#look i kinda of lost what i was doing here...

[gilbertscurls]

Stuck With You ➵ Matt Sturniolo

Matt sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through channels as he waited for you to come back from the kitchen. You had insisted on making popcorn for your movie night, though he knew you’d likely burn it or set the microwave to the wrong time, like always.

“Hey, Matt, do we put the popcorn on one minute or two?” your voice called from the other room.

He smirked to himself. Called it.

“Two minutes, but stop it early if it starts slowing down,” he yelled back, leaning into the couch with a grin.

“Right. Got it,” you replied, your tone filled with your usual confidence despite the fact you always asked the same question every time. He shook his head, already anticipating your probable victory over yet another microwaved snack.

Moments later, you appeared in the doorway, triumphantly holding a large bowl of popcorn. “Success! No burnt kernels this time,” you announced, plopping down next to him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“I’m impressed,” he teased, draping an arm around you. “You’re really stepping up in the world.”

You laughed, shoving a handful of popcorn into his face. “Shut up. I’m practically a chef.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he chuckled, stealing a piece of popcorn from the bowl. “Master of all things microwaveable.”

You settled into their usual spots, your feet tucked under his legs while you scrolled through the endless sea of romantic comedies on the streaming service. He already knew which one you’d pick; you had a habit of rewatching the same movies over and over, and tonight would be no different.

“Ooh, let’s watch The Proposal again,” you said, your eyes lighting up as you hovered over the familiar title.

Matt groaned playfully. “Again? Haven’t you seen that movie like… fifty times?”

“Only like ten,” you corrected with a smile. “But come on, you know you secretly love it.”

He sighed dramatically but clicked on the movie anyway. “Fine, but I reserve the right to make fun of every cheesy line.”

“Deal,” you grinned, cuddling closer as the movie began.

The opening credits rolled, and soon enough, you were lost in the predictable but comforting story of romance, witty banter, and happy endings. Every so often, you would mutter along with your favorite lines, your voice a soft echo of the characters on screen.

Matt wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, though. Instead, his mind kept wandering to how normal this all felt—how natural it was to have you here, your head against his shoulder, your legs tangled with his, as if you’d always belonged there.

“You know,” you said during a lull in the movie, your voice casual but thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” he teased, nudging you lightly. “That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, poking him in the side. “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about us.”

His heart skipped a beat, though he kept his expression relaxed. “Yeah? What about us?”

You sat up slightly, turning to face him. “About how we’re always together. Like… we spend more time together than most couples I know. And we’re not even sick of each other.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light despite the way his chest tightened at your words. “Speak for yourself. I’m definitely sick of you.”

“Liar,” you grinned, lightly smacking his arm. “But seriously, it’s kinda funny, isn’t it? How we’ve just… become this. Like we’re stuck together.”

Matt’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the playful banter fading for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We kind of are.”

You smiled, leaning your head back against his chest. “Well, I guess there are worse people to be stuck with.”

He chuckled at your words, his chest tightening at the thought of being stuck with you. Stuck with your sass, your clinginess, your endless chatter.

Stuck with your love for cheesy romantic comedies, your inability to cook anything that didn't come from a packet, your habit of stealing all his hoodies.

He was stuck with you, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove

[aspergerasparagus]

I wanted to ask, what do each of the Frankies think of the contestant?

Real Frankie:

He is the rabbit that likes the contestant a little too much. Obsessive and possessive he doesn't let them out of his sight unless he has a good reason to. And while he plays up the part of caring for the contestant, maybe even playing into the romance idea, there is absolutely no love there. He is manipulative, cunning and malicious at his core and the contestant is more than aware of this and knows how this is all going to play out in the end. When they no longer prove to be useful, Frankie will dispose of them. Will he be sad doing it, maybe, but in the end ending them with his own hands will the greatest thrill (plus think of the ratings!)! In the end, while he won't outright hurt the contestant (physically anyway) he still can't be trusted.

Cartoon Frankie:

"Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since you turned up on my show." (Insert AM speech here yadda yadda) So toon Frankie is the one who hates the contestant the most, despises them actually. They are the reason his show was "ruined" and why he finally lost and being the brat that he is he still holds the grudge regardless if the contestant saved the show in the end. But at the same time they are the only human to stand up to him, to talk back, to make jokes at his expense and it drives him mad. He wants to put this little human in their place and remind them who's in charge (how he plans to do that is really up to the imagination), see them on their knees begging for mercy but on the other hand wouldn't it be fun to be put into his place by them from time to time. He's very internally conflicted by the contestant, he wants them dead, he wants their undivided attention, he wants from pleading for their life, he wants them to talk down to him. He a mixed up bunny and that only pisses him off more.

Monster Frankie:

Simply, he wants to eat his face. He is straight to the point, he doesn't like the contestant (considering they did kill him) and will be hostile to him but know he can't do anything to him right now. So they kinda exist in a weird limbo, where yes Frankie will chase him, but he isn't trying to kill him, maybe throw him a round a little like a cat with a mouse but that's all. Until the next season of course. He isn't as vocal about his feelings towards them but it's clear he is still bitter about what happened but does at least hold some respect for them, hence why he listens to Real Frankie and not Toon Frankie about the contestant's fate. He rarely interacts with them due to the contestant being the most frightened of him but will occasionally drift around them like a house cat merely to spend time in their presence until he gets that look in his eye and it's time to play again.

[daisymbin]

disasters & love languages - kwon soonyoung

warnings: mentions of being burnt out (reader), basically breezing through life instead of living it.

pairings: kwon soonyoung x reader

genre: comfort, fluff

wc: 1.6k

check out my masterlist!

friday. the end of a long, draining week, and you barely have the energy to keep yourself upright as you step out of work. exhaustion clings to you like a heavy fog, making every movement feel sluggish and burdensome. soonyoung has noticed. he’s been paying close attention for days now—how the brightness in your eyes has dimmed, how you’ve been quieter and more distant, and how you come home every evening looking worn out and defeated. it worries him more than he lets on.

he’s always loved the way your smile lights up a room, how your laughter makes everything seem brighter. but lately, your smiles have been few and far between, and he feels a pang of helplessness each time he catches the tired slump of your shoulders. soonyoung isn’t the best at fixing things, but if there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s making people you smile; even if it means making a mess or doing something ridiculous.

so he decides he’s going to surprise you. the plan forms impulsively, and he spends the afternoon looking up recipes, convinced that cooking you a homemade meal is the perfect way to lift your spirits. but now, as he stands in the middle of a kitchen disaster zone, he wonders if he might have made things worse. flour dusts every surface, and the smoky smell lingers stubbornly despite his frantic efforts to clear the air. he’s waving a dish towel over a pan that nearly caught fire, his heart sinking.

then he hears the front door open, and his heart skips a beat as panic pumps through his blood. he’s not ready—there’s flour in his hair, and he’s positive he looks like he lost a battle with an entire pantry. still, he forces himself to spin around, dropping the towel and trying to wipe the guilt off his face. you stand there, looking surprised and exhausted, and his chest aches. now he's sure he's definitely made things worse.

“soonyoung?” you call, your voice soft but weary, and he feels a pang of guilt. you already look so tired; the last thing you need is to come home to this mess.

he jumps, flustered and sheepish. “oh my god!” he yelps, eyes wide with surprise. “you’re home? already?” he wasn’t expecting you so soon, and he’d hoped to have everything perfect before you arrived.

“yeah,” you reply, stepping cautiously into the chaos. you take in sight of the flour, the scattered ingredients, the way soonyoung looks like he’s been through a warzone, and your exhaustion temporarily gives way to confusion. “what… happened here?”

soonyoung’s face flushes, and he scratches the back of his neck. “um, okay, so don’t be mad,” he starts, looking absolutely guilty. “i was trying to cook for you. you know, to make you feel better. but…” he glances at the smoking pan, his expression crumpling with disappointment. “i kinda… ruined everything.”

he waits, he waits for the disappointed sigh, the yelling, the scolding, he waits for your cry even. he's holding his breath, but when he hears your laugh—a real, genuine laugh—the weight on his chest lifts a little. he watches your face light up, and for the first time in days, he sees you looking actually happy. it’s worth every bit of the mess he made.

“ruined?” you repeat, a laugh bubbling up in your chest despite your exhaustion. you take in the sight of him, messy and exasperated, and something in you cracks open. “it looks like you tried to summon the kitchen fire spirit.”

soonyoung groans, his shoulders slumping. “i swear, the youtube chef made it look so easy! how was i supposed to know that oil splatters like that?” he pauses, looking at you sheepishly. “and that flour… uh, explodes if you spill it near an open flame?”

“soonyoung-ah!” you exclaim, half-laughing, half-horrified. “you almost set the place on fire?”

he winces, holding his hands up defensively. “only almost,” he says.

"please dont tell me you set the smoke detector off.." you pleaded, “it only went off once, I swear!" he squeezes his eyes shut, "but I managed to stop it! I handled it!" & he waits again.

but you giggled, and a smile tugs at your lips despite your exhaustion. the sight of him, messy and stressed and so very soonyoung, breaks through some of the numbness that’s been weighing you down all week. “you did all this… for me?” you ask, stepping closer.

he looks down, his cheeks flushing as he nods. “yeah,” he says quietly. “you’ve been so burnt out, and i just… i wanted to make you happy. but now i ruined everything, and the kitchen’s a disaster.”

your heart swells, and you reach out to take his hands in yours. his fingers are warm, a little sticky from whatever he’d been cooking, but you don’t care. “you didn’t ruin anything,” you say softly. “in fact, you being an absolute disaster somehow cheered me up. that fire alarm thing was kinda funny.” you swallow the laughter bubbling in your chest.

he looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes. “really?”

“really,” you say firmly. “come on, let’s clean up this mess, mhm?”

his smile is small but genuine, a hint of relief washing over his features. “yeah, okay.”

he follows you as you start tackling the mess together, and it’s not easy. flour and oil end up everywhere, but soonyoung keeps you laughing every few minutes. he cracks jokes or tells stories about his cooking misadventures, and at one point, he tries to explain the youtube recipe he followed. & can you believe? he even searched up gordon ramsay! all this, complete with wild hand gestures. you had to stop scrubbing the counter several because you’re laughing too hard, hands clutching your tummy.

“and then the guy on the video said to ‘sauté gently,’” soonyoung says, miming an exaggerated stir. “but i guess i was too rough with it or something? and boom! oil explosion.”

“how do you even sauté ‘gently’?” you ask, giggling.

“i have no idea,” he replies, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “it’s like they expect me to have chef-level skills or something. obviously, i don’t. that’s why i’m watching stupid videos on youtube.”

finally, after what feels like forever, the kitchen is somewhat back to normal. you collapse onto the couch, sighing in exhaustion, and soonyoung drops down next to you, looking equally tired but content.

“i’m sorry for making such a mess,” he says, his voice softer now. “i really did want to make you feel better.”

“you did. i do feel better,” you assure him. “even if it wasn’t the way you planned.”

he’s about to respond when he suddenly brightens, as if remembering something. “wait here,” he says, jumping up and disappearing into the other room. you watch him go, curiosity piqued, until he returns with something hidden behind his back, you hear the ruffles as he walks.

“close your eyes,” he instructs, bouncing on his feet.

you raise an eyebrow. “should i be worried?”

“dont be stubborn & just trust me,” he whines, his eyes wide with excitement.

you close your eyes, and a moment later, he gently places something heavy in your hands. “okay,” he says. “open.”

your mouth falls open at the sight. in your hands is a bouquet—not of flowers, but books. all ten of them, ones you’d mentioned wanting to read in passing, thinking he wasn’t paying attention. they’re carefully chosen, wrapped, and tied together with a ribbon, arranged like a flower bouquet. you’re stunned, your heart swelling with emotion.

“soonyoung-ah…” you whisper, looking up at him with grateful eyes. “you got me all these?”

he nods, his smile sheepish but hopeful. “i know you’ve been feeling down, and you love reading, so i thought… maybe this would help? we can lock ourselves in all weekend and read, if you want. i don’t enjoy reading as much as you, but i’ll do it for you.”

tears lightly prick at your eyes, and you bite your lip to keep them at bay. “you’re so sweet, you know that?”

“no, i didn’t even do much… this is just a fraction of what you deserve,” he says immediately, his expression earnest. “you’ve been working so hard, and you deserve a break. i want to be here for you. even if it’s just to sit and read, or… or to burn the kitchen down just to see you smile.”

you laugh, the sound breaking free and filling the room with warmth. “there’s no way we’ll finish all these books by sunday night,” you tease, looking at the enormous stack.

soonyoung’s face lights up with a grin of love and adoration. “then we’ll just have to stay in next weekend, too.”

“and the weekend after that?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“and the one after that,” he agrees, leaning closer until his forehead touches yours. “as many weekends as you need to feel better, i’ll spend all those weekends with you. & all the weekends in my life."

you smile, feeling lighter than you have in days. “thank you.”

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse: the end!

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) On AO3

Chapter 18: Epilogue (2/2) and Happily Ever After

They passed through the hotel lobby, grinning like lovestruck morons, lost in each other’s eyes.

Odd couple didn’t even faintly capture it. Eddie was, of course, wearing a thrash metal t-shirt and a bellhop hat, while Steve sported a thousand-dollar designer suit. If they got any judgmental looks, Eddie didn’t notice any more than he cared. To these high society jerks, he might look like a flat-broke stoner. Joke on them was that the credit card Eddie had slammed on the counter was well in the black.

Vecna’s Doom Quest II had been a blockbuster hit. While he’d paid all his early royalties back to Dustin, Suzie and their charitable trusts, he and Steve had plenty of cash left over for them to live a lifestyle that… wasn’t beyond their wildest dreams, actually. So far, and with the exception of the harrowing court cases, it’d been quiet and domestic and just kinda nice.

When they approached the revolving door, Steve reached out and squeezed Eddie’s hand. Steve was always super-vigilant, looking out for him, when they were out and about in crowded places. Occasionally, Eddie also worried they were getting too responsible and middle-aged before their time.

Or maybe not.  

When they finally got back to their rented apartment, there were six messages on the answerphone:

“Dude, pick up!” Gareth whined, on the full-to-bursting tape. “Jeff’s van’s totally busted, so we’re gonna fly down and practice on your gear at the apartment. You better be ready, man.”

Ooookay. Quiet domesticity was about to be shattered.

Eddie had finally persuaded Corroded Coffin to get back together. While he army-crawled his way toward the challenge of performing live again, they’d recorded a demo and scattered-gunned it all over LA. Next week they’d gotten their first actual audition, with a lowkey Indie label.

Now, Eddie grimaced, while Steve made a beeline for the galley kitchen. While Eddie was pumped for the audition, he’d hoped they’d have a day or so more to themselves.

“Better order several crates of beer in,” muttered Steve, pausing to kick a stray drumstick out of his path. He dumped a paper bag of snaffled pastries from the hotel kitchen. “I got first dibs on the leftover cinnamon buns, before your crew eat us out of house and fucking home.”

“Look, I know you said you were fine with the band crashing here,” said Eddie, pursuing Steve across the barely visible linoleum, “you sure about that?”

“I do technically own a hotel for a few more hours.” Steve chugged back some Diet Coke then shrugged. “This place is already cluttered with your shit. I can rarely find middle C on my keyboard, so I don’t see what difference a few more sweaty bodies is gonna make, and… I get it, Eddie. If you guys wanna be real again, or whatever, capture the right vibes, you need to get back to those grass roots.”

As long as nobody smokes grass in my Babe’s apartment. Eddie wasn’t going to say that out loud, because Steve would bristle. Eddie would quietly enforce it anyway.

“Okay, feel free to change your mind,” he said. “They piss us off, I’m sure Robin can store them in your old linen closet, or something.”

Steve snickered, but genuinely seemed chill about it. In fact, his smirk segued into a grin, one hand snaking around to find that strategically placed rip in Eddie’s jeans—so yeah, basically groping Eddie’s butt-cheek. “We better make the most of our privacy, right?” he purred.

Eddie stalled only to plop back on the bellhop hat, which he’d still gotten clutched in one sweaty paw: “Your wish is my command.”

“Jesus, will you drop that shit?” Steve’s grip on Eddie’s ass tightened, and he smacked his lips to Eddie’s in an inarguably hungry kiss.

…

Steve couldn’t ever get enough of kissing Eddie. He couldn’t ever get enough of their life together.

Today, Eddie tasted of coffee and almond pastries and of… yeah, that uniquely awesome taste of Eddie. Kissing him set off the sappiest lyrics wailing in Steve’s ears. He was only sorry, as he backed Eddie out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom, that they’d not gotten Corroded Coffin’s ‘Fire Shroud’ demo blasting from the beatbox. Steve, basically, had Bryan Adams on a hell-loop: ‘You know it's truuuue, Everything I dooooo, I do it for yooooou!’

On the other hand, it was so good to have music as his happy place again.

Before, he’d hardly been able to endure songs he once loved. The feelings that they’d triggered, and the avalanche of memories, had been too overwhelming. Once he’d learned the truth about his parents, he’d been able to grieve at last. To finally move on, knowing they’d done their best to look out for him after all. It wasn’t their fault—nor his, really—that he’d been conned.

He even conceded that Extreme cover of ‘Love of my Life’ was passable. But only after he made Eddie sing the original Queen harmonies—as many as one guy could—while he was belting it out on his other new beloved, his Yamaha keyboard.

One matter between them remained slightly off-key, though.

Eddie was still hyper-conscious about how things had started out, how he’d hired Steve as a hooker. Steve was eternally telling him that he didn’t need to ‘make amends,’ that they’d rarely been out-of-kilter in the bedroom. Eddie still needed reassurance sometimes.

Which Steve was more than willing to give.

Now, when they broke for air, Steve wedged his fingers under the chin strap of the bellhop cap. He swung Eddie around with it before shoving him down flat on their entirely normal-sized double bed. Who needed Emperor-size when you sleep best entangled in each other? Eddie didn’t snore so bad since he quit, while Steve’s asthma was pretty much under control.

Though not as much as he had a demonically grinning Eddie completely under his control. He straddled Eddie’s torso, playfully pinning Eddie’s arms either side of his head.

“I can ask for anything, right?” Steve arched over Eddie, nibbling his lips down the curve of Eddie’s throat.

“Hell, yeeeeeah,” Eddie was saying, his voice pitching toward a squeak. Steve nuzzled his thrumming voice-box and undulated on top of him, bumping and grinding against his groin.

“Let’s start with getting rid of that dumb hat.”  It was flung across the room in an instant. “Seeing as I’m gonna spend the next week being your groupie”—Steve paused to scrub his tongue up the shallow stubble on Eddie’s throat— “I want you to get totally metal on my ass. I mean, Jesus, Munson! It’s been a traumatic day. I’m not in the mood for heavy lifting.”

Then he slammed back down for another kiss, rolling and grappling and hugging and laughing, till Eddie rolled on top, pinning him instead.

“Fuuuuuck, Stevie!” Eddie now sucked Steve’s earlobe, nibbling the line of his jaw. Eddie’s hands slid down his arms, thumbing the super-sensitive arc of Steve’s elbow—Christ, when he was with Eddie, every part of his skin turned into an erogenous zone. They helped each other out of their shirts—not quite sending buttons flying nor seams ripping. Eddie really loved that Exodus t-shirt, which was limited edition and pretty much irreplaceable, while Steve had only sunk money into one premium-brand court day outfit.

“God, I love you so much,” whispered Eddie. “Have I ever told you how beautiful your body is?”

“Yeah. Every day. Never gets old… Shit, yeah… Lower… Gnng!” Eddie’s breaths blazed over Steve’s tightly sucked-in belly, while Steve gyrated up against him. Then Eddie hooked his fingers in Steve’s tailored waistband and peeled Steve’s pants down—a relief, because Steve’s erection was definitely straining plenty of stitches around there. He forgot that the instant he was freed, the pants tossed aside. Eddie took Steve’s dick in his mouth and pure liquid ecstasy overtook him.

Steve rested his head back on the feather-soft pillow, otherwise floating on thin air, all his awareness confined to the blowjob. Eddie suckled briefly, then licked his length, before seeking out that tender patch round the back of Steve’s dick that Eddie knew he loved. Like he loved when Eddie’s rough knuckles kneaded and toyed at the base of his balls. He loved how they knew each other’s desires so damn well.

“Yes, there… Christ!” Steve literally went cross-eyed with need. Nevertheless, while he knew Eddie would happily blow him and swallow every last drop of jizz, that wasn’t what Steve wanted right now:

“Hey, groupie wants his ass played with.”

“Demanding brat, aren’t you, groupie?”

Steve grinned, tightened his fist in Eddie’s hair. “Always.”

Steve rolled onto his belly, and luxuriated in Eddie’s skilled hands, playing him like a goddamn musical instrument. Okay, cliché alert, but who fucking cared? Eddie worked Steve open, slicked fingers strumming inside him, and Steve leaked precum everywhere. They’d need to change the sheets before the band arrived, or there was gonna be some real grungy stains around.

Steve, still squirming and simmering, peeped back to watch Eddie lubing his so-fucking-ready dick.  Steve was in the mood for doggy, so he pushed himself up onto his forearms and knees, keening with relief when he felt Eddie’s cock nudge along his crack. His whole frame tautened to breaking point, tight springs coiling in the base of his dick and sacs. Then he unleashed a comfortable sigh and pressed backward, the same instant Eddie jerked his hips forward and breached him.

He kinda happy sobbed, eyes watering. Oh wow. That moment of total connection… that stretching, searing, almost-too-much yumminess.

“Yes… wow… so good,” he panted.

“Damn, you feel sweet, groupie,” cooed Eddie, an arm bracing Steve’s middle, kissing Steve’s nape. Steve’s shoulders loosened a little and he adjusted to the penetration.

“Not so bad yourself, rockstar.”

Steve snatched a tight breath then exhaled again, long and hard, his body softening toward a puddle of pleasure. Apart from his dick, which was obviously screamingly hard. Screw houses with swimming pools—as far as Steve was concerned, this was Eddie’s forever home. He twisted his head to nip Eddie’s ludicrously soft, lush lips with a wet kiss.

“Metal on my ass, right?”

“Whatever you desire, my Liege.”

Eddie began to move, and so did Steve. Despite what he’d said earlier, Steve found himself totally pepped for a workout. He thrust back against Eddie, setting the rhythm at that perfect pace—fast enough to set his teeth lightly rattling, but slow enough for the drag against his prostate to absolutely set him on fire. He was just reaching for his needy dick, when Eddie beat him to it, chivalrously pumping Steve to the rhythm of their lovemaking.

Steve grinned into the pillow and let the pleasure build and crash through him. They’d melded as one, like waves on the fucking sun-kissed seashore. As Eddie surged into him, Steve crashed back.

“Stevie,” sighed Eddie, voice wavering on pained. “Dammit… Fuck, fuck… how does this just keep getting better?”

“Fuuuuck!” wailed Steve, so not in the headspace for existential discussions. He was caught between wanting this to continue forever, and the sensations getting a touch too much. His climax built in those mad waves, then rushed upon him. As he started to come, Eddie did too, deep inside him, in a series of joyful, juddering thrusts.

…

They floated happily, tangled together, through their shared post-coital high.

Steve wound up dozing with his nose buried courageously close to Eddie’s sweaty armpit. Eddie, on the other hand, wasn’t quite in the mood for a nap. He stretched out and grabbed a music mag from a pile on the bedside cabinet, causing a minor avalanche.

He leafed through, until his attention zoned in on an advertisement that made his blood jump: “Yikes.”

“What?” Steve’s muffled voice resonated through Eddie’s chest.

“Check this out, Babe. The actual owners of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar are putting it up for auction.”

“Oh. Wow.” Steve’s chin dug into Eddie’s pec as he slid his face up to see what Eddie was on about, and Eddie helped by brushing his hair from his eyes. “Well, if you reckon it’s gonna help you in the audition, maybe you should—”

“Naaaah,” said Eddie, the word blending into an unbothered yawn. He chucked the magazine to the floor and curled both arms around Steve, cuddling him a little tighter. “It’s gonna be me and my two true sweethearts against the world from now on.”

“You can battle all you like with your beloved guitar, man. I’m looking forward to not having the world fight back for a change.” Steve sounded invigoratingly bitchy.

Eddie pressed a kiss to his hair. They curled up beneath the covers to enjoy being naked together… till the arrival of Corroded Coffin sent their lives spiralling off into a new kind of chaos, this time entirely of their own choosing.

The End

🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕 🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕 🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

perma-tag for the best inspiration friend ever: @wheneverfeasible (who has kindly put together a playlist for this fic, which I will get up on my tumblr over the next few days hopefully, after a few final additions 😊)

Thank you for reading to the end and I really hope you enjoyed the fic. Likes, re-blogs, comments and follows are always very much appreciated and will help feed the bunnies for possible future fic, though I've a feeling this will be my last long fic, at least for now, though I do intend to finish all my WIPs, including 'power of love' over the next few weeks, if possible🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[bu99erfly]

SUNMI YOU CAN'T SIT WITH US, 2021

[tumbly-s]

Stargazing

[check out my pinned post if you’d like to commission me for a similar piece!]

[megaerakles]

To Whom It May Concern

Tim couldn’t stay. 

No matter what Bruce had said when he caught Tim in the act of laying the paper trail to establish his Fake Uncle, no matter how long Dick had sobbed into the phone at him during an inordinately expensive long distance (read: off planet) phone call, no matter how much Alfred had been fussing over him and insisting it was no trouble at all to care for him since Tim’s scheme had been revealed and promptly foiled, it just didn’t change the fact that Tim couldn’t stay. Truthfully, the Wayne family’s apparent sudden burst of affection for him actually made this whole thing worse because somewhere along the way, without even trying, Tim had failed to keep things wholly professional between them and somehow tricked them into thinking he belonged in their family! 

He couldn’t let it stand. For the sake of Jason’s memory, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the true Wayne family, he had to stop this… this absurdity of pretending that Tim belonged with them from continuing! Tim had to run. Tim had to vanish. It was the only way to make things right again. Sure, the thought of never seeing any of them again, the thought of being done with Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Barbara and everyone in his life he currently held dear once and for all made it feel as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest only to be shoved back down his throat to stop the flow of air into his body—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not nearly as much as they did. This would be for their own good. 

Tim was leaving, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be in the end. Not emotionally easier, but logistically easier. Bruce had been extra attentive lately, so he thought he’d have to fake an injury and get ‘benched’ so that they would lower their guard long enough for him to slip away. But by some divine stroke of luck, a new player had waltzed onto Gotham’s criminal scene not too long after Tim’s Fake Uncle plan fell through and started making threats against Batman and Robin. They had apparently freaked B out enough to prompt him to send Tim off to Titan’s Tower to ‘focus on his team for awhile’. Tim had accepted the command with the requisite amount of complaint, planted some fake texts to make it look like he’d actually communicated to his Team that he would be there, shoved everything from his guest room in the Manor that he couldn’t bear to part with into a duffel bag underneath a spare uniform, gave Bruce what only he knew was a more emotionally charged nod goodbye than usual, and then poof. Tim Drake was zapped out of the Batcave for the last time ever. 

He let himself have one night in the Tower. Partly to catch a few hours of sleep in a familiar and secure environment, but mostly so he could clean up his room for its next occupant, sweep his belongings and his person for any extra trackers, and repack his bag more efficiently. He also took the time to grab a spare backpack and fill it up with emergency rations. While he was taking plenty of cash, he didn’t want to risk having to go into stores with security cameras for a while, at least until he’d cleared a suitable distance from San Francisco proper as well as implemented the first of his many planned disguises. He didn’t think a bottle of cheap hair dye and some colored contacts would be enough to fool Oracle indefinitely, but if he was appropriately cautious it might keep her from getting a confirmation of his location long enough for the Bats to either get bored looking for him or to actually realize they were better off without him around. 

When the early rays of dawn started to bathe the sides of Titan’s Tower in ember colored light, he was off. He left behind seven trackers pulled from his clothes and bag and one more from behind his ear; he’d kept the one he noticed in his favorite pair of sneakers because it was a type that wouldn’t start transmitting data until the Bats actively started tracking it and he was hoping to find someone who wore his size at the bus station he could pay to wear them so he could throw them off for even longer. If all else failed, he would just toss them in an out of the way trash can. He had also left a letter of resignation for Batman that he’d whipped up based off of an online template, signed and sealed and awaiting discovery atop the pillow in his nearly empty dorm room (he had tried for something more personal, a longer note of explanation for Bruce about why he couldn’t stay despite being asked, but—the words just wouldn’t come, and he’d been running out of time). His bag was heavy, courtesy of all of the extra supplies he’d grabbed in anticipation of having to evade not only Batman’s team but the rest of the Justice League. His heart was heavy, courtesy of emotional baggage that he wished was as easy to unpack as his actual bags would be when he finally found somewhere to settle. 

He boarded the first bus he saw after he’d gone a few blocks and took a seat towards the back, where he leaned against the window and stared back at the iconic giant T that he used to belong in, however briefly, until it disappeared from sight. And just like that, Tim Drake’s life as Robin was over. 

—

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately. 

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you all for the past three years. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the team and appreciated the opportunity to learn about vigilantism and hone my detective skills. I’m excited to take these skills with me as I pursue the next step of my career.

During the past two weeks, I have done everything possible to wrap up any ongoing cases and leave no unfinished business. The Robin suit as well as my spare have been cleaned and placed in the armory of Titan’s Tower along with any gear I have been issued. 

I wish Batman and team the best, but am afraid I will be out of contact for the foreseeable future. 

Sincerely, 

T. J. Drake

—

Red Hood stalked into Titan’s Tower with all the grace of a wildcat closing in on its prey, his vicious smirk hidden by his helmet, his unauthorized entrance hidden by virtue of the heroes’ own stupidity in failing to remove his codes from the database. Seriously—he’d thought gaining entry into their so-called fortress would be the hardest part of this little trip, and had only tried his access codes for the sake of checking the most stupidly obvious Plan A off his list! For them to work, to realize that there was nothing truly separating the precious sidekicks from the wrath of a vengeance minded crime lord, well… it sure made the message he was about to send feel all the more poignant. 

He had come equipped to subdue an entire horde of Teeny Titans without hurting them (much), but to his surprise, the tower was empty of kid sidekicks despite Robin having been sent to work with his team yesterday afternoon, a fact Jason had gleaned last night from listening to the mind numbing chatter of Nightwing being bored on a stakeout and wanting to chat with anyone over the comms Jason had hacked into. Which he’d done in order to better plan his aggressive takeover of Crime Alley, not because he missed hearing his family’s voices. Nope. 

(Since coming back to Gotham, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to stick to the plan when some part of his mind still stubbornly clung to those foolish, childhood dreams of belonging and family and a father who gave a shit and things like that, and kept popping up with annoying questions like ‘what if he revealed his identity to Dick or Alfred or someone just to see if maybe Talia had been right and they’d want him back after all. Clearly, the existence of a new Robin meant that they’d never really given a damn about him, so he was going to go through with this thing, just watch him.)

Truly this had to be fate, because the path to Robin was practically unfolding before him with no barriers. All that was left to do was find where in this gigantic clubhouse the itty little birdie was nesting. Jason tried the common room first. Then the kitchen. Then the rec room. And then the training floor. And the med bay. And then the armory, where he found Robin’s suit, but no actual Robin. He supposed the next place to check would be Robin’s bedroom, because even though it was well past eleven, Drake was a teenager and could conceivably be sleeping in, especially since there was no Alfred around to rouse him at a reasonable hour. Luckily, the doors on the floor with sleeping quarters were all clearly marked with either the name or symbol of the person it belonged to, so it was easy enough to find the one with that all too familiar stylized ‘R’. Jason paused to take a steadying breath before gritting his teeth and deciding to really make an entrance by kicking down the door. 

…To an empty bedroom. Like, not just devoid of Tim Drake, but also devoid of books, trinkets, photos, decoration, clothes, dishes, mess, et cetera, et cetera. It looked as clean and sterile as a hotel room, and if Jason hadn’t literally just seen Robin’s insignia on the door he would think he’d entered an unassigned room by mistake. He frowned and yanked off his helmet, as if looking with his own two eyes would suddenly change the scene, but no. Nothing. He strode into the room and yanked open the closet—empty. He walked over to the desk and yanked open the top drawer—empty. He yanked open the bottom drawer, and mostly empty except for—wait, was that a pile of deactivated Bat trackers? Fucking bizarre. When he stood up, he glanced around again, and this time something on the bed caught his eye. It had been easy to miss against the white pillowcase, but there was an envelope tucked up against the pillow. With a scowl, he stalked over and grabbed it. 

When Jason flipped it over, he noted that it was addressed to Batman, but decided that since he was a crime lord now he didn’t have to care about something as trivial as opening someone else’s mail. He didn't want to take off his gloves and risk leaving prints on anything, so he pulled out a dagger and used it to slice open the envelope. As he flipped it over to dump its contents on the desk, he had the fleeting thought that he probably should have put back on his mask in case this had been some villain’s ploy to poison Batman, but luckily all that fell out was a single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds. 

This he was careful not to damage as he unfolded it. It wasn’t a long note, just a few small paragraphs, so it was quick enough to read: To whom it may concern. This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately… 

Jason dropped the letter and took a step back, staring at the innocuous piece of paper with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Robin had—Drake wasn’t—Timothy—the kid, he was quitting? Leaving? Gone? 

It could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Except Robin shouldn’t have had any way of knowing Red Hood would be able to track him all the way to Titan’s Tower so why would he have set a trap for him in the first place? A trap for someone else, then? If it was, it was really, really stupid of him because the kid had signed his resignation letter from Robin with his actual name, and surely he wouldn’t have made it this far if he were that careless with his identity. So, it was either a very bad trap, or not a trap at all. And if it was not a trap at all, then… 

Then Robin had… resigned. Which, ok, Jason’s stated goal coming into this thing was to get Tim Drake to stop being Robin. So he should be happy about this, right? Except he’d not gotten to toss the kid around and work out his aggression at all so there was no satisfaction in it. Also, the timing was fucking obnoxious. Go figure that the very day he decides to do something about his replacement, the kid decides to peace out of the Gotham vigilante scene and… and go… 

… Somewhere. Jason had no idea where Tim Drake would go if he were no longer Robin. Given how he’d waited until he was alone and then left the note to be found on the other side of the country, Jason had a sneaking suspicion that returning to Gotham was currently off the table. The letter had said he would be ‘out of contact’ for the foreseeable future; Jason could read between the lines enough to figure out that meant he was running away. 

—Which, fuck. Another Robin was running away from Batman because of… well, Jason didn’t know what this kid’s issue with B was, but there were plenty of potential flaws in the man to choose from so Jason was going to play it safe and assume it was something Bruce did. Clearly, the man could never learn. And now, this poor dumb Robin was going to pay the price! Jason was more than familiar with the number of horrors that awaited kids who ended up on their own. He could starve; he could freeze to death; he could catch some disease like the flu, or get cut on a rusty nail and get tetanus, and then die from it because he couldn’t access medical treatment. He could get mugged, or harassed by cops, or snatched up by traffickers, or—

And fine; Jason himself had meant to hurt him. But that had been for ideological purposes, to prove a point about putting children in danger and not taking good enough care of them and stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt him that badly, just bad enough to freak out Bruce a bit. But Jason was also the Red Hood, and the Red Hood’s mission was to do what was necessary to stop awful shit from happening to vulnerable kids. And this stupid, stupid letter was apparently enough to abruptly transfer Timothy Drake into that category in his head. 

Everything Jason had heard about the kid said he was smart, and the timing of his disappearance pointed to some thoughtful planning on his part. Jason could imagine that the little shit had some sort of plan in place to evade Batman’s attempts to locate him, and he probably could manage to run without getting caught by Bruce and the Gotham team for a while. Heck, the kid probably had strategies to get away from most if not all of the Justice League members, since B was sure to call in favors once he got frantic enough about the little bird. But one thing the kid likely did not plan for was being pursued by him. Ex-Robin, currently a crime lord, League of Assassins connections, and a bone to pick with Timothy specifically? (He ran away from home and left a fucking resignation letter about it? Does he not realize what that would do to Dick, to Alfred, to Bruce—)

After stuffing the letter into his pocket, Jason put back on his helmet and stalked out of Titans Tower as silently as he’d arrived, this time with a new yet equally furious purpose sharpening his steps. Sucked to be Timothy Drake, he thought, because the Red Hood got his message and he was officially concerned. 

[spotaus]

If I have energy I want to draw out some designs for an au I'm spontaneously writing.

(Medieval times, there's a Prophecy. Nightmare rules over this kingdom and is supposed to complete this prophecy, he refuses to because it would harm the people. Dream was sent away and banished by Night because he was dis-illusioned into thinking the prophecy was a Good Thing abd what he was raised to complete. Night collected his Knights (Killer, Dust, Horror, and Cross most recently) and trains them and tells them the truth of the prophecy. They're loyal to him. One day the magic of the prophesy (Apple Magic) leaves Nightmare unexpectedly, returning him to the state he was in before he accepted the mantle. This puts a target on his back and gives Dream a huge advantage in maybe making a comeback. The Knight's decide that their King (newly a young lad and variably scared and frightened) must be protected and they run the kingdom as he normally would, while also ensuring he survives and that the prophecy can't be completed.)

[flareboi]

what if purple never calls him dad

[moeblob]

What Deacon thinks: what did that mean? did he want me to wear a collar too? why else would he mention my neck? i mean, if he /asked/ me i would wear one but he didn't so would wearing one be weird?

What Ymber meant: It's nice to be near someone who isn't tethered to this world to serve it with a physical reminder for all to see.

[hauntingblue]

Ace...?? they cloned my beautiful wife...

[helpmyinterestsareverywhere]

I started a comfort movie watch party the other day and I finally got round to finishing The LEGO Ninjago Movie again and GOSH <3 I love her so much I forgot how much it means to me she's actually so special <333

[doerot]

So.

[thatdemiboymess]

fembrained theyfab with girl autism

Oh, my gosh, it's my first anon hate!!! I've been on this site for, like, a little over 10 years now and I never received any anon hate in that whole time...just scammers...this is such a big milestone for me! 🥹

[localgardenweed]

About to lose my shit over my shitty Algebra teacher cause i think he’s the devil incarnate cause he doesn’t respect kid’s 504 plans, there is this kid who may not always show up to class on time for some reason im not sure why but they try their best to catch up and work hard and they asked to send over and take the recent test they missed in a certain classroom and he was like “No you cant, you have to show up tomorrow in here to take it” when literally in their 504 plan says they can take it in that room no one can force them to take it in their classroom, but DOES HE CARE??? NOOOOOO. I think he was just trying to be tough or smth god knows what cause he has a huge ass power complex like dear god dude we get it you were a army guy but is yelling at teens really what you wanna do to feel that high of power again?? The kid then complained to the school and he got a ass whooping but sadly not fired and then the next day was pissed as hell and took it out on all of us 😍

he doesn’t care to actually help students at all, he just gives up on them if they don’t understand the first or barely the second time and tells em to basically fuck off and find someone else to explain it and i get it teaching is hard you might not be able to get everyone to understand BUT ITS LITERALLY HIS GO TO RESPONSE WHEN YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SMTH IN HIS SHITTY RAPID FIRE EXPLANATION WHEN HE JUST JUMPS FROM THING TO THING WITH NO VISUAL OR EVEN SENSE CAUSE WTF HOW DID YOU GET THAT ANSWER HELLO?? SLOW DOWN?? We were going over the study guide and he started doing a question and then realized half way it was “too hard” to do on the board so he gave up and kept going to the next question and a kid at my table who didn’t do that part pf the study guide cause they dont know how asked “Can you go over that please i don’t understand it” and his response was “im not going over it just to fill it in” and the kid said “im not asking to just fill it in im asking cause I DONT KNOW HOW TO DO IT” and guess what. HE DIDNT DO IT HE JUST IGNORED THEM AND KEPT GOING. YOUR STUDENT IS ASKING FOR HELP AND YOU AINT DOING SHIT. HELLO??? AND THIS ISNT THE FIRST TOME HE ALWAYS PULL THIS SHIT ALL THE TIME, GOD FORBID YOU ASK A QUESTION MORE THAN ONCE THATS TOK SCARY AAAHHHHH.

I hope all his classes fails and they fire his ass cause omg there has never been anything positive said about this man that isn’t from favorites/people who already are godly at math. The average student who’s had him HATES HIM.

Im really debating like cussing him out Thursday after my final cause i cant just walk away and act like it was a okay class no he needs to get fucking humbled at least see what he does is harmful and shitty and douchey. I dont care if i get in trouble im not gonna go down like this so many kids in that class have struggled cause of his ass not doing his job. And sure some of there are rowdy and sure some are a bit off task but that doesn’t give you the right to abandon them. If i ever kicked my own bucket he would be 5 of my 13 reasons why.

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

You don't understand. I am so in love with you. I need you.

I've cried until my eyes burned and my throat was raw, at the thought of you not being mine, and at the reality that you have no idea how far my infatuation goes. Not even an acknowledgement of the fact. You're just that oblivious, which rides between the lines of being sweetly endearing and frustratingly maddening.

I know society wouldn't approve of it. I know the others would be horrified if they knew, if they found any evidence that pointed to what happened. They'd worry for you. Ridiculous. Only I can worry for you. And I already know, this was the only way. This had to happen. I would've cried harder if it hadn't, I can't imagine it having ended any other way. You don't understand how much I needed it.

We HAD to be together! We were made to be! Why couldn't you notice that sooner?!

I didn't just want to be by your side like a delicate accessory. I didn't just want to spend time with you in the way lovers do on a warm summer night. My love goes deeper, so much deeper, I needed more. You wouldn't have understood.

It was fun, the weeks I had you confined to our own private paradise. Locked away for safekeeping, so you wouldn't escape. But it was torturous to myself, even: keeping myself on edge, denying myself what I truly wanted to do to you. I won't forget how lovely your scared-yet-sensual screams were, the marks I made on your skin; gentle bruises and bloody scars that, I'm sure must've hurt, but nowhere near how much my heart had been hurting for your love.

My heart was racing, my vision blurry, my tongue ached, and I could never not drool from thinking about it. I dreamed of it since Day One, as wrong as most people would presume it was. I've always known my love wasn't content at staying harmless, I knew my love would grow to be more violent. And I knew what I had to do: I had to eat you. Not just in the sexual way, the literal way. I wouldn't—couldn't—be happy until I was chewing on chunks of your soft flesh. Until I spilled your warm blood on my bare body, exciting me and stirring something within. Until I was stripping the skin, peeling it away from tendons and bones, touching your interior as gently as I had your exterior.

So I did, on one particular evening. You poor thing, you had no idea what was coming. I took my time, because it's rude to wildly gobble everything up in one sitting like a starving animal. It took several days, but I did it. I ate every last trace of you left, cutting up your body carefully. Measuring the serving sizes of your corpse, though I did treat myself to a bit more than usual on some days—I just couldn't help myself. The taste, the flavor...

Now there's people wondering where you've gone. It's unusual, it's unlike you, they say. I can only smile innocently and say I know nothing when they ask. They're the ones who don't need to know anything. Why does it matter to them? You're fully mine now, I've made sure of it. You'll never be anyone else's. Ever.

I still sigh happily when I think of it. You have no idea how happy this has made me. You wouldn't have understood. ♥