around this time when we find out Sukuna doesn't seem to remember his childhood. Just guesses that maybe his mother was starving. that he must have been a creepy kid.

there's also the way that he doesn't seem to remember his own death, despite it being from self-mummification which is a lengthy process, and not an impulsive decision.

I have to wonder if Sukuna died integrated. at least, the first time that I reached integration was when I was doing Buddhist meditations, breathing techniques, etc. several times a day every day. studying that was really helpful, life-changing even. and after abandoning integration, it mostly feels like a forgotten past life.

Mahoraga

Sukuna pointing his hand like a gun at the camera to see himself like that on the screens?? he was trying to comfort himself (maybe be recorded, too, but I think it was really just to feel better, to see himself weild power).

THE SWITCH after defeating Mahoraga, it's like that entity of Sukuna stepped back. Yuuji appears for a second (no tattoos, tired numb looking face, not present, in both manga and anime so it isn’t just someone forgor), but he isn't ready to front, and Sukuna's time in control (from eating so many fingers at once) isn't up yet.

Then Sukuna is back, taking Fushiguro to Shoko, and killing Haruta, and telling Yuuji to savor this feeling (which imo was sincere. Sukuna had the time of his life. Mahoraga saw him so small in comparison. The feeling Sukuna was talking about was not hurting people - this only happened on accident. Mahoraga threw sukuna into a train, and the train into a building. and then came after him, so rly, mahoraga's fault you know?

Sukuna dissociating at the thought of taking Fushiguro to medical attention…?

Mahito (junpei flashback)

at first, they seemed to get along, right?...not really. Sukuna was laughing at Yuuji, whose orders he was sick of, before Mahito joined in. suddenly making demands was the only interaction that kid ever offered him.

Sukuna wasn't paying attention to anything until being called up like that. it didn't take long for him to feel disturbed by Mahito [if you want your skin to crawl, Mahito analysis is here]

the laugh sukuna had was an obnoxious hollow mask. maybe I'm projecting (that's what this whole post is, isn't it?) but it reminds me of the first alter I gained awareness (and 10 years of denial over DID despite that) of. they would come out at school, some class clown type despite the way (without them fronting) my face would turn red at the thought of being perceived. I would often know that I was missing time while joking. I'd be standing next to my mother, face feeling weird from smiling, and no memory of what I said. Just find myself there, not knowing what to do, so I would just leave the room.

that's what I see in sukuna's laugh with Mahito. even before then, the facial expression etc. is all such a mask.

and Sukuna disappeared quickly and quietly. retreated back to his innate domain. took no interest in Mahito (who I think of all people, Sukuna might be most disturbed by).

the first few times through jjk, I didn't expect sukuna to have depth of character, because he seemed to be so random and impossible to pin down. like he really didn't get to be a character. which all makes sense now.

Mahito in Shibuya

Sukuna mostly dissociates in their innate domain, but undeniably was aware of Mahito after the 0.2 second domain expansion.

If sukuna were such a prideful, arrogant, selfish prick, they might have stolen the show, obliterated Mahito easily to piss Yuuji off. Sukuna had already killed Jogo, who Kenjaku wanted to absorb, so while there's a chance that Mahito was explicitly off-limits, it isn't what I'm thinking.

Every time I see sukuna faced with Mahito, I see age regression. Look at those eyes. They're drawn bigger, more child-like, even glassy, which we only see when Mahito touches sukuna (manga and anime, both times).

Mahito certainly found the time to talk to Sukuna then, but there was no reply. Just this nonverbal stare.

Sukuna didn't appear for the rest of the Shibuya arc. Not when Kenjaku said “are you listening, Sukuna? Heian era. I said your favorite word. Jingle jingle” (ok so im paraphrasing but Kenjaku rly is such an abusive parent like, be so grateful I'm creating the golden age of jujutsu for you, even tho that time was hell for you and I brought u back to life in a cage :) Uraume was there defending Sukuna, and there wasn't even the opening of an eye or the appearance of an extra mouth. just absence.

even more evidence?

Sukuna seems to be inspired by Lucy from Elfen Lied. iirc she only has 2 alters (which is common in fiction, easier to show, I don't know any irl cases like that but still like it tbh). the baby diclonius look just like Yuuji, same hair and color. same technique, I at this point suspect sukuna has medical trauma also (kenjaku's Meiji era experiments, the way Kaori's pregnancy was carried - how was Yuuji born with a sealed finger in him?? and the way Kenjaku felt seen by Yuki's concept for the culling games, forcing people to adapt, and Sukuna's constantly running RCT even feels a bit suspicious. maybe too much of a reach, idk).

anyway the last time I watched elfen lied I noticed this in the first episode. JJK reference? the worm cut in half and Mahito's snail head?? I lost it. Gege I see what you've done and ily.