#Who is the wife? *it's a mystery blares*

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: You're the winner of the First Quarter Quell and you awaken in the hospital to Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your bedside.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Mentions of death, Mentions of planning murder, Mentions of cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Mentions of poison, Large age gap/difference (Coriolanus is 33 while reader is 18), Manipulation, um...trying to think of anything else.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 1:

When the Head Gamemaker’s baritone blared out overhead, naming you the victor of the First Quarter Quell, you literally collapsed into a heap on the blood soaked ground from a mix of exhaustion and happiness. Your eyelids drooped and the last thing you saw before you passed out was a pair of peacekeepers coming towards you.

When you woke up, you were in a sterile white room. A hospital room. You had drips and IVs connected to you along with some monitor that made beeping noises. Blinking to readjust your eyes to the brightness of the artificial light, you surveyed the room only to notice that sitting in a chair right next to your bed was none other then the head gamemaker himself. Coriolanus Snow.

“What are you doing here, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You curiously asked. Surely he had better things to do then be at your bedside. Like being home with his wife. Oh and you knew he was married because 1.) He was wearing a gold band on his ring finger and 2.) You've seen a dirty blonde woman his age on his arm in a few pictures of Victor's balls and such in the cheap Capitol rag mags that get circulated around District 12 to be used as tp by the poor and destitute. 

Staring you down with his icy blue eyes, he said, “I'm making sure that District 12’s first victor in 15 years survives.”

His words made a shiver run up your spine. It was common knowledge that District 12’s first and only victor (until now) had mysteriously vanished into thin air a few months after winning her games and returning home. Nobody dared talk about her. Her name was lost to the wind; she was a ghost that nobody paid any mind too. The fact that the head gamemaker wanted to make sure that you didn't die unnerved you. 

Surely you weren't in that bad of shape, were you? Swallowing a lump in your dry throat, you croaked out, “How bad of shape am I in, Head Gamemaker Snow?”

“Please, darling, call me Coriolanus or Coryo, if you'd like.” The platinum blonde, who looked a bit sleep deprived in his wrinkled button up (as if he'd slept in it) told you. “I insist.” He smiled. 

Him calling you darling and insisting that you call him Coriolanus or Coryo made your insides churn. It wasn't right. Why would he be so informal with you. He was the head gamemaker, a 33-year-old man from the Capitol, and you were just a victor, an 18-year-old girl from District 12. You two shouldn't be informal with each other.

“Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Let me get you some water.” Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow lightly chastised himself while rising from his chair.

Crossing the room to a counter where a tray with a pitcher and glass were, he explained, “When the peacekeepers pulled you out of the arena you had collapsed from dehydration.” Pouring you a glass of water, he further explained, “Your vitals were very low and, in fact, you died once on your way here, but the medics brought you back.”

“What the hell? I died?...” You gasped, struggling to comprehend what you just heard. 

Head Gamemaker Snow appeared by your side and placed the water glass into your hand. A hand much smaller and weaker than his large calloused one. “Yea, but you were revived.” Sitting on the edge of your bed, causing it to dip, he motioned for you to drink. “I must have my Victor alive and well, so that's why I've been keeping watch over you, Y/N.”

His words should've made you see a red flag waving in the air, but it didn't. Maybe you were too young and naive to catch onto the true meaning of his words. Maybe they went right over your head because you were still weak, or maybe since you had a stalker back in 12 that you had convinced yourself was just a weird neighbor boy you didn't realize the true possessive meaning of Coriolanus’ words.

“Are you going to stay here now that I'm awake or?...”

“Unfortunately, I have to leave you here and go home.” He pouted. What the hell, he actually pouted? You had to admit that his plush lips looked very kissable when he pouted. Petting your hair, he gave you a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, darling, I've made sure that you'll be well taken care of by the best nurses that money can buy in the Capitol.”

What he didn't tell you was that he threatened the lives of the nursing staff’s loved ones if you so much as had a hair out of place. That was something you didn't need to know. Just like you didn't need to know that when he first laid eyes on you, in your best cotton floral dress; your hair pulled back with a ribbon for Reaping Day, he found you the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on and just had to claim you as his. Reason why, as the head gamemaker, he might or might not have screwed around with other tributes’ sponsor gifts and made sure you got a few things here and there that would ensure your survival. You had an innocence to you that he had the primal urge to consume. An innocence that was absent in the Capitol. An innocence and a beauty that he carved to have all to himself.

You just being you consumed him with a passionate obsession. One that he would act on soon. Very, very soon. He just needed to take care of his wife, Livia, so that he'd be free to make you his forever. But that wouldn't be hard, considering he was a master at making people drop dead from sudden food poisoning. 

Pressing a kiss to your hair, Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow, promised, “I'll be back in the morning to check up on you before I'm needed at the Citadel.”

“You have to wrap up the game stuff don't you, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You asked, even though you were sure he'd say yes. In fact you didn't even know why you asked that. Maybe as a replacement for goodbye since you hated that word. 

Last time you said goodbye to somebody it was your mother and she took off with some officer, leaving you with your older half-brother Rein to take care of you both. He was 15 at the time and you were 5. Safe to say, you never used the word goodbye again in your life. 

“I told you, call me Coriolanus or Coryo.” He reminded you, not liking that you were still calling him by his title. “Yes, my darling rose, I must make sure that all the paperwork is in proper order for your prize money and the construction of your house in Victor's Village.” The platinum blonde man, who you just noticed has bags under his eyes, tiredly told you before pressing another kiss to your hair. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he said, “You need to be a good girl and rest for me.”

You blinked at him. What? Be a good girl? And rest for him? Say what? Your brain was short circuiting at his words. Not just his words, but the way his baritone was both dominant and soft as he spoke them.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he simply said, “We'll talk more tomorrow. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded numbly, unable to comprehend what the hell was happening. You went like your head was spinning, as if you had too much moonshine. Hell, what had your time in the arena done to you?

Coriolanus gave you a pleased smile before rising from his spot on your bed and walking out of your room; making sure to close the door behind him. It was only after he was gone that you realized you were in a private room.

Coriolanus was fucking exhausted when he got home. He could barely keep his eyes open as he stepped out of his black sedan. After you were admitted to the hospital, he dismissed his driver and drove himself there. He didn't want the man to be waiting around on him while he stayed steadfast at your bedside, plus he was more than capable of driving himself home once he saw you open your beautiful eyes. What he wasn't expecting was for you to be asleep for over 24-hours. 

So, sleep deprived, Coriolanus walked into the townhouse he shared with his wife, Livia. The townhouse was a gift he received from Strabo and Ma Plinth once he announced his engagement, but he planned on putting it up on the market once he took care of Livia. He didn't want to bring you to this house that held nothing but hatred and misery in it.

No, he was going to bring you to his penthouse on the Corso. Now that's a proper place for you to live with him. In fact, he'd be telling you about your new residence tomorrow morning during your visit. Oh, he was so excited to tell you that you'd be staying in the Capitol with him. Of course, he'd use the excuse that since District 12 doesn't have a Victor’s Village and it must be constructed that he's arranged for you to use his Corso penthouse during the construction period.

It was a great plan. One that was foolproof. He just knew that you, being so young and innocent, would view his offer as one of help instead of one of ownership. Or, dare he say, love? Yes, love. He was sure that he was obsessively in love with you. It was a feeling he swore to never feel again, but yet again one just can't help who they fall in love with.

He always thought that marrying for hate instead of love or even tolerability would give him power, but truthfully all it gave him was a headache and a bad case of blueballs. Livia was a heinous bitch and was a cold fish in bed. She didn't like to fuck. What the fuck? Who doesn't like to fuck? Coriolanus thought that was absurd, unnatural even.

That's why he had to have affairs here and there; then turn the whores into avoxes to keep their mouths shut when he was done with them. What? He was a man after all and had needs. Needs that he knew you'd fulfill without any problems. With you he'd be faithful because you'd be his mind, body, and soul and would do anything for his love since you were so young. All he had to do was show you how in love *cough* obsessed *cough* he was with you and you'd be his forever.

Unknown to Coriolanus, the object of his marital hatred (Livia) was having an ongoing affair with one of the male avoxes in their household. An avox that had once been an equal of theirs in the Academy and the University, but crossed Snow the wrong way with a question about the songbird from 12. 

Coriolanus wasn't even to the stairs yet when he heard Livia’s screeching coming from the front sitting room. Great…seems like the bitch was waiting up for him. 

“Coriolanus, where have you been? The games ended and you never came home!” Livia demanded in a high pitch scream as her fuzzy heeled skippers clicked loudly against the hardwood floor as she ran out of the sitting room and into the main hall.

“Don't worry about where I was, Livia.” Coriolanus venomously gritted out as he made his way to the staircase.

“You're my husband, Coriolanus. I'm supposed to worry about where you've been.” Livia shrieked while following her husband. 

“I'm your husband when I don't come home, but when I'm home we have separate bedrooms and you come up with every excuse under the sun not to fuck me.” Coriolanus spat back as he tiredly trudged upstairs, feeling a migraine coming on from his wife's nagging. Oh, how he needed to poison that bitch yesterday.

“Your tastes in bed are not the same as mine, husband.” Livia said, placing special emphasis on the word husband, while following him upstairs. “You're too harsh for my taste, but that doesn't mean you can stay out for days on end with some whore.” 

All Coriolanus could see was red, like a raging bull, after hearing her remark. How dare she insult his prowess in bed? He knew how to fuck a woman and how to fuck her good; he never had any complaints either until he tied the knot with Livia. Damn bitch, won't fuck him and then insults his ability to fuck. Oh, yes, it was time for her to go. 

She outlived her usefulness. Livia couldn't give him the one thing he most desperately needed. An heir. What use did Coriolanus have for a woman that refuses to have his child? After a decade of hell with his wife, he was ready to cut his losses. He had control of her family's bank and the Plinths fortune, plus his status as Head Gamemaker and Senator along with his position on the War Council was more then enough to make him a successful candidate for president once the elder President Ravenstill kicked the bucket. He didn't need her for an heir anymore, not when he had you (you were young and fertile enough to give him litters of heirs).

Oh, Coriolanus knew exactly how to make up for never coming home after the games ended with Livia. Oh, yes, he did. 

“The victor, Y/N, from 12 was in bad shape and I had extra paperwork to do.” He smoothly lied to his dirty blonde wife as he set foot onto the second floor of his townhouse. Turning to look at her, he gave her a fake smile full of fake sympathy and offered, “How about I take you out to your favorite restaurant for dinner? The one that has that red wine you can't get enough of.”

“Yes, I accept your apology and dinner invitation. Just don't do this to me again, Coriolanus. We might hate each other, but I'm still your wife and deserve respect.” Livia told Coriolanus before taking off to her room, her robe billowing behind her.

Coriolanus smiled wickedly as he retired to his room. Oh, after tomorrow night he'd never have to deal with Livia ever again. He'd be free to have you all to himself, forever and always.

You were walking in the plains, tall prairie grass blowing in the wind. The deeper you walked in it, the more dread you felt. You couldn't describe the feeling, but you just knew that something was wrong. Then, suddenly, you heard a crunching sound behind you. Turning around, you saw the last tribute, a girl from 2, with a knife in her hand running towards you. 

You were exhausted and thirsty. The water you had been gifted from a sponsor had run out nearly a day ago, so you were feeling the effects of dehydration. You didn't know if you either didn't have a lot of sponsors or weren't getting any more water bottles because a water source was nearby somewhere, but you did know that it sucked you were dying of thirst.

But your thirst didn't matter now. Surviving the girl from District 2 did and you knew you wouldn't be able to fight her in the tall grasses. So you ran. You ran as hard and fast as your lightheaded feet would carry you.

It didn't take long until you were out of the tall grasses and on a barren field of cracked soil. You had a small pocket knife that was gifted to you, something you were sure cost a hefty penny since sponsor weapons were always pricey according to Lucky Flickerman’s game commentary.

Flipping the switchblade open, you turned around and headed straight towards the girl that had tripped and fell at the edge of the plains grasses and the dry bed of field soil. Lifting up your knife, you made to plunge it into her, only for her to look up at you with a sinister smirk and plunge her knife right into your neck.

Your eyes flew open as you screamed bloody murder. You died! You had died in your nightmare instead of being victorious. That nightmare shook you to your core. It frightened you so much that you screamed yourself hoarse, until your vocal cords were stripped. You were so frightened that you huddled in the corner of your room in a fetal position.

Nurses and other hospital staff tried to tend to you; get you out of the corner, but you just struggled and fought with them. You couldn't let them near you. What if they wanted to kill you? What if they hurt you? Your dream had shaken you up so bad that you weren't quite with it yet. You weren't in reality, you were stuck in your own head and afraid that somebody or something was going to get you. You were scared out of your wits. You were so scared that you cried. You weren't aware that you were crying, but the tear stains marred your hollowed cheeks like scars.

Coriolanus had only been asleep for an hour or so whenever he was awakened by a call from Capitol General Hospital. What the charge nurse told him made his heart clutch painfully. His victor, his darling rose, woke up terrified out of her mind and curled herself into a corner, screaming and crying her head off.

“She's having a nightmare about her time in the arena. Aren't you giving her anything to calm her down?” Coriolanus asked the nurse  he was on the phone with as he sat up in bed, flipping on his bedside lamp to softly illuminate his pitch black room in a golden glow of light.

“She won't let anyone near her and you did say to call you with any updates on her condition, sir “ The nurse hesitantly told him.

“I’ll be right there to sign her out since your hospital staff are incompetent and can't properly take care of a victor.” He told the nurse before hanging up on her.

It only took a few minutes for Coriolanus to dress and rush to the hospital. Despite being exhausted, you needed him and he wasn't going to let you down. You were his and he was going to take good care of you. He always took good care of his things. He did like his things to be perfect and if they weren't then he'd make sure that his favorite things were mended until they were perfect. You were his and he'd make sure that he made you perfect once more. Perfect for him, to be by his side as not just his Victor, but as his First Lady. His darling rose.

Dressed simply in a fitted white shirt and black pants, Coriolanus ran up the stairs to your floor and rushed into your room. The site of you curled up, tear tracks staining your cheeks, wide-eyed and afraid pulled at what little heartstrings were in his too small blackened heart. You looked like a wounded animal and he hates it. You were his victor, his darling rose, his future First Lady and he wanted you to recover your senses so that you could regain your strength; be all that he knew you were to him.

He slowly approached you with his hands out in a show of peace. “It's me, my darling rose. It's Coryo.” Coriolanus softy told you in an attempt to let him near you.

Your eyes blinked at hearing his nickname and for some reason you nodded at him. As he crouched down next to you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder, you clutched the middle of his pristine white shit and sobbed, “I died, Coryo. I dreamed that I died instead of her.”

Your words gutted him. A world without you was no world at all. Wrapping his arms around you: letting you bury your head in his chest, he strokes your hair while offering you the comforting words of, “Oh, my darling, you're alive. You're alive and I won't let anything bad ever happen to you again, Y/N.” You shook in his arms, causing him to simply ask, “You hear me, my darling rose?”

“Mhm…” You mumbled out, too afraid to talk for fear that you'd start crying again. 

“Shh…” Coriolanus shushed you like one would do a small, frightened child. “I'm here. Your Coryo’s here and you're safe. You'll always be safe with me, darling.”

If you were of sound mind instead of scared out of it (from the horrors he designed and put into the damn games) you would've ran far far away from Coriolanus. But, sadly, you were too scared and on the verge of a mental breakdown to understand how twisted the man holding you really was. How obsessessive he was; how wrong letting him hold you was. No, you were too afraid to realize that you were letting the creator of your nightmares comfort you.

Once your sobs subsided and you quieted down, Coriolanus pulled back from you so that he could tilt your chin up in order to have your eyes on his. “I was going to wait til morning to tell you this, but you’ll be staying in a luxurious penthouse while the Victor’s Village is constructed in your district.”

You nodded, only to squeakily ask, “How long am I staying here?”

“Oh, just long enough to build your victor's house. I suppose it'll be done by time your victory tour rolls around; maybe even sooner.” He smoothly lied. He had no intentions whatsoever to let you go back to District 12. You deserved more then the mud and poverty stained streets of the coal district. You deserved to be bathed in rose scented oils and salts, dressed in the finest fashions, fed the best foods, and fucked on the best silk sheets that his money could buy. 

“Okay.” You nodded, naively believing the lies of the head gamemaker. 

“How about we get you out of here and over to the penthouse? Hmm? I'll even call Tigris to come over and spend the day with you, how'd you like that?”

“I like Tigris. She’s nice and was my stylist. Always talked to me like she cared.”

Coriolanus knew that his cousin was your stylist. He's the one that assigned her to you after all. But neither you nor her needed to know that. No…. It wasn't important. What was important was that you two got along, especially since in a short while you'll be family.

“Tigris is my cousin; I'm glad to hear that you like her.” Coriolanus told you while helping you to stand up. “And she does care about you, Y/N.” He told you while leading you over to your bed. “Never forget that the Snows care about you. And that snow lands on top.” He whispered into your ear while helping you sit on your bed. 

You just blinked at him, trying to process what he meant. You were so tired and mentally weak from your nightmare that you had no idea that his remark was one of possession. Your throat hurts from all the crying and screaming that you did, so you weren't thinking straight. Infact, your throat hurts so much that you grab the glass of water from your bedside table, quickly gulping it down.

“Be careful, you don't want to make yourself sick.” Coriolanus warned, much like a parent would to a child, while snatching the glass away from you.

“My throat’s dry and hurts. I need water.” You said in a pained whisper, side eying the glass in Coriolanus’ hand.

“Yes, well, that tends to happen when you scream and cry yourself hoarse.” He stated a bit coldly before lifting the glass to your lips and ordering, “Be a good girl and take small sips for me.”

You obeyed since your throat was aching. The small sips of the cool water seemed to soothe your damaged throat just enough to keep your mind off the pain. When Coriolanus felt you had enough to drink, he put the glass down on your side table. 

Petting your hair, he said, “I need to go sign you out at the front desk, but I'll be back soon to take you with me to the penthouse. Where you'll be safe.”

“Thank you.” You weakly smiled at the man that was now both your salvation and your damnation.

If only you knew what life awaited for you at that penthouse. Would you still be thanking him if you did?

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops,

@bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,

@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur

@squidscottjeans

[estellan0vella]

File It Under N For No One Gives A Fuck: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!wife!reader (Police AU)

WC: 8.1K

CW: mentions of drugs, mentions of anthrax, threats of divorce, talks of sex and inappropriate use of department handcuffs, Chan being a stressed out Captain

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

You step into the bustling precinct, your senses immediately absorbing the energy around you. Phones ring, radios squawk, officers shout to each other across the room, and every so often, there’s a burst of laughter from one of the clusters of desks. It’s your day off from the ER, a break from the endless flow of patients, the constant blare of monitors, and the adrenaline-fueled rush that never seems to end. You still want a taste of that energy, though, so here you are, coffee in hand for your husband Jisung and a few of his colleagues.

You navigate your way through the bullpen, a light blue summer dress brushing against your knees, and your white wedges clicking softly against the tile. Your white sunglasses sit perched on your head, holding back your hair, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee follows you as you carry a tray with four cups, each labelled with a different name: yours, Jisung’s, Felix’s, and Minho’s.

As your eyes sweep the room, they land on Felix, slumped back in his chair with a familiar air of exhaustion, his head tipped back, and his arms dangling off the sides as if the world’s weight has finally crushed him. You grin, making a beeline for him. Dropping into the chair opposite his desk, you slide his coffee across to him with a smirk.

“Look what the coffee fairy brought,” you announce, leaning back with an amused glint in your eye.

Felix blinks down at the cup before his face lights up with pure, unfiltered joy. “You absolute angel! I swear, I love you right now. Like, I’m dangerously close to kissing you.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it. “Jisung would shoot you. No warning, just bang. Right between the eyes.”

Felix chuckles, shaking his head as he picks up his coffee, inhaling the aroma before taking a grateful sip. “Fucking worth it. Honestly, I’d risk it.”

As he drinks, his eyes drift over you, assessing your outfit with a dramatic once-over. He tilts his head, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Okay, but why do you look like you’re about to star in some cheesy rom-com? Seriously, who are you trying to impress here, and why isn’t it me?”

You roll your eyes, glancing down at yourself as if seeing your outfit for the first time. “Can’t a woman look nice on her day off? I’m visiting my husband, Felix. I get to look like something other than a sleep-deprived ER nurse covered in mystery fluids. Plus, it’s hot outside.”

He smirks, the glint in his eyes growing sharper. “Suspiciously nice, if you ask me.”

Before you can fire back, Minho appears at Felix’s side, his eyes zeroing in on the cup with his name scrawled across it. With a smirk, he grabs it, taking a slow, satisfied sip. “Hmm, just the way I like it. Thanks. You know, you really should leave Jisung and marry me instead. Think about it: we’d be a power couple.”

You deadpan, barely blinking as you retort, “Absolutely not. I’d have to explain your ‘disappearance’ to a jury, and I’m not confident I could sell a self-defence story.” You pause, then add, “Also, your actual wife might take issue with you running off with your buddy’s wife.”

Felix bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his coffee. “Oh my god, I’d pay good money to see her kick your ass, Minho.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m just saying, you talk a big game. But between you and me, I’m pretty sure I could handle you.”

You lean forward, a challenging grin playing on your lips. “Jisung handles me just fine, he doesn't need your help.”

Just as Minho opens his mouth to respond, Jisung walks up, and you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Excuse me, what did I just walk into?”

“Nothing. Just Minho being his usual self,” you reply sweetly, holding out his coffee. “I brought you this.”

Jisung’s face softens, his eyes warming as he takes the cup from you and leans down to press a kiss against your cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn, probably,” you say, grinning up at him.

“Can confirm,” Felix chimes in, lazily leaning back in his chair and clearly enjoying the banter. “You’d be fucked without her, man.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, looking between you and his friends. “Glad to know my friends have so much faith in me.”

He glances back at you, taking in the dress, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You do look amazing, by the way. Makes me want to ditch the precinct and-”

“Absolutely not. None of that in here,” Minho interrupts, raising a hand as if to physically block whatever Jisung was about to suggest. “I get enough of your lovey-dovey nonsense on a regular basis. This is a professional environment, thank you very much.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Right, because you’re the embodiment of professionalism, Minho. Never crossed a line in your life, right?”

“I am a paragon of professionalism,” he says, deadpan, puffing up like a proud peacock.

Felix snickers, shaking his head as he takes another sip. “Oh yeah? ‘Paragon of professionalism’? If that’s what we’re calling it now, sure. But remember that time your wife came to visit and Chan caught the two of you going at it in the men’s locker room?”

Minho’s face flushes slightly, but he tries to play it off, lifting his coffee and taking a long sip, refusing to break his stoic facade. “It was a passionate reunion.”

“Oh, we all know,” Felix says, grinning. “We all heard her moaning. Pretty sure they heard it over in the evidence room too.”

You snicker, raising an eyebrow at Minho. “Paragon of professionalism, huh?”

Minho’s face turns even redder, and he mutters into his coffee, “One incident. Just one.”

Jisung chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “See, that’s why I stick to public displays of affection in small doses. Less memorable.”

“Yeah, like that time you two were making out in the break room,” Felix says, smirking.

You feign innocence, looking up at Jisung. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. Clearly, he’s delusional.”

Jisung nods, playing along. “Absolutely. Must be all those late shifts, messing with his mind.”

Felix rolls his eyes, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, alright. But just remember: if there’s any scandal around here, it’s usually because of you married lot. Meanwhile, I’m the model of restraint.”

Minho opens his mouth, likely to lob a sarcastic comment Felix's way, but the door to Captain Bang Chan’s office swings open with a sharp, foreboding creak. Chan strides out with a look of grim determination on his face that instantly makes your stomach drop. You know that look. Everyone does. It’s the kind of look that’s never followed by good news.

“All right, listen up!” Chan’s voice cuts through the chaotic murmur of the bullpen, slicing the noise in half as everyone freezes and turns toward him. “We’ve just received a credible threat of an anthrax attack on the station. Until further notice, we’re in lockdown. No one gets in or out.”

A stunned silence follows his words, the gravity of it crashing over the room like a wave. Anthrax. Of all things. It feels like the air itself thickens, every eye in the room locked on Chan, processing the information. You’re the first to break the silence.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you groan, throwing your hands up with dramatic exasperation. “I swear, I am never doing anything nice for any of you ever again. Here I am, on my day off, bringing real Italian coffee straight from my hometown, like the good wife and friend that I am, and now I’m fucking trapped here because some maniac decides today’s a great day to mess with a biochemistry set?!”

Felix snorts into his coffee, trying to hide his laughter, while Minho’s mouth twitches in barely contained amusement. Jisung’s shoulders shake as he attempts to keep a straight face. He reaches out, taking your hand gently and rubbing calming circles over your knuckles. “Jagiya-”

“No! Don’t ‘jagiya’ me right now,” you huff, narrowing your eyes at him. “This is exactly what I get for trying to do something nice.”

Jisung, his lips still curved in a soft smile, gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on, let’s go sit at my desk. You can yell at me there, and maybe the world will make sense again.”

With a dramatic sigh, you allow him to lead you across the bullpen. You drag your feet with exaggerated reluctance, muttering a steady stream of colourful Italian curses under your breath. Jisung, still holding back laughter, takes the two remaining coffees from you as you settle yourself in his chair, folding your arms and glaring at the room like an affronted cat.

“That’s my seat, you know,” Jisung says, raising an eyebrow at you, clearly amused.

You fix him with a glare, your voice dripping with mock indignation. “It was your seat until your wife, out of the kindness of her heart, decided to do something nice for you and wound up smack in the middle of an anthrax threat. So, I think I deserve the chair, don’t you?”

Jisung chuckles, sitting down in the spare chair beside you and sliding your coffee over. “Fair enough,” he concedes, grinning. “And, for the record, thank you for the coffee. Even if we’re potentially in a biohazard zone.”

Your annoyance softens, just a bit, as you take a sip. “You’re welcome. I should start charging extra for hazard pay, though.”

You reach over to one of Jisung’s desk drawers, half-listening to the murmurs around you as people process the lockdown news. Your fingers brush a small packet at the edge of the drawer, and suddenly—

PFFFFT!

A white cloud bursts from the drawer, coating you and Jisung in a fine layer of white powder. You freeze, eyes wide, and for a second, the bullpen goes completely silent. The two of you stare at each other in shock, blinking through the powder.

Jisung sputters, wiping at his eyes with a grimace, before deadpanning, “I’ve never hoped something was cocaine more in my life.”

“Oh, my god,” Minho groans from across the room, his hand rubbing over his face in disbelief. “During an anthrax lockdown, you open a drawer, and a packet of white powder explodes. Seriously?”

You sit there, a mix of horror and resignation, before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Well, if it’s anthrax,” you mutter, throwing your hands up, “at least we’ll die together. So fucking romantic, right?”

Jisung lets out a resigned sigh, rolling up his sleeves. He gives you a sly smile. “You considering divorce yet?”

You snort, still trying to dust the powder off yourself. “Not a chance. I need that sweet, sweet overtime money.”

He laughs, his warm, familiar laugh that lightens the absurdity just a bit. As he leans back, wiping powder off his arms, you both notice Felix leaning, wide-eyed, clearly in awe of the sheer absurdity.

“Y/N,” he says, barely holding back laughter, “please, for the love of all things caffeinated, do not stop bringing us coffee. Even if you’re dead. Like, send it from the afterlife or something.”

You roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Trust me, if this is anthrax, we’re all toast anyway, so get praying, Lix.”

Felix gives a melodramatic sigh, glancing at the powder-dusted desk with exaggerated despair. “Well, if you die, and I survive, I’ll make the most epic playlist for your funeral. It’ll be a symphony of tragic bangers.”

You chuckle, brushing some powder off your hand. “Appreciate the thought. I’ll haunt you if it isn’t perfect.”

Jisung leans back, watching you spin slowly in his desk chair, one hand still gripping your coffee. He raises an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with barely contained laughter. “You know,” you say. “I always thought a brush with death would be a little more dramatic.”

Jisung chuckles, sipping his coffee. “If it is anthrax, we’re in for a hell of a time, though, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” you nod, launching into a cheerful explanation. “It’ll be nausea, chest pain, coughing up blood, then more pain, and then bam! Dead. Pretty straightforward.”

Minho, still dusting powder off himself, makes a face. “Jesus, Y/N, couldn’t you sugarcoat it?”

You lean forward with a wicked grin. “No, but I could anthrax-coat it.”

Jisung laughs so hard he nearly spills his coffee, shaking his head. “You’re awful,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Minho stares at the two of you, visibly disturbed. “You two are fucking insane. I’m not dying with you clowns.”

As if on cue, Minho reaches to open his desk drawer and PFFFFT! Another puff of white powder explodes into his face. He jerks back, sputtering and swatting at the cloud around him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he shouts, coughing as he frantically waves his hands to clear the powder. His eyes dart around the room in horror as he sees the fine dust settling on his shirt.

And then, as if on cue, there’s another PFFFFT! from Jeongin’s desk, sending a similar cloud of white powder into the air.

One by one, desks throughout the bullpen erupt in clouds of powder, each explosion met with gasps, curses, and shouts of “What the hell?!”

Now, at least seven officers stand in powder-covered horror, looking around at each other like deer caught in headlights.

You lean back in Jisung’s chair, arms folded, and let out a theatrical sigh. “It’s like a damn anthrax snowglobe in here.”

Chan stands in the middle of the chaos, looking around with a deadpan expression and slowly rubbing his temples. “This- this is just fucking fantastic,” he mutters. “Seven packets of possible anthrax. All opened. In my station. At once.”

He turns to you, eyes narrowing with a desperate look. “Y/N, you’re a nurse. If this is anthrax-”

“Oh, we’ll all die, no question,” you say far too casually, waving a dismissive hand. “Very unpleasantly, but yeah. It’ll be over soon. Painful but quick”

Jisung gives you a nudge, his smile widening. “You sure you’re not sugarcoating it just a little?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Nope. Just straight facts.”

Minho, wiping powder from his face with a look of pure frustration, groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me. All these years on the force, and this is how I go?”

“Tragic,” Felix says, eyeing the powder on his desk like it’s a mortal insult. “I always thought I’d go out in style. You know, something heroic like leaping from a helicopter or rescuing someone from a burning building. This is just fucking depressing.”

You look around, dusted, exhausted, and oddly exhilarated by the chaos. “Well, when life gives you anthrax…” you trail off with a shrug.

Felix raises his coffee cup in salute. “We all go out covered in powder, blood and vomit.”

And with a weary shake of his head, Chan walks back into his office, muttering something about a "transfer request form" under his breath as the bullpen erupts in laughter once more.

Four hours later, the precinct feels like a tomb, the initial panic over the anthrax threat having decayed into a sluggish boredom that clings to the room like a fog. 

Felix stares dead-eyed into his cup, as if expecting it to reveal some hidden truth, while Minho, growing increasingly restless, has resorted to flicking crumpled paper balls at the back of Jeongin’s head. Each hit makes Jeongin flinch, but he’s too tired to even retaliate, just accepting Minho's antics.

You’re leaned back in Jisung’s chair, spinning lazily every now and then as if the motion might somehow break up the monotony. Your coffee, now cold, sits forgotten in your hand, and Jisung, ever the optimist, sits beside you, trying to make light conversation.

“Hey, at least we have each other’s company, right?” he says, nudging you with a hopeful smile.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’s my day off, Jisung. I didn’t exactly plan on spending it in lockdown with a possible anthrax scare and shitty coffee.”

Before he can respond, the heavy clomp of boots echoes down the hallway. Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the doorway just as two men in hazmat suits stride in, their suits rustling like whispers of salvation. You sit up slightly, watching them like they’re some sort of mirage, the long-lost cavalry finally arriving to end this dreary nightmare.

“Well, it’s about fucking time,” you mutter, your eyes following the men as they approach Chan, who looks about as thrilled as a man in his position could look.

Jisung leans over with a small smile, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least they’re here now.”

“Here now?” you scoff, turning to him with an incredulous look. “If this had actually been anthrax, we’d be dead already. What kind of response time is this? They took four hours, Jisung. Four. Do they think we’re immune?”

He stifles a laugh, but you can see his amusement in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Meanwhile, the hazmat men gesture to Chan, their voices muffled by their masks as they deliver what must be a lengthy explanation of protocols and procedures. Chan nods, his shoulders slumping just slightly as he listens.

After a few minutes, Chan clears his throat, his voice cutting through the room with forced authority. “Listen up, everyone! Hazmat just informed me that we could be here for another four to nine hours, depending on how long it takes them to conduct all necessary tests.”

A collective groan rises from the bullpen. Before anyone else can react, you whirl around to Jisung, fixing him with a dramatic, accusing stare.

“Divorce,” you declare, pointing at him with a flourish. “Effective immediately”

Jisung nearly chokes on his coffee, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand up, throwing your arms out in exasperation, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been stuck in this station for hours, with a looming potential biohazard threat. Anthrax or not, this is not how I wanted to spend my day off. This-” you gesture wildly at the room, encompassing the bored, powder-dusted officers around you. “is your fault, Jisung. All of it.”

Jisung stares at you, mouth half-open as he searches for words. “I…how is this my fault? I didn’t exactly order an anthrax scare for our quality time.”

“Oh, but it’s your job that dragged me into this mess!” you say, throwing your hands up again. “I could be at home, in a bathrobe, binge-watching crime dramas from the comfort of our couch. But no. I brought coffee here because I’m a supportive spouse, and now I’m paying the price for marrying you.”

Before Jisung can defend himself, Chan steps in, his voice cutting through like a referee at a boxing match. “Y/N,” he says, an amused smile tugging at his lips, “I’ll call the hospital and get you the day off tomorrow if that’ll make this any easier.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at Jisung with exaggerated triumph. “Well, would you look at that, Jisung? Your captain just saved our marriage.”

Across the room, Felix, who’s been slumped over his desk in a near-sleep state, perks up, chuckling into his hand. “Shit, Chan is pulling out the big guns. Saving marriages and shit.”

Jisung sighs, holding his hands up in a gesture of defeat as he chuckles. “Guess I owe him one.”

“You owe me more than that,” you mutter, sinking back into the chair and resuming your lazy spinning. “The day off and a full spa day when this is over.”

Jisung grins, leaning back with a playful look in his eyes. “Whatever you want, jagiya. Just as long as I don’t have to file those divorce papers.”

Minho, who’s been watching the entire exchange with a smirk, decides to chime in. “If she divorces you, Jisung, I’ll swoop right in. I mean, who wouldn’t want a spouse who brings Italian coffee in a potential biohazard situation?”

Felix snickers. “If you and Y/N got married, the world would implode. Too much chaos in one household.”

You shake your head, stifling a laugh as you look at Minho with a teasing smirk. “You’d never survive, Minho. One bad day, and I’d have you crying into your cereal.”

“Challenge accepted,” he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Chan sighs from his spot, still half-listening to the hazmat team’s explanations. “Enough with the matchmaking. If I have to sit through another hour of marriage talk, I’m filing a transfer request.”

Felix chuckles, leaning over to you with a conspiratorial grin. “Captain Bang, mediator of biohazard romances. Didn’t know it was part of the job description.”

“Must be in the fine print,” Chan mutters, shaking his head. "And I wish I had fucking read it properly"

One of the hazmat techs finally steps forward, addressing the room in a slightly garbled voice through his mask. “All right, folks, we’re going to start testing samples now. Please remain calm, avoid unnecessary movements, and try not to touch anything you don’t need to.”

The room collectively exhales in tired resignation. Minho raises his hand, deadpan. “Define ‘unnecessary movements.’”

The hazmat tech stares at him, either confused or completely done with the situation, it’s hard to tell through the mask. “Just sit tight, sir.”

Felix snickers, muttering under his breath, “The real anthrax scare is how bored we’re all going to be by hour nine.”

Jeongin, who’s been silently enduring Minho’s paper ball attacks, speaks up, a note of desperation in his voice. “If we’re going to be here for that long, can we at least get some food? We’ll starve at this rate.”

“Starve?” Minho raises an eyebrow, picking up his discarded coffee cup. “Nah, we’ll be fine. If we get desperate, we can always resort to cannibalism. Starting with Felix.”

Felix sputters, looking genuinely appalled. “Excuse me? Why me?”

“Self-preservation,” Minho replies smoothly. “You’re the smallest. Least resistance.”

Jeongin, unable to hide his grin, chimes in, “Plus, I bet you’d be like the chicken nugget of the group, Felix. Small, bite-sized.”

Felix rolls his eyes, tossing a paper ball at Jeongin. “I’m a gourmet meal, thank you very much. You’d all be lucky to have a piece.”

Jisung leans over, watching the hazmat team set up their equipment with growing fascination. “Is it bad that I’m sort of curious now? I mean, if this actually is anthrax, we’re kind of making history here.”

You look at him, incredulous. “History? History? If it is anthrax, we’ll be coughing up blood and dying in a very unglamorous way, Jisung. That’s not exactly the kind of legacy I had in mind.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Could make for a hell of a story, though.”

You stare at him, shaking your head. “The next time you want a story, we’re sticking to action movies, not anthrax.”

The hazmat techs start running their samples, and the room falls back into a dull, exhausted silence. You recline in Jisung’s chair, closing your eyes, already imagining the blissful tranquility of a spa day—a very overdue, very earned spa day.

After a while, Felix breaks the silence, his voice low and almost wistful. “You know, if we make it out of this alive, I think I’m going to adopt a cat. Just something small and not life-threatening.”

Jeongin snorts. “You’ll have to survive this lockdown first, man. Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

You chuckle, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “Fine by me. But if one more puff of powder goes off, I swear, I’m taking the first plane back to Italy and leaving you all to fend for yourselves.”

Jisung just laughs, resting his head against yours. “Whatever you want, jagiya. I'll get on the plane with you.”

Another five gruelling hours crawl by, and the precinct has transformed into a restless prison of boredom and frustration. The air is thick, and stagnant, punctuated only by Felix’s occasional sighs and the relentless tap-tap-tap of Minho’s fingers drumming on his desk. Everyone’s slumped, sprawled out, or halfway to sleep when the two hazmat guys finally reappear, their footsteps echoing like a siren of salvation.

You sit up, barely daring to hope, as the hazmat team heads straight to Chan. After a low, muffled conversation, Chan’s face twists into a mask of pure exasperation. He turns back to the bullpen, the entire room watching him with expectant, tired eyes.

“All right, listen up!” he calls, and every officer straightens slightly, waiting. “The tests are done.” Chan sighs, pausing for what feels like an eternity. “The powder is harmless. A mix of…skin irritants. Talcum powder, cornstarch, and”—he pauses, clearly trying to keep his composure—“itching powder.”

A split second of stunned silence, then the room erupts.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Minho’s hands slam down on his desk as he surges to his feet, his voice a full octave higher than usual. “Nine hours locked down for itching powder?!”

Felix lets out a long, theatrical groan, slumping back in his chair like he might just dissolve into the floor. “Nine hours of this hell, and all we needed was a good rinse in the shower?”

Everywhere around you, officers are grumbling, voices overlapping as they process the absurdity of the past hours. You can’t take another second of it, not Minho’s complaining, not Felix’s endless sighing, not even Jeongin’s eye-rolling. You reach into Jisung’s desk drawer, grab one of the remaining powder packets, and before you can think better of it, you hurl it directly at Minho’s face.

The packet explodes on impact, a cloud of white dust billowing around him. There’s a split-second of silence before laughter explodes through the bullpen, ringing off the walls. Felix slides off his chair, practically wheezing as he gasps for breath, and Jeongin is clapping, grinning like you’ve just performed the greatest prank in the world.

Minho splutters, wiping powder from his eyes, his expression a blend of betrayal and disbelief. “Y/N! You took an oath to do no harm!”

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Nope. That’s the doctor’s oath. I’m a nurse. Totally different.”

He glares at you, dusted in white powder like a disgruntled snowman. “Unbelievable. Nine hours of hell, and this is how I’m treated? I’m filing a report, mark my words.”

Jisung snickers, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “Go ahead, file it under N. For No one gives a fuck.”

Felix, still practically in tears from laughter, chimes in, “Or under T, for Talk to someone who fucking cares.”

Jeongin joins in, his face lit up with mischievous glee. “Or S, for Shut the fuck up, no one gives a shit.”

Hyunjin, who’s been scrolling on his phone the whole time, doesn’t even look up. “Or D, for Don’t give a fuck.”

Minho’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping as he looks around the room, his face a mask of disbelief and faux betrayal. “I’m being bullied by my own subordinates! This is harassment!”

From his desk, Chan finally speaks, his voice weary and deadpan. “Minho, shut the fuck up.”

Minho’s hands fly to his chest in mock agony, his tone an exaggerated whine. “Now I’m being bullied by the big boss! This is it. No one loves me anymore!”

You lean back in your chair, grinning as you taunt, “I bet even your wife is done with your shit. She’s probably using this lockdown as the perfect chance to call her divorce lawyer.”

Felix’s eyes gleam with wicked delight as he gasps dramatically, “Filed under D, for Disappointing dick game!”

Minho’s face flushes a deep crimson, his eyes bulging as he points a finger at Felix. “Disappointing dick game? You little—”

Chan raises his hands, his face pale with horror as he plugs his ears. “Nope. Nope. Not touching this one. Not taking it to HR.”

You lean forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “You could always file it under O, for One-pump chump.”

Jisung nearly falls out of his chair, laughing so hard his coffee almost spills. Felix has rolled onto the floor, clutching his stomach as he gasps for air, and the rest of the officers are chuckling, some tossing balled-up paper and pen caps at Minho, who looks moments away from either combusting or joining in the chaos.

Minho straightens, arms crossed as he tries to look dignified. “All right, don’t think I won’t shoot every last one of you and then myself!”

Felix, propping himself up on one elbow from his spot on the floor, grins up at Minho. “With your aim, Minho? You’d miss yourself and take out half the precinct’s ceiling instead.”

Laughter ripples through the room again, some officers nearly falling out of their chairs, and even Chan has a hand covering his mouth, clearly struggling not to join in.

Minho raises an eyebrow, trying to regain control as he looks over at Chan. “Captain, I’m seriously filing a complaint. This is hostile work environment behaviour.”

Chan’s gaze turns steely, but his lips are twitching as he struggles to hold back laughter. “Minho, one more word, and I’ll personally throw you out of the window.”

Minho huffs, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Fine. Just know that when I finally lose it, none of you will be safe.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lose it? Minho, you lost it the day you joined this precinct. You’re a ticking time bomb of mild inconveniences.”

Jeongin nods, grinning. “Pretty sure your wife would agree, too. She’s probably planning her exit strategy as we speak.”

Felix smirks, winking at Minho. “Filed under M, for Maybe if you were better in bed.”

The room howls with laughter as Minho’s face turns an even deeper shade of red, and you can almost see the smoke rising from his ears. He holds up a finger, shaking it at Felix. “You better hope I don’t catch you in the locker room after this, Lee Felix.”

Felix shrugs, unphased, throwing a playful salute as he leans back in his chair. “Bring it on, grandpa. I can take you.”

Without warning, you walk over to Minho's desk, grab the last remaining packet of powder, and in one smooth motion, smush it directly into his face. There’s a split second of stunned silence before the bullpen erupts in laughter and cheers. Felix lets out a gleeful whoop, practically falling off his chair, while Jeongin laughs so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

Minho sputters, wiping at the powder coating his hair and face, his eyes wide with indignation. “You! I’m going to arrest you for assaulting an officer!” he shouts, launching himself from his chair and charging after you.

You’re already darting across the bullpen, laughter bubbling out of you as you throw a cheeky glance over your shoulder. “Oh yeah? And who’s going to patch you up next time you hurt your wrist being handcuffed to the headboard with your departmentally issued cuffs while getting down and dirty with your wife?”

The bullpen falls silent for a second, jaws dropping as they process your words. Then Felix lets out an ear-splitting scream. “Oh my god! Minho’s sprained wrist was a sex injury?!”

Minho halts mid-chase, face flushing crimson as he slaps a hand over his eyes. “We swore to secrecy!” he protests, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

You duck behind Felix’s desk, grinning wickedly. “Did we? Because I don’t seem to remember that.”

Felix, now nearly in tears, doubles over in his chair, barely able to catch his breath. “This is officially the best day of my life,” he manages to gasp out.

Minho lunges toward you again, but you spring over the desk like a gymnast, dodging his grasp with ease. He stops in his tracks, watching you with a mixture of exasperation and grudging admiration. “Are you some kind of burglar in your spare time?”

You laugh, tossing him a wink. “Had to be, to pick those damn cuffs you left lying around!”

Laughter erupts around the room again, with even Chan chuckling under his breath. Minho, panting and glaring at you, looks around for backup but finds only grins and raised eyebrows. He turns to Jisung, who’s leaning back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. “I’m arresting your wife, Han. You better be ready to bail her out.”

Jisung’s grin widens as he stretches back comfortably. “Go ahead and try. I’ll tase you before you can even get the cuffs out.”

Minho narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “Oh, so now you’re threatening to tase me?”

Jisung shrugs, lifting his coffee cup in a lazy salute. “If it means protecting my wife, absolutely.”

The room breaks into another round of laughter, with Jeongin egging you on, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he hands you yet another packet of powder. “Here. Third time’s the charm.”

Minho stares at you, eyes wide as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I am serious about this arrest, Y/N,” he growls, his face still dusted with powder.

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Great, but if you do, can you at least use someone else’s handcuffs? I don’t want any residue from your…extra-curriculars.”

The entire room dissolves into hysterics again, Felix’s cackles echoing off the walls as he practically falls out of his chair. Minho’s face grows redder and redder as he points accusingly at Jisung. “This! This is who you married?!” His voice is incredulous, the words practically dripping with mock disgust.

Jisung only shrugs, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Minho, you were at our wedding. You even made a toast. You know I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Minho throws his hands up dramatically, shaking his head in dismay. “At the time, she was the sweet, sexy Italian nurse you somehow tricked into marriage. We were all baffled by it! But now…now she’s just an evil, powder-wielding menace!”

Jisung leans back in his chair, draping his arm over your shoulders with a smug grin. “Yeah, but she’s my evil, powder-wielding menace.”

Seungmin, who’s been watching the whole scene unfold with amusement, finally speaks up, his tone incredulous. “No, seriously, Han. How the fuck did you manage to marry her? I need to know.”

Felix, still half-laughing, adds, “Did you slip something in her coffee, man? Because this feels like a miracle.”

You swat Jisung’s arm playfully, grinning. “Trust me, if there’d been anything suspicious in my coffee, I’d have come to my senses and left ages ago.”

The laughter crescendos as officers toss playful insults at Minho, who looks as though he’s about to burst. Finally, just when he seems on the edge of a breakdown, Chan steps in, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Minho, you’re not arresting her. If anything, she’s doing us all a favour by keeping you in line.”

Minho looks at Chan, his jaw dropping in exaggerated offence. “I don’t even have my captain’s support! What happened to having each other’s backs, huh?”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with a smug grin as Minho mutters, still clearly in shock from the betrayal. Felix, ever the instigator, can’t resist tossing in one last jab. “Hey, Minho, why don’t you go cry to your wife? Oh wait—she’s probably signing those divorce papers as we speak.”

The laughter roars again, and Minho looks as though he’s on the verge of a meltdown. Before he can retaliate, you lean back into Jisung’s embrace, his arms wrapping protectively around you as he chuckles.

“So, after all this,” Jisung murmurs near your ear, “will you still bring us coffee?”

You tilt your head back slightly, smirking up at him. “Only if you start keeping a blanket and pillow in your locker so I can nap next time there’s a lockdown.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, grinning. “If you’d asked, I’d have told you. I’ve had a blanket and pillow in there for months.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You’ve had a blanket this whole time? And I’ve been stuck here, caffeine-deprived and nap-deprived? Jiiiiisung!”

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Hey, on the bright side, we can go home now. I’ve racked up a solid six hours of overtime, and we’ve got the whole day tomorrow for movies, naps, and, of course, proper Italian coffee.”

You sigh contentedly, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it.”

Jisung chuckles, loosening his hold on you just enough to stand up. “What are we waiting for, then? Let me change out of this uniform, and we’ll get out of here.”

He gives you a playful wink and heads to the locker room. The second he’s out of earshot, you swivel back to Minho, who’s still brooding at his desk, and raise an eyebrow.

“Surprised you’re still here, Minho,” you say, grinning wickedly. “Your wife’s probably already got her lawyer on speed dial, ready to serve those papers.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you and scoops up a handful of powder left on his desk, flinging it at you. It flutters through the air, dusting your hair and shoulders. Unphased, you brush it off with a smirk.

Felix, watching with barely contained laughter, leans back. “Y/N still looks like a goddamn model, and Minho looks like he’s auditioning for a low-budget winter horror movie.”

Minho’s face grows redder as he scowls around the room. “I hope this is anthrax. I hope it’s actually anthrax, and you all get what’s coming to you.”

Chan, not even looking up from his paperwork, sighs. “Minho, you’ve inhaled more of that stuff than anyone. You’re going first if it is.”

You laugh, pointing at Minho with a dramatic flair. “So we’ll get to laugh at you one last time before we go. Sounds perfect.”

Jisung returns from the locker room a few minutes later, looking relaxed and cozy in his black sweatpants and hoodie. He reaches for your hand, giving you a warm smile as he leads you toward the exit.

As you pass Minho’s desk, you can’t resist one last poke. “And, Minho? I’m off-duty tonight, so you’re on your own for any sex-related injuries. Better keep things vanilla—no handcuffs, no nipple clamps.”

Minho’s face flushes bright red, and the entire room pauses to stare at him, expressions ranging from shocked to delighted. Felix’s head snaps up, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Hold up—did someone say nipple clamps?”

You and Jisung exchange a look, grinning, before turning in unison to point at Minho. The room explodes in laughter once again as Minho slams his hand over his face in mortification.

“Fine! So, I like a bit of spice. Sue me!” he shouts over the uproar.

The laughter only intensifies, but Minho lifts his chin, crossing his arms and attempting to look dignified. “At least I’m not the only one with skeletons. I know all about what you two get up to!” he says, pointing accusingly at you and Jisung.

Felix perks up, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, I have to hear this.”

Minho leans back, smirking. “They do Grey’s Anatomy roleplay. Full doctor-nurse scenarios.”

Felix’s jaw drops, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Wait—how do you know that?”

Minho grins, clearly enjoying the attention. “I was picking up some old furniture from them. Let myself in, and there they were in the living room. Y/N in a slutty nurse outfit, and Dr. Han was conducting a very unethical exam.”

The bullpen erupts into laughter, louder than ever, and Jisung grins, pulling you close, unbothered by the revelation. You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, knowing Minho’s just getting you back.

Felix, wiping tears from his eyes, stammers, “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard. You guys are absolute legends.”

You shake your head, throwing a grin Minho’s way. “All right, all right. Keep those stories for next time, Minho. We’ll be back tomorrow if you want to keep sharing.”

Minho gives a mock salute, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll save the best for last. But just you wait, Jisung. I’ve got more where that came from.”

Jisung chuckles, guiding you out of the bullpen, giving one last wave. “See you tomorrow, Minho.”

The door closes behind you, and the cool night air washes over your face as you take a deep breath, finally free from the laughter, the powder, and the relentless teasing. Jisung leads you to his car, and as you sink into the passenger seat, you can’t help but smile, feeling a giddy sense of satisfaction.

“Well,” you say, leaning back with a sigh, “that was a day.”

Jisung lets out a soft chuckle, starting the car. “It was something all right. But hey, now it’s just us. Tomorrow’s ours. Movies, naps, and that Italian coffee you’ve been promising me.”

You open one eye, giving him a sidelong glance. “No Minho?”

He smirks, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze. “Definitely no Minho.”

Jisung pulls into the driveway, the familiar warmth of home glowing like a promise as he shuts off the engine. You step out of the car, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you stretch, arms raised above your head, sighing in relief to finally be back. Jisung joins you, his fingers intertwining with yours as you both head up the walkway, and for a moment, everything feels blissfully calm and quiet. Worlds away from the precinct’s chaos.

Inside, Jisung locks the door behind you, leaning against it with a weary but contented grin. “Shower?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, laughing. “The last thing I need is that damn itching powder haunting me all night. Not dealing with nine hours of that just to be scratching in my sleep.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Good call. Let’s head up.”

You both kick off your shoes, and you grab the handrail as you make your way upstairs, your dress swishing softly with each step. In the bathroom, Jisung is already tugging his hoodie over his head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. His grin turns wicked as he catches your eye. “What, no stripping from you?”

You roll your eyes but smile, unzipping the back of your dress and letting it slide from your shoulders, pooling around your feet. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he slips off his sweatpants and steps into the shower. He twists the handle, testing the water temperature with his hand. “Come on, it’s perfect.”

You step in beside him, the hot water pouring over you, washing away the remnants of powder, sweat, and every ounce of stress. Jisung closes the glass door behind you, reaching for the shampoo and pouring a generous dollop into his hands.

“Here, let me,” he murmurs, massaging the shampoo into your hair with gentle fingers, his thumbs rubbing small circles along your scalp.

You close your eyes, melting under his touch. “God, how much powder did we inhale today? I feel like it’s in my hair, my lungs…my brain.”

He laughs, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “Honestly, we’re probably sneezing up talcum powder for weeks. Worth it though—you looked like a total badass hurling that last packet at Minho.”

“Couldn’t resist,” you say, tilting your head back to let the water flow over your hair. “Besides, the whole thing was ridiculous. Nine hours of lockdown for itching powder?”

“You made it memorable, though,” he teases, his fingers running through your hair to make sure it’s completely clear. “Thanks for sticking it out with us.”

You scoff, giving him a playful nudge. “Like I had much choice. I’d have been thrown in lockup if I’d tried to escape.”

He snorts. “No way would I let that happen to my beautiful wife, stranded in her sundress and all. I’d fight anyone who tried to lock you up.”

“Anyone, huh?” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Even Chan?”

Jisung lifts his chin defiantly. “Even Chan. Sure, he’d wipe the floor with me in seconds, but I’d make it look heroic. I’d do it for you.”

You laugh, turning to face him, your eyes sparkling. “Babe, you’re right. Chan would flatten you without breaking a sweat. One flex of those shoulders, and you’re done.”

“Hey!” he protests, scooping a handful of water and splashing it at you, eyes narrowed in playful accusation. “I thought you were on my side.”

Grinning, you wipe the water from your face. “I am on your side! You’re the one who said it!”

He huffs, though his grin is unstoppable as he lathers up the body wash, his hands moving over your shoulders and down your arms, lingering at your waist. “Sure, sure. Thanks for the support, traitor.”

“Just being realistic here,” you reply, biting back a laugh.

He smirks, his thumb tracing a soft circle on your hip. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Realistic,’ my ass.”

You nudge him lightly, but he only laughs, taking a step back to grab the body wash for himself. You let the hot water cascade over you, rinsing away the last of the powder, and sigh as the warmth melts the final bits of tension in your muscles. Once he’s finished washing, Jisung twists off the water, reaching for a fluffy towel on the wall.

Stepping out, you grab your favourite long robe with the marabou trim, wrapping it around yourself. Jisung, watching you with a smirk, secures a towel around his waist, eyebrows raised in admiration.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head as he eyes your robe, “they call those ‘femme fatale robes’ for a reason. You look like you’re about to seduce me for a stack of cash and a getaway car.”

You snort, pulling a comb through your damp hair. “Please. That’s the last thing on my mind right now. Food and sleep are the only things I’m interested in.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he says, grabbing his razor from the sink and applying a dollop of shaving cream to his face. “I’m starving. How about takeout?”

“Sounds perfect,” you say, reaching for your skincare products. “Cooking anything tonight sounds like absolute torture.”

He chuckles, carefully shaving the stubble from his face. “Takeout and…a Harry Potter marathon?”

You grin, catching his eye in the mirror. “Now you’re speaking my language. Ravenclaw supremacy, all the way.”

“Uh, excuse me?” He pauses mid-brush, putting on an expression of exaggerated shock. “We all know Hufflepuff’s the real hero house.”

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, shaking your head as you smooth on some moisturizer. “Ravenclaws would outsmart everyone in seconds.”

“Psh, Hufflepuffs would win on loyalty and determination,” he counters, rinsing his razor. “We’re the ones who bring snacks, make sure everyone’s good, and still get the job done.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you reply, patting on some eye cream. “Meanwhile, I’ll be doing what Ravenclaws do best: winning.”

He rolls his eyes, grinning as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Fine, Miss Ravenclaw Supremacy. Let’s go order some food before I pass out right here.”

Together, you head down the hallway to the bedroom, where Jisung grabs his phone and flops onto the bed, scrolling through food delivery options.

“So, what are we feeling? Pizza? Thai? Sushi?” he asks, glancing at you as you turn on the TV and pull up Netflix.

You curl up beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go with Thai. Feels earned after today.”

“Thai it is,” he says, quickly placing the order. He sets his phone down and wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer. “And tomorrow morning, once we’re itch-free and well-rested, I’m making us the biggest breakfast ever. Pancakes, eggs, the whole deal.”

You sigh, melting into his warmth. “That sounds heavenly. But for now, we’ve got Thai on the way, Harry Potter ready to go, and we’re finally powder-free.”

Jisung grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he clicks play on The Philosopher’s Stone. “Nineteen hours and thirty-nine minutes of pure wizarding magic ahead of us.”

You snuggle deeper into him, grinning. “Perfect. Only way this night could be better is if you’d actually pick Ravenclaw.”

“Keep dreaming,” he chuckles, giving your side a gentle squeeze. “Everyone knows Hufflepuffs bring the real magic. Besides, what do Ravenclaws even bring? Trivia?”

“Intellect,” you say, sitting up slightly to give him a haughty look. “And let’s be honest—Ravenclaws would make amazing Aurors.”

He shakes his head, amused. “And Hufflepuffs would be the best Healers, the ones who’d save everyone after your ‘intellect’ gets you all hexed.”

You throw a pillow at him, laughing as he catches it easily. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah, I’m adorable,” he replies with a smirk, leaning in to give you a quick kiss. “And I’ve got Thai food on the way.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” you say, settling back against him as the movie starts.

When the doorbell rings twenty minutes later, Jisung jumps up, grabbing the food and quickly coming back to the bedroom, arms loaded with takeout bags. He spreads them out on the bed, grinning.

“All right, feast time!” he declares, opening the containers. “Green curry for you, Pad Thai for me, and spring rolls for both of us.”

You dig in, savouring the warm, spicy flavours, and let out a contented sigh. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Jisung grins, his mouth full of noodles. “Told you. Nothing like Thai and Harry Potter after a day like that.”

The movie plays on, and you both devour the food, laughing over scenes you’ve seen a thousand times and arguing over the merits of each Hogwarts house. As the night wears on, you find yourself drifting off against him, his arm a comforting weight around your shoulders.

Just as you’re about to fully doze off, Jisung gently shakes you awake. “Hey, don’t fall asleep yet. We’ve got a whole marathon to get through.”

You smile sleepily, snuggling into him. “Can’t help it. You make the perfect pillow.”

He laughs softly, shifting so you’re both lying down, pulling the blankets over you. “All right, fine. We’ll marathon it tomorrow. For now, get some sleep.”

You drift off with his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, the sound of the movie playing softly in the background. For once, there’s no powder, no noise, just the quiet warmth of home, Jisung beside you, and a full night of uninterrupted rest stretching out ahead.

[maddiethedogstories]

The Birthday - Part 1

I couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend the morning of my 35th birthday. It had been a beautiful, spring Saturday morning. I got up a little later than usual, put on my khakis and a polo shirt, grabbed breakfast at the club house with my best friends, and spent the entire morning playing golf.

Usually, weekend mornings are full of 'Daddy-duties' for me. Wake up, turn on some cartoons for the kids, change the baby's diaper and get everyone out of pajamas, make breakfast, then load everyone up in the car for the youth sports game-of-the-week. Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love being a dad. I love spending time with my kids. But, today, my birthday, my wonderful wife Madeline let me make the day just about me, and I love that too.

It was about 1:00 pm by the time I got home. I staggered into the house a little more unbalanced than usual, having had a few more than my normal share of beers on the course. In my slightly drunken state, it took me a second to recognize that something was different than normal in the house, but, after hanging my keys on the key hook and wandering into the kitchen, things started to feel off.

First, the house was clean. The toys, normally spread across the house, were all in their proper place. The kitchen counters were crumb free. The sink was clear of dishes. Now, I am not saying our house is normally a mess, but with kids, it's generally impossible to keep the house cleaner than 'slightly cluttered.'

"Love?" I called out, "The house looks beautiful? Did you and the kids spend the whole morning cleaning?"

My yell was met with silence. That was also odd. With the kids around, the house was always noisy. However, at that moment, there was nothing. No one was crying, or laughing, or yelling. The sounds of the latest episode of Bluey or Pokemon weren't blaring from the playroom. There wasn't even music playing. I started to become suspicious. Was anyone home?

With growing concern, I turned and left the kitchen and heading upstairs to the master bedroom. Maybe my wife was taking a nap? Maybe she convinced the kids to nap to? It seemed unlikely, but, in my happy, half-drunk stupor, I was ready to get to the bottom of this mystery.

I walked upstairs briskly, now more cautious about yelling out, not wanting to wake anyone up if they were sleeping. As I made it to the second floor hallway, I was greeted by more of what I had seen downstairs. An impeccably clean and quiet house.

As I passed each of the children's bedrooms, I peaked in, hoping to get some sign of what was happening. I got no hints. Each of my kids rooms was clean, organized, and devoid of life.

I finally made it to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As I approached the room, I noticed that the door was shut. Much like the house being clean and silent, that never happened. Cautiously, and still a little unsteadily, I approached the white door to my bedroom, grabbed the handle, and cautiously pushed the door open. As I did, I was greeted by the sultry voice of my wife.

"Why hello there big boy! I see someone finally made it home for his birthday surprise!"

Like a dog anticipating a treat when they hear their master reach for the treat bag, I suddenly was overcome by an overwhelming sexual anticipation for what was coming next. I could feel my cock, flaccid and unnoticed just moments before, grow larger and harder, pressing against my khakis in a way that made my feelings for my wife obvious to anyone who could see me.

Now driven by lust, I abandoned my previous sense of caution. I flung open the door to my bedroom to reveal my wife lying on top of the comforter of our king sized bed.

My eyes were instantly drawn to my wife, lying across the bed seductively. She was wearing the sexiest, laciest black lingerie I had ever seen. It emphasized her cleavage and ass perfectly. Her long, brown hair, styled wavy, was draped over her shoulder. In her hand was a riding crop, a favorite tool for administrating 'punishments' in our house.

"Happy Birthday Baby! I thought maybe we could celebrate together today?" My wife, Melody, said seductively, smacking the leather end of the riding crop in her empty hand for emphasis. I felt blood flow to my penis as she spoke. Suddenly, my member was straining against the confines of my boxer briefs and khakis. This was going to be a good birthday.

Noticing my arousal, Melody climbed off the bed, leaving the riding crop behind, and walked up to me. She grabbed my now rock hard penis over my pants with one hand and used her other hand to pull my head down into a passionate kiss. I immediately reciprocated.

As we kissed, Melody, despite being 8 inches shorter and 100 pounds lighter than me, used the leverage she had from handling my penis to maneuver me to a position where my back was to the bed as we kissed. Once I felt the back of my knees brush against our king-sized mattress, Melody surprised me with a shove to the chest, forcing me to lie on my back on the bed. Then, with a mischievous grin on her face, she reached for my belt and the buckle of the pants, expertly undoing both and ripping my pants off.

"We can't have you wearing these! They'll just get in the way!" She exclaimed as she through my khakis to the ground unceremoniously. I grinned in anticipation as Melody climbed on top of me, straddling me at the waist, and began rubbing her still panty clad pussy on my still underwear covered penis.

As she continued the motion, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Oh, you like that big boy?" I just moaned in response. I could feel pre-cum leaking out of my penis into my underwear.

"Yeah, I bet you do, you naughty little boy," She continued. I just moaned again. However, the friction felt so good, along with the dirty talk, I suddenly was becoming worried that I was going to cum even before we started to have sex. I tried to turn my head away and think of something else, just to extend the amount of time this would last.

Melody laughed as I turned my head away, clearly aware of what I was doing. I started to blush in embarrassment at the realization that she new I was at risk of losing control even before we started fucking.

"Oh, does this feel a little TOO GOOD for you baby? We can't have that! Let's slow things down," Melody said, climbing off of me, and, thankfully, giving me the chance to slow down. I looked down at my blue boxer briefs and saw a distinct wet spot from where my pre-cum had soaked into my underwear. Melody looked at it to, frowned playfully, but didn't say anything about the stain immediately.

"I want to make this last all day for you, so let's try something else," Melody said as she walked over to our nightstand. I followed her shapely, barely covered ass as she moved around the bed. Then, for the first time, I noticed some new things about the room.

First, on the nightstand were a number of 'supplies' I had never seen before. On the nightstand was a blindfold, a contraption with leather straps I couldn't quite identify but looked like it was meant to go around a person's head, and a pair of large, noise cancelling wireless headphones. Looking closer to me, I noticed that our bed was slightly different as well. Rather than being covered in our normal comforter and pillows, the bed was covered in nothing but black satin sheets. Also, interestingly, there were now wrist and ankle restraints attached to each corner of the bed, waiting patiently to pin down whoever was strapped into to them. I couldn't help but grin. Today WAS going to be a good day. I'd never been so glad that we slowed down early.

Melody turned around from where she stood, bent over the nightstand. "Like what you see?" She asked, wiggling her ass playfully as she grabbed the blindfold in her other hand.

I laughed, "Oh yeah."

"Well, big boy, I've got something special in mind for you today, but, its a surprise, so I need you to let me take control," she said as she returned to my position on the bed. "So, first, put this on." Melody handed me the blindfold.

"Kinky," I said playfully, complying with her command and blindfolding myself.

"Oh, you don't even know," Melody said. "Now, lay back on the bed and spread out your arms and legs. Today is about me taking care of you."

Excited by where this was going, I did as she asked. I spread out my arms and legs and felt as she, with surprising expertise, strapped me into the wrist and ankle restraints.

"What's gotten into you Melly? You never want to play like this?" I asked as she strapped me in, a little disappointed that with the blindfold on, I couldn't see my wife's marvelous body.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Now, no more talking, baby!" She said. Suddenly, I felt something soft and rubber brush my lips. "Open up and take this," Melody suddenly said.

I did as she asked and let the rubber object enter my mouth. As it filled my mouth, I felt it suddenly stop as a hard piece of plastic hit the outside of my lips. Panic suddenly hit me as I realized what this was--a pacifier.

Since before Melody and I had even started dating, I had an ABDL fetish. Specifically, I loved the idea of diapering, babifying, and humiliating strong, independent women. I did not know where it came from, and in a lot of ways, I loathed the fetish. The idea that humiliating and infantilizing women turned me on, despite my actual strong feminist values, disgusted me.

As a result, I never acted on it and had never shared my fetish with Melody, or any other woman for that matter. That had not stopped me from viewing, reading, and eventually writing copious amounts of ABDL porn during our relationship though.

The feeling of the pacifier being pressed into my mouth created so many concerns.

First, how had Melody found out about my fetish? Had she found out about my fetish? Was she upset about it? Second, despite having an ABDL fetish, the idea of being infantalized myself disgusted me.

In my fantasies, I was ALWAYS the dominant daddy, slowly helping my partner become the helpless, infantalized adult they deserved to be treated as. I was never the one being babied. If Melody's plan was to do this to me, that was NOT what I wanted.

In the time that all of this went through my head, I was able to spit out my pacifier and yell out, "What the fuck?!?" I struggled at my bonds as I felt the wet rubber of the giant plastic nipple land on my chest. No matter how much I pulled I could not get free. Frustratingly, I couldn't see Melody's reaction to my struggles, but I could hear her laugh.

I felt the pacifier that had just been in my mouth being picked up off my chest and pressed into my lips again.

"Take this in you mouth, big boy, or suffer the consequences," my wife's voice commanded. Melody emphasized her point by squeezing my balls almost uncomfortably with her free hand.

I wasn't going to give in that easily. I closed my lips tight and turned my head to the side. When I thought I was safe from the childish soother being shoved in my mouth, I responded. "What the fuck is going on Melody, what are you doing? Is that a pacifier you are trying to get me to suck on?" I asked.

Melody with impatience in her voice, refused to answer my questions.

"You'll know precisely what is going on soon enough. Now, suck on this before I make you suck on it," she ordered, attempting to shove the rubber nipple in my mouth a third time. I refused again.

"Have it your way," she said, "this makes it more fun for me anyway."

I felt the mattress I was tied to move as Melody got off of the bed. I then heard the sound of something being moved around on the nightstand. The bed shook again and Melody got back on. I became nervous as I could feel her kneeling next to my prone form.

Suddenly, without almost any warning, I felt a sharp smack to my penis and balls. The pain, while not particular intense, as the slap was blessedly light, was unexpected and sharpe. I raised my head and yelled out. "Owww!"

As I opened my mouth, what must have been a different pacifier, given the much larger size of the rubber nipple was shoved in my now open mouth. At the same time, what must have been the leather straps I saw on the nightstand earlier, were quickly shoved over my head. I tried to spit this new, larger pacifier out. I couldn't. I could feel that with one hand, Melody was now holding the pacifier into place. With her other hand, she was tightening the straps wrapped around my head. A thrashed my head back and forth, but I couldn't stop the process. Within moments, I felt my wife stop pushing the pacifier into my mouth. However, even without that pressure, I couldn't spit it out. Given the days of my life I had spent masturbating to adult baby porn, I knew what I was wearing--a pacifier gag.

I heard Melody sigh in satisfaction as she pulled away from my body, leaving me to struggle against my restraints. "Much better," She said triumphantly, "this will go much smoother if you can't talk."

"Mmmmrrrppphh," I said, unable to form any words due to the size of the large pacifier stuck in my mouth.

I heard Melody walk around the bed, stopping at the foot of the bed. I felt her reach her hand up to my underwear and poke at the wet spot made from my pre-cum earlier.

"Oh my! Look at this, it looks like my BIG, ADULT husband had a little accident in his undies, didn't he?" she chided me with a condescending tone. I growled into the pacifier shoved into my mouth, horrified at where this was going. "I though I was married to a grown up who could keep his pants clean, it doesn't look like it though, does it?" she continued. I growled in the pacifier and thrashed around again. "Clearly, you aren't ready for big boy undies. I think you would look much cuter in diapers anyway. Let's just get this underwear off."

I felt the weight of my wife leaning over the bottom of the bed before I felt the cool metallic feel of scissors sliding up to the bottom of my boxer briefs. I bucked my hips as I felt Melody begin to cut my underwear free. I just couldn't believe what was happening. I had read this story so many times. Fantasized about it. Fuck, I'd even written something close to this once. But, every single time, I was the one removing the underwear, not the one having it taken from me. This was horrible.

"Stop that baby!" Melody said, giving my balls a warning slap as I bucked my hips and tried to prevent this indignity from continuing. "Do you want me to accidentally cut you? These scissors are sharp?"

As she spoke, I realized she was right. Even this humiliation wasn't worth injuring myself. I stopped struggling long enough to let Melody continue cutting my boxer briefs off. "Good boy!" she said encouragingly as she pulled my destroyed underwear free, exposing my ass and crotch. I felt my penis, rock hard only minutes earlier, shrivel up from the cold air and the humiliation of what was happening.

"Oh, how cute! It knows where it's going, so it shrunk up appropriately," Melody said, playfully pinching my penis. "Alright, stay here baby, I'll be back in a second."

I groaned inwardly as I heard Melody leave the room. Where was I going to go? Strapped to the bed, blindfolded, half-naked, and forced to suck on a pacifier, I was firmly detained at this point. It didn't take long before I heard Melody re-enter the room. I listened closely and could clearly hear the rustling sound that I knew must be the diaper she was holding. I listened further as Melody retook her position at the foot of our bed and placed the items she was carrying down.

"Alright, big boy, time to get you diapered for Mommy!" Melody said as I felt her lean over my spread legs.

I immediately started to thrash and scream into my pacifier. This was not going to happen to me. I was an adult. I was in control. I was the Daddy Domme! If anyone in this house was going to be diapered, it'd be Melody, not me! My struggles proved useless though. Try as I might, Melody had been prepared. The ankle and wrist restraints were too solidly attached to the bed frame, and she clearly didn't skimp on the quality of the restraints themselves. I was not going to break free. After what felt like minutes of struggling, I gave up, embracing my fate.

Melody, for her part, just giggled at my struggles. "What a silly boy, thinking he can get free of Mommy that easily?" Melody teased me as I thrashed. When I finally gave up, she said with the tone I had heard her use with our toddlers so many toys, "A you done throwing your tantrum? Good. Now, let's get this diaper on you before you make a mess on the bed!"

With that, I felt Melody lean back over the bed and place what had to be the diaper down near my resting ass.

"Lift!" My wife ordered me. Resigned to the futility of my situation, I complied, lifting my hips into the air. I felt the diaper slide underneath me.

"Drop!" She indicated. I let my ass fall onto the surprisingly soft padding.

"Good boy," She said, and I felt her begin to spread lotion over my skin. The sensation of her rubbing me brought some life back to my penis. I felt myself getting aroused again. I turned red with embarassment. The idea that I could get any sort of enjoyment out of being treated like this was humiliating.

"Oh, it looks like my little friend wants to come out to play!" Melody said as she saw my member grow harder. She immediately redirected her attention. "Well, if he wants to play, let's play!"

I started to moan as Melody gave me the most enthusastic hand job she had ever given me. She laughed as I thrusted my dick into her hand and grunted into the pacifier.

"Oh, baby likes that, does he?" She said breathily, quickly moving her hand up and down my shaft. After years of being together, Melody knew almost exactly when I was about to cum. Right as I was on the verge of bursting, she let go of my dick. Then, quickly, she folded the diaper over my penis and held it there as I came into the thick padding.

"Gotta be careful to not get any icky juices on you during diaper changes, just like with the boys!" Melody said as I moaned and came into my diaper. I could feel my cheeks turning bright red as she compared me coming into my diaper to a baby boy peeing during a diaper change. Despite the orgasm, this entire situation was torture.

Melody then quickly taped me into my padded, and now sticky, prison. She then crawled on top of me, in some sort of twisted call-back to our earlier sexual encounter, and rubbed her ass back and forth on my padded crotch a couple of times mockingly.

"Oh, this is much better," She laughed, as she bent over and pulled the blindfold off of my face. "Why don't you take a look big boy?"

I squinted as the light hit my eyes for the first time in at least a half an hour. The first thing I saw was my wife's face, staring down at me. Her made up and sexy appearance that was so attractive just earlier was just mocking me now.

"Well, take a look," She ordered.

I lifted my head as much as I could and looked down at my body. Past the ring of the pacifier that was strapped into my mouth I could see my polo shirt. Past my polo shift, sticking up just enough to be seen was a big, disposable ABDL diaper with a baby blue waist band. I groaned as I knew from my peculiar porn viewing proclivities that these particular diapers proudly labelled the wearing as a "POTTYPANTS" on the rear. The childish undergarments stood in stark contrast to my wives sexy panties, that were pressed against it.

Looking at my state, imagining what I must look like to her, I started to tear up in shame.

It only took moments for Melody to notice my building tears and place a hand comfortingly on the side of my face.

"Oh, is it embarrassing to be diapered and forced to use a pacifier, baby?" She said with mock caring in her voice, "You must be wondering why I am doing this?"

I nodded my head in affirmation, doing my best to hold back my tears.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now, I've found the little 'secret' you've been hiding to me. Masturbating to the idea of grown women in diapers? What a dirty little pervert you are!" Melody began. I blushed. "I'm going to admit, at first, I was just shocked that you hid something that you were clearly so into from me. But, I was ready to show you that, despite not really being into it myself, I'd indulge in your fantasies." Melody continued.

I struggled to attempt to respond through the pacifier in my mouth, to explain that this wasn't my fantasy. I couldn't get words out though. Melody put a finger on my pacifier in a shushing motion.

"Hush, babe. I KNOW this isn't YOUR fantasy. I found the disgusting erotica you wrote. You've always claimed to be a feminist, to love women in power, and, I'll be frank, you actions had me fooled. But, the fact that all of your fantasies seem to be about belittling, infantilizing, and humiliating powerful women, I am afraid that that doesn't seem to ring true to me anymore." Melody continued.

I swallowed nervously. This was my worst nightmare come to life.

"So, for your birthday, I decided I'd give you a taste of your own medicine. I'd treat you just like you treat those poor women in the stories. By the end of this weekend, I plan to have you acting like my perfect adult-baby boy. I've sent the boys to my parents for the weekend, so it'll just be us. I even cleaned the house so I don't have to worry about that. I'm going to spend the whole weekend teaching you what its like to be the victim of one of your stories," my wife explained.

I attempted to speak through the pacifier gag again. To plead for forgiveness. To explain my shame. Melody hushed me again.

"No, baby. Nothing you can do is going to change my mind. Don't worry though, by the end of the weekend, I'll let you be a big boy again… maybe," She said with a wink. Then, without warning, she pulled the blindfold over my head blinding me again.

"Now," I heard her say, no unable to see what was happening again, "Mommy has some things to set up, so why don't you be a good baby and take a nap and listen to some of my special music."

I felt the wireless headphones be pulled over my head. I tried to shake them off as best I could, but, somehow, she had tied them into the strap of the pacifier gag, tying them in place.

Once the headphones were placed over my ears, I found myself almost completely cut off from the world. I couldn't see what was happening around me and all I could hear was what was clearly some sort of hypnotic track. As I realized what was happening, I let my head fall slack to the bed and closed my eyes in defeat.

I knew, at least for the next few days, I was well and truly fucked. What a way to spend my birthday weekend.

NEXT CHAPTER

[anarchiii]

Twin Flames-1 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part One | Warnings: angst? | Witch!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary; Y/N had been born from a great darkness, and yet her soul burned brighter than any Firewielder. She didn’t care for someone who would try smother those flames, she wanted someone that would set them alight. . .

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Disclaimer; a fair amount of spoilers, people!!

Happy @erisweekofficial ,everyone!! ❤️

Eris’s POV

The Heir had never been one to look up to the stars and wish like some, but he’d always wanted things to turn out better, he wasn’t stupid enough to let hope fester in his heart, Beron had made sure of it, and his mother. . . She wasn’t around enough to affect anything. Locked up in her rooms for the foreseeable future.

He’d always silently hated that Lucien had gotten his happy ending—then again, he deserved it, his brother had always been the best one, so empathetic and patient, nothing like himself, though he couldn’t help it, not when Lucien came over with his lovely mate, going on about how happy he was, he couldn’t help the jealousy that arose within him. Turning him into a lonely and pathetic creature. Forced to watch everyone prosper while he wasted away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

It was true that the hateful and evil mask he put on was a mask, but, over time he had became the very thing everyone believed him to be, it was pitiful, he’d read so many stories of people that had suffered so greatly but had overcame their hardships and survived, becoming better people than they ever could’ve imagined, and yet, even as a child, Eris knew that would not be him. He would never know love and respect. No, that was not what he was here for.

Instead he helped people in his own wrong way and saw to it that they were better, going behind his High Lord’s back and helping their enemies, and after all that. He’d barely gotten a thank you. He couldn’t blame them, though, not at all, the Night Court especially, they knew him to be the male that’d stripped The Morrigan down and left her to die in his own lands, a nail imbedded in her stomach, the male that had tried stealing their High Lady’s sister away, to be a wife for no more than breeding and owning. When they didn’t realise he just wanted someone to love. That was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever let himself want for.

But his story was not one that ended in a happy ending, no, he was the beast the knight would slay to save the fair maiden, no more than a hurdle to overcome, a monster with a terrible fire that burned in his blood, burned his very soul. . .

-

Y/N’s POV

She couldn’t stop the shuddering of her breath as she took in the now empty battlefield bathed in the blood of enemies and allies alike, she would never get used to it, the fighting, the bloodshed, the hate, Y/N was born for battle and yet it terrified her, she had no idea how Aelin Galathynius did it. How she fought like an absolute warrior and smiled a minute later. Perhaps she would never know, the Queen had always unnerved her, she was a mystery never to be solved, though, that didn’t mean she didn’t respect her, no, when the young woman came off the field, she only bowed, she was not her Queen but that did not mean she wouldn’t fight for her. Hell. This entire army was brought together because of her. The world could finally breathe because of her.

A strong hand clasped her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts and bringing her back to the world, the sun was blaring, melting all the snow and making small waterfalls form from the cliffs of the Staghorns, she turned around to find her Wingleader staring at her, Manon’s black and gold eyes shining with poorly hidden despair, she couldn’t blame her, not when her own held the same expression.

She nodded to Manon in thanks, neither of them saying a word, she couldn’t bare to look at Abraxos who lingered behind his rider, Y/N cleared her throat, saying, “I’m going to go for a walk, alone.” She didn’t wait for her response before leaving. Walking down the many stairs of the castle, winding turns and long hallways, she didn’t say anything to Aelin’s court members as she walked past them, non of them seemed to want to talk either. Good.

She was soon out of the great castle and then through the gates and out onto the field, Orynth looming behind her, its stones mockingly clean, it took her a long time to reach Oakwald, she had no Wyvern to carry her anymore, Adries was riding high with the other eleven creatures who hadn’t survived, Abraxos the only one left, if she wasn’t wound up in her own misery then she would’ve felt bad for the beast, but sorrow was seemingly staying for a while.

Stray branches and leaves crunched beneath her boots as she walked through the forest, the trees whispering secrets older than time itself, the wind howling names lost to history, it was a artefact in itself, it was famous for the creatures that dwelled in its lush canopies but no one talked about the sentience the place held, like it was watching your every breath and movement, it was terrifying and yet, oddly comforting.

She spotted no white stags but that wasn’t unusual, the only one she had ever seen had been mere hours ago when Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had entered the battle riding one in golden armour fit for a empress, a goddess.

Surprisingly, the forest was not silent, birds sung their songs and the deer still went about eating leaves, it was peaceful, and nice to know the world hadn’t stopped, everyone and everything moved on eventually, some quicker than others, maybe in a few years she would admire the beauty of Oakwald—she had loved nature so dearly when she was younger, when everything wasn’t so dark,—she wanted to look at the ducks waddling by and smile as they had a swim in a nearby pond, she wanted to look at the flowers already blooming through all the gore and wonder in amazement, she wanted.

She couldn’t help the tears that fell, she had lost so much, how was she supposed to go on without them? She felt that flame inside her flicker and sputter but persevere, something she couldn’t seem to do, her Grandmother had always despised that light, how even when she tried smothering it—it only burned brighter, the old hag was probably smiling in her grave to know what she had wished for so many years was happening, she was breaking, ever so slowly.

The sun was falling, setting the sky into hues of deep orange and yellow, clouds forming and blocking the view, she didn’t go home, though, just kept walking, trying to clear a mind that couldn’t be cleared, soon, mist was shrouding the forest in mystery, tiny droplets of rain fell. Hitting the emerald leaves and falling off them. It was quite serene, actually. Like the entire world was heading to bed. Her as the moon’s only witness.

She felt so small, so insignificant under it’s light, it was a lovely feeling, nocturnal animals ventured out of their dens into the night, the little glow of their eyes the only sign they were there, still, she didn’t go back. What was left for her there? She had no lovers, no family, friends or children, she was alone in a world full of people, alone.

She doubted anyone would miss her, maybe she could run away and start a new life, purge all her past memories. . . It was tempting, very tempting, and— what was that? She spotted something shiny hiding beneath jewel coloured leaves, as Y/N got closer, she realised it was a ring. A simple silver ring. It was oddly pretty, in a way a plain blue sky was pretty, nothing stood out but it still caught her attention, she bent over and picked it up but as she did, she slipped on some moss and went face-first into the ground.

She closed her eyes and groaned at the feeling of her nose screaming out in pain—the scar on her jaw mimicking the feeling, the ring was warm in her hand, like it bore an inner fire, her body felt so heavy that she couldn’t help but lay there, perhaps in the morning she would figure out what to do, nothing would harm her, so there was no reason but to keep to the floor, Y/N did need sleep, so why not get it?

Y/N dreamt, she had the instinct feeling of falling but didn’t stir, she felt herself land on something hard and cold and did all she could to grab on, this may be a dream but she’d be damned if she died in it. A dream.

-

Eris’s POV

One of his hounds barked in the distance and he had enough sense to inspect, the autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet like the crackling of flames, he’d never gotten sick of the eternal autumn, it was his home, no matter what had happened in this place, it was forever be his, in some way, at least.

The dog, Hazel, released another sound, piercing through the silence, setting all the other dogs off, he sighed, shaking his head as he got closer, there was no point telling them to be quiet when they wouldn’t listen, anyway.

Eris walked into the clearing where all his animals gathered, there was nothing, positively nothing of interest or significance, just a plain old spot, though that didn’t stop the smoke hounds as they jumped around and circled a particularly tall tree, this was abnormal for even them, something was off, he caught the faint scent of blood and metal on the wind, but found it led nowhere.

He noticed little scraps of clothing hanging from low branches, the material was similar to that of the Illyrian’s but different in a way, hopefully he wouldn’t find that Shadowsinger or haughty general dead in his forest, not that he wouldn’t be delighted in that, a bird cried out in the distance and he looked up to see it, only, it wasn’t a bird he saw.

No, it was a person, hanging from a branch high up, her bloody blond-silver hair hung limp, a strange red cape covering most of her body, perhaps she was dead, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Yet he couldn’t hide his shock when something fell from her hand, it shined faintly as it fell right into his palm, he did all he could not to hiss in anger as he found it was his ring that he had lost two weeks ago, the one his mother had given him, that little thief.

The End.

Note: so uhh. . . No idea where this is going, no pressure- 😬

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@azrielslittleslut

@shadowsingercassia

[fineprintedsunsets]

JAWBREAKER

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 1 | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

Synopsis: Bucky's been hired to watch you as a favor to his best friend; your father. But when a game of spin the bottle has Bucky choking on his words, he just can't help himself anymore.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (both are consenting adults). dbf!bucky x f reader. mentions of violence against others (nothing undeserved) jealous bucky. unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it.) dirty talk. possessive bucky. p in v sex. is a hired bodyguard a stalker? maybe? idk. lots of praise + pet names.

taboo au + "this is fucked up" "you like it"

How Bucky ended up at a Halloween party for drunk teenagers was a mystery. A ghost-themed one at that. Kids who he wasn't even sure should be drinking clutched red solo cups filled with various alcohol, laughing obnoxiously and passing hushed whispers.

He rolled his eyes.

Teenagers.

He was sent here by your father, and although he loved the man (practically his best friend) this was the one event he regretted agreeing to accompany you to. You were 19, and why you wanted to go to a ghost-themed party with sixteen and seventeen-year-olds was beyond him.

Nevertheless, he agreed to supervise you for your father's sake. The second he steps foot through the frilly-decorated entrance, he smells the overpowering scent of marijuana and Axe cologne.

Thank god he didn’t grow up in an era where boys would wear that shit and think they were the coolest fuckers around. His nose turns up, turning to its source. It was indeed three teenage boys with what must have been a gallon of gel in their hair and crooked smiles splayed on their features.

They accompany a girl at the table, he can't see her features due to the blocking backs of the boys, but he can see one of them lift their fingers to brush ever so slightly against her arm.

The girl moves away, and when she does, Bucky's eyes catch on her.

It’s you, his best friend's daughter. He tries hard not to let his eyes linger on you, knowing he has only one job here tonight, and it’s to keep you out of harm's way. There was only one problem with that. Your father kept most of his work life hidden away from his wife and since he worked with a lot of cruel people, he decided not to involve you either.

Which means you had never met his best friend. You didn’t even know he had one. Bucky was sent here to watch you from afar, your dad didn’t want you to know he sent someone to supervise you every single time you went out.

You pass the boy a look, awkwardly shaking your head. You attempt to laugh it off and walk away, but the boy grabs your wrist. Bucky bristles where he stands against a wall, having just entered.

He can’t approach you, he couldn’t risk you finding out who he was. But oh how he wanted to break all twenty-eight of Jelly Hair’s pitiful knuckles.

“Let go, Jake.” You growl out, but Jelly Hair won’t let up, wrapping his digits around your tiny wrist and forcing you to sit back down. It angers him, how the other boys he’s sitting with laugh at his antics.

A loud crunching sound echoes from someone over at your table and Bucky leans away from the wall, getting ready to intercept, thinking he may have hit you. He should be ashamed of the anger that blossoms through his chest.

Jake’s fingers slip from your wrist as the other boys jump up. Jelly Hair turns toward the door where Bucky is standing, allowing him to spectate the blood now running from his nose.

He can’t help the smile that graces his features.

You hit him.

“My girl” Bucky finds himself whispering. He tucks his hand in his pockets, moving away from the entrance and more profound into whoever's house this is. White lights flash from the rooms as music blares from speakers in the living room.

Everyone is dressed like a ghost, some people; like you are wearing a t-shirt that displays a cute drawing of a supernatural creature. Others wear sheets with glasses placed overtop of them, or uneven eye-holes cut out of the white fabric.

Bucky grabs a solo cup and fills it up with Cola, the only non-alcoholic drink on the ping-pong table. His metal fingers grip the cup and bring it to his lips, only to spit it back into the cup.

“What the fuck.” He mutters, scrunching his face in distaste. He does a double take on the bottle, bringing the contents up to his nose, Rum.

It’s fucking Rum Coke.

He takes the cup anyway, having no intention to sip from it anymore. He blends in this way, holding a solo cup just like the other hundred people here. His blue eyes search for you in the crowd, spotting you right away, your body settled on the lap of a man, early 20’s he’d say.

A feeling he’s all too familiar with when it comes to you surges through his veins, seeing the white skirt you're wearing hike up, allowing him and everyone else to see his hand knead at your ass.

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches you lean into the man, your lips wrapping around his, your eyes closing. Bucky has no idea who he is, but whoever he is, his dick is growing hard under you, having very clear intentions of what he’s about to do. And Bucky will be damned if he allows you to get fucked by this piece of shit.

Not that it should matter to him. You should have a man that would treat you right, protect you, pleasure you. Not this dick-wad who wants a quick fuck. Your father wanted him to keep you out of trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

At least, it’s what he tells himself.

Bucky watches for a few more seconds as you rub yourself over his cock, painfully humping it. He knows you aren’t getting any pleasure out of it, it’s evident on your face. The dick-wad beneath you is, and that’s what makes Bucky’s fingers ball into tight fists, making him grind his teeth down again, on the verge of breaking his goddamn jaw.

That’s what you were.

A fucking jawbreaker, surely you were smarter than this. You had to have known you were worth so much more. You had to know dick-wad couldn’t make up for a quarter of that amount.

“Spin the bottles starting downstairs!” A girl announces from the banister. She’s drunk, very drunk, Bucky notices. She also must be the owner of the way her fingers wrap around the railing.

He could just tell.

Bucky feels the relief flood his chest when you turn away from the man, clearly seeing a good excuse for escape. He growls but lets you go as he soon follows suit. Bucky has no interest in watching you play spin the bottle, but of course, he has not all a choice.

He couldn’t decide whether it was his job, (why he was here in the first place, he’s had to repeat that to himself a few times throughout the night.) Or because he didn’t want to watch a bunch of horny teenagers shove their fucking tongues down your throat, heat bloomed in his chest, mixing with anger.

Either way, he would have to break more than fourteen knuckles tonight.

✪

Bucky’s already taken his place on the wall, going unnoticed as the kids gather around in a circle, sitting with their legs crossed, fixated on the bottle that is situated in the middle.

You sit on the right side, next to some other girls he recognizes.

Women.

You were 19 years old for god sake.

The woman from earlier, the owner of the house, Bucky had now learned the name of, Jess plops next to the man from earlier, her eyes analyzing all the players. Other people stand, just here to spectate the game, giving Bucky plenty of cover.

“We need one more player!” Her voice slurs, looking up from her sitting position, searching for the correct person to fill the gap right across from you. Your eyes search around with Jess’s until both pairs land on him.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky grinds his teeth together again, he’ll be very surprised if he has teeth after tonight.

“James.” He grits out, trying his very best to seem like he doesn't want to be here. Which isn’t very hard.

He doesn't.

“You look a bit old to be here, James.” Jess' eyes roam the others, looking for the attention she so desperately wants. The others let out faux chuckles. Bucky can still feel your eyes burning through his, even though over fifty pairs are now aimed at him, you stick out.

You always have.

“Who invited their dad, guys?” Jess pokes again, her ghastly features twisting in a terrible laugh. Other people laugh now, but Bucky doesn’t mind. You don’t laugh, your features scrunch at Jess’s words. The man didn’t look old at all, older than a teenager sure, he was quite handsome.

“Come on, James. Join us!” You call, and the man's eyes immediately meet yours. You can’t help yourself, you gasp at the intensity of them, the beautiful blue irises that stare back at you.

Bucky still didn’t move from the wall, it was very evident he had no choice in this matter. “A little party never killed anybody, James.” Jess’s cat-like mouth squeaks.

“Bucky-” He corrects, heaving a sigh. “Just Bucky.” Bucky walks over to the circle, watching the gathering crowd part. Allowing him to sit like the rest of them, occupying the spot across from you.

“Let’s get started, Anon, Why don’t you spin first?”

Anon, a very stereotypical frat boy reaches for the bottle, his companions cheering behind him. The glass spins as everyone's eyes follow it, even Bucky’s.

The end lands on Jess, which is ironic. Bucky is checking off his mental checklist, he’s no matchmaker but..

Obnoxious Voices. Check. Annoying Presence. Check. Feline Like Faces. Check. Rich Pieces Of Shit. Check.

Those two were made for each other.

The two kiss awkwardly, the whole crowd kicking and screaming taunts, acting like children who just touched a deceased insect. Bucky settles into the hard-concrete floor, getting ready for a very excruciating game.

✪

It’s about an hour before you finally get the bottle in your hands. Everyone waits on bated breath as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth. You grab the bottle and spin, watching the glass glide across the concrete floor.

It clicks and clanks before it stops, and the endpoints to the stranger.

The older man that’s been stuck to the wall the whole party. You’ve never seen him before but were quite intrigued when you caught him looking at you during the game, pretending as if he wasn't.

The stranger's eyes flick open, looking at the end pointed towards him and then where you sit across from him. You smile to yourself as Bucky stays in his position.

The chanting starts when Jess’s voice echoes through the room, “You have to kiss the old man!” She’s 20, but acts like a five-year-old.

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

People around you repeat, and so you do the only logical thing to do. You place your hands in front of you and crawl to Bucky, knowing full well your skirt is riding up as you do so.

You can see his jaw clenching. You arrive in front of him, propping yourself up on your knees, Bucky's eyes look up at where you slightly tower over him.

You reach your fingers to graze his jaw, and when your fingers meet his subtle, the fifty pairs of eyes disappear. Right now, it’s just you and him. “Come here.” You mutter, bringing his face to yours.

Bucky hesitates, but lets it happen anyway. He’s captivated by you, you can tell. He wants to pull away but can’t.

Time seems to slow as your eyes close and your noses touch, stopping before letting your lips meet each other. Heat builds in your stomach, anticipation and want bubbling deep inside your core.

“This is fucked up.” He whispers, his breath grazing your wet lips.

“You like it.” You answer, before pulling his face to yours, your lips colliding in perfect harmony. Heat fills your stomach, settling itself between your thighs. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup your scalp, molding his palm to your head, crushing his lips against yours.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, entangling with his own. Your breath heaves as your stomach urges for more, your thighs pressing together in your kneeling position. You pull away before you can go any farther, breath heaving, a string of saliva still connecting your puffy lips.

The words that exit his mouth are barely audible, but you catch them. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Jess calls, laughing with the others. But you ignore them, your eyes are still pulled into that trance, still feeling Bucky’s lips on yours.

The next thing you know, Bucky is getting up, his hand reaching for your own. You gulp at his gaze now, seeing the intensity switch to something different.

Something primal.

✪ Somehow you ended up in a closet, with Bucky’s breath fanning over your neck, his cock painfully straining against his jeans. It took all but four seconds for your clothes to be off, Bucky’s joined yours short after, pooling on the floor of the large closet.

“Sweetheart-” Bucky sounds breathless as he reaches out, his metal hand (which you okay with, apparently) running down the curve of your breast, dipping in your bra to twirl a cool digit around your semi-hard peak. (Especially when they made you feel like that.)

“How old are you?” You press, moaning as Bucky’s other hand cups your waist, making sparks fly up and down your skin. This closet, which is bigger than the master bedroom, has suddenly gotten small.

Bucky fights the urge to smack your ass in response, you didn’t care about age when you were grinding on that man’s cock.

“106.” He answers thoughtfully, but you only laugh, catching he wasn’t going to tell you his age. Bucky’s face scrunches in wonder, but it quickly fades when you press your body into his own, running your smooth fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“You sure you want to do this, baby?”

“Positive.”

Bucky brings your lips to his, all while taking hold of your hips, backing you into one of the closet's white walls. You engrossed in his touch, the feel of his fingers on your bare stomach, pushing you against the wall.

“I’d make you hump my cock, ‘show you what real pleasure is. But there’s no couch in here, sweet girl.” You feel your pussy clench at his words, you hadn’t known he was watching you then.

“Just gonna have to take me bare,” Bucky mutters, his hands grabbing your back, flipping you around so your palms are planted above you, your ass jutting out. His fingers knead at the meat of your ass, making sure to erase any hand-prints dick-wad may have left. You moan, bucking into his touch, wanting more.

“Greedy girl, you think you deserve my cock? Bare, too? You think you can handle that type of pleasure?” His fingers ghost over your panties, barely hitting your clit.

“Bucky! Please.”

Bucky smiles, knowing what he’s doing to you. If he wasn’t about to fuck you in a closet at a party he would tease you a lot more, and make you pay for letting that man touch you. You both knew you couldn’t wait that long, and neither could he.

Bucky pulls down your panties, noticing how your slick coats the fabric. “These are drenched, all for me, hmm?” He was so hesitant at first, to kiss and touch you, but now he didn’t give a shit.

You were his now.

Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. Bucky’s breath caught when he looked down at you, making your thighs clench together. He runs a metal finger through your folds, collecting your slick.

You cry out from the spark of pleasure, attempting to keep yourself up against the wall.

“You're so wet for me, sweet girl.” You feel lightheaded as Bucky releases himself from his boxers, you can’t see anything, only the white paint of the wall.

You can feel his tip nudge at your entrance, as he leans down, placing soft kisses along your back. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Okay? You want to be filled with my cock?”

“Yes!” You buck your hips, your eyes tightly closed as you feel his cock slide itself to the hilt, using your gathered arousal to aid in his thrust. You cry out, the stretch is both painful and pleasurable. Bucky groans, feeling the way you clench around his cock, feeling the tightness of your cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Taking me so well.” For a few moments, you just stand there, Bucky letting you adjust to his cock, to the feeling of being filled up completely. You had sex before, plenty of it, but you never took a guy bare.

But Bucky, the way his cock sat inside of you, not even moving and it still shooting sparks into your stomach, was something you’d never thought you’d experience.

“Can I move, baby? You alright?” You nod your head while Bucky places another kiss on your back, pulling his cock out to the tip, and pushing back in.

“Ahh-”

“Feel good, sweetgirl?” Words simply do not exist anymore, Bucky whispers against you with each thrust of his cock, his movements slow at first, allowing you to take the most pleasure out of it, trying so hard not to cause you any pain.

The wet noises of your body's meeting over and over again fill the air, and somehow it drowns out the music of the party. Bucky’s groans and your moans tangle together as you buck your hips to meet his thrust, accommodating his cock.

“So good, baby.” You clench at his words, milking his cock. Bucky smiles, looking down at you.

Bucky’s metal arm comes around your bare stomach, making your thighs fall open wider, “Like when I praise you? Your pretty little pussy loves when I tell her she’s doing a good job, baby.”

A single digit finds your clit, Bucky rubs at it, slow tantalizing circles as you buck into him.

“I want you to come on my cock, I need to see this pussy clench around me harder.” Your body involuntarily does as he asks, your cunt clenching down on his cock as his thrusts speed their tempo and his finger matches the torture at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm stirring deep in your belly, the heat from the room going straight to your head, encasing you in its bubble.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises, dragging out both words, “Good girl, come for me.”

You do, moaning loudly as your orgasm rushes through your veins, as Bucky chases his release, making sure you get over the edge first. His breaths come out in pants as his cock pushes into your cunt at a punishing speed. “I wonder how your daddy would feel if he knew you just came on his best friend's cock.”

“What?”

[the-tomcat-disposable]

Blacked out

Summary: Detective got blackout drunk one night and Waldo decided to check in.

TW: alcoholism, death of a loved one mentioned, unhealthy relationship (well, you're reading a waldotective fic, so.. That's why you're here, right?)

There's a good dose of Waldo being gentle with the detective.

Fics referenced; You can’t win me, I can’t be beat (chapter 2) by @whenthedeeppurplefalls, and Peek-A-Boo and Sleepover by artmolonara

Read them please.

The sun had begun setting, bringing Waldo back to that day again, when his clones payed his detective's wife a visit. The terror on the detective's face and smell of absolute fear when he told them that their family was in danger was addictive. He'll never forget how fast the detective bolted out the door, not caring slightly about who they had to shove out of the way as they reached the car and took off, sirens blaring as they disobeyed every traffic law to get home as fast as possible.

The kick that he got out of the detective's terror and despair since that day had sustained him for a very long while, and occasionally when it wasn't enough, he'd stake out the detective's house to wait until they left so that he could teleport himself inside and get a proper look through.

The detective left their son alone in his crib for unspecified periods of time on occasion, sometimes to handle a case (that wasn't Waldo's— which he was very displeased with) and sometimes to run a quick errand. It was during these times that Waldo would occasionally stop by to rummage through the detective's belongings, and if Jr began making noise, he would entertain the child until it was nap time again. Their favorite games were peekaboo and Waldo tried to teach him how to say his name, to not avail (yet).

Waldo had been wandering out of sight for about 4 or 5 hours. The moon has been up for some time and watched the detective's routine through a window plenty of times to know that they had put Jr to sleep by now and popped open a bottle of alcohol or a few and switched the TV on. He had hoped to catch one of the detective's other suspects "by mistake" and scare them into turning themselves in, but none seemed to dare target his detective anymore after the last one who did had "mysteriously" died in their cell, so Waldo decided to check in on the detective... not out of concern, of course, but to make sure that they were still actively playing in his game.

So that's what Waldo did. He stalked his way to the detective's house and listened for the detective's snoring before swirling his cane and teleporting inside once the television made enough noise to disguise that of Waldo's entrance. He took a moment to breathe in the smell of what once was a gruesome crime scene— and his best one yet, if he said so himself.

'How ironic, a "living" room that once had a corpse in it!' Waldo chuckled. He glanced down at the several empty bottles on the table with a scoff and then to the detective's sleeping body on the couch, watching the much shorter figure twitch uncomfortably. For a moment, Waldo wondered if he should wake the detective from their nightmare, but decided against it. Not often does Waldo have an opportunity to get a nice, long look at his little mouse.

He didn't know what compelled him to do such a thing, but he found himself moving to kneel on the floor in front of the couch, his face inches away from his detective's. He may have moved closer if the detective didn't suddenly jolt. That damned heap of electrical tissue thinks that whatever horrific scenarios it can make the detective live through in a nightmare are more horrific than the fear that Waldo can cause them while they're conscious!

Waldo scoffed, imagining what sorry attempt of terror was happening inside the detective's mind. Regardless of whatever it was, he would prefer if the detective was awake for it. Trying not to wake them, Waldo reached out a hand to cup the detective's face. His heart— or whatever he had in place of one— fluttered when the detective's face leaned into his palm and his body began to relax.

Waldo was unfamiliar with this feeling, and wasn't sure if he wanted to explore it further, but he remained there for hours, with his little mouse in his claws (literally), though they didn't close around them for just once. He occasionally ran his hand through the detective's rough hair, noticing a few grey strands. Being a now single father thanks to Waldo truly must difficult. He only hoped that this wouldn't distract the detective, as he should always be their top priority.

Waldo groaned and stood up, disappointed at the fact that his time here would be ending soon. In a few minutes, Jr would wake the detective up with a loud cry. The detective would stumble to tend to their son, and then stumble to their bedroom and fall asleep once again the moment he hit the bed. He picked up his cane and walked back behind the couch, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder at the detective's now peaceful form. He will enjoy watching the detective struggle through the day with the painful, grief-induced hangover that he will surely have— the thought of which amused him.

"Goodbye for now, detective. Our game is not over. I am sure you will know what to do when the time comes. You are much more skilled than your peers," Waldo spoke to the unconscious detective, before spinning his cane and teleporting with a flash. Moments later, Jr's cries awoke them, and as they stumbled to his room, they couldn't shake the feeling that something happened that caused their nightmare to subside. Waldo peered through a window as the detective shook their head and supported themselves with the wall, then faded away into the darkness of the night with a hint of a grin.

He will return eventually, but not anytime soon.

...

@thatoneweirdowhoknowstoomuch wanted to be tagged

[bestworstcase]

New rosebird angst theory spotted in the underbrush: Raven having been forced to kill Sum after Whatever They Were Off Doing went sideways. Deeply skeptical about this one, mainly 'cause I'm not sure birdbandit would even maintain her very limited contact with Qrow after something like that.

Doubt.png

the main thing for me is summer is obviously alive, one way or another. rwby is a story, not real life: a woman who went missing under mysterious circumstances 12-14 years ago, who “never came back” and whose memorial is an empty grave, and who has been haunting the narrative in ever more overt ways for nine volumes now, isn’t a character being set up for a reveal that yup, she’s been dead this whole time. the question is whether she’s been enslaved, coerced into service, imprisoned, or willingly chose to join salem.

i think we can rule out “imprisoned” because a) i have no trouble at all believing that the raven we met in 9.10 had a bond to summer, and b) even if raven fled that night, she’s had fourteen goddamn years to blitz back into salem’s house for three seconds, grab summer, and get out again. she’s not a trembling spineless coward, she played cinder fall like a fiddle and planned to play catch-me-if-you-can with salem to keep the lamp out of her hands. lol

likewise, summer being enslaved as per ruby’s assumption is certainly wrong, a) because ruby is verifiably incorrect about when salem started doing this [the hound is a novel experiment] and b) because i think raven would have reacted very differently to ruby at haven had summer met with some tragic worse-than-death ending because raven couldn’t pull her to safety in time. like, we see what guilt-presenting-as-anger looks like from raven when yang confronts her later, and… that scornful “you sound… just like your mother. CINDER! KILL HER!” isn’t it. again, lol

the only cogent explanation for what happened to cause 1. summer’s disappearance and 2. raven’s naked hostility when ruby reminds her of summer thirteen or so years later is summer stabbing her in the back, which lands us Somewhere in the coercion-to-free-choice zone.

this isn’t even getting into the mountain of hints that salem has a mysterious summer-rose-shaped agent holding the fort at beacon whilst searching for the crown.

i’m convinced that the only reason the fandom at large is so resistant to the very obvious conclusion to draw from the information we know is that a lot of people—a lot of Rosebird People in particular—are very married to this idea of summer rose the paragon and raven the fuck up. like people will pay lip service to summer having been imperfect and… like, occasional lip service to raven maybe feeling betrayed. but that’s mostly in the form of “summer rose accidentally abandoned her children because she thought she could be the hero and died or worse, and raven is horrified and angry at perfect summer rose for Failing” which, uh, Doesn’t Count. lmao

this in spite of the bright red blaring alarm bell in the 9.10 flashback of “summer rose telling lies!” – in a story where this ENTIRE WAR is ultimately happening because oz lied to his wife, and then lied to everyone. in the Lying Is Bad story. what fucked raven up that night is that summer legitimately did betray her in some egregious way, i promise

[rileysghostt]

Hey, I saw that you where open for possible one shot ideas. (If you would like to, and no problem if you don’t, feel free to ignore it) I’m in need of some price fluff. How about Price having a really sweet wife that is his opposite. (Like softspoken, more on the creative side, low key hippy vibes). The boys don’t know about her, they know he is married, but then he invites them on leave to his house to meet her and idk have dinner. They come into his house and are confused because they did not expect him to live in a colorful and lifely home. (It’s very much indulgent, eh what can I say😳)

YES I LOVE THIS IDEA!! I’m always down for some fluff with Price 😭❤️ I hope you like it!!

Price x F!Reader fluff

“You want us.. To come to a dinner at.. Your house..?”

Soap pointed first to himself, then Price as he asked his question. He was definitely confused since Price had never invited anyone out to dinner, let alone at his house.

Ghost crossed his arms silently, he was also perplexed by the offer. Price had always been a private guy, he knew he was married just by the gold band on his finger, but never asked about his wife or his private life. He didn’t want anyone to ask about his, he was extending the same courtesy.

Gaz jumped at the thought of seeing more of the Captain outside of “work”.

“I’ll be there, sir. Count me in!”

Everyone turned to Gaz, surprised how easily he accepted the offer.

“Listen, I know this is out of the blue, but I figure since I consider you boys family might as well have you over. Plus, the wife wants to have you all over and who am I to deny that?” Price chuckled awkwardly. He knew this was a little out of the blue to them. However, you had been begging for years for him to bring the team over for a big dinner. You wanted to meet the men from the stories you heard all the time, the men that made sure your husband made it home after every mission. You were most thankful for that, especially.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Count me in!” Soap exclaimed with a smile.

“I’ll come by for a few.” Ghost finally piped up, he figured he’ll bring the Captain a bottle of whiskey. At the very least, he’ll get hammered if this turns out to be an awkward mess.

“Great, I’ll see you lot later tonight. Kick off our well deserved time off, aye?”

You were in the kitchen, cooking for hours as music blared through the entire main floor of your shared house with John. You were ecstatic to finally meet the Task Force and get to see a different part of John’s life. You knew and heard of Simon the most, the mysterious man behind a mask. Gruff and hard on the outside but cares for his team and the greater good deep down. Soap was the young hotshot who made it into the SAS by the seat of his pants. A great shot, yet a little aloof. Gaz was the newer addition to the group, John still spoke of him in admiration. He’s taken him under his wing, says he’s going to be better than him soon enough.

That’s all you knew because that’s all John had shared with you. To finally meet them yourself and put a face to the names and stories made you ecstatic.

Price unlocked the front door with a click as he turned the key, his other hand turned the door knob to let himself in. As soon as he stepped inside the music, along with your voice singing to the song, graced his ears. A smile crept on his face as he took it all in. He’d been gone close to 4 months, and to say he missed home was an understatement. The smell of food mixed with your favorite incense made his heart flutter as it meant that you were here. This was home.

John walked through your shared home until he reached the doorway to the kitchen. He stood watching you dance with a bowl in one arm and a whisk in the other. You stirred the contents of the bowl with the beat of the song, taking out the whisk here and there to use it as a makeshift microphone.

“Baby, I’m home.”

Price almost yelled to be sure you heard him. You jumped at the sound of his voice, not seeing him standing there for god knows how long. You threw down the bowl and whisk, leaping into his arms. The smell of his cologne mixed with cigar smoke and sweat hit your nose. It was your favorite smell, it meant your favorite person was home.

Your arms wrapped around his neck in a warm hug, not wanting to let go for the foreseeable future.

“God, I missed you..” You mumbled into his neck. He smiled into yours, letting out a happy sigh.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So, so much.” He squeezed you a little tighter, then let go fully. As you pulled away, he was already looking down at you, wanting to take in your features. Something he hadn’t done in 4 months, and god did he miss it.

You were wearing a beautiful pink headscarf, pushing back your hair to keep it out of your face while you cooked. A loose fitting, patterned blouse hung on your shoulders, as well as patterned yoga-like pants to match. He loved how bright and eccentric you dressed, it was a nice contrast between his muted beige tones he always seemed to wear.

“Dinner will be done soon, go wash up. The guys will be here soon, yeah?”

Price nodded, a smile still on his lips.

“Yeah, I told ‘em to be here within the next hour.”

A smile now crept across your face, he could see the excitement in your eyes already. He bent down and gave you a long, yet soft kiss. His hands instinctively rested on your waist. God did he miss the feeling of your soft lips on his. You pulled away, playfully jabbing his shoulder.

“Go on, then! You don’t have much time, get washed up and changed so you can help set the table!” You giggled, you were just so happy to have your husband home.

Through the loud music, you heard a knock at the door. Your heart skipped, and you jumped at the sound. Someone was here!

You pad your bare feet across your hardwood floor to your door. You opened it to see a slightly taller man than yourself, the sides of his head were shaved and a thick mohawk sat on top. Just as John described to you many-a-time. ‘That mohawk is just god awful, what kind of hairstyle is that anyway?! And what kind of name is Soap?!’ You could recall his voice, you tried not to chuckle at the thought.

“You must be Soap! Come in, come in!” you beckoned him with your hand as you moved out of the doorway to let him in. Soap smiled down at you with a nod,

“I hope I’m not too early..” Soap began to say.

“No! Not at all, please come in!! John is upstairs finishing getting ready. Come make yourself at home. Please!”

As you spoke, he took in your appearance. Not that he imagined what you looked like, but if he had, this was not what he was expecting.

As Soap walked into the house, he immediately noticed the light blue color of the walls, the hanging pictures, the smell of incense. The furniture was colorful and a little mismatched, yet coordinated. The rugs were patterned and none of them matched but it made the space feel welcoming all the same. Again, if he had to imagine where the Captain lived, this would have been the farthest thing to what he’d have imagined.

After Soap, each of the Task Force members showed up one by one. Each of them wide-eyed to the beautifully decorated house. Even seeing his beautiful wife, you. They were just in awe, yet it all made so much sense. You were the colorful one, the artistic one. You were the creativity and color that intertwined with the all logical, prim and proper.

Price finally came down from the bedroom, taking a long hot yet needed shower. He dressed in a white button up, leaving the top button undone, dockers khaki pants with a black leather belt and black loafers. The Task Force seeing you two side by side was like two sides of a coin, yet you melded together so perfectly. You were most definitely the ying to his yang.

The dinner went off without a hitch. By the end of the night, everyone was drinking some of Ghost’s whiskey. Cracking jokes, and swapping stories. Everyone was telling you their own favorites with the captain. His face turned red at every one of them, embarrassed, knowing you were hearing them. You even gave them all a tour of the house, showing off your paintings on canvas hanging on the wall. Everyone just got along so well, they loved you.

As soon as everyone left your house, they all turned to each other.

“So.. Who’s gunna say it?” Said Soap with a grin.

“Didn’t expect Price’s wife to be so hot.” Said Gaz, chuckling.

Soap punched him in the shoulder, also laughing.

“That’s not what I’m talkin’ about, you know what I mean!”

“They just complete each other, that’s all.

Ghost said simply.

[maddiethedog2]

The Birthday

I couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend the morning of my 35th birthday. It had been a beautiful, spring Saturday morning. I got up a little later than usual, put on my khakis and a polo shirt, grabbed breakfast at the club house with my best friends, and spent the entire morning playing golf.

Usually, weekend mornings are full of 'Daddy-duties' for me. Wake up, turn on some cartoons for the kids, change the baby's diaper and get everyone out of pajamas, make breakfast, then load everyone up in the car for the youth sports game-of-the-week. Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love being a dad. I love spending time with my kids. But, today, my birthday, my wonderful wife Madeline let me make the day just about me, and I love that too.

It was about 1:00 pm by the time I got home. I staggered into the house a little more unbalanced than usual, having had a few more than my normal share of beers on the course. In my slightly drunken state, it took me a second to recognize that something was different than normal in the house, but, after hanging my keys on the key hook and wandering into the kitchen, things started to feel off.

First, the house was clean. The toys, normally spread across the house, were all in their proper place. The kitchen counters were crumb free. The sink was clear of dishes. Now, I am not saying our house is normally a mess, but with kids, it's generally impossible to keep the house cleaner than 'slightly cluttered.'

"Love?" I called out, "The house looks beautiful? Did you and the kids spend the whole morning cleaning?"

My yell was met with silence. That was also odd. With the kids around, the house was always noisy. However, at that moment, there was nothing. No one was crying, or laughing, or yelling. The sounds of the latest episode of Bluey or Pokemon weren't blaring from the playroom. There wasn't even music playing. I started to become suspicious. Was anyone home?

With growing concern, I turned and left the kitchen and heading upstairs to the master bedroom. Maybe my wife was taking a nap? Maybe she convinced the kids to nap to? It seemed unlikely, but, in my happy, half-drunk stupor, I was ready to get to the bottom of this mystery.

I walked upstairs briskly, now more cautious about yelling out, not wanting to wake anyone up if they were sleeping. As I made it to the second floor hallway, I was greeted by more of what I had seen downstairs. An impeccably clean and quiet house.

As I passed each of the children's bedrooms, I peaked in, hoping to get some sign of what was happening. I got no hints. Each of my kids rooms was clean, organized, and devoid of life.

I finally made it to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As I approached the room, I noticed that the door was shut. Much like the house being clean and silent, that never happened. Cautiously, and still a little unsteadily, I approached the white door to my bedroom, grabbed the handle, and cautiously pushed the door open. As I did, I was greeted by the sultry voice of my wife.

"Why hello there big boy! I see someone finally made it home for his birthday surprise!"

Like a dog anticipating a treat when they hear their master reach for the treat bag, I suddenly was overcome by an overwhelming sexual anticipation for what was coming next. I could feel my cock, flaccid and unnoticed just moments before, grow larger and harder, pressing against my khakis in a way that made my feelings for my wife obvious to anyone who could see me.

Now driven by lust, I abandoned my previous sense of caution. I flung open the door to my bedroom to reveal my wife lying on top of the comforter of our king sized bed.

My eyes were instantly drawn to my wife, lying across the bed seductively. She was wearing the sexiest, laciest black lingerie I had ever seen. It emphasized her cleavage and ass perfectly. Her long, brown hair, styled wavy, was draped over her shoulder. In her hand was a riding crop, a favorite tool for administrating 'punishments' in our house.

"Happy Birthday Baby! I thought maybe we could celebrate together today?" My wife, Melody, said seductively, smacking the leather end of the riding crop in her empty hand for emphasis. I felt blood flow to my penis as she spoke. Suddenly, my member was straining against the confines of my boxer briefs and khakis. This was going to be a good birthday.

Noticing my arousal, Melody climbed off the bed, leaving the riding crop behind, and walked up to me. She grabbed my now rock hard penis over my pants with one hand and used her other hand to pull my head down into a passionate kiss. I immediately reciprocated.

As we kissed, Melody, despite being 8 inches shorter and 100 pounds lighter than me, used the leverage she had from handling my penis to maneuver me to a position where my back was to the bed as we kissed. Once I felt the back of my knees brush against our king-sized mattress, Melody surprised me with a shove to the chest, forcing me to lie on my back on the bed. Then, with a mischievous grin on her face, she reached for my belt and the buckle of the pants, expertly undoing both and ripping my pants off.

"We can't have you wearing these! They'll just get in the way!" She exclaimed as she through my khakis to the ground unceremoniously. I grinned in anticipation as Melody climbed on top of me, straddling me at the waist, and began rubbing her still panty clad pussy on my still underwear covered penis.

As she continued the motion, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Oh, you like that big boy?" I just moaned in response. I could feel pre-cum leaking out of my penis into my underwear.

"Yeah, I bet you do, you naughty little boy," She continued. I just moaned again. However, the friction felt so good, along with the dirty talk, I suddenly was becoming worried that I was going to cum even before we started to have sex. I tried to turn my head away and think of something else, just to extend the amount of time this would last.

Melody laughed as I turned my head away, clearly aware of what I was doing. I started to blush in embarrassment at the realization that she new I was at risk of losing control even before we started fucking.

"Oh, does this feel a little TOO GOOD for you baby? We can't have that! Let's slow things down," Melody said, climbing off of me, and, thankfully, giving me the chance to slow down. I looked down at my blue boxer briefs and saw a distinct wet spot from where my pre-cum had soaked into my underwear. Melody looked at it to, frowned playfully, but didn't say anything about the stain immediately.

"I want to make this last all day for you, so let's try something else," Melody said as she walked over to our nightstand. I followed her shapely, barely covered ass as she moved around the bed. Then, for the first time, I noticed some new things about the room.

First, on the nightstand were a number of 'supplies' I had never seen before. On the nightstand was a blindfold, a contraption with leather straps I couldn't quite identify but looked like it was meant to go around a person's head, and a pair of large, noise cancelling wireless headphones. Looking closer to me, I noticed that our bed was slightly different as well. Rather than being covered in our normal comforter and pillows, the bed was covered in nothing but black satin sheets. Also, interestingly, there were now wrist and ankle restraints attached to each corner of the bed, waiting patiently to pin down whoever was strapped into to them. I couldn't help but grin. Today WAS going to be a good day. I'd never been so glad that we slowed down early.

Melody turned around from where she stood, bent over the nightstand. "Like what you see?" She asked, wiggling her ass playfully as she grabbed the blindfold in her other hand.

I laughed, "Oh yeah."

"Well, big boy, I've got something special in mind for you today, but, its a surprise, so I need you to let me take control," she said as she returned to my position on the bed. "So, first, put this on." Melody handed me the blindfold.

"Kinky," I said playfully, complying with her command and blindfolding myself.

"Oh, you don't even know," Melody said. "Now, lay back on the bed and spread out your arms and legs. Today is about me taking care of you."

Excited by where this was going, I did as she asked. I spread out my arms and legs and felt as she, with surprising expertise, strapped me into the wrist and ankle restraints.

"What's gotten into you Melly? You never want to play like this?" I asked as she strapped me in, a little disappointed that with the blindfold on, I couldn't see my wife's marvelous body.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Now, no more talking, baby!" She said. Suddenly, I felt something soft and rubber brush my lips. "Open up and take this," Melody suddenly said.

I did as she asked and let the rubber object enter my mouth. As it filled my mouth, I felt it suddenly stop as a hard piece of plastic hit the outside of my lips. Panic suddenly hit me as I realized what this was--a pacifier.

Since before Melody and I had even started dating, I had an ABDL fetish. Specifically, I loved the idea of diapering, babifying, and humiliating strong, independent women. I did not know where it came from, and in a lot of ways, I loathed the fetish. The idea that humiliating and infantilizing women turned me on, despite my actual strong feminist values, disgusted me. As a result, I never acted on it and had never shared my fetish with Melody, or any other woman for that matter. That had not stopped me from viewing, reading, and eventually writing copious amounts of ABDL porn during our relationship though.

The feeling of the pacifier being pressed into my mouth created so many concerns.

First, how had Melody found out about my fetish? Had she found out about my fetish? Was she upset about it? Second, despite having an ABDL fetish, the idea of being infantalized myself disgusted me.

In my fantasies, I was ALWAYS the dominant daddy, slowly helping my partner become the helpless, infantalized adult they deserved to be treated as. I was never the one being babied. If Melody's plan was to do this to me, that was NOT what I wanted.

In the time that all of this went through my head, I was able to spit out my pacifier and yell out, "What the fuck?!?" I struggled at my bonds as I felt the wet rubber of the giant plastic nipple land on my chest. No matter how much I pulled I could not get free. Frustratingly, I couldn't see Melody's reaction to my struggles, but I could hear her laugh.

I felt the pacifier that had just been in my mouth being picked up off my chest and pressed into my lips again.

"Take this in you mouth, big boy, or suffer the consequences," my wife's voice commanded. Melody emphasized her point by squeezing my balls almost uncomfortably with her free hand.

I wasn't going to give in that easily. I closed my lips tight and turned my head to the side. When I thought I was safe from the childish soother being shoved in my mouth, I responded. "What the fuck is going on Melody, what are you doing? Is that a pacifier you are trying to get me to suck on?" I asked.

Melody with impatience in her voice, refused to answer my questions.

"You'll know precisely what is going on soon enough. Now, suck on this before I make you suck on it," she ordered, attempting to shove the rubber nipple in my mouth a third time. I refused again.

"Have it your way," she said, "this makes it more fun for me anyway."

I felt the mattress I was tied to move as Melody got off of the bed. I then heard the sound of something being moved around on the nightstand. The bed shook again and Melody got back on. I became nervous as I could feel her kneeling next to my prone form.

Suddenly, without almost any warning, I felt a sharp smack to my penis and balls. The pain, while not particular intense, as the slap was blessedly light, was unexpected and sharpe. I raised my head and yelled out. "Owww!"

As I opened my mouth, what must have been a different pacifier, given the much larger size of the rubber nipple was shoved in my now open mouth. At the same time, what must have been the leather straps I saw on the nightstand earlier, were quickly shoved over my head. I tried to spit this new, larger pacifier out. I couldn't. I could feel that with one hand, Melody was now holding the pacifier into place. With her other hand, she was tightening the straps wrapped around my head. A thrashed my head back and forth, but I couldn't stop the process. Within moments, I felt my wife stop pushing the pacifier into my mouth. However, even without that pressure, I couldn't spit it out. Given the days of my life I had spent masturbating to adult baby porn, I knew what I was wearing--a pacifier gag.

I heard Melody sigh in satisfaction as she pulled away from my body, leaving me to struggle against my restraints. "Much better," She said triumphantly, "this will go much smoother if you can't talk."

"Mmmmrrrppphh," I said, unable to form any words due to the size of the large pacifier stuck in my mouth.

I heard Melody walk around the bed, stopping at the foot of the bed. I felt her reach her hand up to my underwear and poke at the wet spot made from my pre-cum earlier.

"Oh my! Look at this, it looks like my BIG, ADULT husband had a little accident in his undies, didn't he?" she chided me with a condescending tone. I growled into the pacifier shoved into my mouth, horrified at where this was going. "I though I was married to a grown up who could keep his pants clean, it doesn't look like it though, does it?" she continued. I growled in the pacifier and thrashed around again. "Clearly, you aren't ready for big boy undies. I think you would look much cuter in diapers anyway. Let's just get this underwear off."

I felt the weight of my wife leaning over the bottom of the bed before I felt the cool metallic feel of scissors sliding up to the bottom of my boxer briefs. I bucked my hips as I felt Melody begin to cut my underwear free. I just couldn't believe what was happening. I had read this story so many times. Fantasized about it. Fuck, I'd even written something close to this once. But, every single time, I was the one removing the underwear, not the one having it taken from me. This was horrible.

"Stop that baby!" Melody said, giving my balls a warning slap as I bucked my hips and tried to prevent this indignity from continuing. "Do you want me to accidentally cut you? These scissors are sharp?"

As she spoke, I realized she was right. Even this humiliation wasn't worth injuring myself. I stopped struggling long enough to let Melody continue cutting my boxer briefs off. "Good boy!" she said encouragingly as she pulled my destroyed underwear free, exposing my ass and crotch. I felt my penis, rock hard only minutes earlier, shrivel up from the cold air and the humiliation of what was happening.

"Oh, how cute! It knows where it's going, so it shrunk up appropriately," Melody said, playfully pinching my penis. "Alright, stay here baby, I'll be back in a second."

I groaned inwardly as I heard Melody leave the room. Where was I going to go? Strapped to the bed, blindfolded, half-naked, and forced to suck on a pacifier, I was firmly detained at this point. It didn't take long before I heard Melody re-enter the room. I listened closely and could clearly hear the rustling sound that I knew must be the diaper she was holding. I listened further as Melody retook her position at the foot of our bed and placed the items she was carrying down.

"Alright, big boy, time to get you diapered for Mommy!" Melody said as I felt her lean over my spread legs.

I immediately started to thrash and scream into my pacifier. This was not going to happen to me. I was an adult. I was in control. I was the Daddy Domme! If anyone in this house was going to be diapered, it'd be Melody, not me! My struggles proved useless though. Try as I might, Melody had been prepared. The ankle and wrist restraints were too solidly attached to the bed frame, and she clearly didn't skimp on the quality of the restraints themselves. I was not going to break free. After what felt like minutes of struggling, I gave up, embracing my fate.

Melody, for her part, just giggled at my struggles. "What a silly boy, thinking he can get free of Mommy that easily?" Melody teased me as I thrashed. When I finally gave up, she said with the tone I had heard her use with our toddlers so many toys, "A you done throwing your tantrum? Good. Now, let's get this diaper on you before you make a mess on the bed!"

With that, I felt Melody lean back over the bed and place what had to be the diaper down near my resting ass.

"Lift!" My wife ordered me. Resigned to the futility of my situation, I complied, lifting my hips into the air. I felt the diaper slide underneath me.

"Drop!" She indicated. I let my ass fall onto the surprisingly soft padding.

"Good boy," She said, and I felt her begin to spread lotion over my skin. The sensation of her rubbing me brought some life back to my penis. I felt myself getting aroused again. I turned red with embarassment. The idea that I could get any sort of enjoyment out of being treated like this was humiliating.

"Oh, it looks like my little friend wants to come out to play!" Melody said as she saw my member grow harder. She immediately redirected her attention. "Well, if he wants to play, let's play!"

I started to moan as Melody gave me the most enthusastic hand job she had ever given me. She laughed as I thrusted my dick into her hand and grunted into the pacifier.

"Oh, baby likes that, does he?" She said breathily, quickly moving her hand up and down my shaft. After years of being together, Melody knew almost exactly when I was about to cum. Right as I was on the verge of bursting, she let go of my dick. Then, quickly, she folded the diaper over my penis and held it there as I came into the thick padding.

"Gotta be careful to not get any icky juices on you during diaper changes, just like with the boys!" Melody said as I moaned and came into my diaper. I could feel my cheeks turning bright red as she compared me coming into my diaper to a baby boy peeing during a diaper change. Despite the orgasm, this entire situation was torture.

Melody then quickly taped me into my padded, and now sticky, prison. She then crawled on top of me, in some sort of twisted call-back to our earlier sexual encounter, and rubbed her ass back and forth on my padded crotch a couple of times mockingly.

"Oh, this is much better," She laughed, as she bent over and pulled the blindfold off of my face. "Why don't you take a look big boy?"

I squinted as the light hit my eyes for the first time in at least a half an hour. The first thing I saw was my wife's face, staring down at me. Her made up and sexy appearance that was so attractive just earlier was just mocking me now.

"Well, take a look," She ordered.

I lifted my head as much as I could and looked down at my body. Past the ring of the pacifier that was strapped into my mouth I could see my polo shirt. Past my polo shift, sticking up just enough to be seen was a big, disposable ABDL diaper with a baby blue waist band. I groaned as I knew from my peculiar porn viewing proclivities that these particular diapers proudly labelled the wearing as a "POTTYPANTS" on the rear. The childish undergarments stood in stark contrast to my wives sexy panties, that were pressed against it.

Looking at my state, imagining what I must look like to her, I started to tear up in shame.

It only took moments for Melody to notice my building tears and place a hand comfortingly on the side of my face.

"Oh, is it embarrassing to be diapered and forced to use a pacifier, baby?" She said with mock caring in her voice, "You must be wondering why I am doing this?"

I nodded my head in affirmation, doing my best to hold back my tears.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now, I've found the little 'secret' you've been hiding to me. Masturbating to the idea of grown women in diapers? What a dirty little pervert you are!" Melody began. I blushed. "I'm going to admit, at first, I was just shocked that you hid something that you were clearly so into from me. But, I was ready to show you that, despite not really being into it myself, I'd indulge in your fantasies." Melody continued.

I struggled to attempt to respond through the pacifier in my mouth, to explain that this wasn't my fantasy. I couldn't get words out though. Melody put a finger on my pacifier in a shushing motion.

"Hush, babe. I KNOW this isn't YOUR fantasy. I found the disgusting erotica you wrote. You've always claimed to be a feminist, to love women in power, and, I'll be frank, you actions had me fooled. But, the fact that all of your fantasies seem to be about belittling, infantilizing, and humiliating powerful women, I am afraid that that doesn't seem to ring true to me anymore." Melody continued.

I swallowed nervously. This was my worst nightmare come to life.

"So, for your birthday, I decided I'd give you a taste of your own medicine. I'd treat you just like you treat those poor women in the stories. By the end of this weekend, I plan to have you acting like my perfect adult-baby boy. I've sent the boys to my parents for the weekend, so it'll just be us. I even cleaned the house so I don't have to worry about that. I'm going to spend the whole weekend teaching you what its like to be the victim of one of your stories," my wife explained.

I attempted to speak through the pacifier gag again. To plead for forgiveness. To explain my shame. Melody hushed me again.

"No, baby. Nothing you can do is going to change my mind. Don't worry though, by the end of the weekend, I'll let you be a big boy again... maybe," She said with a wink. Then, without warning, she pulled the blindfold over my head blinding me again.

"Now," I heard her say, no unable to see what was happening again, "Mommy has some things to set up, so why don't you be a good baby and take a nap and listen to some of my special music."

I felt the wireless headphones be pulled over my head. I tried to shake them off as best I could, but, somehow, she had tied them into the strap of the pacifier gag, tying them in place.

Once the headphones were placed over my ears, I found myself almost completely cut off from the world. I couldn't see what was happening around me and all I could hear was what was clearly some sort of hypnotic track. As I realized what was happening, I let my head fall slack to the bed and closed my eyes in defeat.

I knew, at least for the next few days, I was well and truly fucked. What a way to spend my birthday weekend.

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 4, Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

I hope you don't mind the delay in me posting - especially after THAT cliffhanger. I wanted to give myself a buffer before posting. I've now got 6 chapters of part 4 written so I thought it was time to share some of it. Enjoy!

————–

PART 4

Chapter 1

Sound came back first.

Muffled. Distorted. As if he was deep underwater…

Then everything rushed in at once.

Sensation, scent, taste…everything coalesced, until he felt solid again, and the world around him took shape once more.

But it was an entirely different world to just a moment ago.

The air was colder, with a bite of frost in the wind. The spring perfume of flowers and pollen and freshly cut grass was now a thick miasma of neglect and decay. The storefront to his left seemed to shift and distort, slats of wood creeping up the window pane until it was nothing but an empty, abandoned husk, so different from the bustling bodega of five seconds ago. 

And as this new reality crystallised around Matt, so did the chaos.

Screams. Shrieks. Yelling. Cars crashing. Hundreds of heartbeats suddenly invading his senses. People appearing as if from thin air, and staggering around in confusion. Matt narrowly avoided colliding with a man to his right. A man who wasn’t there a second ago.

The man grabbed on to Matt’s arm, as if clutching at a lifeline. “What the fuck, man? What just happened?”

“I- I don’t know,” Matt replied, feeling just as lost as the other man sounded.

“Where’s my wife? I was just here with her? Where is she? Why is everything different? What the fuck is happening?” The man stumbled away, calling for his wife.

Calina.

The thought of her banished the last lingering threads of disorientation. Matt grabbed his phone and speed-dilated her number. He started jogging towards their apartment building as he waited for the call to go through.

But all he got was an audio alert instead, informing him that he had no network connection.

He shoved the device in his pocket and started running. For the second time in 24 hours, he started running towards the woman he loved, heart in his throat, fearing for her safety. Yesterday’s concern had been for nothing. A false alarm.

He had a horrible, sinking feeling that today would be different.

That feeling grew stronger as he reached his building and entered the lobby. The familiar blend of scents and sounds which normally occupied this space was gone. Gone was the smell of Mrs Schneider’s baking. Gone was the smell of talcum powder and milk from the baby in 2F. Gone was the aftershave of the mail carrier - a musky, woodsy scent that usually lingered long after the mail was delivered. The blaring TV in 3C was silent. The scratch of the author in 4D’s pen against paper was replaced by the dissonant sounds of rock metal blasting from a tinny speaker. The stomp of heavy boots could be heard in the apartment below that one, where this morning a frail, elderly man had lived alone.

Everything had changed. 

Everything in the fucking city was different, and he didn’t know why.

But the why could wait. He needed to get to Calina first.

He ran through the lobby and up the stairs, avoiding the rusted, disused elevator which had shuttled him to the ground floor only a few hours ago with no problem. He flew up the stairs, past the piles of trash discarded on the landings, and the cigarette butts littering the steps. He barged through the door to his floor and ran down the corridor, already calling out her name. “Calina!”

He reached her door and started hammering his fist against the wood. “Calina! Callie, sweetheart, open up!”

A man’s voice answered instead. “You have the wrong apartment, shithead!”

Matt staggered back as the door opened. A large man filled the door frame. “Will ya quit with all the fucking banging? My wife’s trying to slee-" The man paused, his temper retreating in an instant. When he spoke again it was in a much gentler voice - either he realised Matt was blind, or he could tell how utterly confused he was. “There’s no one here called Calina. You have the wrong address, man, sorry.”

“No- I- I don’t understand,” Matt stammered, shaking his head.

Just then a figure appeared behind the man in the doorway, walking with the distinctive waddle of someone heavily pregnant. She put her hand on the man’s arm and said in a choked voice. “Wait, Darren. It - it’s all over the news. They’re back. They’re all back!” She let out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What are you talking about,” Darren replied. He turned his back on Matt and fussed over his now crying wife. “Jenny, what’s going on?”

She ignored her husband, and addressed Matt. “You came back, didn't you? Just now?”

Matt shook his head. “No. I- I didn’t go anywhere.”

She pulled Matt into the apartment and in front of the television set. She pressed a button on the remote and it sprang to life in the middle of a breaking news alert.

“-as suddenly as it happened five years ago, all those who disappeared are now returning. We don’t know why, or why its happening now, but if you’ve been praying like I have for all of that time, your prayers have been answered - they have returned.” The news anchor’s voice was thick with emotion, her professional composure straining under the weight of what she was reporting. She took a deep breath, then launched into a more calm and collected statement. “We are getting reports that the unexpected re-appearances are causing some accidents across the city, so we’re advising viewers to stay in doors if possible, while first responders deal with-”

Matt turned away from the broadcast and scrubbed his hands over his face, two words echoing in his mind:

Five years.

Five. YEARS.

“Has it - has it really been that long?” he asked the couple. The couple now apparently living in Calina’s apartment. “What year is it?”

“It’s 2023,” Jenny replied gently, as if breaking bad news.

Which she absolutely was.

“Half the world - half the universe - disappeared in an instant when Thanos snapped his fingers,” she explained.

“Who the hell is Thanos?”

She sucked in a breath. “Wow. Okay, that’s a long story. Why don’t you sit down,” she offered. “I’ll make you some tea-”

“I think he needs something a little fucking stronger than tea, Jen,” her husband interjected. “How about a shot of whiskey, dude?”

Matt shook his head. “No. I need to find my- my girlfriend.”

“Calina?” Jenny guessed.

“Yes, she used to live here. I live - I lived - across the hall, and she was in this apartment. Do you know what happened to the previous tenant?”

“We only moved in last November - and the tenant before us was a young man. I’m afraid I don’t know your Calina.”

“But the place opposite is empty,” Darren added. “Has been for the full five years, according to Nick downstairs. Sometimes a-”

Matt didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. He bolted through the apartment and across the hall to his own door. He fumbled in his pocket for his key, slid it into the lock and turned the handle, praying that somehow she’d be there, safe and whole and as desperate to see him as he was to see her-

But the wave of stale air that hit him told him straight away that Darren was right. No one was here. And no one had been here for a very long time.

He closed the door behind him and sank back against the wood, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. There was no point in checking the rest of the apartment. He could sense that it was cold and empty. Nothing but dust motes in the air. No scent of Calina. Not even a trace of himself.

Just a space that had been abandoned long ago.

So where was Calina?

She hadn’t disappeared while in her own apartment, otherwise she would have reappeared there, just like he’d reappeared on the street. She wasn’t here either…

So where else would she have gone this morning after he left her?

Matt checked his phone again, but it was still searching for a network. He threw it aside, ignoring the clatter as it smashed against the floor, and yanked open the front door again. He strode down the corridor, mentally composing a list of places she might have visited.

The coffee shop around the corner.

His office.

The library.

The dance studio.

He’d go to each one. If she’d reappeared in any of those spots, he’d find her scent and track her. Or maybe he’d run into her on the street as she made her way back here, battling through the throng of all the other returned souls.

He ignored the small voice inside him that whispered of a more dreaded possibility - that maybe she’d never disappeared in the first place. That maybe she’d stayed. Without him, all this time.

No. Matt refused to countenance it. He couldn’t bear to even think about it.

He would find her.

She was somewhere in the neighbourhood, and he would find her.

———

The world outside wreaked havoc on Matt’s senses.

Cries of anger and confusion rang in his ears, echoing the tumult of his own emotions. Shrieks of joy - at loved ones reunited - battled the darker sounds of despair. Car alarms blared from wreckages, the drivers having swerved around people who suddenly appeared right in front of them. Police sirens wailed. People lay injured on the sidewalks, their blood a coppery tang on the air. Adrenaline saturated every molecule around him.

Matt tried to block it out as best he could, but he was feeling just as shaken as the rest of New York - and the rest of the world, apparently. Every single person on earth, at the exact same moment in time, had just experienced the same seismic shift in reality. For the returned, and for those left behind, everything had changed in a matter of minutes. It felt like the very air was vibrating with the effects of that collective shock.

All Matt wanted to do was find Calina and take her in his arms. He felt like if he could just hold on to her, the world would stop spinning around him. If he could just breath her in - and replace all the pain and blood and fear with her beautiful scent - it would calm his soul.

He tried to focus on that goal, but there were too many people in need of his help. And he couldn’t be selfish, especially now. All he’d ever wanted was to help the people of his neighbourhood - and they needed help now more than ever.

So on the way to his first destination, he staunched the bleeding from a gashed leg, waiting with the shaken woman as the EMTs arrived. He battered down a boarded up doorway to free the old man trapped inside. He followed the sound of weeping to a small child huddling in an alleyway. He lifted the trembling little boy in his arms and carried him to the nearest police officer.

“Thanks,” the officer said, patting the child on his back. “There’s a holding area a block over where all the kids are waiting for their parents - I’ll take him there and make sure he’s safe.”

“Is there anything else I can do around here to help?” Matt asked. “You look like you have your work cut out for you.”

“Nah, man, it’s actually calmed down a lot compared to an hour ago. And now we’re just seeing lots of happy reunions, so it’s actually a good day.” Matt could hear tears in the officer’s voice, the emotion hitting him hard. “Can you imagine what this little one’s parents are feeling, racing over here to get ‘im?”

“I imagine its a whole lot of relief and joy.”

“Yeah. We never thought it would happen - that people would come back. It’s…” The man tailed off, unable to finish the painful thought. “Anyway, you should go, man. Go find your loved ones.”

Matt nodded, and started heading in the direction of Calina’s favourite coffee shop, hoping his loved one was there.

She wasn’t.

But it seemed like half the population of Hell’s kitchen was.

The place was teeming, with people spilling out of the door and lining up around the block trying to get in. The reason became clear when a harried-sounding waitress borrowed a bullhorn from a nearby police van and stood on a table to address the crowd. “The wifi is down! I’m sorry to all of you who are waiting to try to use it, but the internet servers have crashed due to the sudden surge of traffic. You can come in if you’re buying coffee, but if you’re trying to get on the net, its offline!”

Complaints and frustrated cries rose from the crowd. The teenage girl beside him started to sob. “But I need to email my mom or something! My phone’s not working and I don’t know her number.”

Matt tried to reassure her. “I’m sure your mom’s on her way here. The police have set up a holding area on the corner of 95th and 45th. If you go there, I’m sure she’ll be able to find you.”

“Really?” she sniffled. “Okay. I’ll try that. Thanks.”

The girl took off running, and Matt moved on to his next option for finding Calina - the dance studio.  But it was deserted, the door sealed off with thick slabs of wood. So many businesses along the route were in a similar state of abandonment, the once thriving, bustling neighbourhood having fallen into a state of neglect.

As he walked to the library, the wide cracks in the pavement swallowed the tip of his cane, and the stench of garbage left lying on the street overwhelmed his nose. Rats scurried behind bushes and hundreds of pieces of paper fluttered in the wind. They were stuck to trees and pasted to shop windows, curled and dried scraps that rustled in concert with the dying fall leaves.

It was eerie. As if he was wandering through a decaying world.

Signs of life returned as he neared the library. Similar to the coffee shop, it was full of frustrated people trying to contact their loved ones through an internet that had failed. Matt forced his way through the crowd and into the main room…but there was no evidence of Calina. Matt tried to stay optimistic, but his hopes of finding her were dwindling. And he only had one place left to try: his law firm.

Which, as it turned out, was no longer his law firm.

Matt’s first clue that something had drastically changed was the odour in the stairwell. Gone was the faint scent of printer fluid, and the musty smell of the textbooks which lined the walls of Foggy’s office. Gone was the ever-present aroma of stale, bitter coffee. All the familiar smells were replaced by the strong stench of acetone. Matt’s nostrils twitched with the acrid smell as he reached the outer door. He brushed his hand over the wall to the right, where the embossed sign ‘Nelson, Murdock and Page’ should have been found. A noticeboard resided there instead, layered with old, curled up pieces of paper which crinkled beneath his fingers.

Matt pushed open the door, already knowing his trip here was futile - there was no scent of Calina anywhere.

“We’re closing!,” a voice called out. “In case you haven’t noticed, the world’s gone crazy - again! Your manicure, or facial, or whatever, will have to wait.”

That explained the acetone smell, Matt thought. His office - the home of the law firm he’d set up with his closest friends, the place where he’d been given a second chance to work with them - was now a beauty salon.

“No, I was looking for someone,” Matt said, stepping into the shop.

“You mean the guy who poofed into here and gave us all a heart attack?”

“Wait, Foggy was here?” Matt had been concentrating so much on finding a trace of Calina, he’d overlooked the scent of his friend. Which - now that he was paying attention - was lurking beneath the chemical smell of the salon. It was fresh - barely a couple of hours old - which placed Foggy here at the time of everyone’s ‘return’.

Foggy had disappeared, just like him.

Matt exhaled, relieved to know the fate of at least one person in his life. “Was there a woman here too? A tall blonde?” he asked, wondering about Karen. She used to change her perfume daily, so it was always more difficult to pick her out of a crowd.

“No. Your friend asked that too. But we haven’t seen her in years. She used to come and collect the mail when we first took over the lease, but then she stopped. Moved out of the city, I think.”

Karen had stayed?

Shit. He and Foggy had disappeared, and she’d been left behind?

God, what had the last five years been like for her?

Matt thanked the woman and left, his head spinning. He trudged down the stairs and out onto the street again. The chaos from earlier had subsided, just as the police officer said. The confusion and mayhem had given way to some semblance of order, and the noise had quieted.

Which wasn’t exactly a good thing, from Matt’s perspective. That noise had helped to drown out his thoughts. His trek through the city - helping people and searching for Calina - had given him a goal to focus on, with no time or energy left to spiral into worst case scenarios.

But now…that was all he could think about.

What if she’d stayed, just like Karen? What if Calina had been here the whole five years? Without him.

Matt rubbed a hand over his chest as he walked, the pain of that thought causing his heart to pound and a nauseating oily pit of dread to open up in his gut.

No. God wouldn’t be that cruel, would he?

No. She was probably back in his apartment right now, waiting for him. She could have gone to that bagel shop she liked and disappeared from there. Or to the Widows’ house. There were a million places in the city that he hadn’t checked. The sensible plan was to go back to his place and wait for her there.

Matt stuffed down the feeling of dread, and focussed on his new goal. Until he had proof that she’d stayed, he would keep searching.

Keep hoping.

He headed back to his apartment, this time avoiding the more run-down, paper-strewn areas, sticking to the busier streets. He concentrated on the sounds of news alerts and police announcements and the thud of his feet hitting the pavement, one after the other. He concentrated on everything but the doubts and fears trying to weasel their way into his head.

His new route took him down a familiar street, one he’d walked just this morning - back in 2018. He felt a pang of guilt as he found himself standing in front of Clinton’s church yet again.

Maggie.

His thoughts this morning had been of Calina, and Foggy and Karen. He hadn’t spared much concern for his mother, which made him feel like a terrible son.

But they didn’t exactly have that kind of relationship.

Still, he wanted to check on her, now that he was here. He made his way down the gardenia-lined pathway to the rectory at the back of the building and knocked on the door. He waited a few minutes, but there was no answer. He walked around to the church entrance and slipped inside. A woman was sat on a pew at the front, being consoled by the priest. Maggie was nowhere to be found, but her scent was overwhelmingly rich, layers of it hanging in the air - proof that she’d been here these last five years. Proof that she’d been here less than an hour ago.

The elderly priest looked up at the sound of Matt’s cane tapping the tiled floor. “Do you need help, my child?”

“No, Father. I was just looking for Maggie.”

“She left to be with the children - the one’s who’ve returned. The police came asking for volunteers and she ran right out to help.”

Matt nodded. That sounded like Maggie. “Can you let her know that her so- that, um, Matthew came by? And that I’m okay?”

“Yes. I will. I’m sure she’ll be very relieved.”

“I hope so. Thank you, Father.”

Matt left the church and continued his trek back to his apartment, grateful that Maggie was alive and well. As he turned down his street, he picked up his pace, the hope that Calina might be waiting for him overtaking the negative thoughts that were still trying to intrude. He jogged up the steps and into the lobby, then sprinted up the stairs once he was out of sight. He crashed through the door to his landing, and reeled to a stop, his heart pounding in surprise.

Because someone was there waiting for him.

————–

Chapter 2

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[redrandomposts]

🌦️ again ^^ yes i specialize in making things sadder for myself oopsies

actually 🤔 what if unsha paid them off to make it appear like ivan died when really he was just in a critical state? it's a request from his wife, who is technically ivan's actual owner since he was a gift from unsha to unsha's wife anyways. the producers get their winner, the crowd gets their entertainment, ivan gets the retirement he requested, unsha's wife stays happy. win/win!

imagine nobody else really knows and ivan lives the rest of his life trapped in the gilded cage that is his own terrarium/greenhouse in unsha's holiday home outside the city lmao. he still doesnt have a collar bc hes a good boy but now has a tracker implanted on him like how actual pets get chipped and all. it's why he literally can't step out of the greenhouse : the alarms start blaring the moment the sensors catch the tracker outside its intended bounds.

but then in true mysterious ivan fashion, he somehow manages to contact hyuna (idk how he'd do it. ill think about it later but lets suspend our disbelief some more). idk if hyuna tells anyone else that ivan's actually alive but ivan becomes their secret mole for rebel operations. unsha's holiday home (or the unused annexes anyways) becomes a temporary safehouse/midpoint for the rebels. does unsha know ? does his wife know ? who knows

and im kinda picturing unsha's wife as a midway point between shine and nigeh. she's a bit more sympathetic towards humans kind of like shine because of how unsha got ivan but still views them as pets/porcelain dolls to display. she views ivan as a rescue, essentially 🧍 she believes she's doing him good by providing him rest after all his hard work when really she just clipped off his wings and uprooted any hope for freedom 🤷

anyways yes 😇

hello 🌦️!! ty for sparing my baby!!

honestly wish we'd seen unsha's wife i bet she was a baddie (never meet your heroes i suppose)

imagine her taking ivan around planets every week or so for a much-needed walk (its like going to different countries every weekend to experience something new)

in that case, ivan probably wouldn't have the most time to communicate with the rebels... and i imagine that unsha's home wouldn't even be on the same planet as them.

its alien stage! be courageous! these aliens have probably taken over entire solar systems! occupies an entire galaxy!

that being said, i think the rebellion would advance quickly, and they'd be able to go from planet to planet too... and, from then on, ivan could be a sort of scout for them as his caretaker brings him to different planets.

ivan has a moniker—maybe navi or sorrow—when he shares information to hyuna. the only one who would be able to tell its ivan would be till, but hyuna doesn't go in depth about where she gets the info, so they don't know ivan is alive.

i could write so much more but i'll leave this an open ending for now!

[frozenwolftemplar]

'Tis the season for *fun* conversations

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego (2019)

Rating: G

Word Count: ~1,152

Just a little Christmas fun, inspired by my thinking about the societal constructs Carmen wouldn't have encountered growing up sequestered on VILE Island.

Apologies if this isn't very good, I've been trying to get out of a writer's block rut and this is the end result :/

+++

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

As one, Zach and Ivy turned from the television set to stare puzzled at Carmen, feet curled under her as she reclined on the hotel suite's armchair, then each other, exchanging baffled looks. The boss didn’t usually watch TV with them, spending post-caper evenings chatting with Player or people watching from hotel balconies or lobbies or nearby concourses; questions were to be expected on the odd occasions she did join them. But for this show?

“What’s what supposed to mean?” Ivy asked, setting down her can of Coke precariously on the arm of the couch.

Carmen gestured at the screen, indicating the kiddie Christmas cartoon that was the night’s main event. Really, she couldn’t see what made it, per Zach and Ivy’s insistence, "a classic" that “they had to watch:” most of the characters were on the mean side, especially the season’s ubiquitous Santa Claus (guy was a jerk to rival Shadowsan; what about him was worth celebrating for a solid month?), the music was tinny and off-key more than it was on, and the story about a deer who couldn’t catch a break was more aggravating than amusing (another seasonal mystery: what was festive about watching someone get bullied?).

But cartoons had been nonexistent on the Island, and watching the little stuffed animals seemingly, on their own accord, move was a diverting novelty. So while it was snowing too hard to avail themselves of what Chicago had to offer and she was gaining firsthand experience of what it was to be ‘snowed in,’ (something Player had found wildly amusing: “You said you wanted to know what living in Canada was like.” “I take it back.” “Too late!”) she’d accepted the siblings’ offer to pass the night with what was apparently an essential component of American Christmas, letting herself be mildly entertained by the childhood magic she’d missed out on in the form of an admittedly cute deer prancing across the screen, singing songs with an aspiring dentist (American Christmas did not make much sense).

Being mildly entertained did not preclude having questions, though.

“Man’s work,” She clarified, repeating Donner’s justification for excluding his nameless wife from searching for their runaway son. “What even is that?”

Neither sibling reached for the remote as the cartoon cut to a commercial break and ads began to blare, the television forgotten as they stared at Carmen like she’d just sprouted antlers to match the puppets on screen. “…Seriously?” Ivy asked, the word tight with disbelief. “You’ve never heard anyone say somethin’ like that? No one, like, ever said you couldn’t do something ‘cause you were a girl?”

“Um…” Carmen furrowed her brows, thinking back over her previous life on the Island. There were plenty of times she was told she couldn’t do something: play with Dr. Bellum's inventions, hike into the jungle by herself, poke around Countess Cleo’s wine cellar, rifle through Countess Cleo’s closet (the countess had been one of the main issuers of ‘don't-do-that’s, right after guess-who (again, jerk)), enroll in the Academy, sit in on Graduation (something she never did see but that still turned her stomach), leave. But the reasons had always boiled down to her being too young, too immature, too unruly; being a girl never had any bearing on the 'why's behind the 'no's.

“Ever?” Incredulous italics slanted through Ivy’s voice as Carmen slowly shook her head. “Wow.” She sat back on the sofa with a huff and crossed her arms over her chest, the Colgate spokesman’s smile taking on a suddenly nervous air at the venom in Ivy's glare. Grabbing her soda, she slammed back the rest of the can, then crushed it with a hand that had the innocent polar bears giving a growling crunch in alarm. “Guess VILE had something going for them after all.”

Confusion deepening (because how could VILE have anything going for them?), Carmen turned to Zach, the bowl of popcorn speckled with M&Ms and marshmallows sitting uncharacteristically forgotten in his lap. “Did I miss something?”

Zach blinked. “Apparently, sexism.”

“Sexism?" Carmen repeated slowly, the word an unfamiliar texture on her tongue. She flicked her gaze down at Ivy’s venomous snort, then bounced back to Zach. "What’s sexism?”

Zach's ears suddenly flamed to match his hair. "Uh..." He turned his attention to the all-consuming task of rummaging through the popcorn bowl for any bits marshmallows that’d survived Carmen’s turn with the bowl (a futile endeavor; she’d been commendably thorough). “You wanna take this one, Ives?”

“No.” Zach yelped as Ivy, face black, snatched her own handful of candy-dotted popcorn and champed it viciously, letting the unfortunate kernels pay for the insults of those idiots back at the track.

“But you have experience!”

“Experience?” (you could have experience at sexism? What, was it some sort of sport?)

“Which I’m *not* interested in rehashing!”

“Hey guys.” The brewing argument was doused by the sudden appearance of Player on the laptop monitor as it flickered to life on the coffee table. A bright lilt of laughing voices filtered through the door of the unfamiliar room he’d set up in, combining with the Santa hat sitting askew atop his head and array of snowmen, smiling elves, and red and green garnitures scattered about the space to give the (mostly) familiar tableau an unusually festive air. “Managed to snag a break from the family get-together festivities, so I thought I’d check in on how the snow day- well, night’s going.“

“Carm has a question for you!”

If Player was taken aback at Zach’s just-this-side-of-desperate interruption, he didn’t show it beyond a brow jumping into the faux-fur brim of the hat, merely turning to Carmen with a willing smile. “Sure thing. Fire away Red.”

“What’s sexism?”

The grin dropped, replaced with an expression that was dead-ringer for the ones Zach and Ivy had worn minutes before (was this a part of sexism?). “Sexism? For real?”

“Yes.”

Silence filtered through as realized that yes, his speakers were functioning properly, meaning that no, he hadn’t heard wrong. “Uh-huh…what are you guys watching again?”

“’Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’”

Ah (well, now he had something else to add to the list of why he didn't like that cartoon).

“Ooooohhh boy.” Blowing out his cheeks, Player pulled off the hat and ran a hand through his hair, tipping the chair onto its back legs. He didn’t mind explaining things to Carmen, and really enjoyed being her guide to the world beyond VILE (truly; he wouldn’t have it any other way), but some things…well, some things are never fun to explain.

But she’d asked, so he’d do his best to answer. This should be interesting. “Well, you see Red…”

Ten eye-opening minutes later, Carmen was seething hotter than Ivy and on her way to blow off steam in the hotel’s complimentary gym, the cartoon having lost all magic.

Because while the truth of sexism was upsetting in and of itself, the realization that VILE, of all places, was free of the sin, and the mess of raveled feelings that burst from it, was a thousand times worse.

+++

Because at VILE, they believe in equal-opportunity evil, and they have a zero-tolerance policy for sexist comments. 🙃

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! 💙

[positivelybeastly]

If you could make movies about Hank, how many would you do and what could we see in them? Like an origin story, specific storyline etc. Would it be live action or a cartoon/animation, if live action who would you cast as Beast?

Now this is a fun thought experiment!

So, I actually think that if I was going to focus specifically on Hank, I would want multiple series, each separated according to decade or periods of his life, as it were, and we're going to mix media a little bit. Bear with me. This is probably going to be a multi-part series, so, here's the first part.

60s/First Class

So, we start off with a live action series that begins in medias res - alarms are blaring, people are rushing through corridors, klaxons are bathing corridors in red light. Through it all, a young man with a frightened but determined look on his face fights through the tide until he reaches a room full of radiation suits. He pulls one on, takes a few deep breaths, and then pushes through into a reactor room that's clearly going critical.

No music. No dialogue. No sound, except for the thumping of a heart beat and the sounds of this intricate mechanism being cajoled, being calmed, being put right again, until eventually the alarm lifts. Now it's just the sound of heavy, panicked breathing, and the man keels over at the railing nearest to him as a group of men in identical radiation suits rush to him. He blacks out.

When he comes to, he smiles at the woman sitting beside his bed, and moves as if to kiss her, but she smacks his arm, before embracing him and kissing him. A doctor moves in to talk, but there's still no dialogue, just soft music. A small montage of people in suits, offering the man in the bed a lot of paperwork that he signs. Before long, he's well enough to leave the hospital, and he and his wife drive to a farm. They stand on the outskirts, arms wrapped around one another. Camera pulls back, revealing the name on the mailbox.

McCoy.

Cut to the intro, which is nuclear flames, genomes shattering, a mysterious, animalistic figure gazing out of shadow with yellow eyes that turn into spotlights, revealing the title of the show.

'X-MEN: BEAST - FIRST CLASS'

17 YEARS LATER

A young man who's the spitting image of the man we saw in this prologue sequence is being harassed by a young woman with blonde hair. They're talking about the last quiz they just had to take in Biology, and the young woman tells the young man that he needs to stop hiding who he is. How brilliant he is. He tells her that he's on the high end of normal, and she scoffs. They walk by a football tryout, where the coach is harassing his team, telling them that any old nerd could do better than them.

"You, McKay - over here, show 'em what I mean."

"It's McCoy, sir, and I don't know quite what you mean?"

The coach becomes ever more insistent. McCoy shrugs, shaking his head. He kicks the ball. It sails clean, hits the goal - at the other end of the pitch. The coach is flabbergasted. He wants McCoy for the team, but McCoy is uncertain - until the team kicks off, saying they don't want this gorilla on their team. One of them, identified as Janssen by his jersey, is particularly venomous, and McCoy gives him a coldly furious look.

"Coach, what position does Janssen play?"

Smash cut to the same number on the team, but with MCCOY on the back. Sports montage, naturally, with MCCOY as star player, intercut with the occasional side-eyed look from a parent or onlooker whenever he does something a little too amazing.

Jen is the love interest of the movie. She's great.

Final game of the season. Crowds are roaring, full football Americana experience. MCCOY is in full swing, but we aren't seeing things from his perspective, we're seeing things from somewhere up in the bleachers - from some kind of scope. It zooms in hard on MCCOY, a finger tenses, squeezes - misses. Screaming, hysteria. The scope view panics as MCCOY comes charging towards it, and we zoom out to see Janssen as McCoy clambers up the side of the bleachers with unnatural ease.

They fight. McCoy knocks the rifle away, but he's a little too strong, and Janssen nearly falls over the edge, and it's quite the drop. McCoy grabs him and stops him from going over, but he can't use his other hand to hold on to the bleachers and Janssen at the same time. He knocks off his shoe, and we get our first look at an oversized foot that looks to be as dextrous as a hand. McCoy moves to use this odd limb to help Janssen up.

Janssen hisses. Says he'd rather die than get help from a filthy stinking mutant that crawls all over human girls like he's a real man. He smacks McCoy's hand away, drops. We don't see the impact, but McCoy does. His eyes widen. He yanks off the football helmet and throws up, staggering as he climbs back up, just in time for the officials to come storming in. He looks red-faced, shaking. He looks guilty.

We cut to the farm. The McCoy family are quiet, withdrawn - worried. The parents keep looking outside, where their son has taken to disassembling and reassembling every piece of farm equipment available to him, as if that's going to make him feel any better. Edna and Norton talk, and they feel guilty, Norton especially, about the legacy they've given poor Hank, as we pan up over the kitchen counter and see a newspaper headline exclaiming about the mutant panic taking over the nation.

A knock at the door. Norton looks pale, so Edna answers - to a man dressed like some kind of Conquistador, which he identifies himself as. He brings out a sword and seems to cast some form of electricity with it, striking down Edna and Norton, drawing their son back to the house with a speed that defies thought, and it's only this lightning sword that stops him from bowling the man over right there and then.

The Conquistador wants this young man, Hank, to do him a favour - use his father's ID card to steal some specific components from the nuclear power plant he works at. He looks basically identical to him, he shouldn't even be questioned. His sword twitches in the direction of Hank's parents, and his jaw sets. He agrees.

A short, tense sequence at the power plant. Hank does the deed, but it's dangerous and it goes wrong, the alarms are sounded - but he gets away. He escapes to a warehouse where his parents are being held by the Conquistador's men, and the man is raving, rambling.

Hank trounces them, effortlessly. It's superhuman to watch, and Edna and Norton are wide eyed as Hank frees them, all of them silent. Norton opens his mouth, apologises. Hank doesn't understand, apologising for what? Norton gestures at Hank's obviously overgrown hands and feet. For that. That's his fault. Hank's expression darkens, and Norton realises what he's said without thinking, and he looks to Edna, but she doesn't know what to say. Behind them, the Conquistador is getting back up, pulling up his sword, aiming it at Hank's back.

A ruby red beam comes out of nowhere, blasting it away, and Hank turns around, to see . . .

The Professor explains who he is. What the people with him are, what Hank is - a mutant. Hank already knows, and the Professor smiles a little, because of course Hank does. The conversation continues, and Hank is interested, intrigued, even - he keeps glancing back at his parents, but they look very uncertain, even as they do their best to give him smiles and make sure he knows they're okay.

"There will be sacrifices, Hank. This won't be an easy life. But it will be a worthy one."

Hank agrees, but before he walks off with Xavier and the other X-Men, he embraces his parents one more time. He's holding them tighter than they are him when he lets go.

The series then adapts some 60s X-Men, some First Class stories - I'd definitely want to pull in the story where Hank and Bobby first becomes friends during a vacation road trip across the US; the Unus the Untouchable arc, where Hank becomes a wrestler; a momentary flirtation with Jean Grey, before he realises who she's pretty much destined to end up with; the beatnik foot cult; Magneto.

Costumes change, villains go by, and Hank is enjoying himself, growing, but as he grows older, he seems less satisfied.

Especially since we find out that Xavier wiped Jen's mind, and she no longer remembers Hank. For their safety. Hank is. Not pleased. It's the first wedge between him and the Professor, and they paper over it, but. It sticks.

Towards the end of the series, he receives a letter in the mail, and when it comes time to do Danger Room exercises, he's conspicuously absent. Xavier is oddly reticent to talk to him, and instead suggests that Scott, Bobby, Warren and Jean talk to him instead. Hank is in his room, the letter in his hands, and seeming torn. They all talk.

Hank wants to leave the X-Men. The very concept shakes them a little - the last time this happened, Unus attacked and they were nearly defeated - but the newfound confidence of having done this for a few years now means that they understand why Hank wants to move on. Everyone's been thinking about it, actually, Hank's just the first one to have a place he wants to go to rather than just 'not the school.'

They embrace. Bobby in particular takes a little longer than everyone else to let go, and it's clear it's killing him a little that Hank is going, but he does let go.

The final scene of the series is Hank in civilian clothes saying his final goodbyes. There's not a dry eye in the house. Jean kisses him on the cheek, Bobby hugs him way too hard, Scott clasps his shoulder, Warren gives him a fistbump. The Professor shakes his hand. They're all sad to see him go, but this is for the best.

Hank gets into his car, and starts it up. He looks back at the Mansion, the X-Men, wistfully, thinking, for a moment, that he should stop and go back. But in the end, he puts the car in gear and drives. As he leaves the Mansion, he adjusts the rear view mirror.

For the audience, Hank is replaced by something wearing his clothes. Dark furred. Monstrous. Unfamiliar. Familiar. Yellow eyed.

End credits. End of the series.

To be continued.

I actually have no idea who I'd want to play a young Hank, I'm not as up to date on young actors as I'd like, but I've been recommended someone called Noah Centino for a 17-20 year old Hank, so, sure? Whoever they are, they need to be able to pull off Hank's distinctive Superman curl.

I'd definitely want an almost sort of 'The Incredibles' tone to the X-Men sections of this series, where it's all deathly dangerous but the X-Men almost don't seem to realise until they do. Michael Giacchino does the score, because the man can do no wrong.

[eretzyisrael]

Why is Avi Shlaim recycling ‘Baghdad bombings’ theory?

Why is Oxford professor Avi Shlaim blaming Zionist agents for forcing the Jews out of Iraq with a series of bombings? The answer lies in his new childhood memoir, argues Lyn Julius in The Jewish Chronicle:

Avi Shlaim, a professor of history at Oxford, has been no stranger to controversy, attracting criticism from his fellow academics.

Benny Morris has called Shlaim “sloppy”, and slammed his work for “one-sidedness and plain unfairness.”

Now in retirement, Shlaim has just published Three Worlds: Memoir of an Arab-Jew. This is a personal account of his childhood and teenage years straddling three worlds: Iraq, where he was born, Israel where his family resettled, and the UK, where he has lived since 1966.

Aged five, his was a brutal uprooting from a comfortable Baghdad mansion with servants. At a time of rising antisemitism during the 1948 war with Israel, the family fled Iraq to begin new lives in Israel. His father, a prosperous importer of building materials with influential Muslim friends, was completely undone by the move and his much younger wife, once a society hostess, was forced to work as a telephonist.

The marriage broke down. Young Avi brought his emotional baggage to his Jewish school in London, where a friend testifies to the fact he smuggled in non-kosher burgers to spite the headmaster.

During his academic career, Shlaim became more and more stridently anti-Israel. Today he calls it a “colonial settler state”, even though Mizrahi Jewish communities, now comprising over half of Israel’s Jews, predated the Arab conquest and Islam by 1,000 years or more.

The “Arab-Jew” of the title will raise a few eyebrows: the expression is used by some anti-Zionists who deny Jews from Arab countries a separate identity.

But the plaudits have been flowing from reviewers’ pens for Avi Shlaim’s new book. Eugene Rogan, author of “The Arabs” called it the best book he had read all year.

Max Hastings had this to say in the Sunday Times: “This remarkable upside-down tale… A personal story, not a polemic… provocative… His personal odyssey confers on Shlaim an exceptional authority for his words; he can say things that others of us cannot… his thesis deserves to be considered with respect.”

The thesis in question is that “the Zionists” planted bombs in Baghdad to help eradicate the presence of Jews in Iraq. “The shocking truth about the Baghdad bombings of 1950 -51” blares the title of a review by Justin Marozzi in The Spectator.

But Shlaim’s theory is far from conclusive. The only fatal bombing took place in January 1951 (six weeks before the deadline for legal Jewish emigration from Iraq was due to expire) in the Massouda Shemtob synagogue, then being used by “the Zionists” as a registration centre for departing Jews. Three of the five bombs were planted three months after the emigration deadline had passed and caused no casualties.

It is a mystery why “the Zionists” might have thought it necessary to bomb the synagogue when, by late 1950 a backlog of 80,000 Jews, who had already registered to leave for Israel, were stranded in Iraq. Indeed, the Iraqi government toyed with the idea of dumping these Jews on Israel’s border with Jordan or in the Kuwaiti desert because Israel was not shipping them out fast enough.

All the evidence for the bombings points to the nationalist Istiqlal party as the culprit. An Istiqlal member confessed to an Iraqi historian, Shamel Abdul Kader, that he planted the first bomb in April 1950. The Israeli new historian Tom Segev produced evidence blaming the synagogue bombing on Iraqi nationalists.

Iraqi Jews already had reason enough to seek a haven in Israel – rising pro-Nazi sentiment, the memory of a vicious Baghdad pogrom in 1941, the execution of the wealthy non-Zionist Shafik Ades in 1948, arrests, extortion, racist laws persecuting and dispossessing them. A vibrant community of 150,000 is now reduced to three Jews.

But Shlaim claims there was no antisemitism in Iraq until the Iraqis ‘turned on the Jews’ for their alleged complicity with the British invasion of 1941 and the foundation of Israel.

It is a travesty that Shlaim should not only fail to blame Arab regimes for the mass ethnic cleansing of their Jewish citizens, but that his reputation as an Oxford academic should lend ‘exceptional authority’ and respectability to these highly controversial claims,

What lies behind Shlaim’s anti-Zionism? In reviewing ‘Israel and Palestine’ Benny Morris pronounced himself puzzled.

“Many intellectuals, in Israel as in the West, have been moved by the Palestinians’ history and their plight, but at the same time they have remained sympathetic to Israel’s predicament…. In Israel and Palestine, by contrast, there is no sign of any such complex sympathy.

“For Shlaim, Israel and its leaders can do no right. It all begins to seem very personal. What is the source of this bias and this resentment? ‘

It appears that Shlaim’s memoir holds the answer. Israel is responsible for his unhappy childhood, his family’s impoverishment and his broken home.

Read article in full

More about Avi Shlaim

Point of No Return

[oddygaul]

Plane Movie Roundup #1 - Henry Sugar, Spaceman, Enter the Dragon

Initially it felt a little weird to group things as Plane Movies, but then I thought about it some more, and… well, have I really watched something if I've only watched it on a plane? Yes, but also no. I think it’s helpful context to remember I watched something tired, distracted, and with the constant rumble of a jet engine blaring in my ear.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

I actually watched all of this series of shorts except this one last year (The Rat Catcher was my fav), but just now got around to Henry Sugar. So, this applies to all of them, but - I absolutely love the style these shorts are done in. The rapid, feverish monologues while the actors stare the audience down complements Wes Anderson’s style to a T, and the constant shuffle of the sets and stagecraft is enthralling. The actors all swapping between multiple roles adds a very odd drama to the proceedings, and the casting was great as well - I can’t imagine someone I’d rather have locking eyes with me and calmly reciting narration than Richard Ayoade.

Anyway, Henry Sugar in particular was alright. The slow unveiling of the mystery in the first half kept my attention, but when all was said and done it felt a little saccharine. I thought it started to broach a genuinely interesting discussion about the class disparity of skill mastery: for all that we romanticize the idea of the starving artist, isn’t an independently wealthy person, who doesn’t have to spend time worrying or doing anything about their bills, plans or obligations*, able to have a fast track to bettering any skill they want? Doesn’t it feel particularly frustrating that despite creative arts typically being seen as a pure expression of emotion and feeling, due to the massive time investment required to excel, they're tied up in social status just like everything else? The example here was even particularly salient to examining that idea, given the inherent spirituality often suggested by meditation which Sugar clearly lacks.

*Not to mention the cost of equipment and the networking / connections required to actually make a career out of something creative, even if you’ve already gained the skill to do it

And yet, in a twist even more unrealistic than being able to see through solid objects with one’s eyes closed, the laughably wealthy man decides to use his new wealth-gaining technique to better the world and help those around him. What a fairy tale.

Part of me wishes it followed the hinted-at horror tangent of Sugar being unable to see anything beyond the base organic makeup of all the bodies around him… but we have Luther Strode for that, I guess.

Spaceman

Wasn’t really impressed by this movie… I think what the creators found interesting about the premise and what I found interesting about the premise were drastically different. If you came here for Space Madness – Is This Man Really Hanging Out With a Giant Spider or Not??, well, that sucks, because Spaceman is largely disinterested in questioning Jakub’s sanity and is content to accept Hanuš as his giant space therapist with very little fuss. If you’re here for Loneliness in Space – Can One Even Begin to Fathom the Ultimate Desolation of the Void??, again, not so much.

Instead, the movie is essentially Toxic Man Who Was Shitty to His Wife and Spends Way Too Much Time at Work Realizes That’s Bad While in Orbit of Jupiter which… didn’t do much for me. Feels real easy to have an epiphany about how you were wrong when you’re half a solar system away and can’t actually work on that problem in any meaningful way… and then the way he tries reaching out is by sending a generic, manipulative message to his wife and then immediately flinging himself out of his ship on a suicidal one-way spacewalk? Doesn’t really feel like you meaningfully learned your lesson, my guy.

The ridiculousness of the spider did result in some great moments, though. Hanuš rollin out of the pantry eating nutella while saying “Hey, tough break bud, that sounds really rough” like he’s Adam Sandler’s fuckin college roommate was pretty choice.

Enter the Dragon 

Initial thoughts: god damn Bruce Lee is hot as fuck Latter thoughts: god damn Bruce Lee is scary

This was my first Bruce Lee movie… and what a trip it was. From the jump, I felt like I was out of my depth in a weird way when he started talking about ‘emotional content’, but still, I enjoyed this from an aesthetic standpoint if nothing else.

Mostly, Enter the Dragon was one of those movies where upon watching it, dozens of other things clicked into place in my head - media that was inspired by it, media that has parodied it, media that’s reverent towards it. And here, unlike many other times where I’ve first experienced older, hugely influential works, I was immensely entertained. The music is groovin start to finish, it has some of the best funny cheese moments (Bruce throwing the snake into the guardroom, the facility guards walking around with nunchuks like that’s a thing that anyone does), and the fight choreo is killer. Lee absolutely schooling O’Hara in their duel with that move like water shit… mmm. Give me more of that.

Okay, so the other thing that really struck me is how fucking scary Bruce Lee is in this movie. Now, maybe I just think of kung fu movies as lighthearted due to their constant parody in pop culture, or because the ones I actually grew up with, like Kung Fu Hustle, are decidedly comedic - but even putting that aside, I think Enter the Dragon genuinely is intentionally tongue-in-cheek much of the time. It even plays into the nonviolent, “don’t worry, they’re just sleeping” trope with Bruce only knocking out the guards on his nighttime excursion. So it came as a real shock every time Bruce Lee just straight up fucking brutally murdered a dude. Look, with O’Hara it makes sense, he absolutely had it coming, but it’s still wild to watch the camera slowly pan into Bruce Lee’s face, fully focusing on his thousand-yard-stare, theremins going wild in the background. Not a man to fuck with.

[the-tomcat-disposable]

Short fic based off of this by @nami-ramen because I couldn't stop giggling about it

Summary: the Waldos take turns tossing around the detective. Why not play with their food a little bit?

TW: non consensual tossing?? I guess. Very briefly implied murder.

No beta read we die like Waldo's victims.

Shoutout to the dumb little joke me and @wyvernet made once about the Waldo clones calling each other who/what/when/where/how

The detective was by no means a morning person. They blinked their eyes open and groaned at the tightness in their head as their alarm blared obnoxiously. Ever since they were assigned to Waldo's case, they'd been getting headaches more frequently. They hoped that this wasn't the start of one. They reached over to the alarm clock and hit whatever button their hand landed on first to silence its beeping. Hesitantly, they carefully slid out of bed, wishing they could stay longer in their wife's hold, but their job was important.

After stretching and popping all their stiff joints, they yawned as quietly as they could, giving Wenda's sleeping form a gentle kiss on the cheek before dragging themselves to their shared closet. What Waldo would do to make their day worse is a mystery that they did not look forward to.

...

They did enjoy the morning commute to their office. The crisp air of autumn and the orange leaves illuminated by the rising sun made life feel so surreal. The morning news played through the radio, reminding people to stock up on candy for trick-or-treaters with a warning for parents to check their kids' bags afterwards for drugs and such. They detective sighed at that— it really was never as big of an issue as the news reported it to be, and they had the statistics to prove it, but they knew that there were people out there who were the reason that the lady reporting it needed to say it every year. They briefly wondered if taking a job as a news reporter would be better than the constant stress that Waldo puts them under.

"Make sure you stay warm! The weather this week—" the detective groaned as they tuned it out. Cold, yes, just like it was for the previous weeks. They saw frost settling on the ground and their breath forming a cloud when they exhaled, not to mention that they felt like a block of ice. That was plenty to know that they probably should have borrowed one of Wenda's scarves today, but it was too late. They had already pulled into a parking lot behind a coffee shop and noticed a barista catch sight of their car on the way in and run back to the kitchen.

Something rustled the leaves of the hedge behind the detective's car as they slammed the door and locked the car. They glared at the now unmoving leaves for a short while, always suspicious of a potential Waldo attack, and sighed with some disappointment when a cat jumped out of it and mrowed a greeting at them. It blended in very well with the orange and brown of it's surroundings.

"Hey, little guy—" they glanced at the cat's name tag, "Egg. You here for coffee too?" the detective questioned her, and she nipped their leg and ran off with a hiss.

"Ow! Rude! This is why I prefer dogs," they scolded. They swore they heard a chuckle as they walked to the front of the nearly empty coffee shop and entered. Thankfully, the barista had already had their coffee ready.

"Your coffee to go, Mr 'black with enough caffeine to kill a horse,'" the barista joked, wearing the forced smile that they were trained to wear, though it seemed genuine when they saw them. The detective reached into their coat and pulled $12 from their wallet to hand to the barista.

"It's still $12, correct?" the barista hummed an 'uh-huh' as they took the money and tossed it into the register. "Such a shame that this place isn't flooded with customers. It's that season when people usually do."

The detective sipped their coffee as they chatted with the barista. They'd attempted to ask questions about the Waldo case, though the detective would not answer them. A cat— maybe the same cat that bit them— yowled from outside, and the detective quickly thanked the barista before rushing back outside towards the parking lot to investigate the commotion.

"Ah, detective, hello! Fine morning, isn't it?" the tall, striped figure stood beside their car, holding the cat by the scruff and away from himself. He balanced on his cane and the cat yowled in terror as Waldo's grin widened impossibly wide before changing to look more human again. He dropped the cat and she scattered away faster than the detective had ever seen a cat run.

The detective blinked at Egg as she left then back at Waldo, who had moved slightly closer. The detective moved backwards the same amount of steps and silently prayed that they wouldn't meet the same fate as his predecessor who they considered to be a mentor. They chugged down a few more gulps of their coffee and felt it as the caffeine and heat properly woke them up.

"Couldn't you wait until I clocked in?" the detective scoffed. Waldo kept his distance and laughed over the sound of faint static from somewhere nearby.

"I believe this is a special occasion, detective. Why wait?" Waldo stepped closer. "Do you know what day it is, detective?"

"Fuck o—" the detected hissed as they stepped backward, cut off by long arms swooping them up bridal style. The surprise caused them to drop their coffee on the cement as they yelped at the sight of a second Waldo grinning mischievously at them. Would this be the end for them?

"Heads up!" was the last thing they heard before being hurled into the air with surprising force from such a lanky creature. They squeezed their eyes shut to brace themselves for the pain of the impact against solid ground but they hadn't landed against the cement. They opened their eyes to stare up at Waldo, then quickly afterwards, noticed three more clones standing in a circle. Their canes were each hooked around one arm as they held them both open.

They quickly understood what was happening as they attempted to escape Waldo's hold, though it was futile as his grip only tightened.

"Detective, struggling will get you hurt," Waldo scolded with a tsk-tsk-tsk. Before the detective could ask why he was tossing them back and forth between himself, Waldo shouted to one of them. They shouted curses as they were hurled into the air repeatedly with calls of "Where, catch!" or "How, catch!" which the detective gathered to be nicknames these pretend humans used for each other.

This continue for a while, until the Waldo nicknamed "What" had shouted to "Who" to catch. "Who" seemed different from the rest. The most notable difference being that his cane seemed lighter than the others'. They didn't have time to think on this, as they were thrown into the air once again before landing with a thud against "Who," both of them landing on the cement.

The Waldos all groaned with displeasure at this as three of them had cursed and disappeared with a crackle of electricity. The detective stood up to get a proper look at him. He was different. He looked almost just like the rest of the Waldos, except for small hairs above his lip. Before they had a chance to question this, Waldo scoffed and hooked his cane around the detective's neck and yanked them against his body and spun around, holding them there as they kicked and grabbed at the cane for what felt like longer than a few seconds.

"Detective, you had the opportunity to capture one of us just then, you realize?" Waldo grinned, purring with curiosity. He released the detective and with a gasp, they looked to where "Who" had been just moments ago. As expected from a Waldo, he wasn't there now.

"Damnit," the detective cursed as the last remaining Waldo hummed the tune of a Halloween classic. They looked solemnly at their spilled coffee on the ground, completely unsalvagable now. Their $12 was wasted all because Waldo thought a game of "catch the detective" would be funny. As a car horn honked in the distance, a static crackle sounded as they turned to lunge at Waldo, only to find a red envelope in his place.

"Dear detective, I appreciate your attempt to capture me, though you should have taken the chance to do so sooner. Don't cry over spilled coffee, now! You'll have an opportunity to stop by here again.

— Waldo"