#no fucks about noise cancellation were given that day

[cinnamoncountess]

they were wild for this xxx [tags by @atleastistillhaveyou]

[alltimefail]

I'm sure someone has already shared these three things, but I'm going to as well:

(Source 1, 2, 3)

I am a realist, and I'm telling you all, with the utmost confidence, that there is hope for saving this show so long as we continue to fight. The cast and crew themselves have given, and continue to give, every indication that there is hope for this show.

As we make noise online and advocate for it, the showrunners are given the ammo they need to fight behind the scenes, so DO NOT STOP.

Worst case? You pour a shit ton of love onto a story that is meaningful to you, and onto people who played a role in bringing it to life. Best case, we drum up enough noise that viewership increases (this is already happening), and the show is ultimately saved.

Many shows have been saved. Ours can be, too. There is absolutely no reason to despair. Dead Boy Detectives was released on two "Best-Of" lists just today. The Sun, the Los Angeles Times, Esquire, CNet, and even the goddamn DAILY MAIL are just a few notable publications that revered Dead Boy Detectives and lamented its cancellation THIS WEEK. Dead Boy Detectives has the best audience score of any DC television adaptation to date; the only one that I found that's even in the same league audience-wise is The Penguin which is new and being called a "Hit..." and IT HAS THE SAME AUDIENCE SCORE AS DEAD BOY DETECTIVES (91%).

Dead Boy Detectives even has a better critic and audience score than its parent show, The Sandman, for fucks sake. Its audience score beats out some of the longer-running DC shows by a mile. It is, objectively, a success.

So keep making noise, keep streaming like the actors are still encouraging you to do. I'll tell you this; it's been two months of silence from Netflix, but that's not a bad thing. They dodged THE NEW YORK TIMES who inquired about the Dead Boy Detectives cancellation by choosing not to give a statement. They know this decision wasn't a good one, and all it takes is the right amount of pressure from audiences to get things done.

I've lamented show cancellations in the past and never fought to save a single one because the numbers were bleak, or Netflix was clear with their reasoning, or even the showrunners themselves told us not to fight because it was a lost cause. That is NOT the case with Dead Boy Detectives. The more we dig, the more we find, and new people are watching this show every day because of the noise being drummed up. The more of us that fight, the better chance we have.

So keep making art and fics, keep making noise, keep recommending this show to anyone who will listen, and believe that we can save this show. The only people who benefit from us giving up are the same ones who canceled it, and why should we give them that satisfaction?

[noirscript]

call avoidance.

Yandere Hotline: 3/?

featuring: implied drugging. implied tresspassing. lots of male masturbation. unsolicited phone sex (?). implied kidnapping. AFAB!Reader (yan calling reader mommy)

note: this is written while half-asleep. not edited. brain go brrr. i'll add the src some time.

Dealing with mad people can drive anyone insane. But if you're given a hefty sum to keep the insane ones company, you'll take. Life is tough, but you can choose your own hell.

"Got you some drink. Your favorite flavor," Heidi, your 'neighbor' in cubicle, said cheerfully as she placed the drink and sandwich on your spot.

"Well, who are we kidding." You shook your head before placing the plastic cup in your trash bin along with the tasty sandwich that came with it. "They're really persistent, you know?"

You smiled sheepishly as you arrange your cubicle to start a new day. Unlike your workmates, your place is quite neat and devoid of anything that would identify that spot as yours.

No personal images pinned on the corkboard. Not even a framed picture of whoever inspires you to get up and work hard without becoming insane yourself.

Upon accepting the job offer, you made sure to draw the most visible line to keep your personal life to yourself. You've heard some stories—some myths—about some agents disappearing without any trace overnight. Like they never existed in the first place.

"I hope they fuck off, you know?" You sighed before putting on your noise-cancelling headphones. "May we survive this shift," you grumbled as you wait for the first call with baited breath.

You have frequent customers. Most of them were pleasant to talk to. Let's just say that they're not exactly the dangerous type of callers. Those type clients were, most likely, drawn to the idea of being a 'yandere' as a fantasy. Sometimes, there's a hint of sexualization.

Almost every person on the floor are taking calls. Including you. However, your gut's been telling you to ignore the call. Maybe it's one of those unhinged callers who believes that you're theirs. Like they own you and all of your time.

You still have some available credits for call avoidance since you rarely used your credits. Surely, this one call will not affect your performance rating.

While waiting for the phone to stop ringing, you decided to clean up your work email. Being bombarded with useless newsletters about food and books on sale is the worse. Not only does it make your inbox crowded, it's also spammy.

You were fightung the urge to just select all and delete everything at once when you suddenly heard a notification. One after another.

One from your email, another one from your messaging app, and lastly—from the internal chatroom.

You opened the email with an attachment. It was a blank email but as soon as the preview for the attachment appeared, you almost gagged.

It was an image of a man's cock. There were translucent liquid splattered everywhere while the tip of his dick is on a cup—filled to the brim with iced coffee with foamy top. Your favorite.

Your hands were shaking as you exit the window of the website. You clicked the messaging app first. 'Perhaps it was just a promotional message from one of those companies.'

But no.

It was a message from a private number. You don't have any idea how they did it, but they kept sending you images. Most of them were blurry, but the ones with better quality almost made you vomit.

It was taken in a small room. At first, the room was dark, but eventually the image light up. His face was blurred, but you could clearly see what he was doing.

He was fucking your pillow. The one you've been using since you've moved in a better place with better security.

You were confused. And scared.

How could he easily enter your place? Your keys are with you and only the management has access to other duplicates.

"No way..." you whispered as you close the messaging app's window.

One bomb was dropped after another. And you knew something's off.

[NOTICE OF TERMINATION]

Due to multiple reports of call avoidance and drop calls, the management has decided to relieve you from your position as an agent effective immediately.

As we value your well-being, rest assured that you will be receiving your full payment for the next three months along with the other benefits that the company has sworn to provide you.

We sincerely appreciate your efforts for the last three years. We wish you all the best from this day forward.

You were devastated, yet relieved upon reading the letter. You've been wanting to receive this for months. It was the only way out of this place and this industry. You've also managed to save up a lot that you can start fresh somewhere. Far from this place.

Another phone call managed to bypass the automatic system of the place. You took a deep breath before accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"I can't... wait... haah..." the man on the line was clearly doing himself. By the eay he sounds, he's probably close. "We'll move to a big house... haah... hngg... a baby, a babyyy... nhnn... come home..."

Your eyes widened upon hearing your name. Not the screen name you gave them, but your legal full name.

"Let me... hngg... make you a mommy... d'you want that, huh?" You could a wet sloppy noises in the background. "Tiny baby... sucking on your tits... while I make a mess out of you?"

"Ap—"

"No need for... apologies..." he was breathing heavily. "I'll see you soon, okay?

"Heimdall."

He chuckled. "That's me, my princess... took you long enough to say my name."

"How did you get into my house?" you asked while gritting your teeth.

"Patience, my love. We could talk all about it once you're home. Should I get you something to eat? Chicken? Cake? Sandwich? Coffee?"

"I'm done with you."

You immediately pressed the end call button before gathering your things and left. Not even a farewell to your friends.

But there's something you should probably know.

Heidi can't wait to be an aunt and to be your sister-in-law!

[diazsdimples]

After the lightning, Buck downloads just about every weather app he can find. He doesn’t tell anyone - because he knows they’d immediately become concerned - he’s terrified of thunderstorms. If it’s forecast to be rainy, he’ll check, double check, and triple check that it’s only rain, and not a storm too. What he doesn’t know, is Eddie’s done the same thing.

The first storm happens a couple of months after Buck goes back to work, and he's ready for it. It's one of their nights off, so he gathers all the blankets in the loft, makes himself a little nest with his laptop, a hot water bottle, and some noise canceling headphones and he hunkers down for the night. He's just squeezed his eyes shut after the first flash of lightning when his phone rings. It's Eddie. Initially he doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't want to have anyone asking him how he is right now, but he also knows Eddie will just keep on ringing until he picks up. So he does.

Not once during that call does Eddie ask how Buck is. He immediately lauches into a long tale about Christopher's new crush, which turns into a story about the main characters on the telenovela he watches and "how the fuck have they not figure out they're in love yet", and finally they end up debating the pros and cons of having a smart fridge that shows you what's inside without having to open the door. Buck hangs up feeling a little confused, wondering what the occasion was for such a call, but the storm has passed and he didn't have a panic attack.

The next storm is in the dead of winter and Buck has been watching it brew for days, his anxiety mounting as it builds. He's planning on doing the same as last time, but then Eddie invites him over for dinner. It's not their usual night, and Chris is away with his grandparents in Texas, so Buck is a little confused but he says yes nonetheless. He's looking forward to some time with Eddie - the two of them have been toeing the line between friends and something more ever since the lightning, with long lingering touches and late night phone calls. When he gets there, Eddie has ordered them pizza, there's a case of beers on the coffee table, blankets on the couch, and a new sound system that looks like it could blow the windows out of the Sistine Chapel if given half a chance.

They have a really nice evening and Buck manages to ignore the way the clouds are churning outside, how the wind picks up and rain begins to splatter against the windowpanes. He's comfortable on the couch, with Eddie a warm line against his side from how closely they're pushed together. When the room lights up from the first strike of lightning, Buck jumps. He looks around wildly, just barely fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the thunder booms. Eddie looks up from their movie, and turns up the sound on the TV until the thunder is inaudible. He places a hand on either one of Buck's shoulders and gently guides him down until he's settled against Eddie's chest. Eddie's arms wrap around Buck, holding him from behind and Buck can feel the fear slowly receeding.

"It's okay," Eddie whispers in his ear. "I've got you. You're safe."

The storm rages outside, but Buck doesn't panic. He's safe, in Eddie's arms, and though he might jump and his breathing might speed up every time there's a flash, Eddie strokes his arms and pets his hair and finally, almost nervously presses a kiss to Buck's forehead.

"Is- is this okay?" he asks Buck, so quietly that if it weren't for the fact that his lips were brushing Buck's ear, Buck wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah," Buck replies, burrowing closer into Eddie's chest as his heart blooms with love, the warmth spreading down to his toes. "I'm safe."

[imrllytootiredforthis]

The ‘bad’ kind of desire

pairing: soobin x reader

synopsis: you can't touch him, because he's too innocent, too sweet. but god you wish you could.

warnings: implied fem reader (can't remember if it's outright said), dom reader, sub soobin, masturbation, fingering, lowkey corruption kink, mentioned mommy kink, think that's really it

a/n: the first portion of this fic has been in my drafts since roughly july last year and was in my notes app for a few months - at least - longer than that so don't even ask me how old this really is, but at least it's out!!😭

“Am I bad person?”

Beomgyu scoffs, looking at you with eyebrows raised. He nearly laughs at the ridiculous statement coming from your mouth.

"What?"

And that makes him lose it, unable to even hold it back as he barks out a laugh, looking at you as if you've grown a second head. 

It’s a hard thing to fathom coming from you given that you’ve definitely never had any qualms about your morality when it comes to this kind of stuff. “Really? You’re asking me that?”

His best friend sits across the room, oblivious to the conversation, his headphones pulled over his ears, the game he’s playing flashing on the computer screen in front of him.

Soobin.

Sweet sweet Soobin, messy blonde hair left unbrushed, pajamas still on, not bothering to change as this was all he was planning to do all day.

Sweet Soobin who you can’t help but want to play with. 

Who you can’t help but imagine how pretty he’d look with tears in his eyes.

"I'm not fucking around Gyu-am I a bad person?"

You groan and flop over on the couch, rolling over to rest your head in Beomgyu’s lap, looking up at him with a comically-in his opinion-concerned expression. 

He gives you nothing but an exaggerated eye-roll. "Don't even start."

“But aren’t I?” You look again at the boy across the room, wondering why, why he had to be so stupidly adorable. His lips were twisted into a small pout and why it was so fucking cute.

Why? You wondered, feeling like this was all you were doing nowadays.

Beomgyu resists the urge to roll his eyes at you for the second time in a row, now at the way that you look at his best friend like some kind of lovesick fool, especially considering that all you really wanted was get into his pants. It didn’t really make sense, but hey, who was he to judge? 

“Why? Just because you want to rock his shit? Step on him and make him cry? That makes you question your morality? Out of everything that you've done?”

You gasp, slapping his chest. “He’s right there.” You hiss, not exactly denying the words.

He ignores that, shoving you off of him. He knows as well as you do that those headphones are the expensive noise cancelling ones that he'd gotten from you last Christmas. He barely hear himself yelling at his online teammates much less your hushed conversation.

You look at him as if you want to take him out on a nice picnic date and let him lay his head in your lap while playing with his hair pointing at clouds. Which Beomgyu couldn’t really see in any world, you were never really the type. 

But who knows? Maybe you were really just that eager for his dick at this point-or the more probable scenario-have him on your dick, that it broke something inside you.

“Why’re you so concerned now? Not like you had any issues with Yeonjun or Taehyun. Hell, you kept up everyone else in the dorms,” His voice goes higher as he attempts to poorly mock his roommates. “‘Y/N, more~’ ‘please, I need it-need y-‘“

“Shut the hell up.” You spit, quickly covering his mouth with your hand while your eyes flicker once more to him, still staring intently at his game.

Really, why were you so concerned now? 

Beomgyu was right. You’d had no problem doing the same to them, to Tae and Yeonjun, but they were different-he was different. 

Soobin was different than any of them. They were the product of having fun with someone you knew like the back of your hand and vice versa. Simply satisfying-albeit unimportant-a matter of getting your rocks off with people you knew could find your clit and would let you hit it from the back.

Soobin was Soobin though. The sweet boy who looked at you with the most innocent smile. 

Who got all blushy and embarrassed when you so much as lightly and non-vulgarly flirted with him.

He’d squeak and duck his head away when you called him bunny - again, non-vulgarly, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing and it turned him on-just a little bit.

In other words, painfully obviously, it was clear.

“He’s a virgin!” You hiss, hand still clamped over his mouth despite his garbled reply. You know just as well as Beomgyu knows how bitchless his friend is. Despite the fact that offers for him were nearly endless he was too shy, too awkward to accept said advances. “-I can’t take that away from him, it needs to be special, it needs-“

Your hand, still over his mouth is touched by something warm and wet and you shriek, pulling away quickly with a look of disgusted horror. “Are you serious right now?”

“Fight me bitch, I will not hesitate.” He growls, looking triumphant with the fact that you’ve now backed up to the edge of the couch.

You roll your eyes at him, looking once again at Soobin.

Fuck, why does he have to be so adorably innocent?

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, wiping at his mouth. "Just trust me, he'd be happy to be used by you. He might be a virgin, but he's nowhere near innocent."

"And what do you mean by that?" You sit against the arm of the couch, wiping Beomgyu's saliva onto the cushions.

He lets out a dry laugh, glancing back at Soobin before reaching for the previously forgotten remote control. "It means he wouldn't be as freaked as you think he would be if he found your sex toy collection."

—-

You suppose Soobin had always been special in some sort of way.

Always there over the span of time that you'd known all of them. Sitting off to the side while you hung out with the others. In his own room while you were fucking around with his other roommates. Playing his game while you were hanging out with Gyu.

He'd caught your eye more than once or twice, or three times over the years.

He was hot. You'd never discount that. Hot in the loser-y, adorable, cute, corruptible kind of way.

But then again, that kind of was your type if you thought about it.

You'd never been particularly close with him like you'd been with the others. He'd never made much effort to hang out with you but he was there when all the others were, if not one-on-one.

And he got really, really embarrassed when you tried to flirt with him like you did the others.

You didn't mind much, you'd just come under the impression that he was kind of scared of women. Which was also kind of cute.

But Beomgyu was right when he'd said that you'd never cared much about morals in the first place.

It didn't matter how close of friends or if they were a virgin or whatever other silly things that made things like that 'trivial'.

Life was too short to pretend you didn't feel things and besides. Sometimes, you really, just...didn't care.

And it wasn't personal, when you wanted someone, you would pursue it and if there was now friend groups you'd single handedly broken up, well they'd clearly made it personal themselves because you always made it very clear that there was no feelings involved.

Besides the raw, hot tension that made your skin tingle like your nerves were livewire.

Soobin was different though, special.

You felt bad for wanting him. For wanting to dirty him up.

He was something pure, something beyond and above you, perhaps and that was something you weren't willing to ruin, no matter what Beomgyu told you.

—-

"Fuck," he panted, "please,"

The room was dark, the light of his laptop being the only thing illuminating his face.

"Please,"

Sounds filled his ears through the crappy pair he'd owned for years, refusing to get wireless ones.

"Please."

"Bet you fucking like that, don't you?" The voice, only a few octaves higher than your own, still sent shivers down his spine.

Close enough.

"You're a such a dirty slut, you know?"

He whined into his sleeve, a sweater paw pressed over his mouth to keep the moans at bay. "I'm sorry, no, no please I'm sorry~" It wasn't doing a very good job muffling his voice though.

"I need it~"

The video seemed to respond to his desperate pleas. "If you need it so fucking bad then you'll be a good boy and wait for mommy's permission. You hear me?"

Or maybe he'd just watched this video so many times he'd memorized all of the male counterpart's lines. "Yes mommy," he panted, "I'll be good, I-I'll wait for your permission!"

He wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't.

He couldn't, as much as he prided himself on being a good boy. This time he knew he wouldn't even make it through the seven minute and thirty-two second video.

Not with you in the next room.

He couldn't tell if you were with Yeonjun or Taehyun. It didn't really matter either way.

Because he would only focus on you.

You weren't loud, having endured enough of Beomgyu's teasing and gripes about your sexual habits. He decided he hated Beomgyu for that.

But he could hear your pants through the paper-thin walls, heavy and followed by your quiet praises. "Sweet boy," you cooed, just as the porn on his laptop continued, "Naughty boy, such a messy little-" He ripped the earbuds out mid-sentence.

He wanted to hear you.

Not some substitute for the real thing.

He could imagine if you walked it on him right now.

Laying spread out on his bed, pants not even all the way off-just messily pulled below his hips, just enough for his dick to breathe properly and for his hand to easily slide up and down with the amount of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

"Fucking please." He moaned, quiet and needy.

You'd see him a mess, his soaked through sleeves catching the drool from his lips, teeth biting into the soft fabric to keep from crying out too loud.

You'd see him shamelessly fucking up into his fist, calling out pleas with no one there to hear him.

"C'mon baby, you can take it, take it all for me." Your voice was accompanied by the wet sounds of what, Soobin wasn't completely sure but his mind quickly conjured a few different theories. "That's it, a little more~"

Fuck him, he wished you were speaking to him.

Cockwarming him, your pussy wrapped around his dick, warm and wet and squeezing around him so good. Fluttering kisses over his face and throat as you teased along the length of him, slowly lifting up just to agonizingly sink back down onto him, clenching tight while he moaned into a kiss.

Or stroking him to another orgasm, making him cum again and again until his body was shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks. Telling him he could take more, do it one more time, for you. Because whatever pain you'd inflict would be worth it, after all it was your hands doing the damage.

"Fuck you look so pretty like this, just makes me wanna fucking wreck you. Turn you into a mindless whore on my dick."

Fuck, so that was what it was.

His mind managed to come up with one more picture through the haze.

You'd have his wrists pinned over his head with one hand, over him, keeping him down with a surprising amount of strength.

God, he could imagine the way you'd look at him. Maybe you'd be kind and gentle, sweet words and a sweet hand, fulfilling every one of his fantasies while calling him your sweet little bunny.

Like you were with whoever you were with on the other side of that wall.

But he doubted it. Or, he hoped not at least.

In his head you'd be meaner, crueler. Look at him with dark, hungry eyes and watch in a sadistic sort of glee when he cried, when he whined, when he begged and pleaded for more.

You'd thrust into him, hard and punishing, slowing down just to make sure that he wasn't crying from serious pain before you'd slam your hips against his, driving the tip of the toy dead into his prostate.

He'd beg you, plead you to slow down, to be nicer to him.

You'd tell him no. Tell him to be a good boy, voice patronizing and low, tell him only good boys get rewards.

God, that’s what he needed right now.

Needed you.

Your words, your touch, your scent, your presence even. You eyes on him, watching as he fell apart.

Not you fucking someone else in a different room.

Liquid heat flowed through his body, scorching and consuming every coherent thought.

"More."

He imagined it was you. Your hands all over him, pressing up against his throat, fondling his balls, purposely, maliciously ignoring where he needed to be touched most while you drove into him over and over and over until he was screaming in ecstasy.

It wasn’t enough, not nearly 

"You just love my cock, don't you angel? Love being fucked by me into a mindless whore?"

He silently cracked the lube open, lathering his fingers in it before letting them drift lower.

He'd done this before, but it had been awhile and the stretch was beyond overwhelming with your words ringing through the wall.

“You’re just a little angel, aren’t you, bunny?” And he pressed a finger inside, thrusting shallowly, breath picking up as you got louder.

"No, you're not an angel. You're a fucking whore, taking it like you were made for it, huh?" A second finger, following the first, scissoring himself open with a quiet gasp.

"Yeah? Fuck, is that it?" You laugh and he swears it's right in his ear, ringing through his head. "'m gonna make you scream for me baby,"

He whines in frustration, his fingers not deep enough - you not deep enough inside of him. No, he needs it deeper, harder.

More.

"Get on top of me baby, ride me," you mutter, so far but so close.

He can imagine, as he settles on his knees, that the pillow he straddles is you. That his legs are around your hips. That his fingers, positioning on the bed under him is your dick and your hands are pressing against his hips, holding him in place.

"You're mine, you hear that? Mine. My perfect little slut, taking my cock like a pretty little slut." His body trembles, eyes rolling back as he slowly sinks down onto three fingers.

"Your's." He moans in reply.

And finally, finally, he reaches his prostate, hitting it head on with his fingers.

Stars burst behind his eyelids as they slip shut, back arching into the intrusion. He could cry, he thinks distantly that he maybe is.

But it doesn't matter.

Because your hands are on his hips, controlling his movements, leading him the way you want him to ride your cock.

Up,

"Slut." You whisper.

and down,

"Whore." You lean up, teeth nipping at his neck but not hard enough to leave marks.

over,

"Baby," Breathing over the shell of his ear.

and over,

"Good boy~" Teasingly biting at his earlobe.

harder,

"Bunny," Kissing along his jaw.

faster,

"Mine." Across his cheek.

deeper.

Just barely there, ghosting across his lips-

"-Cum for me baby,"

And he does. With his mouth hung open, drool covered sleeve long forgotten over. With his eyebrows furrowed and body curled into itself, fingers pressed against his prostate.

Ropes of cum covering his chest, and his face. Some reaching his lips and his chin, staining his skin and landing in his open mouth.

"Fuck,"

And on the other side of the wall, "Good boy,"

a/n: i was thinking about making a part two but honestly if it took me a year to find the inspiration to finish this one, i'm not sure a second one will ever come out😭

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Roomies - Edmund Pevensie x Reader Modern AU!

Word count: 4.2k

I just had a glorious idea about a modern Narnia AU. I'm not British so lmao. Football in this means Soccer. slay

Fem identifying reader. Mention of having long hair.

Summary: Edmund is an asshole AND your roommate. But he also happens to be a really attractive asshole roommate. And apparently, a really possessive one too.

Warnings: Language, smut, mutual pining, SO SWEET at the end!!

I'm down bad for him

"What time will you be back today?" You and Edmund were in the kitchen, eating breakfast before your day of classes began.

You glanced at him, shirtless in all his glory, eating a piece of toast. He was leaning on the counter, watching you butter your own.

"My writing class was canceled so I will be back around 1." Edmund audibly sighs, a sign that he will definitely have company over at that time. "Don't ask me to stay on campus. Just because you can't keep it in your pants doesn't mean I should be exiled from my own home."

Edmund pushes himself off of the counter, chuckling to himself.

"I wasn't gonna ask you anything. I just didn't think you'd be one to listen though." Before you could respond, he was gone.

Several hours later, you pulled into your parking spot in front of your and Edmund's apartment. You had since forgotten about your earlier conversation until you opened your front door to hear the oh-so-delightful noises of Edmund's newest friend moaning at the top of her lungs.

You have to stop yourself from gagging.

"Jesus." The time was 1:30. You had given him thirty extra minutes. "I fucking hate him." This was untrue, as you really did not hate the handsome man who you lived with. Underneath your facade of disdain and disgust, lay your actual feelings toward your roommate. Ever since he took his sister Lucy's spot in the lease for her year abroad, you developed a minor, (major!!!), crush on him. And your feelings of disgust? Totally not jealousy!

You had spent the better half of the last five months trying not to listen to him and his lady friends in his room and pining over him from yours.

How could you not be attracted to Edmund Pevensie? A pre-law major with dark hair and dark eyes, and a dashing smile. Not to mention the spatter of freckles that covered his body, toned from years of playing football. Jesus, you were down so bad for your flatmate.

You set your stuff down on the couch in your shared living space and turned to the sink where his dishes lay, unclean. Still able to hear the actions of the lovely people downstairs, you turn your music up all the way to drown out the noise before unloading the dishwasher and loading it again with his dishes.

Minutes later, the front door opens and closes, signifying that Edmund's friend has left. You turn your music down and focused on the plate you are scrubbing, dried mac and cheese would not come out in the dishwasher, as Edmund walked up the stairs.

"Ah. So you are home." His accent makes you smile the slightest bit. You can see him in your peripheral, shirtless with grey sweats low on his hips. You move your eyes away quickly. "Did you enjoy what you heard, darling?" Rolling your eyes, you look at him, not giving into the flutter of your heart when he called you darling.

"You're a pig, Pevensie." You weren't anticipating his next move and were startled when his lips were suddenly on your cheek.

"You love me."

"Ew!" Glaring at him, you wipe the wetness from his lips off of your face and then wipe your hand on a paper towel only to find him grinning at you. You do a once-over of his uncovered torso, which you could now see was adorned with scratches and bruises. "Go put a shirt on." Edmund glances down, smile widening, before looking back at you.

"And cover up the view? Nah." You move to put the plate you had been washing away in the cabinet and then suddenly, Edmund is behind you, his body only inches from yours.

You try to ignore the heat radiating off of his bare skin and how his fingers brush yours when he reaches above you to grab a bowl. He steps away quickly and if he noticed a change in your demeanor, he didn't bring it up. You left the kitchen area, grabbed your backpack, and went to your room.

How in the world did he have this effect on you? As soon as your door was closed and you were safe in the comfort of your bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief. A buzz pulled your attention from your feelings toward Edmund to your phone.

r u going to the party tn???

It was your friend Alyssa, whom you had met freshman year in your Intro to Psychology class.

You know I don't like parties.

You flop on your bed, awaiting her pleading response. In truth, you didn't hate parties, you just didn't see the point in going out and getting drunk with strangers when you could get drunk in the pleasure of your own home.

im coming over at 8 and we are getting ready together

You knew there wouldn't be a point in fighting her on the topic since sooner or later she would have convinced you to go.

Hours later, after Edmund had left for his evening classes, and also the party you presumed, Alyssa knocked on your front door and seconds later walked into your room.

"Is he here?" You sit up on your bed, your book falling onto your comforter beside you.

"No." Alyssa had gone straight into your closet, pulling out an outfit for you to wear.

"Good. That way he won't know you are going tonight." Your eyebrow quirks up.

"What does that mean?"

She turned to you, a smirk gracing her tanned face.

"We both know that if your roomie knew you were going tonight, he would have texted all his little friends to keep away from you."

This was true and it was annoying, but one night while drunk, you had let it slip to him that you were a virgin. Since then, Edmund had made sure that no guys would talk to you at parties.

You made no effort to argue and reached over to pick up what she had chosen for you to wear. It was simple, a pair of faux leather pants and a black lace corset. (the urban one iykyk)

"Alyssa, I haven't worn this top out-"

"All the more reason to wear it tonight! C'mon! It will be fun! Besides, maybe Ed will finally take notice of your feelings and how hot you are."

"Alyssa!" She smiles.

"Ok fine. But maybe you'll meet another guy. Since our good friend hasn't had time to scare anyone away."

The idea intrigues you, maybe you'd have a good time tonight.

You notice what she is wearing, a pair of straight-leg jeans and a black tank top. She looks amazing, as always. You get up to sit at your desk to begin applying your makeup.

"So what do you suppose he will do when he sees you looking all sexy?"

"Nothing?" Your reply earns you an eyebrow raise.

"Nothing? You don't think he's gonna react at all?"

You shrug, leaning forward to perfect your winged eyeliner.

"There is nothing he can do now. If he wants to try and ruin my night, he can go ahead. If I'm going to this party, I intend on having a good time." Alyssa giggles.

"Maybe even get laid?" You whip around in your chair to glare at her.

"Seriously?" Her laughter grows.

"Hey, if not by Edmund, you're bound to find someone at this party!"

Your heart beats faster at the thought.

...

You and Alyssa arrive at the party at around eleven. It has been going on for about an hour so it had grown quite large. The other girls around you are dressed similarly to you, bringing some comfort into the oddness you felt about your appearance. Alyssa had requested you wear your hair down and straight and you obliged.

To be honest, you did look amazing. The corset had been a perfect fit, makes your chest look fantastic, and the pants fit you like a glove, hugging your ass so well that when you saw yourself in the mirror, you were surprised. The look was completed with your dark green platform converse, which somehow made you feel comfortable.

While walking through the crowd of people, you keep your eye out for a certain raven-haired boy, but couldn't seem to find him.

"Hey, don't think about him. Just have a good time." Alyssa nudges your arm and you nod, disregarding the looming thought of Edmund's reaction to your appearance at the party.

"You're right. I'm gonna go get a drink." You leave her in a room filled with sweaty university students to find the kitchen, where you presumed the alcohol to be.

To be honest? You felt great. You looked great and with no Edmund around, you had nothing to worry about. If you wanted to flirt with a cute guy, you would.

You round the corner and spot the kitchen, and a pack of Trulys, and made a beeline for the drinks. As you fish a black cherry seltzer out of the box you hear someone call your name.

"Y/N!" You turn abruptly and came face to face with a familiar face.

Sam, a friend of Edmund's from football, smiling at you.

"How are you?" Sam is very attractive, with blond hair and sparkly blue eyes, he's the complete opposite of Edmund.

"I'm alright." You smile at him.

"I didn't expect you to be here."

"Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute decision." You take a swig of your drink as he smiles down at you.

"Well, I'm glad. I was hoping I would be able to speak to you at some point. Ed's always telling the team to stay away from you." You roll your eyes.

"Sorry about that, I don't know why he does that. Is he here tonight?" Sam nods.

"Yeah, he's somewhere around here." Sam glances around, as if nervous that he'd get in trouble for talking to you. "Do you wanna dance?"

"Sure!" Sam takes your hand and leads you back into the room where you left Alyssa, back to the loud music and dancing. It is then that you see Edmund for the first time.

He's walking down the stairs holding hands with a pretty blonde girl who is dressed in a dark green slip dress. You wrap your arms around Sam and pull him into your body. His hands settle on your hips, fingers hooking onto your belt loops and pulling you closer.

You make eye contact with Edmund and his eyes widen and then narrow at the sight of you with Sam. You can see him mouth something to the girl he is with but instead of paying attention to him, you focus on Sam.

The two of you dance to the music and you forget about Edmund. You realize you have run out of your drink and tap Sam's shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just need another drink! Give me like fifteen minutes. I need to check on my friend, too." You smile at him before returning to the kitchen, where you happen to find Alyssa.

"Hi!" Lord, she is drunk. "I've missed you! Where have you been?" You giggle at her antics, pouring yourself a shot of vodka, the burning causing you to make a face as you take it.

"I've been dancing! With a guy named Sam from the football team!"

Her eyes widen in shock and she grins at you.

"OMG. Fucking finally!" She takes the initiative to pour you, and her, another shot.

...

Ten minutes later, and maybe 4 more shots later, you and Alyssa are drunk off of your asses.

"So you're telling me that if Sam wanted to take you home tonight, you'd say no?" Her arm is clasped around your forearm.

"Yes." You can't contain your giggling.

"But why? He's so hot and obviously into you!"

Your face flushes as you think of the real reason you don't want to spend the night with Sam.

"You know why." You take a sip of your newly opened Truly and glare at her.

A deadpan look blooms on her face.

"I forgot." Your eyes roll.

"Because I like someone else!" Alyssa gets really excited at this news.

"WHO?" You shush her, her voice well above the other chatter in the small kitchen you are in.

"You know who!" Her face contorts into confusion.

"No, I don't."

"It's..." You look around, suddenly very aware through your drunken haze, just to make sure there aren't any lurkers to hear your conversation. "It's Edmund!" You whisper.

"Oh! I did know that!" She giggles and takes a sip of her drink. "Yeah, I remember how you said you were jealous of all of the girls he fucked and how you wished he would-"

"Jesus Christ, Alyssa! Shut up!" She continues.

"just fuck you already!" Your face is red and you are mortified. Anyone passing by could have heard what you had been talking about. "Don't worry babe. Everyone here is way too drunk to even remember this conversation. I'm too drunk to remember this conversation!" A small smile graces your lips. "So, how do you want him to do it?" You hit her arm.

"Alyssa!"

"What? I wanna hear about your Edmund fantasies!" Your blush deepens. "C'mon!"

"Fuck- fine. I've always imagined him..." You cannot believe you are speaking your deepest secret aloud, at a party nonetheless. "I don't know. Cornering me in the kitchen." Alyssa squeals.

"Counter sex!" The girl is fucking giddy at the thought of you getting some action in your kitchen. You roll your eyes but nod.

"I guess..." Suddenly, you remember the nice boy you had been dancing with. "Shit! I have to go find Sam! He probably thinks I ditched him. Will you be ok?" She smiles and nods at you.

You trek back into the masses to find the blonde guy and he's right where you left him. You catch his eyes and smile.

"Hey! I'm so sorry. I found my friend and we ended up talking for a bit. I didn't mean to leave you here." He doesn't respond right away and looks away from your eyes, glancing around. "Is everything ok? You look uncomfortable."

"Listen, you are really nice but I don't think this is gonna work out." Confusion wipes across your face.

"What the hell? We were just dancing!" You don't understand what you could have done to make him act this way.

"It's not you, really. It's just-" You cut him off, suddenly very aware of what was happening.

"He told you to leave me alone, didn't he?" Sam looks apologetic as he nods.

"I'm sorry, I really like you." You run a hand through your hair.

"I'm so fucking done with this." You leave Sam and look around for the dark mess of hair you know so well. You're pissed. Even though you weren't going to do anything with Sam, you were still glad to have the option. You decided then and there that you were done with Edmund deciding things for you.

You found him in the kitchen, drinking a beer and laughing with some of his football mates.

"Edmund!" His head turns to you and he grins. "Stop fucking with me!" You somehow have the courage to get all up in his face. His stupid, Goddamn handsome face. "Stop telling any guy I see to stop talking to me. It's my fucking life. Stay out of it."

Edmund licks his lips and his gaze rakes down your body, making you very aware of the fact you are in lingerie in front of your roommate.

"Whatever you say, darling." His friends laugh and you leave before Edmund can see your face heat up. You find Alyssa dancing in the other room and pull her aside.

"I'm ready to leave whenever you are. I can't be around him right now." She nods frantically.

"Omg. Ok. Yeah, let's go!"

The two of you leave the party and begin the, thankfully short, walk to Alyssa's place.

"Do you wanna stay the night?" You thought about what would happen if you went home, would Edmund be home tonight? Would he not? You remember the blonde from earlier.

"No, I'll get an Uber home. I don't think he's going to be home anytime soon and I'd like to sleep in my own bed." Alyssa nods and the two of you talk until your Uber arrives.

"Text me when you get home." You nod and hug her.

"I'm sorry for making you leave early."

"No! If one of us wants to leave, we leave. That's the rule." She ushers you out of her door. "Sleep well!" A grin appears on her face. "With visions of Edmund dancing in your head!"

"Fuck off!" You glare before getting into the car.

As you expect, Edmund is not at the apartment when you get back and you are able to go to your room without him and blondie interfering. A small bubbling of jealousy and anger blooms in your gut when you think about what he is probably doing right now. With her. Shaking it off, you brush your teeth and slip into bed before falling asleep.

...

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. Groaning as you roll out of bed, you close your blinds to make your room dimmer. As you go upstairs you listen for any movement in Edmund's room, praying he isn't home yet. You breathe a sigh of relief when you're greeted with silence on the other side.

As you walk up the stairs, you halt in your tracks as you see him sitting on the couch. Clad in grey sweats and nothing else, he makes your heart flutter, even though you are pissed at him. You don't engage with him at all, avoiding his gaze as you walk to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

While opening the bottle of Advil you hear Edmund move from the couch. You take the meds and open the dishwasher to put your glass inside. When you stand, Edmund is behind you, his hands set on the counter, effectively caging you in. Your breath catches in your throat.

"So, is this how you imagined it?" His voice is right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Me fucking you in the kitchen?" Your eyes widen in shock. His lips graze your neck as he murmurs... "Answer me." Your words are stuck in your throat, thoughts going wild in your head.

Had he heard you and Alyssa last night?

You are brought out of your thoughts when Edmund dips his head further down and kisses where your neck meets your shoulder. "C'mon hun, let me make make you feel good." His lips travel up to your throat and you melt back into his body. He whispers in your ear, "Please?"

His hands leave the counter to rest on your waist, his fingers just slightly touching your bare skin where your shirt had been riding up moments before.

"Don't make me beg, love." He turns you around, bringing his body closer to you. You don't reply, too flustered with his actions to say anything. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Ok, fine. I'll beg." He grins.

Edmund's hands reach down to pick you up, setting you on the counter. He steps in between your legs, setting his hands on your thighs while his thumbs draw circles on your bare skin.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about surprising you in the shower? Just so I could see you naked?" His gaze is still trained on your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've heard you touching yourself in your room? Wishing it was me who was making you feel that way?" He looks down at your lips and then back up to your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this moment? Last night? After I saw you dancing with Sam in that outfit... You looked stunning, my love." He moves to be right above your face, his lips so close they could touch yours. "So many Goddamn times, baby. So please," He pouts the slightest bit. "Let me make you feel good."

Kiss me.

As if he could read your mind, he does. Your hands fly to his hair and pull him into you even more, his lower half fully against you.

And oh.

Oh.

You pull away, looking down at his hips with wide eyes. Edmund laughs.

"Darling this is what you do to me. Every." He kisses your shoulder. "Bloody." Your neck. "Day." Your jaw. He pulls away so you are able to see him. His perfect hair, and his perfect smile, and his perfect freckles.

And the fucking devil in his eyes.

"So are you going to let me act on your fantasies? Or are we just going to go back to you thinking about me when you touch yourself at night and me pretending not to get off on it?" You lean forward to kiss him again and he leans back, running his tongue over his lips. "Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?" A deep blush blooms on your cheeks.

"Yes." It's barely above a whisper but it's audible. When he hears your response, he smiles again.

"Fucking finally."

His lips return to yours and his grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you against him again. You tighten your thighs around him, reveling in the taste of his lips.

"Oh my God." He murmurs against your lips. Your hands travel down his neck and to his bare shoulders and your nails dig into his skin just a bit, making him hiss in sweet pain.

"Fuck." His hands start to pull at your shorts. "Off. Now." You lift yourself up so he can pull them down, along with your underwear. He groans as he looks down. "Bloody hell." One of his hands wipes over his face, taking you in. His bottom lip pulls in between his teeth as he looks into your eyes again. "Darling, I'd absolutely love to taste you but I'm afraid I'll explode if I don't fuck you soon." His fingers find his waistband and he pauses at your wide eyes. "Do you want to do it?"

Holy Hell you can feel the effects of his words on the surface below you. He gently grabs your hands, setting them on his hips. "Go ahead." You do as your told and push the fabric down his thighs. You look away, not quite ready to take witness to your roommates dick.

"I need you to say it one more time. Do you want this?" You look into his eyes.

"Yes." He smiles, his lips on yours and brings himself to your core.

"Take a deep breath, my love." When you do, Edmund pushes into you. The pain takes you by surprise and you let out a grunt of pain. He catches your lips with his and draws patterns on your skin with his free hand. Your nails dig into his back once again and he groans into your mouth when he bottoms out. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last long." He begins moving very slowly. The pain slowly becomes pleasure. "I wanna make this good for you."

You drop your head to his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Ed it's-." His mouth is close to your ear making you hear all of the sounds he's making. "Fuck!"

"Holy shit."

"Ed-" You gasp, hands on his shoulders, as he stops moving.

"Please don't make me stop. I've been wanting this for so long." He lays his forehead on your shoulder and you can tell it's taking every ounce of his self-control not to move.

"No- I was just gonna ask if..." You pause to catch your breath. "if you could go faster.

"Jesus. You're perfect." His breath on your skin makes you flush again and then, the wonderful sensation you had felt moments before begins again.

"You're doing so well, love. So well."

Edmund begins to pick up his pace and you whine into his neck.

"Oh-" Edmund's fingers are suddenly on your clit, forcing your thighs to tighten around his. Your hips rock into his as you feel yourself begin to near your high. With his fingers on your clit, his bruising grip on your thighs, and his fucking dick inside of you, it takes only a few more seconds before you are releasing around him. Edmund moans after feeling you squeeze around him and it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard.

"You're so fucking perfect."

He releases soon after and he catches his breath.

He pulls away, looking at your face.

"Are you ok?" You smile.

Despite his asshole actions of the past 24 hours, Edmund does truly care about you. He's always taken care of you. He always made sure you had dinner, would always cover you with a blanket if you had fallen asleep upstairs, always made you tea and soup when you were sick.

"I'm perfectly fine." You grin at him.

You remember all of his comments to you, all of the pet-names he's called you.

"Ed, how long? How long have you wanted this?" He grins back at you.

"My love it was you the moment Lucy brought you home to visit during Christmas."

"Edmund that was three years ago!" His smile grows.

He dips down to kiss you.

"I'm a patient man."

Wait i heart them

I hope that was enjoyable l o l.

[darksigns-exe]

Sweet Like Honey - Hearts Like House Fires

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol consumption, anxiety attacks, infidelity, swearing, slight angst Word Count: 2.9k Read on AO3

For someone who prefers noise to drown out his own thoughts, he feels oddly at ease sitting next to this practical stranger. He can almost feel her settling into the chilled air. Silence is something he doesn’t award himself very often. And to share it with someone else feels like a form of intimacy that he isn’t exactly used to.

The music outside continues to boom. He can hear it even through the noise-cancelling headphones. Maybe he should be out there. This is as much his success as it is theirs. Noah has poured just as much if not more of himself into this album, but the idea of stepping out there and mingling with people who only care about their music now that it’s picked up in speed feels like the last thing he wants to do right now. 

He wants to be happy about this. The album has turned out so much better than expected and yet the bitter stench remains. The biting and clawing under his skin rarely leaves these days and it’s easier to hide behind the walls of sound than to actually face it. He knows that, as soon as he steps outside this door, they all will ask about her and then he’ll have to explain it all over again. The thought alone is enough to shatter his heart for the hundredth time that day. 

Maybe he should have expected it. It’s all been going too well. They’d been too happy, of course, something had to go wrong. He just doesn’t know how he didn’t see it coming. None of that matters now though. It’s done, he’s the one who has to deal with the aftermath while she’s off with that asshole doing god knows what. 

He’d long drawn his conclusions from it – or rather it had reaffirmed conclusions he had hoped were wrong. If he doesn’t want to get hurt he has to keep people at arm's length. He doesn’t want to be one of those miserable loner dickheads, but he’d rather be alone than allow himself to be subjected to this kind of fuckery again. 

It’s been exactly three weeks and five days since Noah found them in his bed and he swears that the stench of his cologne still hasn’t washed out of his sheets. The sofa in the studio isn’t as comfortable but it’s better than that. He is well aware that they all know that he hasn’t slept in his own bed in almost a month. Everyone except for Nick has had the decency to ignore that detail. He should have known that Nick would be the one to point out that he was only driving himself deeper into that hole. 

Has he listened? Of course not. 

Noah is stubborn above all else and this self-flagellation feels like the best thing he deserves right now. 

Really it’s his own fault. 

He tries to drown the laughter and cheering from outside. Maybe he could brave a quick excursion into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. So far no one has come looking for him, perhaps that is a good sign. Maybe they’ve finally given up on trying to get him to leave it behind . God knows he tries, but three weeks doesn’t feel long enough to leave five years behind. 

Noah pushes away from the desk. Before he opens the door, he listens for a moment. He can’t hear much above the blaring music. He cracks open the door enough so that he can survey the kitchen. Someone is standing by the sink, her back facing towards him. He doesn’t recognise the girl, but that doesn’t mean much. He pushes out of the studio and into the kitchen. She doesn’t hear him enter and if he’s quick enough she won’t even know that he was here in the first place. He still tries to be quiet in his approach. He makes it to the fridge before he hears a startled yelp from behind him. 

“Jesus – fuck .” 

Noah finds her with one hand pressed to her mouth and the other to her chest. Wide, brown eyes stare at him still in deep shock. Her chest is heaving with deep breaths as she tries to calm herself down again. 

He’s stuck at the other end of the room. Something in his chest chokes up. Even at this distance, he can see the bright red under her eyes, the smeared makeup that faintly stains her cheeks. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that she is just now gathering herself again. He knows the shaking of her hands, the trembling in her breath too well. 

The still open fridge beeps with alarm and Noah finally finds himself able to move again. Her eyes snap away from him and towards the main room of the house as if she is expecting someone to join them. 

“Are you okay?” his voice crackles with disuse.

Those wide eyes find him again and the sliver of fear that still lingers behind their warmth shoots through him like lightning. He doesn’t know her name or who she came here with but that absolute look of panic hurts in a way that is way too close to home. The idea that someone in this house – someone he might know – might be responsible for this makes him nauseous. 

Despite all that she nods because of course, she does. He’d do the same thing. 

“You don’t look it.” 

She clears her throat, swallows around a breath “Just a bit of panic.” 

Noah doesn’t understand how someone can look so absolutely devastated but still sound so sweet . There’s a little lilt of an accent that he can’t quite place in her voice. It’s faint but present enough to intrigue him. 

“I just didn’t hear you come in.” he hates that she sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself rather than him. 

He nods “Do you need something? Water?” 

He’s already back at the fridge without waiting for her answer. She’ll say no and try to worm her way out of the situation, he’s been in those very shoes all too often in recent weeks with Nick on the other side of the playing field. 

“I was gonna sit outside for a bit if you want to get some air?” 

The lie comes a little too easy, but maybe whatever tactics Nick has used on him might work on her. She gives a meek nod but waits for him to make the first move towards the sliding door. 

She steps outside behind him. 

It’s still warm outside even though they’re quickly moving towards winter. Not that it ever gets really cold here. The winters here are nothing like the biting cold from his childhood. She still wraps her arms around her body. He finds a somewhat out-of-view spot on the steps that lead down to the yellowed grass and sinks down. She sits next to him and while his feet reach all the way down to the soil, hers rest on the step below the one she sits on. 

“Did you come here with someone?” he asks eventually.

“My friend dragged me here just to disappear with some guy.” there’s a hint of amusement in her words. 

“Who’s your friend?”

“Tasha?” 

Of course, Tasha would be the one to ditch a friend just to get laid.

“I’m not surprised.” 

He watches as she fiddles with the label of her bottle “You know I couldn’t even leave if I wanted to.”

“Some friend you got there. I can go find her if you –”

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that.” this time she actually laughs. 

Noah makes the fatal mistake of looking at her. In the dim light, he can make out the little crinkles around her eyes, the way her nose scrunches up. She catches him looking at her. That smile stays and claws its way into his chest. It’s entirely out of left field and he doesn’t have the opposition to fight it. The feeling sits on his chest like a stack of bricks. Unmoving and heavy. It’s oppressive in a way that he really doesn’t want right now. 

“I’m Noah.”

“Bee.” 

Oh of course her name is as sweet as she looks. 

She holds her hand out for him to shake. He takes it and tries very hard not to think about how his hand practically envelopes hers. He doesn’t let go immediately, instead, he pulls her arm towards him to inspect the lines and patterns that decorate her skin. It’s some kind of floral motif. The time he has spent hovering behind Nick tells him it’s neotraditional. Noah turns her arm a little and she lets out a giggle . 

He can’t let himself be drawn in by her. This — if anything — has to remain friendly, purely platonic. 

He does release his grasp on her eventually. Bee remains close to his side though. He thinks that maybe the proximity helps to ease the probably still-wired nerves in her body. Or maybe he’s projecting. 

“Does that happen often?” He doesn’t know why he asks. It’s none of his business. 

“What do you mean?”

“The anxiety.”

“How do you —“

He lets out a dry laugh “Know it when I see it.” He shifts, so that can look at her properly “Listen, I'm not gonna pry. Not my place. All I want to know is if someone in here made that happen.”

She’s quiet for a suspiciously long time. And Noah watches as her manicured fingers pick at a loose thread in her jeans. It’s all a little too familiar. 

“I think it was just the noise. I don’t really know.”

They both know that it wasn’t just the noise, but Noah also knows that him trying to dig an answer out of her is the last thing she needs. He decides to drop the topic and instead allows the silence to simmer between them. 

It’s comfortable. 

For someone who prefers noise to drown out his own thoughts, he feels oddly at ease sitting next to this practical stranger. He can almost feel her settling into the chilled air. Silence is something he doesn’t award himself very often. And to share it with someone else feels like a form of intimacy that he isn’t exactly used to. There is no place to hide in the quiet, no place for his thoughts to go. In the quiet, he can’t distract from the fact that he is about as lost as she looked when he first saw her leaning on the counter in front of the sink. 

It becomes too much eventually. The dark at the corners of his vision keeps creeping in and instead of trying to shake it, he finds another momentary distraction. 

“I’ve never seen you around here,” he asks and the sudden noise makes her jump just a little. 

Bee places the now empty bottle next to her on the stairs “I’m only here because Tasha didn’t want to go alone.” 

“Can’t believe Tash’s never brought you around before.” 

“She offered.” the words come quiet and he gets it “Just been…busy I guess.” 

“I feel like I’d know if you’d work at the shop, so it’s not that. And if you’d for a label Tasha would have made you come around sooner.” he wonders out loud. 

Noah likes to think that he’s fairly good at reading people and so far she isn’t giving him the feeling that she doesn’t want this back-and-forth to continue. 

“You’re still like super cold.” 

“Alright…something creative?” 

“Cold.” 

“Academic?” 

“Warmer.”

“Tasha knows people that know things?” 

Her body seizes with one of those laughs that is more of a forceful exhale. It’s sweet. 

“I thought she only knows hot people and guys in bands .” his attempt to keep her laughing seems to be successful “Alright academic…you’re not a doctor of something are you?”

She shakes her head “Not yet at least.” 

“Big plans. I like that.” he swears that her cheeks get a little bit pinker at that “Not a doctor…so probably not medicine. Law? No, you don’t strike me as a law person. Languages?”

“Warm.” 

“Do you know how many languages there are?”

Bee looks more than amused at his incredulous expression. She shakes her head “I’m a paleographer.”

“A what now?”

Her body shakes with laughter. It’s warm and gentle and most of all it’s genuine.

“I work with mediaeval manuscripts and writing systems. Deciphering and dating and that kinda stuff.” She explains “I’ve been teaching for a couple of years, but I want to do more research again.”

It’s like he’s opened a dam because she doesn’t stop talking after that. There’s passion in every word and even though he only understands about half of the things she’s throwing at him he can admire how much she loves what she does. It’s almost as if the girl in front of him has been swapped out at some point because the timid and insecure words she’d offered before were now so emblazoned with love that it makes his head swim a little. He can easily see her in the front of a classroom swaying those bored faces. 

And she isn’t talking down to him either. It’s a full onslaught of terminology and when he asks what a specific term means she explains it with so much practised patience that he actually feels as if he’s learning something.

For the first time in almost four weeks since he found himself swimming in the middle of this near-endless void he doesn’t feel as if he’s drowning anymore. Bee doesn’t know about any of it. She barely knows who he is, bar his name and a few arbitrary details, but the last hour and a half has been the most meaningful conversation he’s had in ages. It feels as if he’s known her for years and in an odd way he feels as if he’s been missing her. 

It’s refreshing to talk to someone who is entirely removed from the madness he deals with every day. She has her own entirely different madness that couldn’t be more different than his. He wants to hear all about it, every trivial detail. She listens with the same attentiveness as he awards her and he thinks that for once someone actually hears him. The topics between them shift and change with the wind. It’s easy — comfortable. 

There’s a spell of silence between them when he notices her shiver. Noah debates himself briefly before he tugs off his sweatshirt and unceremoniously drapes it across her shoulders. He can feel her seizing up for a second when his hands touch her shoulders. She relaxes again after a few moments and to his surprise she slips it over her head. She swims in the garment that runs a little too large even on him and Noah doesn’t miss the little laugh she lets out when she tries to arrange her arms within the sleeves. 

“I can fit another one of me in this.” She says quietly.

He could probably fit himself into it as well if he tried hard enough. For a second his head drifts off into dangerous territory when he wonders how warm her skin feels, how soft it’d be. He shakes the thought from his head as quickly as he can. 

Arms. Length. 

She’s telling him about her cat, a little black thing named Barnabas when the sliding door behind them shifts open. 

“There you are.” Noah doesn’t have to turn around to know the source of the voice “I’ve been looking for you. I’m gonna head back home if you want a ride back.” Tasha comes to lean against the bannister next to him “I hope this asshole has behaved himself.” 

She throws a rather pointed look towards Noah. It’s deserved in a way. 

“No no, he’s been…very nice.” Bee quickly gets up on her feet “I think I should probably head back with you.” 

Noah wants to offer her a ride back but they’ve just met and he wants to spare her the awkward no thank you . That way he can keep her separate from himself for a little while longer. Tasha mumbles something neither of them really listens to before she heads back inside. 

They stand suspended in silence for a while. When he had previously felt so comfortable in the silence, he now feels bare and exposed in her eyes. The words he could say hang between them. The options are endless. 

“I’ll — I’ll see you around?”

A quiet way to say don’t let me become a stranger. It’s non-committal enough. 

She nods “Sure…I’d like that.”

“Good.”

It’s an unspoken promise. Unseen fingers that beg not to let the other vanish into the dark. 

She takes a step towards the sliding door and Noah thinks that this is it. That she’ll leave and this little bubble will pop and he’ll return to the space in the studio that is almost moulded to his frame now. 

She stops before she opens the door “Thank you, Noah. Really.”

Thank you he wants to say. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He says instead “Happy to help.”

She huffs out a laugh and pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt “I’ll go — Tash’s waiting.”

“Sure.” 

And then she does leave. He watches her slip through the crack in the sliding door, his sweatshirt still on her back. Bee waves to someone inside — Nick he assumes before she’s finally out of view. 

Noah doesn’t go back inside immediately. He sits back down on the stairs for a little longer. 

The drowning feeling doesn’t come back immediately. Only when he lies back on the sofa does it start to settle in his chest again. Maybe he should have asked for her number. Just to stay in touch. As friends. 

He doesn’t know that halfway across the city a young woman realises that she went home with the sweatshirt of a guy she barely knows. And he doesn’t know that she feels just a little bit warmer at the thought of him. Or that she lies awake wondering if she should have asked for his number. To stay in touch. Nothing more.

[toloveawarlord]

Event: Be My Valentine 2023 (Edition: Valentine's Day)

Pairing: Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

Prompt: "Spread those legs for me, beautiful"

Rating: 18+ Explicit

wc: 1.6k

a.n.: I am a simp for Ran Haitani. That's all.

The day had passed in a blink. Usually work dragged by but you were filled with anxious excitement and somehow you were climbing the stairs of the apartment complex that Ran lived in. Today was the day that all girls were scrambling to impress their lovers, and you were no exception.

Using the key that Rindou had loaned you, you were given access to the empty apartment. Perfect for setting up a surprise. Certainly, you'd spent an ample amount of time last night making some homemade chocolates, but that wasn't enough.

Taking full advantage of the small DJ booth that Rindou had assembled, music pumped you up while you unpacked all your things. Any girl could cook a meal for their man, but you were going to do more than simply make food.

A single text from Rindou alerted you to finish up your preparations. He had easily relinquished the apartment to the two of you, stating that noise canceling headphones weren't enough to block out the sounds.

Which you weren't complaining about.

"Baby, I'm home!" Ran called as he swung the door open. Love was truly in the air, and it was suffocating without you. Making out in public was one of his favorite pastimes. But instead of showing you off to the lonely shitheads at the bar, he was one of those bums, hanging out with his brother of all people on Valentine's Day.

He was quite thrilled when Rindou admitted to keeping him busy for you. It was adorable that you'd planned a surprise. You did all sorts of cute things like this, and it made him oh so happy.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" You were nervous, for sure. The two of you were intimate often, very often, but waiting, perched on the back of the couch in nothing but a bright red body harness, made you anxious, the excited kind.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Ran was known for his ability to control himself, except when it came to you. The harness invited his gaze to your tits, plumping them up. Violet eyes followed the straps down, crisscrossing over your stomach and leading to your thighs. He was too greedy to wait, practically salivating at the mouth. "Spread those legs for me, beautiful."

And you did. Slowly. You were on a high, feeling proud to have stopped him so thoroughly, as if he had short circuited at the sight of you. As Ran was drinking in your figure, you were studying his every expression. Lust. Love. His gaze intense, eyes hungry. His tongue darted out from between his lips at the sight of your pussy.

"All this for me, huh?" His brain finally disconnected solely from his cock, and Ran crossed the space to you. He needed to feel your soft skin under his fingers, needed to taste your lips right this very second.

"Well, there's also homemade chocolates if you're interested."

Ran chuckled, taking a rough kiss before answering. "Unless I get to eat them off this pretty body, it'll have to wait. Although I'm much too impatient for even that." His pants strained from how hard he was.

You leaned back enough to retrieve the bottle of lube off the cushion. "I'm all ready so no need to wait. I'm spoiling you today."

It was hard to tell whose hands did what, both rushing to remove his clothes. Ran could get frustrated easily when he was so turned on, which usually ended up with your clothes being ripped off. 

"Fuckin' hell-" Ran groaned, struggling to unbutton his top. It was one of a kind and he wasn't about to ruin it. But you had been quite busy with his lower half, and having much more success. Your hand slick with lube rubbed gently over his aching cock.

He'd never been able to figure out how you were so fucking amazing with just your hand.

"Having trouble?" You teased, trying not to laugh at him. This was a side of Ran that no one would see but you. Frustrated. Embarrassed. A hint of pink on his cheeks and the most adorable pout on his lips that only lasted a second when you swiped your thumb over his tip, gathering the precum to mix with the lube.

And you were the only person who could get away with teasing him so boldly.

Freed of his clothes, the older Haitani could finally stop holding himself back. You were eagerly receptive, latching your legs around his waist and draping your arms over his shoulders in order to not topple backwards when he thrust into you.

Matching groans of relief came from you both.

"I won't let you fall," Ran said, securing you with his arm around your lower back. It was all the warning he gave. He had to satisfy his craving for you this very instant.

Fast and deep thrusts rocked you and the couch that you barely touched. The fleeting anxiety of toppling back was overshadowed by the sheer fact that Ran was practically hold you up with one arm and fucking you without any restraint. You found it incredibly sexy of him.

Ran muttered curses against your neck, occupying his mouth with the taste of your skin. He altered between tender kisses and nipping to leave plenty of hickeys. Not even the most violent of brawls could compare to the euphoric sensation that you provided him. "Fuck, so fuckin'- perfect, baby."

"Ah-- Ran-" You whined his name, the only fully formed word that you could muster. His cock filled you up, almost too much but it felt so fucking good.

He did adore the way you said his name. It sounded so sugary sweet and utterly filthy at the same time. "Gonna cum already?" He teased your clit, barely swiping his finger over the nub to make you jerk in his arms. 

Your head bobbed in response, whimpering each time he tapped the sensitive bundle of nerves. You managed a soft, needy please. Although you were supposed to be spoiling him, it typically ended this way. You, a complete and utter mess begging Ran for more and more pleasure.

You'd never find him complaining.

"Look at me."

The deep violet of his eyes was your favorite color. They could command your attention without a single word. You could so easily lose yourself in their depths, so deep that nothing existed except for him.

"I never tire of looking at your pretty face, especially when you're like this. So, show me how good you feel and cum." Ran's grip around you tightened in anticipation of your orgasm. You tended to lose complete control of your body, which he loved to see. Rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure, your walls spasmed around him.

Your lips parted but no sound came out. His intense gaze held yours, allowing him a full view of your face when you came. The release came quick and hard, setting your nerves alight with tingling pleasure.

Ran nearly faltered with how hard you were squeezing his cock. He rocked his hips harder to keep thrusting into you even when your cunt was pushing him out. Combined with the filthy expression on your face, he was more than ready to fill you up with his cum. "Fuck, fuck-"

He shuddered, slowing his thrusts to finish emptying himself into your warm pussy.

All the energy drained and you leaned forward to rest your head against his shoulder, soaking up being enveloped in his arms. His gentle petting of your head could have put you to sleep. "There's one more thing."

"More than letting me fuck you in a body harness and chocolate? I can't imagine what else I'd ever need."

You untangled yourself from him and hopped off the back of the couch. "I am the best girlfriend ever, so of course there's more." You could walk. You could definitely, totally walk. Except your legs were not receiving the signal, more made of jello than muscle at the moment.

Ran snickered, lips quirked up into the cocky smirk that made you want to either punch him or kiss him. "Need some help?" It simply meant he'd done a good fucking job if you were wobbly after only one round.

"No, I do not," You answered stubbornly. Giving each leg a little wiggle to wake up, you managed to lead him to the bathroom without ending up a puddle on the floor. "Ta da! The perfect third gift."

The counter across from the tub had a variety of items from soothing lotions to hair care products and face masks. If there was one thing that Ran was obsessed with other than you, it was self-care. A little spa treatment after sex.

"You..." It was unusual for Ran to be speechless. He'd never experienced that warm feeling in his chest before you'd come into his life. The bathtub had filled by the time he collected himself. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, but it all came back to one prominent thing. "I love you so fuckin' much."

Ran wasn't the kind of boyfriend who found saying the word love difficult, but it still made you weak each time he did. "I love you, too. Happy Valentine's Day." You disposed of the harness on the floor, knowing that it would surely be a requested piece from him in the future.

The hot water soothed the soreness in your body. You settled in with your back against Ran's chest, both of you with hair up, face masks on, and a glass of wine in hand to have a relaxing bath. You weren't sure how you were going to top this year's gift, but you were certain that next year, you'd be even more in love with him.

[hopefulqueer]

Solitude, Solifugids, and the Ten Percent Chance

(Author's note: this is about despair and radical hope and you are not alone, there's bugs. Please note that this story contains content involving heavily implied suicidal intentions and serious illness. Also, more than heavily implied bugs.)

A cloud of dust billowed up behind my car, tinging the blue desert sky with orange. It left a trail off into the distance, back towards civilization, getting fainter and more spread out and less easily detectable the further back I looked. I once heard a guest lecturer who studied theoretical physics say that no information in the universe could ever be truly destroyed. A drop of ink mixed into a pool of water might seem uniform and untraceable, but the movement of each molecule held the proof of what came before it. In that way, the motion of every particle that had ever existed could, in theory, be traced all the way back to the beginning of time. My dust cloud would eventually disappear to the naked eye, but once those particles had been disturbed, there was no going back.

My destination appeared as a tiny black dot on the flat horizon. There were very few man-made structures in this barren landscape in Eastern Oregon. This tiny church, lovingly built by pioneers on the Oregon Trail who thought it was their God-given right to take and take and take and leave their fingerprints on every corner of the planet, was the exception. This place had already been desecrated. I wouldn’t be staining anywhere new.

I pulled off the highway and onto the dead, scrubby grass and sand and rocks that surrounded the little stone building for miles in every direction. The ground crunched and groaned under my wheels. When I turned the key to kill the engine, something deep and powerful struck my ears.

Silence.

I got out of the car. The door slamming behind me was like a gunshot into the still air. A real gunshot might be even louder. I’d find out soon enough.

Apart from the occasional creaks as the heat in my car dissipated and it settled, my breathing was the only human sound for dozens of miles. I knew that there was no such thing as real silence in a city, but experiencing it like this for the first time still came as a shock. It was like putting on the best pair of noise-canceling headphones ever invented and then some. People were throwing away so much money to develop better and better technology. All that was ever going to do was add more noise to the world. Pointless. Arrogant.

Speaking of arrogance, an American flag hung limp, dusty, and tattered on a metal pole next to the church. That wasn’t part of what the original settlers had left behind. Somebody else had come along over a hundred years later and decided it was a good idea to put a flag there like a mark of pride, like an animal peeing on the scratches it left in a tree, like the church wasn’t bad enough. I opened my mouth and I screamed.

“There’s no one to hear you scream” is always that point in a horror movie where the character knows that they’re well and truly fucked. My piercing, wordless scream rose up and was lost into the hot, dry air. If a man screams in the desert and nobody’s around, is he really dying?

It felt like something was reaching down into me and tearing that cry out. Its claws ripped through my stomach and slit my throat, and the scream just kept pouring out of me like blood and smoke and water.

I was on all fours without remembering how I got there by the time I ran out of breath. My palms were stinging from pieces of gravel that had embedded themselves into my skin. I pulled dust and heat and oxygen into my lungs and stared down at my hands with dry eyes and a little bit of saliva on my lips. My body heaved into the returning silence. How long would it take someone to find me? A few hours? A day or so? A week? This dirt road was so infrequently traveled that scrappy little leafy plants were growing up around the wheel ruts. I wondered if I should walk further out into the desert and make life more difficult for somebody. I could make my impact just a little bigger, a little deeper. It felt unrealistic to me at that moment that more people didn't go missing. It was unbearably tempting, and there was just so much space out there to become lost in. This was more space than I had ever seen in my life. Why had it taken this to get me out further than a couple of hours from where I had been born? I'd never thought of myself as a coward before, or a shut-in, or even particularly sheltered. Now I was looking back at my life with this horrible fresh perspective and realizing how pathetic I had always been.

A gust of wind blew more dust into my face and I blinked hard to keep it out of my eyes. The sudden sound of a rhythmic dull tapping sent a burst of fear ricocheting through my body. It sounded so much like quick footsteps that I sprang to my feet and whipped around to look back over my shoulder, certain that I would see another person there. A reasonable thought would have been that it was a hiker, maybe, or a hitchhiker. But I had a strange expectation that they would be wearing the clothes of an Oregon Trail settler, or a pre-colonial Native American. I didn't believe in ghosts and I never had. Even so, when I heard that sound, I knew with every fiber of my being that there was a ghost behind me.

There wasn't any ghost. The ragged, faded American flag had caught the wind and was up and blowing, flapping and fluttering against itself. Some metal on its tether hit the flagpole and chimed weakly like a bell. 

I put a hand to my chest, actually shaking with adrenaline. Trying to get rid of some of that nervous energy, I kicked a rock that was a little too big to kick. It sent a shooting pain up through one of my middle toes and the rock only skidded along for a yard or two.

As I began to curse and hop on one foot, something on the ground caught my eye. In the dark leftover shadow where the rock had been, something was moving. A spider, or something like a spider, scuttled a few inches and froze in the sudden sunlight. I had disturbed its hiding spot.

I felt the need to get a closer look. I only knew a little about spiders and bugs. They had never captured my interest like the bigger animals had when I was a kid. I had always been enchanted by whales and dolphins and sharks and giant squid. This little thing, though, two inches long and tan and leggy with oversized mouthparts, was just as strange and alien as any deep-sea fish I'd seen in a documentary. I kneeled down and let my shadow fall over it. It tensed, and I leaned down closer.

Its body was a bit dull and its head shone a brighter orange. The shape of its abdomen was unlike any spider I had ever seen, bulbous and elongated at the same time. It had eight legs, like a spider, plus those long feeler-type ones in the front. As far as I could tell, it only had two little black eyes on top of its almost teardrop shaped face. 

I couldn't move. I was entranced with this odd thing. My eyes traced the gradient of colors down its long legs. I noted the hairs bristling out of it and the creases separating the segments on its back. It was beautiful. Beautiful.

As if finally recovering from the shock of having its home kicked away from above it, it darted off into a nearby bush almost faster than I could track it. With the spell broken, I sat back on my heels and sighed.

How long did a little creature like that live? A year or two? And how many of the babies of this species would live to whatever passed for a ripe old age? How many would live a full life, a full year? Less than ten percent, I was almost certain. 

Less than a ten percent chance to live out the year. It had resonated in my chest as such a hopeless figure when I drove out here. But that strange arachnid was so alive. It didn't know its odds and so it kept living, and because it kept living, it was still alive. It all seemed so simple now. That information, like all information in the universe, would never be undone.

[rageprufrock]

Just out of curiosity, now that things have developed, what is your current opinion of the BOC "crisis" situation? And what sort of action would you have advised in the face of a possible intentional smear campaign? Is silence still the best option, and does publicly bringing legal charges, etc. help or hinder in that case?

Not to mention you then have the incredibly public "surprise" announcement of another performer separating from the company ...

My instinct would be to say, "there is no crisis right now," because none of the noise actually breaks though to the signal ratio--like the production company is rolling along, concerts are happening, the movie is being filmed, etc. All of the other stuff is just that, noise, and irrelevant to them since the parties are no longer affiliated with BOC in a business capacity. This is where I'd counsel a client to practice forbearance: if you have the stones and the liquidity, you can grit your teeth and keep your head down long enough that you can get through almost anything. Most examples of this aren't great--see: any of the men who were rightfully canceled and now making their comeback after two or three years of silence--but this can also work well for people who just had a massively public disgracing and needed the zeitgeist to move on from having them be social media's main character of the day. (This is also why so much of the advisory on crisis comms is actually just to shut up, because doing so gives people the opportunity to forget about you, and someone else to put their foot in it and move the narrative along.)

But in truth, at this point, I don't think any of us know enough about what's going on to make any wise commentary--which is exactly as it should be. I should be forced to say, "who the fuck knows," when it comes to the inner workings of most things, because it's none of my business!

I'll say that Jeff leaving BOC was an interesting one, but that I most likely would have handled it the same way, and for a couple of reasons:

You can say you're a family, but this is still at its heart a business enterprise, and any one of them should be clear-eyed enough to look out for themselves first and foremost--people leaving to pursue their own projects or make transitions that make the most sense for them is inevitable, and we shouldn't act like it isn't.

That said, they're all trauma bonded from the whole experience of filming KinnPorsche, and clearly friends in addition to coworkers, and to have told them in advance of the show to give them private time to prepare would have seriously affected their performance at that final show, which I think would have been both a disservice to their fans but also unfair to them after all the work they'd put in.

Telling them several days or even weeks in advance--as surely this had been in the works for a while, with at least the seniormost members of the exec org knowing about the transition--wouldn't have worked either, because the more people know a secret, the less of a secret it is. Especially given the recent kerfuffle, it's critical to position it as a friendly departure, and to message it as a bittersweet but joyful next adventure, and not Jeff fleeing from the smoking remains of BOC. Given the timing of everything else going on, holding until it got the main stage at the closing event of their concert series makes sense: it feels deliberate, it feels intentional, it feels cooperatively planned, and it feels like they're sending off a beloved colleague and friend with all their best wishes, and on the biggest stage they can. It projects the right message.

All that said, no plan survives first contact with reality, so even if they've retained the most terrifyingly smart crew of publicists at this point, it still wouldn't protect them from the unexpected. In this case, the literal sweet baby angel child they're raising in that whorehouse being overtired and overamped and crying because his TV boyfriend is leaving and taking Barcode's coconuts with him.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Normally at work, if I have a break or an admin block, I barricade myself in an empty classroom with my headphones. There’s a break room where most people go for those bits, but I find it difficult enough to be around people all day, and some time off from people is really the main thing I’m looking for in a break. I am lucky enough to work in a centre that’ll have at least a couple of rooms empty at any given time, so spending my breaks there is an option. It’s really hard and it pays almost no money, but there’s one advantage, I guess. Empty rooms.

But this week they had me working extra long hours, and that shared staff room has a couch in it, and it was empty during my break, so I decided to just sit down on the couch in there and be comfortable for a bit. Put my headphones on, of course. My quite good noise canceling headphones. They don’t pay me a lot of money, but I will use what money I have on headphones that cancel out noise (also on a large trip to London and Edinburgh for which I’ve been saving all year, I just went to the currency exchange place today and took out some British pounds, this is fucking happening in two weeks from tomorrow).

I had my headphones on and was listening to the second-last episode of this Godforsaken radio show, and Ray and Ed were doing their child voices that make me laugh really hard, and I think I sort of forgot where I was. Normally, when I’m in an empty classroom, I make an effort to avoid laughing out loud because the walls are pretty thin, but I will laugh visibly. I sort of forgot, today, that while in the shared space I should try to be less visible about it.

In the middle of the laughter I definitely stopped to visibly wince a bit, because there’s a party where Ray suddenly stopped and told Ed, “The only thing I’ve not had enough of is you,” and I think he just meant that Ed Gamble was the only thing about FUBAR Radio that didn’t make him want to quit that job, but he said it really soon after reiterating that he’d had enough of everything in the world and that’s why he actively wants to commit suicide, and I took a moment from the laughter to wince at what a wildly intense thing “The only thing I’ve not had enough of is you” is to say in that context. So my reaction was laughing, wincing at the incredibly messed up thing that got said, then laughing again. The last few episodes of this radio show have induced a lot of that back-and-forth. Laughing, Jesus Christ Ray maybe take it down a notch, laughing. (Obviously… obviously I do not actually go around prescribing “take it down a notch” as a cure for mental health crises. But also, most mental health crises are not broadcast on live radio. If someone is broadcasting their mental health crisis on the radio, the best advice for their own sake is probably to take it down a notch while live on air, even if that might happen at the expense of some funny stuff, hence me occasionally feeling slightly conflicted for laughing at parts of the show.)

For about one minute of this I could vaguely hear a voice behind me, but I’d sort of forgotten I wasn’t in an empty classroom so I figured I was just hearing other therapists with their clients like usual. Until I heard my name, turned around, it turns out my coworker had been standing there for an entire minute, trying to talk to me, watching me listen to this podcast. I quickly paused it and apologized and explained about the noise canceling headphones. And she said oh, it’s fine, she didn’t need to say anything important, but since she first tried to get my attention, she’s become more interested in just watching me laughing but also wincing, and wants to know what I’m listening to.

And I didn’t want to answer that question. Because she hadn’t planned to have a whole big conversation in which I explained a whole big thing, neither of us wanted that. I hate being asked to explain hobbies in casual conversation with people I don’t properly know. The worst is when people ask about music I’m listening to, if they ask at a time when the answer is some Nova Scotian folk music, which it frequently is. Because they don’t want me to explain who this Nova Scotian folk singer is. They don’t actually want to get into that. But they also don’t want me to just say the name of a singer they’ve never heard of and then move on without explanation, that’s weird. And I definitely can’t say “You’ve probably never heard of it.” I was allowed to say that until about 2010, when there was this whole big backlash against hipsters, which mainly consisted of people making fun of the idea of someone being asked about their music taste and replying “You’ve probably never heard of it.” I don’t think I qualified as hipster at any point, but the backlash greatly annoyed me, because, well, you probably haven’t heard of it. It’s fine, I don’t think I’m better than you for that. Quite the opposite, I was self-conscious about my music taste for years because I got made fun of for it at school by people who hadn’t heard of it. You don’t have to have heard of it. I probably haven’t heard of your stuff either. But let’s not try to get into a whole explanation of it in a twenty-second work chat.

When she asked me this, I briefly thought of the last time this came up at work, a month or so ago. I was in a session, client had a meltdown, I work at an autism centre so that is pretty common. This client was often soothed with music, I put on a particular song that I knew had been working lately, he calmed down instantly. Another staff member had come in to assist with the meltdown, and she asked me what the song was. I said oh, it’s some Welsh folk music (a really lovely song, if anyone's interested). She asked me where I got it, I said a radio show recommended it, she asked which one. My brain automatically did the thing it always does when I’m asked about a thing someone’s probably never heard of, and I don’t want to explain it from scratch, so I try to find some connection to something they probably have heard of. In this case, I was exhausted from dealing with the problem, not really thinking straight, so made the connections in my head without thinking about whether they were relevant or how weird a thing this was to say, and offhandedly told her, “Okay, you know John Oliver? This song was made by his ex-girlfriend’s finace’s friend. Yeah the guy with the late-night show. It’s not important. The point is it’s working. Let’s turn up the volume a bit.” She didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Today, when my co-worker asked me what I was listening to, I briefly thought of that. I wondered what the shortest route would be if I wanted to again draw connections to something she’d have heard of. “Okay, you know Mr. Bean? Well, his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend does a podcast with a guy. And that guy used to do a podcast with a different guy. And after that podcast they made a radio show on a pretend radio station in 2014. That’s what I’m listening to. Any questions?” That’s what I immediately thought of, though to be honest, I think we’re getting fairly close to the point where I could cut out the first couple of links in that chain. Where I could say James Acaster’s name to most people in Canada, even ones who aren’t comedy nerds, and they’d know who that was. I’m quite sure this co-worker of mine doesn’t know who James Acaster is. But a lot of people do these days.

I did not explain to her anything about Mr. Bean or James Acaster. I briefly thought of that, but what I actually said was that it’s a British radio show from 2014. She said, “Oh, is it really dry humour?” I guess because her association with comedy from Britian is that they do dry humour there. Normally in that situation I’d just say yes whether it’s true or not, because that’s the answer that’ll end the conversation without requiring further explanation, but in this case, calling mid-breakdown Peacock & Gamble “dry humour” was so incredibly inaccurate that I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I said no, it’s not. And she said “Oh,” because I’d kind of shut down the conversation, and it was kind of awkward, as I’d just told her she was wrong but couldn’t think of a socially reasonable way to offer further explanation. Then she went to set up for her next session.

I’d argue that her asking “Is it dry humour?” just because I told her a show is British is a sign that she probably doesn’t know who James Acaster is, even if he is breaking North America, fame-wise. I hope I don’t come off as judgemental for making that assumption, because I certainly don't mean it as a negative judgement. I am definitely not better than her because I’ve heard of James Acaster. She’s always showing up to work with stories of cool social things she did, and events she attended. She is objectively doing life better than I am. Doing much more important things with her time than listening to a British radio show from 2014.

I think when I started this post I thought I was building toward some sort of point, or at least conclusion, but I can't remember what it is now. I have one episode left of the radio show. The second-last one was pretty bleak; I'd say it was the first time they hit a point where Ray Peacock got so rough, mentally, that he stopped being funny for a bit. Which is fine, by rights that should have happened way earlier. And it was only for a bit. As my co-worker saw, lots of that episode was still very funny. This is why I barricade myself in empty classrooms.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

ok i saw the vardy au thing where people in broadchurch notice vamire like things about hardy and i was wondering if we could have a little expansion on the moving a desk for evidence thing?

Oh gosh, I hadn't given that bit much thought, the mental image had just been really funny to me. Scrawny David Tennant character just fucking sending a loaded desk flying across the floor.

Anyway, here's Hardy showing vampire strength while being really annoyed with his coworkers.

On with the fic!

--

The hushed voices outside of Hardy's office were starting to grate on his nerves, more so than normal. He really should invest in some of those noise cancelling headphones Miller had suggested to him. Speaking of her, he wished that it wasn't her day off so she could deal with whatever stupidity was going on outside the door.

He heard his name amongst the quiet voices, and decided he needed to investigate.

Getting up, Hardy approached the door, hearing the voices a bit easier from here. Even with his vampiric hearing, quiet voices could still be heard to make out behind barriers.

"-just take the stuff off, then we can move it."

"I don't really want to, there's so much stuff..."

"Pull the drawers out then!"

"They're loaded, and I don't think they come out that easily anyway."

Hardy rolled his eyes and opened the door. "What's going on?" He said, trying to keep his voice even.

Several officers looked up from where they stood around a desk, alarmed. One of them, Miles, coughed and straightened up. "Uh, it's... it's nothing, sir."

"Doesn't seem like nothing."

"Miles lost something under his desk." Another officer, Bradley, pointed at the first officer, who looked offended.

"Don't get him involved!" Miles hissed at Bradley.

Hardy frowned. "And what was lost? Seems like it's more than nothing if you're being all worked up about it, Miles."

The man swallowed and glanced at the desk. "It's just... it's nothing to worry about, sir, we're going to get it out from under there."

The desk, in question, was one that wasn't easy to move. It had an open space for a chair, but where the drawers sat, it had just the smallest of gaps under it, enough for something small to roll under. Or a piece of paper to slid under the gap.

Hardy became suspicious, and his frown deepened. "Tell me what you lost."

The two officers looked at each other, the other two that were standing nearby looked away. Miles looked at the detective and tried to keep a neutral face. "It's... the photo, the one from the current case."

Hardy felt a flare of anger erupt in him. The photo was one of the key pieces of evidence, and it had been kept in the evidence box on Miller's desk, as she had last been the one to look into it. She had left it on her desk this morning when she got off shift two hours ago, and Hardy had meant to take it from there, but had been distracted with calls in his office.

He only just now noticed that the box was open, and the contents of it had been moved about inside, as if they had been quickly placed back in it. The lid was on the floor.

"It was an accident, sir." Bradley spoke up. "The box got bumped and it fell, we tried to get everything picked up, but the photo slipped under the desk and we've tried to move it but it's heavy! We're gonna get it, don't-!"

He wasn't listening to whatever the officer was babbling about, Hardy had stormed over and grabbed the desk. He clenched his teeth, ignoring the fangs that were starting to form in his anger over the stupid situation before him.

He shoved the desk with little effort, the contents on and in it rattling about as it moved a few feet to the side. Where it had stood just seconds before, was some minor bits of litter and paper clips, along with the polaroid photo. Hardy snatched it up, placing it back in the box, before shoving the desk back into place.

Turning, he looked at the now-quiet room, everyone seemed to be staring at him. He snarled. "What the hell are you all standing around for, doing nothing?! Get back to work!"

Hardy turned to face Miles and Bradley. "Don't fuck around with things for the rest of the day. And don't say anything about what you just saw." He grabbed the box and went to his office, slamming the door behind himself.

He dropped the box on his own desk and sat down in his chair. He groaned and rubbed at his face. Damnit, no way he could explain what happened just now. Hopefully no one would be an idiot and say something...

--

I like the idea that Hardy, as a vampire, doesn't use his strength very often. He tries his best to come off as human as possible, but he doesn't always remember how strong he is. So, moving a very heavy desk like that like it was an empty cardboard box might seem like a very... non-human-y action.

Whoops.

[sunlitmcgee]

hi this is totally not a gift for @clingyduoapologist as payment for voting in the poll no nope nah not at all it is Not a bit of oathbreaker chommy fluff/angst. totally not

~~~

 Another day. Another village. Another several hours spent waiting around doing fuck all while Tubbo went to the local market to purchase supplies for their next adventure. 

 “I’m sick of this shit.”

 “Sick of what?”

 “Waitin’ around with all these people lookin’ at me.”

 “No one’s looking at you, Tommy.”

 Tommy pouted as he leaned closer to Ranboo. Ranboo cooed out a soft warble and stretched out his arm a bit to offer him a bit of refuge under his cloak. Tommy ducked his head down low, desperate to be out of the harsh midday sun and shuffled into the embrace of the darkness within the smooth, velvet purple silk as he huffed a brief sigh.

 It wasn’t that Tommy didn’t like to be around people. It was just that most people always seemed to know right away that he wasn’t exactly what you’d call a person by most standards. People stared. People whispered whenever he walked past. Between that and the way dogs lunged to snap at his ankles before they were held at bay by their owners, visiting any given town wasn’t exactly the highlight of Tommy’s day-to-day life the same way it had been before…

 He winced.

 Ranboo rubbed his arm slowly. He started at his wrist then made his way up the length until he reached his shoulder, which he squeezed softly before he gradually made his way back down. Tommy hummed, comfortable, but not exactly content.

 “How much longer?” Tommy asked after a while.

 “Not long,” Ranboo told him. “Just a bit longer. Few more minutes.”

 Tommy didn’t want to wait for “a few more minutes.” He just locked eyes with a little girl as she walked past with her mother and saw the way the tiny recoiled when she met his stare. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get up, get their shit, get moving and get back on the road.

 It was just too loud.

 Too many people.

 Too many noises.

 Too much light.

 Too much life.

 “It hurts.” 

 Ranboo was all soft comfort and perked ears. 

 “What hurts? What’s wrong?”

 If he still had one, saying the words out loud would probably be breaking Tommy’s heart. He spoke with a small sniffle, “Me. I’m wrong. I’m dead and fucked up and can’t be anywhere anymore.”

 All because I failed. All because I fucked up. I couldn’t even die right. Not good enough to stay dead. Now no one wants me. Not even my own god.

 A claw brushed the shell of his ear. With it was a low, soothing voice as Ranboo wrapped Tommy in his long arms and pulled him in closely so he could bury his face into his chest.

 “Tommy,” Ranboo said, “listen to me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. You are fine.”

 But I’m not! Tommy wanted to scream. Wanted to yell, wanted to swing at him. I’m not fine! I’m dead! I’m all wrong!

 “If you were ‘wrong’, do you think that Tubbo and I would still want to go on adventures with you? Do you think that Tubbo would spend money on honeydrops for someone whose all ‘fucked up’ if he didn’t care about them? Do you think that I’m fucked up for wanting to hug you like this? Is it fucked up that I love you, even if…just because you’re a bit different now?”

 “W…well…’s different with you. You’re fucking stupid.”

 Tommy felt Ranboo chuckle against his ear. “Hehehe…naw, you’re feeling better already!”

 He kind of was.

 He kind of definitely wasn’t.

 But oh. Look! There was Tubbo, coming up the road now! Existential crisis canceled.

 It was time for food.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

WTYP: The Shandor Building, Part 6

[Do you like the colour of the fanfic? This is long and if you expand it you're gonna get the whole thing, because Tumblr hates you. Don't say I didn't warn you!]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Part 6: Disaster Roulette: Crack Open a Cold One

[Beware of strong language, mention of all kinds of death, gore, and Lovecraftian horror.]

[SLIDE: Utter darkness, with an All Hail Gozer logo in the corner.]

[screaming, pandemonium]

A: I’m sorry! Oh, God, I’m sorry! I have anxiety!

D: No! I know you do! It’s my fault!

L: Are we dead?

D: I shouldn’t have said “engineering disaster,” it’s my fault…

R: Alice, where are we?

A: Oh, God, I’m sorry, it’s the Kursk! [weeping] We’re going to be trapped here for over six hours and then we’ll be comrade-kebabs!

L: I’m an anarchist.

A: For fuck’s sake, Liam, would it kill you to let me die with a little fucking solidarity? [plays “The East is Red”]

R: Alice, you have your laptop?

L: Do we still have our laptops?

D: Feels like a laptop…

A: IT’S A POTASSIUM-BASED AIR FILTER DON’T BLOODY TOUCH IT!

[clattering, thud]

[more screams]

L: Jesus…

R: Pretty sure that’s a laptop.

D: Turn up the brightness!

R: That’s bad for the battery life…

D: Just turn up the fucking brightness!

[SLIDE: The Kursk.]

L: How the fuck do we still have laptops and sound equipment?

A [giggling]: Oh, my God, we chose the form of an engineering disasters podcast. Of course we have our laptops and sound equipment! I’m going to tweet that we’re trapped in a well-known Russian submarine disaster and we need help!

D [gravely]: Alice, Alice… No, Alice. It’s… It’s…

R: It’s “X” now.

D: Twitter can’t help us now. Twitter is gone.

A [desperate]: What about Tumblr?

D [pained]: I suppose you might as well try.

D [text over slide]: I EDITED A BIT HERE.

A [sobbing]: It’s no good. I got cancelled for assuming the submarine’s pronouns and now they’re just doing discourse.

D [gently]: It’s all right, darling. Just mute the alerts now. Oh, and Tumblr Live, too, obviously. Thank you for trying.

R: I’ve got that Mastodon thing…

D: Oh, fuck off!

A: Nobody’s on fucking Mastodon.

L: If man were meant to toot, God would’ve given us trunks! It’s a stupid platform and a stupid animal! It’s just an elephant with shag carpeting and no charisma. I’m glad they’re extinct. The extinction of mastodons is the one good thing global warming ever did for us! I hope science brings ‘em back from the grave so I can personally participate in wiping those useless motherfuckers off the map again. I ordered a mastodon hoagie at Wawa the other day and it was rubbery and tasteless — because it had been at the back of the freezer for ten-thousand years. That’s how unpopular mastodon is! It’s not even any good with extra mayo! Nobody loves you, mastodons! Nobody thinks you’re cool! I respect you almost as little as I respect fish!

[groaning, shuddering, splashing]

A: Oh, fuck, does Gozer like mastodons? Liam…

R: “Mastodon” is from the Latin for “breast-like tooth.”

L: If Gozer likes mastodons, I’m gonna drive to xyr house — or temple, or whatever — and beat xem to death with my shoes. I am done with mastodons, I am done with this whole fucking experience! I am reviewing your studio on Yelp right now and you are getting no stars! None!

[creaking, snapping sounds, more splashing]

A: Fuck, Liam, you’re pissing xem off!

G: STO-O-OP!

[rumbling and crunching noises continue throughout]

D: No, wait… It’s a rant. [laughing] We chose the form of an engineering disasters podcast! Liam, keep going!

L: ICE AGE IS A TERRIBLE SERIES OF FILMS! MASTODONS RUINED IT!

A: Isn’t it supposed to be a woolly mammoth?

L: IT’S THE SAME THING!

R: Taxonomically, no, it’s not. Although they are related…

L: PROXIMITY TO MASTODONS RUINED ICE AGE, AS A FILM SERIES AND AS A GEOLOGICAL EPOCH! AND EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND!

A [laughing]: What? Are we running out of oxygen?

R: Yes. Also, Everybody Loves Raymond is a CBS sitcom, which aired from the mid-nineties to the mid-2000s. It was very popular in the US, but it proved difficult to export, so it’s not surprising you haven’t heard of it. It starred actor and comedian Ray Romano, who also voiced Manny the Mammoth…

L: THAT’S A STUPID FUCKING NAME!

A: Shouldn’t it be, er… Manny the Manmoth? That makes more sense. Although it does sound like he fights Mothman…

R: …in the Ice Age film series. Exporting Raymond was, in fact, a documentary on how difficult it was to translate the American Boomer experience to a foreign market…

D [amazed]: By God, we’re doing it! We’re podcasting!

R: Thank God for Wikipedia…

A: We’re still going to die, though, aren’t we, Dev?

D: Eventually, Alice, but maybe not in the Kursk!

A [anxious, but used to it]: Probably of prion diseases.

G: VERY WELL. SINCE WE ARE AT AN IMPASSE, YOU MAY CHOOSE ANOTHER FORM TO CONTINUE OUR FIGHT.

L [hopefully]: A lamassu?

R [low voice]: Unfortunately, we are not actually gods.

L: Damn.

D: No! I think we can do this! [to Gozer] We’re going to stick with the engineering disasters podcast!

G: YOU’RE NOT VERY IMAGINATIVE, ARE YOU?

D: No, we are, we’re just really jazzed about this form!

L: It’s comfy!

G: ALL RIGHT. SUIT YOURSELVES. I TIRE OF THE LEAKY METAL TUBE, AND I DO NOT HAVE THE PATIENCE TO SIT THROUGH SIX HOURS OF PODCASTING BEFORE I SET YOU ON FIRE! CHOOSE ANOTHER ENGINEERING DISASTER!

D: All right, now, let’s think about this…

A: Just something outdoorsy, please! I want to see the sun again!

Part 7

[aetherspoon]

A not-so-simple relocation, day -1.

TW: Suicidal thoughts, under the cut.

I'm currently taking a forced break from packing and thought to write down some of my thoughts.

For those that don't know, I'm moving from the United States to Norway. Specifically flying out tomorrow, arriving the day after, bringing all sorts of things with me including three friends (who will return in a week) and two cats (who will not be returning within a week).

Unfortunately for me, this move has been anything but normal, even given the fact that I'm relocating to a different hemisphere. I had plans to have a friend here a few days in advance (that fell through; no one is arriving until tonight), I had plans for an organizer to help me settle things (she caught Covid and had to cancel), I even had plans for having a day off before the movers arrived... but the movers arrived at the absolute earliest time possible.

My computers are all packed at this point save the laptop I'm typing this on, although my main desktop is sitting in a giant box that I'm crossing my fingers the bag check person will look over the size on rather than shipping her like I had planned. I'm currently up to seven checked bags and likely need a few more. I already asked my existing roommate (who is buying my house from me) if it was okay to leave some things behind for when I return in September, so it isn't THAT big of a deal if not everything comes with me this time.

So, why the trigger warning? Well, today in particular has been pretty bad for me - lots of things going wrong, expecting some things to be available for me that were packed by the movers (which goes on a slow boat), other things that were supposed to be packed that weren't. Nothing against the movers, they were awesome - this was entirely on me for being so disorganized.

But one thing came up this afternoon that kind of broke me - my headphones were missing. I have a pair of really nice noise cancelling headphones that I bought after losing my old pair (which in of itself triggered a mental breakdown when I realized it had happened). They're supposed to be extra nice for the airplane so I can try and relax with some degree of success. They were missing.

I looked everywhere for them, couldn't find them. Even found their case, but not the headphones. I gave up looking and even looked at buying another pair at a local store before leaving because all of them were overpriced and didn't meet my needs. But I found them! They were buried between two of my bags for some reason.

That's good news, right?

Brain, immediate thought: "Ah good, you're not a complete fuck-up apparently. You'd still be better off dead given all of the hassle you made your friends deal with though. Better to just end it now."

I am technically classified as in remission from my depression at this point. I've been doing a lot better lately, reframing various negative thoughts. My anxiety has been utterly ridiculous (see this whole move business), but depression hasn't really been as present. It has been a while since my last major suicidal thought, even if my depression has been rather nasty this past week - but that's temporary, not a longer lasting depression, hence the "remission" part of my official diagnosis.

Upon that thought, I stopped packing, told my partner (who I was on a video call with) about it, then stopped to take a break. I've watched a couple of short videos, typed up this post, and just sat here focusing on anything but my current situation. And yes, typing up a blog talking about said situation doesn't count for me; my brain makes the rules, not me.

Tomorrow morning, I leave my house. I leave behind various bits of furniture, random odds and ends that need to be donated or recycled, my former life, my friends, the place I've lived the longest by a large margin, and most importantly one of my cats (we decided that Boo would be happier by herself and she's known my housemate just as long as me).

I really hope this is the right decision.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Long Distance

This book tour is killing him. A man in his health shouldn't be on tour doing anything, but his publicist says it's a necessity. Mostly, he just misses his own bed. Not that this hotel they've put him up in isn't nice. But it isn't home.

He's ready to call it a night, when his phone vibrates. Armand. He considers ignoring it to get some sleep, but knows there will be hell to pay if he does. He crawls into the king sized bed and answers, “It's past my bedtime.”

“Daniel,” His voice is like honey. Daniel's missed it more than he cares to admit.

“Armand,” Daniel says back. He's almost expecting the typical questions, the normal everyday shit he's gotten used to since him and Armand started this thing.

Instead, Armand goes for something completely different. “What are you wearing?”

And no, no way. He's too old for this shit. “Sweatpants.”

Armand seems unfazed. “Would you like to know what I'm wearing?”

“I bet you're going to tell me anyway.”

“One of your shirts you left behind. I can still smell you on it. It's like being surrounded by you.”

It's unfair that a voice can sound that erotic. Despite himself, Daniel starts to feel intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Mm. I miss you.”

It's a rare moment of vulnerability from Armand. He doesn't just hand those out. He must really be missing him. “Only a few more weeks and I'm back.”

Armand is silent, and Daniel realizes it was the wrong thing to say. Naturally, Armand was angling to hear that he's missed as well. He internally curses himself. “Armand-”

“And what will you do to me, when you return?”

Daniel holds back a sigh and gives in. He's too fucking old for phone sex, but then, he's too fucking old for someone with Armand's stamina. “What would you like me to do to you?”

“I could show you, if I were there now.”

Ah, so that's why he called. Not for a fuck, for a fight. “This again?”

“Louis goes on tour with Lestat.”

Daniel pinches the bridge of his nose. He's getting whiplash from this conversation. Sometimes he thinks Armand picks fights with him just to prove he can, like some twisted measure of affection. “Because Lestat needs a babysitter. I don't.”

“I could pretend to be your assistant. Play Rashid again.”

“Yeah, because guys that fuck their assistants always look good.” They've had this talk. Armand would be bored by the second day anyway. He just wants to feel wanted. Wants Daniel to be unable to function without him, like some lovesick codependent fool.

“No one would know.”

“Right, like it wasn't obvious you and Louis were boning,” Daniel says. “You aren't as subtle as you think.”

Armand makes an offended little noise. Daniel is pretty sure at this point, he isn't getting laid now or when he gets back. Armand can be prickly, when he gets in his moods. “Look, why don't I cancel the next part of the tour? Come back home.”

“I don't need you to placate me, Daniel.”

Jesus H Christ, it's like walking over landmines with Armand sometimes. “Seriously, fuck the tour. I miss you.”

“Do you?” Armand all but purrs. Like a cat, Daniel thinks. One of those big ones that stalk their prey and pounce. The kind with sharp claws and sharper teeth. Teeth he is well acquainted with.

“Don't pretend you don't know. You've been sending me dreams, haven't you?” Daniel's been dreaming of Armand the last few nights. Very vivid, very detailed dreams. The sort of wet dreams he hasn't had since he was young.

“Daniel, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Right,” Daniel says dryly. Armand makes him crazy. Literally, he sometimes thinks. Some vampire mojo he works on him. But he isn't having that argument now; Armand always denies it.

“Tell me about these dreams.”

It's absurd, asking Daniel about dreams Armand no doubt sent himself. The audacity of it...Daniel laughs and says “I love you.”

“Are you certain?”

Another vulnerability. Given their history, Armand isn't sure sometimes. Gets too inside his own head to realize things may be different inside Daniel's. “Yes. You drive me crazy.”

Daniel sees a way out of the pit he's dug and takes it.

“It's why you couldn't be my assistant. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you.” Daniel says, dropping his voice low and husky, the way he talked in the bedroom. “I'd sneak you under my desk during a book signing. Make you suck me off while I signed some college girl's tits.”

Conversationally, he went on “They're always at this kind of thing you know, women who want you to write on their tits. Never had a man ask me to sign my name on him. Liked to sign it on you, have it there permanently so everyone can see who you belong to.”

He hears Armand whimper softly. “Fuck, Daniel.”

“Are you touching yourself, baby? Imagining it's me touching you?”

A sharp breath. “Yes.”

“I'd keep you there on your knees all day. Then once the crowd cleared out, I'd bend you over the desk and fuck you raw.”

Daniel hears the rustle of fabric, then the slick sound of skin on skin. He can hear Armand's little noises—so vocal, his Armand—and it's making him insane. He's almost willing to say fuck it and book the next flight home. He wants to be inside Armand, or Armand to be inside him, he isn't particular to which. But he needs to focus. There's a task at hand.

“I wouldn't let you touch yourself. I'd keep fucking you until you came on my cock alone, or not at all. Do you think you could do that, baby? When I get back, do you think you can come on just my cock?”

“I could right now, if you were here,” Armand says and Daniel's afraid it's the start of another fight. But Armand continues “I wish you could come through the door and take me now. I'd ride you at a full gallop until my knees collapsed.”

Fuck. Daniel starts looking up flights on his laptop.

“Fuck, your voice. You sound so pretty. Let me hear you come, baby.”

Armand moans, then pants. The pants become increasingly faster, and he starts making short little 'ah' sounds. He says Daniel's name when he comes, and Daniel hasn't been hard without touching his dick the last ten years, but he's rock solid now.

There's a flight leaving in four hours. Still has empty seats. He could book it now.

“Are you coming home to me, Daniel?”

Faintly, Daniel realizes that may have been the whole point of this call. But he can't find it in himself to be angry; he's thinking with his dick right now. He doesn't even mind the obvious poking around his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, baby. I'll be there soon.”

“I'll be waiting.” Armand sounds pleased. Daniel wonders if it's all been a manipulation. Doesn't know if it's worth the fight if it isn't and he accuses Armand. Hell, he doesn't want the fight he'll get if he accuses him and he did. Wouldn't matter anyway. If they fought, Armand would win.

He always did.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

read it here on ao3