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venus-haze · 2 years

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If I Were You (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis takes up Priscilla’s offer to go to rehab for Lisa, and decides to take the steps to break from the Colonel personally and professionally. Elvis is referred to you, a Memphis-based therapist who specializes in helping patients work through codependent or otherwise unhealthy relationships. While he ultimately hopes his turning his life around will give him a better chance of reconciliation with Priscilla, the level of emotional intimacy you allow him in the context of your sessions makes him redirect his attention to you.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. I appreciated having an excuse to rewatch some of my favorite Sopranos episodes because I got a lot of inspiration from seasons 1 and 5. It’s more dialogue heavy than my other fics because of the therapy sessions. I’m not a psychiatrist and nothing in this fic should be treated as legitimate advice regarding mental health, please refer to licensed professionals for that. Look at the warnings before deciding whether or not you want to read this fic because it’s extremely dark. Do not interact with my blog or my posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. The therapy session scenes involve discussions of codependency in relation to parenting and relationships as well as self-blame, death, and drug and alcohol abuse. Explicit sexual content which involves force and coercion and brief daddy kink. Elvis’ mommy issues. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (all other parts by @crash-and-cure)

When you received a phone call from Dr. Wilson, one of your colleagues who worked at a rehabilitation facility in San Diego, asking if you were taking new patients, you hadn’t thought much of it when you answered that you were. He elaborated that while the patient was doing well in rehab, he thought he could benefit from continued therapy sessions, particularly because of your specialization and proximity to the patient’s home in Memphis. He informed you that he’d reveal more information about the patient and provide you with the clinical notes he’d taken throughout rehab once he received the patient’s agreement and approval to begin seeing you.

A few days later, you got the follow up call. The patient was interested in being treated by you and had given Dr. Wilson permission to send you copies of the clinical notes. He finally revealed who your Memphis-based patient would be—Elvis Presley. You nearly dropped the phone when he told you. Him going to rehab made sense, his drug and alcohol-fueled antics on stage frequently made entertainment headlines, but you certainly hadn’t expected that he’d need the specialized therapy that you offered.

Elvis still had two weeks left in the rehabilitation program, and you’d receive the clinical notes before then to get an idea of what Dr. Wilson had already addressed with him. When you received the packet at your office’s mailbox, marked with a large ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on it, you almost hesitated. While aware of his career, you weren’t a huge fan of Elvis’, so that wouldn’t pose a conflict of interest, but you wondered if you could truly be impartial and fair toward a man whose existence permeated almost every aspect of American popular culture.

From what Dr. Wilson had said, Elvis needed help, not as a rockstar but as a man. You were one of less than forty therapists in the country who specialized in helping patients break down codependent relationships. Your office wasn’t far from Graceland at all, ensuring Elvis wouldn’t have to go out of his way for regular therapy sessions.

Finally opening the packet, you were faced with a manila file folder with Elvis’ full name and birthdate printed on the tab. You grabbed your notebook, preparing to write what was relevant for the sessions, but the more you read, it seemed like everything was relevant. A deceased overbearing mother whom Elvis revered as a saint, a manager who exploited his career for decades, and an ex-wife who was burdened with being the man’s stand-in mother and therapist from an alarmingly young age.

You sat back in your chair, exhaling deeply to ground yourself. Taking on Elvis Presley as a client would not be easy, that much was obvious. Most of your clients didn’t have webs as intricately woven as he did, as much to unpack and consider as Elvis. Yet, from the notes, he wanted help. He wanted to change. He didn’t want his daughter Lisa to grow up without a father, but he also wanted a career and a life that he could finally be in control of, where he could be sure of who to trust.

On a Friday afternoon, when you were in between appointments, your phone rang. You answered, resisting the urge to gasp when you heard who was on the other line, despite expecting his call.

“Hello, is Dr. Y/L/N there?” Elvis asked.

“Speaking,” you answered.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Dr. Wilson didn’t mention you were a woman.”

“Is that a problem, Mr. Presley? Because I can refer you to another specialist—“

“No, that’s fine. I just thought you were a secretary or somethin’—no offense.”

“None taken,” you said.

The two of you discussed what his goals for therapy were, and that he wanted to attend twice a week, which was how often he was seeing Dr. Wilson while he was in rehab. Many people were hesitant about therapy since it had an unwarranted stigma attached to it, but you supposed the group therapy and personal sessions in San Diego had proved its effectiveness to him. You agreed to schedule appointments for Monday and Thursday afternoons at 4:30pm and leave the service door to the building unlocked for him, so he could come in at the end of the work day and not have to worry about passersby and other patients seeing him there and causing unwanted attention.

The conversation was short yet pleasant, but if you were being honest, you hadn’t been so nervous about taking on a patient since you first opened your own practice. You had tried to reason with yourself, that he was just a man seeking help like all of your other patients. None of your other patients, however, were Elvis Presley. You managed to calm yourself down the day of his first session, focusing on the other patients you had scheduled.

He arrived fifteen minutes early the day of his first appointment, a non-issue as you had made sure the session before his was wrapped up by four, giving him a window of time to arrive while the office was empty. You took a deep breath before opening the door to the waiting room from your office, and found him staring at a painting on the wall. He turned to you, giving you one of the most dazzling smiles you’d ever seen in your life.

You greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Presley, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand.

“Follow me, and take a seat anywhere you like,” you said, leading him into your office and closing the door behind you.

“Is this some kinda test? You can tell something ‘bout me by which one I pick?” he asked half-jokingly.

You laughed. “No, no, it’s just that we’re going to be sitting for an hour, so I want you to be comfortable.”

He sat in the armchair in front of the bookcase, rather than the one in front of your desk. You grabbed your notebook and sat down across from him. The two chairs were nearly identical anyway, so it didn’t make that big of a difference where either of you sat. Taking a moment to study him, you couldn’t help but acknowledge to yourself how good he looked. You always thought Elvis was a handsome man, but post-rehab, he seemed to be glowing in a way that seemed almost youthful. After allowing yourself to ogle your new patient, you cleared your throat.

“Now, before we begin our first session, I want to establish doctor-patient confidentiality and inform you of your rights as a patient. Is that okay?” you asked.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“Wonderful. I take doctor-patient confidentiality seriously. Anything you say in this room will stay in this room. However, if at any point during our sessions you indicate that you intend to seriously harm yourself or others, I would have to go to the police.”

“Seriously harm?”

“Any intentional action that would result in the hospitalization or death of yourself or another individual,” you elaborated, and he gave you a silent nod to continue. “I may encourage you to dig deeper into your psychological and emotional state, you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to, but keep in mind that I’m trying to guide the conversation in a direction that will help you achieve the breakthroughs you want.”

“You know, my mama used to call you psychologists ‘headshrinkers’. Hell, I even do sometimes,” he said with a laugh.

You smiled at the comment, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for people to be skeptical of mental healthcare, but since he’d already brought up his mother, you didn’t want to lose that momentum.

“I completely understand. When I told my parents I was getting my doctorate in psychology, I might as well have told them that I was going to clown school,” you said. “Some people turn to religion for their psychological guidance. My parents are like that. Were yours?”

“Oh yeah, mama was always quotin’ scripture.”

“And your father?”

“He went to church with us sometimes, but it was usually me and mama. I stopped goin’ to church once my career started takin’ off. Didn’t have the time to, but I still love those old gospel hymns.”

You nodded, taking quick notes as he spoke.

“You writin’ that I’m some religious nut in there?”

“No, just general observations, things you’ve mentioned that have appeared while treating other patients. The more I treat people who’ve struggled with codependency, the more I can help others by recognizing patterns of behavior,” you explained. “I read from your file, which thank you for letting me look at by the way, that you experienced this codependent abuse from your former manager, Tom Parker.”

He exhaled, and you made note of his utilizing the coping method to calm himself down.

“The Colonel thought he was entitled to half of everything I made, even though I was the one workin’ myself sick. He had that hack doctor put all kinds of junk in me to keep me movin’ like some walkin’ dead man. That cost me my family and half of everything I ever earned. I’m suin’ the son of a bitch, but I can’t let this happen again.”

“Elvis, I’m sorry that happened to you. You were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. You have every right to be upset and angry. I encourage you to express those emotions while we're here,” you said. “I want to challenge you to stop referring to your former manager as ‘The Colonel’. I think that language is detrimental to your progress as it sets him in a place of authority over you, when in reality, he isn’t and never was.”

He scoffed. “What should I call him then? ‘That piece of shit’?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d like, yes.”

For the rest of the hour, he spoke about his former manager, and while you had an idea of what went on from the notes your colleague had given you, the extent was just as bad as you’d expected. As a doctor, you were particularly horrified by the so-called ‘Dr. Nick’ who exacerbated Elvis’ addiction to prescription medications in the name of the almighty dollar. Elvis peppered in mentions of his mother throughout the session as well, and you made a note to dig into that in the future. You weren’t the biggest proponent of Freud, but you knew many people went through life subconsciously mirroring the behavior of their parents unless they made a conscious decision not to.

At the end of the session, you let Elvis know that you admired the progress he’d made so far, both in rehab and his first session with you. He smiled at that, and confessed that even though he wasn’t sure about seeing a woman therapist, as soon as he saw you, he knew there was something different about you, and he already felt comfortable around you. You stayed in your office late to work on the notes for his file while they were still fresh in your mind, and left around a quarter to seven.

The Monday and Thursday sessions continued consistently for the next few weeks, and you were thrilled with how much progress Elvis had made, both in therapy and in his personal life. He was more involved in Lisa Marie’s life and had her over at Graceland regularly, making sure his days were completely clear whenever she was over so he could focus on spending time with her. His sleep pattern had become more regular, with some bouts of understandable insomnia. You and Dr. Wilson had already agreed that with Elvis’ history of addiction, holistic approaches to any psychological conditions would be best, and prescriptions would only be given as an absolute last resort. When he told you that he felt better than he had in years, physically and emotionally, you considered it a huge success, and encouraged him to acknowledge and celebrate that.

Understandably, most of your sessions with Elvis were spent discussing his former manager and the influence and control that he had on Elvis’ career and personal life, particularly the strain it caused on his mother. That was a sensitive issue for him, and he tended to deflect when you tried to bring her up or discuss his relationship with her further. About four months into your treating him, however, he mentioned feeling some resentment toward his father for mismanaging Elvis’ finances, making an off-handed comment about how it wouldn’t have happened if his mother were still alive. You saw this as the opportunity to get him to finally elaborate.

“Your mother was the dominating figure in the family unit, then?” you pressed.

“Mama was a good woman, the best woman. She put food on the table when daddy was in jail. She believed in me before anyone else did.”

“I never said your mother wasn’t a good woman,” you observed. “Why did you jump to that conclusion, that I was attacking her?”

The room was silent for a few moments as he considered your question. “Everyone else did. You know, she was right about not trustin’ the Col–Parker. It’s like when I signed that contract with him I was signin’ her death sentence.”

“Do you blame yourself for her death?”

“I know it was the alcohol. I learned that much in rehab, but in her heart, it was me. She died while I was in basic training, doctor.”

“I’m glad you’re talking through this. It’s going to help with our future sessions, but I want to establish that you’re not responsible for your mother's death anymore than you’re responsible for her other actions throughout her life.”

He shook his head. “Me leavin’, that killed her.”

“Why would your leaving kill her? As I understand, you were drafted. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Because I was supposed to take care of her. My daddy wouldn't, so I did.”

“Do you think it’s right for a child to take care of their parents?” you asked.

“It’s not about what was right,” he argued. “I had to do it.”

“How old were you, when you first stepped into this pseudo-parental role?”

“What?”

“How old were you when you began taking up the household responsibilities that belonged to your father?”

“I was real young, when he went to jail and we had to move. I had a good childhood, though. We didn’t have much, but I had friends and I went to church, did alright in school.”

The hour was almost up, but you knew you were close to reaching a pivotal point in his treatment. As soon as you got him to consider that his codependency issues started with his mother, you could work through his relationships with Tom Parker and even Priscilla, but it’d be easier said than done to drag his mother off of the pedestal he put her on. She’d been dead for over a decade, and yet she still had a spectral stranglehold on her son.

Your intention wasn’t for him to walk out of your office hating his mother, but to recognize the unhealthy behaviors he emulated and to work through the grief he clearly never fully dealt with.

You figured you had time to ask him one more question, and chanced it with, “What do you miss most about your mother?”

“I could tell her anything, and she’d always have something to say. Maybe not what I wanted to hear, but she always meant what she said. I trusted her like no one else. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“It’s hard for you to trust people, with the position that you’re in and how people have taken advantage of you in the past. That can be lonely, and some people engage in self-destructive behavior in an attempt to get the care and attention they yearn for. I believe that you will be able to trust again. Just something to think about as the session ends today,” you said. “You’ve made a lot of progress, and I want to acknowledge that.”

He smiled. “Thank you. You really know your stuff, but I guess that’s what you went to school for.”

“I appreciate that,” you acknowledged. “I hope you have a great rest of your day, Elvis, and I’ll see you at our appointment next week.”

After Elvis left, you worked on your notes from the session to add to his file. You weren’t just paying him lip service before, he had made a good amount of progress, and even despite some of his hesitations, worked through some aspects of the treatment that you expected to be more challenging for him.

The next few sessions, you pressed him more about his mother, and while he pushed back against your insinuating that some of his codependent tendencies originated with her, he did acknowledge that the pressure of not upsetting her did cost him his participation in his high school’s football team, which he loved for the brief amount of time he spent playing. She had been worried about him getting hurt, a pattern you noticed as Elvis spoke to you about his childhood.

You weren’t expecting to find that the root of her anxiety over Elvis’ well-being came from losing his twin, Jesse at birth. Elvis was born into the world having to be two men instead of one, and when his father fell through as the family’s provider, he had to pick up the slack for three. It was a lot for someone to handle even without the challenges of fame. The more you worked with Elvis, the more convinced you became that he could have benefitted from therapy a decade sooner.

In all honesty, you were glad Elvis’ appointments were at the end of the day, because they began to become almost as draining for you as you figured they were for him. Still, he never missed an appointment and always arrived early. The work you did was always difficult, and you couldn’t help but empathize with your patients, but Elvis seemed to take everything out of you.

One weekend, you had plans to get dinner with Mark, a man around your age who you’d met in grad school and had an on-and-off again relationship for a while, before deciding to stay friends. Out of habit you both referred to whenever you’d get together as ‘dates’, and the one you planned was at a higher end restaurant in Memphis. The two of you had been so busy with work that when he called you to catch up, you hadn’t realized it’d been months since you’d seen him. The restaurant was the type of place where you had to make reservations in advance, and so with this in mind, he made one a few weeks prior.

When you and Mark arrived at the restaurant, there was a crowd of loud and restless people overflowing into the street. The two of you pushed your way through to get inside and waited to speak to the host, who informed you that due to unforeseen circumstances, there’d be a thirty minute wait for your table despite your reservation.

The two of you considered leaving and going to a different restaurant, but decided against it, since you had the reservation anyway. To your relief, the wait only ended up being less than five minutes, even though you could tell by the reservation list on the host’s podium that several couples were still ahead of you and Mark.

A waiter led you to your table, and after taking your dinner orders, Mark excused himself to go to the restroom. While waiting for him to return, you could hear people gasp and murmur behind you, until a familiar shadow fell over your table.

“Dr. Y/L/N, funny meeting you here,” Elvis said.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to see your high-profile patient of all people in the restaurant. “Mr. Presley, how are you?”

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”

“Are you here alone?”

“No, my date is just in the restroom.”

His expression shifted, but he nodded agreeably. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” you whispered as he walked away.

Fuck. He was upset you were there with someone. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to temporarily redirect their codependent tendencies onto you, considering the level of emotional intimacy that was involved with the therapy. It’d only once escalated to a level where you felt obligated to refer the patient to another therapist, but you hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Elvis. He’d been making great progress with each session.

When Mark had returned to the table, you gave him a strained smile but continued on with the date as usual. About halfway into your meal, the waiter approached with a bottle of wine neither of you had ordered.

Before you could question anything, the waiter said, “Compliments of Mr. Presley.”

“As in Elvis Presley?” Mark asked.

The waiter nodded and set the bottle on the table. You weakly told him to thank Elvis, and he left to do so. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mark leaned in, “Is Elvis Presley your patient?”

“I won’t answer that, Mark.”

“Holy shit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine.

You didn’t recognize the label from the wine rack at the supermarket and figured it was some expensive brand that was either old or imported, or both. As Mark poured himself a glass, you contemplated whether or not to drink it. Refusing so would confirm that Elvis was your patient, but drinking it would mean you accepted a gift from a patient, both situations required you violating your own code of ethics. Sighing, you let Mark fill your own glass with the wine.

The rest of the night with Mark was fun as you caught up on your personal lives, and Elvis didn’t make a reappearance at all. When Mark walked you back to your car, the two of you promised not to go as long without seeing each other again, and parted with a quick kiss.

You spent Sunday lazily reading in the comfort of your apartment, adjusting the radio in your living room to different stations every so often. All of them seemed to play at least one of Elvis’ songs at some point, and you wondered if you were only noticing the frequency he was on the radio now that he was your patient. Some artists were just radio mainstays, and he was one of them.

On Monday, you knew you’d have to address the situation with the wine to Elvis, but to your surprise, he beat you to it.

“So, how was the wine?” Elvis asked.

“It was kind of you to go out of your way to have something so nice brought to my table, but I can’t accept gifts from patients,” you said. “I hope you understand.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning over so his elbows were resting on his knees as he asked, “That guy you were out with, he your husband?”

“No, just a friend.”

“You married?”

“No, but–”

“You ever been married?”

“No,” you repeated, “but while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss your marriage and Priscilla.”

You noticed him hesitate to answer. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

“How did you meet Priscilla?”

“Her daddy and me were both stationed in Germany at the same time. I met her when she came to a party at my house one night.”

“What attracted you to her?”

“She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met in my life. She was beautiful and sweet. I just knew there was somethin’ different about her,” he said, quickly adding. “I was respectful, ya know. She put up with a lot from me, but she was there when I needed someone.”

“You mentioned in a previous session that your mother died while you were in basic training, and after the funeral you were sent to Germany, where you met Priscilla. Do you think you incorporated her into your grieving process?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You kept pressing him for more details, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to meet the woman he’d go on to marry after such a devastating loss. The more he elaborated on his relationship, the more you came to understand the codependent nature of it as well. Priscilla became a stand-in for his mother despite her youth, and he began to depend on her the same way. You found it particularly interesting that he encouraged her to dye her hair and gave her the same nickname he had given his mother.

“I understand you and your ex-wife are still close, and she’s part of the reason you’re here. Can I ask you, when you and Priscilla divorced, what you were feeling?” you asked.

“I–I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?”

You nodded, making a note to revisit that later. For the rest of that session and Thursday’s session, the two of you spoke mundanely about how his day to day life was going, the strides he was making to live a more sustainable lifestyle. He informed you that he wanted to make music and perform again, but wouldn’t tour while his lawsuit with Tom Parker was ongoing. Even then, he planned to take it slow, scheduling dates more spaced out to give himself time to rest. He did mention trying to work something out with his team to do one-off performances in the Memphis area in the meantime, to figure out how this new era of his career would go.

The following afternoon, when you usually had an hour or so break between sessions to have lunch, you were interrupted by repeated knocking at your office door. You opened it to find a gift basket on the ground, looking back and forth in the hallway to see if the person who left it was still there, you picked it up and brought it over to your desk. The basket was filled with an assortment of goods that you knew must have been expensive from the brand names that you actually did recognize, and all of the gifts were perfectly suited to your taste. For a moment, you thought it was Mark’s doing, but when you read the attached card, you sighed.

Early on in your career, you had made it a rule to not accept gifts or favors from patients. It helped establish to your patients that you were their doctor, not their friend, as much as you did care for them. You took your ethical responsibility as a therapist seriously, and so you contacted the company where the gift basket had come from, informing them that you’d like them to pick it up and inform the sender that you couldn’t accept it. You’d been expecting the phone call you received about an hour later.

“I tried to get what I thought you’d like,” Elvis said. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

“Mr. Presley, I told you in our last session that I don’t accept gifts from patients. I appreciate the gesture, it was extremely thoughtful, but it violates my personal ethics.”

“You drank the wine I sent over to your table,” he argued.

You pursed your lips. You knew letting Mark accept it was a mistake. “That was a completely different scenario. If I had publicly refused, it would have confirmed to my date that you were my patient. I made the decision to respect your privacy.”

From the way he huffed over the phone, he was frustrated. He always did so in sessions when you pressed him to dig deeper into the aspects of the major relationships in his life that he didn’t want to confront. “I understand, doctor. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, is all. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a good night, Mr. Presley. See you on Monday,” you said.

The next few months went on without incident, and you were pleased with the progress you were making with Elvis. He was willing to open up to you much more, and you found yourself revealing some information about yourself to him as well. Sometimes, it unnerved you how he seemed to remember things you had mentioned in passing weeks or even months before, as if he were taking his own notes on you.

Once in a while, you’d run into him while you were running errands and minding your business in Memphis, having quick and cordial conversations before going your separate ways. Part of you suspected it was deliberate, as a man as famous as him knew he couldn’t step foot anywhere outside of his home without making the news.

On a Friday evening, as you led your last client of the day out of your office, a man you didn’t recognize was standing in the waiting room, looking around at the decor in your office. When you walked out, he looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost.

Before you could speak, he said, “You look really familiar.”

“I don’t know how that could be. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N.”

He hesitated before answering. “I must be seeing things, then. I’m Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. May I ask what brings you to my office?”

“Elvis sent me. He’s doing his first show in over a year next weekend, and he wanted me to bring you this VIP pass. Soundcheck, front row seat, backstage access, the works,” he said, holding out the small plastic card to you. “It’s in town, so he’ll send a car for you.”

You shook your head, feeling like a broken record when you declined. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept gifts from patients. Please send my regards and tell him thank you anyway.”

Jerry nodded. “Alright, nice to meet you, Doc.”

As soon as he left, you collapsed onto the couch. You were making great progress with Elvis, serious progress, but it was clear that he was shifting his codependent tendencies onto you. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to consider referring him to another therapist. It’d be a hassle for him, as the closest therapist with the same specialization as you was located in Nashville. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to exhibit similar behavior toward you, especially early on in their treatment, but you’d been working with Elvis for nearing a year. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his case was far more complex than any of your other clients, past or present.

While you were in the supermarket checkout later that evening, you glanced at the tabloid magazines that were displayed next to you, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the cover of most of them–various photos of Elvis, out and about in Memphis with different women who all looked almost exactly like you. Suddenly, you felt as though everyone in the store was staring at you, and you abandoned your cart, rushing out of the store and to your car where you had your first panic attack in years.

As you cried into the steering wheel, attempting to catch your breath, your mind raced at the implications of what you just saw. The women were stand-ins for you, but they weren’t enough for him, they never would be. You knew that if you continued to spurn his advances, they’d only become more elaborate and unavoidable, and by giving him some of the attention he desired, you’d only be encouraging his unhealthy behavior. Your next session with Elvis was that upcoming Monday, and you’d make sure to let him know about your colleague in Nashville and cut all ties with the rockstar.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, you wanted to cancel all of your other appointments for the day, but your other patients didn’t deserve to have their treatment interrupted because of one patient. The day flew by, to your dismay, and 4:30 arrived far sooner than you were ready when he walked through the door and into your office. He sat down in his usual seat, and you resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t appreciate being manipulated for personal gain, and you figured he of all people would have understood that.

“Mr. Presley,” you began sternly. “I have repeatedly tried to enforce the professional nature of our relationship as doctor and patient, and yet you insist on sabotaging the massive strides you’ve made in your treatment by repeatedly making attempts to violate that. I think that continuing to see me as a therapist would be detrimental to your recovery, so I’m referring you to a colleague of mine with a similar specialization. After this session, I will no longer be your therapist.”

He stared at you incredulously before becoming stone-faced. “Well, since you won’t be my therapist anymore, I guess you can accept all those gifts now.”

Your mouth nearly fell open at his boldness. “Mr. Presley, you’re missing the point entirely.”

“No, I think I get the point loud and clear, Y/N.”

Your chest contracted as his use of your first name. “Mr. Presley, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”

He stood up from his chair, and instead of walking out the door, crossed the few feet of space between you and caged you into your chair. He stared down at you intensely, silently, for what felt like hours. Too frightened to move, you held his gaze until he cupped your chin in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin.

“You’re doin’ this for us, mama,” he whispered, “so we can be together.”

“I’m doing this for my own safety.”

“I knew you felt the same way about me, how much you wanted me too.”

“Elvis, please, let’s just sit back and discuss this. I won’t refer you to another therapist,” you lied, trying to appeal to whatever sense of rationality he may have had.

His other hand drifted to your thigh, inching its way up your skirt. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you pushed him off of you and hoped that it would disorient him enough for you to run out the door. Instead, he beat you to it, pressing you against the wooden door that stood between your freedom and captivity.

“C’mon, mama, we’ve had this date since the beginning,” he purred in your ear.

Perhaps you had been too preoccupied with having Elvis Presley as a professional success story than acknowledging the delusional and obsessive tendencies he displayed. Where did you go wrong? You tried to think back through a year’s worth of therapy sessions to figure out when exactly you’d given Elvis the impression that you were interested in him romantically or sexually, but were torn from your thoughts when he kissed you aggressively. He must have mistaken your attempts at protests for moans, because he only deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip so you’d gasp in pain, giving his tongue access to your mouth.

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and tried once again to push away, but he was too strong–and determined as he backed you into your desk, the impact from both of your bodies bumping against it sending some of the items to the floor.

“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded. Why were you still coddling him?

“You want this, mama,” he groaned, grinding his clothed erection against your exposed leg like a dog in heat. “I know you do.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to argue, bringing his lips to yours again and hastily unbuttoning your blouse. He rid you of your bra just as quickly, and took one of your breasts in his mouth. Guiding one of your hands to his crotch, he rubbed your hand against it, and you let out an involuntary whimper as his moans vibrated against your sensitive nipple.

Thrusting against your hand, he pulled away from your breast, muttering something about cumming in his pants if he didn’t do anything about it soon. He shed his shirt, throwing it aside. The reality of the situation hit you as he lifted you back on top of the desk and pulled down your panties. He dragged his ring finger up your slit, and you shivered at the sensation of the cold metal of his rings against it. Apparently satisfied with how wet you were, he wasted no time unzipping his pants and ridding himself of them to reveal he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You stared wide-eyed at his cock, as he stroked it before positioning it at your weeping cunt.

“Just take it, mama. Be real good for me and take it like I know you can,” he cooed in an attempt to placate you as he slid himself into you.

You choked on air at the sensation, not expecting how big he’d be, and tears began to run down your face. He kissed them away as he thrust into you, whispering about how good you were being, how perfect you were. Two of his fingers played with your clit, and your felt your vision go hazy at the pleasure that was building up in your core. You’d never felt that good in your life. Maybe you did want it after all.

“Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, nearly throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization of what you had said.

That seemed to stir something in him, because his thrusts became harsher and more erratic while you berated yourself for actually enjoying it. The moans that came from your throat sounded almost foreign to you.

“You got no idea how often I thought about this, mama,” he managed to groan. “Come for daddy.”

With a grotesque cry, you came, feeling yourself clench around him as he kept up his ruthless pace. His own orgasm followed soon after yours, and as you felt him cum inside you, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or yourself more. What felt like hours passed before he finally pulled out from you, leaving your inner thighs wet with cum and lightly bruised.

You looked at him through your tears, knowing your mascara was surely tracked down your face. He reached for you, and you flinched back, nearly falling off of your desk until he steadied you, and you broke down into humiliating sobs into his shoulder, your nails purposely digging into his skin. You wanted to hurt him, somehow, make him feel how you felt. Instead, he seemed unfazed, releasing you from his grip when your crying had settled down to hold your face in his hands.

He looked into your eyes with all of the delusional affection you’d feared and whispered, “You’re my girl, my bestest girl.”

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere elvis

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zvaigzdelasas · 3 months

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Preliminary results from Thursday’s election in Pakistan seem to show that independent candidates affiliated with Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) party have a chance of securing a plurality of legislative seats despite myriad irregularities, which continued through polling day, designed to hobble such an outcome.

The PTI already had its famed cricket-bat logo banned, and a nationwide suspension of cellphone networks on Thursday hindered party officials from informing supporters of their preferred independent candidate for each constituency. (The government claimed the blackout was for security reasons despite such measures being deemed illegal by Pakistan’s High Court.) In addition, exit polls were banned and the PTI complained that their agents were barred from monitoring polling stations. “The amount of rigging going on is beyond ridiculous,” Zulfi Bukhari, a former Minister of State under Khan, tells TIME.

Still, when results finally started trickling in—over 10 hours later than customary, which in itself observers say is highly suspicious—the PTI was neck and neck with the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) of three-time former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, with the Pakistan People's Party (PPP) led by Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, son of assassinated ex-Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, in third place.

Sharif is the preferred candidate of Pakistan’s powerful military, which, despite backing his ouster thrice in the past, recently allowed the 74-year-old back from exile in the U.K., quashed his corruption conviction, and repealed his lifetime ban from politics. Sharif’s speedy rehabilitation stood in stark contrast to the generals’ Khan-and-PTI purge.[...]

Khan, 71, remains in prison and was unable to stand as a lawmaker himself. [...]

Still, the strength of PTI’s showing is a bloody nose for Pakistan’s military, which previously backed Khan before his 2018 election victory. However, the generals fell out spectacularly with the former national cricket captain and engineered his ouster in an April 2022 no-confidence vote. Since then, Khan has survived an assassination attempt and weathered a tsunami of over 180 legal challenges. In recent weeks alone, he received prison sentences totaling 31 years for corruption, leaking state secrets, and having an “un-Islamic” marriage.

Yet his popularity remained strong leading up to the vote, especially among young Pakistanis, with voters aged 18-35 comprising 45% of the nearly 130 million-strong electorate. “It's very clear that the military was nervous and then to see PTI exceed expectations is absolutely a big blow,” says Michael Kugelman, director of the South Asia Institute at the Wilson Center.[...]

On May 9, PTI supporters ransacked military premises in response to an earlier, fleeting arrest of Khan. He may remain behind bars, but Thursday’s election shows the sporting icon is far from done as a political force.

9 Feb 24

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scottxlogan · 3 months

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StonyAUniverse Bingo Master List

It's that time of year again for another round up and this is my master list for the Stony AUniverse bingo up at @stonyauniverse that I had a blast participating in and helping out with. For anyone who loves these two I would highly recommend you heading on over and checking it out as there is a lot of fun to be had. Under the cut is my personal master list for my fills this round. Thanks to all that were part of the bingo! It was a lot of fun!!!!

Title: One Step Closer Author(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Peggy Carter Friendly, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Popstar, rock star Tony Stark, Rancher Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Divorced Steve Rogers, Divorced Tony Stark, Rehabilitation, References to Depression, Angst and Romance, Not Howard Stark Friendly, Drug Addiction, Swearing Summary: Tony Stark was pushed into popstar fame by his ambitious father early on, but over the span of more than two decades Tony has seen the highs and lows of stardom hitting rock bottom in more ways than one. Through it all there was always one person that Tony felt was his saving grace. Steve Rogers was always the one that got away and no matter how many times they tried to cross that line into love they couldn't quite get there. As Tony's once close friend and brief roommate, Steve turned Tony's world around in all the right ways until fate intervened, and they were pulled in separate directions. Now fresh out of rehab on his 45th birthday and looking to keep from making the same mistakes, Tony reflects on his past and follows his heart to new beginnings hoping that it's not too late to find his way back to Steve in his hopes for a second chance. Square Filled: T1: Multiple Orgasms, T2: AU: Popstar, T3: Unresolved Sexual Tension, T4: Car Sex, T5: Au: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48437332

Title: The Quest Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week: 1 Profession Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe, Treasure Hunting, Archaeologist Steve, Swearing, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Implied/Referenced Sex Summary: Archaeologist Steve Rogers finds himself in the thick of danger and adventure after teaming up with his former mentor's son and current sidekick Tony Stark to chase down a rare treasure set to unlock all of humanity's mysteries along the way. Square Filled: N2: AU: Archaeologist Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49077973

Title: Out with the Old... Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week Two: Time Period, Bingo Square Y1: AU Cashier Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Non-serum Steve, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, New Year's Eve, New York City, Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Sexual Content, Alcohol, Hook-Up, Hopeful Ending Summary: AU: Alone on New Year's Eve in 1989 in New York City, Tony decides to go all out in throwing a solo party for himself until sexy cashier Steve offers him a better alternative to a night of drunken loneliness. Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49199674

Title: The Journey Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bucky/Steve/Tony Tags: Esta https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082 Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Anniversary, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom Tony Stark, Light BDSM, Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Restraints, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Role Playing, Dirty Talk, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Pole Dancing Summary: Steve and Tony decide to take a special trip for their anniversary together. To spice things up they decide to gift each other a vacation with Bucky who is ready and willing to be what they need to make their anniversary even more memorable. Will it prove to be exactly what they needed to strengthen their marriage or will they find something more in their playtime with Bucky? Square Filled: N5: AU Dancer Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082

Title: Just Like That...Back to Love Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Idiots in Love, Feelings Realization, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Swearing, Light Angst Summary: Super spy Steve Rogers reflects on the mission he and his work partner/on and off lover Tony Stark put behind him and what it means to their future moving forward where matters of the heart are concerned. Square Filled: Week Three: No Powers, N3: Wrapping him up in a blanket Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49366717

Title: What If We...? Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, AvX Fix-It Fic, Mention of the X-Men, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content Summary: Caught up in deciding what to do about the problem of the Phoenix returning to the world again and causing chaos, Tony offers Steve a suggestion to prevent a war between the Avengers and the X-Men from happening. It sounds like the perfect plan, but along the way Tony finds that perhaps there's something more beyond saving the world with Steve that he's looking to find in their conversation. Square Filled: AUgust Stony AUniverse: Week 4: Nice Try, Canon, Stony AUniverse Bingo N1: Friends to Lovers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49535506

Title: Lazy Weekend Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Domestic Fluff, Tony's POV, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff, Morning Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Established Relationship, contemplations, Reflection Summary: Snuggled in bed with his lovers, Tony contemplates how far they've come together from their sexy beginnings. Square Filled: O5: Domestic Fluff Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51525229

Title: Only In New York Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Mild Sexual Content, Awkward Flirting, Blind Date, Flirting, Miscommunication, Threesome - M/M/M, Shy Bucky Barnes, reclusive Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Summary: Tony grudgingly agrees to go out on a blind date in the city that Pepper has set up for him. In doing so Tony meets devastatingly handsome artist Steve Rogers who is catching Tony's eye in all the right ways. When a series of mishaps and misunderstandings brings Steve and Tony closer to one another, will it prove to be the spark they need to fuel the fire between them or will fate have other plans with Steve's sexy roommate Bucky in the picture? Square Filled: S2: Meet Cute, Stony AUniverse JAnUary Week 1: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52923937

Title: Sweet Dreams Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Romantic Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Kissing, Anxiety Attacks, Insomnia Summary: For years Tony abandoned the idea of ever finding his soulmate, yet somehow after he's hit with a panic attack at one of the worst possible times and Steve comes around to comfort him, Tony discovers that perhaps his soulmate is closer than he thinks. Square Filled: O3: Free space Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53104438

Title: A Journey Through Time Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Endgame, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship Summary: Post endgame after Tony's death Steve makes the decision to go back in time to travel to the past to see Tony in the hopes of changing what's ahead for them. Together Tony and Steve share a touching reunion as Steve's journey leads him closer to fixing the mistakes of the past and being close to where he's always wanted to be. Square Filled: Y4: AU: Time Travel Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53155555

Title: After The War Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sexual Content, References to Depression, Aftermath of war, survivor Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Swearing Summary: Weeks after the battle with Thanos, Tony finds himself in a place where he's left feeling uncertain about himself and what remains of the man he once was. Lost in his struggles, Tony tries to sort his thoughts out, but struggles with his new life until Steve offers him a reason to get lost in a welcome distraction. Square Filled: Y2: Steve’s blush Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53443666

Title: The Gift Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Short One Shot, Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Tattoos, Artist Steve Rogers, Bonding, Romance, Short & Sweet Summary: Steve and Tony share a moment together after Steve puts his new artistry skills to the test in bringing to life a tattoo design he created for Tony. Square Filled: O2: Body Modification Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53486125

Title: Jealousy Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Miscommunication, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Reunions, Feelings Summary: For some reason even though it's been a while since Steve and Tony have been together, Steve can't shake the sudden burst of jealousy he feels in seeing Bucky and Tony getting along with one another. Steve knows it's for the best that his best friend and former lover are at peace with one another, yet Steve can't shake the unsettling ways it feels to be on the outside of things with Tony knowing that Tony's still the only one in his heart. Square Filled: Y5: Jealousy Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53830381

Title: Wrong Turn Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Tattoos, 5 Times, Romance, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers Summary: Tony reflects on the five times that Steve made a mark on his life while Steve takes a moment to consider the one time Tony made a mark on his Square Filled: O4: AU: Tattoo Artist Steve Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53831182

#stonyauniverse #stony fanfic #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #stuckony #bucky barnes #iron man #captain america #winter soldier #stuckony fanfic #marvel fanfic #stevetony #tonysteve

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steevbuckk · 1 year

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FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 34/100

Trained on You by @70secretkinks

[Modern AU, 93 460 words, Explicit]

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is disabled veteran who's trying to learn how to live his life now without his left arm. His best friend Natasha pushes him to build up the strength and confidence he'd lost along with his limb at the Rally Health and Wellness Center with the help of top notch trainer/physical therapist Sam Wilson.

Bucky knew it'd be hard work. What he didn't realize was just how difficult it'd be to concentrate on his own rehabilitation at the innocuous, easygoing gym. But after he first lays eyes on new trainer and walking wet dream Steve Rogers, it's all he can do not to fall face first on the treadmill.

Working out had never gotten Bucky so worked up before. Go hard or go home? Yeah, he's definitely going home hard.

more fics

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embroideredcursewords · 1 year

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Baby, You’re a Sunset.

Relationships: Spider-Man/Deadpool. Peter Parker/Wade Wilson.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Soulmate AU. Soulmark AU. Alternate Universe. Peter Parker needs a hug. Wade Wilson needs a hug. Peter Parker is a sassy little shit. Wade Wilson being inappropriate as always. Scarred Wade Wilson. This is so soft. Bottom!Peter Parker. Top!Wade Wilson. Bottom Peter Parker. Top Wade Wilson. Peter kinda tops from the bottom, though. Power bottom Peter Parker. Fluff and smut. Getting together. Falling in love. Then falling into bed.

Summary: Peter Parker had always been embarrassed about his Soulmark—embarrassed, confused, and honestly a bit pissed off. He and his soulmate would be having words.

//Trigger Warnings: Language. Talk of violence. Sex. Sex without a condom.\\

——————————————————————————

Peter Parker had always been embarrassed about his Soulmark—embarrassed, confused, and honestly a bit pissed off. Soulmarks were the universe’s way of evening the scales a bit. Soulmates were, philosophically speaking, a pretty fucked up phenomenon. You have this one chance—this one chance—to find the person you were destined to be with. What if they were dead or on the other side of the world? You’d never know. Peter had seen the effect that could have on people. He’d known a girl in highschool who met her soulmate a month before being killed in a car accident. His aunt had lost her own soulmate and now May felt like dating was pointless.

Still, the romantic in him felt a longing for his soulmate. Mary Jane and Gwen had discovered that they were soulmates in middle school. Gwen had just started that year. She’d been a quiet kid, sitting alone during lunch. Mary Jane slid next to her on the bus, accidentally knocking their arms together. Both of the girls’ bright white marks had swirled with color. Now, the two delighted in communicating through their Soulmarks and leaving everyone else out of the loop. They’d been in seventh grade and already had their entire lovelives sorted. It wasn’t fair. Peter sighed to himself. He didn’t mean to be bitter and jaded, but at twenty-five with a Soulmark like his, he couldn’t help it. Soulmarks were supposed to be this amazing thing, but everytime Peter thought about his own, he felt miserable.

“Spidey!”

A loud bang shook Peter out of his thoughts. He located the disturbance, then rolled his eyes.

“Deadpool.”

The mercenary had practically been stalking him the past few months. At first, Peter had avoided him like the plague. Last week, though, there was a shift in the air. Deadpool had taken a bullet for him, and now Peter felt indebted to him—even though, technically, Deadpool was immortal. Taking a bullet was closer to a splinter than a sacrificial action for the maniac. Still, Peter was putting up with his presence these days despite literally everyone telling him what a bad idea that was. It was easier to think of Deadpool as an annoying puppy. He followed too closely, had WAY too much energy, and occasionally drooled but if Peter kicked him, he’d be a monster. However irritating Deadpool was, he was pretty useful on patrols. The thorn in Peter’s side was currently unpacking several paper bags and lining up tons of take-out. Deadpool did have his uses.

“I didn’t know what you were in the mood for tonight—because you refuse to answer my texts—so I brought Mexican, Chinese, Thai, and Italian.”

“I don’t answer your texts because you refuse to call me Spider-Man. I made myself perfectly clear on Tuesday.” Deadpool managed to pout in such a way that Peter could see it through the mask. “Don’t start with me, Pool. I’ve had a bad day.”

“What happened? Do you need me to kill somebody?”

Peter glared at Deadpool.

“Why is that always your first response? No. I do not want you to kill anybody. That’s the point of this whole ‘rehabilitation’ experiment. You kill someone, we’re done.”

“You know, ultimatums aren’t the way to get what you want in a relationship. I have the marriage counselor on speed dial.”

“This is not a relationship. It’s just an experiment.”

“Okay, Katy Perry, calm down.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Deadpool immediately pulled out his phone and I Kissed A Girl began blasting through the tinny speakers. Peter sighed, but rolled his mask up and began to eat before the food got cold. Deadpool had insisted on eating either before or after patrols. He called it “bonding time.” Peter had accepted this term with little resistance. His enhanced speed, stamina, and healing came with a monstrous appetite and he was usually broke. Eating with Deadpool meant one less meal he had to pay for. He felt a bit guilty for letting the mercenary pay, but Deadpool always insisted. It was nice in a way that irritated Peter. It irritated him because things like this made it harder to hate Deadpool.

“Seriously, Webhead. If you wanna talk about it, I’m here.”

Peter paused. On the one hand, he was pretty against telling Deadpool anything personal about himself. The man was a trained mercenary and he quite literally made a living off of tracking people down. On the other hand, it was a pretty hidden part of his life. It wasn’t like he went around and told everyone about his Soulmark. Only a handful of people knew about it. The rest of the world believed that Peter Parker had no soulmate. He liked it better that way. It might be nice to vent about it for once.

“It’s just… nothing happened. I’ve just been upset. It’s stupid.”

“Upset about what?” Deadpool spoke around a mouthful of food. Peter had gotten pretty used to the scars, but the way they stretched around his full mouth were a bit distracting. “And it’s not stupid. You’re upset, that’s valid as hell, babe.”

Peter took his own massive, sullen bite. However, he wasn’t raised in a barn so he chewed and swallowed before replying.

“I’ve been upset about my Soulmark. Like it’s been there forever, so I’m mostly used to it, but once in a while… I just get so irritated.”

“Why?”

God, he was like a toddler sometimes.

“It’s… in an embarrassing place.”

“Oh.”

Deadpool continued to eat, letting the silence linger for a few minutes. It was weird to see the mercenary being quiet for once. It made Peter uneasy.

“Well? Gonna tell me how ungrateful I am? How there are thousands of people out there who would kill for my Soulmark? How I should just be happy I have a soulmate at all?”

“Nah. Just ‘cus one person would want it doesn’t mean you have to.” Peter’s mouth snapped shut. Deadpool continued to eat before pulling his mask up a bit further and turning to face Peter. “I kinda understand. I mean, my soulmate is gonna slap me.”

Sure enough, a white handprint marked the left side of Deadpool’s face. The mark swiped down towards his mouth. That definitely looked like a slap.

“I mean, it could be something else…”

Peter tried his best to be convincing. Deadpool just shook his head.

“Nah. Thanks, but it’s definitely a slap. You know me, it definitely makes sense. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna hit me?”

Peter felt something like guilt settle in his stomach in response to the self-deprecating joke. He’d been a bit of a jerk to Deadpool. The man had to take a bullet for Peter to stop avoiding him. Deadpool noticed his frown and chuckled.

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

“You don’t know what my head looks like.”

“Yeah, but I just know you’re gorgeous under there.”

————————————————————————

Peter glanced around the apartment. It was surprisingly clean. He’d expected a total disaster. It was his first time in Wade’s apartment. They’d been patrolling together for a couple months and Peter had officially given up the ghost. Wade was his friend. There was no use fighting it any more. He’d been invited over to watch a movie after patrol. Wade was in the shower, singing at the top of his lungs. Peter tried valiantly not to smile. He failed. There was just something so endearing about it. Sure, Wade was still irritating. But these days, Peter laughed along more often than he rolled his eyes. He could hear the water being turned off as Wade continued to get cleaned up. Peter continued to explore.

The apartment was massive. It would take some serious money to rent this place. The kitchen had one of those fancy islands in it. Peter grabbed a beer from the fridge, took one drink, and decided he was not a beer person. Awkwardly, he carried the nasty thing with him from room to room. The dining area held a table decorated with an old lady tablecloth. Peter ran his hand over the worn lace. He wondered where Wade got it. Maybe it was a family heirloom or something. The living room had a giant TV with the most comfortable-looking couch Peter had ever seen. He sunk into the cushions with a grateful sigh. It had been a long day. Wade sat beside him, turning on the TV to scroll through Disney Plus.

“Whatcha wanna watch?”

“I dunno. Something good.”

“Well, that certainly narrows it down.” Wade threw a sarcastic look his way. Peter enjoyed these moments where he went without the mask. Some day, maybe he could go without his own mask. Some day.

“Fine, then. Let’s watch Hercules.”

Wade nodded, appeased, and the movie began to play. Peter started falling asleep part-way through. Wade woke him back up and brought a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt for him to wear. He changed in the bathroom, and for a real moment, debated going without his mask. He’d finally be able to get the jump on Wade. Lately, his Spider-Sense had not been working around Deadpool and he was getting pretty cocky about it. Wade knocked on the door to make sure he hadn’t somehow fallen asleep while changing. Peter looked at himself in the mirror, fussing with his hair and hoping against all odds that it would obey him for once.

“Fuck it.”

“What? Fuck what? I wanna know what we’re fucking!”

Peter opened the bathroom door, mask in hand.

“It’s Peter.”

Wade stared at him in a strange mix of awe and confusion.

“We’re fucking Peter? Who’s Peter?”

He blushed.

“No, me. I’m Peter.” Then, he added quickly: “And we’re not fucking me.”

“See? I knew you’d be gorgeous under there!”

Peter rolled his eyes, blush still firmly in place as I Won’t Say I’m In Love blared from the living room tv.

————————————————————————

It was nearly a year later when the topic of soulmates came up again. Peter had invited Wade over, against his best judgment, and was being scolded as usual about the lack of food in the fridge. After takeout had been ordered (paid for by Wade, despite Peter’s habitual argument) and the game system was set up. Wade sat far away from Peter, as usual. Through the year of their friendship, Wade had refused to risk any sort of physical touch, and it was confusing for Peter. They’d grown so close over time that every super, villain or hero, counted them as a pair. It was rare for Peter to patrol alone these days. It only ever happened when Wade was “out of town.” He didn’t ask about those trips for his own peace of mind, but he couldn’t help but pay special attention to the news. As far as he could tell, Wade had been sticking to his promise. He hadn’t killed anyone since their agreement.

Though Peter didn’t know it, when Wade took a job he made sure to specify that maiming would be the furthest he’d go for a client. Weasel had almost had an aneurism when Wade broke the news. He’d been the biggest moneymaker for Sister Margaret’s, but according to Weasel he’d been “pussywhipped” by Spider-man. Wade took great offense to this and had informed Weasel that he’d actually been “dickwhipped” and that he planned on continuing that state until Spider-man broke down and fucked him. These days, though, Wade had felt a bit less randy and a bit more enamored. The more he learned about Peter, the more he was convinced that a one night stand could never be enough. In the words of Trisha Yearwood, he was gonna “marry that boy someday.” It was that same selfish urge that had prevented him from any physical contact with Peter. When he’d learned of Peter having a soulmark, all those months ago, a seed of pitiful and useless hope had sprouted in his heart. He was afraid to touch Peter now, for fear of squashing that hope when his soulmark would inevitably remain white. And yet, the sight of Peter curled up on the other end of the couch, clutching his remote and snickering as he sent a blue shell at Wade… He wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, sweep Peter off his feet, and carry him off to the sunset.

“Gotcha, bitch!” Peter shouted excitedly as he took first place.

“You got me, alright.” Wade smiled softly. Peter glanced sideways at him.

Suddenly, the game was paused. Wade turned to look at him quizzically.

“What’s going on, Wade? Usually you’re almost as competitive as I am.”

“For the record, I am way more competitive than you are.”

“It’s not a competition, Wade. My point was—“

“It is so a competition. Everything’s a competition. See, this is exactly why I’m more competitive than you are.”

“Wade.” Peter said with a soft warning in his voice. Wade quieted. “What’s going on in that crazy head of yours?”

“I was just thinking about soulmarks.”

Peter looked at him with surprise.

“Soulmarks? What made you think about that?”

Wade gestured to his own mark.

“Hard not to think about, with this plastered on my face.”

Peter nodded sympathetically.

“I feel you.”

“I wish you would—“ Wade’s lecherous comment was interrupted.

“I thought Vanessa was your soulmate?”

Wade was quiet for a few minutes, memories of his previous happy life with Vanessa.

“She was.”

“She never touched your face?”

“Vanessa’s soulmark was on my chest.”

Again, Peter was surprised.

“You had two soulmarks? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that happening.”

Sometimes, people had more than two soulmates, but they only ever had one mark. Peter had known three soulmates in elementary school. Each bore a matching soulmark. They’d all three been playing Red Rover at recess one day. The touch of the first soulmate had only added half the color, the second touch had filled in the gaps. Still, only one mark.

“I only had the one when she was alive. Then when she…” Wade trailed off, his voice cracking with grief. Peter moved to comfort him, but Wade shook his head and stood, putting more distance between them. Peter felt a sharp sting through his heart.

“I know I’m not her. But Jesus, Wade. I can’t even hold your hand?”

“It’s not about her.”

“Then what the fuck is it about?”

Wade gestured to his face, beginning to pace anxiously.

“I don’t want you to touch me.” He began quietly. Peter probably wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t for his superhearing. “I don’t think I can handle knowing that you aren’t my—just fucking forget it.”

Peter froze.

“You want me to be your soulmate.” Wade stayed silent. “Wade—“

“No, don’t tell me. I know. I know I’m the last person on earth you’d be soulmates with.” He laughed bitterly, sarcasm clouding his words. “Wouldn’t that be fucking perfect. New York’s golden boy! The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, soulmates with a fucking murderer.”

“Wade, please—“

“No, it’s fine. I get the message, Webs. I really do.”

“Would you just shut the fuck up and listen!” Peter yelled. Wade stilled. “Wade, you absolute moron! I want you to be my soulmate so fucking bad. I love you, dumbass! I love you and it kills me because I know I’m not your soulmate! You wanna know how I know?”

Wade spun around to face him.

“How do you know?” Hope lit up his eyes, shattering Peter’s heart as tears stung his eyes.

“Because I would never slap you, Wade! And my soulmark…” He trailed off. Wade didn’t push it. Instead, he plopped onto the couch, head in his hands. Peter scooted closer, careful not to touch. Still, there was hope in his chest. He couldn’t help it. He studied Wade’s soulmark, the way it seemed almost undeniable. The way it slid so neatly downwards. Peter had been slapped. The redness on his face had looked the same. And yet…

“Oh, Wade.” Peter said in a whisper, tears blurring his vision. He shut his eyes, unable to stop his hand from reaching out and touching Wade’s cheek. His hand slid as Wade startled, Peter thumbed his lower lip gently. “I wish we were soulmates. I love you. I love you so much.”

“Peter… Babyboy.” Wade’s hand settled low on his waist, more on his ass than anything, and Peter suddenly felt a pleasant sort of burning sensation. He gasped. “I think we are.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open, greeted by color swirling and blooming, bordered by Wade’s lovely scars. His hand fell from Wade, yanking up his shirt while his other pushed at the waistband of his pants. Sure enough, the warm sensation was accompanied by his own soulmark blooming. Wade had tears in his eyes now. He gazed at Peter with such tenderness, he almost couldn’t stand it. Peter’s hand softly cupped his cheek again.

“I didn’t slap you.”

Wade let out a choking sob.

“No. No, you were so gentle.”

Peter’s lips met his for a mere moment. The softest kiss in the history of kisses.

“You deserve gentleness.”

As he shuffled forward, Wade’s hand slipped under his shirt, under the waistband of his pants, and settled firmly over his soulmark. Peter’s breath hitched as Wade gripped his ass softly, nearly falling forward to land in Wade’s lap. Their mouths met again, starting so soft and gentle that Peter’s eyes began watering again. Heat crept into the corners of their kiss. It started as an ember, slowly building to a raging inferno. Wade began kneading at Peter’s ass, each push and pull brushing the two against each other. Peter’s lips fell open and Wade’s tongue licked into his mouth like a fire. Their breath came in short, panting bursts as they both began to grow desperate for one another. Finally, Peter pulled away and Wade let out a whine, only to wolf whistle as he yanked off his shirt. Wade did the same and Peter’s hands ran down his chest. Among the scars, one stood out. It was a handprint, blackened. Peter let out a slow breath. This was Vanessa’s mark. Wade kissed and nipped along his jaw, swiftly distracting him. They could talk about that later.

Peter’s hips ground against Wade’s, both groaning in the pleasure a simple movement could give. Their hands only pulled away to tear off clothes.

Soon enough, they sat fully bare and vulnerable. Wade let his eyes roam hungrily along Peter’s naked body, and Peter did the same. Wade was gorgeous, and he told him just that. Wade’s soulmark positively glowed, golden with happiness. Peter’s did the same. When it became a beautiful rose gold, Wade could have cried. Despite all odds, Peter loved him. Peter loved him, and he was happy. Kisses were peppered gently along Wade’s face and suddenly, he couldn’t wait anymore. His strong arms swept Peter up and carried him off. The bedroom wasn’t exactly the sunset, but their soulmarks could outshine even the most gorgeous sunset. Peter bounced lightly as Wade collapsed on the bed. Wade groaned at the extra friction. When Peter’s soft hand joined their dicks together, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Oh, god. Wade—“ Peter sighed. His head lolled back, his hips wiggling against Wade’s.

“I need you, too, baby.”

Peter grinned, releasing their members as he swung his leg off of Wade’s lap.

“You’re gonna need to prep me, big boy.”

Wade moaned before sitting up to face his soulmate. His soulmate! God! He rummaged through the bedside table for a minute before pulling out a bottle of lube. Peter blushed as Wade held up a rather large dildo with a smirk.

“Are you a size queen, baby? Or were you trying to prepare for me, hm?”

“Both.” Peter answered honestly. He laughed when Wade held it up to his own dick to compare the size. “Alright, alright! Dick-measuring contest later! I need you to fuck me now.”

“Yes, sir!” Wade saluted with the dildo before dropping it back in the drawer and rejoining Peter on the—rather small, he should really buy Peter a new one—bed. His soulmate, and Wade would never, ever get tired of calling him that, rolled onto his stomach and pushed up onto his hands and knees. Wade groaned as Peter turned his head to smile at him.

“Keep smiling at me like that and I’ll give you anything.”

“Currently, I want your cock. Can you hurry up and give me that?”

Wade slicked up his fingers in response, taking the time to circle Peter’s hole gently.

“Ahhh, Wade. Been waiting for this.”

Wade let his finger slip in to the first knuckle.

“How long have you been waiting, babyboy?”

“About a year.”

Wade groaned.

“Jesus. Bet you’re all pent up, hm?”

“So pent up, Wade.”

Another groan and Wade added another finger, beginning to gently scissor them as he fucked his soulmate with his hand.

“Love it when you say my name.”

“I love you, Wade.”

“Fuck me, I love you too, Peter.”

The third finger slipped in, searching for Peter’s prostate.

“Wade, if you don’t put your cock in me now, I’m going to cum on your fingers and go to sleep.”

The threat was an effective one. Wade pulled his fingers free before searching for a condom. Peter shook his head.

“I don’t think either of us could carry anything. Healing factors are a wonder, aren’t they?”

Wade wasn’t about to argue. He added some lube to his hand before slicking up his own cock and guiding it to Peter’s hole. His hips inched forward, slowly filling his soulmate up. Peter’s breath got faster with each gentle push. Wade’s hand captured Peter’s cock, stroking slowly to distract him from any potential stretch. It took a minute before he bottomed out, being sure to give his soulmate enough time to adjust.

“Ah, Wade. Yes! Uhnn, god. Feel so full.” He wiggled his hips back against Wade before sinking onto the bed. “Think you can flip me around without taking your cock out?”

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Can’t be without my cock for a moment, can you?”

Peter grinned back at him.

“Can you be without me?” He squeezed down around Wade, choking a groan out of him.

“Good point.” Wade sort of pinwheeled Peter onto his back, keeping his cock buried deep. He waggled his eyebrows. Peter laughed.

“You did it! I knew you could do it.”

Wade smiled, pulling Peter’s legs to rest around his waist, and he moved. He started making love, his hips starting a deep, slow pace. Peter groaned, his hands gripping the sheets before Wade leaned down to rest his weight on his elbows. They kissed softly, both hands moving to touch soulmarks. Wade thoroughly enjoyed the gentle lovemaking. His heart felt tender as Peter matched his pace with his own hips. Wade groaned into the kiss as Peter sighed in time with his thrusts. It was sweet and slow, yet filled with passion. He gripped Peter’s ass as his thrusts became harder and faster, panting only interrupted by moans. Peter’s legs gripped his waist, hand stroking his own cock in time. Wade was getting close, and by the sounds of Peter’s broken cries, he was too. Wade came with a shout, jerking his hips in the aftershocks. Peter quickened his strokes, but Wade batted his hand away. He was given a disgruntled noise before he moved downwards, taking Peter into his mouth. It didn’t take long, and frankly in his post-orgasm state it wasn’t his best work, but Peter soon crumbled inwards as he reached his own peak. Wade swallowed every drop like it was ambrosia.

They fell back together, spent, sweating, and smiling. Wade pulled Peter into his arms and his hand found it’s place on his ass. Peter’s hand gently stroked his cheek. They were silent for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of their love. Wade, as expected, broke the silence.

“Spider-Man is my fucking soulmate!”

“Speaking of fucking, Wade… How do you feel about fucking me upside down?”

Wade groaned through a smirk as he forced himself up and off the bed, Peter’s laugh ringing pleasantly in his ears.

#Peter Parker/Wade Wilson #spider man/deadpool #peter parker x wade wilson #Spider-Man x Deadpool #smut #fluff and smut #ao3fic #spideypool

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mtaartsdesign · 4 months

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Mary Miss’ “Framing Union Square” (1998) at 14 St-Union Sq (4,5,6,L,N,Q,R,W) station invites viewers to look below the surface to the history of a place. Miss worked with architect Lee Harris Pomeroy, using the rehabilitation of Union Square station as an opportunity to uncover hidden structural elements, cables, and conduits — some of which were still functional, and others that were replaced by new improvements. Old decorative work reappeared during construction, including mosaics, pilasters, name plaques, and six terra cotta eagles from the 1904 station that were presumed lost. With bright red frames, Miss brings these treasures to the surface while also highlighting more subtle points of interest: a bolt, a fragment of ancient-looking mosaic, a piece of rusted steel cable.

R.M. Fischer’s "Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel Clock" (1992) crowns the top of the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel's (formerly known as the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel) historic Manhattan ventilation building and vehicle entrance. The clock marks the transition from city streets to tunnel entrance, announces time, and optimistically welcomes commuters day and at night. The artwork responds to the ornate character and large scale of the site while remaining compatible with the historic character of the tunnel ventilation building’s "Depression Modern" architecture.

Miss and Fischer were recently featured in “Pioneers of Public Art, New York in the 1980’s and 90’s,” a public talk organized by the Battery Park City Authority.

📸1: MTA A&D/Rob Wilson, 2: Paul Warchol, 3-4: Battery Park City Authority

#mtaarts #publicart #permanent art

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silvr-skreen · 4 months

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accepting the bucky beaver instincts into my au

#shipwrecked 64 #shipwrecked64 #bucky beaver #brandon lester #giovanni goose #gary wilson #starlings #dwellers #starling rehabilitation au

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thinkingaboutbetterdays · 2 years

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recovery. ( robert chase x reader )

gif belongs to me

The moment you saw Cuddy, you knew something was wrong, that something had happened. You weren't expecting it to be as critical. When she told you that a patient had stabbed Robert, you asked how bad it was. Lisa explained that he was taken in for surgery. And you immediately pictured the worst-case scenario - that he would die on the operating table.

"I-I should be there." You blinked away the tears in your eyes, your voice cracking with emotion.

Lisa told you which room the operation was happening in, arranging for someone to cover your duties. You walked to the elevator, relieved when it was empty. And when the doors closed, you broke down.

As you stepped into the observation level, you looked down at where Robert was unconscious on the operating table. You stared down at your fiancée, who was fighting for his life, and felt fresh tears in your eyes, feeling powerless to help him.

You barely registered how long the surgery had lasted as you paced, stared, sat on the floor, and then repeated the cycle. Robert had worked with the surgeon before he joined House's new team. And when the surgery was a success, he called up to you, but you knew that Robert wasn't out of the woods yet.

You stepped outside, meeting him in the hallway, "How is he?"

"We repaired the damage the wound caused. There was major bleeding. We'll keep monitoring for any changes, but for now, he's stable."

You felt a tear fall down your cheek, resting your clasped hands against your lips as the news sunk in. You had gotten to know each other well during Robert's time with the team, and you were relieved that Robert had been left in his care as he was one of the hospital's best surgeons.

"Thank you." You whispered.

He stepped forward when more tears fell, bringing you into a comforting embrace as sobs left your lips. "I know. I know." After a few moments, you pulled away, wiping your tears away. "Come on. I'll take you to his room."

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the first thing you registered when you entered the room. You approached the bed where Robert was resting, though he didn't appear as peaceful as he usually did when he was sleeping.

You looked at the heart monitor, sniffling as you looked down at your unconscious fiancée, taking his hand. You tentatively combed his hair away from his forehead, closing your eyes when tears pricked your eyes, wanting to be strong in his presence.

For the next eighteen hours, you remained by his side, speaking to House when he came to see for himself, thanking Wilson when he brought you coffee.

House was there when Chase woke up, ushering you to get changed into fresh clothes, and for twenty minutes, Robert contemplated the lengthy recovery process ahead of him. House was gone when you returned, and you approached him, a smile forming on his lips when he saw you enter.

A smile grew on your lips as you held his right hand in both of yours. "Hi." You said softly.

"Hi." He greeted with a light chuckle.

"I'm sorry I should've been here -"

"It's fine. House told me he sent you home." Robert smiled up at you.

You hadn't noticed the tears in your eyes until he held his arms out, and you carefully returned the embrace, feeling tears fall down your cheeks as he held you. "I should be comforting you."

"We're comforting each other." He kissed your head, meeting your gaze when you lifted your head from his shoulder. "Do you know..."

You nodded slowly. "Did House tell you?"

"I felt he was oddly sensitive."

You smiled, placing a hand on his cheek as you held his gaze. "Everything is going to be fine, you know. It'll be a long road to recovery, but I'll be there to help you through it."

And the honesty in your eyes was enough for the weight of his injuries to sink in as you unknowingly brought up one of his fears - that your relationship would suffer because of the rehabilitation process.

"I'm sorry for anything I say while -" He exhaled sharply when the first tear fell, and you wiped it away with your thumb. "I love you."

"I love you too." You smiled, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

He placed his arms around you as you lay beside him, resting your head on his chest. You closed your eyes as you listened to the steady beat of his heart, feeling him kiss your head.

You knew he was going to be okay. When his rehabilitation started, he would become frustrated. You knew this and accepted it. But you knew that in the heat of the moment, he never meant it. And Chase knew that whatever happened, you would be there. And it was enough to quieten his thoughts.

#robert chase #robert chase x reader #house m.d.

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imaginesandsmut · 10 months

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Meddle About

Pairing: Karli Morgenthau x fem reader

Summary: After staying with the Wilson’s, Karli begins to fall for y/n, the wilson’s family friend.

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut. there is a strap and slight mention of possessiveness

Writers note: I am upset that there is like no Karli smut out in the world, my fave lesbian terrorist deserves more attention <3

Also message me if y’all want me to write anything specific.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, come and get it now, come and get it now. Baby, show me what you doing, come and turn around. 'Cause it's not just a figure of speech, you got me down on my knees, it's getting harder to breathe out” - Meddle About by Chase Atlantic

Some nights you believe you were made parties; made to be the centre of attention, the mirrorball in the middle of the dancefloor.

The Wilson family were hosting another potluck gathering, their house was filled to the brim with food, music and people, all in which spilt out from their front door and onto the docks. Houses upon houses had partaken in the festivities and the whole neighbourhood were singing songs well past curfew.

You, ever the social butterfly, found yourself in the centre of the party. You were dancing with Sam on the makeshift dance floor on the docks, singing loudly to whatever song someone had put in the playlist que.

“Do you want a drink?” You yelled over the music, still moving your body in rhythm with the song. The air was hot and thick around you, the short summer dress that revealed almost every inch of skin your had did little to cool you down.

“Get the good gin from my cooler in my room.” Sam yelled back, wildly fistbumping the air to the song.

You looked around, the bodies in the crowd blocking your view of the house and caging you in. You started pushing your way through, apologising and smiling sweetly at anyone in your way. The big doe eyes made anyone that looked at you melt instantly, falling over themselves to let you through.

Sam’s house came into your sights, the lights on and more people laughing and spilling from its doors. You moved your feet up the porch steps and through the front door, beelining for the stairs and making your way up towards Sam’s room.

You had found yourself in the quiet hallway, the music from downstairs vibrating the floor beneath her. You weren’t drunk and the tipsiness had long passed, but the buzz from being with friends and being breathless from dancing filled you with a warm fuzzy feeling of love.

Sam’s bedroom door was in front of you, beckoning you forward to the promised cold drinks that will surely cool her down.

But the room at the end of the hallway was making you feel weak and nervous.

Karli Morgenthau has been staying at the Wilson’s house for the past few months, after spending the past year or so in government rehabilitation. The redhead suffered major injuries after being shot by Sharon, gunshot wounds to her stomach and ribs. It was all in luck and the super soldier serum that she managed to survive and get back to health only a few months later.

Sam had to fight hard for Karli to be released from The Raft, a maximum security prison for all super-powered criminals. The only way he pulled strings to shorten her sentence was because S.H.I.E.L.D owed Sam many favours. Instead of putting her out on the streets to fend for herself, Sam took Karli in and has been trying to acclimate her to everyday life.

Karli, once an angry and feverish for revenge 19-year-old, was now a hollow and tired 21-year-old. She kept to herself, hidden in her room and away from everybody all day and night.

“Can you try and get her to open up?” Sam asks quietly one morning, a few days after Karli arrives at the house, before you had even seen her.

“You want me to be her friend?”

“I want you to show her that she’s not alone.”

You knew about Karli Morgenthau, knew what she did and who she was. You couldn't hate the red head for what she did in her past, knowing that she did it for the right reasons, just a terrible execution. So over the past few weeks, you have been trying to put yourself out there and invite Karli to join your little activities; shopping, reading, walking on the dock and helping you study.

Karli had fought at first, sending scowls and snide remarks towards you whenever you offered to show Karli around town or do anything together. But slowly, over time, you had chipped away at Karli’s frozen exterior and gotten her to open up slowly, even earning a smile or two. But just as quickly as it comes, it goes and Karli goes back to ignoring you.

Now, hot and buzzed from the party, all you wanted was to spend time with Karli. To hear her talk, watch her hands move over her book pages, watch her fluffy curls bounce everytime she moves her head.

You just wanted to be around Karli, even if Karli didn’t partially seem to care about you that much.

You walked towards Karli’s bedroom door, knocking on it hesitantly and waiting for any sign of life behind the door. You waited, and waited, and nothing. You huffed before opening the door, knowing that there is no where else Karli would be and she was ignoring the knocking on purpose.

“Hey.” Your voice was soft as you opened the door, very weary that you were definitely intruding in a space that you’re not allowed in.

Karli was sitting at her desk, lounging back in her chair so effortlessly. She was wearing her flannel pants low on her hips, her v-line in full view to the room. Karli’s sports bra equally leaves little to hide.

She looks up from her book, confused as to why anyone would be in her room, ready to send a snide remark but bites her tongue when she realises it was you.

“Hi.”

“You enjoying the party?” You joke, closing the door behind you and walking further into the room. You look around, taking in the sights of the band posters on her walls and books that littered the room.

Karli does speak, only grunting in response as her eyes remain on the page. It was probably a russian classic, or some sort of manifesto, another boring book to swallow her alive and keep her from the real world.

You stayed planted in the centre of the room, afraid to get closer to her but too embarrassed to leave. You watched Karli, trying to dissect her brain and figure out who the person in front of you was.

“Was there something else you wanted?” Karli was bored, almost annoyed that you were there.

Karli hated being here, in her room and in this house. She has grown a lot since her time with the Flagsmashers, understood where she went wrong and how much harm she did. But being coddled, being treated like a wounded stray dog that everyone needs to walk on eggshells around, it annoyed her to no end and made her irritable.

Except for you; out of everyone in the whole town, you were the only one that treated Karli like another person, treated her like a friend.

You were soft spoken and kind, always willing to help and lend a listening ear to anyone who may need it. Karli hated how easily she wanted to fall into you, how readily she was to become your friend and be around you.

Be in your world.

Be in your presence.

Be in you.

Karli wasn’t a virgin, she had fucked a girl here and there before her Flagsmasher days and a lot during. Many girls threw themselves at the redhead, wanting to be the one that could heal the broken parts within her. She never really felt anything for girls, pushing them into her bed and pleasuring them in every way possible. It was all so hot, heavy, and nonserious. She never wanted them to be anything more, never could have them be anything more.

But when you stood in front of her, flushed and sweaty from dancing, it made Karli want to push her over the nearest counter and fuck you sensless.

“I wanted to check in on you,” You played with the hem of her dress, “it’s not too bad out there, with everyone.”

“I’m good.” Karli lifted her hips up from the chair to readjust her pants, the movement caused you to almost choke on your spit. “You can shut the door on your way out.”

This has been the most to your interactions for the past month or so and it was making you irritated. You have tried for so long to open her up and get Karli to enjoy something in life, but all she could do was hide in her room and make you feel like an idiot. A new determination overcome you, forcing you to stay in the room and not be chased out by someone who has nothing going on in their life.

“What band is that?” You pushed yourself to walk towards the desk that remained pushed against the wall, underneath the band posters and random tickets sticky taped to the wall.

“Kyoto Kyoto.” Karli watched your body move closer to her, stopping right in front of her body but looking up at her wall. “Band from London.”

“Cool,” You nod your head like you knew them, “do you like their songs?”

“I wouldn’t have them on my wall if i didn’t?”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” You just stared up at the wall, suddenly feeling chilly in the deathly quiet room.

Karli was lounging on her chair, manspreading with her pants low on her hips and elbows on the armrests. The book lay forgotten in her arms and she looked at you next to her chair, standing up on your tippy toes to get a glance at the writing on some of the other posters. Karli couldn’t help herself, it was just a slight head tilt to the side, a slow dip of her head and she was looking up your dress. The girl next to her was oblivious to Karli’s prying eyes, taking in your butt.

Your underwear, white and lacy, did little to hide any skin of your ass.

Karli couldn’t stop herself, she was like a man starved after being away at war. She hadn’t touched anyone in almost 2 years, let alone felt the smooth skin of a woman - and you were just so pretty.

It was like her hand was moving on its own volition, a possessed limb that was determined to satisfy the need that festered within her chest.

Karli’s right hand reached out to her side and touched the back of your knee, startling you slightly and causing your body to pause - like a deer in headlights. Karli’s breath was heavy, her eyes lidded as her fingers dragged their way from the back of your knee to your inner thigh. She circled her fingers over your soft skin, dragging up higher and higher.

“What are you doing?” Your breath was ragged and heavy, voice barely above a whisper. You leaned forward and placed your hands on the table, holding yourself up as you waited for what Karli was going to do.

“Nothing.” It was an incoherent mumble, almost as if she was doing something as boring as reading her book.

Karli’s fingers were rough, covered in scars and calluses that slightly scratched you as they circled your skin. Getting higher and higher, slowly and surely. You knew that it was probably the worst idea in the world, but you parted your legs to allow for Karli to do whatever she was going to do.

It was like Karli just needed to touch her, just once, and you were a useless doll for whatever the redhead wanted. You knew that you both shouldn’t be doing anything like this with each other, and that Sam will have a fit if he found out, but your mind was nothing but a hum of chants; ‘please, please touch me. Please do something.”

Karli watched the nervous quiver of your legs and had to refrain from laughing. It has been so long since she has touched another woman, she was desperate to put her fingers to work, but you were the one acting like a needy virgin.

Sam would kill Karli if he saw what she was doing now, and who she was doing it to. He would have a conniption saying that you did not deserve to get involved with someone so obviously broken and in need of shackles. He would potentially kick Karli out for possibly corrupting such a pure and sweet soul.

Karli wanted to ruin you.

Karli dragged her fingers up your thigh until she reached your panties, hesitantly touching the damp fabric in case you decided to pull back. All you could do was muffle a small moan from the sensation, earning a chuckle from Karli as she dragged her fingers over the wet lace.

“Have you ever been touched?” It was derogatory in tone, but Karli was genuine in wanting to know the answer. Her fingers were moving slower than a snail, applying pressure slightly when she felt your clit through the fabric, circling it slowly then quickly pulling away.

A groan clawed its way out of your throat at the sensation and the question, Karli’s mean voice giving you mixed feelings about your situation right now.

“No.” It was embarrassing but it was the honest answer. You had kissed a few people, had a grope here and there from a teenage boy, but nothing further.

Karli was a little surprised and expected a slightly different answer; she's seen how many times guys stick to you, how many desperate attempts at your attention are presented to you. Though, Karli couldn’t complain, she could be the one to make you scream and beg for more, not those losers you were probably out dancing with only a few moments ago.

“How has someone so pretty not been touched yet?" Karli whispered into the air, and your full attention was focused on her low and hoarse voice. "Let me fix it, please.”

You felt Karli’s fingers run over your wet panties again, applying more pressure and practically fingering you through the fabric. Your legs buckled in pleasure, your head hung low as the only thing keeping you standing were your shaking arms on the table. Your eyes turned to your side, looking at Karli who was still lounging in her desk chair. The sight of Karli so effortlessly confident, so sure of herself and her skills, it made you quiver in anticipation and nod your head.

“C’mere then.”

You looked to your side and saw Karli had straightened herself up in her chair, her lap inviting you to straddle it. Karli’s hand had also left you, leaving a yearning to be touched again and a new desperation to be closer to the redhead.

You turned around and stood before Karli, putting your hands on the girl’s shoulders so you had support before moving to straddle her. The feeling of your already needy clit in contact with Karli’s crotch made you groan, throwing your head back slightly and closing your eyes.

Karli thought you were a dream, someone so sweet and angelic was moaning at her touch. A sense of urgency came over her, the need to have you say her name over and over so the whole house knew, so that no one could ever think about taking you from Karli.

The Flagsmasher gripped your hips and began moving you, dragging your pussy over her crotch. Your moan filled the air, if it weren’t for the party downstairs you would have been embarrassed, but being on Karli’s lap, you couldn’t think of anything else but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

“You're so needy, huh?" Karli’s smile only widened at your loud whine, your hips moving faster over Karli’s crotch.

To shut her up, Karli gripped your hair and smashed your lips together, kissing you hard and letting you know that she needed you. She tugged on your hair, earning another moan which gave Karli an opportunity to force her tongue into your mouth, swallowing your groans of pleasure.

“Fuck, I wanted to do that long time ago.” She mumbled against your lips, looking with lust at your body before moving her lips down to kissing your jaw and neck, sucking and biting any piece of skin she could access.

“Please,” your moan of pleasure was much louder than before, “please touch me.”

“Quiet baby, you don't want us to get caught, huh? What would Sam think?" Karli whispered into your neck, chuckling at your annoyed whine. Even though Karli wanted to hear your beautiful sounds, she couldn't wait for another time when the house was empty. Karli had watched you from afar, keeping her distance for your sake and for Sam, for far too long. She can’t let you go now that she’s got a chance.

Karli pulled her head away from your neck and lifted your dress, admiring the lacy fabric that hid what she wanted to see. She used to dream about how the flimsy fabric would cling to your body, but now seeing it in person filled her with cockiness. She could do a lot now that you were here, in her room, on her lap. So many daydreams and fantasies Karli wanted to put into play.

“Stop staring and do something.” Your irritated tone was loud and clear, driving your message home as you gripped onto Karli’s curls and pressed your lips together, a messy and frenzied display of need.

“Yes ma'am” Karli joked and she dipped her hand into your underwear, using her thumb to rub your clit in circles. Her finger pushed into you not long after, earning needy pants as you tried to chase the feeling by grinding yourself on Karli’s hand.

“You look so hot riding my fingers on top of me" Karli sighed, running her other hand through your hair. Karli watches the girl with a smirk, choking on your moans and whines as she keeps her rhythm without a pause. Karli is aware that she can feel you clenching around her digits, indicating that her release is near. Karli pressed her lips back to your neck, leaving love bites in hopes to leave a mark.

“I’m gonna-” it was strained and nervous, as if you was unsure whether you could even speak at this moment.

“I’ve got you.”

It was all Karli needed to say, her own pleasure at watching you had made her fuzzy in the head too, just content in watching you ride her fingers and moan aloud into the empty room. A cord snapped in you and the tension that was rising within you had reached its climax, causing you to grip Karli’s shoulders and shudder, moaning into her curly red hair in hopes to drown the sound out. Karli’s fingers kept moving, pumping you through her orgasm.

There were a few moments of silent bliss, just you shuddering in Karli’s arms as you came, drenching Karli’s lap. But the supersoldier decided that it wasn't enough, that she needed to hear you scream. She wanted the whole party to hear it, to understand that you was hers to keep, hers to pleasure.

Before you could even process your orgasm, Karli had stood up from her desk chair and brought your blissed out body with her, keeping your legs around her waist so you wouldn’t fall. You would normally be surprised at this show of strength, but Karli was a supersoldier after all.

Still you gasped as Karli walked you both over to her bed, dumping you down onto the soft mattress. The sheets were nothing extraordinary, just blue and grey ones you would get for a teenage boy, but the look Karli was giving you as she stood in between your thighs, it made you gasp.

Karli couldn’t say anything, too numb in euphoria, and she hadn't even been touched.

“I need to fuck you.” Karli was rubbing your legs, pushing your dress up in the process. “Please let me.”

You could only nod, wanting so desperately for it to happen that all words seem to fail you. Karli smiled at the gesture and began taking your clothes off, pulling your dress over your head and unclasping your bra. She dragged down your underwear slower, wanting to see your wetness coated all over your legs and lace panties.

Karli only took off her pyjama pants, leaving her in men’s boxers and her sports bra; still, she looked hot.

Karli left you alone on the bed in favour of finding something hidden in a draw, rustling around until she found what she was looking for. You couldn’t lift her head up to see what was happening, too blissed out but horny for more. It wasn’t until you felt a hardness tap her thigh.

“What?” You sat up and saw Karli with a strap on, crawling onto the bed and ontop of you. Karli’s figure above you caused you to involuntarily buck your hips, even if the strap made you nervous.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Karli’s head was buried in your shoulder, moving her hips to tease the silicone head at your entrance.

“I don’t think I can take it.”

“You can.”

“What about you?” You were rambling, you hated yourself for it but the thick tension in the room was making you nervous. You wanted to badly for Karli to just fuck you, but Karli wanted to hear you speak.

“It’s double sided, baby.” Karli chuckled, kissing your lips tenderly. “I will feel everything.”

You looked down, noticing that the other end of the strap went through the front opening of the boxes and into Karli, a sight that made you choke on her own spit. Before you could even comment, Karli pushed into you.

It was slow, but the sheer length of the strap made you grip onto Karli’s back, pulling you closer so that your chests were pressed together. Karli groaned into your neck, trying to silence herself from being too loud by biting her own lip. The sensation felt painful at first, needing Karli to just stay still for a moment as you adjusted.

Karli slowly began to pump in and out of you, gauging for reactions on your face and kissing your cheek everytime you winced. Soon the pain turned to pleasure and you were whimpering and moaning for more, clawing at Karli’s back in an effort for your bodies to be closer.

“Does that feel good?" You can only groan and nod in response, Karli own sounds of pleasure filled her ears, spurring you both on to fuck each other. As Karli’s thrusting became more feverish, desperation overtook all of her senses. Karli began biting your shoulder, groping your boobs and tugging on your nipples. Her hands were all over your body, nothing was left untouched by Karli.

The redhead’s desperate touches turned into desperate ramblings, groaning into your ear and onto your lips.

"Fuck you feel so good, baby. I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you, so pretty in your short skirt. Do you know how long I've wanted to touch you, stayed awake just thinking of you moaning my name?” Karli’s thrusting grew harsher and faster, her ramblings muffled by kissing your lips. “Do you ever touch yourself at night thinking about me? Thinking about how good I’d be to you?”

“Karli!” You could only gasp in response as Karli’s free hand dipped between you both and began circling your clit again, quickening and slowing down in speed to leave you struggling. “Karli please.”

You could barely even focus on what Karli was saying as your climax built up steadily.

"Had to stay away from you even though you were so sweet and good to me; such a good girl.” Karli was still mumbling almost incoherent words into your ear, her voice breaking as she got closer to her climax. "I can’t let you go now, you feel too good to lose. Tell me you’re mine, tell me that you’re mine to have.”

"Fuck, I’m yours." You whine, nails digging into Karli’s sides as your core tightens around the strap.

It was all Karli needed to speed up her fingers on your clit and thrust you harder into your climax, equally bringing her to her own climax. You both came together, moaning into each other's mouths, then trying to silence it by sloppily kissing each other. Karli thrusted her hips a few more times to milk hers and your pleasure, both of you trembling at the overstimulation.

You kissed Karli properly now that your brain could focus on something other than Karli’s hips, hands, mouth, voice. You kissed each other for a bit more as you came down from the highs, both equally groaning as Karli pulled away and took the strap out of both of you.

You grabbed onto the nearest shirt you could find and pulled it over your head before tucking yourself into Karli’s sheets, the cologne and detergent smell that was so inherently Karli filled your senses and lulled you to sleep.

Karli put her strap away and walked back to the bed, climbing in herself and pulling you into her chest, kissing the top of your forehead.

“I’m serious, you know?” Her voice was low, it had you clenching your thighs together.

“About what?” Your voice was equally hoarse and quiet, now keenly aware of the people still in the house and possibly even right outside the bedroom door.

“I’m not letting you go, you’re mine.” Karli sounded possessive and demanding, a switch to the needy and sweet person that was just on top of you a mere minute or so ago. If you had known any better, it would have scared you. But in Karli’s arms, so content and blissed out, you felt safe. Like a blind mouse in a lion’s mouth.

“I’m yours.”

#lesbian #karli morgenthau #karli morgenthau smut #marvel smut #marvel women smut #lesbian marvel #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #lesbian smut

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marc--chilton · 4 months

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goofy ass house headcanon: cuddy once took inspiration from wilson's retelling of animal rehabilitation videos he's seen and simply draped a blanket over house's head when it was in everyone's best interest for him to not do his job that day. she was mostly joking but it actually worked on him. he just sits there. it freaked her the fuck out so she stopped but sharing her findings with wilson meant that he will take advantage of it where she will not, HAPPILY

#house md #he's a beast of course and as we know beasts are sometimes susceptible to simple tactics #also yeah the autism. turn on his music and hood him like a hawk and he'll be in a place for a while #and so what if i'm projecting!! it's true to life #it's the closest he gets to turning his brain off without use of a television

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thebrandywine · 8 months

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Is it alright to ask for like a..recap? On the side characters of broken machine? I think it’s because I’m bad at names but like marks, Jamie, etc?

OF COURSE-- I love talking about my OCs skjbwkf There are some one-off appearances throughout the fic, so I'll limit the information below to the OCs who might appear again/be regular characters.

Allison (Allie) Marks: Marks is a newer recruit. She went on Leon's first field mission with the BSAA where Leon saved her life and has now become the 'extrovert adopts an introvert' stereotype. As of the latest chapter, is in a relationship with Jamie Wilson.

James (Jamie) Wilson: Wilson is also a newer recruit, and he also went on Leon's first field mission and also had Leon save his life. Wilson was an asshole to him just prior but apologized and asked Leon to train him -> this is what led to 'class' and Leon's army of ducklings. He recently kicked the shit out of West and is in a relationship with Allie Marks.

BSAA NA Branch Director Michael Peters (Mike, Peters): What it says on the tin. We like Peters! He's a family man who's bad at chess and good at bribing dogs with Milk Bones.

Pauline: Peters' receptionist (and also secretly his wife). Also good at bribing dogs with Milk Bones.

Combat Medic Nikhil Shaan (Nik, Shaan): A character first spawned in [like classical music], Nik is an all-around good guy who (for some reason) is always the one stitching Leon up. We also like Nik :)

Doctor Mitchell: Leon's therapist. Has a moustache.

Christina Ryan: BSAA NA's very own head librarian! She saved Leon's life once and is now good friends with him (though she despairs of his love of horror).

Elizabeth (Lizzie) Ryan: Christina's daughter and (according to her) Leon's best friend (although he's not her best friend). Enjoys stars, light-up shoes, and scaring the daylights out of her mother. Does not like spiders in her mouth.

Casey: An old friend of Peters' who rehabilitates abused animals and turns them into emotional support animals. She was the foster mother of Bingo until Leon adopted her.

Doctor Samantha (Sam) Ansari: Sam was the doctor to check Leon out after his initial transfer and was uncomfortable enough around him for the second check up to ask Chris to stay in the room. She is clearly afraid of the things that she's been hearing about him.

Now, onto the people we for sure don't like.

Captain Erica Mills [deceased]: A former Reconnaissance & Recovery (R&R) captain, Mills was a suspected serial abuser who used Leon's contract against him and forced him to perform sexual acts on her. We're glad she's dead. Rot in hell, bitch.

West: A huge asshole who no one outside of his little group of like-minded assholes likes, West tried to sexually assault Leon after Erica Mills' funeral and then almost got his arm snapped in half by Leon. After it was revealed that he also pulled similar shit with Allie Marks, he subsequently got his ass beat by Jamie Mills. We'll be seeing no more of this fucker very shortly.

Cox: A former DSO agent, Cox was in charge of Leon on a mission in Texas a number of years before 'broken machine' takes place, and almost got him killed. He was relieved that Leon's contract hadn't changed (meaning his personhood), and he'll be back.

DSO Director Bell: What it says on the tin again. Bell took over after Simmons was killed in China, immediately beginning a new regime that we see in [like classical music]. Willingly sold Leon to the BSAA for reasons heretofore unknown...

Brand: The bland man Brand is utterly average in every way, shape, and form, leaving him both unmemorable and unremarkable. He was the one who brought Leon to the BSAA initially in order to show off the goods; also shocked Leon's implant for funsies. He's Bell's second in command, also originating from [like classical music].

I think that should be everyone, but let me know if there are any characters that I missed!

#.ask #okay doing this little synopsis was actually fun. thank you for asking!

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stonyauniverse · 10 months

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June 30th - July 20th

Things have been hectic here in the Stony AUniverse with the bingo round beginning, monthly mayhem gearing up on our Discord, and the announcement of Stony AUgust!

We will begin a bi-monthly Round Up in August: August 10th and 24th will be the next two round up dates, and so on.

If you want to be included in the Round Up, you must fill out the Fill Submission form.

Thanks as always to our lovely fanart mod, @suchmadnesss, for the fanart in our banner!

Without further ado, come peruse our bingo-goers wonderful creations!

I Need You By My Side by @nikayna

Rating: G

Tags: Mood Board, au music, Stonyauniverse Bingo, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Guitar Player Steve Rogers, Singer Tony Stark, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Touring, Concerts, Groupies

Summary: A mood board to fulfill the square AU: Music in @stonyauniverse's Bingo Event! Steve plays guitar, Tony sings. Life gets lonely on the road - but at least they have each other.

Fairness of Lego Distribution by @every-marveler-ever

Rating: T

Tags: Mob Boss AU, Tony Stark can be mean, Sam Wilson doesn't care, Peter Parker is adorable, "LANGUAGE!"

Summary: Nobody knows why there is a shipment coming from Washington DC or what it includes. They just know Tony didn't make it, and Tony doesn't love when people do things without telling him.

A castaway where no one hears you on a barren isle in a lonely sea by Wolfsheart

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Single Parent Tony Stark, Divorced Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Tony Stark Feels, Disney Employee Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Tony and Steve went to school together, Unrequited Crush, Mutual Pining, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Loneliness, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Cute Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Kissing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Gossiping about their friends, Mention of Bucky Barnes/Loki, Not Peggy Carter Friendly

Summary: A year and a half (give or take a month) after the divorce, Tony is still fighting the residual depression left behind from the way the divorce went down. Having been granted primary custody of their daughter, he's brought Morgan back to live full-time with him in Malibu, and he decided to surprise her with a trip to Disneyland. He lost his 'magic' back when Pepper left, so he doesn't know how magical Disneyland will feel to him, but it'll make Morgan happy, and that's what matters. However, will running into long-time unrequited crush Steve Rogers change all of that?

One Step Closer by @scottxlogan

Rating: E

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Peggy Carter Friendly, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Popstar, rock star Tony Stark, Rancher Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Divorced Steve Rogers, Divorced Tony Stark, Rehabilitation, References to Depression, Angst and Romance, Not Howard Stark Friendly, Drug Addiction, Swearing

Summary: Tony Stark was pushed into popstar fame by his ambitious father early on, but over the span of more than two decades Tony has seen the highs and lows of stardom hitting rock bottom in more ways than one. Through it all there was always one person that Tony felt was his saving grace. Steve Rogers was always the one that got away and no matter how many times they tried to cross that line into love they couldn't quite get there. As Tony's once close friend and brief roommate, Steve turned Tony's world around in all the right ways until fate intervened and they were pulled in separate directions. Now fresh out of rehab on his 45th birthday and looking to keep from making the same mistakes, Tony reflects on his past and follows his heart to new beginnings hoping that it's not too late to find his way back to Steve in his hopes for a second chance.

The Fallen Angel Becomes a Malignant Devil by @nikayna

Rating: T

Tags: Mood Board Bingo, Mad Scientists, Alternate Universe, Scientist Tony Stark, Experiment Steve Rogers, Sneaky Fantastic Four Cameo, Stony BingoAUniverse - Freeform, Evil Tony Stark, Dark Steve Rogers

Summary: SHIELD thought it was a lost cause. Tony wouldn't rest until he'd finally perfected the captain. Steve wouldn't rest until he'd burnt everything to the ground.

The Shield and the Iron Brawler by @nikayna

Rating: M

Tags: Mood Board, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, stonyauniverse, Stony Bingo, Knight Steve Rogers, Brawler Tony Stark, Dragon Loki (Marvel), Blood and Violence

Summary: The dragon known as Loki had been terrorizing the town for far too long. Sir Steve Rogers would have fought the beast alone if he had too. Fortunately, he had Anthony the Iron-Willed by his side.

Words Are Very Unnecessary by @nikayna

Rated: E

Tags: Blow Jobs, Makeup Sex, Cock Worship, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Face-Fucking, Drabble, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: Tony doesn't need to use words to apologize.

Chronic by @purpleicedteas

Rating: M

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Chronically Ill Steve Rogers, Sub Steve Rogers, Gentle Dom Tony Stark, Light Dom/sub, Massage, Back Pain, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Subspace

Summary: Steve's had a long day, and his back pain is excruciating. Thankfully, his boyfriend loves to give massages.

#nikayna #every-marveler-ever #wolfsheart #scottxlogan #purpleicedteas #stony #stevetony #tonysteve #steve x tony #tony x steve #ironshield #tony stark #steve rogers #iron man #captain america #marvel

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ringostxr · 12 days

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ㅤㅤ( TW / menção à abuso de álcool e drogas. )

ㅤㅤESCRITO POR AARON ROBERTS, 15 de janeiro de 2015.

ㅤㅤQuando você liga seu rádio em qualquer estação ou hora do dia é possível que escute o single de estreia da The Letus ecoando. 'Born From a Storm' é um hino de anarquismo que o metal a muito não via, com uma composição complexa e interessante feita inteiramente pelo guitarrista e vocalista da banda estreante, Ringo Miller, que conquistou o país com sua carisma e rebeldia. Porém, ao que aparenta, toda essa maneira desenfreada de viver a vida tem suas consequências.

ㅤㅤNa noite de ontem, 14/01, Ringo foi internado no California Rehabilitation Institute acompanhado pelo agente da banda, Steve Wilson, e seu pai, Philip Miller. Rumores de bastidores apontam que desde o sucesso meteórico da banda e do lançamento do primeiro álbum de estúdio, Memento Mori, o guitarrista passou abusar no consumo de álcool e drogas. Tal situação desencadeou inúmeros problemas entre o artista com seus companheiros de banda, com a equipe e com familiares, além de fontes não oficiais afirmarem que o rockeiro quase teve uma overdose poucos dias antes.

ㅤㅤEm conversa com a TMZ, Philip Miller se pronunciou:

Ringo tem um bom coração, porém se deixou levar pelo consumo de substâncias para tentar lidar com o sucesso estrondoso. Quem pode julgá-lo? Nem todos estão preparados para um sucesso da noite para o dia, ainda mais aos vinte e sete anos. [ . . . ] Ele está bem e será tratado no melhor instituto da Califórnia, além de contar com o apoio da família, dos companheiros de banda e, tenho certeza, que dos novos fãs da The Letus. Esperamos que ele volte a atividade o mais rápido possível.

ㅤㅤOs membros da banda e a equipe preferiram não se pronunciar oficialmente sobre a situação, respeitando o tempo que é necessário para recuperação, porém é esperado que seja anunciado em breve um hiatus até que o guitarrista esteja bem.

#tbthqs.task #task. ⛧❜ ⸻

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myhauntedsalem · 1 year

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The Birdman of Alcatraz

Robert Stroud’s life story was first told in a book in 1955 and then in a movie starring Burt Lancaster in 1962 both entitled “Birdman of Alcatraz.” Both portrayed his life story while he served time for murder first at Leavenworth and then later at Alcatraz. Both portrayed him as a ‘kindly’ reformed prisoner who spent years studying bird diseases and how to cure them. But as usual this Hollywood glossy version reflected only small parts of the real truth.

Robert Stroud was far from a ‘model’ prisoner.

In 1909 Stroud shot and killed a man in Juneau, Alaska. Stroud pimped for a prostitute who was cheated by a “john”. This “john” had paid her $2.00 instead of the expected $10.00. Stroud angry, because he didn’t get his usual cut, went to this man’s residence and shot him five times and then took his wallet. He was tried and convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to serve twelve years at McNeil Island prison in Washington State.

Two years later at McNeil Island he stabbed a fellow inmate for being a ‘snitch’. He was tried for assault and six months were tacked on to his sentence. During this time he also viciously attacked a prison hospital orderly. This man had reported him for using intimidation and threats in an attempt to procure narcotics. In 1912 he was transferred to the U.S. Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas—due partially to his ceaseless threats to other inmates.

At Leavenworth, in the spring of 1916 Stroud refused to give a guard his “number’’ which was a minor infraction. The next day a long awaited visit with his brother was cancelled because of this infraction. Stroud during the noon meal that same day in the prison mess hall asked this guard if he had reported him. When the guard refused to respond, Stroud pulled out a concealed knife and stabbed and killed him in front of hundreds of other inmates.

For this crime, he was convicted of first-degree murder. He was to be hanged in 1918. But his mother who had moved to Kansas to be close to him, desperately pleaded for his life. In 1920 President Woodrow Wilson commuted his death sentence to life in prison. The Leavenworth warden because of Stroud’s unpredictable and violent outbursts ordered that he be permanently placed in a segregation unit.

Stroud was an enigma because he had an IQ of 134, but he ate with his fingers, hunched over like an animal. His horrible personal hygiene presented a problem for fellow inmates and prison officials alike. It wasn’t until 1934 that he was formally diagnosed as a psychopath.

While at Leavenworth, he found an injured sparrow in the yard; he took it back to his cell and nursed it back to health. This started his interest in birds. This interest was his one and only redeeming feature.

The warden at Leavenworth used Stroud’s interest in birds to present a model of “progressive rehabilitation” to the public. Shroud played along because he had found a way to raise some money for his mother who was fighting for his release.

Over the next years he raised over 300 canaries, which he sold to visitors at the prison. Stroud’s scientific observations of the canaries he kept did later benefit the research on the canary species. He wrote two books on this subject. He also made a contribution to avian pathology. All of this endeared him to people in the field.

In contrast to this he allowed his birds to fly freely in his cell, which resulted in quite a mess, which he never cleaned up. The massive correspondence he began to receive also became a burden for the prison for each letter coming in and going out had to be screened—a full-time secretary had to be hired just for this purpose.

Prison officials finally fed up with Stroud’s bird business tried to shut him down. He had Delle Mae Jones, a bird researcher in Indiana, which he had corresponded with alert the newspapers and start a petition drive. A 50,000-signature petition was sent to the President. This worked for the prison even gave Stroud an adjourning cell for his birds and his research.

Jones became so close to Stroud; she moved to Kansas and formed a business in 1931 with him where they sold his bird medicines under the name “Stroud’s Specific.” It was widely debated at the time if these remedies were actually effective.

In 1933 Stroud discovered that there were plans to move him to Alcatraz, he knew he would no longer be permitted to keep birds. Stroud however discovered a Kansas law that forbade the transfer of prisoners if they were married in Kansas. He arranged to marry Delle Mae Jones by proxy, which infuriated the prison officials, who would not let him correspond with his new wife.

The first irony here was Stroud was a violent prisoner —this is one reason that the prison officials kept him from the general prison population.

The second irony was Stroud lost his business and birds when it was discovered that some of the equipment he had requested for his lab he had actually used to build a homemade alcohol still.

The third irony is his mother didn’t like Delle—she believed all women were bad for her son. Where once she had been a strong advocate for him, helping with legal battles etc., she now argued against her son’s application for parole, in fact, she became a major obstacle in his attempts to be released. She moved away from Leavenworth and had no further contact with him.

Stroud was transferred to Alcatraz in December of 1942. When he was transferred this note was placed upon the warden’s notebook page with his mug shot. Reason for transfer:

“In view of this man’s homicidal traits and impulsivity dangerous tendencies, he cannot be released in the general population…they feel that it would be possible to confine this man safely at Alcatraz…also wishes to call attention to need for eliminating the insanitary condition…from this man’s bird breeding activities here…Recommend transfer to Alcatraz.”

At Alcatraz, Stroud spent six years in segregation where he did have some contact with other prisoners, but as things worsened he was placed in solitary confinement in an isolated area of the hospital wing for the last eleven years he was at Alcatraz.

This double cell had no toilet so Stroud used a bedpan. One priest who visited the prison stated he went out of his way to avoid being seen as he passed Stroud’s prison door—even going as far as to duck down. He stated if Stroud spotted him he would endlessly babble on and on.

Stroud having access to the prison library began studying law. He petitioned the government stating that his long prison term amounted to “cruel and unusual punishment”.

Another contrast—Stroud was a fan of child pornography. He received many letters from people who were fans of his bird knowledge. Some of these fans were children. Prison officials confiscated a few letters from Stroud in response to these children that contained suggestive remarks.

In 1959, Stroud in poor health was transferred to the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in Springfield, Missouri. In 1963 he died at the age of 73, the day before John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

To this day Alcatraz, a very haunted place, has one cell that is more active than all the rest—this is the double cell that Stroud lived in for eleven years in solitary confinement. Full-body apparitions are spotted in this area.

So Robert Stroud was a cold-blooded killer, but the general public because of the book and film “Birdman of Alcatraz” had a totally different picture of him. I remember seeing this film as a child myself and thinking how cruel it was they never released him. The public in general felt the same because after the release of this film, which Burt Lancaster won an Oscar for best actor, many people protested for the release of Robert Stroud.

One fellow prison inmate who heard about the public outcry for Stroud’s release stated: “They want Burt Lancaster to be set free not Robert Stroud.”

#The Birdman of Alcatraz #robert stroud #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits #ghosts #spirits #haunted prisons #haunted locations #alcatraz #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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