Microdosing On Self Love By Projecting My Insecurities Onto Fictional Characters And Loving Them

what do you mean hes fictional. i need him

Can I also ask for Primo and „whispering in-between kisses“? You know what types of kisses 👀

I know the exact kind of kisses you want. It's time to worship that old man.

What You See I Primo x gn!reader

~ Primo needs you to tell him what you see when you look at him ~

(1800 words, fluff, angst, body worship, some spice, nsfw, 18+ only, not beta read)

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“Amore, what do you see when you look at me?”

You set your brush down onto your vanity and turned sideways in the chair to look at Primo.

“I see someone that was supposed to be dressed ten minutes ago.”

Usually Primo enjoyed your teasing and he often teased you back.  It was an easy banter between two people that had known each other for many years.  Looking at Primo right now though it was clear he was not in a teasing mood.  He sat down heavily on the side of your bed, a long sigh exhaling out of him.

“That is not what I mean.”  There was a tone to his voice you didn’t normally hear and it made you get up to head his way.  You held your bathrobe together and quietly padded over to stand before him.  Primo was staring down at his hands in his lap, wringing them together nervously, so you dropped to your knees and slipped your hands into his to stop the movement.  “Tell me the truth.”

You pulled his hands towards you and placed kisses into each of his palms before looking up at him.  He met your gaze now, his eyes searching yours for an answer.  

“I see the man I’ve admired for many years and loved for many more.”  Primo snorted and pulled his hands away with enough force you fell back on your butt.  “Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“That is not what I asked.”  He stood up and then reached down to you, gently grasping your elbows and pulling you to your feet.  You let out another ‘hey’ when he tugged you over to the windows that overlooked his garden.  Primo squeezed your hands and then let go of one to grasp your chin.  “Now, look at me and tell me what you see.”

You pulled away from his hands and then placed yours on his shoulders.  With a firm shove you got him to fall into the chair behind him and climbed after him.  You straddled him, your knees on either side of his legs.  He wouldn’t meet your eyes so you used his own move on him and took a hold of his chin.

“I see someone that is tired from all of his years of working hard for this church.”  His mismatched gaze met yours then and your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.  You leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead before moving down to kiss the soft, puffy skin under each eye.  “You never get enough sleep because you’re up too late worrying about your brothers.”

The only answer you got was a soft nod and you smiled at him before kissing the tip of his nose.  Your lips trailed from there to where the skin next to his mouth where he had wrinkles from smiling and then further down to where it had begun to sag.

“My Papa is getting older and his face shows it.  His body shows it.”  You kissed along his chin and then made your way down his neck, whispering into the wrinkled skin there when you stopped again.  “Can I keep going, Papa?  Can I show you what else I see?”

You felt him nod above you so you slipped your hands into his robe and pushed it off his shoulders.  He was bare underneath and you took a moment to admire the body you had been intimately familiar with for many years now.  When you started kissing him again you made your way from his neck across to his shoulder.

“Your skin has seen too much sun, Papa.  Look at all these freckles.”  To illustrate the amount he had you made sure to kiss each one you saw.  You made a mental note to be more forceful with sunscreen next time he went out in his garden.  Down his arm you went, finally holding his hand up between you so you could both look at the rough skin on the back.  A few of his knuckles were misshapen, arthritis having begun to set into his joints many years ago.  “I can tell that these hands have done so much.”

“Like what?”

Primo’s voice was quiet and shaking slightly.  You were afraid to look into his eyes because if you saw tears there you would end up crying too.  He needed you to be strong right now and you refused to let him down.

“Your hands have held onto so many others here, guiding them onto their path within the church…leading them in prayer…pulling them from the lake during their unholy baptism.”  A thought crossed your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “I’ve seen this hand slap Secondo on the back of the head when he misbehaved as a child.”

“Or as a grown man.”

It was good to hear Primo laugh and you chanced a look at his face.  His eyes shone with unshed tears and he sniffed when he saw the same in your eyes.  He brought his free hand over and caught one when it started to trail down your cheek.  

“I remember you holding Terzo’s hand when his mother passed away, how you carried him around the garden so he could pick flowers to take to her grave each week.”  You grabbed his other hand when he tried to wipe your tears away again.  “And I remember when you stormed up to Nihil and took Copia from his arms.”

“That old fool wasn’t cut out to be a father.”

“No he wasn’t, but you were.”  You placed his hands on the arms of his chair and leaned forward to place a kiss on his chest over his heart.  His chest hair was more white than blonde now, much like the hair on his head before he had begun to shave it, but it was still soft to the touch.  For a moment you rested your ear against him, listening to his strong heartbeat.  “You’ve been there for all of your brothers and helped them to become the men they are today.”  

He took a deep breath under your ear and you could tell he was trying very hard to control his emotions.  You weren’t done though, because deep down you knew what his biggest worry was when he started this conversation.  Very slowly you turned your head so that your lips were against his skin and you kissed a trail to his nipple.  You flicked your tongue against it before pulling it between your lips and nipping at it softly with your teeth.

“Amore…”

“Hush Papa, I’m not done.”  You moved to his other nipple and gave it the same amount of attention before going lower to where his skin had started to pull down with age.  The wrinkles here were larger, the skin soft and warm against your lips.  Primo jumped when your tongue left a wet trail across his chest.  “When I look at you Primo, when I touch you, I see a man that has aged beautifully.”

Your mouth moved to the center of his chest and you slid off his lap to rest on your knees before him.  The robe was easy to pull off his lap and now he was completely bare before you.  His cock was still soft, but that didn’t surprise you.  It didn’t bother you either.  You placed your hands on his knees and then slid them up his thighs, resting where they met his waist.  Primo abruptly dropped his hands to cover yours and gave them a squeeze.

“Not tonight, I don’t think, amore.  Too much going on in this old head.”

You smiled and moved closer to him, shouldering his legs further apart.  

“It doesn’t make a difference to me either way.  Do you know why?”  Primo shook his head, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp as you leaned forward and started to mouth along his soft cock.  “Because I still see the man I love no matter what is happening here.”

Even soft his cock was long and you took it as deep as you could, the tip reaching well into your mouth.  You tongued the underside, pulling back so you could press it against his slit.  His thighs had begun to shake under your hands and you heard him groan above you.  As you bobbed up and down a few times you let out a little moan when you felt him finally twitch in your mouth.  With a smile you pulled off, a string of saliva lingering from your lips to the tip as you moved away.  Primo pulled a hand out from under yours and rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip, smearing your saliva around.

“Shall I keep going Papa?”  He gave you a quick nod, taking a deep breath as you mouthed along the side of his cock.  It twitched again, slowly filling out as you gave it attention.  You licked the drop of precum that started to leak at the tip and then looked up to see him watching you.  “Will you tell me now?  Will you tell me what you see when you look at me?”

He brought his hands up to cup your face, smiling softly as he pulled you close enough to slip his cock into your mouth once more.

“I see someone that is more beautiful than any flower in my garden.”  Primo grunted as he began to thrust in and out of your mouth, his cock nearly fully hard.  “Someone that has never left my side, that ah!  Cazzo.  Someone that…someone that I love more than anything.”

His moans started to mix with your whimpers as he moved faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust now.  There was so much more you wanted to say.  So much more that he needed to hear but you didn’t want to stop him.  You wanted him to fill your mouth with his cum, you wanted to swallow everything he gave you.  

Primo’s fingers began to dig harder in your hair as his cock started to kick in your mouth.  It wasn’t long before he nearly doubled-over as he came.  Your mouth filled with his release and you did your best to swallow it all, lapping at his cock to clean off what you could.  When he pulled out you kept your lips wrapped around him until you pulled off with a soft pop.  He was looking at you like you were the only other person in his world and you found your eyes filling with tears again when he spoke softly to you.

“In you, amore, I see someone that I will worship until my final days.  If you’ll let me.”

“Forever, Papa.”

He chuckled, wiping the mixture of saliva and his release off your chin before leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Forever.” 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

Queen X Ghost 👠👗💄

I had this in drafts for like...forever. I don't know why I didn't post it SOONER. 💖😫

*bangs my head against my desk, then lifts my hands into the air in a gesture of wild desperation* SECONDOOOO

Gentle Hands in a Time of Discomfort

Papa Emeritus I x Reader Word Count: 2,249

Summary: Confronted by a lingering backache, you turn to Primo, discovering unexpected comfort in the simplicity of opening up.

(Or: Primo gives you a back massage.)

Tags: chronic pain, gender-neutral reader, comfort, fluff, briefest nsfw mention, primo gives you a massage, really self-indulgent A/N: I was sad and experiencing a flare-up from chronic back pain, which resulted in this. Enjoy. 🥺

AO3 Link

The sharp pain radiating from your lower back (or maybe your hip; you couldn't quite place it) made each step toward Papa Emeritus I's quarters as painful as the last.

You had been assigned to the library a few days prior, and while kneeling to return a book to a lower shelf, you felt, and heard, a sudden pop as you rose to your feet.

It hadn't hurt too badly at first, just a nagging discomfort as you continued to hobble around and carry out the remainder of your tasks. You made sure to avoid any and all shelves that were below waist height, getting one of the younger, more limber Siblings to do it for you. But by the time you returned to the confines of your room, you could barely stand.

Holding onto the edge of your desk for support, you fished through the drawer for the last of your painkillers and quickly downed them dry. It wasn't something you would typically do, but you didn't wish to retrieve your water bottle from the other side of the room. 

Sucking in a deep breath through gritted teeth, you limped over to your bed.

You knew that the most sensible course of action would have been to consult with the abbey's physician. However, your irrational thoughts had you convinced that the problem would magically resolve itself by morning.

It hadn't, of course. Which is why, after explaining to Sister Imperator (or rather, explaining to her personal ghoul, who would then relay the message to her), the reason for needing the day off, you now found yourself standing at the door of Papa Emeritus the First.

Who better to confide in about aches and pains than an elder with the wisdom to understand your discomfort and empathise with your experiences?

As your knuckles rapped against the old oak door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night, you could feel the anticipation building. In all your time at the ministry, you'd, unfortunately, never actually spent any one-on-one time with him.

But based on your distant observations—whether it was watching him interact with the other siblings, attending one of his masses, or even as he tended to his plants in the abbey’s garden—you found him to be a gentle soul, despite his somewhat eerie demeanour, especially when he was dressed in his robes and papal face paint. 

It was why you decided to approach him rather than one of his other brothers.

After a short period of quiet, you began to consider the possibility that he had already retired for the night, a reasonable expectation given his age. However, as you started to withdraw, you heard what appeared to be the shuffling of slippers, followed by the gradual creaking of the door as it opened.

Emerging from the obscurity behind it, the face of the eldest Emeritus came into view, with the dimly lit hallway casting shadows that accentuated his weathered features. Though subtle, you noticed remnants of smudged black paint in the creases of his mouth and nose, suggesting he must have conducted mass earlier in the day. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment for having missed it.

"Sibling," he greeted you with a warm smile that forced the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. You found it incredibly endearing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You opened your mouth to reply, to explain your situation, when another twinge of pain in your back stifled your words. Instinctively, your hand reached around and rested on the source of discomfort. The tablets you’d taken earlier must have been starting to wear off. “Sorry, I—”

Worry etched across Papa's face as he swiftly moved to accompany you by your side, snaking an arm around you so you wouldn’t have to bear too much weight on the side that ached. Before you could protest, he was already carefully guiding you through the door and into his quarters.

"It seems that I have already unravelled the mystery of your presence here," he quipped as you both approached a set of welcoming armchairs draped in red velvet by an impressive fireplace. The warmth radiating from it touched your face even before you sat down.

As you sank into the plush chair to your left, you breathed a sigh of relief. The pain seemed to ease somewhat—perhaps comforted by the enveloping atmosphere of the room, or maybe by the company within it. The eldest Emeritus, having released his hold on you, offered a brief, comforting rub to your shoulder before taking the seat adjacent to you. A quiet groan escaped from him on the descent, which only reaffirmed that you had come to the right person.

"Now," he began, hands casually smoothing out the wrinkles in his robe, "is this a new development, or something that has been bothering you for some time, hm?"

You explained your situation, confessing that you’ve had the occasional ache in the past, but nothing so severe that it hadn't resolved itself after a solid night’s sleep. However, this? This felt different. The fear that it might be permanent was the real reason you hadn’t sought out help yet. You didn’t want them to confirm your worry—that you would have to endure it for the rest of your life.

“I only wish I could take the burden of this pain from you, amoruccio.”

“Papa—”

“Primo, please,” he corrected you, his voice filled with a gentle insistence, “and believe me, I understand what you are going through. It has been quite some time since I experienced a life untouched by pain. However, there are ways to manage it; you do not need to suffer.”

There was a brief pause during which his gaze met yours before he continued. “But firstly, you must promise me you will speak with our physician—tomorrow, preferably.”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“Use your words. Promise me.”

How could you refuse those kind, mis-matched eyes? “Okay, yes, I promise.”

Satisfied with your response, Primo gave a content hum. 

A comfortable silence filled the space between the pair of you. You opted to shut your eyes and immerse yourself in the comforting sounds of the wood crackling in the fireplace.

You weren't completely sure how much time had passed, as you had become so engrossed that you failed to notice Primo getting up from his chair to fetch something from the kitchen. It was only when he gently nudged your arm that you snapped out of your trance.

As you looked upward, you observed him extending a glass of water and some tablets to you. You graciously accepted and promptly downed them. While you drank, Primo couldn't help but watch as droplets of water traced a path down your chin. Despite the impulse to wipe them away with his thumb, he exercised self-control.

“These are likely stronger than whatever you have. You will want to sleep shortly after taking them, which is why I offer you my bed tonight.”

“Papa—,” you quickly corrected yourself, “Primo, I couldn’t.”

“I would be deeply insulted if you refused,” his tone was playful, but you got a sense that there was truth to his words.

With a defeated sigh, the painkillers appeared to act swiftly, just as Primo had cautioned. They left you feeling too tired to muster any resistance—not that you had the inclination to in the first place. Setting the glass you had still been holding down onto the side table, you steadied yourself by gripping the arms of the chair to stand up once more.

However, Primo wouldn’t have that. He signalled for you to let go and, instead, interlaced his fingers with yours. Simultaneously, his other hand rested on the middle of your back, aiding you in rising to your feet. You were relieved to find that the pain had mostly subsided for now.

“Come,” he led you past the kitchen and towards what you assumed was his bedroom door. As you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to the oversized bed in the centre of the room. The frame is solid and impressive, but it's not too over-the-top; it has a laid-back elegance and just the right touch of sophistication.

You couldn’t resist gliding your hand over the burgundy silk sheets as you sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Is it to your liking?” Primo asked, reaching down to retrieve something from the drawer of the bedside table closest to you. He slipped it into the pocket of his robe before you got a chance to see what it was.

“This is probably the fanciest bed I’ve ever sat on if I’m being honest,” you remarked candidly.

“Is that so?” Primo chuckled with genuine warmth, returning to your side and maintaining his stance. “You should see Terzo’s then,” he suggested offhandedly. However, in that brief moment, a shadow of regret crossed his face, as if the realisation of the impact of his words had just dawned on him. "On second thought, maybe it is best if you do not."

“Nevertheless," he carried on before you could inquire about his previous remark, "before we retire for the night, there is one last thing I would like to do for you.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” you protested, genuinely touched by his thoughtful gestures throughout the evening. In a surprising display of boldness and wanting to outwardly express your appreciation, you reached out and held his hand with both of yours, gently rubbing your thumbs across his skin.

In response, Primo rested his other hand on top of yours. “Allow your Papa to massage your troubles away, mio dolce.”

Admittedly, the idea of indulging in a massage from the most senior Emeritus was undeniably an enticing one. While the gesture itself was not inherently sexual, it carried an intimacy that evoked a delightful flutter in the pit of your stomach and a subtle flush across your cheeks.

Yes. You would allow yourself this.

"Lie down for me then,” he instructed once you agreed, “on your stomach."

You complied, settling comfortably onto the cool sheets with your arms crossed in front of you, chin resting on top. Primo circled around to the opposite side of the bed, shuffled across, and repositioned himself beside you.

As you turned your head to face him, your lips curved into a smile. "If I may...?" he asked, his question lingering in the air as his hands hovered just above the small of your back, right at the hem of your top. In response, you not only raised it but also chose to remove it altogether—a gesture that not only made things more convenient for him but also reflected the profound sense of security you felt with Primo, a space free from any concerns of judgement.

He reached into the pocket of his robe once again to retrieve what he had placed there earlier—a small glass jar. You couldn't make out the label, if it even had one, but you assumed it was an ointment meant to soothe aches. At least, that's what you hoped for.

Primo deftly unscrewed the lid and scooped out a small heap of its contents. With a gentle touch, he began at your shoulders, his fingers moving in slow, circular motions. To your delight, each stroke was accompanied by a soothing warmth provided by the ointment. As the stress of the day melted away, you couldn't help but relax even further into the soft embrace of the bed.

He continued down your spine, focusing on a notably sensitive area in your lower back, the origin of your unease. To your horror, an involuntary moan left your lips upon contact, causing Primo to tense momentarily. Unaware to you, his body nearly gave away his reaction; beneath his robes, his cock stirred at the pleasing sound he’d unintentionally drawn from you.

"Careful,” Primo chuckled softly, “I may not possess the youth I once did, but I am still a man."

You buried your face in your arms, a mix of embarrassment and the realisation that your entire face was turning red. "’I’m so sorry," you mumbled with a muffled voice.

He waved off your apology. "Such reactions are completely natural. I consider it a compliment, my dear."

After a few minutes, the tension on your end had eased as he finished the massage, completing the final circles into your back. "There," he declared. Leaning in, he softly kissed the top of your head. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," you sighed.

Primo gave a satisfied hum and briefly stepped away from your presence to cleanse his hands of the lingering ointment. Granted, it had proven advantageous for him and the ageing joints in his fingers too. The two of you were swiftly reunited, and he passed you an additional pillow.

“Lie on your side and put a pillow between your knees; you will find that your pain will not be nearly as intense come morning.”

“Thank you, Primo.”

"Now, let us get some rest."

Repositioning for added comfort following Primo's suggestion to place a pillow between your legs, he dimmed the nearby lamp, creating a gentle and welcoming glow.

The conversation gradually faded, replaced by the rhythmic sounds of deep, steady breaths as sleep began to claim you both. The room became a haven of tranquillity, a sanctuary where the weight of the world lifted, if only for a little while.

You never wanted to leave.

As a child, I was always searching for the meaning of it all, the big Why; and my father always said that there is no one big purpose but I had the most ripe orange today and kissed my cat goodnight, I think that's enough purpose for a day.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

The Dance

Pairing: Papa Emeritus II/Female reader

Warnings/Content: No warnings; 1k+ words.

Additional Tags: Fluff Comfort, Dancing, Slow Dancing, Oneshot

Please see end of work under the cut for italian translations!

Read on AO3!

Through the hallways of the ministry, your nervous footsteps echoed. Bouncing with anxious energy; dancing through the air with excitement. As you approached the chapel, your mouth became dry, and your breathing could barely keep up with the fluttery beats of your heart.

Papa Emeritus Secondo waited for you in the safe darkness of the ministry's chapel.

Through the hallways of the ministry, your nervous footsteps echoed. Bouncing with anxious energy; dancing through the air with excitement. As you approached the chapel, your mouth became dry, and your breathing could barely keep up with the fluttery beats of your heart. And you got closer…

closer…

You closed the door of the chapel behind you, and were welcomed by the sound of classical music and the comforting glow of candlelights. Next to the pulpit, his imposing figure stood proud, lighting up the final candles with the utmost care before he softly blew on the matchstick he held between his fingers. 

“You are late, carissima”, says he with a stern voice turning around with elegant confidence; his eye contact leaving you frozen in place for a moment. Taking your breath away for an instant. 

“I’m sorry Papa. I truly tried to be here on time. I really did, but…”

Secondo shakes his head, lifting his gloved hand to stop you from talking further. 

“It’s important to be here on time, per favore, carissima… ne abbiamo parlato”, Secondo reprimands you, emphasizing with his hands, palms put together. As you bow with regret and several apologies leaving your lips, he looks at you with a mischievous smile. Punctuality was important for him, but seeing you become somewhat flustered at his little comment made the slight inconvenience worth it. He could tease you like this, and you didn’t even know it. He knew you would never be punctual, no matter how many times he told you. Piccola ribelle.

“Prova un po’ meglio la prossima volta, si?” Said the Papa, slowly approaching you. His mismatched gaze never leaves your face for a second; secretly taking in your features that have delighted him for quite a while now.

“I will, I promise.”

The Papa silently acknowledges your words with a nod, this time disguising his mischievous enjoyment a little better. He put his arms up, waiting for you to follow him. “You practiced, I assume? You know that the ritual is very close, mia carissima” His voice is now soft, almost intimate. You cleared your throat in an attempt to bring your focus back to the current moment. 

“I have, Papa. As you instructed”, you replied, gently placing your hand on his grasp while the second emeritus took this as an invitation to hold your lower back. “Brava, bellissima.” Secondo closed the distance between you two, and he was now close, so close to your ear. To your neck. “Sei pronta?” He whispered. And oh! How you shivered, his voice sending electricity down your spine with each one of his exhales. You nodded as you felt yourself grow feverish. Calm down, calm down.

“Remember, cara. 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3…” Said the Papa as he started to lead. The smell of his cologne overloading your senses. The feeling of his warmth putting you in a trance.

The music, that now bounced off the walls of the chapel, felt nice and tingly against your ears; reverberating through your arms, and rippling through your legs with every dance step. “Let the music guide you…” Secondo continued, moving your body with the same ease an orchestra conductor would lead his ensemble. Both of your figures followed the climactic notes, dancing through the dark chapel as if you were a flowing river. 

“Perfetta, perfetta… you are fantastic, cara!” Smiled Secondo at your development “I told you that practice makes perfect, did I not?” You felt your chest beam with pride at the Papa’s compliments. You were well acquainted with his stern demeanor and his high standards. A type of perfectionism that was extended in every direction, including himself. Getting a compliment from him was, in fact, no easy task… but this…this was deeply special to you. “Thank you, Papa. Truly.” The song was coming to an end, and Secondo started to slow down his pace, while you followed suit. He now looked into your eyes as he continued the final part of this dance. You repressed a gasp at the sudden eye contact, struggling to maintain his gaze; your eyes looking everywhere else but him.

“No, no… continua a guardarmi, cara” “But…”

“Do as I say, carissima. It will be done at the ritual, might as well practice now, don’t you think?” Oh, for sweet Sathanas… your blood was pumping strongly through your veins, as you could barely look into his eyes. You swallowed, trying to remove the strong lump forming in your throat, in futile hopes that the nervousness pooling at the pit of your stomach would dissolve magically. You were wrong, to your dismay.

Secondo smirked somewhat amused.

“I can feel you shivering, cara” He whispered “Is the presence of your Papa making you nervous?” “Not at all” Your voice slightly trembled “Perhaps nervous at messing up.” “So you say” He chuckled, taking note of the crimson color that now came alive on your cheeks, your lips, your fingertips…

He wondered how sweet your lips would taste against his. How warm you would feel against his embrace, how your body would react to his touch. “You have nothing to worry about” He added, bringing himself out of that momentaneous distraction “You have become quite the skilled dancer, and something tells me you might end up teaching me in the future. Teaching this old man his own tricks” “Maybe so” you replied playfully, making the Papa raise an eyebrow with curiosity. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Tu, piccola piantagrane” He smirked.

As the music came to a lull, Secondo stayed in place holding you while looking into your eyes. The beating of your heart syncing with his. You felt as if you could not break away from the strong spell of his gaze, even if you wanted to.

“Ti rigranzio per questo ballo…” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, as he placed a kiss with fervent eyes. “The honor is mine, Papa” You said softly, wishing his lips were against yours. Yearning for something more than just this tonight.

After a moment, the second Papa breaks the silence with a proposition. “What do you say, shall we have another dance?” Said Secondo, as he brought his hands up once more “Remember what I said about practicing, si?” “Yes, yes” You rolled your eyes in playful exasperation. “But just one more, hm?”

“No rush, cara. The night is still very young…” Translations: "Carissima/Cara": Dearest/Dear "Per favore, carissima… ne abbiamo parlato": Please dearest… we talked about this "Piccola ribelle": Little rebel “Prova un po’ meglio la prossima volta, si?”: Try a little better next time, yes? "Brava, bellissima.": Good job, beautiful “Sei pronta?”: Are you ready? "Perfetta": Perfect "Continua a guardarmi, cara": Keep looking at me, dear “Tu, piccola piantagrane”: You little troublemaker "Ti rigranzio per questo ballo": I thank you for this dance

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)

Ghost at Utopia 2014

Look who's next ! 👀✨

I have to. Secondo is my fav papa to draw even if I don't draw him that much and it's been a long time since I last drew him?? Well I sketch him quite a lot but never share jaidoqbd and I need to test my new love for textured brush on him.