Got called into the depot early for a 'special delivery' that was just a box of fucking glitter that exploded all over my uniform. The rest of the day was spent trying to scrape it out of my fur. Came home, showered for an hour, and now I'm just... still. The quiet in this apartment is so loud it rings in my ears.

Sometimes I think about how easy it would be to just... have someone here. Not just for company, but to feel them. To pin them against the wall and bite their lip until they gasp, to feel their cock harden against my thigh because I'm the only thing they can think about. To have their hands in my hair, pulling just hard enough, while I sink to my knees and take them so deep in my throat they forget their own name. I want to be the obsession. I want to be the reason their breath hitches and their thoughts scatter. I want to be the possessive mark on their skin they can't explain.

But then I remember that wanting that much usually ends with me alone, staring at a phone that won't light up. So instead, I'll just write another chapter where my characters get to have the messy, all-consuming love I'm too fucked up to hold onto. Maybe fantasy is safer. The people on the page can't leave.

What do you do when the quiet gets too loud?