Imagining Miguel O’Hara overhearing Y/N mumbling to herself about being insecure of their hip dips, only to use them as handles later that night while he makes them scream in ecstasy.
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Depictions of: violence, guns, blood, fluff? (Is that possible?), dark yet wholesome?, slight suggestion at end but idk it’s pretty tame.
Vampire!Reader who gets restlessly jealous whenever they smell a stranger’s blood on their husband, but can’t bring it up without exposing their own vampirism.
Mafia!Husband who doesn’t understand how you always know he’s home before he opens the front door, or how you know where he’s been that day just by ‘guessing.’
Vampire!Reader who can smell the smoke from gunfire on their husband’s clothing when he comes home and tries not to show their concern.
Mafia!Husband who hid his job from you for months, scared you’d resent him, only to be completely dumbfounded by your obvious excitement when you finally find out.
Vampire!Reader who begged him to take them with him to his job one day, to which he firmly refused.
Vampire!Reader who confesses their vampirism to their husband, expecting an argument or at least fear, only to be met with pure fascination and curiosity.
Mafia!Husband who now takes you with him to work sometimes, letting you feed on the casualties.
Mafia!Husband who lets you take the wheel for torturing victims, your infectious bites being the perfect threat.
Mafia!Husband who doesn’t bother washing his bloody hands before coming home because he knows you’d lick him clean without a second thought.
Mafia!Husband who makes out with you in the middle of a shootout, lips interlocked and tongues intertwined as blood spatters and sprays through the air, mangled remains of what was once human beings tossed around like confetti.
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A/N: was just gonna be a Drabble but turned into a story at the end so idfk
Content: GN!Reader, slightly suggestive?, tiny spec of violence, domestic argument (??? Idfk) not abuse tho so yay, vampire themes (duh), somehow wholesome??
Meeting the love of your life, who’s so innocent they could never harm a fly, and realising they’d be terrified of you if they ever learnt what you are, so you hide it. You lie, you excuse, you even manipulate and gaslight, whatever keeps your secret safe. You’d rather hurt them with false words than hurt them with the truth.
(suggestive? under the cut)
Never being able to go all the way to sex whenever you two make out because you’re so scared of what would happen if you let yourself get that overstimulated. Scared you’d hurt them, scared instinct would take over, scared that you have no idea if the primal part of your brain would see them as a mate or as food. It somehow hurts you how nice they are, how when you’d stop and hesitate they’d tell you not to worry about it. So patient. So sweet. They deserve so much better.
Not being able to feed properly anymore because it feels like you’re cheating on them, with how lust mixes with hunger to create bloodlust. Feeling so guilty, not for the murder but for the ‘cheating’, that you fall to your knees beside the corpse and just cry. Blood and tears mixing as they fall to the concrete.
Starving yourself of blood because you can’t bear the guilt of feeling bloodlust anymore, wishing you could just eat and it be solely about eating food and nothing more. As if it’s your fault your brain produces oxytocin when you feed.
But starving yourself makes you more violent, aggressive, dangerous, and you don’t even realise. They’re scared of you now, and it feels like every conversation they have with you becomes an argument they’re destined to lose.
And one night an argument leads into a violent make out session, pinning them against the wall, you snarling and growling as instinct begins to blind you, and to their surprise you try to go further than you have before.
They stop you, not because they don’t want to but because you’ve never acted like this before, you’ve always been the one to not want anything further and they want to respect that. “Are you sure you’re.. that you want this tonight? Not tomorrow, when you’re maybe a bit calmer?” they ask softly.
You -blinded by instinct and hunger- of course take that personally and argue with them.
They merely frown. “I don’t understand. You’re so.. violent today. D-Did I do something? Are you mad at me?” they tear up.
Hunger fades enough for you to grimace in shame and guilt. You assure them it’s not their fault, but at this point they just don’t believe you. You realise your nails have turned to claws that have been digging sharply into their shoulders for who knows how long.
You’re hurting them.
How long have you been hurting them and they never told you?
You retract your hands away and tear up as well, apologising desperately. They try to smile but struggle to from the pain.
“It’s okay. I’m glad you stopped.” they even try to chuckle but the usually warm and soft noise just makes your gut wrench in guilt.
You continue to apologise but even though they say they forgive you you can’t help but doubt it.
You fucked up. You really fucked up. You should’ve just told them from the beginning. Now you’ve hurt them. Now they’re scared of you. You did the one thing you promised them you never would.
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