Vampire Marco
Characters: Marco x Reader
Vibe: vampire AU, soft romance, secret identity, emotional, slow burn, tender
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It was late afternoon. The streets of the bustling Renaissance city were slowly being veiled in the warm light of the setting sun as you prepared to visit your favorite address. Your breath was ragged, and you could taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, trickling down your forearm.
It had been a stupid accident. A collision with an inattentive messenger at the market, followed by a fall onto a sharp-edged stone. Nothing serious, but the wound needed tending.
You headed straight for the house in a quieter part of the city that served as a practice. It wasn't opulent, but it had a reputation for housing the best wound healer far and wide.
Yet, no one had ever seen him. His face was always hidden behind a blue-and-gold, beak-like mask reminiscent of a phoenix. He was known only as Dr. Marco Phoenix.
You knocked on the wooden door and stepped into the cozy, herb-scented room. No one was there. You only waited briefly before the tall, slender silhouette appeared. Your doctor, your Phoenix.
"How may I help you-yoi?" he asked, his voice soft and melodic, though somewhat muffled by the mask. His hands, clad in leather gloves, were steady and calm, exactly how you liked them.
"Good day, Doctor," you said, attempting a smile despite the pain throbbing in your arm. "A small mishap at the market. I think it will need a few stitches." You held up your injured forearm, where a rich crimson stain was seeping through the torn fabric.
Marco, still masked, stepped closer. Swiftly and deftly, he helped you with your sleeve, examining the wound carefully.
You knew he kept a small sachet of special herbs beneath his mask to help him not to smell the blood. It was his little, unexplained secret, one he guarded closely.
All you knew about it was that he supposedly had a sensitive nose. The real reason was much darker, but he wasn't about to tell you that.
In that moment, he had to focus intensely. The air was thick with your blood, your essence. It was so sweet. He knew it. He always knew.
But your blood... it was different. It was the most tempting scent he had ever experienced. The mask and the herbs helped, but they weren't infallible.
"Please, have a seat," he motioned toward the treatment table. He began mixing a tincture whose sharp herbal scent briefly overpowered the smell of blood. "I will clean your wound and stitch it up. You'll be fine."
He was extraordinarily gentle during the treatment, his touch light as a feather. You felt the stitches, one by one, closing the torn skin. Every time he leaned close to you, your heart fluttered.
