#rooted in your love fic

[jossambird]

Rooted in your love - P7: Forlorn Hope

Cardinal Copia x F!Reader - Primo x F!Reader, Secondo x F!Reader, Terzo x F!Reader

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Mature. Hanahaki Disease and all that comes with that (choking, being sick, acceptance of death, etc), Eventual Smut, Eventual 18+ acts, Angst, Unrequited Love.

Fic Summary: You couldn't pinpoint when exactly you had fallen in love with the newly arrived Cardinal, but one was certain: you had Hanahaki disease.

Chapter summary: As Primo and Secondo reflect on the events of the day, Copia decides to seek you out, only to be confronted by the one appointed to guard you. Terzo soaks in your radiance.

A03 link, to read all previous chapters and chapter 7! (Or masterlist on profile!)

Song Inspiration for Rooted In Your Love 💕

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Primo sighed heavily from where he sat, eyes roaming over every single item you had ever given him as his mind continued to run itself in circles. Full glad was he of your awakening, yes, heart already feeling lighter after seeing your beautiful smile aimed at him so easily after waking… yet an uneasy feeling settled within his bones, gnawing at his senses.

Something in your eyes had seemed… off. Never had he seen such a look in your eyes, your normally mesmerizing gaze appearing… well, almost as if you had experienced something whilst deeply asleep, something that, even now, lingered over your conscious shoulder like a specter, ready to strike. He knew not if you had dreamt during the time you slumbered in his bed, or if total darkness of the mind had been the only thing you had experienced, but something more than your current state had caused that look in your eyes. How true the saying was, that the eyes were the windows to one’s soul.

The retired Papa Emeritus I leaned back in his armchair, ungloved hands flexing at the memory of your visage as you’d spoken of going to fetch Secondo; you mustn’t have known how anxious you had outwardly appeared, your expression reminding him of what a child who feared being seen looked like-

“Perhaps you were always destined to fail, son of Emeritus…” A voice whispered against the shell of his ear, the sound almost resembling that of wind passing through a graveyard, bringing with it the lingering feeling of dread and despair.

“Fail as a Papa…”

Primo dared not open his eyes, for he knew what an entity such as this sought.

“Fail as a friend…”

It sought to drive him mad, drive him to insanity.

“Fail as…”

It sought to dig its taloned nails into his clavicle-

“… her caretaker…”

It laughed lowly, a guttural sound that came from deep within the chasm of its body, or whatever was left of it, Primo surmised by the lack of sound as it moved to his other ear.

“Your father always thought the Emeritus Eye was a blessing…” It continued, louder this time, closer to his ear as its decayed fingers carded through his blond hair before tugging harshly, causing Primo to inhale sharply as his head hit the back of his armchair, attempting to trick the Papa into opening his eyes.

“He never once considered that it would become a curs-“

Primo awoke suddenly with a gasp, dissimilar eyes shooting open whilst his head shot forward, surveying the area surrounding him for too long of a moment before finally allowing himself to sigh. A dream, it had only been a dream.

What a crock of shit it was, to become old. Why had his body chosen now, of all times, to fall asleep? Furthermore, how long had he been asleep for?

A quick glance at the clock informed him it had only been 11 minutes since you had departed to fetch Secondo… surely you must have made your way to his side already, unless you had-

The eldest Emeritus son stood hurriedly at the thought, groaning moments after as his back protested such a quick movement while running on so little sleep.

He knew not what had shaken you so during your slumber but back pain and ghosts be damned, he would find out what it was.

_________________

Secondo soundlessly stood in the kitchens, shoulders sagged as he continued to warm up the supper he had quickly made for both he and Primo.

He was loath to admit it, but his elder brother had been right: no matter how much time he spent at your side, nothing would come of it were he to let himself waste away.

How was he to protect and help you if he were not healthy himself? He sighed once again, slight irritation prickling at his skin as he continued to stir the pasta he had made, mismatched eyes focused on the task at hand-

A sudden movement to his right caused the man to hiss in annoyance, sneering as he turned to see what, or who, had disturbed him.

There, standing frozen like a metal pole in the cold, stood the Sister of Sin he had fucked all those days ago, staring at him with wide eyes.

Briefly, for a mere second, Secondo mulled over the idea of speaking to the Sister, albeit having no real desire to. It was his role as a Papa however, to see to his flock’s concerns, no matter how unwilling he may feel about it. Sure he was known to be rough, serious, even, but there was one thing he was not: he, Papa Emeritus II, was not a bad Papa. No, he was not his Father.

However, displeasure still roiled inside the man at the thought of potentially having to listen to her beg him to fuck her again, something that would never happen ever agai-

The Sister turned and ran, the sound of her footsteps loud as she retreated to who-knows-where. Had it been tears he had seen in her eyes? Had the woman truly begun to cry at the mere sight of him? A scoff exited from between his lips at the Sister’s actions.

The retired Papa wondered if jealously coursed through her veins at the rumors of you being his Prime Mover.

Well… Of course she’d be jealous, it had been your name that he had accidentally gasped out while cumming all over her backside.

How could he not have said it, when it had only been you he had thought about during the whole thing, crying out his name as he made love to you, venerated you like a Deity fallen to Earth?

How could he have not have said your name, when it was the only name he wished to speak until his dying breath?

But most of all: how could he not have whispered it out, when your visage, illuminated by the sunsets light, was (and still is) the only thing that he saw when he closed his eyes?

It was only seconds later did a second hiss escape the man, unceremoniously pulled out of his mind, this time due to the acrid smell of burnt pasta flooding his nostrils.

If any living being within the Abbey had heard Papa Emeritus II cursing heavily in Italian about pasta or the sound of a pot being thrown across the kitchen, they knew to forget of the incident immediately.

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Dreams were an ephemeral thing; in the blink of an eye, they would be gone. Mere images and scenarios conjured by the mind, yet at the same time, deep realms of misunderstood knowledge that only few knew how to navigate. Copia was not one of those people. Once sleep found him, nothing could save him from the dreams or nightmares that would haunt and taunt him with things he couldn’t have. Namely, those ‘things’ were you.

Now fully awake for no apparent reason, Copia sighed in frustration, staring at his ceiling, as if it would reveal to him secrets unimaginable to man on how to fall asleep again… or how to win the Sibling of Sin of your dreams, who seems to be followed constantly by two of your ‘bosses’.

Tonight he’d dreamt of something new, something he had never dreamt about- well, partly never dreamt about. You he had dreamt about a thousand if not a million of times, sure. The area in which his dream had taken place? Never had he dreamt of you in such a setting.

There you had sat, hand playing against his clothed thigh, the eerie atmosphere of the mausoleum in which the two of you sat felt.. stifling, as if you both sat in a crowded room. He could no longer remember if he had gazed upon your beautiful visage or if he had simply stared at your hand, inching dangerously close up his thigh. You hadn’t spoken and neither had he, yet the silence between the two of you felt loud, the sound of your thoughts practically deafening. It had only been once he thought of how hard his cock had become that the dream had begun to fade. Oh how he craved to know if you had ever felt even an inkling of what he felt for you for him.

How many times had he awoken during long nights to find his cock painfully hard, fingers already moving to relieve himself of said pressure? How many nights had he laid there in his bed, eyes shut as he imagined it to be you instead touching him, jerking him off into oblivion, hushed words of love spoken against his ear? The thought always made him flush, to imagine you between his legs. Oh how beautiful you would look, eyes watching him as you got him closer and closer towards the edge. He wondered how long it would take for the sound of your moans to fill his room, should it be him between your thighs.

He would always keen your name while half-mindedly wondering if the Ghouls could hear him through his chamber’s walls, whispering your name like a God whispered to its creations, love overflowing. Could they hear how desperate he became with each second that went by, hands working his cock faster and faster, imagining the way you would bounce in his lap, pushing him down into his sheets as you took your pleasure from his body? Would you allow him to flip the both of you over, pounding into your heated core as words of veneration and love spilt from his lips?

Copia forced his legs to swing over the side of his bed, heart pounding as he tried to think of anything other than the image of you under him, calling his name. No, such thoughts would remain in his bed; for now, he was on a mission.

A mission to see you.

—————————

The Ghoul known as Phil already knew of the man’s state before seeing him; he could practically smell the desperation and worry wafting off the Cardinal as he approached the corridor leading to Papa Emeritus I’s chambers, which he stood guard of.

It was almost ridiculous the number of times he had caught the man lingering near the corridor leading to Primo’s chambers, always visibly attempting to psych himself up before abandoning whatever endeavor he’d set himself on entirely, returning to his own chambers like a kicked little puppy. The pungent scents of shame and humiliation would cling to the man for hours after, irritating the Ghoul’s nose and senses.

He of course wasn’t a fool; he knew why the Cardinal roamed the halls leading to Primo’s doors. His nose had already told him as much, not to mention the lovesick expression he perpetually seemed to wear everyday; It was practically imprinted in the Ghoul’s mind.

Phil decided to cut the human some slack, for once, calling out to man down the hallway.

“Trouble sleeping again, Cardinal?”

The sound exiting from down the darkened hallway scared the Cardinal out of his skin; he had thought himself alone to be awake at this godforsaken hour. Of course the Special Ghoul would still be at his post, guarding Papa Emeritus I’s doors like a hawk, ready to lash out and kill if need be.

“Y-Yes, eh, trouble sleeping-“ Copia tried as he approached the demon from Hell itself, words immediately dying within his throat as the Ghoul spoke over him, his tone amused but serious.

“Am I correct in assuming that it is not by happenstance that you find yourself once more outside of Papa Emeritus I’s doors?” Ominous were the green eyes that gleamed within the dark, practically unblinking, waiting for an answer. The thought of lying to the Ghoul once more quickly came to the Cardinal’s mind, however… lying would not get him an audience with Primo, let alone.. an audience with you.

“No.. I…” Copia attempted to try and find the right words to express his burning need to see you, heart beating heavily against his chest. Would the Ghoul even tell him if your situation had gotten worse? Sure he had spoken to the Ghoul in the past and had friendly(-ish) rapports with him, but who was he himself to you, except for a strange stranger?

A silent moment went by, the Ghoul’s stare continuous and as deep as before, equally silent as he awaited for the man before him to speak. The Cardinal squared his shoulders, despite the dreadful feeling of raw desperation ravaging at his insides, and spoke.

“No, it is not. May I know if Sorel- if Papa Emeritus II’s Prime Mover has awoken?”

Phil paused at Copia’s words, tail slowly beginning to swish behind him in mild annoyance.

He found the man’s words strange; when had you no longer become deserving of your very name, instead simply called by your (rumored) newfound role? The Ghoul doubted it to be out of malice; he could smell the man’s fear, his hesitation, the raw nervousness that rolled off of his skin. It smelt sour, nearly strong enough for the Demon to lean away from the Cardinal, unwilling to be subjected to the scents of his emotional rollercoaster. But even if not spoken with malicious intent, the aloof Cardinal’s words still aggravated him.

“Sorella Y/N has left Papa Emeritus I’s chambers.”

Silence.

Copia blinked absentmindedly, wondering if he had heard the Ghoul correctly. You had left? You were no longer asleep? When had you-

“L-left- Where is- Sh-“ Try as he might to speak, Copia found his throat constricting closed, brain unable to process the information that not only had you awoken from whatever it was that had plagued you, but that you had awoken AND had already left the protected sanctuary that was Primo’s roo-

Eyes wide, Copia glanced at the imposing doors behind the Ghoul’s back, wanting to burst in and demand answers from the Papa who had been at your side this whole time… who was still supposed to be at your side, right?

“Where is Papa Emeritus I? Where is Primo?”

It was now Phil’s turn to blink, lips pursing behind his mask, unwilling to answer the man. He knew what the Cardinal would do if he told him that Papa Emeritus I had just left in search of you, and if he were right about the scent he had picked up emanating from your body the day you had fallen unconscious, perhaps allowing the Cardinal to do whatever he liked could lead to your demise.

“Both Papa Emeritus I and Sorella Y/N have gone out into Papa’s gardens on the South side of the Ministry, for some fresh air.” Phil easily lied, watching as the man’s mismatched eyes widened, the sound of his heart beginning to beat erratically against his chest, almost as if practically threatening to burst out. For a moment, a brief, sliver of a moment, Phil the Special Ghoul wondered if he had been right in lying to the Cardinal.

As he watched the human man begin to hastily walk away after speaking a quick ‘grazie’, he wondered if perhaps he had just wrongfully redirected the only things that could save you from the bloody flowers that grew within your lungs.

“Cardinal! One moment, if you please.”

“Sì?” Copia stopped and turned, politely waiting as the Ghoul attempted to find the right words without letting on WHY he was asking.

“Are you familiar with flowers in the Narcissus family? Such as daffodils and jonquils?” Phil found himself asking, mind entirely blank as the very words left from between his unglamored gray lips.

Had he just asked that-

Once more did the Ghoul’s tail begin to move from where it had laid on the floor, however, this time, in agitation of his own actions. He shouldn’t have asked that.

Suddenly, the Special Ghoul found himself wondering who would torture him first between Papa Emeritus I or Papa Emeritus II, for having possibly just hinted at your condition to another being, even after they had both explicitly made him vow to keep it a secret-

“Daffodils and jonquils?” Copia repeated, confused at the Ghoul’s bizarre words.

“I am familiar with them, yes, though I am unsure if I would be able to distinguish them both.” A slight confused smile graced Copia’s lips as he tried to ponder on the meaning of the demon’s words.

Sweat began to bead along the Ghoul’s forehead; here Copia had simply been, worried and seeking to speak with you, while he- Phil breathed in, eyes slightly widening at the thought. Oh, perfect.

“I see. I.. simply thought it wise to warn you that if you were to pluck such flowers out of Papa Emeritus I’s gardens for a quick… bouquet, I believe Sorella Y/N would be most unhappy as they are.. not her favored flowers.” He easily lied with the emotion necessary, bowing his head in feigned embarrassment. The sweat rolling down his temple felt cold, just like his blood would surely feel should either Papas find out of his slip-up.

Copia’s visage lit up like a sky filled with fireworks, eyes sparkling as he shot forward to touch the Ghoul’s shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Grazie mille, Special Ghoul! Truly, grazie!”

The Cardinal departed hurriedly, almost appearing like he wanted to run to your ‘whereabouts’ but was attempting to remain calm. As soon as his figure disappeared once more around the corner he had come from, the Special Ghoul known as Phil turned, silently cracking open the door to Papa Emeritus I’s chambers.

There it was again, the inexplicably heavy fragrance of Daffodils and Jonquils.

But also, the scent of…

Phil sniffed the air again, luminous green eyes unseeing as his mind attempted to place just where he had become familiar with such a sme-

Suddenly, the Special Ghoul understood as his mind placed where he had smelt such a scent, the hand that lay against the doorknob tightening momentarily before falling away. Oh, how cruel.

Phil knew that soon, nothing of you would remain but the memory of your name.

Yes, your name deserved to be remembered.

—————————

“Terzo.” You silently whispered into the space between the both of you, mind forgetting just how intimate of a position you would appear to be in, should anyone possibly pass by and see the two of you. The only response you received from the man was a brief hum, enough of a sound to let you know he had heard you and was listening, forehead still pressed to your own as the both of you swayed to a song none of you could hear.

“Why is it that you kissed me?”

Even with his eyes closed, the raven-haired Papa knew that your smile radiated warmth and kindness as you awaited his answer, with a patience he felt he did not deserve. It almost felt like an omen, that someone like you would be dealt such a curse, that the very love you felt for someome within the Abbey corroded your body from the inside out, a vicious poison that sought to destroy you, it’s kind and beautiful vessel. Oh, how he wished for his kiss to have worked.

As your words sunk into Terzo’s very marrow, he found himself unable to fully look at you yet. Unwilling, perhaps, was the better word for how he felt; if he were to gaze at you now, would this very moment be the last he ever remembered of you? Of your solemnly beautiful eyes staring back at him, so full of life and emotions and warmth, yet fading as snow faded under the sun’s heat? Or would his mind instead remember the way you clutched at him as you both danced, your body visibly beginning to tire itself out? He tightened his hold around your waist, bringing you closer as his other hand remained in your grasp, supporting more of your weight without causing you to shy away from his hold.

He briefly contemplated lying to you. Well, half-of-a-second briefly, but a half of a second nonetheless. You didn’t deserve that, however, no matter how long he contemplated it. You deserved better. You deserved truth.

“I hoped that… that my kiss would work, that it would heal... Eh, sense my…” He tried, forehead withdrawing from your own as the warm hand clasped against yours moved from your hold, gesturing wildly into the air in an attempt to find his words. A smile once more graced your lips, watching as the Papa abandoned his search, sighing.

“Sense your what, Terzo?” You asked, allowing his hand to return to its previous place against your own. Grateful were you of his perceptiveness, leaning into his hold as your body began to ache, tiredness overcoming you. Of course it did; you’d just slept 3 days and had not yet eaten, water being the only thing that had entered your body.

“Fear.” He suddenly whispered, eyebrows furrowing as if surprised by his own words. He cleared his throat, continuing to sway you left and right.

“My fears, and my hope… to heal you. This sickness, it is smart, no?”

You almost didn’t even register the Papa’s attempt at humor as your mind focused instead on WHAT he’d said.

Terzo, Papa Emeritus III, current leader of the Satanic church you had devoted yourself to, had wanted to save you. He had kissed you in hopes that the sickness that inhabited your very body would sense his desperation and fears, and disappear.

Tears began forming once more as you regarded the man practically pressed up against you, holding more and more of your weight as time went on; he wanted to help you continue to dance along with him, help you remain standing, help you to relax.

“Terzo-“ You choked out, watching silently as realization colored his handsome features before immediately being replaced by panic.

“Basta piangere, va bene Bella? No more crying, sì?” Terzo hurriedly spoke, squeezing both your hand and your waist, as if to accentuate the words he’d spoken. He found he could not stand to see you tear up, to see the pain within your eyes where joy should instead be. Moonlight that slithered in from the tall glass panes above bathed you in a beautiful light, your tears dazzling like fallen stars, almost as if you were about to be called to your- Terzo stopped his thought, unwilling to finish it.

“Come, la mia stella, allow me to heat you up, you’re freezing!”

“It’s almost as if Im lacking a heart beat.” You expressed with a chuckle, intending your comment to be taken with sarcasm, but so too did your comment fall flat, just as Terzo’s had before. Faintly, in the back of your mind, you registered the fact that you did not recognize the nickname he had just uttered.

“That is far from the truth.” Silence once more clung to the both of you as you now stood immobile together, hands still linked together in the air. Terzo regarded you with a sad smile before seeming to flip on himself, grinning like a man about to make the crudest joke ever known to mankind. You knew that smile; it had been the very one he had had whilst asking you so confidently if you were Papa Secondo’s Prime Mover. Now, however, even as he perfectly replicated the smile he had worn four days ago, it was his eyes that betrayed him, betrayed the visage he attempted the keep in place for either your sake, or his own.

“You say you are lacking of a heart beat, but all I see is a hot-“

Papa Emeritus III’s mouth shut instantly as he truly took in the sight of you; before, when seated beside you on the pew, he had not realized what exactly you had been wearing, too immersed in apologizing to you and the revelation of your sickness to notice. But now, as he looked you up and down, the joke about your hot body he had intended on regalling you with dying on his tongue, Terzo blurted out the only thing that flashed within his mind like a giant neon sign.

“Are those Primo’s favorite sleep pants?”

Heat irrupted across your entire body at the Papa’s words whilst you also looked down at yourself, remembering that you were infact wearing Primo’s sleep pants, given to you by the man himself to wear since it was chilly within the Abbey’s walls at night. That they were his favorite, however, was new information.

The normally flamboyant man before you recovered far more quickly then you did, grinning widely as the arm around your waist pulled you in once more, your pelvis practically molded onto his own. The Papa seemed not to notice as he continued on what he had intended on saying.

“Mio fratello’s pants look far more appealing on you, stellina! Perhaps is it because of the lack of cock-“

He’d barely finished his phrase before you groaned out, face scrunching up in embarrassment as you attempted to lean forward, wanting to hide your burning face onto his chest.

Satan, you’d been so distracted by the thought of wearing Primo’s bathrobe that you hadn’t fully realized these WERE a pair of his sleep pants.

“Were you the one that chose those pants, stellina, or did Primo give those to you?” Terzo asked, a smile ever present upon his lips as he continued to sway your body left and right. You failed to notice, however, the sadness that had begun to overtake his visage once more. Dissimilar eyes remained glued to your expression as he remembered a long forgotten promise, words Primo had told him ages ago, when both Secondo and he were but children, seeking out their father figure’s attention before bed.

“Primo, why do you not have a Prime Mover?”

The slap Secondo had hit him on the arm with burned, a hiss exiting his angered brother as a young Terzo regarded him with pain, tears beginning to form within his mismatched eyes.

“Idiot! Do not ask such things!”

Primo, sage and patient far beyond his age, frowned lightly, moving to kneel between his little brothers beds. He reached out, taking hold of Terzo’s little arm, thumb rubbing softly against the red skin that began to form there, attempting to sooth his pain.

“Ah, fratellino, do not be so mean to your brother. He does not understand yet what it means.”

The young Secondo looked down, the air of a scolded child emanating from his little form. Terzo, although only a few months younger than Secondo, turned to his brother, hand outstretched for his brother to hold.

“See, Secondo? Your brother loves you, and only wishes to understand. Now, what do we do when we’ve hurt someone we love?” No matter how much Secondo pretended to be a bitter little child, Primo knew him, knew them both. Too many times had he seen the middle Emeritus son defend their little brother when Nihil lost his temper, unable to watch as their father yelled at Terzo like he wasn’t his own son.

“Sorry…” Secondo whispered, a trait he had taken up when he did not trust his voice, hand moving to hold Terzo’s little hand back.

“There we go. As it should be. Now it is time for bed-“

“But Primo! I still don’t understand why!” Terzo piped up again, eyes wide with confusion as his raven colored eyebrows furrowed, unable to grasp why his eldest brother did not have a wife or a husband or a partner. Secondo grunted out in annoyance, instantly letting go of his brother’s hand. Primo chuckled at the boy’s pettiness, knowing he would grow to become a serious man with little to no patience for the whirlwind Terzo would become.

“Sometimes, having a Prime Mover does not mean you are in love with them, Terzo.” Primo softly spoke, watching as both boys regarded him in confusion. “I have not accepted to have a Prime Mover because I have not fallen in love yet, frattelino. I have not found them, my intended that I hope will become my Prime Mover.”

“When you do find them, how will we know?” Terzo countered, one eyebrow raised as he attempted to understand something.

“An announcement will be made to alllll the people of the Mini-“

“Yes we know that, Primo! That’s not what I meant!” The youngest of the three let out, groaning and whining with a frown as his little feet kicked under his blanket. A petulant child, that’s what he had been at the time, but child nonetheless. A child that wished to understand why his brother spent his nights and days alone while Siblings and Ghouls alike spent their nights together having sleepovers.

“Then think on what you meant to say, Terzo, and try again.” The patience and love in Primo’s tone caused the youngest of the three to nod, taking the task at heart.

Silence surrounded the three brothers before Terzo piped up once more, finally decisive on how to phrase what he truly had meant to ask.

“How will Secondo and I know who you have chosen? Who you have fallen in love with?”

The middle Emeritus son remained quiet as Terzo spoke once more, but his eyes revealed to the Eldest just how in agreement he was with his brother’s words. A rare sight.

“Hm, a smart question indeed…” Primo pondered on the child’s words, mind racing to give them both a satisfactory enough answer for them to finally lay down and sleep for the night.

“How about this: When I will have fallen in love with someone, I will gift them these pants that you both have given to me, and I will ask my love to wear them for all to see. Only you two will know of its significance. How’s that?” Primo tried, hand gesturing to the silken sleep pants he currently wore. There, an easy answer. Now they would surely go to slee-

“That’s stupid. What if you give them to someone to sleep with by accident, or they get stolen?” Secondo grumbled from his little bed, arms crossed over his blanket, dark eyebrows furrowed in doubt. Terzo nodded furiously, lips about to part to surely protest which would further lead to their bedtime being pushed.

“Ah! Would I be so careless as to give my favorite sleep pants to someone I did not love, or allow them to be stolen from under my big nose?”

Unbeknownst to Primo, years into the future, Terzo would remember the words he had whispered to them, a secret shared only between the three of them.

“Oh! Papa Primo gave them to me to wear, seeing how chilly it is here during the night.” You answered, your very words further proven right by the shiver that racked your body.

Hanahaki Disease was a disease caused by unrequited love, was it not? Terzo racked his mind as he attempted to understand how you had come to be in possession of the very pants Primo had told him he would give the person he loved, yet you were still sick. If you loved his brother just as much as he imagined Primo loved you, Terzo doubted that Primo would allow you to suffer like this. That would mean that the person you were in love with was not his brother.

“My fratello is quite knowledgeable, is he not? Perhaps he knows-“ For what felt like the umpteenth, Papa Emeritus III stopped speaking, eyes unseeing as his mind blazed to life, synapses firing as he attempted to understand his own thoughts. Knows. Knows. Did Primo know who you loved, who your heart hammered so furiously for? Was it possible that you had developed Hanahaki Disease because of your perception of someone’s feelings, and not factually about how they felt? Did you perhaps love Primo just as much as he loved you, but were unaware of the man’s feelings, perhaps believing him not capable of falling in love with you?

“Stella mia, your disease, it is a disease of unrequited love, sì? It has to be unrequited for you to be sick?” The third Emeritus son asked hurriedly, voice ringing loudly against the chapel’s walls whilst he tried to get his words out as quickly as possible.

“Shhh! Yes-“ You had barely begun to whisper before the Papa pressed against you stepped back, dragging you along with him, seeming resolute in leaving the chapel to instead go-

“We are going to go confess to the person you love right now!” He exclaimed, a desperately shaky grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows creased at his words before a frown overtook your visage, heart breaking at the tentative hopefulness coloring his features.

“Papa- Terzo, he doesn’t-“ You tried again, words falling short as he spoke over you.

“Oh, it is a he! He would be a fool to turn you down, bella!” Terzo proclaimed with even more enthusiasm, pulling you along with him as he began walking-

“Terzo-“

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#Imposter Syndrome really made me take a 5 month break huh 🙃 #jossambird fic #rooted in your love fic #tw hanahaki disease #hanahaki disease #hanahaki #tw hanahaki #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #papa primo #papa secondo #papa terzo #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus ii #primo x reader #secondo x reader #terzo x reader

[mamoonde]

i really really really love the idea of wei wuxian revolutionizing modern cultivation over breakfast and conceptualizing these different theories simultaneously because the adhd brain has no brakes and the only reason it took him a decade to publish all these ideas was because he could not stick to a single train of thought long enough to finish (verbalizing) it, let alone put it down on paper coherently.

the only reason he even got to publishing them eventually (and enrolling to cultivation theory grad program to get on that track) was because one morning, his undergrad thesis advisor, lan qiren, finally got fed up and sat him down for an early morning progress check-in because it was midterm season and wei wuxian still hadn't decided on a topic.

wei wuxian, fueled by an unhealthy amount of redbull and three all-nighters, finally word vomits all his 'convoluted' ideas which he'd thought were uselessly obvious and redundant (because he's gone over these like a bajillion times, it's very plain-as-day to him, so he probably just hasn't read the articles that say these exact things).

lan qiren, teacup frozen halfway to his mouth: ...first of all, i only understood half of how you got to these conclusions, which only means they are indeed too convoluted and will need to be pared down; secondly: you have never mentioned any of these ideas before. why.

wei wuxian: oh. haven't i? oh well, i just thought, xyz, because, obviously, abcde. which is really what the 2 centuries old law on ghjkl was alluding to, right? and so, logically, xyz.

lan qiren: [mind blown, screaming, good gods this is the same child who's always tardy and spent freshman year pulling on the metaphorical pigtails of my straight-laced nephew?!?!??!??!?!] ..again, why...how have you never even spoken or submitted these ideas?

wei wuxian: because!!! they're so obvious!! surely, it's been published somewhere already? i can't be the only one to connect these dots, surely??

lan qiren: incredibly, you are. no one else has even thought to question tradition nor pursued more thoughts on the law of ghjkl, with half as much...sound arguments as you seem to have. in the past century, the focus of modern cultivation has tended towards practical uses and tools, some fine-tuning, perhaps. not entirely new theories.

wei wuxian: huh....

lan qiren, sighing, feeling a migraine: your problem with your thesis is not a lack of focus or ingenuity, but likely to be more a lack of recent, evidentiary sources. you will need to become very familiar with the university archives and dig deep for sources that will back up every argument you make.

he jots down notes on a paper. "you will also need to strictly adhere to the structure and methodology of these articles, especially given how radical your thesis will be. if you are diligent enough, you may just be able to submit your thesis without too much of a delay." he slides the list of materials to a gaping wei wuxian. "depending on your output then, we can discuss the possibility of submitting this for peer review."

"peer review." wei wuxian repeats. "as in, that thing where some uppity committee of old coots put their stamp of approval for it to become the reading materials of undergrads like me. you're joking."

lan qiren chooses to ignore the sentiment about peer review committees being uppity old coots, especially considering how he can't completely deny it on account of some of his colleagues, but also as a member said peer review committee, he isn't exactly pleased about being lumped in the same category.

wei wuxian backtracks at his unamused look. "right, you're not joking, of course you're not." he slowly inches the list towards himself. "right, yes, i guess i'll uh, get to it then. ok bye."

----

idk, just, waves hand at wei wuxian candidly explaining new modern cultivation theories over cheerios at 2 in the afternoon to lwj who's trying to help him structure his grad thesis, getting mind blow dick hard at how this messy genius who's talking with his mouth full of half eaten cereal is the object of his affection....

wwx: --oh, oops, your highlighter fell

lwj: mn

wwx: ...aren't you gonna get that?

lwj: it's fine; i'll pick it up later. finish your thought.

wwx: right... i'll pick it up for you!

lwj, fighting for his life, trying to think unsexy thoughts: NO! sit. finish your meal, and then your thought.

#big brain wei wuxian #wei wuxian #genius wwx #in an interview for modern cultivation magazine he's asked: how do you do it? #wwx: adhd! #also a dedicated partner who tolerates your midnight rambling about spiritual energy and entertains your endless what ifs scenarios #bonus points if your partner is lwj who has amazing notetaking skills and a phd in decoding wei wuxian notes #wangxian #mdzs #modern cultivation au #also i love a supportive mentor lqr dont you #a mellowed out lqr who has a little more tolerance for radical ways of thought as long as theyre rooted in morality and good will #mamoonde short fics

[consultingpacha]

Dís as she appears at the Roots for a Mountain fic in one of her fancy attires 💅🏽✨

Yet another sad case of If hot, why not in the movies? Tsk tsk. Cowards. Give us some decently bearded dwarrowdams *shakes fist to amazon and PJ*

#Roots for a Mountain #bagginshield fic #Dís #tolkien #the hobbit #fanart #my art #sketch #the mightiest beard of all the Durins #also the scariest of them #Thorin will break your bones but she will make you wish you were dead #I love her a lot #justice for the durin brothers

[oranpo]

Unrequited Anguish Lose hanahaki inspired piece that came to be after I binged read @jossambird "Rooted In Your Love" . This piece does not follow any key moments from the fic, but Secondo's worry and anguish during this story (chef's kiss) I HAD to draw something for it. Please support Jossambird's beautiful works, i cannot recommend them enough😩! Especially if you are a Secondo stan And I hope to draw another fanart to make justice to your fic, it's one of my faves rn hfoshs

#Ghost #Ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #the band ghost bc #ghost fanart #ghost bc fanart #the band ghost fanart #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus secondo #secondo #secondo emeritus #hey hey secondhoes pspspspsps #come get your food #he's my fave and for some reason i enjoy drawing him suffering what does that say about me #anyways JOSSAMBIRD: YOUR FIC #i know i've sent you endless messages DMs kudos and AO3 comments talking about how much I adore how you write Secondo #Legit you take my breath away with every single word you write 😭💚💚 #the way Rooted In Your Love has such a chokehold on me.. you can't even imagine #AND BLANKETED IN YOUR LOVE AHHHHHH (LOSES MY MIND) #it makes me very happy that a lot of people are following your work cause you honestly deserve it!!!! #the way YOU WRITE #I really find it fun sharing dumb little headcanons about Secondo with you... 🥺 I really can't wait to see what you will post next ;;!!! #I hope one day I can sit down and properly make fanart for the actual events #but for now we ball (we ball: I cry over imagining Secondo suffering with hanahaki sobbu) #i will post close ups later on! #oranpo art

[bug-decal-kissing]

Hey! sorry to bother you, but I lost a fic I read a while ago and I can't find it anywhere...

basically prismo has the crazy ex who I think is called chronosa, and she's the dimension traveling ice wizard, and she kidnaps prismo in a containment cube and scarab tries to save him.

I haven't seen you take any asks like this before, but I thought I'd ask for your expertise. thank you for compiling so much stuff <3<3

Heyo!

YES I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR >:]<

That would be Seraphyllic by DrakianDH !! It is completed with 21/21 Chapters (Chrosonia first appears in Chapter 16). It does have warnings for Major Character Death and Graphic Depictions Of Violence and so so much delicious angst, but it's hurt/comfort so my heart is not completely shattered into pieces/j

You can find it right here :]

#ask #HEHEHEHE THIS IS ONE OF THE OTHER REASONS I MADE THIS BLOG !! #i loooove scrounging i love rooting around looking for things it's my favourite thing to do/gen #so if anyone ever needs a pw fic to be found IM YOUR CREATURE/lh #seraphyllic

[pokeficdaily]

gary oak is the winner!!

#i was rooting for him so im glad he won #thanks everyone for voting and participating #i loved reading your tags it was lots of fun #and congratulations gary! mod seal and i have prepared something to celebrate his win #i will post mine as soon as it's finished #not a fic #tournament #mod 🐝

[itsalwaysforyou]

fic list!

jal (in timeline order - fics are all standalone however!)

what’s there to be faithful to? (i am faithful to you, darling): jay and mal give each other tattoos

you feel your heart taking root in your body (like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for): it’s a cold night on the isle, and jay doesn’t want to go home

a flash in the sky: jay and mal get caught in the rain

even when i look away i am still looking: jay is hurt and mal tends to his wounds

your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything: mal has a nightmare, and jay is there to comfort her

the black sky and all those lights: jay and mal spar (valentine’s day fic)

eventually the birds must land: jay, mal, and vulnerability

the place where we weren't stitched up quite right: jay is ill, and mal gets him to eat

core four

take the light inside you like a blessing (like a knee in the chest): there is a storm on the isle

you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire: jay finds it hard to stop stealing in auradon

misc

you’d break your heart to make it bigger: uma cares too much

you find yourself down the hall again (the lights gone dim): coach invites jay round for dinner, and jay begins to learn what family is

#me compiling this like oh god i need to write about someone other than jay #one day i’ll make coach & jay its own category but for now i only have the one fic :( #i also need to write more c4 stuff!!!!! why haven’t i!!!!!! #making this has made me realise how much i loved writing you feel your heart taking root #like. i think that’s when i began to Understand jal & convey it in my writing #but anyway! #obviously this will be updated as i write more fic but for now #i figured i should have it all in one place #my fic list #descendants

[hylianane]

i really dont like using my blog to vent or complain cause idk thats not what social media is about to me its just a space to be silly about the things i like. that being said. im just gonna do a mini vent in the tags abt smth that isnt even half as serious as im making it sound

#Listen. i found live action Zoro jarringly serious and edgy at times. Very juvenile. But its very telling to me that the ppl complaining- #-the loudest abt his characterization and scenes with luffy are the same zosan shippers constantly putting him down in their works #genuinely every other fic is filled to the brim with characters constantly talking down to him like a toddler and mocking him #and even telling Sanji shit like omg youre so brave for being in love with him it must be so difficult #and suddenly as a reader Im not rooting for the relationship im rooting for Zoro to get better friends #so like are you guys SURE opla zoro is this edgy oc or does it seem that way bc you flanderize him just as much in the opposite direction #taking his goofy scenes and exaggerating them to make him seem barely functional #when in the anime he IS competent and people trust him and find him very cool when he drops badass lines all of the sudden #sometimes he even actively tries to be cool and edgy. its not rare or unheard of. we were all there when he started posing in the wax #its the execution of these traits in the LA that seem juvenile and jarring and OOC but lets not pretend like the guy youd find- #-on ao3 is better written or accurate to animanga zoro at all. the criticism itself is valid but from some zosan guys it sounds silly #youll notice casual or non shipper fans tend to rlly like LA Zoro and thats because fanon can truly TRULY be a disease #i’ve had this opinion of fanon zoro for a while but just seeing him pitted against opla zoro really brought back my unhappiness with him #if i had to pick between the two of them…

[librosamarillos]

But what had left Aegon speechless, was the look on her sharp features. The anger he saw on her face that evening after their intimacy gone, replaced with a almost eerie smile. The type of smile that made Aegon wiggle in his chair, and straighten his spine. What was she up to?

Bound by Fire and Blood written by BOUND_INBL00D on Wattpad

Babes wake up!! New chapters dropped the second I was looking for something to draw! And of course when talking about pretty red dresses, my mind goes to my delulu queen Cersei’s wardrobe, so this is kinda inspired by that. Love me a Visenya with an eerie smile <3

#visenya targaryen #Visenya the conqueror #visenya targaryen x aegon targaryen #she’s my bbygirl your honour #I’m rooting for her to scare his ass #and drag him through the mud #I love her a completely normal amount. #also my version of Maegor looks very creepy when he smiles (unintentionally) so I guess he got it from his mama ♥️ #I’m so happy this fic is back to getting updates!!!!! #how exciting!!!!!

[cloud-somersault]

i do need to do a podcast bc how else am i gonna explain that. the star friends around Wukong's neck (the companions), that was their first time seeing Macaque after his attack on them

and the one who willingly went toward Macaque when he drew close...was the Great Monk.

and i think that says a lot

#constellations fic #something about...forgiveness and understanding #and knowing how love can make people do silly things. it can fester into hate and resentment. #it can overbloom into worship and blind adoration #but at the root of it is still love #and the Great Monk always extended a hand to those in need. he always heard them out #so i meant it as “Oh. Monkey. This is the one? The one you love with your whole heart? He's sad and hurting. What a poor soul."

[flowerslut]

Roots is the best 😁 Thanks for updating even though you seem insanely busy

wow thank you for reading AND for your kind words!!!! 🤩 I will be less busy later this week once I finish moving, but thankfully the hardest part (writing the actual fic) was finished in the summertime

nowadays I just try to catch typos/fix errors/change sentences I hate/etc each week before I post. big BIG shoutout to the loml @volturialice for giving each chappy a look-through and catching all my bad habits so that the story reads soooo much smoother 😭 between her corrections and @perihelions-crew also clocking all of my typos/grammar fuck-ups, it's making roots my most thoroughly edited and well put-together fic i've ever written in my LIFE 🥰🥰🥰

#not only have I never written a big fic like this + written DRAFTS of a story before #but i've never had anyone edit/beta/proofread like this #and its SO HELPFUL oh my GOD??? #i'm learning that i love me a fuckin... passive voice and also i love to use the wrong its/it's #anyways having talented + smart friends who are willing to read your ridiculously long fic to help make it better is priceless baby #roots

[jossambird]

Rooted in your love - P6: Darkened slumbers and warm hands.

Cardinal Copia x F!Reader - Primo x F!Reader, Secondo x F!Reader, Terzo x F!Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mature. Hanahaki Disease and all that comes with that (choking, being sick, acceptance of death, etc), Eventual Smut, Eventual 18+ acts, Angst, Unrequited Love.

Summary: You couldn't pinpoint when exactly you had fallen in love with the newly arrived Cardinal, but one was certain: you had Hanahaki disease.

Chapter summary: You wake from your strange slumber and have a tender moment with the Papa who’s been at your side since the beginning. A coincidental meeting leads to a new friendship, with the man under the façade.

Author’s note: No Cardinal Copia or Papa Secondo in chapter, but the next? 👀

AO3 Link

Part 1 🌿 - Part 2 🌿 - Part 3 🌿 - Part 4 🌿 - Part 5 🌿

.

.

Slowly did your senses come back to you, soft light shining against your eyelids just like it did in the early mornings, waking you from the slumber you weren’t aware you had taken. Warmth was the second thing you became aware of; a heavy but comfortable weight enveloped you as the gentle scent of Primo’s cologne and aftershave hit you next, allowing you to deduce that you were most likely in his bed, cocooned in whatever blankets and sheets he’d found.

Normally, you would have smiled at the man’s adoring gestures to make you comfortable, were you not as confused as you currently were.

No longer were you in the dark mausoleum, it’s hollowed and empty halls filled with whispering voices and shadowed hands… Try as you might, you found you could not remember what the voices had spoken against the shell of your ear, blackened words now vague, hazy. Had they whispered honeyed lies into your ears while their shadowed hands pawed at your calves and feet? Or had they whispered prophecies that only gods should ever know about, things that were always destined to happen, no matter how much you fought back? Why had it called to you? What had beckoned you into its halls, promises of eternal peace lingering in the air?

You remembered not how you came to be within Primo’s chambers, however, full glad were you to be here instead of in a dreary hospital bed. Papa Emeritus I’s bedroom was adorned of red and black furniture… well, excluding the various colored knick-knacks you had gifted to him. Each item shone in its respective place, the bright colors almost appearing to clash with Primo’s beautiful pieces of furnishings. You sighed a quiet chuckle, remembering how adamantly Primo had expressed not caring about his other furniture compared to your gifts. The memory of him trying to prove his words by kicking his chair, only to hurt his toe almost made you start laughing again, hearing all over again how teasingly annoyed he’d been.

“Oh, how mean, to laugh at your Papa’s pain, il mio fiore!” Primo had grumbled as he’d fought against the smile that threatened to overtake his lips, eyes unsuspectingly trailed only on your laughing visage.

With effort, your tired eyes searched for either Papas as your body weakly protested, unwilling to obey your command to move just yet. You felt drained, so impossibly drained, fingers flexing once more to regain some semblance of control. How long exactly had you been out cold? Had you even been asleep the whole time, or had you been delirious enough to have thought so?

Whatever movement it was that you’d made, it successfully caught the attention of a man you had come to care deeply for, his mismatched gaze soothing you in ways you could hardly begin to explain. Primo’s visage entered your field of view, features equally taunt in both worry and relief, an almost sad smile playing along his unpainted lips whilst his eyes radiated words he dared not speak aloud.

“Hi…” You croaked, the smile that began overtaking your features making you seem like an Unholy Angel to the Papa seated at your bedside. He could scarcely believe it; here you were, waking from what he feared would be your final slumber, only to smile so radiantly at the sight of him.

“Hello, il mio Bambino.” Primo whispered back, hand reaching out to brush against your cheek softly. A light chuckle escaped from between his lips as you turned into his touch, soaking in the warmth of his ungloved hand. Whatever the amount of time was that you had been asleep, it appeared to have taken a toll on the both of you. A sense of fatigue rolled off of Primo’s form, most likely due to the fact that you’d occupied his bed for who-knows how long, leaving him to sleep on his armchair.

“Full glad am I to see you awake.”

“Full glad am I to be awake.” You tried to smile, tongue poking out to run along your dry bottom lip. Primo wondered if it was entirely by instinct that his dissimilar eyes shot down to watch the movement before common sense hit him, blinking and standing to get you a glass of water.

“Scusa Bambino, your Papa is… tired.” Came his voice from his kitchen, hurriedly making his way back towards you, a smile gracing his lips once more. You happily accepted the water, slowly moving to seat yourself up so as to not choke.

“How are you feeling?”

You pondered the question as you greedily drank, mind still hazy.

“Confused… I, uh… don’t really remember much.”

“Yes, I had assumed you would not. You gave us quite the scare.” The Papa replied, smile pained as he moved to gingerly hold your hand, thumb rubbing circles onto your skin. It did not escape your notice that Primo spoke as if it were a miracle you had survived, as if you had narrowly escaped Death’s cold clutches. Greedily did you take in his unpainted features, suddenly fearing you had not memorized them enough before it came time for you to truly eternally rest.

“What are your last recollections of?” He continued after a silent moment, fingers continuing their soft patterns against your own. The memories within your mind seemed to blend together, the beginnings and the ends mixing as you attempted to understand them.

“It felt like… Well, it was almost like I could feel a flower crawling up my windpipe.” You couldn’t help but shudder, searching his aged visage for any clue as to what had truly happened. Primo however simply hummed, lips remained in a flat line for a brief second more before speaking.

“You would be correct, il mio Bambino.” The man that had cared for you like no other ever had whispered, dissimilar eyes appearing far away as a memory played in his mind’s eye, fingers halting in their movements against your hand. Like this, with his unpainted skin free for your eyes to take in, Papa Emeritus I almost seemed… weary, tired… heartbroken. Had his Papal paints always hidden his emotions so well? Could the same also be said for Secondo? Or was the fate you had chosen for yourself hurting the man more then he chose to let on-

Suddenly, the significance of what had just transpired finally registered within you mind whilst your eyes rapidly blinked: Primo had most likely been the one to extract the flower from your throat, given his advanced knowledge on the subject of Hanahaki Disease and botany.

Primo, the sweet man that had taken care of you oh so softly for weeks now, had most likely sat beside your slumbering form this whole time, anxiously awaiting for you to awake. The visible relief that had coated his words and visage after you’d awoken further solidified how uncertain he must have felt at his own handiwork.

Primo, the Papa that had saved your life that first night he had found you, had once more saved you from Death’s sweet embrace.

“Papa Primo, I’m sorry-” You tried, throat constricting as tears began to pool behind your closed eyelids, spilling once more upon your heated cheeks. The man before you abandoned his hold on your hand to instead lean forward, hands coming to cup your face in barely contained adoration.

“Come now, fiore, there is nothing to apologize for. However, I do not believe I am THAT ugly without my paints.” Primo’s teasing tone successfully pulled a surprised laugh from your lips, mismatched eyes lighting up at your smile. That very light, so soft and tender and filled with warmth soothed your pain while your hand moved to hold one of his own.

“Ah, there is la mia farfalla I’ve come to know.”

“Is- Is Papa Secondo alright?” You decided to change the subject, sniffling as you attempted to rein in your emotions. Now was not the time to further the worries that already visibly ate at Papa Primo’s heart.

You hoped that the worry you felt for the second Emeritus son didn’t shine brightly upon your features but it most likely did. Papa Primo, as graceful as ever, continued to smile, almost appearing to not have heard your words as he leaned back once more to sit down, hand resuming into soft patterns upon your skin.

“Sì. As I, mio fratello will be most pleased to see that you have awoken.” Primo nodded sagely, knowing just how elated his brother would be at your awoken state. Suddenly remembering where the second Emeritus son had gone, Primo turned in his chair, eyes landing on his clock. He tsk’ed, thumb absentmindedly running along your knuckles.

“Although… I believe Secondo disappeared to fetch food. Seeing as you have only just awoken, I fear he will have failed to prepare you anything. One moment, I shall call for a ghoul-“

“Please allow me to go, Papa Primo!”

In hindsight, you felt horrible for the small lie you let tumble from your pale lips; it wasn’t that you wanted to be alone per se, you simply wished to save Papa Primo from seeing the torrent of tears that threatened to overtake you. You didn’t want to burden the man more than what you had already burdened him with, and anyways, perhaps a good cry would help reorient your mind, right?

The eldest Emeritus son couldn’t fathom what feelings had overtaken you, your visage appearing to be a cross between nausea and anxiety. Were you maybe trying to find a moment alone, to sort through your thoughts and fears? Or did you require a moment to let everything that had happened settle within your mind?

You, however, wasted no time as you began to peel away the multiple layers of blankets that had enveloped you, relieved to see you still wore your undergarments and a casual white shirt. A gentleman as always, Primo rushed to help you, aged hands softly assisting you to your feet.

“Here, la mia farfalla, allow me to help you, before you go onto your quest.”

Slowly did Primo aid you in redressing yourself, mismatched eyes closed as always as he passed you your habit after you smilingly turned down his offer to wear his monogrammed bathrobe. If anyone caught you wearing such a personal clothing item outside of Primo’s own chambers, rumors would be the least of your worries.

As you slowly shuffled into a pair of sleep pants Primo had found for you, you couldn’t help but wonder how many Siblings had been offered his bathrobe after spending… private time with him.

Unbeknownst to you, the answer had always been zero, but now, it was one, which the first Emeritus son internally admitted he liked. Quite alot, actually, vowing that no matter how much time would pass from this moment on, it would always ever remain one, you.

After a few more sweet moments of Primo fretting after you, you slowly made your way out the door, once more reassuring the gentle Papa of the recon mission you said would be ‘quick’. The soft slippers you wore allowed you to effortlessly glide through the darkened halls, the gentle night’s atmosphere rendering the Abbey’s usually bustling aura tranquil, peaceful, even.

Uncertainty clouded your mind as you registered where your feet had brought you, eyes staring at the chapel you knew well; it was the chapel that housed a beautiful statue of the Olde One, one that many found themselves praying to in times of need. Had your subconscious brought you here? Or had… someone beckoned you here, just as something had beckoned you to the mausoleum within your dreams? A chill climbed up your spine at the thought but you paid it no mind as you advanced into the chapel, hands pushing its doors open.

How eerie it felt to be here alone, tired eyes trailing forward to the front where your beloved Cardinal usually stood, unaware of your presence. You could almost imagine him here now, commanding your attention as he praised the Dark Lord with words that had been spoken so many times before but his sounding genuine, as it should be.

That was just how he was, wasn’t it? Passionate was he in his devotion, and dedicated was he to serving and spreading the Olde One’s Unholy name.

You finally seated yourself at the front pew, gazing up at the statue that towered over you, its black marble shining.

“I hope you don’t mind, my Lord, that I can’t kneel before you. I’m.. unsure if I will be able to stand back up.”

No words were offered back to your tearful declaration, your failed attempt at humor falling flat, but you required none back, brows knitting together as a singular ray of moonlight shined upon you. You couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous thought of it truly being the Olde One answering you, and yet… A sob tore its way out of your throat, tears now freely escaping from your eyes.

“Thank you but I- I need to ask… have I offended you, in any way, my Lord? Is it my penance to have flowers trying to tear their way out of my throat?” You asked the statue, eyes roving over its marble face for any signs of agreement. Once more did no reply come for the marbled figure, silence being your only companion as you coughed and sobbed.

You tried not to think of the first few times you had watched the Cardinal speak before the Abbey’s inhabitants; the way Copia had glided elegantly up upon the stage before tripping or knocking something over, a small awkward smile always playing upon his lips before becoming serious once more. Had he ever witnessed the smile you’d always tried to hide with a hand, fearing that your other Siblings would find you strange for laughing at the newly arrived Cardinal’s antics? Or had he ever seen the way your gaze followed him long after he had stopped speaking, your eyes trailing over his form before ripping themselves away at the slightest fear of being discovered staring?

A loud noise pulled you from your inner musings, tears continuing to slip upon your cheeks regardless of whoever was intruding on your moment alone-

There, standing at the chapel’s now opened doorway, stood a man you had never seen, watching you silently… before beginning to move forward. You panicked, hurriedly moving to stand. Fuck fuck fuck, why had you come here alone, why hadn’t you allowed Papa Primo to follow you? Your hands shook as you gripped the pew and began moving backwards, intent on putting as many obstacles between the both you-

You- You knew this man.

The man, Terzo, slowed his advancement towards you as he took notice of your growing confusion, instead choosing to stand a ways away from you at the beginning of your pew. His face, which normally was adorned with his Papa paints, was now bare. You’d never seen the third Emeritus son without his paints; he almost appeared… Vulnerable. Exposed… Alone. Gone was the cocksure man that had boldly assumed you were his brother’s Prime Mover.

For a moment, Terzo seemed to hesitate at your visible anxiety, frozen like a deer in headlights, your gaze being the only thing keeping him rooted where he stood. It was only once your eyes flickered down to see the flowers he desperately clutched onto did you begin to understand the reason for his sudden appearance; the bouquet of flowers, beautifully grown and vibrant, were yellow Daffodils and Jonquils.

You almost cried at how cruel life was, eyes flickering to the side to gaze upon the statue of Satanas. You decided to save the frozen Papa before you, speaking first while taking a step forward, seating yourself once more at the pew you had occupied.

“Hello, Papa.” You smiled, waiting for the man to move. He didn’t, remaining frozen where he stood, mismatched eyes glazed over as he silently watched you.

“How did you know that those are my favorite flowers?” You tried again, softer this time, voice barely over a whisper but it seemed to have worked, causing the Papa before you to rapidly blink as he cleared his throat.

“Eh… I asked one of my ghouls what flowers would be… appropriato. These are what he brought me.” He trailed off, eyes flickering over your form. You filed that bit of information away for later, remaining silent as Terzo searched his words.

“T-they are for you, to apologize for…”

Never had you witnessed such emotions overtake his usually confident visage. You’d almost been stunned completely silent at his uncharacteristic stutter, were it not for the fear you recognized in his eyes. You knew of fear, knew of the way it clawed at your insides sometimes, seizing your body when air failed to enter your lungs, visceral fear that made your heart hammer against the bones that contained it. Why did Papa Emeritus III gaze at you so, fear within his majestic eyes-

He continued before you could question him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I.. “ He tried once more, as if suddenly debating on whether to speak or not. You continued to smile, hoping it would help calm his nerves. It seemed to do everything but as his eyebrows furrowed.

“I had feared the last words you would hear this idiota of a Papa speak be the uh.. insensitive words I spoke at unholy breakfast. I apologize, I truly had believed you to be pregnant with my fratello’s child…” He spoke as though it had been days ago, as if it had been eating away at his heart ever since… You were hit with the sudden realization that you knew not what day it currently was.

“Thank you, Papa, but you need not apologize to me.”

“Pshh, per favore, bella, no ‘Papa’ business. Not when it is just us.” Terzo easily countered, a light tilt of his lips overtaking him.

You bowed your head, a gesture to show you understood your Papa’s words, a smile ever-present on your lips. He came to you now as a being other than his role as Papa, other than the Satanic Church leader that had confidently flung a bold accusation to your face.

“How long have I been sleeping, Terzo?”

Terzo cringed, wincing as his gaze flickered anywhere but to you.

“3 days.”

The knowledge of how many days had passed since you had last been awake allowed you to fully see just how disheveled Terzo appeared to be: his hair seemed to be less than stellar, a far cry from his usual impeccable coiffure. His suit, normally ironed to perfection, was crumpled. But most of all, it was his eyes that completely gave him away.

Terzo’s beautifully dissimilar eyes were bloodshot, as if he were unable to sleep correctly ever since, as if unable to close for longer than a few hours at a time, as if opened for nearly 3 days-

“Terzo, please sit with me.” Your voice cracked, hand patting the spot beside you. Had the third Emeritus son also remarked each of your glaringly obvious blemishes? Had he gazed at your unhidden throat, wondering why Primo had practically squirreled you away within his chambers, hidden from anyone except for Secondo and he?

Only after he had acquiesced, silently taking up the spot beside you did you speak again, turning your body as to face him more. You tried not to remark the beauty mark under his right eye, wondering absentmindedly if any other Siblings had remarked it just as you had.

“You said you believed me to be with child, why?”

Your words caused the man to fidget with the bouquet, still unable to meet your gaze, his ungloved hands tightening momentarily around the flowers stems before letting go.

“I noticed little things; eating less, eating more, your pale skin. The way Primo watched you. I had assumed they were.. well, as you can see, I assumed wrong.” Terzo let out with a chuckle, a grimace tilting his lips downward. You felt stupid, to suddenly be struck with how perceptive he was whilst he enumerated the very things he had visibly paid attention to. Of course he was, he was Papa.

You couldn’t help but laugh, surprised at the revelation.

“You know, I’d never realized that it looked like a pregnancy.”

Finally did Terzo turn to you, confusion clear within his eyes.

“It?”

That was right, Terzo knew not of what plagued your body. You’d practically gotten so used to being able to speak freely of your disease with his brothers that you’d forgotten Terzo did not know. A tear silently slipped onto your cheek, followed by another, and another once more.

Could you truly soil Terzo’s mind with the knowledge of what would happen to you one day soon? Already had that very knowledge begun to affect Papa Primo, and surely Papa Secondo as well, no matter how well he hid his feelings and thoughts from you.

“What I have.”

The wretched tingle that had now become a daily occurence clawed at your throat, as if by happenstance, begging to be let out. Oh, how cruel life was. You coughed into your hand, bloodied petals staining your palm as you withdrew it.

“Y/N, what is that?” The man beside you freaked out, voice sounding strained as he pointed at your hand.

“It’s a sickness caused by love, unrequited love, to be exact. Primo taught me about it, actually.” You muttered out, eyes closing as you wiped at your cheeks, unable- no, unwilling to see the horror that most likely painted Terzo’s features.

“Flowers grow in your lungs and after a while, they are the only thing left.”

Your words were met only with silence as Terzo digested what you had said. Unsuccessfully did you attempt to stop your tears, sniffling at the sight of your bloodied palm.

“Why would you not come to me about this?” Terzo’s words were barely above a whisper (as if fearing your answer, fearing what you would tell him) but you heard them nonetheless.

“Because you, Terzo, are Papa. Your job is far more important than being burdened with such a trivial thing.” You truthfully answered, lips stained a beautiful faded red, reminding Terzo of the faded Autumn leaves he used to love to play in when younger.

The mental puzzle pieces he had been wrestling to fit together finally fell into place within Terzo’s mind: this had been what his brothers had kept from him. This, your sickness, had been their secret.

The day he’d witnessed il Cardinale speaking to Secondo, had that been the day his fratello had learnt of your sickness? When had Primo learned of it? Far before Secondo knew, that much Terzo was certain, if he went off of his memory of you accompanying the eldest Emeritus son in his gardens. He felt his insides burn with humiliation, throat tightening as he looked at you.

“There- there must be a doctor who can remove such a thing, sì? Primo must know-” He tried, watching as you wiped away the blood and petals on the inside of your handkerchief, noticing with muted horror at the already stained inside.

“Y/N-“

“Terzo.” You spoke softly, far too softly for someone who’s throat bled constantly, and even moreso, far too softly for someone dying.

“It’s alright, this is how it is. I’ve accepted it.” You finished with a smile.

Thoughts bloomed into his mind, trying to find a way, trying to find something. Terzo knew, no matter how magnificent the Unholy One was, that not all ailments could be eased, and not all ailments could be erased.

“You know..” You started, head tilting down towards your hands before lifting once more, tired eyes looking forward as you gazed at the moonlight spilling within the chapel, illuminating the statue of the Dark Lord.

“Every day I thought ‘maybe this’ll be it’, right? ‘Maybe today I’ll not wake up, maybe today is the day I’ll never see him again, maybe today will be the day that all that I am vanishes’...”

You quieted, jaw working as you thought of your words, oblivious to the torrent of emotions that dangerously swirled within Terzo, a torrent that threatened to spill out as mismatched eyed watched tears continued to make their way down your face. Your gentle words awakened within him the reality of what would happen upon your death, eyes unable to wander away from the smile that graced your lips, oh so radiantly shining as you spoke.

“I’m really glad I haven't, Terzo. I'm so glad I haven't died yet. I wouldn’t have been able to become friends with Papa Primo, or to have been able to laugh at Papa Secondo’s dick jokes!” You sobbed softly, and just like the tide receding back into the ocean to reveal the devastation it had wrought upon land, you still shone brighter than the damage that had been wrought upon your soul.

Even as daffodils and jonquils threatened to burst out of your esophagus, your words left the man beside you awestruck as you turned fully towards him, eyes alight with an emotion he found himself unable to place, unable to grasp, heart pounding as his mind raced. Why did this feel like a goodbye? Why did he feel like he would no longer see you after this very moment, as if you would disappear from his grasp? He had only just found you; so why did he feel like he was already losing you?

Slowly, you reached out, frozen fingers delicately pulling at his own warm ones, moving to hold his hands like an innocent child would, bouquet long forgotten in his lap.

“I'm glad I was able to meet you, Terzo. Truly meet you, the you you kept hidden from everyone. Thank you for that.” You breathed out, lips quirking higher up in amusement, tears continuously staining your skin-

He surged forward, lips clumsily knocking against your own as he urgently held your face, pouring all of his fears and wants into the kiss, desperately wanting it to work-

Smaller hands shoved at his chest as you moved away from him, eyes wide as you gasped. Before you could even think to yell at him, you watched in stunned silence as tears began to roll steadily down his unpainted cheeks, long lashes drenched as he tried to hide his face.

“Forgive me, forgive me-“ Terzo tried, words choked against his own hands.

It only took mere seconds before you were on him, holding the man close as he sobbed against your shoulder, clutching at your form as words of regret poured out from between his lips of not being able to save you, not being able to heal you.

Time appeared to have stalled as the wind outside continued to blow, the both of you holding onto eachother as if the act would keep you safe, keep you alive. Neither of you were sure how much time had passed. Terzo pulled away from your neck, dissimilar eyes wide.

“Would you allow me this dance, bella?” Terzo suddenly whispered, hand poised for you to reject or accept. You couldn’t help but smile at his words, your mind wondering absentmindedly if he had ever pulled this exact move on the slim few who had rejected his advances in the past, perhaps in a way to show he was not hurt in any way by it.

Your thoughts however wandered back to his earlier words, of asking you to address him simply by Terzo; for how many years had the man before you hidden himself away? The real him that stood before you now and not the facade he seemed to wear each day?

“Is it Terzo who asks for this dance, or Papa?” Your mouth spouted before you could stop yourself, your sudden words sounding just as strange on the way out as they had momentarily tasted on your tongue. Guilt instantly washed over you as your eyes flew away from the man in self humiliation; how could you have just said that? How could you-

“Terzo, bella. For you, I would like to always simply be Terzo, no matter the company or consequences.”

You allowed yourself to be pulled out of your seat, smiling anew as Terzo began to lead you in a slow dance.

Silence enveloped the both of you as you swayed in Terzo’s hold, eyes closed as the warmth of his palms heated your cold skin. You were thankful for the gloves he had long since forgotten, remaining within his suit's front pocket, your bouquet equally forgotten as time seemed to slow between you. It was only once you opened your eyes to gaze at the man did you find his dissimilar eyes already flickering across your visage, raven brows furrowed, as if in search of something he knew not the answer to yet, puzzled at what he saw.

You wondered if he noted your fading beauty; you’d never considered yourself to be a vain person per se, but you had always tried to love yourself, love the face you had been gifted by your mother and father, love what you saw in the mirror.

How many people of any and all genders had Papa Emeritus III bedded and slept with that far surpassed you not only in beauty but in intelligence as well? You felt embarrassment climb up your spine as your gaze flickered away, wondering if he found your pallid complexion gross.

No matter how bereft of warmth you thought yourself to have grown, your cheeks only seemed to burn even brighter as Terzo leaned forward, forehead resting against your own.

“Your mind, I can hear it- troppi pensieri, hm? Let us enjoy this dance while we can.”

You acquiesced, silence enveloping the both of you, neither of you aware of the statue of the Olde One gazing down at you from where it stood.

Tag List: @starbentfool @emogrl4lyfe @nikolaiology @s0ggyrats @sirianisrock @sharksausages @moonlit-masquerade @heisenboi-writer @memento-mora @copiasghoulfriend @songbirdemerald-blog @nanamunath @entidy13 @sterilemoth @eliasexists @lightbluuestars @musingbycandlelight @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

(If I have forgotten to tag you or if you would like to be tagged, please shoot me a message via Asks or simply comment below!💖)

#jossambird fic #rooted in your love fic #tw hanahaki disease #tw hanahaki #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus ii #papa secondo #papa emeritus i #papa terzo #papa primo #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost

[youssefguedira]

1, 10, and 21 for the WIP asks? 👀

answering this one for joe and nile post apocalypse fic because its my most beloved rn even if i have no free time

1. give a five word summary of this chapter/fic

daydreaming about nile being badass

10. what is the last line of dialogue you've written?

REALLY descriptive one here

"Six."

21. share three songs that would belong on a playlist for this chapter / fic

the source material for this fic would make this so so easy so i will deliberately make it difficult for myself:

na na na (na na na na na na na na), my chemical romance

raasuk, mashrou' leila

losing touch, the killers

thank you!!

#ive had this one in my drafts forever trying to think of the third song but losing touch it is #i'm also taking raasuk massively out of context sorry raasuk but the dance theme is important here #losing touch is there for the being lost and finding your way back home AND the legend grows of it all #na na na is also there for the religion bit. and the revolution #weve got Themes and Motifs. if i can pull them off. but i love this fic #neon answers #non-un-topo #when i say daydreaming about nile being badass i mean that is the ROOT of this fic. i listen to [REDACTED] i think about my beloveds #only hope for me is you #neon writes

[bellwitchfaggot]

I never lost the fucking plot. I never ever did. Gn forreal ig I gotta go check on one of my niblings to make sure he actually went to sleep cuz he hates taking his psych meds on account of how they're crazy fucking sedatives but he can't sleep without waking night terrors on account of everything my fucking family and church did to him for daring to be a toddler who wanted to paint his fucking nails

#how bout a summer wedding instead #gd i cant wait to see all my coworkers again im so fucking tired of being in this evil fucking haunted ass house #i do not believe this man has a psychology degree at all !! #if im choosing .. next ones a cringe ass mcr fanfiction i think its time we revisit our roots . the second half of twenty ninescene that #was supposed to fucking happen commences this time with significantly less incestuous corrective rape on my bday #look what happens when you treat your kids like dogs and you treat your dogs like shit. sometimes they grow up to be crazy fucking #transgender faggots anyway! i never fucking forgot i told anyone who would give me the fucking time of day over and over throughout my life #no matter how many times it meant i died no matter how many times it meant i went crazy no matter how many times i was punished for it #24 is gonna be a great fucking year for me and everyone else can do whatever the fuck they want forever #the dog is going back inside soon. trans bimbo cousin greg won you fucking idiots. i love you all very much and i hope to see you soon #sry for refernencing rpf on main esp considering information i have abt myself and my friends now but that one cringe ass mcr fic king and #country or whatever. its kinda like that #christ i can't wait to be soft again . im gonna teach you how to be literally soooo fucking normal #i will have sex with you in a catholic confessional ONLY if you wear the priest collar. #they were right btw trauma bonding us all was the best way to keep us finding each other no matter what so ig in that regard maybe its like #literally fine or whatever #AND SALEM IS MEETING MIKU SOON AMEN !! #ok gn im gonna like. idk maybe see if theres any fucking alcohol in this house for one last harra before i force myself to sober up again

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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#gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #vampire gojo #vampire #tw: loss of virginity #tw: yandere #jujustu kaisen #gojo x you #bree's fics!

[advestager]

i was browsing ao3 before bed and now i need to go acquire a smoking habit just so i can reenact the exhausted ben affleck meme

#you are FECKLESS FOOLS who have FORGOTTEN YOUR ROOTS #'all rights reserved' WHAT FUCKING RIGHTS #it's a 'reader insert has every single (wildly ooc and unexplainably mob-aligned) character fall in love with her' fic barbara #who the hell are you protecting it from? the other kids at the playground? get real #godddddd #i'm not even trying to earn my toaster tag rn. i censored the author's stupid pseudonym bc i'm not a fucking heathen but is2g #i finally understand why people shove nerds into lockers. i got possessed by a spirit of inhuman rage the second i got past #the absolutely SHITE summary (covered in emojis and in a non-default font BC WE'VE FALLEN THAT LOW APPARENTLY) and the fucking dni warning #that i think i just contributed a whole fucking degree to global warming through sheer BURNING FURY #EAT CAKE FALL OFF YOUR H O R S E #fandom tag #wank tag #GOD #joji.txt #GOODNIGHT I'M GONNA GO KICK A FUCKING CHAIR