Dead Plate Oneshots Sound Proof

Warning: Sexual Content

The night was settling quietly over the small apartment that Vincent, Rody, Manon, and Richard shared. But this was a rare moment of peace.

Most nights were anything but quiet. Especially thanks to Vincent and Rody.

It had started innocently enough when the four of them moved in together to save on rent. They all got along well, and everyone’s quirks seemed manageable at first. Richard was calm and organized, which was fortunate because Manon’s chaotic tendencies balanced things out. Rody was the group’s boisterous energy, and Vincent was… well, Vincent. Slightly uptight, unfailingly intense, and the only one who could wrangle Rody into actually doing chores.

But soon after the move, Richard and Manon had noticed a… unique pattern. Each evening, shortly after Vincent and Rody retired to their shared room, strange noises would emerge. At first, it was just quiet shuffling. Then there was an occasional soft laugh, some murmurs, and maybe a squeak of bedsprings.

Then came the moaning. **Vincent’s** moaning.

Vincent wasn’t a particularly loud person by day. Most people would even call him reserved, preferring dry, witty remarks to loud declarations. But at night? He was apparently quite expressive.

Richard stared at his ceiling in disbelief as the familiar sounds started up again. It was a high-pitched groan, the sort that would make a person question every life choice that had led them to this moment.

“Oh, God, yes! Rody—!”

Richard groaned and rolled over, punching his pillow as if it would somehow dampen the noise. No such luck.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered to himself. “They could at least try to muffle it…”

A moment later, Manon appeared at his doorway, dark circles under her eyes. She was still wearing her strawberry-patterned pajamas, her hair frizzing out at odd angles.

“I can’t take it anymore, Richard,” she hissed. “That’s the third time *this week*.”

He held up his hand. “Correction: it’s only Wednesday. Fourth time.”

They both jumped as an especially loud exclamation—one that sounded suspiciously like *“Oh mon Dieu!”*—echoed through the apartment. Richard winced and buried his head in his hands.

“Do they even realize we can hear *everything*?” Manon whispered, horrified.

Richard shook his head, grimacing. “I don’t think they care.”

They sat in silence, the uncomfortably rhythmic squeaks of the bed filling the air. Manon looked at the ceiling with a sigh. “It’s just… *Vincent,* you know? I never thought he’d be the loud type. He has this… *reputation.*”

Richard nodded grimly. Vincent was all stoic and proper by day, managing their apartment expenses and making delicious meals with an eye for detail. He didn’t exactly strike anyone as the type to be screaming Rody’s name every night like he was performing in a low-budget romance movie.

“He’s louder than Rody!” Richard muttered.

Manon groaned. “And don’t get me started on Rody! He’s… *enabling* him. Half the time, he’s laughing while Vincent’s yelling.”

And as if on cue, Rody’s voice came floating down the hall. “You good down there, chef?”

“*Yes, don’t stop—*”

Manon’s jaw dropped. “*That’s it.*”

She stomped out of Richard’s room, her fluffy slippers pounding a surprisingly threatening rhythm against the floorboards. Richard followed, a bit apprehensive, but more than a little curious to see what she was planning.

She marched right up to Rody and Vincent’s bedroom door and knocked hard. There was an abrupt silence from the other side. Then a soft, almost embarrassed, *“Uh… just a minute!”*

A few seconds later, the door cracked open to reveal Vincent’s flushed face, his hair a mess and his expression… well, not nearly as intimidating as usual.

“Yes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Manon fixed him with a look that could’ve melted steel. “Look, Vincent. We’re happy for you. Really. You and Rody deserve a healthy, loving relationship.”

Vincent blinked, clearly unsure where this was going. “Thank you…?”

“But could you keep it down?” Manon snapped, poking his chest with a finger. “Some of us like to *sleep* at night!”

Vincent’s mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, his pale skin somehow looking even paler. “I… wasn’t aware we were being disruptive,” he managed, sounding horrified.

“Oh, you were,” Richard chimed in from behind Manon. “In fact, I’ve learned way more about your preferences than I ever wanted to.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Richard, I… I had no idea.”

Manon crossed her arms. “That’s because you two are so… so *into it* that you’re oblivious to the rest of us! It’s like living next to a rock concert, but with fewer guitars and a lot more *‘Oh Rody, yes’!*”

There was a loud snort, and they all turned to see Rody now standing at the door, looking amused rather than embarrassed.

“Hey, at least we’re giving you some excitement in your lives,” he said with a grin. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit we’re entertaining.”

Richard threw up his hands. “Entertaining is *not* the word I’d use, Rody. This place is starting to feel like a circus.”

Rody only shrugged, still laughing. “Well, maybe you two need earplugs?”

Vincent shot him a look, but Rody just wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Besides, we can’t help it if we’re passionate!”

Manon pinched the bridge of her nose. “Rody, please. We are begging you. *Tone it down.*”

Rody gave a little salute. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Richard and Manon turned to head back down the hall, they heard Rody’s unmistakable laugh from the doorway.

“Hey, Chef, guess we’re famous.”

“*Not another word,*” Vincent hissed, his voice as low as it could go, but Richard could’ve sworn he heard a hint of amusement in it.

And that night, Vincent’s “passionate” expressions became suspiciously muffled.

But every now and then, if Richard and Manon strained their ears, they could still hear a very faint “Rody… yes!”

A few nights after their “intervention,” things seemed blessedly quiet—at least, for a few days. Richard and Manon were cautiously optimistic, thinking perhaps they’d finally gotten through to Rody and Vincent. But just as they were drifting off, the peace shattered.

It started with the familiar muffled shuffling and murmurs coming from the other side of the wall, followed quickly by the unmistakable sound of bed springs creaking in time with Rody’s low laughter. Manon sat bolt upright, shooting a wide-eyed look at Richard across the hall, who was already burying his head under his pillow in resignation.

“Are you *kidding* me?” she hissed under her breath, exasperation leaking into every word.

But then they noticed something different. Vincent’s usual moaning wasn’t the same. It was strangely muted, like he was trying to keep quiet—or like he couldn’t quite manage it.

“What did he do, put a pillow over his face?” Richard muttered, exasperated, peeling back his pillow just enough to listen.

“Or—wait.” Manon’s face lit up with the horrified realization. “Do you think… Rody’s actually *gagging him* to keep him quiet?”

Just then, a muffled noise that could only be Vincent filtered through the wall.

“Mmmph—Rody!”

The two stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Oh. My. God,” Richard whispered, barely containing his laughter. “He actually *gagged* him.”

And sure enough, a series of suppressed, muffled groans came from Vincent’s room, interspersed with Rody’s deep, unrestrained chuckles and occasional whispers of, “Shhh, Chef. Gotta keep it down for the neighbors.”

But the gagging didn’t solve everything. Far from it. Because without Vincent’s usual volume, the intensity of their… activities… manifested in the sound of the bed creaking violently against the wall. The rhythmic thuds and squeaks were, if anything, even louder without Vincent’s usual vocal enthusiasm to mask it.

Richard and Manon lay frozen in bed, unable to escape the chaotic symphony of squeaks, thumps, and faint, stifled sounds.

“Honestly, this is *worse*,” Richard groaned, rubbing his temples. “It’s like listening to a live-action sound effects test.”

Manon flopped back on her bed, arms sprawled dramatically. “They’re relentless. *Relentless!* It’s like every time they go quiet, they just come back even louder.”

Just then, a particularly loud creak made the walls shake. Richard’s lamp rattled on his nightstand, and both roommates jumped as the thumping increased in frequency and intensity.

“Oh my God, are they going to break the bed?” Manon whisper-yelled.

Richard squeezed his eyes shut, clearly weighing his life choices. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… maybe Vincent should just *stay loud.* At least then we wouldn’t be haunted by… *that* noise.”

Another muffled moan from Vincent, a low growl from Rody, and the bed let out an agonized screech that sent both Richard and Manon practically leaping out of their beds. This was the kind of sound that spoke of broken bed frames and probably some very awkward repair bills.

“Oh no, I am *not* paying for that bed frame if they break it,” Richard hissed. “Not in a million years.”

But just as he was about to go back to his room, the noise finally ceased. Silence fell, save for the occasional groaning of the bed frame as it settled.

They shared a long, wide-eyed look, waiting to see if the quiet would last.

But then Rody’s voice came through, unmistakably smug: “Not bad for a ‘gagged chef,’ huh?”

Vincent’s low, exasperated groan was barely audible as he muttered, “Rody… I swear to God…”

Manon and Richard exchanged a long, incredulous look before Manon started laughing so hard she almost fell over.

Richard sighed, finally cracking a grin as he muttered, “Every night with those two is like a new episode of a sitcom.”

The next morning, Richard and Manon were waiting at the kitchen table, bags under their eyes but wearing identical looks of grim determination. They watched as Rody, still rumpled and looking way too smug for someone who’d apparently spent the entire night testing the structural integrity of his bed, strolled into the kitchen, Vincent trailing behind with his usual straight face, though his cheeks were suspiciously red.

“Good morning,” Vincent said, trying to sound composed.

“Sleep well?” Rody asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he opened the fridge.

Richard didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, fantastic, thanks to the non-stop soundtrack of… *that.*”

Manon was nodding emphatically. “And thanks to the earthquake caused by your bed.”

Vincent’s ears turned a shade of crimson. “We… attempted to keep it down,” he managed, struggling to maintain his composure.

Rody chuckled, wrapping an arm around Vincent’s shoulders. “Hey, we even tried the gag. Thought that was a clever fix!”

Manon buried her face in her hands. “It wasn’t enough. Just… just get a better bed frame or something. Please. For our sanity.”

Rody just laughed harder, giving Vincent a sly grin. “Maybe we can try some soundproofing next time, Chef. Or… maybe we should just keep things nice and loud.”

Vincent shot him a withering look, though it was betrayed by the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” he sighed, adjusting his shirt. “But only if it’s good enough to keep the entire apartment awake.”

And as Rody’s laughter echoed through the kitchen, Richard and Manon exchanged weary but amused glances. It seemed they’d signed up for a long, noisy, and very eventful lease.