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??
#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--
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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.
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.”
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!
the buffy the vampire slayer au bot is up!! i had so much fun writing it, and i hope all of you enjoy it!
intro:
From the moment that you stumbled across one of your best friends, Willow, doing something that looked like witchcraft, you knew your life wasn't going to go the way that you had planned. After failing to cover it up, Willow explained it all to you, and your curiosity got the best of you when you asked if you could try being a witch. And turns out, you're pretty good at it! Since then, you've been practicing alongside Willow, learning how to be a witch.
But tonight, you're not practicing any witchcraft. Willow invited you and your best friend, Miguel, to come over and hang out with her and her friends Buffy and Xander. You had met the two of them a few times, but Miguel hasn't yet.
As you two walk up to the front door, you silently hope that Miguel will enjoy this. He's been… off the past couple of weeks. His skin looks a little paler than normal and he's been weird about hanging out with you for long periods of time. You haven't really asked him about it yet, figuring he'll tell you when he's ready to. But as the front door opens and Willow warmly welcomes you both inside, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind.
The evening is fun as you all gather in the living room, talking about everything from college to TV shows. Buffy seems a little cautious of Miguel, almost like she suspects something as she glares at him, but you try to ignore it. You keep a close eye on Miguel and so far, he seems like he's having a good time! You softly smile before the room bursts into laughter at something Xander says. But after an hour or so, Miguel starts looking faint. He excuses himself to the kitchen to grab water, and you quickly follow after him, worried about your best friend.
"Miguel? Are you okay?" you ask him. But before he can respond, Buffy storms in, followed by a confused Willow and Xander.
"You," she angrily says, pointing a… sharpened stick at Miguel? Miguel looks scared as he opens his mouth to say something, and you notice… fangs?
click here to go to the bot!!
the amazing vampy miguel that i used as this bot's pfp was made by @attckher on X!! also, thank you to @kitcatcrunch for the idea to put the bot link/intro in the tumblr post! 🫶🫶🫶
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.
Chapter 1: A Normal Day at Work
Chapter 2: Outside Your Window🔥(sorta)
Chapter 3: Wine and Donuts🔥
Chapter 4: Daydreams, Nightmares🔥
Chapter 5: Social Media
Chapter 6: Gabe and Mina
Chapter 7: The Restaurant
Chapter 8: Miguel's Car
Chapter 9: Fast Food Parking Lot
Chapter 10: More Todd Time TW: Todd🔥
Chapter 11: Y/N's Office
Chapter 12: Mama Rosa's
Chapter 13: The Family Bathroom🔥
Chapter 14: Driving Back to Your Apartment🔥(sorta)
Chapter 15: Your Apartment🔥(sorta)
Chapter 16: Barstools
Chapter 17: The Morgue and its Parking Lot
Chapter 18: Into the Woods
Chapter 19: Out of the Woods
Chapter 20: The Joining🔥
Chapter Six - Miguel returns to his home to spend some time talking about you with his brother and sister-in-law.
Ch 7
Miguel can’t stop thinking about what you said—well thought, the words turn over and over in his head, taunting him. He stares off into the distance, window open to the night air, heavy bookshelves lining the wall of his study, glowing screens surrounding him, filtering information in and out, compiling, collecting, processing. You, you, you, your face plagues his mind, he can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think as he replays your words. The way your voice rings so clear even in your own thoughts, the humor in your words, the desire he felt dripping down, heated and lush, making his face warm.
His fangs had pricked at his gums. He longed to turn on his heels and take you, sink his teeth, his fingers into your skin, claim the soft flesh as you sighed and whined for him, each desperate needy sound music to his ears. He would not fuck you in the morgue, he had too much respect for you and the dead to do such a thing, but maybe in his office? Or yours? Or the woods that bordered the morgue parking lot.
He would lay you down on soft grass, keep you covered with his body as you took him into your warm embrace, velvet walls welcoming him home, each sensitive spot exactly where he remembered them. You would beg for him, and he would give you all you desired, if only—
“Miguel, are you even listening to me?” Gabriel’s voice comes through the speaker, crackly and irritated, jolting him from his daydream.
“Of course.” Miguel says, straightening up, his eyes meeting his brother’s.
“What did he say then?” Mina asks, smiling teasingly at him through the screen, her accented tone lacks the irritation of his brother’s, she’s lived long enough that simple things like this only amuse her.
“That I should kidnap and turn y/n in order to bring her home in time for the solstice.” Miguel says, tapping his pen against his desk, running his free hand through his hair.
Mina looks at Gabriel in faux shock, raising her hand to lightly smack him on the arm. “He did not, Gabriel, why would you give him such terrible advice? You know she cannot enter the undead realm with attachments, it will muddle her transformation. It is imperative she relinquishes her hold on this Todd and accepts Miguel before she is bitten.”
“Miguel entered with attachments.” Gabriel says, shrugging as he dodges his wife’s playful attack.
They’re in their sitting room, one of many rooms they claimed ownership of in the Morris manor, all dark wood and heavy curtains, gold inlaid furniture and portraits scattered around. Miguel feels a pang of homesickness, knowing his own rooms lay unused, cold, longing for the light you bring, for you to return to your rightful place beside him.
“That was different, they were bound together, they are mates, like you and me.” Mina explains, exasperated. She has relayed this information time and time again, mostly because Miguel asks her too, but often times because Gabriel forgets why it’s so critically important you join their coven free of mortal ties.
His brother has a more laxed attitude about your ascension into immortality, frequently suggesting that it would be easier to simply compel and turn you. You have all of time to apologize if she’s upset about it, he’d say.
“Right, right, right, the magic of true love and all that.” Gabriel says, leaning back in his chair, and stretching out his arm to lay it across the back of Mina’s chair.
“I will not compel her and force her to turn, it has to be a choice.”
“But you would compel her to do other things? You dirty man, Miguel, I knew you had some trouble in you.” Mina wriggles her shoulders suggestively.
“That’s not—”
“Mina, we talked about this, you have to ease him into stuff like that.” Gabriel says.
Mina rolls her eyes. “He’s over a century old, he should not be so squeamish about this, as long as they do not detest you, you are not being violent, and you know that you can provide your mate pleasure I do not see the problem, I compelled you when we first met.”
Gabriel smiles, it’s a catlike, satisfied smile, as he reminisces. “A ghrá, I was a merchant’s son bound to be married off for my father’s monetary gain, and you were a beautiful foreign woman who wished for me to take her behind the inn. You would not have had to compel me if you had only asked for what you desired.” Trsl: my love/my dear
“One can never be too careful.” Mina says, waving her hand dismissively. “Did you not enjoy it?”
Gabriel laughs. “You know I did, is that not why I followed you into an early grave?”
Miguel watches them, a pit forming in his stomach, he’s happy for his brother, but moments like this are difficult. You are a mere fifteen minutes away, and yet he can’t go to you. He can’t bring you here and laugh alongside his family. Can’t sit as you tease him for the way he approached you, can’t kiss lovingly as his brother kisses Mina.
“I’m going to be sick.” He complains halfheartedly, giving his brother a sly wink. “I’ll talk to you two later. Goodnight.”
He shuts down his computers without fanfare, toying with his sister-in-law’s words. You don’t hate him, he would never be violent towards you, and he’s already proven he would be able to give you pleasure…
There is something intoxicating about the idea. Having you fully under his sway, pretty eyes glazed over, so pliable and obedient for him, your chin resting in his hand, perfect lips parted ever so slightly, gasps slipping from them as he touched you as he wished. Running his hand down your soft skin, playing you like a violin, each string taut and fine-tuned to produce beautiful music.
Yes, he would coax such beautiful sounds from your lips, a never-ending symphony of euphoria, played to an audience of one. He would be the only one to hear your songs, the only one to make you sing.
Miguel hopes the accidental reveal of Kasey's voicemail planted seeds of curiosity in your mind. Maybe—if he was lucky—seeds of jealousy would be scattered among them, taking root in your mind, your heart, driving you to see him in another light.
He knows you have a possessive streak, he merely must tap into it, turn your focus onto him, onto obtaining and keeping him. He has to make you want him, more than you’ve wanted anyone else in your life. Miguel knows he would be able to do such a thing through carnal pleasures, but a small part of him longs for you to look at him as you once did. With such innocent joy, simply happy to be in his presence.
That look can only bloom from true affection, from pure appreciation and trust. He must build up your trust in him, become someone you rely on for more than just sex. He will pay more attention to your thoughts. Try to glean every spec of information you unknowingly reveal to him until he has an arsenal of knowledge that will allow him to slip into every role you need filled in your life. Then you will look at him as you did before.
I put this in the ao3 end note, putting it here as well: Now no one come at Mina for being like "just hypnotize her and have sex with her" bc she's not meaning r4pe y/n. She's just an old-world vampire who knows that mates are bound to each other and usually want to jump each other's bones 24/7 + she's assuming y/n is shy and/or too nervous about cheating on Todd sober to act on her desires, sooooo she's suggesting Miguel *give y/n some confidence*
Chapter Nineteen - Your memories have returned, but what does that really mean for you and Miguel?
Ch 20
He holds you close, your clothes are soaked through, your form trembling against his, and he holds you tighter, resting his chin on the crown of your head, eyes closed as he breathes in the scent of you. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your arms squeezing him so tightly, if he were a mortal man, he might be a bit concerned.
“I can’t even—I don’t know what to do now, I don’t—” You pull away, looking up at him, raindrops and tears dripping off your lashes. “Miguel I…I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, no, I am sorry, I didn’t reach you in time, I didn’t save you. I broke my promise.”
“There was nothing to be done, you were a man, a normal man, you couldn’t fight all Todderick’s men yourself. I didn’t hold it against you.” Your voice is soft, your fingers gripping his shirt for stability. “I just…I thought you were dead, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t stand the thought of—”
He shushes you gently, rubbing your back soothingly. “I know, dulce, I know.”
Your lips tremble, tears mixing with the rain. “I can’t be without you, I can’t. Even before I got my memories back. You were in my dreams, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop wanting to see you, talk to you, be near you.”
His long dead heart flutters to life for a moment, he wonders if you remember when you first spoke such words to him.
I cannot be without you, Miguel; it tears at the very fabric of my being. I cannot banish you from my mind, you are in my dreams, my thoughts, every moment I breathe I long to see you, to speak with you, to simply be in your presence.
“It is maddening.” He breathes, taking the words right out of your mouth.
“Yes, it is.” You say, brain working overtime to try and weave your memories into their rightful places. “But I don’t care. Drive me mad, keep me sane, whatever the fuck you want, I just can’t be without you anymore. Not now that I know what I know.”
You look so beautiful, just as you did when he first met you, long ago on another stormy night like this one. He wants to tell you that, to hold you as he did, to take the action he wished he had back then.
He moves to release you, but you tighten your grip, a sob escaping your lips. “Don’t leave.”
You’re overwhelmed, a lifetime of memories and emotions flooding through you, the adrenaline from your flight through the wood is wearing off, and you’re cold. He can see it, feel you shivering against him.
“I won’t, but we need to get out of the rain, you’ll catch a cold.” He says gently, sliding his hands down until they rest on the backs of your thighs. “Jump.”
You do as he says. A bit awkwardly, but you do it, and he slides one arm under your thighs, the other remains on your back, as he carries you back to his car, your sobs quieting to sniffles by the time he buckles you back in.
The ride to your apartment is quiet, your hand in his, the sound of rain on the windshield disrupted every so often by a sniffle from you.
Miguel guides you into your apartment, locking the door behind him before helping you get rid of your waterlogged clothing, ditching his own as well.
You’re a vision, a work of art, lips pouty, hair plastered to your skin, bare before him, eyes shining with leftover tears. He swears he’s seen a painting of the goddess Aphrodite that looked just as you do now.
He wraps you in a fluffy robe he found in your bathroom and puts you up on the sink. The mirror fogging as the shower heated up, your pastel pink shower curtain pulled slightly back as he sticks his hand in and out of the water.
“Do you want to shower alone?” Miguel asks quietly.
“You’re already naked, might as well join.” You mumble, reaching out towards him.
He takes your hand and presses it to his lips. “I can wait.”
You hop down off the sink, shaking your head. “I want you to join, we never got to…not as a married couple at least.”
He bites back a smile; he knows exactly what you’re referring to. “We have plenty of time, no need to rush.”
You let the robe fall to the ground, and step past him into the warm water, looking over your shoulder at him, waiting.
Heat rushes through him, and he smirks when your eyes dart down to his hardening cock. Then he joins you. It’s a tight fit, the spray covering you both. He trails his fingertips down your arms, interlocking your hands after you’ve both gotten clean.
“Can you still read my mind?” You ask, your face tilted up, your skin dotted with water droplets, running down in rivulets, taking any leftover soap bubbles with them.
“I can.”
Do you still love me?
The thought is echoing in your mind, anxious and small.
“Of course, I do, why would you think otherwise?” He cradles your face with one hand, searching your eyes for an answer.
“I ran from you, I forgot you, I didn’t trust you.” You whisper, eyes on the cords of his neck.
“That was not your fault. You did not blame me, and I do not blame you.” He reassures you, dipping his head to brush a gentle kiss to your cheek, then your lips, then the other cheek.
It makes you smile, the first smile he’s seen from you in ages. It’s as if the sun has returned after a long winter, and he basks in it.
“I love you.” You say, your hands finding their way to his hair, playing with the soaked strands.
It is a symphony, a miracle, the most wondrous thing he has ever heard until he hears the next words that fall from your lips.
“Touch me?” It’s a quiet plea, one of gentleness and longing.
Chapter Eighteen - Miguel has killed your ex, and now you fear he'll kill you.
Ch 19
As if on cue with the blissful silence, the skies open up and lightning streaks across the sky, thunder cracking, Miguel’s car shaking with the sound. Are you next? Is Miguel going to kill you? No, why would he send you to his car if he was going to kill you?
He slips into his car and turns it on. You’re sitting in the passenger seat, face buried in your hands, trembling. You both say nothing, and you flinch when the car takes off.
“Y/N…are you okay?” Miguel asks, his voice soft.
“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, equally as soft, unable to keep the fear out of your voice.
“No, never, I had to kill Todd. It’s what you wanted, what needed to happen.” He says, looking over at you, begging you to understand.
He’s covered in blood, soaked, hands bloodied, lips, chin, neck, his hair is wild and his eyes…you’ve never seen such hunger, such barely contained rage.
Horror creeps down your spine, I wish he’d just fucking die. “Are you in my head?”
“Only when you allow me to be.” Miguel says, his right hand on your knee reassuringly, the hand that slammed Todd into your car and left a human sized dent in it. The hand that brushed through your hair, that made you soup, that cupped your cheek and guided your lips to his.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” You say, resting your head against the cool car window.
“It’s okay, mi dulce, it’s okay, just breathe.” He soothes, running his fingers through your hair. “We’re meant to be together; I have waited decades for you to return to me, and now we are together again. Do you not feel it?”
“Feel what?” You ask, eyes on the road outside your window.
“That we are soulmates, bound together, our souls, our bodies calling to one another.” He smiles at you, fangs on display. “It is why you respond so well to my touch; your body knows only I may give you pleasure, only I may touch you.”
It’s too much, the mix of fear and comfort, his words, his fangs, the feeling of his hand, still bloodied, running through your hair, you pull on the door handle frantically. “Let me out.”
“Y/N, I can’t, I’m driving.” He says in a measured tone, one that sets your nerves on edge.
“Let me out of this fucking car.” You demand, yanking on the handle, fingers forcing the lock up, frantically kicking the door open, the wind rushing, whipping through your hair, the streetlight blurry as they whiz by.
“Ay coño, y/n are you crazy?” Miguel yells, swerving the car into the shoulder with one hand, the other grabbing your arm, keeping you from jumping out.
You tear his arm off you and stumble out, darting into the nearby woods, adrenaline rushing through your veins. It’s dark, cold, rain pouring down on you, slowed only slightly by the thick leaves of the surrounding trees.
You can hear him calling for you, when you cast a glance over your shoulder his headlights are hazy through the mist.
A vampire, he’s a fucking vampire, you can’t deny it now. No human being would have the strength to slam Todd into your car like that, no human being can read minds. And now he’s saying you’re soulmates?
“Y/N, please don’t run from me, you could get hurt.” Miguel’s voice is distant, you think maybe you’ve gotten a good head start.
You try to run as quickly as possible, heart pounding in your chest, branches catching and scratching at your skin, your lungs burning. You can feel Miguel behind you, and you cut a sharp left, hoping to throw him off course.
His fingers catch on the edge of your jacket, and you fumble with it letting him pull it off, as you spot a clearing up ahead.
A smallish river cuts the clearing in half, and hope sparks within you. Vampires can’t cross running water, not without it weakening them. Pushing forward, you slog through it, collapsing on the opposite bank.
You push your soaked hair out of your face to see Miguel, hair and clothes plastered to his skin, your jacket in his hand, his eyes glowing a brilliant red.
“You can’t cross, so just leave me alone.” You yell across the river, fingers searching for some kind of weapon to defend yourself with. “I won’t tell anyone, I’ll leave the city, the state, I swear, no one will ever know about this.”
“You can run, but I will find you, I will always find you y/n, we’re bound. What part of that do you not understand?” He cocks his head to the side and takes a step forward into the rushing river, then another, then another, punctuating each word with a step.
“No.” You cry, scrambling back, sand and gravel slipping beneath your feet.
“It’s only me, y/n, I will not hurt you, please, I don’t want to scare you, but you cannot keep running from me.” Miguel says, his hands out placating, your jacket slung over his shoulder.
His crimson eyes are swirling, and they’re beautiful, brighter than the lighting that streaks across the sky, and you let him approach, let him pull you to your feet and drape your jacket around your shoulders.
You want him, want him to take you here, in this clearing, in the middle of the storm with your ex’s blood covering his body.
“Calm yourself, there is nothing to fear, not from me.” He says, drawing your jacket tighter around your body, keeping a tight hold on you.
You feel that syrupy haze disappear, and your mind is clear once more. “You’re a vampire.” You say, breath coming out in short bursts.
“Yes,” he says.
You stand there, staring up at him, mind going a hundred miles an hour. “And you think we’re soulmates?”
“I know we are.”
“How?”
Miguel looks down at his hands, the ones clinging to your arms, keeping you captive. “I remember everything from before, our life together, from the moment I first saw you to the day they buried you. I could not save you; I tried so very hard y/n, you must believe me. I clawed my way out of Hades to return to you, but I was too late.”
His words strike a chord within you, tugging at some hidden string in your mind. You pull at it, and everything comes crashing down. Your eyes meeting his for the very first time, sneaking out to meet him, dreaming of him as you were forced to sit with Todderick at the many balls his family threw. It hurts, remembering hurts, a knife in your chest, flames in your lungs. You see Miguel, fighting against the guards, trying to reach you, your hands outstretched, the secret knowledge that you two have married, have consummated your marriage only the night before lingering in your mind. You can feel the tears on your face, the poison burning as it travels down your throat, your last gasping breath, Miguel’s name on your lips as the darkness overtook you.
“Miguel I…” You’re at a loss for words, memories swirling around meshing with your current ones, adding a lens, the true color of each interaction blooming before your eyes.
“I know.” Miguel says, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest.
