#qiaipia

[tonyscottchord]

Hi! Came across your icemav fic and can i just say I adored every single part of “in for a penny, in for a pound”!! Marriage of convenience and whipped Iceman is EVERYTHING!!!

Can I just say that your work has inspired me so much to go beyond giggling and kicking my feet like a little girl to actually writing a short something 🥹 i hope you can allow me to publish it crediting your work!

Have a great day 😎🫵

Oh my goodness, thank you so much for this message!!! I'm so happy you enjoyed pennyfic (as I affectionately call it). And I'm super-duper extra touched that it inspired you :)

Please feel free to go ahead and publish! If you post on AO3, you can even list it as a related work so it's linked at the end of pennyfic. So excited to read your fic! <3

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ⋆⟡⋆ Miguel O'Hara x reader Chapter 1: New Girl *✩

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

☆‧͙⁺˚*･

One ... more ... box.

You carry the fifty pound box up the stairs, panting and motivating yourself under your breath. New apartment building, new area, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar ... smells, but fresh start. You needed this. After your nightmare roommate from last school year, you need peace, quiet, solitude. Your sanity depends on it. Your own little world, free from shitty people, broken promises, betrayal, all of the hell that was last year.

One more set of stairs to go.

You hear footsteps from the stairwell below you, coming closer. You're sweaty, in sweatpants, and not at all ready to make a lasting first impression on your new neighbors. But they're getting closer.

"New girl,"

You turn around, to look up at the tall, handsome– Miguel O'Hara?

But you pretend you didn't know of his existence until now.

"That's me, and you are?" you breathe out.

"Miguel," he says, analyzing you and your box.

In a way, you're grateful you're meeting him now since being out of breath, a flushed face and sweaty shirt can all be attributed to this workout rather than how he makes you feel.

"Please, let me," he offers, holding his muscular arms out. You stop on one step, and turn to look at him, he's one step below you, but still much taller, looking down at you.

He's muscular, and so are you (you’re ¼ his build), but you're also exhausted, so you allow it.

"Thanks," you mutter, offering a weak smile, fixing your hair after he so effortlessly lifted the box out of your arms.

You observe him. He looks different than he did two years back at Nueva York University: bigger, more muscular, more sure of himself, and more threatening? He was intimidating before, intimidating as in hot genius geneticist, but now he's intimidating hot shot Miguel O'Hara.

"You live on the fifth floor?" he asks, stopping at the landing.

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you do too?"

"Yeah, I do. What number are you?"

"501," you nod, smiling. You follow him down the hall.

He walks in front of you, nodding.

"I'm 502," he says, turning back to look at you, reading your face, before stopping in front of your place.

He smiles, his eyes on yours. You melt the way you did back then. Yep, he's still got it. You notice his eyes are different, the same beautiful brown, but with a new maroon tint to them. Almost inhuman. But the way he smiles, that's familiar. You get butterflies in your stomach, and feel everything all over again.

You knew him before Alchemax. You knew him when he was a less famous, all the same genius amongst NYU intellectuals. You remember admiring him from a distance. You sat outside of the library with Ash, and snuck glances at him over her shoulder, watching as he walked to class. You loved the way his dark brown wavy hair cascaded onto his face, the way he poked his glasses up, the way he rushed to class all while holding his school books, his motorcycle helmet, and pulling his lab coat over his compression shirt.

The autumn leaves fell gracefully all around him, like a scene straight out of a movie. He was picturesque, a piece of art, your hallway crush, unaware of your existence

and now right in front of you

... and he's your neighbor.

Ch. 2 here 😼

my lovely taglist: @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th @missing2socks @thel0velykey190 @ladymoztaza @ta3bae @dhollandhs

[thebettybook]

A mini fic in Lyla’s P.O.V. from a scene in my “(Chapter 2) A Spin on an Enchanted Tale”

As you giggled and chatted with Gabriella before Lyla would take her to school, Lyla took in the exchange. She stood next to Miguel, the two of them a few feet away from you and Gabi.

“I like Y/N,” Lyla loudly whispered to Miguel, nudging his arm with her elbow. “They’re good with Gabi…and they could be good for you, too.”

Miguel’s head snapped towards Lyla, his thick eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean by that,” Lyla shot him a knowing look as she rested her hands on her hips.

Sure, Lyla had just met you only minutes ago, but she could tell you were a good person. While Miguel always told Lyla that he didn’t need a partner to raise Gabi and that he was perfectly fine with being a single parent, Lyla saw how being a single parent and running his own company took a toll on Miguel.

Most days Miguel barely slept, and Lyla didn’t miss the astonishing development that was the lack of eye bags under his eyes the moment she saw Miguel descend the staircase earlier.

Lyla couldn’t remember the last time she saw Miguel look so well-rested (maybe more than half a decade ago??) and something told her that this new development probably had something to do with a certain “princess.”

Maybe you could be good for Miguel, or maybe Lyla just liked being nosy about Miguel’s love life (or lack thereof).

Before Lyla could suggest to Miguel that he could try to get to know you better, she caught Miguel’s eyes fluttering shut in annoyance once he realized what she was getting at.

“Out,” Miguel gritted his teeth, though his word held no bite towards Lyla as he shooed her to the elevator.

She simply cracked a devilish smirk on her face as she made her way into the elevator and looked at Miguel and then at you.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose at Lyla’s suggestion. His eyes reopened, but instead of directing his gaze to Lyla, Miguel directed his gaze to you and Gabi.

You had said something that made Gabi adorably laugh, and Lyla didn’t miss the way the lines around Miguel’s eyes softened in the tiniest of ways.

Lyla couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

Tag list: @animusicnerd, @allysunny, @charms-cat, @tymns, @tayleighuh, @moyo5653, @sizeablysized, @deputy-videogamer, @marvelofcourse, @flordelalunas, @thethirdyo, @sleepingghoule444, @eyes-stuff, @pearlssdiary, @lasagnaisbest, @scaleniusrm, @cowboylikeevie, @qiaipia, @prettysbliss, @rosesforblues, @lionhearted-soldier, @usermins, @happishark, @pedroslvt, @saintcosette, @tarjapearce, @rositabluemoon, @miaasmf, @sarapaprikas-blog, @honeyslibrary, @eatalyy, @arithestrawberry, @x-ratedhimbo, @spideystar, @pollito-chicken, @mimiemie, @mireading, @obsessedwithromance, @amelialysm, @razertail18, @loonalockley, @chshiresins, @sassypotatomoose

[casuallyawkardd]

hello dear, how are you?, could you write a picture where miguel discovers that you are learning spanish to show that you care about him, if it doesn't go well. thanks for the attention ☺️☺️

After my trip, I'm a little tired and sunburnt, but it was all worth it! Ngl, imma be needing to write something wholesome after the shit I've been writing so here you go 😂😭

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff that is all, also I'm still not fluent in Spanish so feel free to correct grammar/spelling

For Miguel, he thinks you're ignoring him. You're blowing him off to go do something else and when he tries to pry you tell him to 'quit being so nosy.' He's already annoyed, so he doesn't pick up on your teasing tone.

In reality, you've been trying to learn Spanish to surprise him. You don't expect to be fluent anytime soon, but some simple phrases and a few terms of endearment are a good start. Those moments when Miguel is talking to you and thinks you're ignoring him, are actually you listening to your Spanish lessons. Whenever you're 'blowing him off,' you're just sitting in your room practicing your pronunciations.

Lyla catches wind of what you're doing before him, overhearing you at HQ when you thought you had found a quiet place to practice. She even offers to help you out and you gladly take her up on the offer. You had had one too many dreams of the Duolingo owl in the corner of your room as it was. Little do you know that your nightmares only now come to life, though that could just be you being dramatic.

Unlike the little, green owl app, these lessons talk back. Sometimes it feels like she critiques you too harshly, especially when you practice writing in Spanish. You wanted to be able to put cute, little notes around his platform. Her shrill voice reminding you when and where to put the accents on letters and that you have to add upside down exclamation and question marks at the beginning of a sentence wakes you up in the middle of the night. However, Lyla is also extremely helpful at the same time. Teaching you the more 'casual' way to say certain things, as opposed to the generic, robotic responses you had been learning. Even some swear words because why not?

The day finally comes when you're ready to reveal your little surprise. Miguel is reluctant, back to you as you try to get his attention.

"Oh, so now you have free time?"

It's a bit endearing that he missed your presence, you say as much. 'Yo también te extrañé, mi amor.' I missed you too, my love.

His head snaps in your direction, confusion written on his face. Slowly, he steps towards you, eyeing you as if expecting you to say something else. Which you do. 'Quería sorprenderte aprendiendo español. ¿Es eso mala?' I wanted to surprise you by learning Spanish. Is it bad?

Everything clicks into place and he's sighing in relief, grasping you by the upper arms to pull you in for a kiss on the forehead. He holds position, letting the kiss sink in before pulling away, running his hands up and down your arms.

"Agradezco el gesto, de verdad. Gracias amor." I really appreciate the gesture. Thanks love.

You ask why he was giving you the cold shoulder moments ago, Miguel sighing heavily before explaining his side of things. How he had assumed you were ignoring him and that he might've gotten a little bit salty about it. You laugh, realizing your mistake. '¡Soy embarazada!' Miguel's smile drops a little after that, looking like he's trying to keep it just for you.

"Yeah, you definitely have some more practicing to do, cariño."

Tags: @prettylittlebrowngirl @khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219 @edgycatx @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @jebsoxnoshansk @thedevax @erissco @its-carlerrr @muimui06

[meowdarame]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞… 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛.

An open collab for both writers and artists, meant to show appreciation for underrated and under-written characters!

Theme: Underrated and under-appreciated characters! Give me Atsushi Sendo, Choso, Connie Springer, or Takeomi Akashi! Write about the time Yuta Okkotsu got stuck in an elevator, or about the misadventures of college athlete Bertholdt Hoover! Let’s show some appreciation for our fem characters and best girls--- Sasha, Senju, Nobara, the list goes on! Overall, this summer shall be filled with love for our “fodder” characters (as Shion Madarame would put it!)

Fandoms: Tokyo Revengers, Jujutsu Kaisen, Attack on Titan

Deadline: September 22, 2022 (If you need an extension or want to drop out, no worries! Just let me know!)

STATUS: ACCEPTING CREATORS. JOIN NOW!

Rules:

You must be 18+ to join! Please have your age visible on your blog; ageless blogs will not be allowed to join and minors will be blocked.

SFW/NSFW/DC are all allowed! Just please be sure to tag warnings as necessary.

All characters must be canonically 18+ or aged up. No exceptions.

All writing is accepted (headcanons, drabbles, oneshots, fics, series, etc). There is no required word limit; however, please try to write at least 500 words!

To join, send me an ask or a DM, including which character(s) you are writing for, your preferred reader (M, F, GN). Last day to join will be September 1, 2022.

Each writer can sign up for only one work at a time. I want this to be a fun and low-stress collab! Should you finish and want to write another, you are welcome to sign up again.

Two (2) character repeats are allowed. So if your first choice character is already chosen, please select another one!

Threesomes/poly relationships are accepted, as long as the under-appreciated character is one of the main focuses of the story.

Please reblog this post after you sign up!

When your work is posted, please tag me or send it to me in my inbox. Please also use the tag #summeroflovecollab on your submission!

Notes: If you have any questions regarding the technicalities of the collab or need help fleshing out an idea, do not hesitate to reach out to me! I’m glad to help!

Masterlist:

Tokyo Revengers

❥ @sweetsbysatori | dilf!shion madarame x f!reader | hair salon AU

❥ @wakasa-wifey | boyfriend!seishu inui x f!reader | “aphrodisiac love”

❥ @harufilms | dilf!takeomi akashi x f!reader

❥ @1990-06-12 | takeomi akashi x reader

❥ @kisakiapologist | shion madarame x reader

a midsummer night’s dream

❥ @rueren | shinichiro sano x college student!reader

❥ @tettatonin | dilf!tetta kisaki x reader

❥ @cherrywrites-fanfics | izana kurokawa x reader | sfw

❥ @httptamaki | hakkai shiba x reader

❥ @bxnten | senju kawaragi x reader x haruchiyo sanzu

❥ @bokuroskitten | taiju shiba x reader

❥ @kazuwhora | senju kawaragi x reader

❥ @shuwuji | tetta kisaki x f!reader | nsfw

❥ @noekoi | dilf!kakucho x reader

❥ @semisgroupie | takuya yamamoto x f!reader x kazushi yamagishi | nsfw

❥ @sugusshi | kakucho x f!reader x ran haitani | nsfw

❥ @planetbimboxoxo | atsushi sendo x reader

❥ @esperranza | south terrano x reader | “corndog incident”

❥ @pinkhorangnabi | peh yan x f!reader | sfw

wedding bells

❥ @sirthisisa-wendys | keizo arashi x afab!reader

green light

❥ @the-fishing-basket | izana kurokawa x gn!reader

i hate the feeling that your leaving, ‘cause we’re having so much fun

❥ @qiaipia | akane inui x gn!reader | ice skater AU

Jujutsu Kaisen

❥ @portfolio-of-dreams | junpei yoshino x gn!reader | sfw

summer mornings with you

❥ @pixieinc | megumi fushiguro x reader

❥ @touyasghosty | choso x reader

❥ @suckerforsugawara | toge inumaki x reader

❥ @rxmera | nobara kugisaki x reader

❥ @mrskenmakozume | toge inumaki | sfw art

❥ @ry0m3n | zenin maki x toge inumaki x okkotsu yuuta x gn afab!reader | nsfw

❥ @martellprincess-writes | toge inumaki x reader

❥ @ryuuzaa | yuta okkotsu sfw art

yuta and his ice cream art

❥ @arozaur | choso x m!reader | DC/yandere

wilted rose

❥ @aqoamoon | todo aoi x f!reader

Attack on Titan

❥ @christeningsakusa | bertholdt hoover x f!reader | late-night snack run drabble

❥ @miya-dynasty | colt grice x f!reader | sfw domestic drabble

❥ @tetsukentona | connie springer x reader | sfw college AU

❥ @tinydiors | marco bodt x reader x jean kirstein

❥ @itssdonnie | connie springer x f!reader x bertoldt hoover | nsfw/dc

❥ @sunat2508 | connie springer x reader

[dottores]

taglist pt 2 @zekeslefttit @si-vis-amari-ama-3-2-1  @akinokisetsu @violetdrkside @itsleroyposts @sureconfused @jiminjamms @chramz @bontensbabygirl @brokencoinlocker @himeril @vixemi @regateee @aces-high @fuyuus @muchoccino @waawaa33 @s-enku @denki-slut @kisuchiyo @katsvgou @crackheadwithtoes @keijisprettygirl @strawberypillows @cloudsz04 @animepickle7 @blvebcrry @tomiokachan23 @who-tf-is-bucky @sk-emmeris @xscubie @edens-pen @alstroemaerias @chloee0x0 @user0516 @wakasa-wifey @fandomsinthegalaxies @the-psyco-simp @maboiisuga @rans-baby @hnm-mika @continetalflower @aylitgirl @hiimviolet @euryale16 @smexyair @bontenacious @jiminie-08 @fallensuguru @qiaipia @tokyometronetwork @kurumi-4 @crown5 @yamaguccitadashi -> if no tag please send in ask or something so we can fix tagging

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER ⅩⅡ. WHATEVER I'VE DONE, I DID IT FOR LOVE

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER. 

It had been a very long time since you’d felt like this. You felt as if your stomach was eating itself as you sat alone in the penthouse, fingers shaking as you stared at the phone resting on the table in front of you, waiting for a call from your uncle, or Miss Sara, or Mister Mado, or one of your uncle’s colleagues, or anyone who would tell you what was going on. 

One week. Seven full days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Too many minutes for you to try to calculate. 

It had been too long since the Kanto Incident--or so the news was calling the disastrous fight between the Tokyo Manji Gang and Tenjiku--considering you had yet to find anything out about what had happened that day. Your uncle was away on business and wasn’t picking up his phone, Miss Yua and Mister Ayato were taking some well deserved, and much needed, time off in Fiji and you didn’t want to bother either of them, you had tried to go to the police station to get information but nobody gave you answers, you had even tried going to Izanagi Headquarters to try to talk to some of your uncle’s colleagues but only one had spared you some time and even then, he had only given you a half-assed, ‘I’ll look into it,’ before rushing off to his next meeting. You couldn’t blame him--Izanagi was dealing with some heavy lawsuits from another tech company--it was shitty timing all around and it was making you sick to your stomach.

Three dead. Five arrested. 

You didn’t know who died. You didn’t know who was arrested. You couldn’t get answers no matter how hard you tried and it made you want to cry. You were fucking useless without your uncle’s support. 

Rindou and Ran hadn’t come home since the incident, neither had any of the rest of their friends--your friends. And you could only pray that they had been the ones arrested because you knew damn well that they would have come to you afterward if they had been able to. 

(Deep, deep down you knew that was impossible. Three dead, five arrested. There were six of them.)

The thought spinning around the back of your head froze the blood flowing through your body, fear clawed at your chest. Three dead, five arrested. Six of them. Anxiety built faster than you could push it away, your heartbeat raced erratically, your body shuddered as an unnatural chill ran up your spine. 

One of them is dead. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. 

No. That is not necessarily true. Maybe they just hadn’t had the chance to come talk to you yet.

It was a waiting game, and you were quite certain now that waiting games might be the worst possible games in existence. All you could do was wander around your penthouse trying to keep yourself distracted as you waited for news. You had only felt this helpless once before in your entire fucking life--the night of the accident when you were waiting for news about your family--and you hated it. Every passing second had your heart leaping to your throat, your knees weak, tears building in your eyes that you could only barely catch before they fell.

You were scared. You had lost your entire family in one blow once before and it had nearly destroyed you. You were terrified that it was about to happen again and you weren’t sure you’d be able to recover from it a second time.

You pressed your face into your palms, pulling your knees to your chest as you rocked yourself back and forth, trying to keep yourself calm. 

Everything would be okay, you tried to convince yourself. Everything would be okay. 

Ran and Rindou. Izana and Shion. Mochi and Mucho. They were fine--probably caught up in juvie again and without your uncle’s influence, it was just a little harder to figure out what was going on so you could try to get them out. That was all. 

That was all. 

Everything would be okay.

As soon as you got word of what detention center they were being held at, you would haul your ass to them and give them the scolding of a lifetime. All of them. Ran and Rindou. Izana and Shion. Mochi and Mucho. None of them would be able to get out of it.

Especially Izana. 

Fury stirred in you at the thought of your white-haired friend. You had warned him so many times--a countless amount of times--to not let his resentment get the best of him, to not let it make him lose sight of his goals. 

And he did. 

He fucking let it.

You wanted to scream and shake him, rattle his brain in his head and demand answers--what the fuck was so important to him that he let it risk his goals, your goals? Every time you tried to ask him what exactly the ‘detour’ was, he would withdraw like a damned turtle, give you the silent treatment and force you to drop it. 

You should have known that it would come to this. 

You supposed you blamed yourself as much as you did Izana. You should have pushed more. You should have asked more questions even if it did piss him off. Maybe things would have gone differently. 

You exhaled deeply, standing up to pace around the main room of the penthouse. The news station was playing in the background, muted and unintelligible to your ears. Your legs were unsteady but you forced yourself to keep moving. If you stopped, you would drown. 

You couldn’t let that happen, not yet. You needed answers. 

You needed to know they were okay. 

Your phone buzzed back at the kitchen counter. Your head snapped to the side, eyes wide.

At once, the fear began crawling back.

Your phone had not buzzed since before the Kanto Incident.

Your feet dragged against the ground as you made your way back to the kitchen--slower, less excited than you should have been at the prospect of possibly finally getting news. 

One of them is dead.

The thought rang around your head--screaming, whispering, you couldn’t push it away this time. 

One of them is dead.

They would have come to you if they had been able to. They would have come to tell you what happened. So five of them are jailed. One of them is dead.

Best case scenario.

Worst case scenario, three of them are jailed, three of them are dead.

Your stomach twisted and turned, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at whatever message had just come through. Three jailed, three dead. You couldn’t breathe, you forced yourself to walk away from the counter your phone was resting on, moving over to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water.

You downed the liquid immediately, nearly choking over it before slamming the glass back down. You braced your hands against the counter, leaning over it, breathing heavy as you tried to control yourself. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Everything would be okay. 

All you had to do was figure out where they were and get to them. 

You pushed yourself up, smoothing out your shirt and forcing your lips flat. 

First, you had to read the message. There was no reason to stress about anything else until you did.

Letting out one more heavy breath, you moved back over to the other counter, ignoring how your fingers trembled as you picked up your phone. Inhaling softly, you unlocked your phone, taking note of the unknown number who you figured must be Amon, one of your uncle’s colleagues who had promised to get back to you if he figured something out.

Your heart dropped once the message registered.

16:43 UNKNOWN: A Haitani Rindou was admitted to the Kawagoe Juvenile Prison infirmary in critical condition two days ago.

---

You had never moved so fast in your entire life. You were out the front door of the building in less than five minutes and you were grateful that your driver for the week had been in the area because he was already waiting for you underneath the awning outside of the building, car running and ready to go. 

You all but leapt into the passenger seat when you got to the car, telling him to drive as fast as he could. 

It was an hour’s drive to Kawagoe Juvenile Prison without traffic. And it was a Friday night, on the verge of rush hour. Every second you spent in that car you swore was taking time off from the end of your life. It was frustrating, anxiety-inducing. 

‘It would be faster running there,’ you tried to tell Mister Mado but he only clicked his tongue at you and told you that if you stepped out of the car in the middle of rush hour traffic, he would drag you right back into the car and drive you back to the penthouse. And you did not doubt his capability--Mister Mado was ex-special forces, like Mister Ayato. They had trained together, and Mister Ayato was the one that introduced Mister Mado to your uncle a few years back.

If you had tried to make a break for it, he would have caught up to you easily. And then you wouldn’t be able to see Rindou, or Ran, or any of the others at all. 

Assuming they were all there. 

Critical condition, the words rang through your head as Mister Mado pulled into the juvenile prison. Critical condition, two days ago.

Three dead, five arrested. Rindou, Ran, Izana. Shion, Mochi, Mucho. 

Six. 

Schrodinger’s cat. You would not know who was dead or alive until you entered that building, thus, until you enter it, the six of them, in a sense, are both dead and alive. 

Once you entered that building… at least one of them would be dead and nothing would ever be the same after.

Your nails dug into the cloth of your slacks, trying to calm yourself down as Mister Mado talked to the man at the front gate. You couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying, too focused on the large building ahead of you. 

Three dead, five arrested. 

Please be okay. 

You rested your head on the cool window, letting your eyes slide shut.

It was too hot for a February day. Muggy. Suffocating. Ugly. 

You hated the humidity nearly as much as you hated the rain. You could feel the heavy air weighing down on you through the rolled-down window Mister Mado was leaning out of to talk to the man at the front gate. You swore you felt like you were going to pass out.

It took an outrageous amount of time for the guard to let the two of you through the gates. Or well, you were being dramatic--it only took about five minutes, but those five minutes felt like five hours. Every moment you were separated from them was hellish, every moment of uncertainty, every time you questioned whether or not all of your worst fears might come true.

You just wanted to be with them again, your throat was tight at the admission--you wanted to be hanging out in their room annoying Ran with Rindou, you wanted to force Ran to sit down so you could brush his hair, you wanted to fight with Rindou over what movie you two were going to watch, you wanted to complain that the two of them were being too clingy when Rindou draped himself on top of you and Ran was forcing his head on your lap when he came back into the main room of the penthouse--having woken up to you shrieking at a jumpscare--dragging one of the soft blankets that Miss Yua had given him for his birthday behind him as he joined the two of you for the last half of the movie you were watching,

You felt your eyes well with tears, you forced them away.

Now was not the time. 

Finally, the car was moving again and your heart was stuttering in your chest as Mister Mado pulled up to the front of the detention center.

“The guards will guide you to the infirmary,” Mister Mado told you, “stay with them. I’ll meet you there.”

You nodded once, slipping out of the car and into the humidity. The heels of your boots clicked against the dark gray pavement as you approached the building, keeping your chin up and your gaze forward. 

One of the guards pressed his access card against the scanner, a loud ring and the front doors swung open. They waited for you to move inside. 

You hesitated. 

Schrodinger’s cat. As long as you did not enter the building, all six were both dead and alive. A state of unknown that might just be better than whatever reality you would face walking into that building. 

“An alarm will go off if you don���t go in,” one of the guards said, voice brusque. You bristled in annoyance, shooting him a sharp look before letting out a sigh of defeat, stepping into the building. 

Two guards were waiting for you in the long hallway, the doors shut behind you with an ominous bang. 

“Come, l/n-san,” one of them said, “We’ll take you to the infirmary.”

You nodded, following after them silently. You had half a mind to ask who all was arrested--their names were on the tip of your tongue. Haitani Ran. Kurokawa Izana. Madarame Shion. Muto Yasuhiro. Mochizuki Kanji. You swallowed their names, continuing down the long, dreary hall of the juvenile prison. 

You knew Rindou was alive at least, and the thought put you at ease, if only momentarily. 

Alive but his last known condition was critical.

You felt sick. 

Right, left, left, right. 

You bit down on your bottom lip. The prison was cool and damp compared to the humidity from outside but it was just as suffocating. A part of you wanted to run before you learned the truth. 

Three dead, five arrested. Six of them. 

You were scared. It was a sort of low, creeping fear that was eating at your mind and soul. One that was building and building and had been building since the news first came out about the casualties of the Kanto Incident. It was becoming too much for your body and mind to handle.

You were going to break.

“Here,” the guard said firmly, stopping in front of a grey door, “We’ll wait outside unless you call for us.”

You couldn’t break. Not yet. 

Hold yourself together. Now is not the time.

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can only fall apart in the privacy of your own home. Your uncle’s words rang on repeat through your head.

You took in a deep breath, you straightened your back, you raised your chin.

“Thank you,” you said. Your voice was steadier than you expected as you stepped forward, pushing open the door.

You entered the room, heart tight in your chest. It was a shitty little infirmary--not equipped to handle any serious wounds. You felt anxious as your gaze drifted around before it tunneled to a figure laying on one of the beds on the opposite side of the room.

“Rindou,” you breathed out, rushing forward toward him. And you nearly broke there and then—eyes blurry with tears when you noticed how badly his face was bruised up and the way his arm was in a sling. You stood at his bedside, half kneeling on the bed next to him. You brought your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks gently and your fingers trembled against his skin as he peeked up at you through swollen eyes, split lips pulling up into a small smile, “What happened?”

“Got the shit kicked out of me,” his voice was rough, scratchy, and he winced as if his throat hurt when he spoke, “Real bad.”

“No shit,” you laughed, but your voice cracked as the tears spilled over your cheeks. Your uncle would be disappointed if he found out. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You shifted the thin sheets off of him, one hand leaving his face to trace gently down his chest and abdomen across all of the deep purple bruises marring his skin all the way down to beneath the waistband of his pants. 

You pulled away when his abdomen spasmed beneath your touch, sliding the sheets back over him as he shivered. You looked back up at him as he leaned his face into your touch, bringing your other hand up to brush a lock of blonde hair from his face.

“Who did this?” you asked quietly.

Rindou shook his head, “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, “How’d you get in here anyway? They said they don’t allow visitors.”

You scoffed lightly but there was no heat behind it as you gazed down at Rindou, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you took in just how hurt he was, “Do you even know who I am?” you said light-heartedly, fingers ghosting along his cheekbone, “I can do whatever I want.”

“Ah yes, I forgot, Miss My-Uncle-Owns-Half-Of-Japan,” Rindou teased, but there was an odd tone in his voice, one that you couldn’t quite place and it had you on edge because you could always, usually pretty easily, tell what Rindou was feeling. “Why’d it take you so long anyway? Figure you’d be here as soon as news got out about what happened in Yokohama.”

Your small smile faltered at the reminder of your own lack of capability, your inability to get anything done without your uncle’s help. How the fuck were you supposed to start up your own business, much less make it successful, when you can’t even do basic shit on your own? When you can’t even find out if your friends are dead or alive without going to a dozen and a half people for help. 

Well, you supposed you wouldn’t be alone, you remembered. You and Izana had planned it all out over the few months you spent in the music room together. He would be at your side, and you were quite certain that you and Kurokawa Izana would be an unstoppable force once you got the momentum going. 

You didn’t have to answer his question. Instead, a new familiar voice spoke up, “What am I? Chopped liver?” a petulant voice asked and you all but leapt off of the bed, eyes wide and desperate as your gaze swiveled around the room, eyes falling upon Ran lounging back on a nearby bed, studying you carefully.

“Ran,” you gasped, leaping off Rindou’s bed and toward Ran. 

Ran spread open his arms for you and you buried yourself right into them. He huffed in amusement as he wrapped his arms snug around you and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut, you couldn’t help the warm feeling that swam throughout you at the feeling of his arms holding you tight. 

“You’re okay,” your voice was choked as you pulled back, hands going right to cup his face just as you had to Rindou, eyes tracing over his skin, and then down his body. He wasn’t as fucked up as Rindou, but he was clearly bruised and battered.

“Okay is a relative term,” Ran murmured in response.

“Wh-what happened to you guys?” you demanded, going to look back at Rindou but your gaze caught on the other three in the room: Shion, Mochi and Mucho, all of whom had also been beaten albeit none as badly as Rindou. Your voice rose in anger, “How the hell did Izana let this happen? Wher-”

Three dead, five arrested.

The anger washed away, your hands trembled. You pushed yourself off of Ran’s bed, looking around one last time--maybe you had missed him.

Your voice was little over a hushed whisper as you finished your question, “Where is he? Where-where is Izana?”

Neither Rindou nor Ran would meet your eyes. Mucho’s lips were pressed together tight. Mochi stared ahead at the barred window of the infirmary blankly. Not even Shion opened his mouth to answer you.

“Where is Izana?” your voice was louder, more frantic, “Hey! One of you fucking answer me, where is he?” 

No response.

You looked between Rindou and Ran, desperately trying to get one of them to look at you, “Answer me,” you were begging, you never fucking begged. “Answer me, please, one of you answer me. Where is he? If this is some sick joke-”

“Izana’s dead.”

It was Shion that spoke. His voice was more serious than you had ever heard before. You turned your head to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide. His face was cold, stony--any and all hints of the wide, wild smile you were used to was gone as he watched you.

He was lying.

“You’re lying,” you accused, shaking your head, “Izana can’t die, he’s Izana. Where is he? This isn’t funny, Shion.”

But even as you spoke the words you knew, you knew deep, deep down that what Shion was saying was true. He was an asshole, but not even he would go this far--not with his friends.

“He’s dead, y/n,” Ran said. Your eyes were wide, glassy as you looked back at Ran, searching his face for any hint of a lie. “He took three bullets to the chest during the fight.”

There was none.

“No,” you said, “No, no no no, what do you mean bullets? It was a fist fight, you guys do fist fights, why the fuck was there a gun? What do you mean bullets, Ran? Who brought the gun? Who shot him? Ran, tell me who the fuck shot him, I’ll have them ki-“

Your world was spinning and tunneling all at once, you weren’t even sure how you were still standing up straight. Your head felt light, you were dizzy. 

“What are you trying to name it after?”

“Huh? Name what?”

“You said you’re trying to break off from your uncle. You’re gonna need a new company name, what’re you trying to name it for?”

“…”

“… you don’t know, do you?”

“… I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“… whatever, I’m done practicing today anyway. Come here, let’s think something up.”

“You can’t kill him,” Rindou shook his head, “You can’t-”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” your voice was shrill, loud. “Don’t you fucking forget that, Rindou. Tell me who had the fucking gun.”

“Well I can’t do Japanese mythology, ‘cause that’s what Uncle Ichirou’s is… um…”

“Roman?”

“Hmm okay, I don’t know much about Roman mythology.”

“I actually have an idea, hold on.”

“Kisaki Tetta.”

“Shion!” Ran roared, “shut the fuck up.”

Shion stared right at you, “His name was Kisaki Tetta. The one who killed Izana.”

“Guys, I had the best idea for the name of my company when I get it started.”

You wanted to throw up. You pressed your hand to your mouth, turning around to face the wall so none of the others could see you.

Control yourself. Do not break down here. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Who had the best idea?”

“I-okay well, I guess it was Izana’s idea. But we’re pretty much the same brain at this point so it’s technically my idea too.”

“Excuse me, we’re what?”

You could feel nausea build in your stomach. You shut your eyes and the world around you shifted. You were back in the car with your family, reaching out for your sister, yelling for her to get up, that you guys had to get out of the car before it exploded. You could smell the smoke and the blood and the gasoline, you could feel the heat burning your eyes, you could hear your mother gasping for air as she breathed her last.

You couldn’t breathe. Izana, he-

“Anyway, get this! Janus! After the Roman god. He’s the god of beginnings and endings, and transitions, doorways, gateways, do you get it?! A new era for technology, and a shift away from my uncle, a new era for all of us, really. Once we get it started, everything will be easy after that.”

You wouldn’t be able to do it without him. You knew it. You fucking knew it. How were you supposed to? How were you supposed to build something alone that you had promised to do with him? Something that he named, something that he helped you plan, something you were supposed to do together. Your new era. Together.

“Stay away from that family, death follows them.”

How many times had you denied it? Spat those accusations in the face and then cried in Rindou’s arms at home because they spoke of deals with the devil and curses of death that weren’t true and you couldn’t make any friends because of it.

Maybe they were right, a part of you whispered. Izana had been fine and then months after befriending you he gets shot at a fist fight, what the fuck are the chances of that? They had so many big fights over the years but the first major one since you befriended him ended in his death?

Who was next?

Shion? Mochi? Mucho?

Rindou or Ran?

Your chest heaved, you pushed away the nausea.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

Not in front of them. Control yourself.

The door to the infirmary creaked open. You stiffened.

“Huh? What’s this?” an unfamiliar voice. Male. Deep. Accented. “What’s a girl doing in here? Smuggling whores in, Haitani?”

His voice was low, teasing, but there was an underlying edge that had your hair standing on end. Ran shifted in the bed next to where you were standing but before he could open his mouth to say something you were looking over your shoulder back at the room. 

They were tense. Uncomfortable. All of them. At once, a deep-set hatred swept throughout you. Whoever this was, he was not a friend.

“Who the fuck are you?” your voice was also low, but it did not have the same teasing edge as his did. Next to you, Ran inhaled sharply, a look of warning thrown in your direction.

The new guy was large—obscenely large, really, larger than Mochi and Mucho and they were the tallest guys you ever met. There was a tattoo curling down his neck to his chest, top unbuttoned, and you couldn’t help but notice the scars that riddled his chest.

“He took three bullets to the chest during the fight.” 

Resentment flooded through you too fast to control it. Your gaze drew up to meet a strange golden one that made your skin crawl.

“Watch yourself, girl,” the amusement in his voice was also gone, your eyes narrowed. 

The resentment shifted into a steadily growing anger. 

“Take your own advice,” your words were milder than the ones sitting on the edge of your tongue, ready to burst. “I asked you a question.”

Your name left Ran’s lips, a warning. He was telling you not to fuck around with this guy. One glance at Ran and the rest of them told you all you needed to know—his eyes were wary, hesitant, he looked torn between standing in front of Rindou, who was immobile on his infirmary bed, and dragging you behind him. Mucho was on his feet, standing to the side between you and the new guy, ready to jump in, Shion and Mochi were still sitting on their own beds, significantly more tense than before.

This was the one that beat the shit out of them.

Your gaze drew sharply from them, onto the two guards who had walked you here, now standing stiff at the doorway due to the new arrival, ready to intervene.

“Leave,” you said. Their eyes snapped to you,

protest visible in them.

“L/n-san,” one hesitated, looking at you.

“Now,” you interrupted before he could continue and you watched as the two of them shared a look before stepping out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind them.

“Sending away your only means of protection wasn’t a smart move, girl,” his voice was low and derogatory, the amusement was back again. That deep-set hatred began to boil again as your gaze fell back on the scars on his chest—proof of his survival against something that had killed Izana. “These fuckers can’t protect you. They hadn’t even been able to protect themselves.”

Your hands shook with anger from where they were stuffed in your pockets. If Izana was here-

You wanted to cry. Izana was not here. He was dead, and you felt like it was your fault. Cursed. You were fucking cursed.

Now is not the time. Control yourself.

If Izana was here, he would put this asshole in his place without sparing a second. You could practically picture it and-

-and if Izana wasn’t here to do it, you had to. For Ran and Rindou, for Shion and Mucho and Mochi, for Izana, who you knew would be furious if he knew some ogre was beating and bullying them.

Izana was gone, you couldn’t shake the words from you. Dead. Three bullets to the chest during the fight. You were on your own now—well, you supposed you weren’t on your own. You had Ran and Rindou and Shion and Mucho and Mochi, but they were not Izana. 

Izana understood you in a way that they did not. And that’s not to say that Ran and Rindou didn’t understand you—they did. But it was different. You knew they struggled to see you as someone independent, as someone they didn’t need to protect all the time. You loved them. You did. But Izana had always recognized your potential whereas they did not.

“I think you underestimate yourself too much, and I think when push comes to shove, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

Maybe he was right, you considered as words twisted through your head—bullets ready to fire at the asshole standing in front of you. But things were different now that he was gone. Izana’s presence had been a reassurance. A reassurance that if you split from your uncle, you would still have someone there watching your back—someone who understood, someone who wouldn’t coddle you or try to hold you back.

But Izana was gone. He was dead. And now you were drifting alone, drowning in the open sea and the only buoy you could cling to was your uncle until you could learn to float yourself.

You could stand on your own—you knew you could. Izana had faith that you could, and you had faith in yourself. But not yet, you knew you weren’t ready yet, and you knew that things would only get more dangerous as time passed. More threats to you, to them—threats that you wouldn’t be able to eliminate on your own. Not yet.

Your family name was like a bulletproof shield that surrounded the pedestal the world held you on. You hated using it, it always left a sour taste in your mouth but…

“When push comes to shove, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

If it was to protect them, you would use it. You would use your family name, you would use your uncle, you would do anything.

This was only the first test.

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can only fall apart in the privacy of your own home. 

“You’re foreign, so I suppose I can’t blame you for not understanding how things are run in Tokyo,” you said. His gaze darkened, you raised your chin, straightened your back. Your uncle's words swam throughout your head yet again. You did not know all of what your uncle was involved with, but you knew enough to realize this brute had no right trying to threaten you. And perhaps you were about to speak out of your ass considering you were crying about not being able to get anything done, not even a half hour ago, but nobody needed to know that. 

“I run Tokyo. Or well, I suppose my uncle does right now. But I will sooner or later. My family has this city in our pocket. Someone like you should already know just the way this world works,” your gaze drifted down to the bullet scars decorating his chest, the tattoo that you were sure had some sort of gang significance, “and you should know to avoid the larger fish of the sea.”

He scoffed, loudly, and he took a step forward, you did not move. “You tryna say you’re a larger fish?” he sounded amused, you were not.

You smiled thinly, “The largest someone of your standing will ever have had the misfortune of stumbling upon,” you said coolly, gaze flickering down to the name etched on his uniform. “Brutality and aggression get you nowhere in this world. Money is what makes the world go round, Terano, and our wallets are all but endless. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“Or what?” 

Your eyes trailed back down to the scars marring his chest before flashing back up to his eyes.

“I don’t think you need me to answer that question,” any amusement that might have been apparent on Terano’s face was gone in an instant.

He stepped forward and at once there was a cock of a gun. Ran, Shion and Rindou flinched, Mucho and Mochi tensed. Your eyes flickered behind Terano to where Mister Mado was holding a pistol up.

A bullet to the chest might not kill him but Mister Mado always aimed for the head, and he never missed.

Terano’s brows knit together, his lips pressed tight. He glared so hard that you swore you’d be a boiling puddle of flesh and blood and bone if he had the power. His eyes flashed with something dark, angry, a sort of blinding rage and bloodlust that sent a chill running down your spine.

He was not a man that liked to be backed into a corner.

The adrenaline was fading, you could feel the nerves reappearing. You had to leave before you broke.

“I’ll be back to visit next week,” you didn’t look back at Ran or Rindou as you started walking away. They called after you but you ignored them. You were running out of time; you only had a few moments before reality smacked you once again.

You stopped as you passed Terano, tilting your head up to look at him, shoulder brushing his arm. Pupils constricted, gold stared down at you furiously. All it would take was one movement, one snap of his arm up and he would have your neck in his grasp, snapping it in one swift motion.

“If you touch them again, you won’t leave this center alive,” you said before turning your gaze back forward brushing past him and out of the door, ignoring the calls of your name.

As soon as the doors shut behind you, you pulled your hands from your pockets, revealing just how shaky they had become during the confrontation. You took deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm.

“I’ll have the cameras wiped and we’ll pay off the guards to keep an eye around here,” Mister Mado said, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You handled this well. Your uncle will be proud.”

Your chest sunk. His words rang bitter in your ears.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

—-

PRESENT.

You were sure that this was all you had ever wanted in life. 

Thin rays of sun slipped past the blinds, beating against your eyelids, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not with Ran’s arm wrapped snug around your waist, his face buried in the nape of your neck. Warm, soft puffs of air fanned against your skin, short purple and black hair tickled your shoulders. 

You could feel Rindou laying somewhere in front of you, one hand curled around your wrist, as if he was trying to stop you from trying to flee when you woke up. You had always been the one to wake up first of the three of you. Your chest tightened at the thought, his grip was tight, holding your hand close to him.

Rin…

You let out a shaky breath, letting your eyes peek open. The sun burned, but only for a second as your gaze focused on Rindou’s sleepy expression, inches from your face. His lashes brushed his cheek and his pink lips were parted as he took in slow, even breaths.

You swallowed thickly, eyes tearing up as you realized just how at peace you felt at that moment. You felt safe, genuinely and truly safe, for the first time in years, even if you did know deep down you were in more danger than ever. 

Rindou let out a quiet hum in his sleep, grip tightening on your hand, and you inhaled sofly, bringing your free hand up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, scared of waking him up. Your fingers brushed his cheekbone and your breath caught as his eyes fluttered open, purple eyes lost and confused for a moment before his eyes trained on you.

His face was unreadable, if only for a moment, and then his lips lifted into a small smile, “Creep,” he accused, but even as the word left his lips, his eyes slid back shut and he leaned his face into your touch.

“Shut up,” you murmured, no heat behind your words as you let out another uneven puff of air. “I just-”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say your thoughts out loud. I just wanted to make sure you were real, I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some sort of sick trick. 

But you didn’t have to say it out loud. Rindou’s grip on your hand tightened in response to your words, his way of saying that he had been fearing the same, and his grip on your hand was his way of keeping ahold of reality. Ran’s grip on your waist shifted, nuzzling in closer to you as he let out a low groan in his sleep. 

Rindou’s eye’s flickered behind you, a strange expression crossing over his face. Your brows furrowed, asking him a silent question, and Rindou only shrugged, eyes sliding shut again.

“He hasn’t slept well in a long time,” he murmured, “Not without sleeping pills, at least.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, guilt stirring in you once again. You wondered if you leaving had anything to do with that, or if it was just something that had come with years in his line of… work. 

You grimaced at the reminder. You knew what they were a part of—you had known since that morning at Izanagi Headquarters—but it was different hearing it directly from them. They didn’t spare you any details, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful for it or not.

Bonten. The rival gang that has been trying and failing to back Sugawara into a corner. They knew just as much about Sugawara’s group as his knew about Bonten up until recently. Both groups were slippery, good at keeping to the shadows, careful and calculating. 

But Bonten couldn’t keep up. And you supposed it was nobody’s fault but your own. Your return to Tokyo had been the turning point in the cold war between the two gangs. Your money, your technology, your relationship with the Haitanis.

You shut your eyes, guilt pooling in every pore in your body, weighing you down heavy. 

Bonten was on its last legs. Sanzu Haruchiyo and Kakucho were frantically trying to get their shipments out of their warehouses before the police raided them. Kokonoi Hajime’s businesses had all but burned to the ground. Akashi Takeomi was trying to get in talks with smaller gangs but nobody wanted to step into a raging fire for a gang that would’ve looked away had they been in the same position.

And Rindou and Ran were here. With you. A part of you wondered if there would be backlash for it, but you doubted that Bonten could spare the resources anyway. And you were certain they couldn’t afford to drive away two of its executives when it was already falling apart.

Your fingers trembled.

You should have stayed away, back in Europe, or the Americas, anywhere but here. All you did was bring death and misfortune with you wherever you went.

You were certain that the kids from all those years ago were right. You were cursed.

A palm pressed softly against your cheek and your eyes fluttered back open, meeting Rindou’s.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, and you let out a breath.

“Nothing,” you said quietly. His brows furrowed in annoyance, you sighed louder. “Really, nothing, I was thinking about Izana,” you lied, “or well, just that day at the detention center.” 

Rindou’s lips pressed together tight at the reminder of Izana before he shook his head, snorting, “South. I cannot believe you and him work together now. I swore he was going to kill you that day. Even when we were with him in Rokuhara Tandai after, I don’t think I ever saw him so angry before. You made it look so easy.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “I was terrified,” you admitted, “and I was pretty much talking out of my ass. I was literally crying on the way to the detention center because I couldn’t do anything without Uncle Ichirou’s help.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again as Rindou’s fingers danced along your cheek, “Couldn’t tell,” he murmured, “You were…”

His voice fell off and a strange, uncomfortable feeling swept over you as you waited for him to finish the sentence. 

You were what? 

“I was what?” you finally asked when Rindou never continued.

He blinked, as if he himself hadn’t realized he never finished his sentence, before a strange look crossed over his face, “I don’t know,” he said quietly, “Looking back on it, that was really the day it all changed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you responded. You couldn’t meet his eyes, his hand drew back from your face and an unwelcome, longing feeling swept over you. “Yeah, it was.”

Rindou grimaced, and you could see all the thoughts running through his head. 

I should have realized, I should have done more, things would be different if I had noticed, I should have, I should have, I should have-

You squeezed his hand gently, “There wasn’t anything that could’ve been done,” you told him softly, but he shook his head, pulling his hand from yours and rising off the bed.

Your hand felt cold. Your lips parted to call after him. He wouldn’t look at you. 

“I’m gonna go see what Miss Yua is making for breakfast,” he said, not waiting for a response before he turned on his heel and left the room, letting the door shut loudly after him.

An excuse, of course, Miss Yua always made eggs in the morning. Mister Ayato was the one that did fancy breakfasts for the three of you and he was all but bedridden.

As soon as the door shut, the arm around your waist tightened. You let out a soft noise as you squirmed beneath Ran’s arm, turning your head to look at him, eyes meeting violet ones that peered at you from over your shoulder.

“How long have you been awake?” you asked, trying to shift away, but even wounded, Ran was still stronger than you.

“Long enough to hear you talk to Rindou. What were you really thinking about?” Ran questioned, voice low and sleepy, “I know you were lying.”

“Ran-“

“Don’t play games with me, I’m not in the mood,” Ran muttered, finally letting go of you so you could turn around to face him.

You could barely meet his gaze, eyes darting around to look everywhere but at him until his hand came up to hold your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Do you-“ you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes. How fucking embarrassing. Were you really going to admit to this? “Do you remember what those kids used to say about me and my family? When we were younger?”

Ran’s brows furrowed as he nodded, unsure of where you were going with this, and you could feel the tears pool in your eyes behind your eyelids.

“Do you ever wonder if it’s true?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice shook, and you hated even more as Ran let go of you.

“What?” he asked, tone inlaid with such disbelief that it had your face heating up in embarrassment, “What are you talking about? Why would-?”

“My whole family died, Ran,” you interrupted him, “in a freak accident on the way to one of my

ballet recitals. And then as soon as I befriend your friends, two of them die too. I go to Europe and thousands of people are killed in the explosion. And now I come back to Tokyo, and everything goes to shit in a matter of two weeks. Everywhere I go, tragedy follows. And I’m scared, I’m scared every day that you and Rin will be next.”

You expected a multitude of reactions from Ran. You expected him to get angry, annoyed; you expected him to blow you off and call you dumb; you expected a roll of the eyes and a ‘quit it with the paranoia.’

You did not expect him to laugh.

Your eyes flew open, glaring at him. Amused purple eyes watched you fondly. Your glare lessened when you felt his hand rest on your bicep, thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin.

“Rindou and I have been around you for what? Seventeen years? We were together for nine before you went off to school? Don’t you think that if we were cursed, we would’ve been struck down by now?” Ran teased, “Is that really what’s got you so wound up?”

You looked away, he brought his hand up to cup the side of your neck and your eyes instinctively drew back to him. The amusement was gone and instead replaced by worry.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?” Ran’s voice was quiet, more serious. You grit your teeth to try to stop the tears.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. You told yourself it over and over again but it wasn’t working this time.

“You don’t-you don’t understand,” you shook your head, which was a mistake considering the movement made the tears start to fall. “You don’t understand waking up every day and being terrified that you’re going to get the people you love killed-I-Ran, it’s so-“

Your vision was blurred but you could still catch the look on Ran’s face—the questioning and then the understanding and then the anger.

He spoke your name and you nearly flinched, “Was this the reason for the rush? When you left? You told us two days before, y/n, you didn’t even give us any time to process it before you were gone.”

He was trying to stay calm, you could hear it in his voice, but you could see the fury boiling behind his eyes. Your shoulders shook, you took in a wet breath. You opened your mouth to deny it. Deny, deny, deny but instead-

“I’m sorry,” your voice broke as a sob wracked your form, your hands flew to cover your face and you tried to move away. “I was scared.”

The excuses and apologies flew from your lips like bullets, but even as you cried and asked him to forgive you, you felt as if the last of the weight bearing down on you had been lifted.

Even if he hated you, at least you had nothing left to hide from them.

Ran let out a heavy, shaky breath, his hand wrapped tight around your bicep again, pulling you in close. You buried your face in his chest, melting into the warmth of his body, wrapping an arm around his waist as he held you.

“Rindou was right, you really are somehow the stupidest and smartest person we’ve ever met,” he muttered. “You are so fucking infuriating. So fucking infuriating.”

You ignored the insult, instead letting your eyes slide shut as Ran pressed his lips to the top of your head. And for a moment, the two of you just laid there--you bundled in his arms, trying to calm your breathing and dry your tears, and him clutching you tight, blunt nails digging a bit too hard into your skin but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you laid there curled up into each other but you were sure that you would have stayed there forever if given the chance.

“Breakfast is ready.” 

You jumped at the sound of Rindou’s voice, pulling away from Ran to sit up and look at him. There was an odd expression on his face as he eyed the two of you but you only let out a breath as you pushed yourself off the bed, straightening out the button-up you had slipped into last night after the three of you were two bottles in.

Rindou’s, you recognized now that you weren’t drunk out of your mind--you could smell his cologne heavy on the collar of the button-up, a woodier scent than the one that Ran wore. 

“Eggs?” you questioned, raising your eyebrows. Rindou tore his gaze from where he was staring at the bed you had just been in with Ran.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “eggs.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder, “Coulda told you that,” you said.

“Miss Yua always makes eggs,” Ran agreed as he stood up, a grimace crossing his face, his hand flying to his abdomen.

You and Rindou both took a step toward him but he waved you off, irritation flashing through his eyes, “I’m fine,” he snapped. You sighed, sharing a look with Rindou as Ran made his way toward you, breath shaky and knees wobbly. He was barely walking straight, the bruises marring his skin were dark and ugly against his pale skin, blending in with the tattoos on the left side of his body.

You shook your head, moving toward him, you took a spot on the right side of his body and Rindou moved to the left, helping steady him.

“I don’t fuckin’ need your help,” Ran, ever the difficult one, tried to push both of you away but you only tightened your grip on him.

“Relax, Ran,” you said quietly, “Let’s just get to the kitchen.” 

“I can walk myself,” Ran muttered, unamused, but he didn’t fight as he leaned into the two of you, letting you guys guide him to the kitchen.

Miss Yua was there waiting for the three of you, graying hair pulled up into a bun, lips flat as she scowled at the three of you. You could almost pretend that you guys were teenagers again, about to get a loud and unending scolding after the three of you had stolen Mister Ayato’s alcohol and blacked out, missing breakfast and lunch and stressing Mister Ayato out intensely when you didn’t meet him at the school like you were supposed to.

“Good morning, Miss Yua,” you murmured, Ran echoing your words. 

The woman raised her nose, sliding three plates of eggs and toast toward you guys. You picked up your fork immediately, going to shovel a forkful of food into your mouth. You paused when you caught all three of them staring at you.

“What?” you asked, disgruntled, “I’m hungry.”

Rindou snorted, looking down at his own food, and the irritated look on Ran’s face disappeared momentarily as he smiled down at the plate in front of him. 

“You, boy,” Miss Yua pointed a kitchen knife at Ran, Ran froze mid-bite of food, finishing chewing slowly and swallowing as he watched her, “Do not overexert yourself, I’m not going to do checkups on you every few hours. Your body is weak--” Ran flinched “--and it will become weaker if you push yourself. Take it easy.”

Ran let out a noise of agreement but from the look on his face you knew damn well he had no intention of taking it easy, and from the way Miss Yua rolled her eyes, she knew that too. Miss Yua let out a heavy sigh as she smoothed out her clothes, making her way back in the direction of where her room and Mister Ayato’s were located.

Before she left, she paused to look back at the three of you, there was a strange, longing look in her eyes as her gaze traced over the three of you, lips tugged up gently. Her lips parted as if to say something but instead she only shook her head, turning away, “It’s nice to see the three of you home together,” she murmured before making her way back down the hall.

With Miss Yua gone, a heavy silence overtook the kitchen. You chewed your food slowly, swallowing and placing your fork down.

“We should probably get out of here,” the words felt bitter. You wanted to stay, pretend that you had never left Tokyo and the three of you were lounging around the penthouse like old times.  

But you couldn’t. The longer you stayed here, the more danger you would put Miss Yua and Mister Ayato.

That wasn’t an option.

“Yeah,” Rindou said quietly, and you could see on his face that he probably felt just as reluctant as you did. “Let me go get changed,” his gaze darted over to you and Ran, “you two should get dressed too.”

You let out a breath, rising to your feet after finishing the last of your eggs, moving your plate to the sink, grabbing Ran and Rindou’s, placing them with yours. You swallowed thickly as you stood at the sink, hands braced against the counter as you shut your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

You had to get away from the penthouse--it’ll be the first place that Sugawara looks. But leaving the penthouse meant facing reality again and you didn’t know if you were ready for it. Facing reality meant facing danger, and facing danger meant that Ran and Rindou would be at risk again. 

You felt a palm press against your lower back, and you turned your head to the side, eyes falling upon Rindou, who watched you with furrowed brows and a concerned frown. You shook your head, giving him a small smile, “I’ll go get changed,” you said quietly, stepping away from the sink.

And you didn’t give him a chance to respond as you started your way back down the hall, a sinking feeling in your chest and a heavy weight returning to your shoulders.

---

The hardest part was saying goodbye to Miss Yua and Mister Ayato again.

You sighed as you leaned against the wall of the elevator, tilting your head back to look up at the mirrors lined in the ceiling. You could see Rindou and Ran standing against opposite walls, Ran typing furiously on his phone while Rindou stared ahead at him, fingers toying with his rings. He looked just as upset as you felt. 

“Where are we gonna go?” you asked after a few moments. Rindou’s head lolled to the side as he looked over at you, raising his eyebrows, “... well we aren’t going to go back to your apartment, right? You said the cops have been raiding all your warehouses?”

“What’s that gotta do with our apartment?” Ran muttered, lips twisting down as he started typing out another angry message. 

“... who do you guys think has the cops in their pocket?” you asked slowly, Rindou and Ran both looked up at you, Rindou’s face falling and Ran’s brows furrowing. “My uncle has had the TMPD in his pocket since we were kids, and if he does, Sugawara surely does too. Plus they have access to all the CCTV cameras in the city… that’s on me, I guess… sorry. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is that we can't really stay in Tokyo right now. It’s not safe. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, literally.”

“The fuckin’ cameras,” Ran muttered to himself, shooting you a half-hearted glare before returning back to whatever argument he was having over text, “God, Sanzu won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“What’s he want now?” Rindou rolled his eyes, turning his attention back toward Ran and you tuned them out as your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

You recognized Takuya’s number flashing on your screen and you swallowed thickly as you answered the phone, praying to whatever god that would listen that they managed to get out of Tokyo safely.

“Takuya, are you-”

“Get out of the fucking elevator now,” it was Mina’s voice on the other side of the phone. Your heartbeat faltered in your chest, your body moved on instinct, eyes darting up to catch the thirteen on the elevator as it descended down to the ground floor. You slammed your hand against the button for the twelfth floor.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, “Mina-”

“Sugawara’s fuckers are in the building, they’re waiting at the bottom of the elevator, coming up the north and south stairwells. Eight on north, nine on south. We’re way outside the city right now, I won’t be able to get to you. You’ve gotta get out of there.”

“Oh fuck,” you breathed out, looking down each hall, “Oh fuck, fuck, what floor are they on right now.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Rindou demanded, clicking off the safety of his gun as he readied it in front of him, eyes wild as he looked up and down the hallway, trying to figure it out on his own. 

“Sugawara’s men are here,” you said quietly as Mina and Takuya talked in the background, trying to pinpoint where exactly Sugawara’s men were. “In the building. Coming up now.” 

“They’re on the sixth floor, or close to it. I can’t tell exactly, there’s no cameras in the stairwells. They seem to have your location, they’re not even bothering to check the other floors, just coming right up,” Takuya’s voice sounded further away, you could hear him typing away at whatever computer he was on, “I’m trying to get into the building’s cameras now. They’re not ours, it’s taking a bit longer than it would if they were.”

“We need to move,” Ran said, grimacing as he pushed himself off of the wall. Sweat was beading at his forehead, his face looked paler than usual, his legs shook with every step. 

He was not okay.

“Ran,” you breathed out, trying to move forward to grab him but he batted your hands away.

“I’m fine,” his face was resentful, angry. He despised weakness. He hated being the one holding people back, “I’m fine. We need to move. Start moving.”

“You can’t walk,” Rindou spit right back, not having any of Ran’s shit, “You’re going to hold us back.”

“Then leave me,” Ran’s tone was absolutely vile, eyes on fire as he glared at Rindou.

“Fuck you,” Rindou snarled, shoving the gun in your hands before moving to wrap his arm around Ran’s waist, steadying him and helping him move along. His face softened as he looked back at you, “You know how to use that?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, holding the gun correctly in front of you, “I know how to use it.”

“Go to the left, down the north stairwell. They’re moving slower and there’s less of them. You’ll at least be able to get down a flight or two before they catch up. The building’s gym is on the tenth floor, it’ll probably be the easiest place to take cover and take them out. I’ll try to get the cameras out before you get to the floor,” Takuya said, you hesitated.

“Stop fucking standing there and move,” Mina boomed and you were moving forward immediately, sprinting to the north stairwell and shoving your phone into Ran’s hands as you reached the metal door.

“You’re on phone duty,” you said to Ran, who gave you a scowl so deep that you swore it would be permanently etched on his face. 

The door creaked open as you pushed it open, holding it for Ran and Rindou before closing it quietly behind the two of them. Your eyes darted around. There were no cameras in the stairwells, but you knew they must have seen the three of you enter it from the ones on the twelfth floor. You had to keep moving.

You let out an unsteady breath, holding the gun in front of you as you started down the steps, moving as quickly and quietly as possible. You glanced back at Rindou and Ran. Ran had shoved a fistful of his shirt into his mouth, muffling the grunts of pain that rose at all of the jostling, giving you a clear view of the nasty bruises lining his abdomen courtesy of your decision.

Guilt swelled again, you pushed it away.

Now was not the time. Hesitate and it’ll get all three of you killed.

Focus. 

You turned down the staircase, glancing down. You felt sick, anxiety was eating at your chest and stomach. You could hear the footsteps slamming against the metal stairs from floors below, the hushed voices. They were all armed, you were sure.

And you were the only one of the three of you armed. One versus eight, plus the additional nine on the opposite side of the building.

You felt sick. You couldn’t let them die here, not now. Not ever. You had to get them out, even if it meant giving yourself up.

They would never forgive you.

You don’t even know if they would actually let them go. They could lie.

It might be your only shot.

You felt dizzy, nauseous. You couldn’t push it away.

Floor Eleven.

One more floor, then sprint to the gym. You could make it. The three of you had done this a million times before, running from Miss Yua and then trying to camp out in the locker room, hiding behind the benches before she inevitably found you.

An intense sense of nostalgia swept through you as you looked back at them again. You could practically picture yourself hopping down three stairs at a time, shrieking and laughing and looking back over your shoulder as Rindou tried to keep up with you and Ran. The two of you had always been the fastest.

You were almost there. One more staircase. 

You turned down the last twist, and you swore your heart stopped beating when you came face to face with a man around your age, dark hair, darker eyes. Gun in hand.

No. They had sent someone ahead?

Recognition flashed through his eyes when he saw you, gaze ripping to the side, halfway up the other staircase to where Rindou was struggling with Ran.

Your eyes widened.

You hesitated.

He raised his own gun, but not at you, and your body acted before your mind could process what was happening, watching Ran use the last of his strength to force Rindou behind him, using his body as a shield. All of the lessons from Mina and Mister Mado before he passed away coming back to swim at the forefront of your head. 

Brace your feet. Steady your arms. Aim and pull the trigger.

Do not hesitate.

The bang that echoed throughout the staircase was terrible, loud, you wanted to cover your ears and curl up. In front of you, the man dropped dead to the ground, a hole through his forehead.

Your breath was erratic, your eyes were wild. “W-we need to keep going,” you told them. You could hear shouts from below, closer, the pounding of feet moving faster.

You raced down the steps, swinging open the door to the tenth floor, holding it for Rindou and Ran before taking off down the hall to where the glass doors of the gym were situated in the middle of the floor.

Your fingers trembled as you typed in the passcode—it was the same after all of these years and tears of gratefulness sprung to your eyes. A small mercy.

Your face was wet and sticky, you could feel a hot, thick liquid dripping down your cheek, something chunky in your hair. Your vision blurred and spun, shaky arms pushed open the doors.

Rindou and Ran slipped in and you shut the doors just as the doors to the stairwell slammed open on either side. Ran looked worse, you noted as you followed them into the locker room, locking the metal door behind the three of you. He was barely standing, shivering and sweating at the same time.

“Ran-“ you began, but he interrupted you.

“Are you okay?” Ran asked, your brows furrowed, unsure of why he was asking you that when he was the one in awful shape. “Was that the first time you killed someone?”

Your lips parted to answer, no noise left them. You swallowed, clearing your throat as you tried again, “Directly, yeah,” you said softly, looking away.

You felt two fingers press against your jaw, Rindou turned your face to him, bringing a warm, damp rag to your skin and wiping off the blood, removing whatever had been in your hair and hiding it in the rag before you could see it.

“You did good,” he murmured, “He would have-“

He would have killed us.

Well, you corrected, them. Your mind danced as you recalled the brief second before you shot him. He had seen you, recognized you, and then purposefully turned his body to pull the gun on Ran and Rindou.

They weren’t targeting you.

“They’re not targeting me,” you said quietly, refusing to look at either of them, “They-he looked at me and recognized me, but then he turned to try to kill you guys.”

“I figured they wouldn’t,” Ran said, grunting and shifting from where he was sitting on the ground, arms circling his abdomen, “Not when you’ve got all the money from Izanami. They’ll probably try to take you in and-“

“I should go,” you said, interrupting him. Rindou and Ran’s heads snapped toward you, confusion on the former’s and fury on the latter’s. “They won’t kill me, I can make a deal-“

“They won’t kill you yet,” Ran hissed, “That’s not to say they won’t once they’ve got their hands on Izanami.”

You shook your head. Your throat felt tight, your hands were shaky, you didn’t even know how you were talking coherently.

“We won’t make it out of here,” your eyes were tearing up.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

Ran opened his mouth to protest but you continued before he could, “There are what? Seventeen rounds in this? There’s seventeen of them just coming up here looking for us. There’s god knows how many downstairs waiting for. There’s only two exits for the building and I’m sure both of them are covered. I would rather-I would rather take the chance than certain death.”

“No,” Ran said instantly, “Absolutely not.”

“You can barely even walk,” you hissed, taking a step closer to him, “You can barely walk, Ran. H-“

“They’ll kill you as soon as they get what they want,” Ran’s expression was livid, “You fucking promised that you wouldn’t pull shit like this. We can hold out here-“

“Hold out for what?” you demanded, and to your horror, your voice cracked, “Hold out for what? Bonten isn’t coming. You said it yourself, they’re busy dealing with the raids. What are we holding out for? For them to finally break in here and kill you guys?”

Neither Ran nor Rindou responded, you let out another shaky breath, “Answer me,” you said, voice pleading as you looked between them, “Tell me there’s something else we can fall back on and I won’t. But I’m not going to stay here like a sitting duck so they can come in here and kill you guys.”

You could hear banging coming from the hall, a shattering of glass—you flinched violently. They were in the gym. It was only a matter of time.

“They’ll kill us anyway,” Rindou’s voice cracked, you had never heard him like this before. Tears sprung to your eyes and you forced them away. You had to stay strong, convince them that this was the best route. He grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look at him. “They’ll kill us anyway, all you’re doing is giving yourself up. If we can hold them off, you can get out of here.”

“That’s a big ‘if’ when you have one gun,” you snapped, “you’ll die if we do it that way. There’s no way.”

“We’ll die either way,” Ran shouted, trying to hide the grimace that swept over his face at the action. “We’ll die either way, I’d rather die knowing you might’ve got out of here instead of you having thrown yourself to death row for us.”

“I’ll hold Izanami hostage,” you looked away, staring at the door of the locker room that led to the gym, to where Sugawara’s men were gathered and searching for the three of you. You heard a shout and a bang against the locker room door.

They knew where you were.

“They’ll need me to sign over Izanami before they kill me, otherwise the company will go over to Takuya at my death,” you said quietly. “I’ll refuse to sign it over until I know you guys are safe.”

“No,” Ran said, “No, stop. They’ll just take us in and torture us until you give in. There’s no win-“

“The signing is public, for a company of Izanami’s size. Or even if the signing itself isn’t, I’ll be expected to make some sort of public announcement and speech detailing the future of Izanami under someone else’s leadership,” you interrupted, staring at the door blankly as the metal shook underneath the force of a kick. “They wouldn’t risk me speaking out in public.”

You smiled wryly, looking back at them, “Unfortunately for them, I’m a lot more popular with the general public than my uncle is. They know it would start an uproar.”

You supposed there was always the issue that they could just hold Rindou and Ran hostage to keep you quiet during the speech but… you were running out of options, and time. They would die here without a doubt if you didn’t do anything. At least they would have a chance if you played along.

You rose to your feet.

“No,” Ran’s voice was hoarse, panicked as he struggled to his feet. 

You did not look back at him.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door,” Ran spat out, “I won’t forgive you. Don’t you fucking dare. Rindou, stop her.”

You did not look back at him.

A hand reached out to grab your wrist, holding you in place. You turned your head to the side, looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly.

“Trust me,” you responded. “Please, Rin.”

Rindou stared at you for what seemed like an eternity, searching your eyes for some sort of answer. You waited, hoping and praying that he found it.

He let go of your wrist.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you.”

Ran was shouting, furious, but you did your best to tune him out. Distantly noticing how Rindou was forcing him back down to the ground instead of chasing after you and Ran, too weak to fight back, could only spit vile insults and curses at his younger brother.

You stood in front of the door, swallowing thickly.

“I’ll come out,” you called loudly, the shouting on the other side of the door ceased. “I would prefer not to be shot.”

For a moment, there was no response, you could hear your heart beating in your chest. You could hear Ran begging you not to go—you had never heard him beg before. Your throat felt tight, your hands felt shaky.

“Come out,” one man called, “Any tricks and we’ll shoot down all three of you.”

You reached out for the lock on the door.

“Please,” Ran was gasping, his voice was cracking, your lips trembled, “Don’t fucking do it, don’t go out there. We just got you back, we just got you back.”

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can’t fall apart now. Don’t let them see you break, they’ll latch onto weakness.

You raised your chin. You straightened your back. You opened the door.

***

WC: 12.2k

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED !!! 

— feedback on character development and story progression pls do not nitpick little mistakes

[casuallyawkardd]

I probably won't start part III until after my trip next weekend and will be working on requests and other projects until then just fyi

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dirty, drunk blurb ༶ Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader nsfw 18+

You start to grind on his thigh, drunk and desperate for friction.

“Just … just,” you whine, pressing your face into his neck. 

You’re drunk at a friend’s party. You dragged Miguel to the bathroom, where he sits on the bathtub’s edge, and you on his thigh. 

“Baby, we’re going to go home soon,” he whispers.

“I know, just,” you beg, one hand on the back of his neck, and the other gripping his hard-on through his jeans. 

Your eyes are closed tightly, focusing on the friction you’re getting through your soaked underwear.

You feel his large hands slide from the top of your thighs to your hips under your dress. 

He starts to support you, pushing and pulling you against him, making you realize he’d do anything for you, and anything to get you off.

You open your eyes for a second, and are met by his eyes looking up at you, in awe at how desperate you are for him. 

He smirks, squeezing your hips tighter. He looks up at you, watching you moan, watching you lose yourself in pleasure. His eyes trace down to your hips, then thighs, spread around his leg.

He puts one hand to your cheek, silently asking you for a kiss. You lean into him, his warm, soft lips suck on your bottom lip tenderly, as you reach your climax.

You feel the knot in your stomach start to unravel, pleasure traveling down your thighs, moans escaping your lips and being pressed into his.

You couldn’t control yourself for a few hours at your friend’s house party, and that does something to him.

He’ll show you when you get home.

[lacedinweb22]

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Valentine’s Day ❦︎ (smutty one-shot) ❦︎⋆˙⊹ ❦︎ ⋆˙⊹ Miguel O’Hara x Fem!reader

nsfw 18+ ୨୧

You come back from work, feet sore, back sore, in need of him.

First thing you notice are the flowers on the kitchen counter. A massive assortment of red roses, with a note sticking out. “Happy Valentine’s Day, mi princesa. You’re my valentine today and everyday,” your cheeks are warm. You put the note down, slowly taking your shoes off as you look around. “Forever” by The Little Dippers leaks out of your bedroom.

You walk down the hall, slowly opening the door.

There he is. Hair tousled from running a stressed hand through so many times, a snug white button up rolled up at his forearms, muscles on display, black slacks, and a black leather belt… perfect. He’s pouring moscato into the wine glasses on the dresser, he looks up at you calmly, the calm you so desperately needed after a day like today. His eyes soften as they lay on you.

“Baby,” you exhale, walking into him. “Hermosa,” he sits the moscato bottle down, leaning down into you, breathing in the smell of your hair. You dig your face into his chest. The smell of his cologne makes you weak. His hands are snug around your waist, holding you tightly against him. You look up at him, he leans down your lips meet in the middle.

He strokes your hair, “I’m sorry you had to work today, but I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers before kissing you again. You nod.

You lean against the dresser, he hands you a glass. It’s your favorite moscato. He keeps one hand on your waist, still holding you, as he picks up his glass with the other hand. “Happy Valentine’s, Y/N,” he smiles, tapping his glass to yours. “Happy Valentine’s, Miguel.” His eyes are on yours as you sip. You put it down, then start to take off your coat. He notices and immediately goes behind you, helping you take it off.

“Think I’m gonna change,” you mutter, moving your hair to the front, as he helps you.

You start to unbutton your blouse, but stop when he drops to his knees, slowly unbuttoning your pants. You look down at him, hands in his hair. His eyes are now on your black lace panties, as he slowly pulls your pants down. His fingers trace underneath the thin cloth on your hips, fingers massaging your skin. You don’t feel the need to change anymore. He stands back up, looking at the black lace bra now exposed under your button-up. He smirks, fangs on display, then leans down into your neck, sucking gently. His hands wrap around the back of your thighs and he picks you up like you weigh nothing.

You make out, taste the moscato on his lips. He lays you on your bed, then crawls on top of you, now hovering over you, hips touching, his hard-on pressing into your underwear. You moan into his mouth, as his fingers grip your waist tightly.

“Need you,” you moan in between kisses. He kisses your neck, “I’m here, baby, you can have me,” he mutters lowly into your skin. You look down and unbuckle his belt; he watches you, brushing the hair out of your face.

Finally, he’s in just his boxer briefs, and you can see so much through the stressed cloth. “We have reservations at 7:00,” he whispers in between kisses. “We have time,” you whisper back. He moans in your mouth as you grab him from out of his boxers, and press him against your heat.

He kisses down your neck as you pull his hips into yours, trailing down to your shoulder, pulling your blouse to the side.

He enters slowly, only half of him in you. He bites your shoulder, moaning into your skin. “Missed you, Mig,” you moan, as he slowly inches in and out of you, letting you adjust. “Missed how big you are,” you whine.

He kisses you, then slowly enters, now fully, you both moan at the pressure. He thrusts in and out, kissing you hard.

It’s slow and passionate, and you feel every inch of him intensely. He groans into your ear, “Been thinking about you all day. You feel so good, chula.”

The music is still playing on the record player; he digs his face in your neck.

He slides one hand down to your heat, rubbing at your core. “Does that feel good for you, my girl? Like that?” he groans, which you bite your lip in response, suppressing your gasps.

Perfect pressure and perfect fullness begin to bring you to your end. You start to unravel; you wrap your legs around him, bringing him closer, deeper.

He sucks on your neck, then pulls away to whisper into your mouth, “Baby, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” you exhale, slowly finishing around him.

He throbs inside of you, filling you up. You bite his lip, moans filling the room.

*im drunk AF and I’m ending it here LOVE Y’ALL so much 💌 HAPPY VALENTINE’S 💋💋💋* -G

[lacedinweb22]

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your neighbor, stoner Miguel ✥°o｡ headcanons nsfw 18+

✤ Stoner Mig who leaves his apartment door open a crack just before you get back from work, knowing the smell will force you to come over.

✤ Stoner Mig, who with eyes red, voice lazy, leads you to his couch, where you sit on his lap.

✤ Stoner Mig who puts the joint in between your lips, lighting it slowly, his eyes on your lips.

✤ Stoner Mig who talks you through it, telling you when to inhale and exhale. He praises you, “Took it so well, chula,” he whispers, eyes low as he takes the joint from your lips into his. He has a glass of water ready in case you start to cough. He’ll hold the glass up to your lips, eyes on yours. He knows how to take care of you.

✤ Stoner Mig who inhales the smoke you exhale, getting high off of the air you breathe.

✤ Stoner Mig who lets the smoke slowly escape his lips, then presses his lips to yours, passing you the little smoke left in his lungs. The kiss gets messy, you lazily kiss, giggling, as your hands roam each other.

✤ Stoner Mig who flirts with you all night, towering over you in the kitchen, pressing up against you, your back against the counter.

✤ Stoner Mig who will make sure you’re fed, dragging you to the kitchen so he can make you a sandwich, a real sandwich. He shows you his pantry, impressing you with all of the snacks he bought, the snacks he knows you like. You stand in the kitchen for what feels like hours, munching on ten different kinds of snacks, talking and giggling til your ribs hurt.

✤ Stoner Mig who rests his hand on your thigh, prompting you to move from your spot on the couch to his lap. You feel his hard-on through his sweats, grinding slowly; it’s innocent really. You’re both high, it happens.

✤ Stoner Mig who lazily whispers how good of a girl you are as you finish him off through his sweatpants. His eyes are drowsy, voice low, deep and raspy. He looks up at you, eyes red, cheeks pink, as you comb your fingers through his hair.

✤ Stoner Mig who spreads you on the couch, his lips wandering down to your thighs. He pulls down your pants slowly, trailing kisses towards your underwear. He drags your panties down to your ankles, as you tug at his roots, he moans at your touch. His lips finally wrap around you, he lazily laps at your core, high, and still able to give you the best head of your life.

✤ Stoner Mig who is needy when high, asking you to come under the blanket with him. He eventually lays down on his side, spooning you, whispering sweet nothings into your hair, high off his ass. You wait for him to fall asleep then head back to your place. You’ll repeat this tomorrow anyways.

‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙

I’m finally 21 years old! ৻(≧ᗜ≦৻) ✿༶⋆˙⊹✢

[lacedinweb22]

Angel Taglist ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა : @wingedturtledream @skaochii  @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th @missing2socks @thel0velykey190 @ladymoztaza @ta3bae @dhollandhs @minalovesyoubabes @mj-szaa @lyn-soso @frenchsfryys @meeom @tojishugetiddies @2feng2cry @raypook @keiva1000 @migueloharastruelove @maxicorn

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morning sex blurb ⋆:°* Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

nsfw 18+ duh

In between cool white sheets, your body heat wraps around him, arms around his broad neck, thighs around his hips.

His length is squeezed between your walls, his tip massaging the deepest part of you. You cry out his name, voicing your pleasure into his damp waves. His hands grip your hips, pushing and pulling you slowly, as you grind against him. You take shallow thrusts; he’s stuffed deep inside of you, rubbing into your g spot, as your clit simultaneously rubs against his lower stomach.

He looks up at you, encouraging you as your eyebrows furrow, feeling the warmth in your core begin to spread.

“You gonna cum for me, princesa?” he groans, kissing your neck, then drags his wet lips to your breasts, sucking and bruising you as your hips slowly roll into his.

You nod, moaning into his hair.

“Like that, baby. Just like that,” he whines, nails beginning to dig into your skin.

“So big, Mig. Gonna make me cum,” you whine, thighs tightening around him.

“Then cum, baby,” he whispers.

So you do as you are told.

○o｡..:*

here’s a little morning treat in honor of all my fellow students going through finals week <3

[lacedinweb22]

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New Year, New Me ❅˚⋆୧

Miguel O'Hara x reader ♱✮♱ Vampire Next Door (ch. 11) prev part

nsfw 18+

⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹⋆˙⊹

You’re on top of Miguel, drunk, vision hazy, giggling at everything he says, lowly, drunk, practically purring into your neck. He smiles up at you, his nose brushing against your neck. 

You pull at the roots of his hair, as he groans at the pressure beneath you. You’re the right amount of drunk. You’ll remember this, you hope to god you’ll remember it clearly. You note every movement he makes, how his eyebrows scrunch when you slow down, every groan that escapes his plump, wet lips, remember how he sounds, how the low vibrations leave his mouth and go straight to the space between your thighs. 

You move your hips slowly, his hands guiding your rhythm. He groans into your neck, breathing you in deeply; he’s trying to control himself, “Y/N… god.”

You feel his nails digging into your pajamas, sharp, painful, but the pleasure outweighs the pain. You ignore it. 

You moan into his hair, “Mig… please, keep going,” the pressure is perfect, building up at your core, as the soft plush of your pajama pants pushes against his hard-on. Your hips begin to stutter, a sign of your end, he squeezes your hips tighter, steadying you, as he murmurs, “Like that, chula? Look at you, such a pretty mess for me,” he groans, then shuts his eyes tightly as he winces in your neck, like watching you get off will bring him to ruins. 

The heat spreads across your thighs, relaxing your muscles, your hips slow down. You moan into his mouth, breathing in his air. 

“Fuck, Mig,” you exhale, pausing suddenly, looking down at the rise and fall of his chest. 

You take in what just happened. Your cheeks are already flushed, but now somehow a shade darker. 

“God, I–”

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, looking up at you, brushing the hair out of your face. 

You lean into his touch, sighing. You put your hand on his hand, feeling how big his hand is under yours. 

He leans out, looking over your shoulder at the clock resting on his vinyl-stuffed cabinets.

“11:59” he whispers, looking back at you, his cheeks flushed. 

“Haven’t had enough, hm?”

He shakes his head. 

“One more, to start the new year off right,” he shrugs, arms still resting around your hips, fingers tapping at your lower back, eyes lowly looking at your lips. 

You nod. 

He puts his hand to your cheek, looks into your eyes then back down at your lips. So gentle.

You lean down and meet the warm embrace of his lips. You hear the fireworks going off somewhere in the distance, and you feel the fireworks. Your nerves are sparked, and the way he looks at you makes your stomach drop. 

It’s officially a new year, new you, new start. And Miguel is right there with you at the start. It’s like you’re staring at your future; you want him to stay. 

You grab your glass and sip a generous amount; you offer Miguel. He accepts, keeping his eyes on yours as you hold the glass to his lips. 

You kiss again, and his lips are cold, wet, tasting of the maraschino cherries that have sunk to the bottom of your glass. 

****

You look in the mirror, turning to view the sides of your plush pajamas. They’re ripped, right along your hips, right where he was holding you. Four small tears on both sides. 

HOW…?

You quickly lower them, looking at the skin that’s barely been broken, a tinge of purple spreading from the tears. 

****

“Screams, fangs, claws. He’s a… a vampire,” you exclaim. 

You throw yourself on your bed, watching your best friend’s reaction through the screen.

“I’m just surprised it’s taken you this long to figure that out. I mean there’s Spider-Man, there’s Velvet Vigilante; a vampire isn’t so far-fetched.” 

“Ash, what the hell am I supposed to do about that? I still like him, I still want him. If anything, this just makes him… hotter.”

“Oh my god… this just makes him hotter. To be fair, you haven’t seen any bodies, he hasn’t threatened to suck the blood out of you, is it bad that I want to see how this plays out? No wait, he’s probably murdered people, Y/N. Let’s not romanticize murder.”

“You just agreed it made him hotter, hypocrite. Let’s say he has… hurt people. He’s my friend, I can’t tell anyone, can’t call anyone, it’s Mig. I mean I can’t–”

There’s a knock at your door. 

“There’s a knock.”

“What? Who?... Maybe Dracula heard you talking shit.”

“I’ll text you later.”

You shut your laptop.

You look through the peep hole. It’s a woman. 

“Hiiii, I’m a friend of Mig’s,” she says, sing-songy, her nails tapping rhythmically on your door.

You open the door. 

“Wow. It’s you. I’m Vel. V-E-L. Tell him I stopped by, will you?” She points at Miguel’s door. Her voice is rich, heavy, hot. 

She looks you up and down, smirking.

She reaches a hand out to you, you shake it. Her nails are long, flawlessly painted a grayish pink.

“Hi, Vel. How do you… know him?”

“Wow, you’re his neighbor, huh. I didn’t like the last guy… kicked the bucket, I hope, thank god,” she jokes, crossing her fingers in front of her face. 

“I mean… I got a pretty sick apartment out of it?” you attempt to match her energy. 

She’s gorgeous. You could feel threatened at the fact that she knows Miguel, but you’re too in awe. She’s gorgeous: platinum blonde hair, sharp cat eyeliner, and a velvet choker adorning her neck. 

“What’s your name, babe?” 

“Y/N,” you answer, nodding, as she looks you up and down. 

“That’s it. Knew it, knew it. Mig’s mentioned you,” she grins, resembling the cheshire cat.

“All good things, better than good, really.” 

“Wow, better than good. What can I say?”

“Not much more. Gotta go, babe,” she winks then walks away, the sound of her heels noisily echoing down the hall.

She’s flirty, shutting you up, single-handedly confusing the shit out of you, leaving you in your doorway, dumbfounded. You could see how her and Miguel would be friends. 

[lacedinweb22]

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Once Bitten, Twice Shy °❆˚₊⋆

Miguel O'Hara x reader Vampire Next Door ♱✮♱ Ch. 10 prev part here (New Year's/Christmas chapter inspired by lyrics from "Last Christmas" by Wham!)

nsfw 18+ (near end)

*̣̥☆·͙̥‧‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❅‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

Christmas creeped up on you this year. Between the weeks at your internship and avoiding Miguel, things have been all over the place, just when you thought things were starting to line up. 

So you were alone on Christmas and you’re alone on New Years Eve, both for the first time. You’ve got your headphones on, blasting, nostalgic Christmas music. 

Standing in the kitchen, you roll out cookie dough, finding yourself thinking about Miguel. Everything. From his annotations on your essays, to the blood on his bathroom floor. 

Once bitten, twice shy. 

Why can’t he confide in you? But blood isn't a simple secret, it’s bigger than you, you know that. 

Yesterday, you saw him coming up the stairs, one foot in the hallway, your own in your doorway. You look back, catch a glimpse of him down the hall; his hair is wet and messy from the snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. 

You hurry into your place before he sees you. He’s only left with the slam of your door. 

I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye. 

“I thought you liked me, now you won’t even talk to me.” 

Last week, he cornered you in the hallway. Your keys were deep in your bag.

“I’m busy, Mig. Been so busy.” Your cheeks feel hot, consequence of your lying. 

Your back is now against your door. He’s so close to you, looking down at you, head tilted. He looks beautiful… and threatening. But you’re stubborn and you don’t trust anyone anymore, especially not your blood-thirsty neighbor. 

“I mean I thought we were getting somewhere, Y/N.”

You did too.

“I did too. I just- I gotta go, Miguel. I’ll… talk to you later.” 

****

You sit on your fire escape, legs hanging down, headphones on your neck, still playing music. You watch the snow fall down, snowflakes swaying before gracefully adorning your coat. You lift your arm to look at the tiny, beautifully delicate shapes melting on you. 

You listen to the cars, the rumbling sky, the party music above you, the muffled voices. You’re okay being alone– 

“Hey,” 

“Jesus! What the fuck! Who— God, you scared me, asshole!” you throw a handful of snow that’s collected on your thighs at him. It pathetically hits his knees. 

It’s him, standing on his side of the fire escape in front of his window. He looks down at you, sympathetically. 

“What do you want? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

He straightens his face out. He looks straight forward, eyebrows furrowed, hands in his pockets. He looks stiff, cold like he was the first day.

“Figured you’d be home for Christmas.” 

“I am home.” You turn away, looking down at the alley below. 

“Home, home.”

“My mom was out of town. No point making the trip.” 

“Hm,” he drops down, legs hanging off the metal floor. He’s feet away, but it’s intimate; you’re both looking down at the alley, at the the busy street, city lights glowing on your faces, snow falling on the two of you. 

You turn to look at him. He’s not soft like he was a few weeks back, when you somehow unwrapped his outer layer. His mind is busy, somewhere else. You stop being angry with him for a second, you empathize. Maybe he has a job to do, and maybe you’re just not meant to know that part of him. Just let yourself enjoy what parts of himself he does want to share with you. 

“I got you something, Y/N,” he mutters, still looking straight forward. “Was gonna save it for when you weren’t so mad at me, but… Christmas was days ago.”

He pulls a box out of his right pocket. He reaches out, places it gently in your hand. It’s small, wrapped beautifully in blueprint scraps. The small tag reads, “For Y/N.” His handwriting is just like the annotations on your papers years ago. You smile down at it. 

“Why would you do this? I am still mad at you. And I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know. Jesus, just open it.”

It’s ear plugs. You laugh, then roll your eyes. 

You nudge him with your elbow. 

“Asshole. Is this you asking me to turn a blind eye?”

“Blind ear, actually.”

You glance up, unamused, which Miguel finds amusing. 

“But yes, exactly that.”

He nudges you, “Look under it.”

You lift the tab beneath the ear plugs. 

It’s a necklace. The charm is your initial in Old English font. 

“Let me help,” he suggests. You nod, still stunned from the gesture. He lifts his weight on his biceps, and sits closer to you. Music is still bleeding from the headphones around your neck. You place them beside you.

Tell me, baby, do you recognize me?

You look up at him. The crimson in his eyes highlighted by the city lights. You never know with him, you’re always searching for stable footing, for an understanding of why he acts the way he does, but despite all that, you feel like you know him. 

Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me. 

Does he know you? The old you he shared a class with isn’t the person you are now.

And after all these years, will this new version of yourself be willing to let him know you, even if it means you’ll end up betrayed and hurt again?

Now I know what a fool I’ve been

You want to stay mad,

but he’s looking down at you like that, and you’re okay with getting hurt if it’s by him. He looks down at the box in your hands, and gently pulls the necklace out. 

He holds eye contact with you, as he puts his hands around your neck and clasps it under your hair, his eyes still on yours. 

You look down at the initial resting on your skin. 

You look back up.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Miguel.”

He keeps one hand at your neck, his thumb softly stroking your jaw. 

But if you kiss me now, I know you’ll fool me again

He kisses you, his warm lips clinging to yours, warmth you appreciate as the snow shrouds you two. 

****

You’re sat on his couch. It’s 11 pm, one hour closer to the the new year.

He opens his window, looks outside at the snow, then turns back at you over his shoulder. A smile tugs at his lips.

You look down at the drink he’s made you. It’s sweet, like you asked. 

He hovers on the window frame, biceps flexed as his weight rests on them.

He turns around finally, facing you, his back against the window.

“Aren’t you gonna join me?”

He answers by slowly walking to the spot beside you. He sinks into it. 

He slides his fingers in between yours. Slowly, his warm, muscular hand eases into yours. It feels good. 

“You’re so confusing,” you sigh, throwing your head back, the alcohol taking over. “Sometimes, I swear I know you, then you do these, I don’t know, things and you completely throw me off and I don’t actually know who you are, or what you want, and there was a point where I thought I did.”

“Things,” he whispers to himself.

“The blood, Mig, my nightmares, your eyes– you’re different. I just want some answers–”

“And I’m sorry… I can’t…  give you all of the answers you’re looking for.”

“Why can’t you trust me?”

“Why can’t you just trust that I’m doing the right thing? That I’m doing what I have to, and trying to protect you all at the same time.”

You exhale. 

He throws his head back against the couch. He turns lazily to face you. 

You look back down at his hand in yours. 

“I’m trying to give you what I can. Could that be enough?” 

He says it lowly, squeezing your hand. Your fingers move against his, you turn your hands over so you’re on top, fingertips feeling his calloused palms. 

You feel his eyes on you, watching you feel his skin, attentively. 

He sighs. You turn, look up at him. His cheeks are pink. “The alcohol getting to you?” You whisper, leaning closer up to his lips. 

He nods, pulling his hand from out of your grasp and to the hair in your face. He brushes it back gently. 

Your face is flushed. You slowly lift your thigh across his lap, now stradling him. 

He rests his hands on your hips, heavy breathing against your neck as his hands explore the expanse between your thighs and hips. 

You find yourself moving against him slowly, craving pressure. 

He buries his face into your neck, pushing and pulling your hips gently against his. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you break from his lips, hips unfaltering. 

“Doing what?” he speaks onto your lips, breathless, drunk from lust. 

“Avoiding each other when we’re sober, and making out when we’re drunk.” 

His lips are cold from the drink, you can taste the rum on him. You suck his bottom lip playfully, you feel him smile. 

“Last time, swear,” he smirks, before kissing you greedily.

✧❅✦

To be continued… ;)

This is my last post of 2023!!! WOwwww 2023 was so beautiful and enlightening, and I’ve learned so much about myself and my love for writing and it’s all been heavily inspired by Miguel and all of you beautiful people! You have no idea how grateful I am for all of your support and the growth I’ve been able to have on this platform omgggg <3 Thank you for being here udhffskfdkjsodsif I hope you all have a wonderful New Years full of love and good food. Take care of yourselves 

(´⌣`ʃƪ) ♥❅*°:⋆ₓₒ

[lacedinweb22]

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♱ Vampire Next Door ♱ Miguel O'Hara x reader

Ch. 13: A… vampire ♱❦︎₊° prev part

“Vel, keep him down!” 

“I am!” Velvet’s claws are digging into yet another agent hunting down Miguel. She’s on her knees, constraining the huge man, as Miguel punches and slams him down, questioning and cursing at him.

“He’s tracking you!” Vel nods at his neck. Miguel ignores this, too caught up in the violence.

“Last chance. Who sent you?!” he growls, slamming the agent down again. 

“They’re onto you, Miguel. You can’t run forever,” he grins, blood covering his face. 

“They’re tracking you, Miguel. Cut it out, or I’ll tear it out!” her claws are on his neck, nails beginning to pierce his skin. 

The crimson in his eyes glows brighter; he knows what he has to do.

His fangs rip into his neck; he spits the tracker out onto his palm. A puddle of blood begins to surround him.

****

Once again, the noise from the other side of that wall kept you up: Slamming, yelping, and shouted conversation.

You contemplated knocking, you paced in the hall between your doors, and you thought about everything you’d witnessed up until now. But the stubborn voice in your head demanded you go to your fire escape, demanded you look through his window, and creep on your neighbor, something you were sure he’d done before.

To your luck, it was raining, but from what you could see through the glass, two figures hovered over one, slamming and fighting with the one being pinned on the floor.

Is it him? Could he be the one being beat into the ground? 

You slowly, carefully slid the window up, the beating rain covering up the noise you made as you slipped inside. 

You know you’re in the wrong, you know you might end up pinned on the ground beside him, but it’s instinctual. Your body is on autopilot, out of your control, and now,

you’re here 

looking onto the bloody scene. Vel looks up at you, but she’s quickly absorbed into the background. All you see is Miguel, blood smeared across his face after he just ripped that man’s neck out. 

You try to catch your breath, your thoughts race as you try to make sense of how it all led to this. You knew he was different, but this was the cold, hard truth cruelly slapped into your face.

 He looks up, blood dripping from his lips. 

The bloodthirsty creature you just watched tear up a man, becomes human, his face softens, looking across the room at you. 

You stumble back, losing balance, vision becoming blurry.

Then Velvet comes back into view, now right in front of you. 

“Sorry, pretty girl,”

And the blur becomes black.

****

You hear them before you see them. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We had a mission and she interrupted it! I already told you! I needed her to sleep for a bit so we could finish up. Come on Spidey, look, wow, how convenient: we’ve cleaned up a bit, you had some time to gather your thoughts, and now, perfect, we can properly inform her.”

“What about her? Was she given that same time to gather her thoughts? That same consideration before you knocked the shit out of her? And there’s no ‘we,’ you already fucked this up. Pinche idiota.”

“Stop calling me that!”

You open your eyes. Miguel and Vel look down at you. You move your fingertips against the material you’re lying on, trying to gather some sense of awareness: Miguel’s couch. 

Finally, you manage to get a few words out. 

“Miguel, you– oh god, my head.”

You feel an ache in your arm. You look down at it, your elbow is wrapped up.

“I know, Y/N. I gave you some injections to help with your head. Just a few precautionary measures in case it is a concussion. Velvet hit you hard. I’m sorry, and she’s sorry, aren’t you, Velvet?” he turns to her, anger in his eyes. 

“Super.”

“It pounds,” you mutter, trying to sit up.

“Still got it. Thanks for the feedback,” she grins, proudly, insensitively. 

You glare up at her. 

“It was a heat of the moment thing,” she whines in defense, then looks at you sympathetically, “I am sorry, babe,” she whispers, stroking your hair. 

“‘Sorry, babe’ que nada. You’re such an asshole,” he swats her hand away.

He slowly drops to his knees, and puts his hand to your back, effortlessly helping you sit up. He grabs the glass of water on the side table. 

“Drink some, please,” he mutters, nodding, holding the glass to your lips, as you struggle to hold it yourself. 

The memories start to come back, but they’re all fuzzy.

“It feels like a dream. Please tell me that was a dream. Please–” 

He brushes your hair out of your face.

“I wish it was a dream. I’m sorry, Y/N… Vel, I need you to leave for a second, dios, make that forever,” he mutters before turning back to you.

Vel rolls her eyes then walks out. 

“If that was real…” you exhale, 

“I guess I really know now… know what you are.”

He pauses, then sits up straight, “What?”

“I’ve been thinking… about school, back then. You’ve changed so much since then. And if I’m remembering it all correctly: your eyes, your fangs, the blood. I mean come on, Miguel, I know. You’re a… vampire,”

“Wait… what?” 

He looks confused, offended even.

“A vamp– you know what, I can see how you would think that.” 

Confusion is wiped off his face, replaced with amusement. You stare at him, waiting for more.

“So you can see how– are you denying it or…?”

He runs a hand through his waves. 

“I can see how you would think that. I know how it looks,” he laughs, looking down, then he sees you’re serious, so he gets serious.

“I had an accident at Alchemax, uhh last year. Someone sabotaged my work, and it mutated my genes. I’m just… mutated,” he nods as if it were as simple as that.

“And all of that?” you ask, pointing to the mopped up floor, wanting more. He ignores you, and continues,

“This is beyond confidential. This is life or death. I’m not even supposed to be– they’ve been after me before. They either want to kill me, or they want me as their soldier, I mean this isn’t… I shouldn’t even–”

“So you don’t… drink blood?”

He scowls at you, then stands up, towering over you, “No, I don’t drink blood. I mean sure, sometimes I have frenzies that make me think I need blood, I mean the spider part of me, but– I just, I take care of it, I manage.”

“I’m still considering you a vampire–”

“No more questions; you’d just become more of a liability. I don’t want them to have the option of torturing it out of you. That’s it. I’ve said my piece.”

“Torture?” 

He nods. You sit in shock, trying to process all of it. 

“Spider?”

“That’s enough for today. You shouldn’t have been there, I never wanted you to see me like that, I already knew being this close, living this close to you would be a risk… But seriously, you’ll stumble upon it when it’s time, trust me–”

“It? Mig, if there’s more, I’m here now, just–”

“That’s enough for today,” he asserts, shutting you up effectively. 

You lay back down, massaging circles into your temples.

“God, excuse me for asking. I’m sure if you had claw marks slashed across you, and heard someone screaming bloody murder night after night across the hall, you would be this curious too, I mean–”

“Claw marks? Where?”

“No, I was just saying–”

He’s still towering over you, intimidating you, questioning you now.

“Where.” he demands.

“My hips, okay. Jesus, my hips.” You nervously pat your side. 

He drops back to his knees. Your stomach does flips. 

He looks down at your sweatpants, then back up at you, fingertips in your waistband.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, sure,” you exhale nonchalantly, trying to catch your breath, and act unfazed by the way his touch makes you feel. 

He slides your sweatpants down slowly to your mid-thigh, your underwear is exposed, but he pays no attention to it; he looks at the side of you, the healing claw marks, worry in his eyes.

He lightly drags his fingertips across them, then looks up at you. It’s gentle, and caring, and soft, and it goes against everything you saw a few hours ago. 

You exhale, and run your fingers through his hair. This is going to be complicated, but you know you care about him, and you feel he cares about you, and you can’t walk away from him, not when he just found his way back into your life. 

His eyebrows are still furrowed, looking down at all of the damage, thinking of all the damage.

“I was just trying to check on you. I thought you were the one being pinned down. I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay. Now I’m just… traumatized,” you exhale.

“Me? Being pinned down? That’s funny. I’d never be in that position,” he shrugs, you smile, then slowly bring your sweatpants back up. 

He hangs his head low, exhales, then nods, and looks up at you. “But I’m sorry. I get it. I would’ve done the same for you, in a heartbeat.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. He looks down at your hips, then back up at you, and stands up again. 

“It’s not. I know that was a lot. I’ll make it up to you, this whole night, all of it, I’ll make it all up to you. But for now, rest, process. I can stay here with you,” he whispers, sitting beside you. 

You both sit, quietly, processing, absentmindedly watching the cooking show he’s put on.

****

Going to post Vampire Next Door exclusively on w*ttpad now because I feel discouraged everytime I post VND chapters on here (it’s just a personal mental thing) and I think tumblr is just better for shorter, sweet and simple works. Thank you for the love *ੈ✩ 

[lacedinweb22]

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Desperate to breed, desperate for your scent ༶ Miguel O'Hara headcanons nsfw 18+

⊹ He’ll sneak your used underwear out of your hamper, keeping them out on his desk in his home office, sniffing them to soothe his stress and nerves, but mostly when he’s craving you. He’ll imagine you, squirming and whining as he eats you out. He’ll imagine how you taste, remembering how your fresh heat smells, as his nose rubs against your throbbing bud, all while keeping his nose pressed against your lace panties. He gets off on it. He’ll try to control himself, but every now and then, he’ll release a shameful load into them, imagining his tight, lacy fist were you, though he knows too well it’ll never compare. After you search all over your apartment for them, he’ll return them in a week, now freshly washed and ready to be wet again. You roll your eyes when he returns them to you, as he defends himself, “couldn’t help it, mamas, you smell too good to wash away so soon,” he’ll shrug, kissing your neck, “I just needed to savor it.” 

⊹ Miguel is animalistically desperate for you when you’re ovulating. He fights to ignore his dirty thoughts, but his heightened senses make your hormones smell one million times stronger, the sweet musky smell driving him insane. He usually keeps his distance, trying not to overwhelm you with his intense desire, but mostly fails and ends up smothering you on these special days, which you don’t mind. He’s always obsessed with you, but those days, he’s like a desperate animal, craving your taste and your wet warmth. 

⊹ He wants to make sure it takes. After filling you up with his hot thick liquid, he’ll finger you, curling his fingers back up into you, pumping his seed back into you, hoping it’ll stick and make you plump with his child in a few months time. He doesn’t even realize/acknowledge how obsessive he can be about it; it’s natural to him. You moan, concealing your smile, as you let him satisfy his instinctive desires. 

⊹ He lends you t-shirts to wear and sweat in for one whole week, knowing your scent and musk will be absorbed into it. He makes it a job for you to complete, handing it to you, expecting his shirts back in one week, drenched in your scent. When he goes home, he puts one on immediately and wears it as pajamas all week until the smell wears off. 

⊹ He loves the smell of your sweat. Especially the sweaty essence you bring home after you work out or after a long summer day. He’ll embrace you right at the door, digging his nose into your neck, or burying his head into your chest and underarms. When you resist out of embarrassment or exhaustion, he begs and whines for you to let him smell you all over, asking to help you undress for your shower so he can smell you all the way up until you wiggle out of his grasp and begin to shower the long day off of you. As he undresses you, he buries his face into every corner of you. He’ll kneel down, undressing you, pressing his nose in between your inner thighs, inhaling and humming against your skin. You can’t help but blush and giggle at his simple, kind of embarrassing but harmless requests. He’s obsessed and addicted to you, and you love it. It reassures you that he craves your skin and entire existence as much as you crave him. 

[lacedinweb22]

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Seven Minutes in Heaven ༺ ♱☽🦇☾♱ ༻ (Halloween edition) Miguel O'Hara x reader ♱ 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 501. 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 <3

-G ⋆୨୧˚