I Need You All To Tell Me That I Should Not Under Any Circumstances Start Any More 100k Word Multi Chapter

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?”

Banchetto: Insalata

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Contorno | Masterpost

A caprese salad consists of so few ingredients but as long as they are fresh and ripe they bring the perfect balance. For variety you pick an assortment of tomatoes, blood red heirlooms, green beefsteak and orange roma. The visual appeal of the assorted colours, shapes and texture more than make up for the non traditional choices. Freshly made mozzarella as well, all evenly sliced and then already the preparation is almost complete.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You are reading. Well, you are trying to read but unfortunately the man sitting across from you is proving far too much of a distraction. It was mid morning, breakfast long since eaten and cleared away. You had joined him as you did so often now and it was barely creeping towards time to begin thinking about lunch. Copia had returned your notes and you were still in the process of working through them, adding sticky notes with your amendments into the recipes to help you when time came to make them. That’s what you should be doing at least.

Instead every few seconds you find your gaze pulled back to him. He is also reading, the glasses he only just admitted to needing perched on the end of his nose. They slip further down every time he scrunches his face at whatever it is he is reading and you have lost count of how many times he has paused to push them up carelessly. Every now and then he notices the smudges left by his fingers and removes them completely to wipe them on his handkerchief as he shoots you a smile. He had let his hair air dry this morning so it falls in soft waves over his forehead. The muted sunlight catches in his silver roots every time he pushes his hair out of his eyes. You think to tell him how good he looks at this moment but you don’t want to break the comfortable silence. 

It’s sickeningly domestic but you can honestly say you have never been happier. The shift was subtle at first as you had spent a great deal of time in his rooms anyway but in a matter of days that time grew longer and longer until you rarely left on more than an errand from morning to evening. He would ask you to sit with him as he worked, join him for meals, linger in the kitchen as you prepared and even once attempting to help you clean the dishes. That is until he ended up dropping a plate in his inattention, the resounding crash making your heart skip a beat in a much less pleasant way then it usually did around him. You couldn’t even begin to be annoyed with him though, his apologetic puppy eyes forcing you to let him off with only a banishment to the kitchen table and a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Affection was easier now, not always so underlined with that awkward tension you had almost become used to. He liked to touch you. To lace your fingers together across the table when you ate, rest his hand on your waist when you stood together, play with a lock of your hair as you spoke, press a chaste kiss to hand or your cheek in passing. You had been hesitant at first to return his affection so boldly but the way he would glow when you reached for him first, his wide smile emphasising your favourite creases at the corners of his eyes, was enough to override your self consciousness.

There was still tension there, hot little frissons if you look into his eyes a bit too long or his body rests a little too close. Part of you wants to chase it but you no longer felt the need to rush. Although unspoken it seems you both chose to relish in this period of getting to know each other better, talking about your likes, dislikes, views and opinions or just existing in each other's company. It is comfortable in a way you never imagined you could be with him but you are more sure now than ever that ‘Papa Emeritus III’ who had led the Ghost project and the church was only a very superficial part of who he was.

There’s a childlike glee in him every time he tells you stories of his life peppered with ridiculous puns and dorky jokes that feels so far removed from the persona you had thought you had known previously. And yet you can see how he thrived as a performer and took to that role so naturally. He puts his whole self into recreating the tale he is telling with animated hands, exaggerated expressions and often silly voices whether he is talking about his misspent youth, rising through the clergy ranks or his touring adventures. You would start to feel very uninteresting in comparison until he would start to tease stories from you. Your worst cooking disasters that have him crying with laughter and disbelief that you could ever make a potato explode. But when he asks you of your family and your childhood you see a sad wistfulness in his expression that makes your heart hurt and you hope that one day he might open up about some of the harder parts of his life as well.

The tolling of the 11 o’clock bell brings an end to your romantic reverie. It is time to return to reality and begin thinking about lunch. You uncurl yourself from the armchair, your movements capturing his attention. He beckons you towards him with a curled finger as he places his book down on the settee beside him. You should go straight to the kitchen but as he has distracted you all morning anyway what is the harm in a few more minutes. You are sure your eagerness is obvious as before you know it you are sitting in his lap with his arms around you. 

‘Where are you off to cara mia,’ he says once you are settled. You slide his glasses up and into his hair, pulling the long fringe out of his face and you can’t resist letting your fingers run through the length until you can play with the strands at the nape of his neck. ‘I have been enjoying you watching me so attentively.’

‘And I was enjoying the view,’ you tease. His deep chuckle rumbles through his chest pleasantly where you are pressed against him. He leans up for a kiss, unable to keep the pleased smile from his face. Your lips ghost over his, barely indulging him but leaning down to continue talking in his ear. ‘I am about to start working on your lunch.’

‘How about an amuse bouche first mia cuocoina?’ He is irresistible when he is like this so you indulge him. You press kisses along a teasing path, his temple, his sharp cheekbone and the tip of his nose before finally reaching his lips. He closes the remaining distance between you impatiently and just as you are about to deepen the kiss a loud knocking rings out through the room. He drops his head against the back of the settee with a huff of annoyance and you have to forcibly remove his hands from your hips for you to be able to get up. You open the door to find a ghoul waiting for you on the other side holding a basket and a note.

‘From Papa Primo, for you Sister.’ They hand it to you before abruptly turning to leave and you see Terzo’s head shoot up in interest as you close the door and turn around.

‘What is he writing to you about?’ He glares over the back of the chair, watching you put the basket down on his desk. 

‘Let me open it and I will tell you,’ you retorted. The basket is heavy and you have no doubt that this is yet another offering from Primo’s greenhouses. He hauls himself up from the settee with an exaggerated groan as you unfold the thick paper and read. 

Sorella it is about time my brother gets out of his rooms and I suspect you will have more success convincing him then I. If I could prevail on you to make us a light lunch and bring it along with him to the rose garden I would be very appreciative. Secondo and Copia will also be joining us as well as yourself if you would do us the honour. 

I will expect you both at noon. 

Primo

Terzo. It will be good to see you. Please do not give the sorella any trouble and do as you are bid. 

Handing the note to him you dig into the basket. Underneath the fragrant bunches of fresh herbs you find it’s filled to the brim with ripe tomatoes in a variety of sizes and colours, probably hand picked from the vine that very morning. 

‘Why do you get a longer note than me?’ He grumbles, squinting at his brother's cursive scrawl, clearly forgetting to drop his glasses back down onto his nose. Circling around him you knock them gently out of his hair so he can at least see even if they land a little crookedly. 

‘Lunch is going to be alfresco today,’ you call over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to get started, not giving him any chance to argue. With less than an hour to prepare this is not going to be your most elaborate creation but you have some freshly made mozzarella and along with Primo’s offering you have an idea that should be perfect. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing for this salad could be as simple as a drizzle of balsamic vinegar but you do prefer to add a little more flavour. To an old jam jar you add olive oil, honey, freshly pressed garlic and of course the main ingredient, balsamic vinegar. Why a jam jar you may ask? Well the trick with a vinaigrette is understanding that the separate ingredients don’t really want to mix together. You can stir it, whisk it, even blend it but unless you are serving it straight away the mixture will begin to separate. You prefer to give it a good shake to mix everything and your trusty jam jar allows you to do that right before the dish is served.  

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Prepping a quick salad with what Primo had sent you takes around half an hour but you are done with time still to spare. Terzo had disappeared to his bedroom after grumbling to himself about his ‘fratello esigente’ and was yet to return so you took the time to grab some leftovers to make this lunch a little more substantial. There was half a loaf of bread that you sliced up, some stuffed peppers and olives, cuts of ham and cheese and even some pepper taralli that had become a constant request since you had first made them all those weeks ago. 

With everything that would fit packed away in the little basket you go to find Terzo who had yet to reappear. Even with the amount of time you were in each other's company you still hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in his bedroom. You understood, you supposed. It was his one sanctuary away from everything but you hoped one day soon he might invite you even there. The door is open when you round the corner and you see him standing before his mirror, a pile of shirts sitting on the bed next to him. 

‘I’m ready to go Terzo,’ you say after knocking on the door frame. He turns to you with a frown on his face but your attention is drawn to his open shirt. His dark chest hair and olive skin contrast beautifully with the stark white of the shirt he is trying on. He starts to button it from his mid chest leaving an enticing glimpse but you can see his frustration build as he gets further and further down. His once flat stomach now protrudes slightly from his waistband, not enough to have the buttons pull but the shape of his body is visible. He looks incredible.

‘I can not go out like this cara mia,’ he says, turning back to his reflection to scrutinise his outfit. 

‘Why not?’ you ask. You cross the room coming to a stop behind him so you are looking at the same thing he is in the mirror. 

‘Look at me,’ he gestures up and down the length of his body before settling his hands where he seems to be most self conscious. You can’t have him thinking he looks anything less than irresistible for even a moment.You wrap your hands around his waist sliding them under his own,where he is holding his belly. You caress the soft swell back and forth while you try and catch his gaze in the reflection. 

‘I am and I see a happy healthy man who has enjoyed delicious food made for him by someone who lo .. cares about him very much.’ His eyes flash in surprise before he looks over himself again from your perspective, a smug smile growing on his lips. You hope he is just about to accept your compliment and didn’t catch your little slip but you end that train of thought there. 

‘Oh is that so?’ His spark has returned, your compliments feeding his usual confidence in his attractiveness. But there is something else in his expression like he has just figured something out. ‘You like me like this, eh?’

‘I like you. Full stop.’ He preens but you sense that he wants to push you further. Hopefully the time limit you are on will stall him for now. You aren’t sure that you are quite ready to admit how much you have enjoyed feeding him up.  

‘Mmm ok,’ he responds thoughtfully, turning in your arms and pulling you flush against his soft body. He kisses you soundly, chasing your lips every time you try to pull back. Before long though his playful mood shifts as he steps back. He takes your hands in his but otherwise maintains some space between you. ‘There is something we need to talk about though before we go.’

‘What is it?’ There is a hint of worry in his voice but you try not to let yourself speculate. You needed to just listen to what he had to say. 

‘Please don’t misunderstand me when I say this.’ He pauses for but a moment to press a kiss to your knuckles trying to reassure you of his sincerity. ‘Until very recently I have never truly felt my life was my own. I had a set path that I was to walk down and very big shoes to fill as leader and well, you have seen my brothers.’ He is torn between a fondness and frustration that you can understand. ‘No matter what I do I am their fratellino.’ He locks his eyes on yours willing you to understand. ‘This, I mean what we have, I don’t want their input not yet.’ 

‘I understand Terzo.’ It is a relief to know this was all he was concerned about. You had seen for yourself how they had treated him during the intervention you had been witness to. Even though you wholeheartedly agreed with them at that time. You can understand why he would want to keep what you have private, especially so early in whatever it was that was happening. Not to mention you had your own reasons for not wanting them to know.

‘You do?’ You can’t help but smile at the relief on his face. 

‘Of course. I think you are right.’ You had long since stopped worrying about the distinction between your work for him and your relationship but you are well aware of how it might look to others. How unprofessional you were being. ‘Your brothers asked me to do a job and they might not be happy to know that I have taken on additional duties.’ You say with a wink, trying to lighten his mood further. You’re rewarded with his deep rumbling laugh as he pulls you close again. 

‘Si, si. We should review these additional duties. I think I have some additions.’ He leers at you and you can feel your cheeks heat up in response.

‘Stop that we will be late.’ You swat at his chest and get to hear him laugh yet again but it really is time to get going. ‘And I am going to need your help carrying all this food.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now for your favourite part, making it all look pretty. You lay out your slices of mozzarella first, randomly placing them across the large tray you are using for this dish. The slices of beefsteak and heirloom tomatoes next trying to keep the colours balanced. You use the bright orange roma tomatoes to fill in the remaining gaps and then all that is left is fresh basil leaves tucked between the slices. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Sorella you spoil us!’ Primo says helping you unpack the basket onto the table that had been set up. You had never paid much mind to this shady corner of the rose garden but it does seem like the perfect place for an alfresco lunch. The wrought iron dining set is well kept with only specs of rust appearing on some of the joints between the ornate decorations. Five chairs are positioned around half of the oval table giving everyone a view of the garden. The table had already been set with a plain table cloth thrown over, shining silver cutlery, pretty floral plates and a bottle of red wine, already been decanted, a lace cap sitting over the opening to discourage any tempted bugs. 

‘Oh it was nothing at all Papa. Most of this I had already prepared and the salad was simple enough.’ He smiles at you warmly, his light paints emphasising the creases of his expression. He had taken the centre seat and he gestures you into the seat to his right, patting your shoulder gently. You aren’t entirely sure why you have been invited to this family gathering but it would be rude to question his invitation. 

Secondo is sitting to his left already sipping on a glass of wine but he offers you a smile, a subtle lift of the corner of his mouth before his attention is drawn to Terzo. You glance to your right where he is sitting looking uncomfortable, even hidden behind his dark glasses. He seems to be staring into the nearest bush trying to ignore the presence of his brothers. As you take a seat you try to subtly rest your hand on his knee and give him a gentle squeeze, about the only reassurance you can, given your agreement not to give away the nature of your relationship to his family quite yet. He glances at you offering you a weak smile but he rests his hand over yours before clearing his throat.  

‘Is Copia too busy to join us now?’ He asks, sounding oddly formal but finally looking in Primo’s direction. 

‘He said he would be here,’ he replies calmly as he pours everyone a glass of wine, topping up Secondo’s last. After accepting his Terzo slumps back into his seat nursing his glass. Primo tuts at him. ‘Vieni adesso, Renzo, non vorrai essere scontroso con il nostro ospite, vero?’ He sits up abruptly lifting his glasses so he can glare at Primo. 

‘Quindi è per questo che l'hai invitata? Quindi mi comporterei bene?’ Secondo tries to conceal a laugh at his Italian outburst which only earns him a share of Terzo’s glare. 

‘I have my reasons fratelino, but let’s not argue today.’ He looks at him sternly. ‘Por favore.’

‘Nessun tipo di compagnia potrebbe farlo comportare da adulto,’ Secondo mutters but whatever he says seems to upset both Primo and Terzo. ‘Ey!’ He shouts, rubbing the back of his head where Primo had just administered a quick slap. 

‘None more of that! From either of you, capisce?’ He points at the two brothers waiting for them both to nod in agreement before sitting back down. The four of you sit in silence just waiting for Copia’s arrival but just when it begins to get unbearable you hear a commotion heading towards you.  

‘Sorry I am late,’ Copia calls out breathlessly as he rushes around the corner in a blur of red. ‘Meeting with Sister Imperator ran over,’ he pants collapsing into the chair next to Secondo. He had forgone his cassock today but was still buttoned up in one of his formal suits in spite of the seasonal weather. Clearly one of the perks of being a retired Papa was being able to dress more casually. You are not sure if you had ever seen them dressed this casually during any of their reigns. 

‘Everything has gotten so behind with the Ghost project since, well…’ He trails off glancing at Terzo. He clears his throat, deciding not to continue with that line of conversation. ‘Terzo, Papa, you are looking well.’ 

‘Thank you Cardinal, you look like you could do with a good night's sleep.’ He smiles but it is sharp, Copia’s misstep digging at his still sore pride. 

‘Well, shall I tell you all what is on the menu?’ You interrupt not wanting the awkwardness to linger any longer. 

‘Yes please do, Sorella,’ Primo says, relieved at your quick thinking.

‘What you sent over was absolutely perfect for a caprese salad because just yesterday I had made some fresh mozzarella so that is the main attraction of today’s lunch but I also brought some leftovers we had to make sure no one left hungry.’ You may be waffling slightly but they all listen politely as you point out all the separate dishes. 

‘Yes I see my fratello has not been going hungry of late.’ At least Secondo waited until after you finished but you watch nervously for Terzo’s response but he just relaxes back in his chair smirking at his brother. 

‘You are not wrong I have been kept most satisfied by Sorella.’ His double entendre makes you wince slightly but you just hope they mark it down to Terzo being Terzo. 

‘No need to tell us that we can see quite well, ' he says, patting his own distinctly flatter stomach. ‘Primo you were right to call us here today. We need to help Terzo by eating all of this food so he doesn’t have to.’ 

‘Ah ha,’ Terzo laughs. ‘So this is another intervention then no?’ Primo shakes his head but doesn’t intervene this time, deciding that this back and forth was mostly good natured.

‘Si, an intervention for your growing waistline fratello,’ On the surface it is harsh but you can tell this is familiar ground for them, teasing and competing to one up each other. You imagine there were many similar conversations had when Secondo lost his hair. 

‘I do not mind so much,’ he shrugs, resting his arm on the back of your chair and letting his fingertips graze your shoulder. ‘I think there are plenty of people who enjoy a well fed man.’ You feel your cheeks heat as he says it remembering back to your conversation and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, gaging your reaction. If you look at him now you are sure your cover will be blown.  Instead you hide your embarrassment by serving out salad between your plates but you miss the pointed looks shared between Secondo and Copia.  

There is a period of peace across the table as they all enjoy their food, the only conversation a series of compliments as they work their way through everything you brought. You are glad you decided to bring all the leftovers as you watched Primo using the last slices of bread to dip into the dressing, the only remains of the caprese salad and Copia groaning and rubbing at his stomach as he polishes off the last of the stuffed olives. 

‘I can see how you got so well fed Papa,’ he smiles in your direction. ‘I feel as if I could burst but I still don’t want to stop eating.’ You smile at his praise but you are pleased to see them all nodding in agreement.

‘Luckily for you Cardinal, all that is left is some taralli.’ You offer them each one, finishing off the last of your supply. 

‘You are lucky I didn’t know she had packed up this,’ Terzo grumbles. ‘Giving my favourite to these idioti.’ 

‘I will make you some more Papa, don’t worry,’ you reassure him. ‘I think I have the recipe down perfectly now if I do say so myself.’

‘Where did you get the recipe, Sorella?’ Secondo asks. He looks down at the taralli in his hand. ‘I can’t say I am an expert like Terzo here, but these taste exactly like the ones I remember. The ones your Madre used to send us, before.’ Before what you wonder? You glance between Terzo and Secondo but this time it seems they are sharing a fond memory instead of making digs at each other. 

‘I just found it online after Papa mentioned he would like them.’ You glance at Terzo but he doesn’t try to stop your white lie. 

‘It’s a shame you don’t have any of her recipes Terzo,’ He thinks aloud while eating his last bite. ‘I’m sure she had made the best food I had ever eaten.’ 

‘It is a shame, yes,’ Terzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘You know we weren’t allowed to keep anything from before.’ You look at Primo but he is staring down at his plate in defeat.

‘For what it is worth I am sorry ragazzi,’ He squeezes Secondos forearm and offers Terzo a sad smile. You feel like an intruder in this moment and as your eyes meet Copia’s you think he might feel the same. That is until you notice him tilting his head and looking at you deep in thought. You suspect piecing together the translations you asked him to look at with the conversation he had just heard. He takes in a breath looking like he is about to speak but you shake your head as subtly as you can until he clicks his mouth closed. That is a conversation for later.

‘Sorella, thank you for allowing us to share in your exquisite food,’ Primo says, drawing a line under the conversation that had just ended.

‘It is no problem at all Papa.’ You start to gather up the dishes, wishing you had brought another tray so you could give Primo back his basket. 

‘No no, leave the tidying to us please,’ he fusses, taking the pile of plates from your hands and handing them to a disgruntled Secondo. ‘Seeing how you convinced Terzo to actually come outside, why don’t you two go for a walk.’ There is a twinkle in his eye you are sure you have seen before. If the two of you hadn’t been so careful you might think he knew there was something between you. 

‘What do you say Papa?’ You feel like you finally have permission to properly look at him, and he looks breathtakingly handsome in the warm sun. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’

‘If it gets us out of doing dishes then I am in,’ he says, almost jumping up from his chair. 

‘It was good to see you Terzo,’ Primo says to him so softly it could have been missed.

‘It was good to see you all too,’ he matches Primo’s tone looking at all three of the men still sitting at the table for a moment more before turning to you with a dazzling smile. ‘Come now Sorella lets escape while we still can.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing you add last right at the point of serving. The jar has one last good shake before you remove the lid and pour it evenly over the whole salad. For some extra flair you start pouring at the centre and swirl until all the dressing is used. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘So that went well right?’ You are some way away from the patio so you risk moving closer, brushing your shoulders together but he doesn’t hesitate taking your hand in his.

‘Ah I suppose those nosey stronzos,’ he grumbles but there is no real bite to it, a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

‘You know what I think?’ He only hums absentmindedly in reply, eyes following a butterfly as it dances amongst the flowers. ‘I think they missed you.’ He tips his head towards you giving you what you suspect is supposed to be an intimidating side eye but it misses its mark entirely when all you can see is the soft affection in his eyes and the sun shining off the silver grey strands running through his hair.  ‘And I think you missed them too.’

‘Bah,’ he gestures with his free hand picking up his pace as if to storm off but keeping his grip firm on you so you are forced to come with him. ‘Think you know me so well eh cara?’ It is a challenge but a playful one. There was a moment that you worried that the teasing and prodding of his brothers might have made him withdraw again but it seems that was not the case. ‘Let us see, where in this garden do you think is my favourite place?’ He stops in the middle of the path reeling you back towards him but he drops your hand to fold his arms over his chest. He thinks he has stumped you, you can tell by the smug look he is failing to conceal but you are certain you know the answer.

‘Do I get any clues?’ You ask. He thinks for a moment, tapping at the dimple of his chin.

‘It is the reason I insisted on the rooms I have.’ Maybe he thinks he is being cryptic but now you know for sure, but you don’t want to let on quite yet.

‘Ok so it is near your quarters.’ You affect a look of exaggerated deep thought and he grins at you, glad that you are playing along. Wandering slightly away from him you look about you as if looking for more clues all the while ignoring his suppressed chuckles. When the two of you spend time in his little kitchen, especially now, you spend most of your time stealing looks at one another. So often he has caught him watching you over the rim of his coffee mug except from when his attention is caught just outside his window.  Which not only gave you the chance to admire him as you so enjoy doing, but it also gave you a very good idea about his favourite part of the garden. Just in view of his window was a sculptural fountain depicting the Temptation of Eve.

‘Mmmm you are getting warm,’ he teases as you start to lead him back towards that part of the Abbey.

‘Anything else?’ You are just about to enter the walled garden when he catches up to you. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you back against him and then lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back. 

‘It’s almost as lovely to look at as you,’ he whispers in your ear. You have to try to suppress the shivers that work your way down your spine but he is pressed so close you are sure he can feel it.  

‘Charmer,’ you chide, stepping away towards the centre of the square. ‘Stop trying to distract me.’ He reels you back in until he can rest his chin on your shoulder.  The fountain dominates the space, the nude figure intertwined with the vicious looking serpent while holding a perfect apple, poised to take a bite. 

‘You can see the fountain from the kitchen,’ you state matter of fact. You can see the very window from where you are standing visible amongst the trailing plants that climb the Abbey walls.  

‘Si and from my bedroom.’ He points towards the larger window at the end of the building as you try to orient the layout in your mind.  

‘Oh it’s like that is it,’ you tease.  

‘Hush I am trying to be sincere,’ he chides but there is no bite to it, not when he skims a kiss against your cheek. 

‘My apologies Papa.’ He clears his throat, the sound jarring in your otherwise soft conversation. ‘Terzo,’ you correct yourself. Happy now he nudges you forward until you are both standing at the edge of the splash pool and you watch for a moment, the ripples overlapping the reflection of the two of you in the water. 

‘Tell me cara mia, what brought you to this life?’ He leads you towards a bench carved into the wall surrounding this part of the garden, helping you to sit comfortably before taking a seat himself. 

‘To the Church of Satan you mean?’ It has been a long time since you thought of your life before the Ministry. 

‘Mmm,’ he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘I was raised in the Christian Church,’ you begin. ‘For the first say fifteen years of my life that is all I knew. As I got older though I found myself questioning. Everything I wanted went against what I was taught and I just couldn’t understand why all these arbitrary rules were put in place to stop people being themselves.’ He nods along giving you his full attention. 

‘The arguments I had with my parents when I told them I wanted to go to culinary school, well it’s laughable now but I felt like my life was ending before it had even started. They were talking about me getting married and starting a family when all I wanted to do was learn and travel and live.’ Remembering that time fills you with that same frustration. They never were able to give you an answer other than it was God’s will and that was not enough for your questioning mind.  

‘So I left. I did everything I wanted to do and then one day I was working at a festival.’ He snorts, interrupting you for the first time. 

‘I can’t imagine you in a burger van,’ he sniggers to himself. You knock his shoulder with yours but that only makes him laugh harder.  

‘I was cooking for the VIP guests, thank you very much!’ You reply haughtily. In all honesty there was nothing wrong with working in a burger van, good food is good food, but you dread to think what mental image he has conjured up of you. ‘And that's where I saw Ghost for the first time and spoke to Papa Primo.’

‘Primo recruited you?’ He looks shocked and you are surprised he didn’t already know. 

‘Well I think it was more like I volunteered and he accepted,’ you explain. ‘He had requested some wacky off menu dish and I somehow managed to make something passable and he came to thank me. I joked about his costume and how I might consider joining if I ever found a real Church of Satan.’ 

‘And he told you about this place.’ he says thoughtfully. 

‘He did! I didn’t believe him at first but I came to visit first for a week or two, but it was like as soon as I walked in the doors it felt like I had found my place.’ You had felt at home for the first time in a long long time.  

‘What about your parents?’ He asks. ‘What do they think about you coming here?’

‘It took them a long long time to accept me straying from the life they wanted for me, even though they still don’t like it.’ They had only really accepted it when you had found success which always seemed ironic to you. ‘My being here? We just don’t speak of it. I’m sure they told all their church friends that I decided to join an obscure convent.’ It was a game you liked to play every now and then, wondering what they said when people at their church asked after you.

‘Ha! But here you are getting seduced by Satanic Popes,’ he lifts his eyebrows, clearly proud of his success in corrupting you from your fictional convent. 

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ You roll your eyes at him but you are relieved that he joined you in finding humour in your strained relationship with your family. But it was his turn to share. ‘Now tell me why this is your favourite place.’

‘I used to come here when I felt lost.’ He looks down at his feet kicking at some lose stones. ‘When you have lost your way there is no one better than the Mother of Sin to help you remember what is important.’ It is a lot for him to admit given his leading role in the church. Many wouldn’t ever believe a man in his position could have ever had doubts. 

‘The bible says she was tricked into eating the apple, that her weak feminine mind was so easily warped by the serpent. But I think she made a choice. Perhaps she realised that if you are threatened and scared into ignorance you will never be free and that people deserve to choose for themselves what to do and what to believe.’ You sense his beliefs are as personal as they are philosophical. ‘Especially when so many things that bring people joy are supposed sins.’ 

You are reminded of sitting in the chapel and listening to him preach every word reaffirming your faith. He was an incredible leader and it makes your heart ache for him that he was removed from that position in such a humiliating way. You don’t voice this though. You have no doubt that these very same thoughts plague him but he is doing so much better now then when you had first properly met.  

‘Enough preaching for one day though I think,’ he laughs trailing off when he realises how long he has been talking and as much as you would happily listen to him talk for hours you let him leave the topic aside. ‘Where is your favourite place in the garden cara mia?’

‘Well that is easy.’ You don’t need to think for even a moment. ‘It’s the moon garden.’ He tilts his head in surprise. ‘I didn’t appreciate it at first, having all white flowers made no sense to me. One of the most beautiful things about flowers is the vivid rainbow of colours. But then one night I was leaving your quarters and I was on the verge of going to Primo and telling him I couldn’t do it.’ You remember that time well even though so much has changed since. Having to fight the urge to quit every time he rejected another meal. ‘You hadn’t eaten a thing and I was so upset with myself.

‘I owe you an apology, I think for being so difficult.’ He mumbles but the last thing you want to do is make him feel bad. 

‘No I mean you had your reasons,’ you say trying to reassure him.  

‘Maybe I did, I felt that I had nothing to live for I suppose.’ It hurts to hear but it isn’t a surprise that that is how he had felt. ‘But I could only stomach so much self pity before I got hungry.’ He winks at you and even this serious conversation doesn’t stop your instinctive blush spreading across your cheeks. 'Thank you for being patient with me.’ He follows the bloom of colour across your face with the tip of his fingers, his sincerity only making it worse.  

‘It was worth it,’ you admit, lowering your voice to match his soft tone. ‘Something told me I should walk through the gardens that night so I did and then it was like I had walked into another world. Every single white flower was glowing in the moonlight and I had to just sit and eventually I knew that everything was going to be alright.’  

‘And was it?’ His hand cups your face and even such an innocent touch has your heart racing as you work up the courage to say what you wish to.

‘The next day was the day you left me the recipe book.’ The moment feels fragile as he looks into your eyes searchingly. It feels good to have cleared the air of so many of your unspoken things. It’s probably inadvisable to allow him this close outside of his quarters but he looks as vulnerable as you feel right now and there is only one thing you can think to do. This kiss reminds you of the first time in the kitchen. The simple action of pressing your lips to his feels so intimate and for you at least, saying things you are far from ready to speak out loud. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Hi hello yes it is me actually updating. Please no one die of shock. I had about 1000 words of this sitting here for the last six months and then suddenly I managed to write it all in the last three days. I want to promise there won't be another six months until the next chapter but who knows what will happen to my brain. Thank you to @ghostchems and @da-rulah for letting me talk about this endlessly and @writingjourney for cheering me on even when I wouldn't tell her any spoilers haha

I hope you all enjoyed and I will be starting a tag list over again because I have no idea who might even want to read this fic anymore so please just let me know if you want to be tagged in the future chapters 💜💜💜

This is the face I make when you like and reblog my fics

every day this month I'm going to recommend a different spooky ghost fic! today's rec is:

The Fall Festival - @rspitespitfield - T, 3k

Get lost (and found) in the Ministry’s annual corn maze with the first Papa 🎃

"That's it. Run." He whispers to himself as his muscles tense in anticipation, the words falling on deaf ears as your foot steps mix with the crunch of gravel further and further away. But the chase has only just begun.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, leave kudos and/or comments!

(browse the other rectober posts here.)

I make the conscious choice to act with compassion and kindness, because I was not treated with compassion or kindness.

Since I can’t sleep I’ll just share this adorable Secondo video I ran across on HourlySecondo on X:

I want to have him reach out to hold my hand comfortingly. Why can’t I have that? Is no fair. He is so sweet, he even forgets his English a little, here. Non si preoccupi, Papa, lei ed io ci capiremmo molto bene, le assicuro 🤍

The Count

PART ONE: THE DARE (ao3 link)

vampireCopia x Reader

tags & warnings: NSFW, MDNI, horror themes, vampire violence, blood, (eventual) smut. seriously, part one is as tame as it will be.

special thanks to @ramblingoak for the constant support and cheerleading of the vampire man. 💖

A dark and stormy night. What a bullshit cliché to befall a Satanic abbey that took up residence in an old gothic castle. But there it was, lightning and thunder swirling around the building with a wind that howled a low, unholy sound. It would have been fine if the storm hadn’t knocked the power out, but now without the flashlights, you and the others couldn’t see more than a few inches from your face.

Boredom had spread through the abbey like plague rats almost immediately after you arrived, biting at everyone until they were all infected enough to sneak out. The others said it would be fine, that they did this all the time, and if you just stuck with them you wouldn’t get into any trouble.

That probably would have been true if Sister Debra hadn’t suggested Truth or Dare.

Tired of hearing the same old ghost stories about the Count of the Castle, Debra took it upon herself to lead the others through her dull version of the game. The usual things came up quickly and after a half hour no one was left un-kissed and several of the Sisters admitted to having crushes on the same hot priest. You held your flashlight between your teeth as you picked at your cuticles, uninterested in who was more worthy to bed the unholy man.

“I’ve got one,” Sister Debra shouted over the others, her lips curling into a devilish smile. “For the new girl.”

You’d only been at the abbey a few short weeks, but it was long enough for Sister Debra to decide you were a threat. She had clawed her way to the top of the proverbial pyramid and for whatever reason, she’d laced every word she’d thrown at you with venom. It was a useless, one-sided power struggle that you had no intention of engaging in, but she had been pushing your buttons all evening.

“What is it now, Debra?” you asked with a sigh.

“I dare you to check out a book from the library—”

“Seriously?”

“—in the East Wing.” Her statement was punctuated by a well-timed crack of thunder.

The Sisters immediately stopped their chatter. Behind you, someone dropped their flashlight and let it roll heavily across the old wooden floor. The girls looked back and forth between you and Debra, waiting to see who would strike first. Rules were rules, but as far as you were concerned Debra could fuck off.

“Alright Debra,” you agreed as you slid off your perch. “Game on.”

“Wait, Sister—”

“She said she’d do it,” Debra snapped harshly. “So let her do it.”

And that was how you ended up on the second floor of the forbidden East Wing. Fucking Debra.

The first floor hadn’t revealed much, mostly old furniture still wearing covers to protect from the fibers from detritus and natural light, and a handful of nude statues that were suspiciously free from dust. There were paintings too, impressionist landscapes and oil portraits of the same man, all recently cleaned. If this wing was forbidden, you wondered who would be brave enough to accept the position of shining, you squinted hard in the darkness, Count Copia’s things.

Legend was, Count Copia was the one who had converted the other side of the castle to an abbey to prove his devotion to the church. No one could say when or why this had really happened and the few times you’d tried to ask, you’d been shut down quickly. But the Sisters were quick to share their stories behind the clergy’s back. You heard several tales about the Count, most notably that the Count was once a holy man, a story that was often whispered in the dark while the Sister were supposed to be sleeping. If he was, you’d never seen his devotion on display during mass.

It's not like he would’ve been hard to spot.

There was other less friendly talk about Sisters who had misbehaved or ventured too close to the East Wing and vanished without a trace. A whole host of ghost stories meant to keep you obedient. If a Sister happened to be shuffled around to another convent? Well, that was just the cover up. If a Sister fell ill or failed to return from town? Another victim of the Count.

Sometimes it happened too quickly, and the speculation overruled the facts. Had she seen the Count? Did he make her disappear? It was the hot gossip when you’d arrived. Whoever had moved on from the castle and made room for you was surely as good as dead. You never believed one way or the other.

Whatever the Count was doing was his own business. Until now, you hadn’t really considered him to be real at all.

In your search for the library, you’d come across a massive stone staircase curving up the belly of a turret. It beckoned you upstairs, growing darker with every turn. What was another dare to you anyway? Heavy rain pelted the windows that framed the grand staircase, the sound covering your footfalls as you moved up. Your feet made quick work of the stairs, finding taking them two at a time to be much easier to navigate as you propelled yourself forward into the uncharted parts of the castle.

You swept the flashlight over the landing, trying to inspect which direction might lead toward a library. The castle did not give up its secrets so easily and you were forced to charge ahead. Halfway down the hall, your light caught a massive set of double doors—twice your height and intricately carved. The doors were heavy, groaning loudly as you pushed through them.

The smell of dust, paper, and old leather hit you hard as you stepped inside. You – 1, Debra – 0.

Unlike the other rooms, it looked like no one had been in the library in years. Well stocked shelves line nearly every stretch of the layout, but every surface was coated in thick dust and cobwebs. You pulled the collar of your t-shirt over your face like a makeshift mask and pointed your flashlight into the room.

This was it. All you had to do was grab the first available book you could find, make a mad dash back to the dorms, and Debra would be forced to shut the fuck up for the rest of the night. You were unsure if the prize was worth the risk, but you’d come this far.

You quickly scanned the room, waving your flashlight over the surfaces once more. There, next to what appeared to be a full suit of armor holding a sword, sat a small table. Atop the table was a leatherbound volume on top just waiting to be snatched up. You crept forward, flashes of lightning reaching areas of the room that your flashlight couldn’t. With your fingers outstretched you reached for the book.

A crack of thunder ripped through the castle, violently shaking the leaded windows of the library. But it wasn’t the thunder that made you yelp and fling yourself backward. You collided with the knight, the back of your hand splitting open as it connected with the sword. Your flashlight went the other direction, flipping uselessly through the air until it landed across the room and exploded on impact. Fuck. Blood began beading to the surface of your fresh cut as a small, brown rat squeaked at you from the table.

You climbed back to your feet and shooed the rat away, shaking your head at your own ridiculousness. It dove off the table with another adorable squeak, its little legs carrying it away faster than you thought possible. Now unguarded, you fetched the book from the table and squinted in the darkness to find the exit.

A streak of lightning burned across the sky, illuminating the room enough to make out the doorway and the odd shape shadowed beneath it. Was someone standing there? Had you hit your head? Surely your eyes were just playing tricks on you. First the rat and now a phantom? The storm was really starting to fuck with you.

You shifted to your left; arm outstretched as you felt for the cold stone of the castle walls. It was too dark to see more than a couple of inches, but maybe you could feel your way back to where you’d seen the door.

Another bolt sparked across the sky and this time you knew you’d seen someone. Your stomach sank as your heart jumped into your throat. No one was supposed to be in the East Wing, least of all you, but you didn’t think anyone else would be here. A smaller flash revealed the shape of a man, closer now.

You swallowed hard. This was not good.

Your eyes struggled to adjust to the near constant pulse of lightning happening around you, but you knew he couldn’t be anyone else. The Count began to shift between the bursts of light, moving in a haunting, almost undetectable way. You broke into a run, heading in the direction of the double doors. You didn’t want to tackle an old man, but you would if you had to.

He let you run past him, not bothering to try to stop you as you bolted past and spilled into the hall. You were sure you could outrun him, legs and lungs burning as you went, but you could hear the tap of his behind you with every slow step he took. His pace didn’t change—that the tap, tap, tap was almost relentlessly steady—but somehow, he was now in front of you.

You failed to stop in time, your head bouncing off the Count’s chest like he was made of stone. The book landed with a heavy thud at his feet as you tumbled backward. He stepped over it, unnoticed as he advanced on you.

“Are you trying to steal from me?” his voice low, accent thick. “That’s not very nice, dolce.”

“No, I—uh—” you fumbled through the words, scrambling backward as you tried to climb to your feet. Your hands clawed at the floor, finding no purchase in the hardwood to raise yourself up. Even if you could, he’d be right back on top of you. In the darkness of the hallway, you could still catch his eyes fixed on you—one burning stark white against the shadows. “I—”

“You—you—you,” he mocked as he leaned over you, the cane slamming down near your hand. “What was so important to you, hmm? What have you come to try to take from me?”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t—ah!” Before you could begin to argue, his fists closed around your collar. He hauled you up roughly and set you against the wall like you were nothing. What the fuck?

He flashed you a smile that was completely devoid of kindness as he pinned you against the wall with the end of his cane. He held you there as he leaned down and plucked the book from the floor. “German Folktales, dolce?” he asked, voice thick with disbelief. “Is that really why you snuck all the way up here?”

“Please,” you pleaded, writhing under the cane. “I won’t—”

“But you did, cara,” he teased, his voice low as he traced a gloved finger over your jaw. “The proof is right here, I’m afraid.”

“Please, I wasn’t stealing,” you finally explained, a single tear rolling down your cheek. If you made it out of this, you swore were going to kill Sister Debra yourself. “It was just a stupid dare.”

He leaned in closer, his lips near the shell of your ear. “A dare? This is a game to you, dolce?”

The castle shuddered around you as the power blinked back to life. One by one, the lightbulbs in the sconces lining the hall flickered, illuminating The Count in a strange, dim glow. You were finally able to get a good look at the man who had caught you in his castle. He wasn’t unlike his portrait, his features sharp and handsome. His face was framed by carefully carved sideburns and a meticulously tamed mustache, but his hair was slightly out of place and his skin was much paler than the portrait’s. He boldly highlighted his eyes by smearing thick dark circles around them, making the white even more noticeable.

He was dressed in a black suit, each piece tightly fitted to perfectly hug the curve of his body. A thick, black velvet cape rested over his square shoulders, fastened together by an elegant bat shaped brooch of diamonds and rubies housed in white gold. He certainly dressed like a Count, from which century was debatable.

He slowly lowered the cane, its handle catching slightly on the collar he’d stretched out by tossing you around. Another smile was offered, a flash of sharp white teeth as he drank you in.

“Cat got your tongue, dolce?” he purred. “You were so brave before.”

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words cut right through you. “I—"

“Oh, dolce,” he whispered before he slid away from you. “I’m Count Copia,” he said as he took your hand and dipped into a little bow. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. He looked up, eyes connecting with yours as he tasted blood in his kiss. “Dolce, you’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. I just fell—oh!”

His tongue darted out, carefully swiping over the cut on your hand. The Count let your blood flow over it, red smearing over pink as he hungrily licked it back into his mouth. You brain began to short circuit, vision going fuzzy as he lathed over your wound a second time, torturously slow as he savored each drop. As he drew his tongue back into his mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head and the sound that left him was obscene. A low, guttural moan rose from his chest, so lascivious you were sure it had to be the same noise he made while finishing himself off. As scared as you were, that sound went right through you, stoking a fire between your legs.

He smiled at the small whimper you made, a subtle softness blooming behind his eyes as they locked on yours. It betrayed the sharp edge of his teeth. “Enjoy the book, dolce.”

(part two) (part three)

nervous kiss x “can I kiss you?” with secundo 🫣

ha ha ha ha. about 1.2k words! we love a mysterious, nervous secondo.

The man had been coming in during your shift for the last few months. He would always order the same thing - a doppio espresso and sit at the end of the bar either reading or writing something in a tiny, black pocket notebook. At first, you weren’t sure about him — the face paint could be off-putting at times and it took you a few visits to realize that there were times he came in without it, his mismatched eyes hidden with dark sunglasses. You ended up recognizing his voice and put two and two together.

He never bothers anyone, only staying on his stool, deep in his reading and writing. It was difficult for you to not be drawn to him, the man wears skull paint and is so very relaxed about it. Yet, you realized you’ve never seen him smile. You started to have his espresso ready for him as soon as you saw him come in and you swear the first time you did it, you saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a minuscule grin. The more you had his espresso ready for him, the more he began to speak to you, starting off with small pleasantries and moving into some easy conversations.

He told you he went by Secondo but wouldn’t share much else about himself so you ended up telling him how this is a second job for you to help make ends meet but that you also really enjoy making drinks anyway. He seems fascinated with how you move behind the bar and will routinely take breaks from his work to watch you make people’s drinks, trying to guess what ingredients are needed. Secondo slowly became your favorite regular, especially after learning he only came into the store during your shifts.

During this particular shift, he hasn’t come in yet at his usual time and the thought that maybe he won’t be in today crosses your mind. The pre-closer has already left so you’re working on your closing tasks. It’s been a slow evening with steady rain outside, deterring the evening coffee drinkers. You’re working on wiping down the bar when he finally arrives, black umbrella in hand and his usual immaculate skull paint. You give him a small wave.

“On me today, Secondo.” You smile wide and he gives a small sigh before walking over to the bar. He knows better than to argue with you, at least when it comes to free drinks. You pull his shots of espresso as he gets settled, laying out his book and his notebook on the counter.

“Just you tonight, dolce?” His thick Italian accent rolls off his tongue.

“Mhmm. You’re in late today.”

“Ah, la pioggia, the rain kept me away but… well, I needed my doppio.” He offers a smile - he’s been doing that more often these days and it makes your chest tighten.

“Well, thank you for visiting. It’s been slow today.” You wave a hand around the empty coffee shop. “I’ve been a little lonely.” You slide his cup and saucer toward him on the bar and he reaches for it, the smooth leather of his gloved finger brushes against yours. A breath catches in your throat.

“I am happy to keep you company, dolce.” He lifts the espresso cup that looks comical in his large hand to his lips and takes a sip. A content sigh escapes his lips.

You work quietly on your closing duties but still make sure to check in on him from time to time. As your break time gets closer, you eye up the display case for a snack. You settle on a brownie and you carefully take it out with a piece of parchment paper before putting it on a tray and sticking it into the oven for about ten seconds.

You carefully set the brownie on a plate and grab two spoons before making your way over to the bar. Secondo’s eyes drift along your figure as you come closer and he watches as you sit right beside him at the bar. You slide the brownie in between the two of you and settle a fork on his side of the place.

“Share this with me?” You scoot in closer to him and use your fork to take a small bite of brownie. This is the first time you’ve ever seen Secondo look so blank. He nods and picks up the fork, beginning to slowly pick at the brownie.

“It’s very good, dolce.” He says quietly between bites. His eyes shift to your face. “A-ah, you have a little something —“ Secondo points to your face. You swallow the piece of brownie and try to wipe at the spot he is pointing. “Let me.”

He leans in and reaches his hand out, carefully using his finger to wipe away the brownie crumbs at the corner of your mouth. You feel your cheeks flush at his touch and he lingers there for what feels like eternity. Secondo’s finger moves from the edge of your lip to your cheek, the tips of the rest of his fingers brushing against it. You suck in a short breath, your eyes fixed on his. His brows knit together, hand quivering before he gave a soft breath.

“Can… can I kiss you, dolce?” Secondo whispers, his voice barely audible. He looks unsure of himself and almost a little bit afraid, even though you almost immediately nod yes. His hand cups your cheek and he very slowly leans in, his lips ghosting yours before he presses them to yours. The taste of espresso still lingers as you kiss him back, your lips moving carefully against his. He pulls away just an inch, feeling his hot breath on your lips as he gazes into your eyes

You lean in again just as his hand drifts to firmly grip the back of your neck. Secondo groans quietly as your hands fall to his chest, your tongue moving against his. You forget about the brownie and the work you’re supposed to be doing, your hands running over his strong chest and moving in as close to him as you can, practically getting into his lap. He wraps his spare arm around you, holding you to him while he deepens the kiss, using his grip on your neck to tilt your head back.

You moan into the kiss, your eyes fluttering open slowly as he pulls away. The two of you are left panting, the brownie nearly out of your reach after you’ve made your way into his lap. His gloved fingers toy with your apron, his dark eyes meeting yours. Your breathing quiets and you lean a bit away from him to take him in.

“I should… I should probably finish up closing.” You can feel your entire face heat up, realizing that you had just made out with a customer.

“Mm, si, si.” He sucks in a breath. “May I wait for you? Maybe… take you out for a drink that isn’t coffee?”

You nearly fall out of his lap, though you’re able to get your legs working again. If he didn’t see your blush before, you’re sure he can see it now, feeling it all the way up to the tips of your ears.

“I would love that, Secondo.” You can hardly hide the excitement in your voice. His lips curl into a small smile and he clears his throat, reaching for his umbrella.

“I’ll leave you to it then, dolce. I’ll be outside waiting.”

blue secondo 🦋

Prime Mover (Download Festival 2012) For @rspitespitfield 🧡