#just like my neediness

[masspectrum]

what’s up with the fish tank in the mystery shack? (transcript + textless under)

TRANSCRIPT:

ford: you have an axolotl? stan: huh? stan: oh, yeah. Mabel calls it Sherbert. or Bart. ford: how long have you had it? stan: couple years I think. ‘lil guy just kinda stares at people.

[alilpuppyboy]

Want to hump something so bad. To cum, for sure, but I want to rut against something or someone desperately trying to stimulate myself enough just to enjoy it. I want to grind against a nice dog bed, or get given a cute little stuffed toy to dirty with my cunt, or someones thigh or hand or cock while not being allowed to have it in me. I want to be told I can't cum, I just have to edge until I cry, and then I want to break that rule because of how fucking desperate I am

[danylives]

Chozen Toguchi + having absolute no chill when it comes to Daniel Larusso

[becca-e-barnes]

i really can’t stop thinking about how fucking needy bucky would be and the fact that you said there would be endless cum because he’s a super soldier has left me thinking how many times a day he would fuck you and leave you ruined because he’s just so fucking needy 🥵

could you imagine he would act up in PUBLIC and you would try to shoo him away but it would get him all angry and dominate and he’d take you to a dressing room or bathroom and just destroy you and everyone could hear you

-strwbrrybucky

Oh holy shit, Bucky getting needy in public is going to be the death of me i hadn’t really even considered him flipping into a needy Dom rather than a needy sub and I really wish I had 🥵

Like you’re out shopping together and he maybe sees a pretty lingerie set you would look so good in. But you tell him you don’t need any more, maybe you’re in a rush to get somewhere else and you just don’t have time for it today.

“Come on doll, even just try it on for me? Know you’d look fucking beautiful.” He’s getting himself all worked up at just the thought, nibbling at your ear, standing so close behind you that you can feel him hardening up and that’s going to be a huge issue.

“Buck, we don’t have time today. We’ll come back for it this Saturday, I promise.”

But he’s horny now. “Shit, you know what you do to me? Jus’ thinkin’ about you in that. Can hardly think straight.” His head gets so clouded with lust so quickly and it excites you far more than it should. He kind of expects you to be the levelheaded one so he loves testing your resolve, letting you make the decision to ignore your own voice of reason.

“Bucky, fuck, we can’t do this here.” His body heat is making you ache, your body craving his. You’re in the middle of a clothes store for goodness sake.

“Baby, did you forget I’m enhanced? I can smell how bad you want this. Your little cunt is cryin’ out for me. How am I supposed to ignore it?” And shit, he’s right. You can feel yourself throbbing, slick gathering in your underwear and your eyes flutter shut at the sound of him dragging in a deep breath through his nose. “Smells so fuckin’ sweet angel. What’dya say we go to the changin’ rooms for a quickie? Won’t take long to get ya off, can tell.”

You’re not quite sure how he has the confidence to be so shamelessly filthy in public but you don’t even care any more.

You’re excited enough that there’s no way you can turn him down.

“You have to be quiet this time Bucky. Can’t be like last time, I was so embarrassed.” You’d reasoned it out and your need had won, Bucky smirking as he held your waist, leading you to the changing room with the lingerie completely forgotten.

There wasn’t even time to completely undress, hell, there was hardly even time to lock the door before Bucky was on you, pressing you against the questionably fragile wall of the changing room.

“Oh God, fuck honey, ‘m too horny. No idea where it came from. Jus’ achin’ for ya.” He didn’t waste a second, unbuttoning his jeans and untucking himself, his tip already weeping as you shuffled out of your own trousers. You were pinned to the unstable wall once more, Bucky supporting you, splitting you open with one quick, sharp thrust.

“Bucky, oh yes, more Bucky, please.” It was like every word got louder and louder as he picked up speed, slipping in and out of you with ease.

“Mhm that’s it baby girl, squeeze my cock for me. Love when you let your little pussy do the thinkin’ for ya.” He was sounding more and more wrecked with every thrust, whines and cries spilling out of you when you reached down to play with yourself, chasing your high since you knew you didn’t have long.

“Swallowin’ me up, aren’t ya? You’re getting close, can feel it. Wanna hear you. Wanna make sure this whole damn store knows who’s fuckin’ you so well.” The poor wall was shaking under your body, his powerful thrusts somehow driving every concern from your head. You weren’t holding back anymore, eyes rolling back in your head as you came with a high cry.

“Bucky, fuck, Bucky I’m cumming. Holy shit don’t stop, ah, so good Buck, feels so good.” He groaned so loud as your words dragged him over the edge, his body slumping against yours, pinning you to the wall as he filled you full of cum.

“What a good girl. Swear you take this big dick like it’s the only thing you wanna do. Love that about you honey.”

After carefully setting you down, Bucky’s horny haze had worn off, the embarrassment beginning to creep wash over you when you realised the gravity of what you’ve just done and how many people had heard.

“Think we’d better leave honey. Before there’s a queue at the door waiting to be fucked like you were.” His cheeky wink makes your heart flutter but you’ve never agreed with him more. You really did need to leave. Quickly.

[sadlittlestray]

remember in 2.02 when nandor says goodbye to his and jahan's ghosts and he hugs colin robinson and colin whispers 'i think you just need a little updog'

and nandor (crying) asks 'can we go get some now'

AU where colin doesn't have the heart to tell him he was joking so he takes nandor to the animal shelter and helps him adopt an 'updog' (nandor believes it's called that because it's a dog who cheers you up)

[viva-la-pictochat]

i love how venom and symbiotes in general are these big scary alien parasites and we as a fandom have just collectively decided that no they are goopy precious bean slimes

[foulserpent]

i somehow only recently learned what social anhedonia was and realizing there was a name for it was like. both comforting and kinda sad

[unohanadaydreams]

Polyandrous, sexy, hot relationship between fem reader and Shinji, Rose and Kensei😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥 (sorry, I had a typo in the previous ask😓🤭🙃😄)

Oh my god. Like, imagine being the filling between three captains….real hot girl shit.

Features: Smut, a lil angst, and me bending my back to make these three bang reader and each other.

this is fantasy not a how-to guide on poly relationships thanks.

largely unedited bc its thirst post tower content, and pretty much all consent is implied instead of strictly stated. i checked with all 4 of them though and they told ME it’s consensual. Except Kensei. He told me to fuck off ):

Triple Threat Team-up

(Shinji Hirako x Rose Otoribashi x Kensei Muguruma x F!Reader):

How it seeded:

The relationship started with Rose. He wooed you with his flowery words and romantic fashion, paired well with his cool demeanor. Although some of his ideas on love are dated, he’s not one you could call traditional.

As a group, the vizards have endured much and gained little unless they gave to each other. When Shinji walks in on you and Rose naked, using his shunpo to grab a CD before leaving, you find it odd. Rose does not.

He admits that most of the vizards have been some form of...thing at some time in the past. “You can’t be too shocked,” he says. “It’s hard to stay warm in a warehouse.” The phrasing is odd, letting you know there’s something more he means than winter temperatures.

How it took root:

Shinji is odd too. Casual, yet guarded in a way that becomes awkward should he be forced to relax. There is always a joke or gross face or biting word that keeps him at a distance.

The trick is alcohol, like it is for most people. Rose displays you, a bloom with glistening petals and fragrant scent at every private party he arranges. And eventually, Shinji stops finding reasons to flee, his fingers skimming your petal-soft skin as he kisses Rose.

The two of you lure Shinji in, kissing him softly, feeding him well, and paying him attention when he knocks on the window. Who doesn’t love a stray coaxed into domestication?

Rose speaks like he’s telling a story, his eyes most often on yours, his calloused fingers feeling their way down your body until you have to break the eye contact. You never feel like he’s playing you--using you like one does an instrument--, not at all. If anything, you feel as though he’s teaching you a dance, his steady instruction bringing you to revelation each lesson.

Shinji’s eyes are always, always moving to drink in your body as he moves with you, his mouth just as restless. He can never settle on the perfect position, always toying with having more of his body on yours versus more of your body on display. Each time is a revolving puzzle of moments that end well and make him want to test again.

Together, they are easily overwhelming, even when their focus is on each other. Rose’s proclivity for words gets Shinji’s skin flushed as much as yours. Shinji’s restless approach to sex keeps your eyes excited, the play of their bodies combining with the rise and fall of their voices to make for a thrilling, climactic show.

How it sprouted:

If anyone has taken the repositioning to the Seireitei like a bullet, it’s Kensei. He’s not one for shows of sentimentality, leaving the vizards in the human world be, half to keep from missing them and half to stay sane away from them. And the separation feels cruel, a sloppy sever somewhere inside of him that he refuses to see.

The news of Rose and Shinji sharing you wrinkles his nose at first. Really? Is it some kind of middle finger to the “Man”? Seems ostentatious, how open they are about it, like shoving their tongues down your throat in his personal quarters is acceptable. Sure, he’s cooking with his full, undivided attention on the kitchen, but Kensei still has ears. No way would he purposefully hone in on the wet sounds and mewling of you being pressed in between their bodies in the other room as his sauce breaks.

After a sound lecture, Rose and Shinji seem to get the message. Sort of. The couple nights a week that they insist are Kensei’s turn to cook, a nostalgic bit that squeezes his heart enough to agree to, still happen. But it’s just you and Kensei.

And eventually, Kensei can’t help but ask the questions he wants to know, albeit fueled by visible frustration. It’s aggressive and a bit mocking, how he asks, but you answer freely. Which doesn’t help. Just like waking up wet in the pants and sweaty night after night at the thought of picking you up and fucking you in front of Shinji and Rose to teach them a lesson on home etiquette doesn’t help.

The need and want and well of shitty fucking loneliness comes to a head when Rose and Shinji invite themselves back to dinner one night, Shinji’s hand toying with your thigh as Rose whispers something that glazes your eyes.

One of the pots over boils when Shinji palms between your legs with one hand, his other coaxing a saucer of sake past your lips. Rose is between you and Shinji, his fingers kneading your waists.

That’s it, really. The food getting fucked over by his own inattention. The way your thighs are shaking as your kimono is un-tucked. The far too comfortable looks on Shinij and Rose’s degenerate fucking faces.

He makes what he’s been dreaming about for months into a reality, your squeaking morphing into low moans as he pounds into you, picking you up and away from the other two vizards each time they reach for you. They even beg a little and Kensei ignores their panting, their playing with one another, and pretends he’s teaching them a lesson.

How it blossomed:

Alcohol, food, and sex can’t soothe every tear, but they patch up enough to keep the wheels of your relationship greased. The sober statement that you are all in a relationship with each other does hit one of you with a splitting force at times. It’s not uncommon for someone to pull away, unsure how much their needed, wanted, or meant for such a thing.

But there are always enough hands to come around them, reassuring them back.

Kensei doesn’t lose his prickly sensibilities, almost never letting more than one of you touch him at once. He favors positions where he’s able to stand or kneel above one or two people, close enough be inside someone, but far enough to get away should be too much for him. Kensei is most uncomfortable fucking Rose; the dirty words constantly dripping from Rose’s lips and his eyes so focused on Kensei’s over stimulating. Kensei usually presses a hand over his face, muffling his look and words in one swift move.

He likes everyone having their place, approaching sex with three other people like a scene he’s seen before. Kensei loves attention, too. Rarely, he’ll let that show. Dropping his need to be in charge, he’ll let all three of you treat him to the full weight of your bodies and all that comes with it, usually three hands tugging cum to spill over his stomach as all of your mouths leave dark marks over the span of his body. Usually, he wants someone to drive into or a head to force deeper on his cock.

Rose loves those times the most, where everyone is stripped bare of their baggage, just bodies reaching for one another. Like those concerts where everyone is squished together, all feeling the music separately but together. His enjoyment of having some control is less about the power and more about the flow--it’s easier to make the ending come at just the right time when there isn’t a meaty hand squishing his face into the mattress. Anything that leaves his mouth free pleases him, especially if he’s able to drape himself over or in between bodies, guiding them closer to orgasm with verbal and physical encouragement.

Shinji doesn’t care about the positions or pace or anything outside of him being involved. He’s there and that’s vulnerability in itself. Saying that, the playing that thrills him most is the kind that makes him feel like he’s spilling over from contact alone. His body pressed under yours, his cock sliding at your back as you’re fucked above him. Or someone being hugged to him as he lays on his side, both he and them being fucked closer. His mouth is always happy to be at work, the flat of his tongue flicking his piercing over hot, puffy flesh.

Over all, your sex life probably has a color coated calendar--courtesy of Kensei--and you’re often doing overtime if you’re counting orgasms as work.

[the-insanity-of-mojiru]

I finished playing NEEDY GIRL OVERDOSE. All hail the Internet Angel!

Redraw of this:

[flustersluts]

What are your desperate dom fantasies, if you don't mind me asking?

god at the moment, distracting a cutie from doing work because i just need to fuck them so bad, whispering in their ear how good it'll feel when they half-heartedly tell me they need to finish studying,,, just being so desperate to convince them that feeling good is more important than being productive right now

[yuutasprincess]

In one of your tags you mentioned somnophilia, so Yuuta and somnophilia 😜 especially since he’s so needy

<3

He’s content just sleeping in the same bed as you, trailing his fingers up your side and watching the steady fall of your chest. admiring how peaceful you look in his shirt. with your lashes kissing your cheek and glossy lips parted. you look so vulnerable. like a princess. his sweet princess who needs to be woken up. he knows you won’t mind. you’re always so eager to help him after all. it gives him a sick thrill, the way his hearts beating in his ear and how his breath grows heavy. but he needs to be quiet. you’re asleep. he wouldn’t want to disturb you after all. so when he moves the blanket off you he can only lick his lips at the way you shiver. he’s quick, hooking his fingers under his shirt and pulling it up and over your chest. he wonders how much you can take before you wake up. before you open your pretty eyes and find him with his head between your thighs. licking a stripe up your cunt and sucking on your clit, he groans at the way your knees instinctively lock and how your hips rock. how your pretty lips let out even prettier whines and pants. how your eyes squeeze shut. how your head turns into the pillow when you cry out and cum. and he swells with pride because even in your sleep he can make you cum with his tongue alone. but you probably want more and who’s he to deny you? so when he rubs his leaking cockhead against your sticky slit he can only watch in admiration as your body relaxes into the pillows. you’re so pretty. for a second he forgets about how painfully hard he is and focuses on your sleeping figure. how your hair gathers on the pillow in loose strands. how your fingers claw into the sheets. how your nipples pebble from the cold. how your cum sticks to your thighs. oh, he’s supposed to be fucking you. rolling his hips he sheaths himself into you in a fluid motion and that’s all it takes for you to wake up. blurry vision trying to focus in on your boyfriend towering over you and humping your sensitive body. your skins on fire, cheeks warm and stomach burning. but you don’t mind. not when he was kind enough to make you cum first

[dumbdomb]

the thought of a handsy, flirtatious, rule breaking s-type bratty top acting like they're in control and doing everything to tease me and get what they want has a hold over me and every day i suffer it

20+ to rb and like!

[becca-e-barnes]

omg Becs i think i'm speaking on behaf of EVERYONE when i say we need more needy Bucky god I'm such a sucker for needy subby boys i just CAN'T

The only thing better than needy subby boys is beefy needy subby boys 😩

And the thought of Bucky’s flesh hand trembling with need while you tease him?

Maybe you’re giving little tiny licks to his tip, making such a show of lapping up a bead of precum that his flesh hand on the back of your head is shaking.

But he absolutely wouldn’t be above begging, especially when your lips wrap around his tip, your tongue delving into the little slit. And when you moan at the taste of his precum he fucking loses it. He doesn’t want to press your head down, that would be rude and he knows full well if he were to do that, he’d cum on the spot so the tiny little pleas start

“O-oh God baby please, please gimme more. You feel so good I can’t think straight l just needa cum. Fuck lemme cum, I swear I’ll make you feel so good right after.” He can’t handle how you’re looking up at him, your tongue swirling, lavishing his tip with endless affection while so much of his length is getting nothing more than a gentle squeeze

The strangled cry that leaves him when you press your head down is reward enough. It comes out like a sob, the flesh hand trembles and the metal one runs through his own hair, in desperate need of a deep breath that he can’t quite manage to take

[sheepwasfound]

undefined

it really felt like dream was trying to get george to pick the “more than anyone else i know” option for him for this help question. like he really wanted george to acknowledge just how much he helps him. for george to say that he goes more than out of his way and even more than he does for anyone else. he wanted george to tell him that that’s the way his actions have come across to him, that his feelings were heard loud and clear in them

[chyertiii]

seven stars

I dreamed you, I wished for your existence...If I love you, it must be because we have shared at some time the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage. - anais nin

fandom: paper year (that's a lie this is really just for the Hamish Linklater girlies) pairing: noah bearinger x 2nd person OFC (kitsa hazani) summary: when noah bearinger's latest play script gets picked up by a new york theatre company, he moves back to manhattan to co-direct. the moment you walk into auditions, he knows he wants you for the lead. warnings: age difference (older m/younger f 21+), director/leading actress, extramarital affair, choking mention a/n: if you haven't read the greek myth of ariadne this is going to get confusing so please do that first :) also yes I'm picturing Rahul Kohli for Ravi. You're welcome.

playlist

tag list: @plainlo-inthemorning

New York City, Manhattan

You stand in the hallway outside of the theatre auditorium, pacing lazily as you recite the words to yourself. His words.

It’s a painfully stunning script. And you want this, bad.

Not just some random role in the ensemble. No, you want Ariadne. Something in you just vibrates when you read her lines. Like you know this part was written for you. Like you were put on this earth in this place and this time to bring these words to life. And you’re known as one of the best actresses in the Manhattan theatre community. Hell, you just finished five months on Broadway as Persephone in Hadestown. You’re not just talented, you’re adaptable, friendly, easy to work with, you always try to bring a positive energy to rehearsals. People really like you. But still, your insides are a ruckus of angry butterfly wings.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the pockets of light and shadow in the theatre when you stand on the empty stage. Across the room, his big brown eyes meet yours and something just clicks. The whole world seems to melt away and suddenly, it’s like the Lower East Side belongs to just the two of you.

You’re fairly certain that’s him. Noah Bearinger. The script’s author and now a co-director on the piece. For all intents and purposes, he is omnipotent in this moment. As god-like in this room as any of the producers. Perhaps more so. After all, it’s his vision they’re here to cast. If he doesn’t like the look of you for this role, you’re gone - no matter how well you read.

Thankfully, he does like the look of you. Very much so. You can feel that from across the room, like Jupiter pulling you helplessly into its orbit.

It’s second nature for an actress to want to read poetic monologues with a Shakespearan sort of cadence. And it can be hard to fight the instinct after so many years of classical training. But you know he’ll have heard it spun that way a hundred times today. Instead, you do your best at something between stream-of-consciousness and panic attack style muttering. Like you’re reading Reservation Blues, gift wrapped as a Greek tragedy.

You pace across the stage, like Ariadne pacing across the beach of Naxos after she’s been abandoned. Then sit and study the stage lights as if they’re constellations. All while lamenting and cursing Theseus’ name. Your father’s name. The minotaur. Your grandfathers, Zeus and Helios. You open yourself to her anger and let it course through you like a glacier melting in spring. Her shame at trusting her fate in the hands of a man becomes your own. Her desperation and fear, now sitting alone on the island shores, feels so real that your hands shake as they drag through your hair.

It’s the first audition all day that gets a standing ovation from the entire production team. As you stand to take a bow, you’re grinning so hard your smile could rival the marquee lights on opening night. Across the room, your eyes meet his again...and you just know you’ve met your Dionysus.

///

The full cast is announced a few days later and you’re thankful you know most of them. Ravi Khan will be playing your Dionysus on stage and you’re excited, because you just saw him slay Macbeth and heard he brought the house down every night for seven months straight. You know you’re in very good hands there.

The financiers (a couple from Connecticut who finish each others sentences and talk with the charming sort of cadence only rich, white northeastern gay men can) throw a party at their Soho loft after casting is officially announced. They want everyone to get together for a little ice breaking. A little team building. At least, that’s the spin. You’re fairly certain they want to meet the names that will be on their marquee.

The loft takes up three levels and comes with a rooftop garden. It’s their fourth residence in the continental US but you’ve heard they have another in Europe. You wonder if this party wasn’t also a snobbish little reminder. We’re the guys writing your paychecks and you’re just our pretty little marionettes. So don’t fuck up.

It might intimidate you more if your eyes weren’t drifting to Noah’s all night. You make a point not to talk to him, unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to make conversation about when just looking at him too closely aches. Like you’ve caught a flu you can’t quite shake.

Finally, after dinner, you excuse yourself to go up on the rooftop and smoke. That’s what you tell everyone anyway. But you’ve never smoked cigarettes a day in your life. You just need a few deep breaths of cold air before your skin burns off from the heat of Noah’s piercing gaze. You stand by the cement ledge and tip your head back in vain, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see.

“It’s worse in LA…all the smog.” His voice calls out to you on the wind and you turn to watch him walking in your direction. As he gets closer, he eyes you playfully. “I thought you were smoking.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Well, I am. I came up here to bum a cigarette off you. And now I just look like...”

Like the older director chasing his pretty leading actress out of the party? Hmm. Couldn’t be.

You know better than to give the words a voice. You want this job so fucking bad. Almost as bad as you want him.

Gripping the cement barrier, you lean back a bit, stretching your arms. A quiet that’s thick with tension lingers between the two of you for a long string of moments.

“Your wife…?”

“Sally.”

Nodding as if you knew this and just forgot, you continue on. Who the fuck names their daughter Sally anymore? Had her parents thought it was ironically quaint? Jesus Christ…

“Right, Sally…she didn’t come?”

“Ehh, she’s grading papers. She’s a professor for UCLA but she’s doing virtual classes for them this semester and… it’s a lot.”

“English Lit?”

“Business Admin. But good guess.”

“She sounds fun.”

Your drawling sarcasm earns you a chuckle and he nods a bit.

“Uhh, she can be. Y’know, layers. Just like anyone else.”

“Well, with a name like Sally I bet the layers are just…you know. Move over onions.”

“Are you planning to be this much of a brat the entire production or did you save this energy up special just for tonight?” Turning to rest his back against the cement barrier, Noah’s smirk betrays his overbite and you can’t help the way your eyes fall there. He’s got such a pretty mouth. Like a kitten.

“Ohh no, yeah. This is just for you.” Your eyes, full of city night lights, sparkle up at him and you laugh under your breath.

His hands are cold from the night air up here and your breath hitches softly when he reaches to brush your hair back off your shoulder. He tucks it behind your ear, thumb tracing the shell of cartilage there as his eyes lose altitude. First to your mouth. Then your throat. Then the fair bit of cleavage this dress is showing off.

“How do you feel about the script? Be honest with me.” His voice is lower now. Breathier. Swallowing, you feel your features sober up a bit and you reach up to gently grip his arm.

“I’ve read it through like three times…it’s… like Mary Oliver and Anais Nin had a baby. In size eleven font.”

“That’s very high praise… thank you.” A moment of doubt flashes across his features and a wrinkle creases the space between his big brown eyes. “Wait, is it praise? I love both of those women and I just assumed…”

“Ohh, I am restless.” You sigh deeply, head tipping back as your eyes close. As an actress you don’t know how to recite poetry without performing it. Especially not Anais. “Things are calling me away...my hair is being pulled by the stars again.”

With a smirk you find his eyes again, knowing that must’ve answered his question well enough. In the back of your mind, you wonder faintly if his cool Business professor wife can do that. Watching you with eyes as hungry as an alcoholic holding a bottle of gin, you feel the pad of his thumb trace your lower lip.

“As June walked toward me from the darkness of the garden into the light of the door, I saw for the first time the most beautiful woman on earth.” His eyes flash to yours again and slowly, Noah leans over enough to rest his nose against your forehead. His words, one of your favorite Anais diary entries, are a breath across your skin. Murmured with such astounding sincerity, you’d swear they were his own spontaneous thoughts if you did not know any better. “A startling face, burning dark eyes. A face so alive I felt it would consume itself before my eyes. Years ago I tried to imagine true beauty. I...created in my mind an image of just such a woman...I had never seen her until last night. Yet I knew long ago the phosphorescent color of her skin, her huntress profile. She was color and brilliance and...strangeness…”

Leaning up on your toes, you catch his mouth in a deep kiss. And though his mouth is as cold as your own, you slide your hands under his coat and you both warm quickly against each other. You still can’t see the stars over New York City, but as he kisses you, you swear you can feel them.

///

You reach blindly across the bed until the smooth protective case that covers your phone is in your grasp. Blinking away the sleep from your eyes, you roll away from him. Checking missed texts and emails. Checking Twitter notifications. Instagram likes.

His kisses are warm trailing up your spine. Across your shoulder. Under the covers his bare arm sneaks around your middle. Flattens against your torso. The delicious heat of one large hand sinks into your skin and, as he gently pulls you back against his chest, you can’t help noting that from pinky to thumb, his hand easily traverses the width of your ribcage.

“Come back…” Long fingers brushing down your arm, he gently nudges the phone out of your grip. Normally this would irritate you. Last night shouldn’t have happened at all. He should be on his way home to his wife, riddled with guilt and trying to come up with a decent excuse.

But you feel as if there’s secrets hidden between your pages and his. Pressed there like flowers. Not just the sex. Like you both know some great cosmic joke no one else is clued in on. You’ve felt it since the audition. Since his brown eyes met yours across the theater.

Sliding your phone onto the bedside table, you roll over and bury yourself in the heat of his chest again. Arms curling around you almost protectively, he holds you snugly in place. Like you belong right here and nowhere else. His fingers brush up your spine and get lost in your soft hair.

“You make me want to rewrite this whole script…” His chuckle is low, and you can feel it deep in his chest. To anyone else, this might almost sound offensive. But from a playwright to his leading actress, it’s… almost as sacred as a prayer. “Or just write a whole new one, I dunno. Every time I’m around you my inspiration is just running wild.”

Pulling back, you can feel the lopsided smile on your face. Skimming your fingertips up over the soft skin of his upper arm. His skin is freckled, tan from spending the last decade or so in LA.

“You should write then… I don’t want you to lose it. You should chase that rabbit.”

He watches you carefully, clearly having expected a different response.

“You wouldn’t be upset? Cause… I’ll warn you, if I get started, it’s like getting sucked into another dimension. I may not come out again for eight or ten hours…or a few days even.”

Shrugging, you push yourself up and slide out of bed. You’ve always been fairly independent and you’re too creative not to empathize.

“I’m good.” Sliding on a pair of yoga pants, you dig around in your drawer for a sports bra. “I gotta get to the gym anyway. And I wanna work on my lines.”

“If I ran home to grab my laptop and then came back…”

“Yeah yeah, go for it.” Now suitably dressed, you lean over to steal a soft, smiley kiss. Nuzzle at his nose. You wonder if he knows just how sexy he looks right now, laying in your sheets with his big sleepy eyes and those salt-and-pepper curls all ruffled. You savor the knowledge that it’s your fault he looks a little bit of a mess right now.

“And then you’ll come back…” He muses happily, clearly looking forward to this part of the day. Tugging you down so you’re half resting over him, he leans back into the pillows. Lets his fingertips trace like wisps of smoke across your bare shoulder blades.

“It’s my apartment, I have to come back.” You tease him, smirking softly as if coming back to him is only coincidental to living here. As if you won’t be daydreaming about him writing in your apartment all day.

“And I’ll be here waiting. Impatiently.”

“Sally won’t miss you?” You like having him here. A lot, if you’re honest. And you don’t mind playing house for a couple of days. Coming home to him. Sharing bottles of white wine. Cuddling like foxes in winter. But you don’t particularly want to trade all that for a girlfight with a 40-something year old tenured college professor. Especially not one that can write spreadsheets.

“She’s visiting her parents in Maine. I’m free ‘til Sunday night…” His words are murmured over your jawline as he trails petal soft kisses there. Dragging a hand down your spine, Noah’s hand fits against the curve of your ass, swatting gently then squeezing. “Let me stay here with you, hmm? Please…”

“Hmm… I might not let you leave again.”

“I might not want to.”

///

“Tell me about California.” You’ve never been to the West Coast. You’ve only ever heard horror stories about the climate of west coast theatre. Chock full of Netflix rejected actors and hacked up ego-tripping directors. Maybe it’s all just hearsay. Maybe not. But sometimes you daydream about running off to California with Noah. About night riding through the Hollywood Hills real slow and watching the sun rise over Pacific Coast Highway, wrapped up in a blanket in his backseat.

“I think the only thing I really know about LA anymore is that… the whole time I was there...I was missing you.”

Your laugh gets lost on a biting autumn wind and it rustles the trees of Central Park as you walk hand in hand. He’s romantic to the point of silliness sometimes.

“You didn’t even know me then.”

“Didn’t I? The way I felt when you read my script for the audition. The way you felt saying the words. I’ve always known you. And you’ve always known me.”

“You mean you missed the idea of me…”

Squinting at the sun as it dips between the buildings that surround you, Noah’s broad shoulders give up a shrug as he contemplates your words. Weighs the truth from them.

“No…maybe? I… I don’t think time works that way. I don’t think it’s really that black and white. You and I will always be in this park. We’ll always be right here. And here. And here…” Your laughter bubbles up to meet his own as he measures his words with each step.

“Sort of like that poem? Everything carries me to you. As if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.”

His smile grows enough to crinkle his eyes when the Pablo Neruda quote registers in his mind. Nodding, he squeezes your hand. Tugs it to his lips to nuzzle your knuckles and brush a warm kiss there.

“Exactly. Each moment is infinite. Backwards, forwards. Time isn’t...us moving through space. It’s all around us. It’s a fabric.”

You try to get your head around this concept. And you suppose he’s right. But it’s hard to imagine that he actually feels that way. That this is real for him. You’re still waiting for the other boot to drop. Still waiting for him to wake up and realize you’re not enough. Still waiting for him to leave and go back to his wife.

///

His wife shows up to rehearsals and you can’t help the way your eyes drift while you sit stretching your legs on the stage floor. The way you study her like a journalist about to hammer out a biting expose.

She’s pretty, you guess. For her age. In a sort of basic Karen way.

Her eyes don’t arrest you the moment you’re in their path, like his can. She lacks the same inescapable gravitational pull. But her skin is clear. Blonde hair stylishly short. Her clothes and good posture make it obvious she comes from money.

You’re not jealous, you tell yourself as your eyes follow their every interaction. Clocking the way he rests his hand on the small of her back. The way his eyes crinkle at her charming jokes with the producers, who seem to be friends of hers. No, you’re not jealous at all.

You find yourself wondering if he’s himself in their home. The same wildly soulful and passionate man that you find in your bed most nights. Does he choke her nearly hard enough to make her pass out, then kiss the bruises? Do they lay around in messy sheets and read Greek tragedies together? Does she cook for him and let him feed her with his bare hands? Has she ever made new constellations out of his freckles and written whole stories for them?

It’s hard for you to imagine him giving himself so raw and bloody to anyone else. But maybe he does… maybe this means so much less than you want it to… maybe you’re just a fun way to pass the time…

Snapping his fingers at you, Ravi pulls you out of the clouds and back to the rehearsals happening on stage around you.

“You alright, love?” His English accent rings clear even in his chuckle.

“Hmm? Oh yeah…” Pushing up off the stage floor from where you had been stretching, you take Ravi’s outstretched hand and let him pull you to your feet. “Sorry. Too much kush before coming in.”

“And you didn’t share? Hmm. You’re lucky you’re so cute, ducks.” He shakes his head in amusement and walks you to the spike tape in place for Act III’s stage direction.

///

Nosing behind Noah’s wet ear, you drop a kiss to his shoulder. Nip as lightly as you can at his earlobe, tongue slipping out to taste his soft skin. You try desperately to ignore the way the heat of the bath water brings out the scent of his cologne in it's steam. But it’s impossible.

Nose brushing along his neck, you're pulled back to earth only by his gentle squeeze on your thigh. The low chuckle in his throat.

"You still with me, gorgeous?" You’ve been reading Marlowe's Faustus together the last couple of nights. He reads for Faustus, you for Mephistopheles. It's more fun than you might have imagined, both of you getting so into your characters that the story seems to come to life with vibrating colors.

"We had to pretend all daaay..." Your words are a breathy pout in his ear as your fingertips ghost down his chest, tracing through the soapy bath water there. "I’m still aching from it."

You’re still not sure how you manage to hide this so well at rehearsals. You suppose being an actress by trade helps. You’re paid to be a good liar. But damn if he doesn’t challenge you like no script ever has.

"Hmm..." Smirk tugging at his mouth, Noah leans back to nuzzle his scruff across your soft skin. Presses lazy kisses here and there. "I thought I had satisfied that ache upon arrival...did I not?"

Cradling his throat, you tilt his head back slowly and steal a gentle kiss. Deep and warm and wet. Kissing him is always a little like slipping back through the looking glass. Out of the maelstroms of your head and back into Wonderland.

Nuzzling at his nose, you shake your head and let a lazy smile grace your lips.

"You always satisfy me…and you always leave me aching insatiably all over again after." Thumb stroking over the evening scruff on his chin, you keep his head tilted back on your shoulder as you read from the pages of his old paperback once more. But you whisper as if the words are coming to you on the spot, sent down from the muses themselves. "Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed. In one self-place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is, there must we ever be. All places shall be hell that is not heaven."

Noah’s smile returns, warming his features to their usual buttery glow. Holding his book up a bit higher, he murmurs Faustus' line with buoyant amusement.

"Come, I think hell’s a fable."

"Ay, think so still, till experience change thy mind." Your own lilt bites back.

"Think’st thou that Faustus is so fond to imagine that after this life there is any pain? Tush, these are trifles and mere old wives’ tales."

"Gods, I haven’t thought about hell as painful in...years." You have a terrible habit of interrupting the reading with your own thoughts. Thankfully, he has yet to complain.

One finger between the pages to mark your place, he closes the book and focuses all attention on you again. Thunder rumbles closer than before, rain hitting the roof angrily.

“Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Hazani?” His voice is a low murmur across your jaw, nose nudging your skin encouragingly.

In these moments, Noah seems only ever to love like a gentle, deliciously warm summer rain. In your apartment, he has nothing to prove. No ego to beat you over the head with or jealousy to shackle you in. He can be a different man altogether at rehearsals. A perfectionist to the point of ruin. And you’ve felt his patience grow short more than once when you giggle at Ravi’s jokes. But here…

“Well, I guess… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because my mother is Greek. Maybe it’s… residual Persephone headspace after Hadestown? I dunno, I think of the underworld and I see… walls of blue ice. Rivers of pitch black. Feasts laid out on long tables. Groves of figs and pears and pomegranates. I see the Fields of Elysium. I don’t see pain. Not anywhere.”

Setting his book on the floor outside of the tub, Noah reaches back. Slides his warm fingers across your neck.

“Now you really sound like Ariadne.” He chuckles lazily, fingers of his free hand tugging your hand up so he can kiss the inside of your wrist.

“Ahh, I suppose that’s true.” You laugh softly, both arms resting over his shoulders, fingers brushing down his chest. “When did that change?”

“And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, Some to everlasting life, Some to shame and everlasting contempt. Book of Daniel. Second century BCE. It’s the...mystery of Gehinnom. The sort of waiting room? Between death and coming to be with God again. I don’t think it was punishment initially. More like...a review. This is what you could’ve done better, this is what we’d like to see next time, sort of thing.”

“Sounds a lot like the critics at the Village Voice.”

Laughter shakes his broad shoulders and Noah finally pushes himself up from the bathwater that’s starting to grow cold around you. He helps you up, wrapping you in a towel and rubbing at your upper arms a bit to warm you. Fastening a towel around his slender hips, he climbs out first. Then takes your hand to help you do the same. Sure, you can do this yourself. You’ve done it a thousand times before. But you like it too much when he babies you to fuss.

“I missed you today too, you know…” His eyes find yours, wet bangs hanging around his eyes as he grabs a hand towel to gently brush a few beads of water off your forehead and cheek. “If I didn’t say it before.”

“You did…” Brushing a hand up his bare back, you step closer. The air is cool and you’re already getting goosebumps. But he’s too distracting. You never know how to walk away from him, even in your own self interest. “But I always need to hear it...just once more.”

Without warning, he scoops you up bridal style and carries you back into the bedroom. His voice is so soft, you barely hear the brush of it over your skin over the rainfall outside.

“It torments me to see you just a few hours and then surrender you...When I see you, all that I wanted to say vanishes. The time is so precious and words seem extraneous. But you make me happy…” He lays you down in your bed, and sits on the edge. For a moment, you just lay there looking up into the pooling warmth of his brown eyes.

Finally, your lungs expand around a breath and you scoot over so he can join you in bed. As you brush your towel away, you finish the Anais quote he started, enjoying that this is just an obnoxiously cute habit you’ve both cultivated.

“There is still too much sacredness clinging to you...You come and time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me.”

Noah lets his own towel fall to the flower and you lose yourself in the heat of his skin as he pulls you into a kiss deep enough to drown you.

///

Dress rehearsals find everyone tense. So tense that even stretching hurts.

“You alright, ducks?” Sipping at his water, Ravi wanders up to you while the tech booth guys try to work out a lighting kink.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a knot in my shoulder? Like right where it meets my neck? Every time my arm moves, my shoulder blade triggers it.” Still attempting to roll you shoulders against the pain, the grimace on your pretty face is all too obvious. Setting his water down, Ravi moves confidently behind you. Brushes the shoulders of your Grecian style dress down enough to give him better access to your neck.

“This is gunna hurt, but… my father’s a PT. My brother too. So,...”

“So, you’re the family disappointment who ran off to join the circus?” You snicker softly, well aware of the arguments he must’ve gotten into with his parents for not falling in line with the family business of medicine. Your own father is Turkish, and he’s still asking when you’re going to find a real job. You know it’s just because he loves you. But sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it makes you feel like you could win all the Tony awards and have your name lighting up every Billboard in Times Square. But you’ll still never be enough.

“So. I feel a lot less guilty about how much pain I’m about to put you in. Thanks.” He mutters through playfully gritted teeth. “And you can trust me, hmm?”

Nodding your consent, you try not to savor the warmth of his hands on your skin.

Across the auditorium, Noah’s eyes meet yours. It’s like a wrench around a bolt, the way your stomach suddenly twists. You can feel what he’s thinking. The territorial rage that simmers under his skin.

Suddenly the pain comes in a blinding flash and you whimper like a puppy that’s just been kicked. Still, you force your spine to stay straight.

“Is that too much? Should I”-

“Mm mm. Don’t stop. I think it’s almost there.” Pushing yourself back into the pressure point of his thumb, you feel yourself nearly break into a sweat at the pain. But then he’s finished. A long shuddering breath falls from your lips. “Fuck.”

Setting your dress back in place with the care of a secret lover, Ravi brushes a hand down your arm. Gently guides your wrist up so your whole shoulder has to flex in response. Over your shoulder you flash him a grin.

“Yeah? It worked?” He seems just as excited as you are and you can’t help kissing his cheek. Maybe in earnest appreciation. Maybe in hopes of getting back at Noah for going home to his wife on weeknights.

“Yeah. Thank you so much, Dr. Khan.”

“Ahh. Well… I do home visits as well.” He slips you a cheeky wink and you giggle as Noah climbs up on stage.

“Alright, let’s take lunch guys. I don’t think this lighting thing is getting fixed any time soon. Might as well get some food into you.” You can hear the casual impatience in his voice and when he snaps his fingers at you, you have to raise an eyebrow. It takes every cell of restraint in your body not to quip about him calling you back like a poodle. “Miss Hazani, can I speak to you in my office?”

Ravi gives you a look like you’re being called to the principal’s office and you roll your eyes as if indignant. Still, you nod respectfully and trail after Noah anyway. Good little poodle, you think to yourself. The door is barely closed before he’s laying into you.

“If you thought that was cute, it wasn’t.” The hurt in his eyes makes you feel as if you’ve slapped him in front of everyone.

“I...I had a knot in my back. He was just helping me. I swear, that’s all it was.”

“Oh, don’t stop Ravi. I’m almost there, Ravi. Yeah I can see how that was entirely innocent.” Eyeing you pointedly, one hand finds his hip while the other rests against his desk. With you in between him and the desk, this movement effectively pins you in place. But it’s hard to be intimidated by a man who practically worships at your altar every night.

“Hey, when is it bring your wife to work day again? I wanted to make Sally some muffins.”

“Thursday and she has a gluten allergy.” He tips his head in a deadpan, as susceptible to the pull of your sarcasm as ever.

“Aww. I’ve been meaning to pick up one of those. So on trend.”

Sucking in a breath, Noah glances down for a moment trying to find his patience on the linoleum floor. No such luck. Leaning in closer, his thumb and index finger flirt with the soft skin of your chin.

“We’ve got two weeks. I need you to focus. Can you do that for me, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Brushing a hand down his chest, you finger one of the white buttons there. Then sigh softly. If you’re truly honest with yourself, you know he’s right. You know you were playing the brat to get his attention. To feel a little better about having to share him. Conceding a nod, you lean in to rest your head against his shoulder. His fingers brush through the strands and you spend your whole lunch break like that. Just letting him hold you like a little lapdog.

///

You haven’t seen him outside of work in a week because, with fall break in full swing, Sally is finally home for more than a few hours at night and suddenly she wants to make things “work”. You check your phone more than you should, only to feel your stomach tighten harshly around its own acids.

No new messages.

No new messages.

No new messages.

Running on coffee and mints, you go up town looking for adderall from your friends in the Financial District. It’s enough to get you through rehearsals. Through thanksgiving with your parents in Rhode Island. The Sunday night when everyone finally returns to Manhattan, you all decide a cast dinner is just what you need.

You pull out the sexiest little velvet dress you own and do your hair and makeup real glam. To add insult to injury, you arrive fashionably late and sit on Ravi’s lap because “there’s no good seats left”. There’s a part of you that’s always known he would be the better choice.

But every time you lean to whisper in his ear, your eyes are brushing around his shoulders to lock on Noah’s.

///

A week later, opening night brings the house down. Afterwards, the theatre company’s financiers host a huge party in honor of the success. Everyone is eating and laughing. Except you.

Despite all the accolades, you’re drinking too much. Seething as you watch Noah cuddle up to Sally all evening like they’re newlyweds.

He tries to motion with his head for you to meet him upstairs. But he’s a little late for a quick fuck. You are way too drunk to do anything but pound the steps up to the rooftop with your heeled boots as if marching into battle.

“Are you like...getting back at me for dinner the other night? Is that what this is?” The air on the industrial loft rooftop is frigid and you barely escape the stairwell before turning on him.

“Are you seriously pretending that your behavior at dinner was about Ravi and not us?” Shoving his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders hunch up against the cold.

“My behavior? What are you, my father?”

“Sometimes I kinda feel like I am. Like right now, when you’re acting out because your feelings got hurt.”

“Oh, but that’s not what you’re doing. ‘Cause you’re older than me. And a man. And so much fucking wiser, right? So this isn’t a tantrum. This isn’t jealousy. This is all my own fault.”

“I’m married, Kitsa. If I stick by her all night and kiss her head and wrap an arm around her it’s to keep from having my every move dissected when we get home. It’s to keep the rumor mill from shutting down funding on my next project. If you flirt with Ravi and sit in his lap at cast dinners it’s just giggled off by everybody. It’s just fucking fun for you. That in there is not fun for me. There is a politics to marriage that you cannot begin to understand.”

For just a moment, the sharp edge of your anger softens. You feel sympathy start its clawing and biting. But then you remember all the times you’ve glanced at your phone the last two weeks, waiting for him to call. Feeling the abandonment like a stabbing ice pick. Your jaw tightens. Stepping forward, you glare up at him defiantly.

“You are a grown man. If you find yourself anywhere, it’s because that’s exactly where you want to be.”

You turn on your heel to leave, but he grips your arm and pulls you back. Tugging his jacket off, Noah sets the shoulders of it around your own. Despite your burning rage, you pull the jacket tighter around your petite frame. You can’t say the heat is unwelcome against the December chill. Neither is the scent of his cologne.

“Then you might want to ask yourself why I’m up here arguing with you when there’s a whole party going on downstairs where everyone is toasting my name.”

The words hit you like a smack to the cheek and you’re left in silence for several moments as you digest them. Finally shuffling closer into his too-tall frame, you force the words out that you know he needs to hear. Though you sound meak as a city mouse in your attempt.

“We should stop…”

His long fingers are icy cold as they tangle loosely through your own. Gently, but firmly, they tug you against him.

“Tell me how. Cause I’ve been trying. I have. And…”

You hadn’t considered that. That maybe the past two weeks had been about him making an attempt at cutting things off. At reconnecting with his wife. That maybe he’d been failing miserably. Shaking your head, you fight the desperation to cave in that’s clawing around at your insides.

“But you’re never going to leave her, Noah… So what the fucking point of any of this?”

Finally, he drags in a breath. Rubs at his tired eyes.. When you tip your head back to find his gaze you can see his jaw flexing.

“Leave with me. After the show has its run. After the checks clear… we can go anywhere.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” You warn him, vulnerability clear-cut in your eyes.

“I mean it. Costa Rica. Belize. Panama. Argentina. We’ll go get lost where no one can find us. I’m serious, Kitsa.”

“My family…” You realize if you accept, you might never see them again. Or at least, not for a while. Not until the dust settles.

“There’s no reason they can’t come visit. And I can still write there. You can still act. We’ll be fine. Just give me some time to talk to a lawyer. Get things in order first, hmm?” As he tucks your hair back behind one ear, you can feel yourself nodding. You know it’s stupid to believe him. To let yourself picture that life with him.

“I guess I should start learning Spanish…” You joke through the wetness of tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. Pulling you closer, Noah laughs with you and drops a firm kiss to your head. Nuzzles into your hair.

“I’m going to give you the crown you deserve. All seven stars.”

[bi-demon-ium]

i feel like tipsy/drunk mr benedict is just that post thats like “i am sitting here!!!!! UNKISSED!!!!!! UNLOVED!!!!!! UNHUGGED!!!!!!! its a CRIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” just. yowling like a kitten demanding to be picked up.