This Is A PSA For Fic Writers Who Haven't Updated In A While :

Peeling oranges for someone is a love language.

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.

for the Halloween-esque prompts!

something TOOTH-ACHINGLY fluffy with secondo 🎃 out of all the papas he seems to have the most pictures with kids, so I have a headcannon that he loves to be around them & even participate in their mischief every once in a while. Maybe he and reader help the kids at the Abbey with apple picking? Or help them put on their costumes/face paint/wigs for Halloween? have fun with it!

this hurt my teeth writing it! some suggestive language…

Secondo is so focused, moving the brush with such precision as he applies the facepaint. His brows are furrowed, lip pressed into a thin line, squinting to make sure he gets the pattern just right. He sits back in his chair and looks over his work, tilting his head while a hand rests on his chin as his eyes follow the delicate lines. You watch him from the other room and find yourself with a dreamy smile playing on your lips.

“You are all done, Giacomo.” Papa grumbles and sets down his brush then gestures towards a nearby mirror. The child happily turns to the mirror, looking cheek to cheek and smiling ear to ear.

“Papa, I look just like you!” Giacomo exclaims, turning back to look at Secondo, his eyes shining brightly.

“Si, si. Now, go get your costume on. Mass is soon.” His voice is the same as how he would speak to adults, stern and deep, but children seem to be unphased by the threatening nature of it. You like to think it’s because he speaks to them like actual people.

“Grazie, grazie, Papa!” Giacomo chirps before scrambling out of the room. You come up behind Secondo as he starts organizing his brushes, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives a content sigh, relaxing against your touch.

“How many children are going as Papa Emeritus the Second?” You purr in his ear.

“Six.” Secondo answers then pulls himself to his feet, slipping from your grasp with a sly grin. “Helped pochi cardinali too.” He smoothes out his robes as his eyes flicker over your body. “This is your costume?”

“What, is it not up to your standards?” You frown and fold your arms over your chest. Admittedly, you didn’t try very hard, opting to wear all black (which isn’t too different from your daily outfits) and a witch’s hat.

“You won’t win the costume contest.”

“The costume contest is for kids.” Silence hangs in the air for just a moment until you cannot hold back giggles any longer. You love when he’s playful like this and you can tell it’s because it’s his favorite time of year.

“Halloween Mass is extremely sacred, amore.” Secondo teases as he starts to stalk closer to you. “We have to appease the spirits.”

“Well, maybe you should paint my face, then.”

“We don’t have enough time for that.” His voice sounds buttery smooth as he towers over you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Do you have the unholy offering?” You hold up the bag of candy you put together and he takes it, rifling through it with a gloved hand. “Hmm… you’ve put together a good selection.” He holds the bag firmly in his hand and reaches out to you with his free one. “Shall we go celebrate the undead?”

The chapel is decorated top to bottom with black and orange streamers, bat decals, broomsticks and more. You work to organize the babbling, excited children into a single file line. Secondo looms in front of the children, back to looking stoic and authoritative, but you know it’s just an act for his audience.

The children of the abbey go up one by one, uttering the sacred words of the unholy spirit (“trick or treat”) to receive their offering from Papa. You are Papa’s helper and you make sure each child has their own time to be with him, though there are some times you get distracted by the sweetness of it all. He bows down to each child, close enough so that he can hear them, and asks them how they are honoring the dead this year.

The truth is, Papa doesn’t have to do any of this. It’s not his responsibility to ensure the children of the abbey have fun Halloween, but it warms your heart to see him here, playing along and enjoying himself. It’s Giacomo’s turn and you can’t help but smile ear to ear at his incredibly accurate Secondo costume.

“Ah, Papa.” Secondo bows his head to him. “I should be asking you for your blessing.” He offers a small smirk as he gives Giacomo a few pieces of candy, and one extra — for good luck. His eyes fall to you watching him and you’re unable to stop yourself from swooning.

Maybe you’ll let him paint your face later.

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?”

mutuals dont worry im going to eroticize horror and gore with you and keep you alive forever

if Secondo was a type of parrot, which would he be 🗿

I had to research some parrots for this. There’s nanday parakeets which aesthetically make me think of Secondo being mostly green with a black hood marking over their head but most parrot species, assuming they’ve been raised well, are pretty social and affectionate animals. Some say that Pionus parrots are much more independent than others and will typically be more reserved except with chosen close people, so maybe that?

But since we’re talking about Secondo and birds… I’d like to introduce y’all to the King Vulture, scientific name Sarcoramphus papa, inspired by the Latin Papa for bishop as their plumage resembles that of one’s dress. It is bald with a small patch of colorful feathers and the species is minimally sexually dimorphic which means there are minimal differences between the appearance of males and females ( <—genderqueer Secondo believer)

In Mayan mythology these birds were believed to be messengers of the gods or to be a god themselves and often were depicted as gods with a human body and bird head. Historically, it’s blood and feathers were often used in medicines and remedies.

The Prince

Part Four: The Herbalist (ao3 // part one // part two // part three)

Vampire Terzo x F!Reader, Special Guest Star Primo

Summary: You and Terzo hit the road and head for Primo's. It goes about as well as expected. (13000 words [I know. I have a problem] and not beta read because frankly, that's a lot to ask.)

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, horror themes, vampire violence, neck biting, blood, blood drinking, major character injury, hurt/comfort, SMUT, and more tags on ao3

banner by my dear dear friendo @ramblingoak. Thank you for absolutely everything.

There was nothing around for miles. It was just you and an endless expanse of highway etched into the bright green splatters of forest that only seemed to exist between cities anymore. You’d spent the last several hours speeding past fireworks warehouses and billboards for adult video stores in the absolute middle of nowhere. A cheap pair of sunglasses purchased at a truck stop larger than the high school you’d attended kept the sun out of your eyes. The pair you purchased for Terzo rattled away in the cupholder next to your knee.

Following a short conversation on the nature of werewolves, he had moved into the backseat and passed out. He curled up tight like a cat trying to make itself as small as possible, a cheap blanket pulled over his head to keep the sun off his face. He’d been unusually quiet for most of the drive, so it didn’t surprise you too much when he crawled back there with little more than a mumbled explanation. It wouldn’t have bothered you, but quiet was so out of the ordinary for him you couldn’t help but worry.

The hours of sitting combined with the soft drone of the engine and the otherwise silent drive did nothing to help you stay awake. After what felt like an eternity, you finally found a place with the right combination of populated enough to go unnoticed and shitty enough to be ignored.

Terzo didn’t move at all as you threw the car into park, groaning at the dull ache in your knees. You reached over, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he shivered.

“Terzo? I’ll be right back, ok?”

When he didn’t respond you forced yourself out of the car. The least you could do was get him to a bed.

You exchanged a few words and some cash with the motel manager, finding another delicate balance between don’t wanna know and paid enough to forget. People in places like these had seen enough already, heard every sad story or fake name anyone could come up with and you didn’t have the time or energy to pretend to explain away the bruises on your face.

With a room secured, you ducked into the truck stop next door to grab supplies. Your skin itched as soon as the car left your field of vision, but you figured it was better to keep Terzo and his blood soaked sweater far from view. You thumbed through a few novelty t-shirts and souvenir hats as you made your way around and loaded up on snacks and water. There was no Michelin star, but the truck stop offered something resembling hot food and you weren’t about to be picky.

Terzo stirred, grumbling softly as you settled back into the car and parked closer to the room you’d been assigned.

“Bellezza?” he asked, his voice weak and slightly hoarse. “Where are we?”

“Uh, not sure exactly. But it’ll do for the next few hours at least. C’mon, sexy,” you chirped as you hopped out, trying to keep the mood light. You tucked the plastic bag under your arm, balancing the snacks and water on your hip as you popped open the door by his head.

He sat up and frowned, wincing as the sun shone brightly behind you. “How far?”

“A few feet, maybe ten? We’re just right there,” you offered, pointing at the door to the room.

“Bellezza, I need you to go open the door.”

You shrugged and turned the keycard over in your hand as you walked toward the door. The lock had barely clicked out of place, its electronic parts grinding through years of overuse to flash that green light when Terzo rushed past, shoulder-checking you at inhuman speed. You followed him in, opening your mouth to complain and letting it snap shut when you realized he was cowering in the corner. Moving as fast as you could, you kicked the door shut and spun around to pull the curtains closed.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Terzo, are you—”

“I’m fine, cara,” he insisted, cutting you off too quickly to really be believable. “Just a little weak is all.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Just to rest,” he replied with a light laugh. His knees popped loudly as he stood, the long drive having no mercy for his joints either. He looked around the dusty room, a sly smile spreading across his face. “One bed, eh? You are warming up to me.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

He crawled up on the bed with a sigh and shot you his best attempt at a serious look. “I’ll be better when you join me, bellezza.”

You rolled your eyes at his suggestive eyebrow raise and placed the overstuffed plastic bag on the table by the window. After poking around for a moment, you found the shirt you’d grabbed for him inside.

“Take that off,” you said and motioned to your once prized and now disgusting sweater.

He grinned as he whipped the bloody shirt across the room. “Should we discuss a safe word—ah!”

The balled-up t-shirt hit him right between the eyes.

“What is this?” he asked, pouting slightly.

“It’s for you to wear.”

His pout turned into a deep frown as he examined the shirt. “Bellezza…”

“Yes?” you replied innocently.

“This is funny to you?” he asked, pulling the thing over his head.

It was ill-fitting in so many ways, far too short and too baggy for his frame with a stretched-out neckline and sleeves that went to his elbows. But the thing that had made you buy him that shirt was spelled out right there on his chest in huge letters.

Garlic Bread Slut.

You bit your lip and turned away from him. “Nope. Not funny at all.”

His arms slid around your waist as he pressed himself against your back and leaned in close to your ear. “Oh, I think you like it.”

“I think you have a really odd way of resting,” you countered as you dug through the bag for your food. “You should lay down.”

“Such a tease,” he chided as he released you, but kept his chin on your shoulder. “What in Satan’s name is that?”

You shrugged and tossed the container’s plastic lid onto the table. “I think its spaghetti?”

“No, bellezza. That is an abomination. Please tell me you’re not going to eat that.”

“What? You don’t wanna share?”

He grumbled as he moved away from you to settle on the bed. You climbed up on the other side, folding your legs under yourself as you poked at your subpar mystery pasta. Terzo curled up next to you, his eyes heavy as he watched you chewing slowly. With a soft smile, you turned and handed him the remote.

“What’s this for?”

“You should find one of your movies so you can sleep,” you suggested.

“But…you hate those.”

“Yeah, but you don’t,” you replied as you reached over him to grab a serving of disturbingly cold garlic bread. “Hey, does garlic—”

“No,” he said quickly and stole a bite from your bread. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Serves you right, you little shit,” you teased with a laugh.

He frowned deeply as he chewed, clearly regretting his decision. He flipped through a few channels to distract himself, occasionally making a disgusted face and sticking his tongue out much like a child would. He managed to find a cable version of some romcom you vaguely remembered, something with lead actors the general population would’ve known instantly. He could probably recite their entire filmographies, but you were stuck squinting at the male actor wondering if his hair had always looked like that.

Around twenty minutes passed, most of them filled with noisy commercials instead of the movie Terzo was trying to watch. It didn’t matter anyway—he could barely keep his eyes open longer than a couple of minutes. Again he mumbled through the excuse that he was just tired, waving you off when you asked.

If he was going to insist that he was fine, you could go on about your business as well. You slipped off the bed and circled back to the bag still laying on the table.

“Where are you going?” he asked, tiredly raising his head the same way a sleepy puppy would.

“To brush my teeth.” You dug the new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste from the bag, waving it around as proof.

“Ah, garlic.”

“Got you one too,” you added with a wink and dropped the brush with the purple handle on his chest as you walked by.

He clutched the packaging like a bridesmaid who just caught the bouquet, sighing dramatically. “Bellezza, I didn’t know you cared!”

“What, about your breath?” you teased. “If I don’t take care of the garlic bread slut, who will?”

He pushed himself up with a grunt. “Cara mia, I’ll take care of you. Twice.”

“Not if you don’t brush your teeth,” you quipped, scrunching your nose at him. You set about brushing your own teeth, watching him drag himself from the bed in the mirror’s reflection. You shot him a little smile before returning to your task and daydreaming about all the sleep you were about to get.

There was a thud behind you, loud and heavy enough to be heard over your efforts. You glanced up at the mirror and realized it was the sound of his body hitting the floor.

You screamed his name and tossed your toothbrush into the sink before rushing over to him. Pulling his head into your lap, you began frantically patting at his face. “C’mon, wake up Terzo,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. No, no, no. Please. Terzo, I don’t know how to help you.”

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused as he looked up at you. He grabbed ahold of your wrist to keep your hand pressed to his face. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. You just—” You stopped short as you gazed down at him. His face was gaunt, the hollows deepening to gather more shadow as you watched helplessly. In the few seconds since you’d left him his skin dulled, turning a lifeless greenish gray under your fingertips. “No, no, no—”

His grip tightened around your wrist. “Bellezza, I need—”

“Yeah, ok.” You nodded quickly and thrust your other wrist in front of his face.

He pushed your hands away and scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over them in his haste. He shook his head, taking several steps backward until he was pressed against the door. “No,” was all he said, his tone firm. “I won’t. Not you.”

“Terzo, I’m not sure we have any other options here—”

“You don’t understand what you’re offering,” he growled, his white eye glowing as he fixed you with a serious look.

“Oh, so you can steal my garlic bread, but you’re too good for my blood?”

“Ragazza sciocca, it’s not that simple!” he shouted.

“Don’t fucking yell at me for trying to help you!” you shouted back.

“You can’t help me. You need to leave.”

“Are you fucking kidding? Terzo, there are still people after us. I’m not going to leave you here like this.”

“I will be fine,” he grunted as he threw himself back on the bed, sinking into the pillows.

“Terzo, stop. You can barely move; you can’t even go outside—”

“I will wait until dark then—” he snapped at you.

“And do what?” you yelled helplessly. “Crawl across the parking lot and hope someone gets close enough? You can’t even walk now; how bad will it be at nightfall? Just get it over with. I’ll be fine.”

He started to laugh, grimacing through the pain. “You really don’t know anything about vampires, do you?”

“That’s not fucking fair—”

He leaned up on his hands and knees, moving toward you slowly. “Bellezza, if you let me do this…” he started softly, averting his eyes to a spot on the carpet. “If I take from you, it will mark you for the rest of your life. Do you understand that? Do you know what that means?”

You shook your head.

He sat back and reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “You and I…there would be…it would mark you as mine, cara.”

“What, like property?” you scoffed.

“No, it’s not as barbaric as that. It’s…there is a bond created—"

“So, everyone you snack on is just yours?”

He shook his head. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re different, bellezza.”

You didn’t completely understand what he’d meant, but it hit you like a punch to the gut just the same. You dropped onto the bed, trying and failing to decipher what the fuck he was trying to tell you. “Terzo, I don’t…”

“No one else could touch you,” he added softly, picking at the scratchy duvet. “Which could be good or bad, honestly. But it’s not a thing that can be undone. We would be…tied together for the rest of your natural life. I can’t…I couldn’t force that on you.”

“You’re not forcing anything on me. And anyway, it doesn’t have to be all that. I’m just trying to keep you alive—”

“You’re not listening—”

“Of course I am! There’s some magical force you can’t explain that’s gonna tether me and you if you bite me. Do you realize how fucking ridiculous you sound?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re arguing with a vampire but go ahead and tell me how ridiculous this all is. You know nothing, bellezza. Nothing about me or others like me.”

“Oh my god, I’m not asking you to turn me—”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking at all! Do you know what any of this costs? The actual cost of playing around with eternal life?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Everything,” he snapped. “These things you’re so desperate to prove don’t matter to you cost us everything. For hundreds of years I have faced loss after loss after loss. Those hunter friends of yours killed Secondo’s very human girlfriend. Do you understand? That hunter—a girl he hired and trusted stabbed his girlfriend to death in front of us and I—I was powerless to stop it.”

“Terzo, I—”

“They will kill you too,” he said in a deadly serious tone. “They will not hesitate. Do you understand? If I mark you, it will only make things worse for you.” He shook his head, grabbing your hand as he looked back up at you. He tried and failed to blink away a few tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes. “I won’t…I can’t…I cannot watch you die, bellezza.”

You whispered his name as you reached for him, wanting to offer him something—comfort or empathy or at the very least understanding. He pressed a kiss into your palm before leaning into your touch. His skin was cold, dull, lifeless and you knew he was in much worse shape than he would ever admit. You’d started your summer wanting to kill him, but now you were able to see exactly how much it would hurt if he was gone.

“I can’t watch you die either,” you said quietly, choking on your own admission. “So, I guess we’re just going to have to keep saving each other.”

He huffed out a tiny laugh. “What’s a couple more times anyway, eh?”

“Exactly. So, it’s settled then?”

“Bellezza, I don’t think the devil himself could talk you out of something you’ve set your mind to.”

“Pretty sure this isn’t the time for a theology discussion.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “That,” he started, struggling to push himself up. “Is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Good. How do we…do this?”

He shot you a half-smile and motioned for you to join him on the bed, explaining the easiest and most comfortable way for him to drink from you. Building up a small mountain of pillows for him to rest against, you eased him into a better position. It was difficult to see him look so powerless after everything the two of you had been through, but the mood already felt lighter. Both of you were taking a huge risk, but you knew deep down it was the right thing to do for him. You’d been so wrong about so many things, so blind to the most obvious signs, but this one—this glowed neon and warm as the vampire looked up at you adoringly.

You settled into his lap and closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. Despite how much you pushed for this, how much you wanted to do this to help him, it didn’t stop you from being terrified. He brought a hand to your hip and squeezed gently as his own breaths became more labored by the second.

“Will it hurt?” you asked as softly as you could, scared that any noise would break the two of you apart and he would change his mind.

“Bellezza, I would never hurt you,” he admitted in a whisper.

You pressed your forehead to his. “I know.”

You didn’t see his weak smile, your eyes still squeezed tight as he brought a hand to your chin. He smoothed his thumb over your jaw as he coaxed your head to the side and followed the trail down the veins of your neck. You flinched as his lips met your skin, but his teeth didn’t follow as he left soft kisses over the column of your throat. Slowly you felt your body relax against him, your chests pressed together. He locked an arm around your back, his fingers digging into your flesh as the most lascivious moan vibrated through his entire body.

He was right, he hadn’t hurt you. For a few seconds you weren’t quite sure what was happening. You shifted in his lap and a surprised gasp left you as you felt his cock growing thick against you. He whined at your movements struggling to keep you still as your warm, wet blood spilled from his mouth and dribbled down your neck. That seemed to pull you back to the reality of the situation, a dull ache growing where his teeth were pressed into your skin.

His hold got tighter and tighter and it wasn’t until you let out a pitiful whimper that he finally pulled off. He licked at your wounds, hungrily lapping up every drop that dribbled down like futilely trying to fight the sun from melting an ice cream. You slumped against him, heartbeat slowing with each second.

Terzo moved beneath you, easily lifting himself up despite your dead weight. He managed to relax, stretching his legs out so he could fully lay down. He kept you pinned to him, not that you could move even if you’d wanted to. He sucked in a deep breath, your body rising as his chest filled. His body began to grow warm, his complexion slowly returning to its healthy glow under your fingertips.

Weak and tired you rested your head against the new warmth of him, eyelids growing heavier with each slow beat of your heart. A small splotch of your blood stained his t-shirt, enough that the smell of copper seemed to overpower everything. As he carded a hand through your hair, your eyes finally closed.

-x-

Terzo was gone when you woke up.

The motel room was dark and with the TV off the only light came from the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock. You reached for the lamp, your muscles so stiff and sore you could barely lift your hand from the bed. Through dry, cracked lips you muttered his name, wondering if he was just lurking somewhere in the dark, but there was no response.

Everything fucking hurt. Places in your body you didn’t know could even feel pain seemed to scream to life as you pushed yourself up. It was like fire under your skin, the way your fingers would burn as they turn white from cold. A feeling without any sort of warmth. You were freezing, shivering against the motel’s paper-thin blankets and unable to move from your resting place.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

Outside, you could hear someone whistling loudly with no regard for anyone occupying the motel rooms. The door rattled as the old lock croaked out a beep and gave way with a loud click. The whistling only got louder as Terzo strolled in sporting a bare midriff and a delivery bag.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he quipped as he saw you sitting up. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I hate you,” you grinded out.

He clicked his tongue. “It’s a good thing I know you don’t mean that.”

You didn’t have a proper comeback for him this time. Your brain had turned to cotton candy with the density of dark matter and your face contorted in pain as you gritted your teeth. Terzo caught you quickly as you swung your legs off the side of the bed in an effort to stand, but you had all the coordination of a baby giraffe on ice.

“You need to stay put, bellezza.”

“Terzo, we have to get out of here,” you mumbled tiredly.

“Oh no, mia principessa. We are not going anywhere until you get your strength back.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

He shot you a look as he dropped the bag on the table. “Yours.”

You forced yourself to your feet and cast him an equally annoyed glare. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, we’re not doing that until you get your strength back either,” he teased, wiggling his slender hips at you. The sharp angle of bone and a soft trail of dark hair was on prominent display as he continued to mime the very same motions he’d used on you a few times now. 

“Ugh, stop,” you whined, feigning disgust. “Where the fuck did you even find scissors?”

“Oh, the shirt needed some modifications. I hope you don’t mind.”

You pressed your fingers against your temples. “You left me in here like this because you needed another crop top?”

“Of course not! That was more of an opportunity that just presented itself. I left because I knew you would need a few things.” He frowned at you and guided you backwards until you sat on the bed. “You shouldn’t stand for a while.”

“And you shouldn’t be running around some random truck stop in the middle of nowhere!”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, pulling into a smirk. “Bellezza, were you worried about me?”

You shoved him as hard as you could in your weakened state. “Yes, you idiot!”

“Hey,” he pouted.

“Terzo, I have spent the last few days trying to keep you safe. I let you bite me for fuck’s sake! Is this just one big game to you?” you asked accusingly, not having the strength to keep the tears brimming in your eyes under control.

He dropped onto the bed and pulled you into his lap, cradling you as he spoke. “Tesoro, no. None of this is a game, ok? None of it.”

You gasped for breath between sobs as a sharp, searing pain ripped through your neck. It was the worst thing you’d ever felt, like broken glass and fire had replaced you blood. You dug your nails into Terzo’s arm, pressing harder with each wave of hurt. The smell of copper tinged the air.

“Tesorino, you’re ok,” he cooed, smoothing a hand down your back. “I need you to breathe, sì? Slowly,” he instructed as he reached for the bag. He kept an arm locked around you as he retrieved a small, white cardboard box. He ripped it open with his teeth, unwilling to let you go even for a second.

“There we go,” he said softly as your breathing returned to normal. He adjusted you in his lap, turning you just so and firmly pressed a gauze pad to your throat. He held it in place as he leaned down and let his lips brush gently across your forehead. “I’m so sorry, bellezza. This is all my fault.”

“Yeah, you really fucked up by falling on that poisoned-tipped dagger,” you grumbled.

“It was a bowie knife, mia cara. Feels different.”

“You make a habit of getting stabbed?”

“Once or twice,” he replied dismissively. “But that is a story for another time. I should have been here when you woke up.”

“It’s fine—”

“Bellezza, this pain,” he paused to flex his fingers around the gauze. “That is your bite reopening. You have to be more careful. You are, eh, delicate while you’re healing.”

“Great,” you groaned. “Nothing I love more than feeling delicate.”

“I promise it’s not forever, cara. But you might be a little more…eh, it’s not just a physical weakness, you’ll feel. You will probably feel quite emotional too. But that’s nothing a little chocolate can’t fix,” he adds with a nervous laugh.

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Cocoa is good for your brain, tesorino.” He shook his head. “And I thought you were done trying to kill me, hmm?”

“I guess,” you managed through a yawn.

He dropped another kiss on your forehead before he slid you from his lap. He brought your hand to your neck, your fingers replacing his so he could tear through that silly delivery bag with reckless abandon. Piece by piece he revealed his truck stop haul. Somehow, he had been able to find things you hadn’t even thought of.

He knelt in front of you and gently helped you lift your hand and the bloody gauze away. Biting his lip in concentration, he leaned in to replace the bandage and secured it with a healthy amount of medical tape around the edges. When he was satisfied, he slipped his arms under you and shifted your body back against the pile of pillows you had made for him. With a smug grin he finally handed you a heavy chocolate bar in the fanciest wrapper you’d ever seen.

“The hell is this?”

“Chocolate?”

“Uh-huh. And where did it come from?”

“Ah,” he sang and bit into a chocolate bar of his own. “Would you like to hear about my day, bellezza?”

You tried to stay calm. “Please, please tell me you didn’t use your credit cards.”

“You worry too much.” He planted a patronizing kiss on the top of your head. “But, no, I did not use the credit cards. After I was restored, I took a little walk around the area. I knew you would need to rest and to eat and that you’d need bandages and probably a couple of good excuses, so I wandered into the little shop with the horrible ‘spaghetti.’” He paused to make a disgusted face, a shiver going through his body. “And do you know what I found?”

“Your flair for the dramatic?”

“I’d have to lose it first,” he teased and raised an eyebrow at you. “I found a very helpful young man—well, I say young, but I believe he said he was about 200—”

“Terzo? Did you befriend another werewolf?”

“What? No, I—are you going to let me tell my story, cara?” he huffed.

You lazily mimed zipping your mouth shut.

“Grazie mille. Where was I? Oh! The helpful young vampire let me borrow some scissors for the t-shirt and taught me how to use something called an app. From his phone, don’t worry. Bellezza, did you know you can just…have food brought to you?”

You bit your tongue as his face lit up and he presented you with an insane amount of takeout containers.

“I wasn’t sure what you might want when you woke up, but, eh, Robert said that wasn’t really an issue around here. So, there’s a little bit of everything I could find, plus the chocolate bars.”

“Terzo?”

“I didn’t use cards. I—”

“Thank you,” you whispered as tears spilled down your face again.

He shot you a worried look as you began to weep openly. “Cara, you…you said we had to keep saving each other.”

You nodded. “I did say that.”

“Well, it was my turn. And I am not nursing you back to health with salt and those disgusting energy drinks Omega is addicted to, ok? Not for mia principessa.”

He settled next to you on the bed and flipped through the TV as you ate small bites from the container than smelled the best. It wasn’t the same pain, but swallowing your food hadn’t felt great and you were growing tired fast. He let you rest against his shoulder, eyelids drooping as you began to drift. He made a tiny, happy sound as he found a channel that featured men on skates.

“Bellezza, look! This is the one you like, sì? The violence?”

You cuddled closer to him, warming yourself with the heat of his body as you glanced at the TV. There was a singular man gliding beautifully over the ice before pushing off into a jump. “This is men’s figure skating.”

“Oh. It’s not the same?”

You shook your head as you leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “But I like this too.”

-x-

Morning arrived too quickly with a harsh light that cracked through the edge of the dingy curtains and revealed just how much dust was floating around that tiny motel room. Terzo held you as close as possible, the rough blankets tangled around his hips and yours, almost tying the two of you together. He had draped himself over you sometime last night between a sleepy discussion of the differences of technical and artistic scoring and deciding when the two of you should plan to leave for Primo’s house. You were too exhausted to argue for your own space in the bed, much less your own plans for moving forward. So, you pressed into his side, accepting the comfort of him and fell asleep in his arms.

It was beginning to feel natural somehow, like waking up next to Terzo Emeritus was just something you did every day. Part of a routine that should have worried you or even scared you, but it just…didn’t. There was no real way to explain it to yourself. As much as the rational, trained vampire hunter part of you had never, ever imagined anything like this would happen to you it didn’t feel wrong. Your only worry was the dull throb of the bite wound pulsing in your neck.

You shifted around, trying to lessen the pressure on the spot. His hold on you tightened with a tired whine and a whispered “don’t” falling from his lips.

“We should get up,” you suggested.

“Not yet, mia principessa. Please?”

There was something about the way he said it, something in the tone that made the air leave your lungs. But this time it felt different—his words didn’t frighten you, didn’t carry a weight that you couldn’t understand. There was no desire to run and hide, no itch under your skin that begged you to push him away. The voice in your head that usually screamed these kinds of things were wrong and too much was silent for once. You were content where you were, happy to lay next to him even if he didn’t give you any room. Almost as though you wanted to be there.

With a yawn, you agreed to let him sleep a little longer.

An hour later he finally dragged himself to a seated position, dramatically stretching and grunting in a way you’d come to expect. He resigned himself to getting dressed, pausing to not so subtly watch you move through the room as you went to shower and change into the novelty “Roadkill Café” t-shirt he’d bought for you while you were passed out. You brushed your teeth together, each of you eyeing the other in the mirror with curiosity and shy smiles.

There was something so normal about the whole thing. Tiny moments of domesticity and the sweetness of a simple touch. The idiot had even kissed you while globs of toothpaste foamed around his mouth, leaving a trail of mint and spit on your cheek. It allowed you to forget the rest of the world, to forget that outside this room people were actively trying to kill both of you. With that thought, the spell was broken, and you began to pick at your cuticles while he busied himself with the mass of food containers he brought back.

“You ok, bellezza?” he asked carefully, but he couldn’t mask the concern on his face.

You forced a smile and stood, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Just ready to get going, I guess.”

He brought a hand to your face, softly caressing your cheek before turning it over to press the back to your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I just…I think we’re stayed here way too long.”

“We didn’t really have a choice.”

“No, but we should get going before someone figures out where we are—or where we’re going.”

He gave you an easy shrug. “I’ll drive.”

You stifled a laugh. “You?”

“Bellezza, you wound me. It may have been a while, but I am perfectly capable of operating a car.”

“You opened the sunroof in the rain.”

“True, but that has nothing to do with driving.”

“Go on then.”

He did not remember how to drive. After a few panic inducing laps around the parking lot, Terzo grew more comfortable behind the wheel while you adjusted your seatbelt every ten seconds to make sure it was still secure. The interstate was a mostly deserted straight shot and after about 50 miles you let yourself begin to worry about something else.

You would never say it out loud, but the closer you got to Primo’s house the more your nerves grew. You had spent your entire life researching the Emeritus vampires, seeking out whatever weaknesses one could find to exploit to destroy them. A lifetime built on tearing their lives apart piece by tiny piece had also instilled a healthy fear and respect for the eldest brother.

There was a reason no one went after Primo.

If the last few weeks had taught you anything, it was that you knew nothing. You couldn’t begin to understand the ins and outs of vampire politics during your training. There was a system designed in the shadows and kept secret from those who would hunt them down. No one had ever gotten close enough to figure out exactly how it all worked—at least no one who made it back alive. But the vampires had made it very clear throughout the last century especially that there was one vampire at the head of the table: Primo Emeritus.

It was a name many vampires had chosen to die for rather than betray and you couldn’t help wondering what it was all for.

Somewhere past a washed out exit sign, Terzo turned onto a desolate back road long neglected by the county. The strip of faded asphalt was scarred with deep cracks and potholes overrun by weeds and grass, cutting its way through fields on either side that seemed to stretch past the horizon. Decrepit, abandoned homes occasionally dotted the countryside. Glass shards hung from rotting windowpanes like broken teeth below collapsed roofs and sagging bricks. It was a graveyard of a forgotten community, a place where nothing but underbrush seemed to thrive.

“Terzo, are you sure you’re going the right way?” you asked as your stomach tied itself into a million knots. It didn’t look like anyone would be out here—living or dead.

“Oh yes, principessa. Trust me.”

It would have been a lot easier to do if it didn’t look like the kind of backdrop even horror movies avoided.

He slowed the car and guided it to the left at a broken stone marker. A barely noticeable overgrown gravel drive slipped between the trees, framed by an old iron gate left open and consumed by rust. An elaborate decorative E on the gate was held in place by little more than patina.

“Told you,” Terzo teased as he pointed at the gate. He across the console to place a hand on your knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “There’s no reason to be scared, bellezza. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That only made your heartbeat faster.  

At the crest of a small hill, a house came into view. Unlike the other homes you had passed on the way in this one was quite clearly lived in and loved. The stone façade of the storybook cottage was completely covered in thick greenery and climbing roses, reclaimed by its surroundings. The limbs and leaves had been trimmed away from the rounded windows, each of them left open to let the summer breeze pass through. A scene of delicate flowers made from colorful stained glass hung in the frame of the old oak door—a burst of brightness that set a clear division between the owner of this home and the one who’d built Meliora house.

Terzo parked close to the house, stopping behind a sleek black classic car. Something from the 50’s you guessed. The shine and smooth shapes of the vintage Cadillac made Terzo’s modern machine look like a dumpy toaster in comparison.

There was a flash of movement past the front window as the two of you climbed out of the car. You took the opportunity to stretch your legs, pacing a short length of driveway while Terzo stared up at the house with his hands on his hips. It was eerily quiet, save for the gravel crunching under your feet and the billions of insects singing in the woods. The sun broke through the surrounding trees and showered beams of light over the neat rows of flowers that lined a stone wall. Vibrant hues and shapes buzzed with fat little honeybees happily jumping from bloom to bloom. You couldn’t help but think of this place as some beautiful timeless utopia, somehow untouched by all the decay and abandonment of the surrounding area.

Vampires always lived in the weirdest places.

A tall, older gentleman emerged from the front door and stepped outside with a commanding, regal presence. He didn’t even need to open his mouth to cause the two of you to stop in your tracks and look up at him. Crooked black lines cut his face into the signature skull mask the brothers all wore. The jagged shape of it did nothing to soften his appearance. His eyes, mismatched just like Terzo’s, scanned the lawn and squinted down at you. A deep red robe made of what had to be silk hung off his shoulders, framing him like a holy man in designer vestments. While his look exuded power above anything, there was still the frail body of an elderly man staring back at you.

“Primo!” Terzo shouted a little too loudly. “You look like shit.”

Primo narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “What does your shirt say?”

Terzo shot you a nasty look as you clasped your hands over your mouth to cover your laughter. “It’s, eh, a little joke between the two of us,” he explained with a wave of his hand. “This one thinks she’s funny.”

Primo took a long look at both of you before he stepped to the side with a sigh. “You might as well come in.”

The smell of fresh eucalyptus and mint wafted through the air as you stepped inside the vampire’s home. Worn, old boards creaked beneath your feet as Primo led you to the main living room. The house was filled with warm wood carved into intricate shapes that framed each doorway and the numerous bookcases nestled inside the walls. There was a cozy nook built under the front window, an old volume left open atop a soft blanket. Shelves held a carefully placed collection of antiques, old dry leather bound books with ancient pages, and rusted old trinkets and tools. An expensive telescope was pointed toward a south-facing window surrounded by two thriving palms plants. Meliora House had been filled with things no one ever used, but Primo’s things seemed to serve a purpose.

Terzo flung himself unceremoniously onto the vintage velvet sofa against the wall, ignoring the cracking sound it made and the pointed look his brother gave him.

“Well then, what have you done this time?” Primo asked in an accusing tone, his white hair falling over his shoulders as he angled himself between the two of you.

“Oh, what I can’t stop by to say hello?”

Primo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fratellino, you have done many—and I do mean many stupid things in your lifetimes, but I had never dared to hope you wouldn’t bring a hunter to my door.”

You swallowed hard as Terzo began to fidget nervously. “She’s, eh…” he started, waving a hand as he looked at you. “You could say she’s had a change of heart.”

“Is that so?” he asked, eyeing you curiously.

“I managed to get here without killing him,” you offered.

Primo laughed loudly, his voice echoing off the support beams above. “That is a true challenge indeed!” he hollered and slapped his knee. As his laughter died down, he turned and gave you a soft, genuine smile. He offered his hand. “Come with me, piccolina.”

“Hey!” Terzo shouted as you accepted Primo’s hand. “What about me?”

Primo shrugged. “Go fix your face, stronzio.”

“Testa di cazzo,” he grumbled and made a rude gesture as he stalked off toward the back of the house.

The old vampire kept your hand in his, gently leading you through his home as gracefully as he would have led you through a waltz. You had seen and fell prey to Terzo’s charms immediately, but it was becoming clear where he’d learned it all. Primo didn’t seem to waste words or time, unafraid to call out his younger brother’s missteps or identify you for what you were. It was clear he was not threatened by you—you never would have made it into the house if that was the case, but he had made a strategic move to separate you from Terzo. His brother had sensed it too.

At the edge of the cottage was a small kitchen lined with open shelves and cabinets with glass doors. Each one was absolutely packed with jars of all sizes and filled with various herbs and tinctures in nearly as many colors as the stained glass window above the sink. There was a faint scent of incense, something woody yet soft with a hint of smoke and clove that made the space feel impossibly cozy.

A vase of fresh cut flowers sat on a small table in the center of the room, its chairs tucked neatly in place. He pulled one out for you and gestured for you to take a seat.

“Are you hungry, piccolina?” he asked instead of joining you at the table.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” you lied as your stomach growled and gave you away.

He laughed heartily, flashing sharp fangs as he swiped a hand under his wrinkled eye. “I’m afraid it is not very easy to lie to me.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to be polite.”

He tilted his head, another soft, fond smile gracing his lips. “He’s marked you.”

“What?” you snapped, your hand going straight to your bandage as you nearly jumped from your chair. “How did you—”

“Piccolina, please sit. Neither of you are in trouble. Would you care for some tea?”

“I—uh—"

He turned without waiting for an answer and busied himself with filling a kettle at the sink. He hummed as he moved, settling the kettle on the stove before poking through the pots and pans that hung just above. He was going to far too much trouble for you, but you weren’t exactly sure how to protest the manners of such a powerful vampire. You barely made it through three sips of tea before your eyelids grew heavy and you folded your arms to rest your head on the table. He continued to clamor around the kitchen as you watched sleepily, his hum turning to a soft whistle as you dozed off.

The smell of fresh tomatoes and basil began to make your stomach growl again, loud enough that it woke you from your nap. It took you a moment to remember where you were as you looked at the pots bubbling away on the stove and the patterned tile of the floor around you. Mrs. G was the only person you knew who could cook and this certainly wasn’t her apartment.

“Primo?” a soft voice called from the side door. “I’ve got your groceries.”

You heard Primo quickly sweep through the house behind you, that fancy robe billowing as he rushed to greet her. “Ah, diavolina! I didn’t expect you today.”

“I’m sorry. I had something come up and I needed to make the delivery early. I should have called or something. I didn’t expect you to have company.”

“It was a surprise to me as well, diavolina,” he said with a laugh.

You leaned back in your chair trying to peer around the corner, but you were unable to see who he was talking to. You strained your ears to make out the rest of their muffled conversation before reminding yourself that it was really none of your business. After a moment, they exchanged goodbyes and Primo returned to the kitchen.

“Everything ok, piccolina? How was your nap?”

“Oh, I’m fine really. I’ve just been so tired since—uh—”

He nodded. “That is a common side effect, but this should help.”

Your eyes followed him as he swept back through the kitchen, draining pots and stirring the contents of others. When he finished, he presented you with a dish that was plated so nicely it should have been in a photograph. He doted on you, bringing over anything he thought you might need from extra silverware to pepper before he settled across from you with his own plate. You wondered how long it had been since he had a proper visitor. Even the delivery girl seemed surprised someone else was here.

“You know, for people who don’t need to eat, you guys sure do love food,” you quipped before taking a bite. It was without a doubt the best thing you had ever tasted and you let out an involuntary pleased hum. “Ok, I take it back. I get it now.”

He chuckled softly. “Grazzie mille, piccolina. One could get very bored very quickly if he only allowed himself to eat one thing for eternity.”

“Ah, good point.”

“Piccolina, did you know for as long as there have been vampires, there have been vampire hunters?”

You nervously gripped your fork. “I had been taught that, yes. But I’m learning there are a lot of things that I was taught that might not be…correct.”

He laughed lightly and patted your hand. “I’m afraid that might be our fault as well. Vampire hunters are almost always human and therefore have much shorter live expectancies. Which they then use to fuel your hatred for us, yes? To make monsters out of men like me and Terzo when all we’ve ever done, for centuries mind you, is defend ourselves or the ones we love. Hunters are…shortsighted. They have the luxury of a limited memory, but it forces them to pass their hatred to younger and younger generations. Do you recall many elders from your group?”

“One or two, maybe?” you admitted. “They were always sort of…hidden.”

Primo nodded. “One of the more effective ways we found to protect ourselves was to spread disinformation through the hunters’ network. There may not be much they taught you about us that is actually true.” He cracked a wry smile. “Once for about, eh, fifty years, I had them convinced that we lay eggs to reproduce.”

“And they just…believed you?”

He shrugged. “Hatred makes you blind to many things, piccolina. But also, quite gullible to others.”

“I don’t know that I would ever believe that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But sunlight, garlic, silver, mirrors…these things are believable to you?”

You sank in your seat. “I see your point.”

He reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I did not tell you these things to make you feel foolish, piccolina. I imagine it is quite difficult to try to unlearn a lifetime of things in a matter of a few weeks.” He sighed heavily. “It is a shame what they did to Meliora House, but I suppose in a way it helped you at least.”

“What the hell is this?” Terzo bellowed as he appeared and leaned against the doorframe. “Are you trying to steal her from me, old man?” Gone was the sassy little crop top, replaced by a tasteful black dress shirt he had given up buttoning past his navel. His paints were back as well, thick precise lines that gave him an edge of seriousness you weren’t used to.

“Well, it would certainly teach you a lesson about trying to steal your brothers’ wives—” Primo noted, pointing his fork at his brother. He reached over with his other hand to pat you on the back, his accusation causing you to choke on your food. “Hmm, looks like the two of you need to have a conversation about your past now that you belong to one another.”

“Oh no, that’s not really what we’re doing,” you added nervously. “He just needed help.”

He pinned you with a concerned look before turning back to his brother. “Terzo…”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I explained the whole thing before it happened—”

“And he was, you know, dying,” you added.

“I was not!”

“Well, you looked like a corpse.”

“Piccolina, I do appreciate your willingness to not let Terzo die.” He stood and moved closer to you to gently ask his next question. “But do you really not understand what the two of you have done?”

“Is it really that serious?”

“You explained nothing, idiota!” Primo barked as he crossed the room to smack the back of Terzo’s head.

“Yes, I did!” he shot back, ducking out of his brother’s reach as he tried to hit him again. “It’s not my fault that she’s so—”

“So what, Terzo?” you interrupted.

“Stubborn! Ai!” he howled as you pinched him. “Both of you fuck off!”

Primo narrowed his eyes at his brother, the white one almost glowing with anger. He spoke in quick, clipped Italian phrases, each one punctuated by another slap to any part of Terzo’s body he could get to. It went on for several minutes with Terzo covering his face to protect it from the blows as he snapped back in what you assumed was equally aggressive language. The last phrase he spat out was a step too far and Primo growled as he hauled Terzo up by the collar, his feet kicking desperately as his brother lifted him and dragged him to the side door. He tossed him out with no effort, the frail appearance of his body betraying his true strength.

There was an aura of anger hanging over him, a cloud of unhealthy rage that only seemed to dissipate after he threw his plate at the wall. When he turned back to you there was nothing but kindness in his eyes and an apology for his actions on his lips. He regarded you with a soft, gentile expression, almost like he wished he could explain everything and apologize for Terzo himself. You had no idea what they had screamed at each other, but the look he gave you—the pity—suggested that his younger brother had massively fucked up.

“Did he tell you, piccolina? About the mark?” he asked quietly, averting his gaze.

“Um…”

“What he said is important. Do you remember it?”

You nodded and swallowed hard. “He said that there’s a…bond that would form between us and that no one else could touch me.”

“Did he tell you why?” he asked as he knelt in front of you.

You shook your head. “He just…he said I was different?”

His shoulders sagged as he sighed heavily. “It’s true, piccolina. You are different to him. The mark…the bond it creates…it’s…” he trailed off and sucked down an uneasy breath before taking your hands in his. “It is an act of love, piccolina,” he explained quietly. “A sign of devotion.”

“I-I don’t—"

His face softened. “It’s not such an easy thing to explain, I imagine. Our existence is…well lucky for you it was something you were already aware of, but as I said there is a lot that humans still don’t understand about us. I am sure that’s not an easy thing to hear either. But the two of you…are bound together.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

Primo sighed and glanced out the window. “Mio fratellino is…shall we say, complicated. He has always worn his heart on his sleeve—used to drive our father insane. A free spirit like that is much harder to control, you see? But now it seems he has finally met his match. His heart belongs to you.”

“I get what you’re saying but that…that—that can’t be right. He—”

“It is what the mark means, piccolina. It’s an act of love because it is love.”

“But…he…I…are you saying that he’s—he’s in lo—” You swallowed the rest of the word, wanting to choke on it as the sharp edges scraped down your throat.

“I cannot speak for him, but I suspect he has spent a very long time trying to feel anything but this. Possibly longer than you can comprehend. I’m in no position to ask any favors, but please, if you could, be careful with him, eh? You are his heart now.”

“That…that’s not possible—”

“And yet it is,” he said, groaning as he stood, his joints popping loudly. “You realize he wouldn’t bring just anybody to this place, piccolina. But he brought you.”

“Why would he—”

“You’ll have to ask him, I’m afraid. I suspect he’ll be hiding somewhere out in the gardens as usual,” he said as he pointed to an empty space between hedges.

On shaking legs, you pushed yourself up and made your way to the side door. Your head spun, overloaded with a pressure that made you dizzy.

“Primo?” you asked.

“Yes, piccolina?”

“What did you say to him?”

He cracked a smile. “Just gave him some brotherly advice.”

You nodded and pushed your way out of the cottage. A small stone path overgrown with bright green moss led away from the house and past a large, glass-domed conservatory filled with plants and flowers. The break in the hedge revealed a private garden completely hidden from view by the surrounding foliage. The most beautiful flowers sprouted from every direction lit by tiny lanterns and lights that had been fixed to the arches above. The plants had been encouraged to grow up and over the opening, like the space was just part of the landscape. It was clear that Primo had spent a lot of time and effort to build this space and you found yourself remembering the lush gardens of Meliora House. Had he designed those too?

There was so much you didn’t know about Terzo and his life. About his brothers and how they grew up and came to be what they are. So many things were a mystery to you and yet somehow, he had seen through all your ignorance and found something about you that he could no longer deny—even if he wanted to. It was on you now, his feelings woven into your skin—into your blood, your cells. Words he hadn’t said were spreading within you like an infection, an illness with a countdown clock ticking away to your death. Until the end of your natural life, he had said. How could he even know he would feel this longer than five minutes?

At the end of the path, Terzo stood facing away from you. His attention was focused solely on the rose bush in front of him. You called his name softly, your chest tightening when he didn’t move, though you both knew he’d heard you. It hit you hard as you stared at the back of him, his shoulders no longer holding that poise or confidence he had carried over the last few days. He looked so small, like he had when you’d first arrived at his house, that melancholy version of himself that wanted nothing to do with anyone.

Why hadn’t he told you what it all meant? Why didn’t he tell you the importance of the decision you made for the two of you? Why the fuck would he not look at you now? And why did it hurt so fucking much?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked. Your voice sounded so far away. 

“Tell you what?” he asked. He still refused to look at you, not even a sideways glance. The face paint masked his expressions, but it was easy to tell he was in pain. 

He focused on picking at an invisible hair on his pants, anything to keep his eyes down and his face forward. It hurt to look at him, to see him look so beautiful standing there despite his current attitude. You wished you could keep this moment, to capture him on film or in swirls of oil paints on a canvas grand enough to hold his image. But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t say much of anything.

Tears stung your eyes as he plucked a perfect rose from the bush and started slowly twisting it in his fingers. He barely winced as the thorns caught his fingers, drawing his blood in a way that felt ugly. You had seen him like this before, that night you found him singing in the garden. You’d meant to kill him and now all you wanted was for him to look at you.

“Terzo?” you tried again.

“Would you like me to apologize?” he asked coldly and finally turned to look at you.

“No. I just—Primo told me—”

“I don’t care what he told you, bellezza. He’s a lonely old fool,” he spat. “And you—why, why is it different now that he said it, huh?” He pointed at himself. “I told you. I told you the cost and what it meant, and it was still nothing to you.”

“I didn’t know. I-I didn’t understand—”

“Understand what?” he shouted.

“That you are in love with me!” you yelled back. “How was I supposed to know what it meant, Terzo? Do you think I would have said any of those things if I had known?”

With that the dam broke and you collapsed on the lawn in a sad, lifeless heap. You had never cried so hard in your entire life, and you hoped you never would again. There was so much pain and confusion in every ragged breath, and it burned through every part of you, rolling like hot smoke in your lungs as you clutched at the grass. Your chest heaved, but every attempt to get even the smallest amount of oxygen failed miserably. Terzo appeared at your side and god how you wanted to fight him off as he pulled you to his chest, but you just felt so small without him. 

“I’m so sorry bellezza,” he whispered into your ear and held you tight. “I’ve lived so long, and I still don’t know how to be a better man.”

“Just be a fucking vampire then,” you mumbled back.

“I’m not so sure I’m good at that either.”

“Then why the hell are we doing this, huh? Why should I keep saving your life?”

“Oh bellezza,” he sighed. He dragged you into his lap and kissed the top of your head. “Because you like me.”

“Ugh,” you groaned. “No, I don’t.”

“It doesn’t have to change things,” he offered quietly. “I don’t want you to change.”

You shifted away, angling yourself so you could look into his eyes. “Terzo, I—”

He pressed a finger to your lips. “You’re right, I should have told you. And you deserve to hear it, but it’s…it’s not nearly as easy as they make it look in those films.”

“Terzo, it’s ok—”

He cut you off with your name and a serious look as he ran a hand over the bandage on your neck. “This marks you because I love you, bellezza. It doesn’t say that you are mine. It says that I am yours.” He took your hand and placed it over his heart. “This is yours, cuore mio.”

You crashed into him, the two of you falling onto the grass as you kissed him desperately. There were things you could say, answers to questions he didn’t ask, but for the first time in your life you believed someone could love you. Not only could he love you, but he did. He loved you despite the cost to himself and the danger it put you both in. You melted into him, giving him the breath from your lungs and the blood in your veins. Yeah, he was yours, but you were his too. Even if you couldn’t say it out loud, it was in that wound on your neck, a scar you’d bear for the rest of your life.

Terzo was quick to pull you from the grass and back inside Primo’s. His mouth never left yours as he guided you to the little guest room at the back of the house. His t-shirt was still on the floor and the paints were left open in front of the vanity, but he was only focused on adding your clothes to the pile as he urged you toward the bed. His hair fell over his face as he leaned over you, dipping his head to trail hot kisses over the column of your throat and down your bare chest, leaving smears of black and white in his wake. He pushed your thighs apart as he kissed his way across your body, stopping short to lock eyes with you as he reached your sex.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging roughly as his plush lips connected to your center. Teasingly, he ran his tongue through your folds and around your clit, moaning each time your hips left the bed. He pushed his fingers against your entrance, wanting to feel the effect he had on you. He told you as much as he pulled off your cunt to watch you stretch around his fingers as they disappeared inside you. The heel of his palm added pressure to your center as he moved up to kiss you. He pumped his fingers faster, smiling as you moaned into his mouth.

“So beautiful like this, principessa,” he whispered against your skin as your hips bucked against his hand. “Cosi bella.”

“You are,” you countered breathlessly.

He just smiled and pulled his hand away as he rolled onto the bed. “Come here,” he said, motioning with the fingers that were still wet with your slick. You gave him a puzzled look as you tried to straddle him, but he shifted until your knees were positioned on either side of his head.

“I want you like this,” he growled as he grabbed ahold of your hips and pulled you down to him.

His tongue was exploring your entrance as his nose bumped against your clit and you searched for anything you could hold onto. Your hands found his hair, gripping tight as he worked you over like it was the only thing he has ever wanted to do. Like he was trying to give you something no one else ever could. It was too much, too good, but he was too strong to let you get away easily. He dug his fingers into your hips he urged you toward your end. It washed over you, each nerve of your body exploding into little fireworks as your body tensed and you came with a shout, completely forgetting you were a guest in someone else’s home.

He grinned up at you, his face paint smeared away from his mouth and spread across the inside of your thighs.

You smiled back at him, moving further down on the bed so you could claim his lips with your own, needing to taste yourself in his mouth, needing him to know. He reached for you, but you knocked his hands away and pinned his wrists to the mattress with one hand as the other worked at the buttons of his shirt. It fell away from his chest, revealing a jagged mark where that stupid poisoned knife had pierced him.

You traced a finger over the silvery scar, feeling along the soft ridge where his pale skin had pulled itself back together. His eyes shut tight as you leaned down to plant kisses on the spot, trailing a wordless apology over his chest. A tiny whimper caught in the back of his throat as he bit his lip bloody, but you kept your touches light. You drew your lips over every inch of skin, kissing every freckle and scar, each sign that he had lived that marred his chest. You didn’t know where the others had come from, but it didn’t matter. There were several lifetimes worth of stories he could tell you when he wanted to and you’d commit each one to memory just as you would the matching scars.

He was coming apart beneath you, face twisted in pleasure and pain. You wondered why he’d never let anyone see him like this when he looked so beautiful. You toyed with the bar in his nipple, drinking in the sight of him frantically turning his head to bite at the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Was this what you had looked like to him?

His cock was straining against his pants by the time you reached his waistband, but you were in no real hurry. You freed him slowly, appreciating the length and weight of his cock as it curved up toward his belly. You licked the slit, almost purring at the noise that came out of him as you collected that little pearl of pre that had gathered at the tip.

His eyes were set on you as you lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth. The two of you had fucked and he had even let you use him to fuck yourself, but this was the first time you were really seeing him unravel. There was something sweet about the moan that rumbled in his chest as he hit the back of your throat, like the sound he’d made when your blood filled his mouth. A noise that was a confession, a pure and complete desire to give yourself over to someone, to have them accept such a gift.

“Terzo?” you asked softly and wrapped your fist around him to make up for the loss of your mouth.

“Hmm?” he replied, eyes barely open.

“Do you…want to…”

“Want to what, cuore mio?”

“Would you…bite me again?” He kept his face blank, but his cock twitched in your hand. “You don’t have to. I just thought…maybe…”

“Are you asking because you want me to? Or are you asking because you think that’s what I want?”

“I’m asking because I want to know what it feels like,” you answered as you squeezed the base of his cock.

He groaned under you. “Amore, I would do whatever you asked.”

“Hmm, I’m going to have to remember that,” you said with a smile as you climbed back up his body. You pressed your lips to his as you reached between you and guided his cock through your slick, both of you moaning loudly as he bumped against your clit. You lined him up with your entrance, sinking slowly as he stretched you. It hadn’t even been that long, but you realized how much you missed the feeling of him, how perfectly the two of you seemed to fit together. He waited for your signal, watching you intently as you feel him press against your walls before canting his hips and reaching an impossible angle. You go slow at first, both of you content in the heat of each other, but it didn’t take long for him to make you beg for something more. You held onto him for dear life as he fucked up into so hard you couldn’t even form the words to tell him the second time you came.

“So fucking beautiful,” he said again, punctuating each thrust with the words. “Can you do it again, huh? Think you can give me one more?”

You nodded, trying to meet his thrusts to shut him up but let out a yelp as he turned and pinned you down.

“Are you sure?” he asked, running his nose along your throat.

“Yes.”

You felt a pinch as his teeth cut into your neck. Blood pumped from the wound, spilling a little more with each heartbeat. Terzo closed his mouth over the bite and let out a low, filthy moan as the taste washed over his tongue. He slammed into you as he drank, an animalistic drive taking over with a growl.

You whimpered beneath him, overcome with too many sensations as he took long pulls from your throat. The sound seemed to drag him back to himself, catching him before he went too far. He slowed his pace as off your neck and licked your blood from his teeth, staring down at the space where your bodies connected. He pushed your knees apart and thrust deep, grinning at the sound he pulled from you. His fingers swirled around your clit as he fucked you faster and harder until you choked out a broken cry, your third orgasm ripping through you. There was praise mumbled into your ear, a lot of talk about how beautiful you were and how good you felt around him, but all you could do was shake through the aftershocks as his hips stuttered. He came with a loud grunt, spilling impossibly deep inside you as he fucked each hot pulse into you.

He collapsed on top of you, gasping for breath as he pressed his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. “I knew it,” he panted between labored breaths. “You are still trying to kill me.”

You laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You can live forever if you’re going to keep fucking me like that.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Shut up,” you managed through a giggle.

“Stay put, bellezza,” he ordered and kissed your shoulder before pulling away from you.

You gave him a thumbs up as he rounded the bed and disappeared into the en suite bathroom. A few seconds later he emerged with some wet cloths and sat next to you as the shower ran in the other room. Gently, he swiped around the wound at your neck, cleaning away as much blood as he could without causing you too much discomfort. He frowned at his handiwork, his expression made that much funnier by the smeared and smudged lines around his mouth.

“You’re going to need more bandages.” There was a hint of disappointment in his tone, almost guilty.

“Hey, I asked for this,” you reminded him.

He swallowed hard. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was difficult for the two of you to arrange yourselves in the tiny clawfoot tub, but Terzo made sure to take care of you in whatever way he could. He washed the rest of the blood away from your neck with such a delicate hand as he lathered a lavender scented soap over your skin. He rubbed your shoulders, working his way through the knots that had returned over the last few days, teasing you as you whimpered with relief. When you finished, he carried you back into the bedroom and placed you on the bed. He crawled in next to you and pulled you close as he shut his eyes. The afternoon sun still hung high in the sky sending daylight through the curtains behind the bed.

“Are you tired?” you teased.

“Are you not?”

“I could use a nap I guess.”

“Bene. How is your neck? Will those bandages hold?”

“As long as we’re careful, I think we’ll be fine.” You turned to look at him. There was a question hanging over the two of you, something you weren’t quite sure how to ask. But if Primo was right and everything you had been taught about vampires was incorrect then you had to start somewhere. “Is…is that how you…”

“Hmm?”

“Did someone…do this to you? To make you like this?”

He blinked at you. “Did—did I get bitten, you mean?”

“I’m sorry. That’s…that’s way too personal. Forget I said anything—”

“Bellezza,” he started softly, “that is a very, very long story about something that happened a long, long time ago. And I will tell you every detail if you wish to hear it, but you won’t turn from a bite, cuore mio. There is more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Well…dying was a pretty big part of it,” he replied with a shrug.

“Does it hurt?”

He gave you a tight smile and tucked your hair behind your ear. “I told you I would never hurt you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just…curious, I guess.”

“It…dying didn’t feel good,” he explained cautiously. “Not to me, at least. There was no peace in it at all.”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. God, I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

“Shh, bellezza. It’s ok. I wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t want to. Can I…can I ask you something?”

You nodded sleepily. “I think that’s only fair.”

“What would you do with it?”

“With what?”

“Eternal life.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I…I don’t know that I’d be able to accept it.”

He smiled softly. “That’s a good answer, cara.”

“You’re not…disappointed?”

“Amore mio, immortality is an impossible thing to imagine. The concept of forever is hard enough to grasp when life is limited but even I sometimes have trouble considering the infinite. I will never be disappointed in you for having an honest reaction to such a notion.”

“You’re wrong, you know? About not being a good man. I think you’re doing just fine.”

“I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes and reached up to grab a pillow to hit him with, but before you could bring it down on him, he had gone cold. His dull, lifeless eyes stared back at you as you let out a horrible scream. You shook him hard, trying desperately to get him to respond as you shouted repeatedly for help.

Primo crashed through the door with lightning speed, nearly knocking you over as he landed at Terzo’s side. He ordered you to stay put before he disappeared and reappeared almost too quickly for you to notice. It made your head hurt to try to watch him move in such a way, but you were grateful that he was fast enough to help. He poured something into Terzo’s mouth before stuffing it full of odd leaves and holding it shut. Terzo began to convulse, a thick foam dribbling out of his mouth and over Primo’s hands.

“Give me your hand,” he ordered.

You did as he asked without question, your face blank as he pricked your finger and squeezed a drop of your blood into Terzo’s mouth.

“What’s happening to him?”

“It’s ok, piccolina,” Primo said softly. “He’s been poisoned by something strong.”

“Is he—”

“No!” he snapped. He reeled when you cowered away from him and shook his head. “No, piccolina. I won’t let that happen to him. You won’t let that happen to him.”

Terzo groaned weakly as his eyes fluttered open. “What happened?” he asked, his words garbled by the herbs and foam. “Ugh what did you do?”

“Saved your stupid life,” Primo growled. “At least for now. Why didn’t you tell me? How long has this been happening?”

He shrugged. “I had it handled.”

“You most certainly do not,” Primo scolded.

“I’m here aren’t I?” he snapped back.

You couldn’t hold back the awful cry that burned in your throat as you realized he knew something was wrong. You shoved him as tears poured from your eyes, striking him repeatedly as hard as you could until Primo finally had to restrain you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you screamed as you fought against Primo’s hold. “Did you know the whole time?”

Terzo looked up at you with a helpless expression. “I—I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Oh fratellino,” Primo sighed as he shrugged off his robe and draped it over your shoulders. “Try not to hurt him while I’m gone, eh?”

“I make no promises,” you replied through gritted teeth.

“Works for me,” he said and patted the top of your head before he left the room.

Terzo groaned as he pushed himself up. “Bellezza?”

You shook your head. “Were you just…going to let yourself die? Was that really a choice you considered over…telling me the truth?”

“I didn’t want you to hate me for telling you. For a moment, death seemed easier to deal with and that’s how I knew it was true. I knew then that I’m in love with you. I’m sorry for that, bellezza. I wish this all could have happened a million other ways. But I thought after all that after you offered to save me, that after I marked you, it would all be ok. It wasn’t until this morning that I knew for sure that I needed more help. And I should have told you, but you’ve been carrying so much this whole time that I couldn’t put another thing on you. At least not while you were still weak.”

“Can he cure you?” you asked, dodging his confession.

“He is the only man I’d trust with the job.”

You nodded once. “Don’t ever hide anything from me ever again.”

Thank you so much for reading and all your likes, reblogs and comments 💜 The next chapter will be the end of vampire Terzo's story, but some familiar faces will return as well. 💜💜💜

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list 👻

sorry for romanticising the mundane. i have little else

one more? | cardinal copia x gn!reader

Inspired by all the kiss prompts. This is for @leezlelatch ♡

content: 750 words, gn!reader, some suggestiveness and spice but nothing explicit, lots of kissing going on here, we get a little frisky

Masterlist – Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦

Lunch breaks are invariably too short. They feel even shorter since you spend them wrapped up in Copia’s cassocked arms, hidden away in an empty corner behind the entrance to the library. Your back is pressed against the cool stone walls, your habit disheveled from his wandering hands, leaving half of your leg exposed to the chill draft haunting this part of the abbey.

The cool air feels heavenly against your heated skin where Copia’s fingertips are trailing up to your hip and back down in a steady dance. It’s oddly tender compared to the way his mouth is so insistent on devouring you. You can only imagine the purple discolorations blooming on your neck right now, the smears of lipstick and bite marks he left in his impatient fervor after he’d pinned you to the wall.

The bells have long since chimed to announce the passing of lunch hour. He should be back in his office and you should be back behind the reception desk. And yet your arms are still tightly slung around his shoulders as his tongue licks into your hungry mouth.

“I have to go back,” he mumbles for the fifth time as he breaks away for air, trying to step back but you don’t let go of his neck. “Amore…”

With your hand in his hair, you press your mouth to his once again, ignoring his complaints. His biretta has long since fallen off his head and you make use of the easy access, dragging your nails over his scalp in the way that he loves so much. He moans loudly and kisses back for a moment, moving his swollen lips against yours just almost chastely now. With the kiss distracting you, his gloved fingers wrap around your wrists and he pulls them off of him, pretending to pin you to the wall. With your hands off of him, he tries to tear himself away once more, but your fingers grasp his pellegrina at the last second. You yank him back, bringing your mouth to his ear as he stumbles into you. “One more kiss? Please?”

“You want your Cardinal to be late?” he whispers, bracing himself against the wall behind you.

“Yes, if it means I get another kiss.”

“I will get in trouble, amore.” He drags his nose along your cheek before nuzzling yours. “Do you have no compassion for me?”

“No.”

He tsks, pulling back slightly when you try to capture his lips again. “So cruel. So cruel to your Cardinal and you claim to love me.”

“I do love you. That’s why I want another one, silly.” You try to pull at his robes again but he won’t budge. “Please please please.”

He whimpers softly. “You know what begging does to me, dolce.”

“Please. Please, Cardinal, I need one more.”

“One more, then you will let me go?”

“Mhm.”

He leans in, kissing you as softly as he can muster. You trap his full bottom lip between your teeth for a second and he groans, pressing in harder until the back of your head hits the wall again.  He pulls away with a desperate sigh and you whine at the loss of him.

“One more,” you beg, tugging at his robes.

“Amore,” he groans. “You are getting greedy now.”

“Isn’t greed a virtue?”

“I think you are mixing that up, no?”

He gives you another peck before he fully pulls away. You allow it this time, conceding in favor of your own reputation. Someone is going to want something from you any second now and you still have to get presentable.

Copia straightens his rumpled cassock before glancing at your ruined face with a smirk. “We continue this tonight, amore,” he promises. “You will bring the same hunger, yes?”

You nod, smiling like a fool when he winks at you. He almost stumbles over his own feet as he turns back around, still drunk on endorphins and your taste. A few deep breaths and you gather your wits before your eyes get caught by a red blob of color on the floor.

You pick up his biretta and put it on your head. He’s already halfway down the hall when you call out to him. “Looks like you forgot something, Cardinal.”

He spins around, the skirt of his cassock whirling around his legs. “Don’t even say it, amore.”

“You’re lucky,” you say with a grin. “Payment is very cheap today.”

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

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 🤍