Watermelon Kisses | Secondo X Reader

Watermelon Kisses | Secondo x Reader

Content / Warnings: papa emeritus ii x reader, sfw, 3.2k words, secondo angst, hurt/comfort, tw violent imagery (mild)

Author’s Note: thank you to @sirlsplayland for commissioning me!

commission info

What starts as visiting you in the gardens under the guise of seeing his brother turns into much more turns into a lesson on healing for Secondo. Also watermelon becomes a metaphor.

“Dolcezza, would you like some help?”

You startle as your fingertips barely brush the bottom of the apple you are trying to reach, tipping back from your ladder in a terrifying moment in time, eyes widening and hands thrown forwards grasping at nothing. Your heart is in your throat as you let out a soft shriek. Before you can fully lose your footing however, you are saved by large hands encasing your waist, steadying you with a low rumble from its owner. 

“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to take a tumble, si?” Secondo’s hands stay on your waist, a safety net in case you tip again. Your cheeks turn a peachy pink, but not from working under the sun all day. Heart drumming in your chest, you try to distract yourself from the hyper awareness of his touch.

“Papa! You scared me,” you breathed in and let him help you down from the ladder. Your legs are a bit shaky from the scare and his hands stay firm holding you– something you once again try not to think too hard about. 

“Ah, sorry fragolina mia. It was not my intention to do so.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, so you reward him with a sunny smile. Your clothes are dirt stained and rumpled with your sleeves rolled up high, a complete opposite to Secondo’s pristinely pressed robes and untouched papal paint.

He was a frequent visitor to the garden these days; you’re not sure what exactly had pulled such an interest but in passing Primo has expressed a relief for the increased visitation from his brother. 

“I was worried about him for a while,” he tells you over weed pulling from the herb garden, “I think being Papa changed him as it did with I but worse. He’s still trying to figure out what to do with himself now that the Ministry is no longer– what is the saying? Breathing down his neck?”

“Oh,” you go silent, turning over Primo’s words in your head like a puzzle. Secondo didn’t seem like he didn’t know what he was doing; he was often far confident in himself so it was a surprise to you to hear so.

“Obviously do not tell him what I tell you,” Primo hums as he wipes his brow. It was midday and the sun showed no relent in beating down on the two of you as you worked. “To most he is just a bitter old man in retirement, si? But he is… more sensitive than you would think.”

“With no disrespect Papa, but why are you telling me this?” You worry your bottom lip, not sure why Primo is being so loose-lipped today– more so than usual. Though he wouldn’t admit it, the Papa did have a love for indulging in the ministry’s latest hot gossip, but this was much more than just this week's tea. This was his personal life.

Primo chuckles a little and turns from his gardening to look at you, “Little one, I may be old but I am not senile enough to not see the gaze you give my fratello when he is not looking.” 

“Papa!” You squeak, hands flying to your mouth at the interruption but Primo only laughs. 

“Have no fear, your secret is safe with me.” Red faced, you turn back to your own weeding, trying not to aggressively tear up the garden beds as you will the heat from your cheeks to subside. 

The ripe apple you’ve been trying to pluck from its throne on the branches above leers at you mockingly and you frown at it. Secondo looks at you for a moment before wordlessly mounting the ladder himself, easily lifting himself within reach in seconds and picking the fruit without fanfare. When he gets down, he hands the apple to you with a little smirk, one that makes your heart do a little loopity-loop. “You seemed to be having trouble getting that one. Fortunately I am not as vertically challenged as you.” 

You swear if you did not love this man as you did, you’d show him just how short you are by being perfect punching level to his crotch but alas you do love this dumb man so you resist and merely scowl at him instead as you begrudgingly take the apple from him. 

He is not perturbed by this at all, in fact he found it endearing and frankly kind of adorable. He was often teasing you like this for your reaction, loving how you seem to pout or sulk at him with glares only to melt into a smile seconds later when he asks about the garden or your work. 

“Tell me dolcezza, is apple picking the only task on the agenda today?” Secondo asks, peering over at the small basket of apples you had accumulated so far. You shake your head.

“Primo told me to meet him back at the melon patch after I’m done. We’re supposed to be planting new seeds today.” 

“I see– I shall accompany you over then, si? I am here to see my fratello after all.” He takes the basket from you like a gentleman, and you almost protest until he offers you his arm. “It would be rude of me to make you carry such a heavy basket.”

You hold back the response of pointing out that the basket hardly weighed much at all in favor of taking his arm. You earn a grin in response and you both make your way back to Primo for the next task. 

Primo is sorting through a box of seeds as you return. When he looks up to see the two of you together, his eyes seem to twinkle brighter. “Ah, sorella, fratello. Just in time to plant the watermelons.” 

You let go of Secondo’s arm to eagerly kneel next to Primo by the intended patch for planting. Secondo hangs back– though he misses your presence by his side. You turn your head to look up at him. He’s wearing a neutral look on his face, as though he’s a little at the loss of what to do now that he’s here. He could hardly pull Primo away for a conversation now, but it would also be awkward to just walk away from the two of you without an excuse.

Just as he was brainstorming one, you interrupt his thoughts, staring at him with keen eyes as Primo’s words echo in your head; a reminder. 

“He’s still trying to figure out what to do with himself now that the Ministry is no longer– what is the saying? Breathing down his neck?”

“Papa Secondo?” His attention turns to you, sitting in the dirt with your cheeks rosy from the heat. A tentative smile is offered to him as you ask, “Would you like to plant watermelons with us?”

At first he flounders– something he rarely does. Usually he oozes confidence and dominance in every move he makes, every word he speaks. Now however, he is being offered to… garden? But that was Primo’s thing. Just like how Terzo’s thing was cooking and Copia’s thing was rats. He didn’t have a thing like them– but he couldn’t just come and take Primo’s, right?

“Ah, yes fratello, why don’t you come join us?” His older brother’s eyes are kind, his smile encouraging and suddenly Secondo is eight years old again. Anxious with a thrumming beat in his heart as Primo takes his little hand.

“Listen to me, fratellino. Father is wrong, you are capable of growth. You will nurture the ministry and bathe in its glory one day. I know it. They will love you.” 

And love him they did– but there was a fluke. Or at first he had considered it a fluke that they would only ever love Papa, but after the first few years of retirement, he now understands that Secondo just wasn’t the same. It was Papa who could grow passion in the hearts of many, Papa who stood in the spotlight to deliver the dark lord’s message, to speak his word.

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea, si?” He chuckles a little to disguise his hesitation, “They would wither away within a few weeks, best leave the gardening to the two of you.”

He moves to leave but you decide that you are having none of it. You stand, stumbling forwards to grab Secondo’s hand. You keep him there, an anchor. He looks caught off guard, mismatched eyes wide as he blinks at you. “Che cosa–?”

“And why do you think that?” You demand to know. “Why would they wither?”

“Eh,” he laughs a little nervously but doesn’t yank his hand away. Perhaps it’s because he visits the gardens so often to see the sunlight reflected in your smile each day, perhaps it’s because you seem so genuinely pleased to see him each time. “I am not so good at the whole uh,” he gestures his hand a little, “the whole growing thing.”

“That is not true, fratello. The ministry has seen a significant rise in numbers since your papacy.” Primo points out. You almost miss it, but a flash of pain crosses Secondo’s expression before anger bubbles to the surface.

“Cazzo di merda, that was Papa, not me.” He bites bitterly and suddenly it’s a little clearer to you. Why he hangs around the ministry like a ghost, why he never seems to mingle much after retirement as much as he did as Papa. Most siblings were too afraid to approach him or invite him to do things. You can see now how it’s affected him. His hands have balled into fists but you are not afraid.

“And Secondo is Papa. You are not two different things, you don’t have to be.” You tug his wrist towards you and he follows like a lost lamb, a little speechless at your outburst. “I’ll prove it to you.”

You tug him down to his knees next to you and start pointing out which spots were the ideal places to put watermelon seeds and how far they should be sown apart. He is silent the whole time, eyes fixated on the dirt in front of him, but he does seem to be listening.

Together under Primo’s careful instruction, you begin planting several rows of watermelon together and by the time you’ve finished watering the last seed, Secondo has begun to make conversation and act like himself again. 

He looks doubtful at the patch as the three of you stand together. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know what’s racing through his mind. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if it would be crossing a line, before taking his dirt-stained hands in yours. “They will grow, Papa, just watch.” 

——————

Spring passes and soon summer encroaches upon the ministry. Secondo’s visits are no longer visits now, as he comes to the garden each day to inspect the watermelon patch and water it with you. He’s apprehensive the first few weeks, but as little buds begin to sprout from the earth, you can see his apprehension turn to excitement. It’s rather cute, you think to yourself, as he proudly points out the strongest looking stems. 

When it comes time to thin the patch out and leave the strongest plants, he’s too attached for you to just toss the weak ones out. Instead, you ask Primo if Secondo can have a little spot of his own in the garden– and of course Primo was more than happy to get one set up for the two of you. He transplants the watermelon in his own patch with the most care you’ve seen. His robes are ruffled and stained from kneeling and sitting in the dirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too busy making sure his baby watermelons are spaced out enough for them to grow properly and not disturb each other. 

“There’s a chance they might not survive transplanting,” you warn him gently. You don’t want to discourage him, but you also don’t want to get his hopes up. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to be deterred and your heart warms as he insists that no, they’ll make it. He’ll make sure they do.

When the first flower blooms, you think he’s going to cry, but he hugs you instead and you hug him back just as tightly. “They’re growing, dolcezza, look! They’re growing!” You nod and let him point out all the sprouting buds and from the corner of your eye, you see Primo watching with a smile.

Two months blow by quickly and soon they begin to transform into fruit and grow fat and wide. You spend a whole afternoon with Secondo and Primo discussing watermelon recipes. Primo suggests maybe putting it on bruschetta and Secondo looks thoroughly scandalized at the suggestion.

In the third month, they’re almost ripe enough to pick and Secondo becomes almost intolerable. The first thing he asks you each day is ‘are they ready’ and all he wants to do is stare at them and patrol for pests that may harm his watermelon children.

——————

It happens overnight and by the time the ghouls in the area were alerted the damage had already been done. Primo is there first thing in the morning and you come running to a stop in front of him, eyes wide as he looks at you with sad eyes. 

Behind him, the garden is in bad shape. Flowerbeds trampled, the tomatoes are barely intact, the cages keeping their shape bent and twisted like angry thorns. The main watermelon patch is almost entirely upturned, smashed melons in a burial ground. 

Worse, however, stands Secondo’s watermelon patch in the very back of the garden. It had not escaped the destruction and there wasn’t a single one left. The rinds smashed and tore bare. Ripped apart, the red insides staining the dirt like blood.

“A bunch of porco di dio church kids from the catholic one down the road,” Primo explains with a tight voice. “At least once a year there’s a group of dumb preteens who think they’re tough enough to sneak into the ‘evil satanic cult church’ and wreck shit.”

You’re upset and you know Secondo is going to be crushed. The three months of waiting… the promise you made him. It guiltily weighs over your head like a vice. “W-why?” You can’t wrap your head around it, “We never do shit to them, we don’t have anything to do with them.”

“Little one, here we are taught not to hate those different from us. It cannot be said the same for all religions. Some will teach that those different are wicked, that we deserve it. In their eyes, they are doing a service.” 

“But they aren’t–!” You cry. You open your mouth to protest more, but a strangled sound behind you makes you whip around. 

Secondo stands there, his papal paint not even applied for the day, looking like he’d run the entire way. He isn’t looking at either of you, instead his eyes focused on his watermelon patch. You see his throat bob as he swallows thickly. 

“Papa–” you begin, unsure how to comfort him, unsure how he’s going to take this.

“I heard what happened and came as fast as I… as I could.” He says numbly. His feet don’t want to move but he forces himself forwards to the carnage, his eyes darting around wildly at the bloodshed.

His eyes burn as he kneels down to touch one of the destroyed melons, hands come away slick from its juices, like blood. Trying to access the rest of the damage, he can see that there’s not a single one left. The plants themselves look rooted up as if they were pulled, some leaves already curling in on themselves and dying. Withering. Like he knew they would. 

Withering from his touch. He had thought… well. He didn’t know what he had thought. But for a moment, it was as if he could touch something and be okay again.

Secondo collapses to his knees with a muffled sob and you rush forwards, enveloping your arms around his shoulders. 

“I’m so sorry, Papa– I’m so sorry.”

——————

You don’t see Secondo the rest of the day, nor do you see him the day after. Primo said to give him some time but you are anxious. He had been so excited and lively the past few weeks and all of that was gone now. Even worse however, was that this proved a point to Secondo. That he was incapable without his Papacy.

The third day arises and you find yourself at his door, knocking and knocking and knocking until finally, he yanks the door open with an annoyed growl that dies when he sees who it is. He looks awful, like he hasn’t showered in a few days, or gotten out of bed at all. You know its more than likely that he hadn’t. 

“What are you doing here,” he asks quietly, “You’re usually working in the gardens at this hour.”

You take his hand, much like you did on that day you’d planted the watermelons together. “Come with me,” you demand. 

“Che cosa–?” he yelps as you drag him out of the room. He doesn’t know why he’s letting you, he could easily stop you or pull away. Perhaps there’s a part of him that hopes you stay even though he’s a ruined man.

He stiffens as you drag him to the gardens, and you soothe him. The garden’s been picked up and fixed as best as you and Primo could the last few days. There was still a lot of damage to mend, but the most important part was Secondo’s little patch. He is reluctant as you continue to pull him forwards until he sees the hint of green. “They missed one I think,” you explain to him. “See?” 

There, in the mess of upturned dirt and torn vines, is an untouched watermelon. Its stripes are unblemished and smooth as Secondo reaches for it with shaking hands. As soon as he makes contact, he falls to his knees with a little half laugh, half cry. He encases his large hands around it, feeling the smoothness of the rind. 

There’s a sniffle and another soft laugh. “Fragolina mia,” he says.

“Yes?” You ask.

“You forgot to take the sticker off, my dear.”

“Fuck– I’m sorry,” You immediately apologize, “Shit. It was a bad idea, I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” He stands, gently rolling the store-bought watermelon to the side so he can pull you into his arms. “It was a very sweet gesture, cara.” 

You return the hug, burying your face in his chest with relief, “I just… I didn’t want you to be sad.” You admit. “I know it wasn’t the best response but I didn’t know what else to do and–”

You are stopped with a kiss to your forehead and all thought seems to come to a stop, your brain disconnecting from your body. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your hair.

Once again you find your arms tightening around him. “I know it’s not the same, but it’ll still be good. And next year we can plant more!” 

There’s a pause and you hold your breath before Secondo nods, “Si, we can plant more next year.” 

A smile spreads across your face like sunlight being spun and you try to pull away so you can look at his face but he stops you.

“However, there is one condition, dolcezza.” You can almost hear the smirk in his voice and the second he asks, you know your answer is yes, “Go to dinner with me, si?”