Vampire Next Door ⋆⟡⋆ Miguel O'Hara x reader

Ch. 6 Noise Complaints *ੈ

The second night is a bit more rough. Your parents scold you on the phone for moving all that furniture by yourself and for skipping dinner, you have writer's block from the stress, and you can't stop thinking about the blood on the fire escape, and ... your dream.

You've finally moved half of your things into your bedroom, so you lay in bed and celebrate by watching your comfort movie and eating a mug cake, made with the little ingredients you have in your pantry.

The rain isn't beating as hard tonight; the wind is gentle and the autumn leaves sway gently outside of your apartment.

Thump.

You freeze. It came from the bathroom. You slowly get up, ready to be nosy and listen in on whatever is happening at Miguel's place.

You put your ear to the wall.

Thump!

It startles you; you back away. Then you hear groans, and moans, and whines. It sounds like ... Miguel?

The noise continues: groaning, thumping, whining.

Is he ... It sounds like sex. You get butterflies just thinking about it. The Miguel you've made up in your head, your hallway crush, having sex.

If you weren't so tense, starved, depressed, and completely sucked out of your quiet bubble by his racket, you would find it kind of ... hot? Shamefully so. You'd have the patience, the nerve, to sit on the cold, tile floor and listen in.

But it's annoying, and you'll have trouble sleeping as is.

It also makes you jealous. You know who he is, you know people want him, it's inevitable, you're not oblivious. This is just going to be something you'll have to deal with, your attractive neighbor going in and out of his apartment with new hot people and rubbing it in your face.

You sink onto the cold floor, stare at the tiles, and you let yourself feel it, let yourself admit,

it hurts a bit.

You stop yourself from marching right over there and scolding him and promise yourself that you'll only go over if it continues for another ten minutes.

The thumps and grunts cut in and out for a few more minutes.

You sit back in bed, hearing the muffled voices, wincing with jealousy.

Your cheeks burn pink. You wait, slowly taking bites of your cake, sitting in the noise of the rustling trees and your neighbor's sex.

It passes the ten minute mark.

You blame yourself for not setting boundaries sooner with your roommate, I mean look where that got you. Kindness taken for weakness. Six year friendship down the drain.

You've got to set some boundaries.

So you fix yourself up, mentally prepare, and march over to tell your horny neighbor that he and his friend have got to lower their shit.

You take a deep breath in and knock.

You practice in your mind, "Miguel, it's four in the goddamn morning!" No, maybe "Miguel, can you lower the fucking down to a 3?" or "Miguel, I think my invite to the threesome got lost in the mail!"

You hear shuffling, then finally, a flushed Miguel opens the door up a crack. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes explore your body in a panic, searching you.

"Miguel, do you think you could lower the fucking down a bit? It's four in the goddamn morning! Yeah, some of us like to spend our time at night sleeping," you scold, impressively staying in character.