#vampire!miguel

[obxsprincess]

I'll Remember you for my wiser years to come if you jus write vampire!Miguel eating pussy as if blood was never an option broski🙏

oh bless u anon… bless you !!! <33 I think I read the thot wrong hfvbhgcgh m’sorry !!… don’t be afraid to send more vampire!mig tho doll face <3

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sure other men had eaten you out before !! all messy n sloppy n desperate !! but… miguel eats you out because your are his pretty little meal… n its urgent n greedy n sososo blissful!!!

he doesn’t ever even need to stick his fangs into a sweet little doe, not when ur just that !!! but even fuckin’ sweeter…

n of course he can’t just sit back n watch his sweetheart mewling n whining from the your monthly fucked up pains :(( hand splayed above your pretty tummy n legs wide… shiny pain flickering in ur glossy eyes… n hes fucking craving his pretty girl…

“been fucking waiting for this mi amor… fuckk dioses santos arriba te miran“ (holy gods look at you)

devouring u with his eyes…

legs hoisted over his bulk shoulders n dainty tears brim ur fluttering lashes… your glistening sweet little cunt all wet n swollen n dripping in droplets of blood, smearing your plushy thighs !! n ur pink silky bed !!!

this is sososo new to you !! of course migs is a vampire but this??-

“m-miguel” he lifts ur dainty foot n drags his tongue along your ankle… “I-it’s s’dirty-” but his mouth just feels sososo good !! making ur nervous head all sweetly blurry :((

but miguels starving- you squeak as his glorious fangs nip at your pretty thighs !!! n the sweet mind melting smell of your crimson blood n slippery pussy had him going fucking insane-

“fuckk love- can’t you see what your fucking doing to me? lay back and breath mi alma- never gonna need to hunt ever fucking again-”

n when I say he dives in… he dives in!!!

tan chin n lips n teeth covered in ur delicious blood… tongue diving so deeply inside of u your sobbing n writhing… its absolutely undoubtedly filthy!!!

n miguels in heaven!! your pretty taste n your angel sounds n your blood… nipping at your puffy clit- n feasting on ur swollen fluttering folds… all sloppy n soso bloody n delirious!!!

n your just a sobbing little puddle of bliss :((

n he feasts for glorious glorious hours on end on his perfect innocent little mortal… n when your sleepy n overstimulated n mush cus !!!!!

he just flips his pretty meal over on your tummy !!! suffocating his tongue right back into ur drooling pussy… inhuman muscles glistening as he gets lost in ur essence…

of course of course vampire!miguel is absolutely pussy drunk on your pretty little heat… but what’s the term for being absolutely whipped on ur heady drippy blood??

n his white fangs drip in ur crimson droplets… <3

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[phyrestartr]

Vampire | Miguel x M!Reader

Vampire!Miguel x Reader W/C: 5.9k

#NSFW, vampires, blood, gore, violence, bottom!reader, top!Miguel, mentions of sex work, mentions of assault, it's kinda cute idk, posessive behaviour, questionable relationship, reader is morally grey, reader is lowkey a criminal though lol, Johnny Blaze = Nic Cage 5ever sorry not sorry

Note: I FINISHED IT! Lost steam with editing so some bits may be kinda weird and word-y, but I really enjoyed writing this honestly :clap: ty guys for voting for me to finish this o(--( I actually finished it so quickly wtf--

--

Vampires. Blood-sucking, man-killing, devil-calling creatures. Many feared them, even now, even after the legends of Dracula faded into obscurity and out of the minds of mortal men. But there were some who kept weary watch on the old castle looming before your meager town: older folks, the ones with bleached scars and haunted voices, with quivering hands and a phobia of the dark. 

You thought they all spun tales, convinced themselves of a time that never happened thanks to whatever their parents hushedly told them come the waning of the sun. “Don't leave the house after dark,” “be wary of the man you know not,” “pray to God for his protection,” is what you figured they'd been told. You couldn't blame them. Not really. Mass hysteria, mass lies told to the young had a penchant for warping their minds, destroying their futures. 

But still, you'd listen. Face alight with a smile, one ear turned their way as you poured drinks for whatever patron came bumbling your way that night. There was one man, one who claimed to have been touched by the devil himself, momentarily transformed into something wicked and unholy, who frequented the establishment. 

“Come on now, Johnny,” you chided with a laugh, “you don't really believe all that rubbish. Touched by the devil? You Americans really are the dramatic sort, aren't you?” 

“You don't need to believe all of it,” Johnny said mildly. “You just need to believe a sliver of it. It'll do you some good. Keep you safe.” 

You smiled to yourself as you busily made a drink for a new customer. “Yeah? Keep me safe from what, exactly?” Your eyes met his, then, and you found your blood stood in place for a moment. 

“You know what.” The devil. He'd said it too many times to count without uttering his name. “Just be smart.”

“I'm always smart,” you said with a phony laugh, the sort you used to lull women and men into some cheap sense of comfort. 

“Smart people do dumb things, too.” He took a swig of his drink before peering down at the amber pooling against crystal. “Like sneaking around old, unhallowed castles.” 

You pursed your lips. “I'm just curious, old man, you don't need to worry. I've not been inside, yeah? Just looked ‘round the outside of the old place.” That's probably filled with loads of goods. 

But Johnny only stared at you, calculating, thinking. It almost unnerved you. 

“Just be careful.” 

And in that moment, a man whose name you didn’t know, but whose body you knew too well, walked into the bar. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall, and from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden away under the brim of that hat, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones. His eyes, a bizarre colour, always glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of, and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadow rolling off his strong neck. 

He didn’t look at you, but you couldn’t look away. Your gaze followed him to where he found a quiet seat off to the side by a small table. He wouldn’t order anything. He never did. He only ever waited for your shift to end. 

“Kid?” Johnny prodded, freeing you from your momentary curse.

You blinked and sputtered, nodding in earnest to whatever Johnny had said. “I–right. Careful. I’m always careful.” 

–

Just be careful.

But that was impossible with this otherworldly spirit around you, waiting for you every other night just for the sake of bedding you, and leaving before morning with nothing but a stack of bills (or sometimes some jewelry, if you were lucky) to remember him by. Your favourite client by far. Your only client, per his request.

Your fists twisted into the bedsheets as you gasped with every brutal crashing of the man’s hips against yours as he took you from behind. He was in a bad mood tonight, it seemed. Normally, he liked to take it slow, he liked to savour his meal, but for some reason–

His hand clasped over your mouth when his teeth tore into your neck again. The cry that left you was hoarse and tired, but not so surprised, no; the man had his kinks, and one just so happened to be biting. He did quite the number on you, too, always breaking skin and leaving scars and scabs in his wake. But it felt good. It felt right to be claimed. The greedy, ugly little part of your heart wanted people to know you were taken and owned by this strange, captivating man.

“Fuck, I–” You buried your face into the mattress as another orgasm hit, striking your dull nerves like hammer on hot iron thrust after thrust. Soon enough, you felt his body stutter against yours just before an uncanny, liquid gold filled your guts and seeped into your core–he was finally done. Finally. Though part of you wished it didn’t have to end. 

His teeth, the pointed, feral things, dislodged from your neck before he ran the flat of his tongue against the weeping wound. Somehow, that always staunched the bleeding. You didn’t quite understand it, but you weren’t exactly well-versed in medicine.

“Tired already?” He mocked in that smokey, American accent. “Thought the young had more than that to offer.” The purr of his voice soothed the pulsing start of a headache as you came down from your high. Yet another strange effect he had on you. 

You took a good handful of moments to catch your breath before you tried to hazard an answer. “I’m–you’re in some kind of mood, darling; can’t blame me for your brutality.” You turned your head to rest your cheek against the scratchy sheets, and the beast took the opportunity to leave nips and kisses along your jaw. 

“Tch. I’m just reminding you who you belong to. Where you belong.” Sharp teeth grazed your skin again, and you shuddered. “No one likes to see theirs fawning over another man.” 

You strained to look back at him. “You–you mean Johnny? He’s not–I wouldn’t let him bed me, are you mad?” A rough push of his hips against yours reprimanded you. “H-He’s a mate, love, that’s all.”

The man twitched. “A mate?” 

“A friend, you bloody idiot.”

He relaxed, but still sought confirmation. “A friend.”

“A friend, indeed. Father-figure, maybe.” With a bit of effort, you managed to wriggle free from the strength of the man pinning you in place, and laid on your back to gaze up at him. “I’m not interested in him, he’s not interested in men, so you needn’t worry a thing.” One of your worn hands reached up and smoothed over the curve of his sharp cheekbone, drawing a pleased hum from the chamber of the beast’s chest. 

“Fine.” He rested his weight on you, and you sighed, content and warmed. But that bony chin digging into your chest was a tad bit fucking irritating. “Then if he’s not trying to fuck you, what makes you listen to him for hours on end, hm?” Hah. Annoyed. Jealous. Quite endearing. 

“He has stories to tell,” you offered. “Words about the devil and the curse of the undead. About Dracula and that old castle.” 

The man’s brows raised in interest. “Oh? And you like ghost stories, is that it? Here I figured I'd be enough to keep your mind entertained,” he said with a taunting smirk, like he thought your suggested belief in those spooky tales was laughable. 

Heat washed over your face. “I–you–shut up, I just like me a good story, is that so wrong? Tch, stupid American.”

He laughed, a sound you adored to hell and back. “I’ll keep it in mind. Might have a few good stories up my sleeve, too.” His head tilted the slightest bit. “Maybe then your eyes won’t wander.”

“Terribly jealous one, aren’t you? I never would’ve guessed it.” You raked your hands through his hair and he sighed, deep and ancient. But your words were true–this man, your mysterious client-turned-lover, he captivated all wherever he traveled. With so many eyes on him, why did he want you to look nowhere else but to him? 

Greedy man. That’s what you decided. He wanted everything and more. 

“Other men don't get to look at what's mine,” he mumbled after a time of you pampering him with pets and scritches. “And you're mine, for the record.” 

“Hm. I quite like the sound of that.” 

“Then marry me.” 

“I'm not sure I can,” you lamented. “I find myself in trouble too often. It puts me on the run, jumping from town to city and back again.” 

“You'd never have to run again if you let me have you.” He picked himself up and loomed over you, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke against your lips. “You'd be safe, cared for, never want for anything. None of those sacks of shit would would lay a finger on you again.” His lips trailed down, brushing against the thick vein in your neck. “I think it's for the best if you agree.” 

You almost argued back, but the large hand engulfing your throat gave you pause. He didn't hurt you, no, but gave you a silent warning. The power that man held over you contradicted his weakness to your wants and desires, and twisted your thoughts into unorganized knots. 

“I'll think on it,” you breathed, not wanting to say yes but unwilling to say no. You didn't want marriage, but commitment was a tantalizing idea. You'd just never thought it'd happen to you. 

His eyes came back to yours again. Your heart fluttered at the glints of carmine shimmering in candle-lit eyes. God, he was beautiful. 

“I better like your answer.” 

–

You left. You hated doing it, you hated running from your problems and whatever seemed to haunt you day to day, but too much happened in too short a time. 

For one, the landlord demanded more and more rent money from you when he noticed your gifted jewelry and newly tailored coat, and then, when you didn't give it to him, he took to trying to get payment another way. You shot him, obviously. 

Which led to your second reason for leaving–you'd shot a man and fled the scene, unknowing if he was alive or not, and uncaring of the outcome, quite frankly. You figured the lowlife would be more pressed about the money than dying, anyway. 

And third, the bar you worked at found out you'd been swindling and stealing on the job, pocketing tips and taking home near-empty bottles to refill with something of your own design to sell on the streets. Admittedly, it was fine work, but you'd long abandoned that method of money-making once that stranger wandered into your life and offered you more cash than you could imagine.

But you liked that bar. You liked those patrons. No strings attached.

And that's why you were back. Not with the intention to stay, no; you were back to scout out the castle after getting confirmation from some university lads about how valuable the old place was. You figured you could find enough in there with the scoundrels you'd come with, and maybe you could pay the old owner back before leaving for good. 

You'd never have to run again if you'd let me have you. 

Maybe you should've just said yes.

– 

The castle stood beautifully, even with the screams of the slaughtered ringing through the halls. It was big, too, eagerly letting you get lost in its enchanting halls and inviting rooms as you tried in vain to remember the way out. 

That's when you crashed into one of the uni snobs you'd come with, Harry. He was a mess, clothes and hair out of place for once, with a spray of sticky blood coating his face and white shirt. Osborn must've seen their tormentor. 

He grabbed your shoulders as you grabbed his arms. “We have to go, we have to go–” he chanted, pulling and pushing you in undecided directions. 

“Osborn, where did you see it? Where–” Another scream gave you a hint. Your eyes snapped down the hallway, staring deep into the torchlit halls and finding nothing but the unknown staring back. 

Then, there were footsteps. Slow, methodical things that rung to a tune hidden in your memories.

“We have to go,” you whispered, like that'd help. “Osborn, we have to–” a splitting pain electrocuted your senses and sent you stumbling backwards. The world spun. Your head ached. Funeral bells shrieked. Worst of all, that dress shirt and that fancy jacket you loved so much were stained suddenly, a foul colour of darkness that reeked of pennies and iron. It took you too long to look back to the student, and to see the smoking pistol held out in his shaky hand. 

“I had to,” Osborn whispered, so, so haunted. “I had to. You understand.” And quite frankly, you did understand; wounding a lamb to leave behind for a wolf to indulge in was a sure way to let a farmer escape. 

Harry took off. You grasped your stomach and leaned hard against the wall, trying to pull yourself together to make some kind of run for it before those languid steps found you and cut your story short. But you felt so tired, so dizzy. The red weeping under your hand and the bewildered pants leaving you left you colder and colder. You wondered if Osborn had shot himself in the foot with this one (hah), killing the sacrificial lamb, rendering it useless to what was believed to be a vampire of all things. They devoured the living, not the dead. 

Clack, clack, clack. The haunting echo of fine shoes on wooden slats passed you by, then vanished all together. You collapsed to your knees and heaved in the burning air just as a deafening screech ricocheted through the halls with the echo of frantic gunfire, and the slosh of viscera. You fought back the burn of bile in your throat when you braved a look; there laid a body on the floor, and a corpse standing above it, illuminated just barely by torchlight. 

His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall–

“We could have avoided all of this,” the creature growled. 

–from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden in the swath of darkness around him, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones–

“But you didn’t listen.”

–his eyes, a bizarre colour, glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of– 

“Why couldn’t you just listen?”

–and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadows rolling off his strong neck.

He appeared beside you so suddenly, so soundlessly, you wouldn’t have known he approached if it weren’t for the strength of your fluttering eyelids seeking the truth. You stared hard at the tips of his leather shoes. Perhaps you should’ve known it was him all along. Perhaps you had known. 

He knelt before you and forced your chin up, making your eyes meet his as he stared down through you. Blood marred his face, matching the wine-red hue of his furious, gem-cut eyes; even like this, teeth bared, about to kill you, he was beautiful. 

“Look what you’ve done. This is your fault–”

But that beauty was wasted on such a foul-mouthed monster. 

“My fault?” You spat. “Fuck you.” You tore your chin from his grip, but his hand sought out your throat instead. “Don’t fucking touch me–”

He smiled, bitter but so wholly and infuriatingly amused before he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do whatever I want with you.” And before you could lash out, before you could throw a fist at his stupid face, he yanked you in and bit.

A winter breeze rippled through you. Cold. Piercing. And you gradually froze like water dripping from the gutters, no longer able to fight back, too sluggishly slow to do anything about your fate. You breathed hard, feeling the hole in your stomach and ache of your heart weep and worsen with every shattering breath you took. Your hands, gentle in their weakness, pawed at his chest and sought a spot to dig in and hold on to for dear life as the waking world turned its back to you.

But despite the bitterness, and despite words exchanged, he held the side of your face as you faded in and out of consciousness. He called something, and a flurry of orange wisps appeared above you. 

–

You awoke to the echoes of a dream, one you hadn’t had for a while. A cloudless night where you’d been caught in bed by a taken woman’s man and beaten half to death; in return, you shredded through the man's chest with a knife from the kitchen while the wife watched on in silence. You'd been ready to kill her, too, slit her throat in one easy motion, but she never screamed, never looked at the wild animal with fear. 

Tell the police he attacked you, miss. 

Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

You fumbled through the alleys after leaving the scene, but others, foul things that roamed the streets where not even rats lingered, found you, threatened to use up the last of what you had to offer this pitiful world. It seemed as though they disappeared in the time it took you to blink, though, and a man was left, standing in their wake. He looked somewhat disheveled, like he’d just finished some grand task, but he was just so put together, too. You struggled to make sense of it, but you didn’t really care to. 

“Well, isn't that impressive,” you said with a breathless laugh. “Not a shred of blood on you. Are you the ripper the paper’s gone on and on about?”

The being glanced over his shoulder, eyes alight in curious mirth. He turned your way and stepped closer. You saw it then, the slightest bit of dark smears on his face.

“Is that what they're calling me?” He adjusted his cuffs, and rolled his shoulders. “Huh.” 

Adrenaline poured into your heart. “You're quite the dangerous man, aren't you, sir?” you swallowed thickly as you looked him over: fine shoes, expensive coat, luxurious rings. “And, ah, well-off. You wouldn't happen to be interested in spreading the wealth, hm?” 

His hand cupped your jaw, sticky with freezing blood, and he leaned in. The pungent scent of iron curled your gut as he breathed you in, making up his mind with what to do with you. Then, with the dry, warm back of his gloved hand, he caressed the side of your face and watched your eyelids flutter, devouring the simple gesture. 

“Let's see if you can convince me to.”

-

“I know you’re awake,” he mumbled.

Curiosity willed your eyes open, and you gazed down at the hollow tube connecting you to the walking corpse. You fought to ease the jump of your heart, but it became impossible when a dark red raced from the vampire's arm down into yours. 

“Is that going to make me like you?” You whispered, nerves twitching and burning with the bite of restless fire ants. 

Crimson eyes found yours and looked deep. “It won't. You can relax.” But you weren't convinced, and your lover could tell. “You'd have to drink my blood.” 

“Why're you giving me your blood, then?” 

“You'll die without it.” He pumped something, you now noticed, and realized it was what drew the blood from his veins and drained it into yours. 

Curious. “Were you a man of medicine?” 

He scoffed. “Still am.” He threw you a wary look, one brow raised. “How many more questions are you–” 

“Your name?” That was something you'd requested before, but always through a veil of uncertainty. You didn't like to ask much of him. He didn't ask much of you. But you didn't know him, yet he knew you. 

Your vampire frowned, unapproving. “What difference will it make?” 

“You asked me to fucking marry you,” you bit out. “And yet you keep so many secrets from me, still. I've given you more than I have, and you can't even–” 

“Miguel.” You both paused–him to gauge your reaction, and you out of shock. “Miguel O'hara.” 

The cracks in your chest mended, just slightly. Miguel O'hara. What a name that was. Formidable and wholly suiting the beast of a man you'd known and craved for far too many years. 

“Miguel O'hara,” you whispered, staring tiredly at the red thread connecting the two of you. The name felt good on your tongue. 

Nothing more was said, then. He must've still felt the tension in the air, or maybe the coil of apprehension in your body, for he worked on in silence, quietly saving your life for no reason. 

It was when he pulled free the needle that you found the will to break the silence on your own. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” It came out a pathetic whisper, sounding as broken as your mind felt. 

He paused before pulling the needle from his own arm. “Tell you what?” 

It was a good question. You didn't know what to ask him to elaborate on. You didn't know if you wanted him to elaborate on anything, actually, because it'd make it too real, too tangible. 

“Everything.” And when he stayed silent, you narrowed it down to just, “all of…you.” 

Miguel licked his thumb and stroked it soothingly against the pinprick of a wound while his brows furrowed and his lips twisted into something of a frown. “How could I?” You both watched the tiny dot of red cease weeping. “If you'd moved on and you knew, it could put everything at risk.” 

If I'd moved on. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable to know he felt that somewhere between his ribs and his heart. And for how long? How long had he not trusted you? Did he even trust you in that moment, knowing what and who he truly was? Or were you now doomed to this castle just as he was? 

“I'll let you rest,” Miguel said as he clasped his medical case shut and stood. “Lyla'll bring you food.” 

Thump, thump, thump, echoed his footsteps, those fine shoes muffled by old carpet; but the sharp clack, clack, clack in the hollow echoes of your memories, just before the truth revealed itself to you, swallowed up your thoughts.

“(Name),” Miguel said, and your eyes opened to find the tall, proud back of his silhouette stood at the door, one hand clutching the knob. “Don’t leave this room.” 

And he left you there, heart aching, mind melting, soul shattering. 

–

Solitude reminded you of what else happened. The lads you'd come here with, nothing more than acquaintances, were missing, or perhaps dead. It ate at your mind. Could you have done something different? Could you have convinced him to let them go?

More importantly, would Miguel let you leave? He claimed he wanted to marry you, but words were just words if not put to use with actions. Staying by his side would mean stomaching the fact he'd consume countless other people, wouldn't it? How were you expected to watch your partner(?), your groom-to-be(?), hold and pierce others the way he promised to you and only you?

But could you let him stay here alone, hunted and hated by believers, laughed at by the average skeptic? If you were not here, how many more would walk in on a dare, and meet a terrible end? They didn’t matter, no, but the legend of a vampire would turn more and more true, summoning devil-hunters to his doorstep, stake and flames in-hand.

The thoughts plagued you, filling your head with the terrible buzzing of bees. You couldn't fathom why you cared so much; most of your life you'd lived for your own sake, doing what needed to be done to get by, to have a better tomorrow. You hated other people. A few of them you'd personally buried six feet under, whether they were dead or lived still, and you never batted an eye. You had no patience for those who'd oppose you. 

You would have killed Osborn yourself if O’hara hadn't. And that was the truth. That'd been the truth the whole time, ever since you saw just how expensively he and the others lived; gold dripped from their tongues, silver ran through their veins, diamonds fell from their eyes. You wanted to claim a bit of that for yourself. 

And Miguel had shared his wealth with you, just in exchange for a bit of blood and your body for the night. Surely you could look past what he did to survive, even if it put your heart into a spiral. 

Lost in thought, you found your way to his chambers, freely disobeying his orders

He lounged in a clawfoot bath. Stuffy heat lulled you into a daze, something like a carefree summer evening wherein the sun took too long to vanish. Though when he noticed you approach, shedding clothes the entire way, the heat grew near unbearable.

Miguel's claws creaked against the enamel in anticipation when you stepped into the water. You watched him with the same delicate intrigue as prey investigating something that could be a threat as you found your place between his spread legs, getting close enough to feel the pounding of his undead heart. You'd only seen his body in dim candlelight or withering rays of the moon, never truly illuminated by the glow of floating chandeliers nor the collection of sconces arching from the wall.

Slowly, your fingertips dragged along muscle, warm and firm under your calloused touch. The scars littering your hands and knuckles shone so stark against his perfect complexion. He really did seem too perfect. It would have sparked jealousy in your gut if he didn't apparently belong to you, and you to him. No one else got to touch. No one else got to see. 

Now, you were built finely yourself, but the man before you was something entirely different. You didn't know if it was thanks to his supernatural existence, but his body was built in a near-animalistic way that screamed power and speed, not similar enough to a human. Though, looking back, you did always think his manners in bed were more beast than man. The growling, the clawing, the marks of claim on the nape of your neck, it all clicked and made sense in the whirlwind of your mind. 

“I think a werewolf would suit you better,” you admitted. “What with the claws and biting and general uncouth behaviour.” 

Miguel huffed. “You must be talking about yourself.” His voice rang low and quiet, too aware he might scare off his prized hare if he put too much into his words. “You're the one acting like a rabid animal.” 

“No, you.” 

“Don't think so.” 

“You're difficult.” 

“You're one to talk.” 

“How long have you been like this?” Your fingers combed through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. “A vampire. Or whatever you are.” 

“Lost track,” he said, sounding too honest. “I have records. Notes. From experiments. The dates on those are close to when it happened.” Experiments? Colour you intrigued.

“So you weren't exactly practicing white medicine?” You tilted your head in thought. “You were doing something more–” 

“It wasn't black magic,” Miguel scoffed. “It was science. Genetics. Studying how other organisms function, learning about them.” His expression darkened just the slightest bit. “Trying to…recreate them.” 

Your head spun a little trying to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t too hard, but it was hard to accept as reality. But if anyone were to unlock the damned secrets of immortality, of course it'd be this man. This cocky, genius, charming man. God really did have favourites, though they always did seem to disappoint him.

“I see. So you're telling me you're a genius who rebirthed vampires,” you summed up, letting your hands melt down his body, below the water's surface. “How is it you only get more and more impressive, Mr.O'hara?” 

A smug smirk bloomed across his lips. “It's just in my nature.” His head tilted back with a pleased sigh when your touch finally landed on that annoying thing prodding your thigh. “I have no choice but to succeed.” 

“Tch. Americans are so arrogant.” You hummed and leaned in, ghosting kisses along his vulnerable neck while your hand pleased him slowly, teasingly. His talons screeched against the tub again. “But maybe you have reason to be, hm? Given how accomplished you are.” 

A dark, scarlet haze like the sky of the blood moon illuminated Miguel's eyes in the few moments they slipped open to catch a glimpse of you. You wondered if he needed a reality check. Maybe he thought he was hallucinating, maybe he thought that you weren't really there despite being pressed up against him and murmuring useless quips into his skin. You'd be sure to leave an impression on him; your hand quickened, gripping tighter and pulling the way he directed you to far too many years ago, but his barbed hand caught your wrist. 

“Stop,” he gasped. His chest rose and fell with his light panting as he stared you down. Want radiated off of him like an animal starved. You knew what was rattling around in his mind before he even spoke. 

“You want to fuck me, is that it?” 

Miguel's breath hitched. 

–

You made him ravenous. You were the only thing he wanted to feast on, delicacies and sanguine temptations be damned. 

One of his large hands held your waist in a death grip while his other hand held your head down, forcing your incoherent ramblings into the soft, silken sheets as he rammed you from behind like a beast in heat. You took it well, too, not that you hadn't before–he always held back, appeared to you as human when he fucked you previously. But now that you knew the truth, now that you knew what lay hidden in the dark nooks of his bones’ marrow, he felt complete. And that meant he could completely lay claim to you, too. 

He matched the curve of your back with his chest when he leaned over you, burying his nose into your neck and shoulder to indulge in your scent. Your vampire's desire to breed slowed and steadied into deep, thoughtful rolls of his hips. Perhaps his mind had caught up with him and ushered him to slow down, to abandon some of that reckless excitement. 

Miguel heard the slightest mumble of his name on your lips and leaned down further to touch his own to your cheekbone. One arm looped underneath your throat in a benign chokehold of sorts, while his other hand threaded through your hair–if he wasn't fucking you like an animal before, this makeshift mating lock he had on you sealed the deal. 

“You feel good,” Miguel murmured, voice tickling the shell of your ear. 

“Hah. I, ah, always feel good,” you tried to quip back, but your expression betrayed the fraying threads of whatever self-control you still desperately clung to. “You’re, uh…unhinged, hey?” Miguel scoffed. “Like a…a wild beast.” 

“Oh?” A purr hummed through his chest, piercing your body and rattling through your own lungs in seismic pulses. “A wild beast? Flattering.”

“Really, darling, you don't have to be such a sarcastic asshole when you're–” a hard snap of his hips sent you spiraling for a moment, “--in my ass.” 

“Maybe you should watch your mouth,” he suggested. 

“Maybe you could watch it for me,” you countered. 

The warmth of his laugh sent chills scattering across your skin. He pulled out of you and turned you over, dragging your hips back against him before his powerful body engulfed yours again. Miguel liked this more. He liked the feeling of your hands grabbing and clawing at him, the way your thighs attached to his waist, how you bit your bottom lip while your eyes screwed shut from the overwhelming feeling of your partner destroying you.

And of course, his lips could meet yours like this. The sweet tang of copper and berries, a taste so familiar and so you, was shared between tongues, kept secret in the crevices of teeth. It amazed Miguel how much one little kiss could push him over the edge and make the bed creak and groan with you as he loved on you and made sure to send the message straight to your core. 

Your hands fisted in his hair when you came undone. That lovely voice of yours poured into Miguel's eager mouth, and you tightened, pulling him to the edge and pushing him over with the might of a wild stampede. Claws nipped your skin, fangs pierced deeper, yet his rutting hit deepest, and burned you alive with unbearable, liquid heat.

–

“Why me?” You asked into the stillness of the room. 

Calm silence answered you for a long moment. The sun bloomed beyond the thick curtains, you noticed in your wait, and you wondered if you would ever miss the sight. England never truly had bright, sunny days from what you recalled; stretches of smokey, grey overcast clouded the skies and your memories more often than not. Could your vampire walk amongst the living like this?

Miguel sighed, leaning into the hand carding through his hair. “Figured you’d understand.” 

“I’d understand what?”

“Killing to survive.” 

“How long have you known?” You wondered, unsurprised. 

“Blood tells stories,” he whispered. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered a moment before crimson eyes peered open the slightest bit. “Your story’s long. Complicated. You’re too young for it.” 

A smile twitched onto your face. You adjusted in the bed, getting more comfortable on your side in those pooling, satin sheets. “So you thought I’d be an easy target for sex, then? Desperate and young as I was.”

He found your eyes, his gaze earnest and bleeding. “I–you–fine, at first it was like you said. Maybe. But after enough time, I decided you weren’t like the rest. You’re as supernatural as I am.”

“Supernaturally handsome? I agree.”

“Stop.”

“You didn’t think I’d be afraid of you.”

“I’d hoped as much.” 

“And you still didn’t tell me.” Your fingertips danced along the arch of his cheekbone, leaving pleasant sparks against his skin in their wake, unbeknownst to you. “Were you scared?”

“I’d rather have you as a man for whatever time we had together than to lose you to a beast,” he explained, cryptic as one would expect an old legend to be. “I’ve lost too much already because of…this. Because of me. I didn’t want to lose more.” Miguel’s dark brows furrowed. “If you ended up fearing me to, I–”

You silenced him with a hand over his mouth. “Enough. I understand.” You palm smoothed back up to cup his face. “You needn’t be afraid of me–well, being afraid, I suppose. I’ll stay.” You took a deep breath and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “This bed’s too comfortable to give up, after all.”

His breath fanned against your skin as he chuckled, tired and perhaps tinted with disbelief. “Well, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Brilliant. Would you even let me drink your blood?”

The rumble of a growl, or perhaps a purr, rolled through his chest into yours. You searched his eyes, wondering, hoping, and found mere slices of ruby peeking out from behind eclipsing pupils. 

“We’ll see.”

[feyhunter78]

Chapter One - A dance between mortality and desire, between that which you already know and the seductive lure of the unknown in the shadows of the morgue. Miguel, your new coworker, has this irresistible pull and seems to have set his sights on you. You try to stay professional, stay strong, but sooner or later you know you’re bound to fall. A fic in which vampire Miguel has found his lost love (you) once more, and he won’t let anyone, or anything stop him from reclaiming you.

Ch 2

There’s something strange about your coworker, Miguel. Maybe it’s how comfortable he seems to be with the late hours, or how he never seems to eat? At least not where you can see him eating, not that you’ve been watching him, waiting to see if he eats, and yes, the morgue is not really the place to eat, it’s entirely unsanitary, but in the break room? That’s fair game.

All he seems to do is work, drink those weird power shakes he’s so possessive over, and work out? He’s got to work out, there’s no other explanation for why he’s so built.

“Y/N, you need any help with that cadaver?” Miguel asks, a brilliant smile aimed your way, he’s dazzling, teeth straight as a military cemetery, white enough to blind you and his lips...they’re perfect, like unfairly perfect.

He’s handsome, and he knows it. A ladies man, the city mortician office’s Don Juan. You still can’t get over how you caught him and Cheryl from accounting, necking behind the building. Well, almost caught him, you heard the sounds they were making and all but sprinted to your car, face burning. And if your subconscious replaced Cheryl with you while you slept that night, then that was nobody’s business.

“No, no, I’m almost done, just wrapping up my notes.” You tell him, waving your voice recorder in the air, the standard one that the city gives every mortician. The one that annoying ass Dave always breaks, which means every project you work on with him takes twice as long because you have to wait for him to type up and submit his notes manually.

“We’ve got it, Manuel, no worries.” Dave says, the deliberate mispronunciation of Miguel’s name makes you cringe, but Miguel doesn’t even flinch, merely nods and heads back into the hall.

“You know his name is Miguel, right?” You know Dave knows, but you remind him anyways.

“Miguel, Manuel, same difference,” Dave says, brushing you off. “He thinks he’s so great just because all the normies fawn all over him.”

Normies aka everyone not tasked with cutting open dead bodies for a living.

“He’s nice, and he does good work,” You say briskly, finishing up your notes and zipping the body bag back up. “Put this one back in the freezer, yeah?”

“Why are you defending him, you got a crush or something?” Dave asks, leaning onto the slab, wriggling his eyebrows.

“No, I just don’t want to be called as a witness when you get hit with a discrimination lawsuit.” You drawl, clicking off your recorder and slipping it in your lab pocket.

Dave holds up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, hey, hey, I’m not being racist or anything, I’m just hazing the new guy.”

“Since when do we haze?” You snort, locking the freezer once Dave slides the body back in.

“Since we started hiring pretty boys.”

“Oh, so you think he’s pretty. You sure you don’t have a crush on him?”

Dave makes a fake gagging sound. “Excuse you, I am loyal to my wife.”

“That poor woman.”

“Hey fuck you, y/n,” Dave sputters.

You laugh and pat his shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sure you and your wife are very happy together.”

“We are, thank you. It’s actually our anniversary next week, fifteen years.”

You’re taken aback. You knew Dave was married, but you didn’t think he’d be married for that long. “Wow, that’s amazing, seriously, congratulations.”

He smiles and pulls out his phone, showing you dozens upon dozens of smiling photos of him and his family. “Thank you, thank you, I’m a lucky man. Wait, don’t you have a boyfriend? How long have you two been together?”

Oh yeah, your boyfriend… “Oh, umm, like almost a year.”

“Hey, that’s not too bad,” Dave smiles.

You cringe internally. Almost a year of feeling like maybe your boyfriend doesn’t actually like you, compounded by your fear of being alone, driving you to do whatever it took to keep him. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great.”

A loud crash, the sound of metal crashing to the floor, and a low swear draws your attention.

You and Dave rush out into the hallway to see Miguel trying to lift a massive filing cabinet up from the floor. It’s dented on one side, almost the size of a…fist?

“Miguel, shit man, what happened?” Dave asks, hurrying over to his side and helping him lift the cabinet back to its rightful place against the wall.

Miguel’s eyebrows are furrowed, his hair disheveled, the sleeves of his lab coat rolled up exposing his forearms, his large hands flexing and unflexing. “I—I don’t know, I was walking down the hall, and it just fell, nearly broke my foot.”

“I’m glad you’re not hurt.” You tell him, searching the bottom of the cabinet for any loose parts or crooked corners that might’ve contributed to the crash.

He smiles at you, that Don Juan, panty melting smile, his warm brown eyes focused solely on you, as if you’re the only person in the world, the only one worth paying any attention to. “I’m just glad it was me and not you—or Dave, I wouldn’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“Aw, Manuel, you care about us,” Dave teases, going right back to his hazing.

“We’re a team,” Miguel says simply, rolling his shoulders back.

For a moment you wonder what his back muscles look like underneath his coat, his shirts always seem so tight. Do they ripple under the fabric, is it stretched taut, his back droolworthy and broad?

“A team that’s finally heading home, isn’t that right, y/n?” Dave’s arm landing across your shoulders brings you back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah, closing time,” you say, hoping you weren’t blatantly staring at Miguel’s back.

“You two go ahead, I have some things I need to finish up.” Miguel says, waving you both off as he heads back to his office.

You drive home in the dark, warm streetlights lining the street, soft music playing from the stereo. Miguel never left with everyone else, he always stayed late, and was always there early, like before the sun got up early. You did not envy his sleep schedule.

Digging through your purse, you fish out your keys and unlock your apartment door, flicking on the lights and sighing happily. There’s nothing like finally getting home after a long day and just getting to relax. Nudging off your shoes, you go to heat up some leftovers, letting the mindless reality TV shows keep you semi-entertained until you feel sleep tugging at your limbs.

You go through the motions, shower, skincare, pajamas, make sure all the doors are locked, turn down the air conditioning, and turn off the lights. Settling into your bed, you toss and turn, that fist shaped dent in the filing cabinet still bothering you. Did you need to call maintenance, or file a complaint with the city to let them know? It’s not like they’d give your department a new cabinet just because it was a little damaged, but still, at least you can say you tried.

Finally, you begin to drift off to sleep, breathing evening out, your heart rate slowing, the stress of the day melting away. Your dreams come quickly, cotton candy sweet and nonsensical, until a familiar figure appears.

Miguel’s hand caresses your cheek, his voice low, murmuring something in a language you don’t understand. He pulls you closer, and you can feel the press of his skin against yours, the toned muscles beneath your touch.

“Mi tesoro, tócame.” Miguel whispers, taking your hand in his and sliding it down, down, down his chest, stopping at his waistband, the fabric soft, his skin burning. Trsl: My treasure, touch me.

You take hold of the waistband, fingers slipping beneath it, as Miguel dips his head down trailing his nose up your neck, inhaling deeply before groaning, his free hand a vice grip on your hip.

“Touch me.” He breathes, his lips against your ear, his hand guiding your lower, more smooth flesh meeting your fingertips.

You want to, you want to explore Miguel, to find out if the rumors are true, but a shrill ringing draws your attention away.

“Te quiero y/n, no dejes que otros me roben tu atención.” Miguel pleads, his voice low and desperate, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. Trsl: I want you, y/n, don’t let others steal your attention away from me.

But the ringing won’t stop, and soon you’re jolting awake, alarm clock blaring, the sun streaming in through your blinds.

You throw off your covers, cringing at the sticky wetness between your legs. Really y/n? That’s what gets you going?

After eating breakfast and getting ready for the day, you check your phone, a few texts from your friends, some work emails, and a voicemail from Todd.

Hey babe, so I’m out at this bar right, and the drinks are fucking great, but I was talking to these girls about our issues, you know your whole not really enjoying sex thing? And they gave me some great advice, I want to try it out next time, so tomorrow night I’ll be at your place, get that couch ready, we’re going to tear it up.

He talked to other girls about your relationship? About your intimacy issues? What the fuck? You start to type out an angry text message but delete it halfway through. He’s trying at least, and you did ask him to try.

Maybe you should just hear him out on this, maybe those girls gave him actual advice like: “stop violently rubbing her labia thinking it’s her clit or listen when she tells you where her clit actually is, or maybe don’t be a dick and just give up once you’ve finished, your girlfriend deserves to get off too.”

You type out a neutral response and send it, before tossing your phone in your bag and setting out for work.

This fic was inspired by @sassyposssumm's kinktober request which was such an interesting prompt that I knew it needed to be expanded on! Also since this is a vampire fic there will be some instances of slight dubcon, I'll put warning in the beginning for those chapters with *slight* details in case anyone is uncomfy and wants to skip.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[p1nkmic]

Don't know how to caption this,,

Let's just say that those fics on ao3 about biting changed something in me

[rhetthammersmithhorror]

[bluegiragi]

they lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship

nsfw on patreon

[mikroscopy]

late for work for… reasons

btw peter b’s lower half of the suit got ripped thats y he’s wearing sweats … think whatever let your mind explode 🤭

[oolong---latte]

nosferatu

[politemenacephd]

Monster!Miguel One-shots Vol. 1 (+18)

Vampire!Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Contents: Blood Thirst, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Rough Body Play, Clothes Ripping, PinV Sex, Partially Public Sex, Creampie.

Note: gender neutral pronouns and terms are used for reader, and the only physical characteristic mentioned is vaginal anatomy

Word count: 1749

You’d agreed to just a little bite. That was all.

The poor man had been ravenous. He’d been shaking when he begged you. To see Miguel in all his glory, down on his knees in a dark puddle in a dark alley, pleading for release, of course it broke your heart.

You’d always assumed the comments about him being a vampire were in jest, snide comments behind his back based on his terrifying red eyes and sharp teeth. That was until you’d seen him tonight.

It was your first mission just you and him, and even with your limited exposure to the mysterious head of the Spider Society you’d known something was up. He was trembling, agitated, his body clearly not up to its usual strength.

You noticed the way he eyed you up; smelling your hair when you weren’t looking, gripping his hands into fists as if holding something back.

Eventually it’d gotten too much. After accidentally letting your target escape, he’d collapsed in the street, and he’d explained to you on his knees that he was starving. He needed blood, and you smelled too good. If you’d just give him a little, just the smallest bite, he could recover at last.

Was it strange? Yes, but he was always courteous to you. He was reserved but kind, stoic in a tired way. He had a short temper, but it’d never been aimed at you.

So, you said yes. You said you’d help to relieve his hunger, and you bathed in the messy and frantic praise he’d offered.

You’d let him lift you into his muscular arms and claw his way up the side of an old department store building, pulling your body through a broken window and into a storage room in the attic.

Here, you’d be alone. Here, he could feed. Here, nobody would hear.

You’d expected him to be hungry. You just hadn’t realized how ravenous he was, nor what drinking blood did to him.

‘F-Fuck, ah—c-careful—’

Your voice echoed in the empty room, and his pleasurable grunt echoed with it. It was so dark that you could barely see a thing. You winced, again, from the strange new sensations surging through your body.

‘Ah—c-careful, Miguel, please—’

You squeaked, the only sound that could escape your throat as he clamped your shoulder in his jaw. Your neck was soaked, smeared in spit and venom and bruises, a leftover gift from when he’d searched for the safest spot to drink.

He’d settled on the spot between your collarbone and neck, and there his teeth had sunk in.

With his fangs pierced right down to the bone and his lips bruising your skin, he continued to carefully suck your blood out and into his mouth. It felt like heaven, like mana, warm and wet sliding down his throat. To you it was a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.

‘A-Ah… is—is it, okay?’ you whimpered.

Miguel let out a low moan in response.

You couldn’t move. You were clamped in his jaw, the jaw of a predator designed to keep its prey still, and his body was pinning yours to the cold wood of the floor.

To any passerby you would have looked terrifying. His body was obscured in the dark, appearing as just a hulking, bloody shadow, merging and distorting the outline of your own form; the visage of a monster in the night, consuming the body of a frightened human.

But that wasn’t how you saw it. No, you were in the thralls of absolute delight.

You felt the heat of his venom gently numbing the area. Whatever he was pumping you with must have been making you more susceptible, because your body was tingling from toe to head. You were unbearably sensitive.

One of his hands was on your waist, his claws carefully drawing you up until you were held taut beneath his body, and the other hand was feverish groping your chest.

He’d torn your suit to feed and then torn a little further, leaving your skin bare right down to your ribs. He was squeezing, stroking, his thumb desperately massaging your nipple. He wanted to hear your whimpers, your soft jolts when he overstimulated that sensitive spot.

You felt him sink down between your legs, his hardened bulge thick and round as it nudged at your skin-tight suit. He was softly grinding it up against your panties.

How crass. You’d never do this, never. This wasn’t like you at all.

But you were doing it now.

You were mewling as he dry-humped your little body. Your breath was ragged, the soft puffs of condensation from your lips turned a ghostly white by the pale light.  

What sweet rapture.

You see, what you hadn’t anticipated was that feeding was more than a basal act for him.

It was a full body orgasmic experience, feeding every positive stimulus in his brain and body. Every nerve in his body was on fire in the best way. His body was pulsing, pumping. His arms were covered in goosebumps, his dark hair standing on end, and his cock was painfully erect behind his suit.

He needed relief. He needed more.

‘Mmm… mmm.’

His muffled groans got harder as he continued to feed. His conscious brain was fighting those deep, supernatural urges, the need to indulge in pleasure no matter the consequences, but his subconcious was primal.

If he had his way he’d drain everything, slowly, all while pumping between your legs into your pretty little cunt, but he couldn’t allow that.

You poor, sweet, naïve thing, you’d just let him take you up here. Your whimpers were heaven, but your softness was too pure for him to fully ruin.

So he forced himself to break.

He withdrew his fangs and pulled back, revealing the purple, bruised skin of your shoulder. He licked the wound clean before forcing himself away.

‘Please, please, if you—if you give me your wrist, I-I’ll be done, and—’

Miguel paused to pant, his lips still stained red. You watched your own blood drip down his chin.

‘And, if I could… have you, in another way, it—may help to, calm my impulses’ he said, his voice husky and dark. You watched his eyes glimmer a bright and crimson red. 'May I have you?'

‘Yes’ you instinctively blurted, ‘ah—yes, please, that—’

You were silenced as he kissed you. His lips were hard, rough, and you could taste the metallic sting of blood on them still. When he pulled back he looked overjoyed.

‘Good. Good. Come here’ he barked.

You jolted as he dragged your body forward. He unsheathed his claws and carefully tore a hole through your suit and panties in one, rendering him a useful slit. You shuddered as the cold air hit your bare and slick-coated pussy, but Miguel didn’t leave you bare for long.

He roughly manhandled you into a mating press before phasing his own suit away, allowing his already erect shaft to fall down hard on your clit. The sight caused a small, surprised noise to escape your throat, one that he relished.

He was slow, deliberately distracting you with his cock as he raised your wrist to his mouth. He kept you captivated as he carefully slid it inch by inch down your swollen clit, letting you feel every inch, and while you stared at that he gently licked his venom across your frail skin. He was numbing you in preperation.

You felt him pushing that thick member right up against your opening. His panting was getting harder. The double pleasure, the double temptation, of sinking both his teeth and his cock into you at once. It was enough to make him shake.

With a soft grunt he penetrated both.

‘F-F—MM—’

Your words were turned to gibberish as he pushed his cock in deep, until his pelvis was perfectly squished up against you. The moment your blood hit his throat he started to pump.

You were inside him, and he was inside you. On that filthy, cold floor, you were his.

He started to slide his shaft in tandem with his teeth. As his fangs gently shifted beneath the skin, as his lips sucked and bruised, his fat shaft gently slipped in and out of your cunt. For such a furious feeder he was a surprisingly gentle lover.

You could hear it reverberating through the empty attic. The slap of skin, the grunts, the sound of his claws scraping. The soft sound of him sucking at your wrist, the sound of the wood creaking as he fucked you into it.

He was terrifyingly strong, that much was clear up close. He bent your thighs until they ached, his claws digging into the soft fat as he held you in place, and with each insertion you could feel the power he was holding back.

You felt him pumping, drawing out your precious blood while his cock ravaged you from inside. Each delicious slip, each pulsing throb, every time you felt his veiny shaft twitching for attention against your creamy walls, it was unbearable.

All too soon you were lightheaded.

You were whining, your heavy breathes producing less and less ghostly condensation. Miguel was panting furiously with each thrust, his breath condensing like smoke as he huffed through his curled nose. He was lost in the pleasure, the urge, the need.

But the sex was important. He had an end point there, one that didn’t exist with feeding, one strong enough to snap him out of his blood drunk trance.

And between the tightness, the heat, the copious oozing slick squelching and pooling around his bare skin and dripping off his balls as they smacked your rear, mixed with the sound of you whining and the fresh blood in his veins, he couldn’t last any longer.

‘MMF—’

With a single, muffled groan, Miguel orgasmed inside you. His red eyes rolled back and his body began to buck, smacking your hip bones until they went numb all in hopes of filling you completely.

Just as he felt your hot blood filling his mouth you felt his thick seed pooling and squishing its way into your cunt, filling every available space. It started to seep out as he continued to hump your limp body, now hanging in sweat, hot pearly strings between his pelvis and your inner thighs.

He pumped inside you until he was utterly spent, his own head now hazy and light, and at last he released you. Your wrist fell limp to the floor.

‘Ah… ah, mm.’

Miguel coyly wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist before brushing your forehead. ‘Are—are you okay?’

The relief he felt when you shakily nodded was unmatched. Thank god, he didn’t go too far this time.

‘Thank you’ he murmured, his claws lingering on your cheek. ‘You were… delicious.’

[ramshackledtrickster]

Venom overflow

[ultrainfinitepit]

Spidersona redesign! They have upgraded from Spider Knight to Spider Angel.

Bonus I have a problem

[skiplo-wave]

Me in Miguel grasp: whoops didn’t mean moan like that 🥴

[up1r]

Snoring sounds idk

[rhetthammersmithhorror]

The Invasion of the Vampires | 1963

[lacedinweb22]

Seven Minutes in Heaven ♱☽🦇☾♱

Miguel O'Hara x reader ♱ (A Halloween special) Vampire Next Door (ch.7) prev part nsfw 18+

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

There’s a knock at your door. You fix your hair in the mirror then rush to leave.

There he is,

dressed up as a vampire.

He’s wearing a beautiful vintage, tailored suit. His waves are tamed back. He has a bit of fake blood dripping from his bottom lip to his jaw then down to his neck. He really committed to the part. 

You discussed costume ideas a few days before the party. You came up with the idea of dressing up as gothic style vampires; you’d been watching vampire romances all week, though you left that part out. Miguel was hesitant at first, said it would be too flashy, but after you showed him your pinterest board, and some whining and convincing, he agreed.

You’ve got the look down: a long, black vintage dress, fake blood around your lips, chin, and down your arms, jewelry adorning your collarbones, and fangs you’ve glued onto your canines.

Your dress hugs you in all the right places. Your bust is bursting, practically spilling out of the bodice. It accentuates your curves, tightly hugging your waist and hips. You look and you feel the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

Seeing Miguel like this, at your door, makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild. You never thought he’d see you like this, so grown up, blossomed, and beautiful. And you never thought you’d see him like this. 

Your eyes meet, then part, as they explore each other’s figures. He quickly looks back up, keeping a straight face, like he didn’t just gulp at the sight of your curves.

“This hot vamp look really suits you.”

“Hot?”

He furrows his brows and smiles, exposing his fangs, as he slides a hand over his waves.

“Wait, your fangs… I’m impressed.”

“A vampire needs a good pair of fangs. I’m not an idiot.” 

“I’m learning that…” you mutter looking him up and down.

****

Miguel introduces you to your floor neighbors, in a way that makes you feel like you're his. You look like you belong to each other, but you push those thoughts away. He was kind enough to welcome you and introduce you to his friends. You’re neighbors. Friendly neighbors. 

Your neighbors welcome you, you have multiple small-talk conversations, and most of them ask how you know Miguel. You both say you’re neighbors who’ve just met a few days ago. You’re both liars.

Alicia, the host of the party, calls him out for not attending more of their get-togethers, and he promises he’ll come out more often, as he turns to look at you. 

You all start the night off with one shot of tequila then disperse through her apartment. 

You and Alicia click, as Miguel stands by sipping at a mixed something, listening, and secretly laughing at your tangents. 

After a bit, you both end up alone at the kitchen counter. 

“I think I want to drink a lot tonight. I need it.”

He nods slowly, trying to read your face as he sips his drink. 

“If that’s what you want, okay. I’ll drink with you.” 

He pours you another shot. You cheers then both down it. You wince at the aftertaste, then look up at an unfazed Miguel. 

The music progressively gets louder as the apartment becomes more full. You move to the rhythm, barely dancing, not drunk enough to let him witness it. Miguel smiles, sipping at his drink, leaning against the counter. 

“You know what? You’re like four times my size. You’re going to need to drink four times what I drink to feel anything,” you slur, clinging onto his wrist for balance. 

“Mhmm, okay,” he chuckles, looking down at your hand on his wrist. You’re too tipsy to pull away. His warm skin feels too good, you feel glued to him. He smiles, pouring two more shots into a red cup. 

He drinks, lifting his chin up, his jawline advertised as he swallows the hard liquor. 

“It’s been thirty minutes. I want another.” You slide your shot glass to him.

He grabs the liter of strawberry soda on the counter and starts to pour it into a red cup.

“This should help with the taste.”

He adds a shot into the soda.

“So kind, such a gentleman,” you slur, taking the drink from his hand. 

“Truth or dare!” one of your neighbors yell. Everyone gathers, drunk and stumbling to sit on the floor and on the couch, forming a circle in the living room.

After half of the circle takes their turn, it’s your turn.

“Truth or dare,” Alicia asks you. 

“Dare.”

“I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with Miguel,” she shrugs.

“Seven minutes– Is this fucking high school?” Miguel mutters rolling his eyes.

“Okay, Y/N, sorry. You’re going to have to take another shot.”

You’re fucked up. Another shot is going to destroy you. 

“Shut up, okay? Mierda. Come on, Y/N,” he mutters as he stands up. He reaches both hands down to you, then helps you up. You stumble, as he grabs your hand and leads you to the closet down the hallway.

You both enter the closet; Miguel leaves the door open a crack, allowing the purple light to illuminate the side of his face. The speakers begin to blast music again in the living room. It bleeds into the dark closet. 

You laugh at how drunk you are, and at the situation, then look up at Miguel. His concern is obvious, but it fades a bit when your eyes meet. 

“I was too sober to say it earlier, but you look… divine,” he confesses.

“Wow, that’s… you can’t do that to me. Not now,” you laugh, looking down, shaking your head. You avoid eye contact.

You’ve dreamt about moments like this since university. About being this close to him, about him saying romantic things like this, but you’re drunk, and you don’t believe him. 

“I mean it,” he adds, leaning down to catch your eyes. 

“You look really good too. So handsome,” you breathe out. You cover your eyes. That took a lot. 

“Yeah? You think I’m handsome?” he asks, drawing closer. 

He gently pulls your hands off of your face.

You look up at him.

His cheeks are pink, flushed from the alcohol, his hair is less tame than it was when you got here, and his crimson eyes are radiant, even in the dark.

“Miguel,” you exhale.

“Y/N,” he says, smoothly, deep, pretty on his tongue.

You grasp onto his suit jacket, pulling him into you. 

He strokes your cheek, then combs his fingers through your hair, pushing it out of your face. 

You stare into each other’s eyes, then his eyes wander down to your lips. 

You tilt your face up and he leans down.

You kiss. 

It’s heated, drunk, wet, and addictive.

It intensifies as he slowly presses you up against the wall, your lips still glued to each other. 

His lips detach, his kisses trailing down to your neck.

“Y/N,” he breathes against your skin. 

“I know you remember me,” he mutters into your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“English 150A. I know you remember.”

“I didn’t realize you did.” 

“You’re hard to forget.”

You pull him back in for a kiss, shutting him up. It’s drunk and passionate. Your cheeks burn hot.

His fangs are razor-sharp; you’re too drunk to realize when they cause you pain.

You pull away, then reach your hand up to his lips.

“Can I?” 

He obeys, looking down at you with drowsy eyes. 

You stroke his fangs. They’re hyper realistic. If you applied a bit more pressure, they would puncture the tip of your finger. 

“Why are they so sharp? Mine aren’t that sharp. Where did you get them?”

“Doesn’t matter. They were expensive though,” he shrugs, allowing you to continue touching his lips with your thumb.

“Miguel, these could actually cut me.” 

You reach back to his fangs, before he gently pulls your hand away.

“Here, I’ll do it,” 

He grazes his own fingertip on his fang, drawing blood.

“Miguel, stop,” you squeal, yanking his hand away from his mouth. 

He laughs, showing you the blood. He’s too drunk to read the concern on your face and you’re too drunk to realize it’s not that serious.

“It’s like a paper cut, Y/N,” he reasons, sucking the blood off his finger. 

“You’re annoying. I’m not staying here and entertaining this.” You reach for the closet door. He grabs your wrist. You turn to look up at him. 

“Come on, Boots, I was just showing you,” 

“What? What did you just call me?”  

“Boots. You wore those red rain boots that week of the storm. I thought they were cute, and it just stuck with me,” he says, shrugging it off.

“You really do remember me. Okay, we’re doing this… wait, you’re a science boy, what were you doing TA-ing for an English course?” 

“Hm yeah, it was a favor for Professor Reyes,” 

“Favor for what?”

“I’m too drunk to talk about this right now,” he groans, throwing his head back.

“Okay,” you nod, leaning only your back against the wall.

He looks up at you, then slowly approaches you. 

“We still have like four minutes left,” you sigh.

“Four minutes. I can work with that,” he smirks, towering over you.

Then he’s kissing you, hands on your waist, holding you against his body. Again, he’s pressing you up against the wall. 

His leg is in between your legs, as you lean back. 

You squeeze his tricep, encouraging the pressure he’s applying all over you.

“You’re so warm, and god, you’re so beautiful,” he grumbles into your lips.

You feel it, something pressing into your thigh, against your dress. 

The butterflies in your stomach intensify. You feel hot all over. You’re drunk and you want him and he’s right here and he wants you too.

“I want you,” you moan into his mouth. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, trailing his lips down to your neck, sucking gently. 

“Harder,” you encourage, enjoying yourself a little too much. 

You comb your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly.

He squeezes your thigh, holding you tight against his leg. 

He sucks harder; you feel his fangs brush against your skin.

You moan, pulling his hips into yours. He grips your waist tighter. If you weren’t wearing this dress, his fingerprints would be bruised into you. He hangs his head on your shoulder, quietly moaning into your skin, before bruising you again.

He restrains himself. 

“Now bite me,” 

He pulls his face from your neck.

“Y/N,” he says, head tilted, face drowsy, hair tousled. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” he shakes his head, his eyes glued to your lips.

You pull him down for a kiss. 

The music stops. 

“Seven minutes up!” they yell, clapping. 

You pull away from each other. You try to catch your breath.

You fix your hair, bring it forward to cover your neck, wipe around your lips, and look up at Miguel, who’s brushing his hair back and straightening out his suit. 

You walk out of the closet and join the circle once again. 

“How were the seven minutes? How was the sex?” they tease.

“We just talked,” you slur, shrugging, suppressing your smile.

“Miguel?” they press on.

“We just talked. You heard her,” he defends, eyebrows furrowed at their doubt.

They move on to their next victim. 

You turn to each other. Your eyes meet then break. 

The night goes on. 

⋆♱✮☽🎃☾✮♰⋆

Happy Halloween 🧛🏼‍♀️

-G ⋆୨୧˚

ch.8 here

[everlastlady]

Vampire Miguel HCS

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✰- Author's Note: Hello! My little spiders welcome back to another Miguel story. I decided to write some Miguel content before I rest up. I'm writing this from inside the Tumblr app. Since I usually write on google doc from my phone or laptop. Which I think/believe that Tumblr should add a word count for the app, I think it will really help writers. Anyway this is vampire Miguel hcs with a female reader, don't worry I'll make a separate one soon for male readers because I really need to also cater to my male followers if y'all want I could also make one for my non binary followers as well. So for now remember to eat a meal or snack, drink some water, get fresh air, take your medicine and vitamins, and especially remember that you are loved. If you enjoyed these hcs then please consider commenting, tapping or clicking on the heart, reblogging with tags, or blaze this post if you can. Remember to always support your local writers! ♡♡♡♡♡

✰- Story Contains Blood, Biting, Fem reader, Violence, Fluff, Smut so minors dni, stalking ,Protective Miguel, & author giggling like a bitch over smut.

✰- Posted: Sunday, October 8th 2023 at 1:21 a.m

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Vampire Miguel who has been watching you for a while. Ever since he stopped that guy from robbing you in that alley when you were coming home from working. Miguel couldn't get you out of his mind especially the scent of your blood from when the man had cut you when you refused to hand over your bag and fought with him. Good thing Miguel showed up to save you. But the scent of your blood was so strong that he had to control himself and hurry up and leave. He let you call the police, you were happy the mask man saved you but was confused at his behavior.

Vampire Miguel who continues to watch. He found out that you live in the same apartment building that isn't to far from his. He likes how well you keep your house clean. But hates how rude your neighbors are, he wishes he could get rid of them so that you sleep better at night. He thinks that you look adorable when you are asleep at night. Still having to himself back from opening your window and crawling on top of you to stick his fangs into your neck, he wanted to know what sweet sounds you would make. Thinking about this so much, he goes home and strokes his cock to the image of you underneath him as he's pounding into you while his fangs are buried into your neck like his cock would be in your sweetness.

Vampire Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to talk with you. So he pretends to introduce himself at the coffee shop you go to before work. The two of you talk and get to know each other, exchanging phone numbers, and waving goodbye. He did it! Now he has to act cool because he has scored a date with you. At his place he makes you dinner and can't wait for you to come. He thinks you look beautiful in the dress you were wearing, your hair, make-up, and jewelry looked beautiful. Miguel's dinner looked and smelled great. The two of you ate, drank, and dance.

Vampire Miguel who goes on more dates with you and eventually becomes your boyfriend. You find it stranges how he always sleeps during the day but is active as a cat at night. He seems to always be gone at night. Sometimes he won't talk when he sees you and it worries you. Also he smells metallic. He eventually tells you that he's a vampire and is spiderman, now he's scared that you'll run out screaming and tell someone. But you don't you still love him and stay by his side. Though you wished he told you earlier but you understand he was scared.

Vampire Miguel who loves to stuff you with his fingers as you unravel underneath him. When he's pumping his fingers in and out of you trying to prepare you for his length. He absolutely loves to praise you, calling you his good girl or sweet little thing. And when you are finally ready he slides himself into your pussy pushing his hips into yours while feeling how you squeeze around his cock. You feel so damn good. You could hear him grunt and see how his fangs scrap across his lips, as he's thrusting. He bites your neck, breasts, ass, thighs, and stomach. He wants people to know that you are his.

Vampire Miguel who has beat people to a bloody plump for messing with you that sometimes you have to grab onto him and yell for him to stop. His red rage filled eyes would stare at you before fading back to those beautiful brown chocolate orbs. He would apologize and pick you up, leaving quickly. You would patch up Miguel and remind him that he needs to work on keeping control so he makes a promise to keep his anger in check for the both of you.

Vampire Miguel who shits on other vampire movies and shows calling them dramatic, misinformed, or stupid. Though he's very fond of the movie Dark Shadows the old version and Tim Burton's version. He also questions your taste in vampire stories whether it's books you read online or books you buy.

Vampire Miguel who when he bites you for a quick snack especially when he's seriously injured and needs blood. Is gentle, even though he didn't want to bite you at first but you reassured him that it's fine. He's gentle when he bites you and never takes too much from you. But will make sure you get you some water and snack to eat after he drinks from you.

Vampire Miguel thinks about turning you into a vampire but it's your choice to make. Miguel will love you no matter what if you grow older and older he will still be by your side especially when you become an old lady he will still protect and love you, no one will mess with you at bingo night or when you are knitting away in your cozy chair. When you die he will visit your grave everyday and leave a rose there on your birthday or your guys anniversary.

Vampire Miguel that If you do choose to become a vampire, Miguel has a lot to teach you and is glad to have someone by his side. He brings home a lot of donated blood, but sometimes you aren't afraid to get your hands dirty and help him fight crime. Miguel thinks it's hot whenever you have blood on your mouth that it leads to a steamy make out session on the floor and then leads to sex on the floor. Thanks to the abilities from you both now, y'all be fucking on the ceiling but it's not like he wasn't pounding into you on the ceiling when you were human.

Vampire Miguel who thinks it's cute whenever you dress up as vampire for Halloween and get those fake fangs. He will also dress up like a vampire to match with you at parties. All your friends and people at the party tell him that the blood on him and his fangs on him look so real. Miguel chuckled as your just let out a nervous laugh hoping no one gains the third eye or a new brain cell.

Vampire Miguel who tells you that garlic doesn't really kill vampires that it just makes them sick but to the point they die. So when Miguel accidentally ate a dish that had garlic in it. You took care of him but he did say that silver makes vampires break so you replaced your silverware with fake silverware. Miguel was in a awe he saw how much you listened to him about vampires and sacrificed a lot to keep him safe so he did the same by keeping his hunger in check, anger in check, and keeping you away from greedy and corrupted vampires that could hurt you or his enemies from whenever he's being spiderman.

Vampire Miguel who will love you until the end of time whether you choose to stay human or become a vampire like him. Because no matter what you choose Miguel will love you for a thousand years and thousand more.

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📖Taglist/Miguel's Simps: @sukioyakio @quechulitaaa @miguelcvmslvt @homewreckingwreck @tayleighuh @lauraolar14

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