#Embezzlement Detection

[dhirenshahca]

Unveiling the Truth: The Power of Forensic Audits & Fraud Investigations

Forensic Audits & Fraud Investigations – Dhiren Shah & Co specializes in forensic audits, fraud detection, and financial investigations. Trusted experts for businesses seeking transparency and accountability.

Google Map:--> https://maps.app.goo.gl/tiyzgYZFeXEDBBbc8

Forensic Audits & Fraud Investigations, Forensic Audits, Fraud Investigations, Financial Misconduct, Embezzlement Detection, Asset Tracing, Regulatory Compliance, Litigation Support, Fraud Investigations, Financial Misconduct, Embezzlement Detection, Asset Recovery, Regulatory Compliance, Forensic Accounting, Financial Transparency, Dhiren Shah & Co

[wyrmzone]

did i tell you all that there's a yugioh guy in genshin

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | teaser

chapter 1 release date ↠ sunday 13th october 2024

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

teaser word count ↠ 2.2k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, all sorts of crime (including: drug and arms trade, embezzlement, mentions of kidnapping and attempted kidnapping), frequent use of guns and knives, gore (non-descriptive), mild injuries to multiple characters including reader, death (descriptive).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ i've poured a lot of time and effort and thought into this so please enjoy and share xoxoxox chapter 1 coming on jimin's birthday! 🩶

16 years ago

Sehun was tired. His day was dragging on and the throbbing in his head only seemed to get worse by the hour. All he really wanted was to spend the rest of his evening at home with his family, to hug his wife, and listen to you talk about your day, but he was still stuck here. Lines creased his forehead as he sat across from the two men he has only ever called his closest friends – brothers – yet these days, it seems less so. 

“This isn’t what we agreed,” he said, lowering his voice.

Neither of the two men said anything at first, certainly having expected this response. Lee Han-Jae at least had the decency to look somewhat concerned by Sehun’s disapproval, reaching forward to pour himself a drink. 

“It’s wrong, we don’t do stuff like this, it’s more for the likes of the Takahashi or the Cheong’s,” Sehun pressed. “Not us, never us.”

Lee Han-jae was the first to speak. “But what if it is us?”

If Sehun hadn’t known the man for long, he wouldn’t have been able to detect the impatience hidden behind the curiosity in his tone. But he had, he’d known him for nineteen years.

Han-jae slid the drink in front of Sehun instead.“We have all the power to help these people, we can do this.” He glanced sideways to the third man in the room. 

Cold eyes and hard set features, Park Jihoon merely nodded before speaking. “He’s right, Sehun,” he said, unmoving in his seat. His eyes were focused on your father.  “And it only puts us at an advantage. Everyone will be on our side.”

“Everyone’s already on our side,” Sehun said, impatience cutting through his tone. “We don’t need this, it’s not right.”

“We’ve already spoken to all the families involved. They’ve agreed on the price and most of them are happy to proceed—”

“They’ve agreed to sell their own family into prostitution to make their debts disappear?” Sehun interrupted sharply, missing the way Jihoon’s fingers curled into his fist.

Han-jae paused, eyes flickering with brief uncertainty as his lifelong best friend looked at him in anger. “Don’t say it like that, we’re not criminals, it’s not like we’re forcing them–”

Sehun’s patience was running short. “You’re giving them no choice, it’s either this, or you kill them, right?”

“No.” Han-jae’s gaze sharpened. “We’re setting them up for a better life than those kids would ever have, and with the nightclub we can legitimize our money, that’s what you wanted, is it not?”

Releasing a sigh, Sehun leaned back into the leather couch. “Not like this. Under our names the club will be successful enough, we don’t need to buy innocent men and women from these desperate families to make it better—”

“We’re not buying them,” Jihoon cut in calmly. “Their service is owed to us.”

The nonchalance in Jihoon’s tone flared anger in Sehun. “No, the service of criminals who have wronged us is what is owed to us, not of their innocent family members,” he responded, looking between his two friends. “How would you feel if it was Jimin?” he asked Jihoon before turning to Han-jae. “Or Taemin?”

Jihoon’s expression remained unchanged, however Han-jae sighed, pouring himself another drink. No one said anything as he emptied his glass, and when he finished, he still seemed unsure. 

“They’ll do better under our watch. We’ll give them housing, an education, more money than  they’ll ever see in their lifetime if they are to stay living as they are now.”

“No,” Sehun shook his head. “If you really cared about helping them then you would give them that without asking them to live a life indebted to you.”

“So what do you suggest we do then?” Jihoon asked, only now sitting forward as he tilted his head, awaiting an answer.

“Find some other way for the men to pay the debts. We never have any shortage of dirty work that needs doing, they can be tasked to those jobs,” your father answered swiftly.

Han-jae and Jihoon looked at each other for only a brief second before Jihoon nodded and sat back again. 

“Alright,” Han-jae said quietly, looking back at your father. “We’ll try to stop it.”

“Try?”

“They have already been moved to a remote location—”

“Then bring them back.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh come on, Han-jae,” Sehun couldn’t help but scoff. “You speak of being the most powerful man in Seoul and yet you can’t stop an operation you’ve started.”

“Will you help us then?” Jihoon asked as though testing how far his friend is willing to go.

“Of course,” your father’s answer came with no hesitation, his heart hurting as he thought of you in the same position as those kids. “Whatever you need.”

“Very well then,” Jihoon said, looking at Han-jae and raising his glass. “We bring them back.”

It was an hour later that Sehun could tell that something was up, and it was Jimin who made him realize. 

Halfway through dinner, Han-jae received a text. “Gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. “I’ll have to excuse myself momentarily to deal with some business for the house.” He got up and looked at his son. “Taemin, come with me.”  

Taemin nodded, getting up and doing as he was told. 

As Sehun watched Taemin leave, he didn’t see Jihoon and Han-jae exchange glances, however he looked back and saw Jimin staring down at his plate, jaw tight and fist clenched on the table unlike moments prior.

No one else was paying him any attention as Han-jae and Taemin left the room, leaving Sehun with Jimin and Jihoon, as well as a few of the other Lee men. Jihoon carried on eating, his knife cutting into his steak as Sehun watched him and Jimin. 

Then, Jimin looked up and accidentally met Sehun’s gaze. 

He swallowed, eyes telling far too much before he blinked and looked away.

present day

“So,” you place the empty carton down in front of you. “Where are they keeping the shipment?”

“The same warehouse off highway 46 from Jung-gu. They’ll have several guards on watch surrounding the place.”

“It’s the same place as last time?” you ask, frowning.  “They’re not very smart.”

“Well they have tried stealing drugs from a legitimate pharmaceutical company,” Yoongi says pointedly. “I don’t think they’re very bright. But,” he adds, “they’re powerful.” He sits forward, pulling out a car key fob from his inside pocket and places this on the table.

You look down at it. “Same drill as last time?”

“Yep. Everything you need is there. You’ll also find a burner phone in there. Once it’s all done, text me from there. The police will come and seize the drugs.”

“Why don’t they just deal with it themselves?” 

Yoongi frowns deeply. “The Cheong’s have been dealing with the Takahashi’s. If the police get in there first, they’ll detain the guards and any evidence which includes their phones. If that happens, the Takahashi's get brought in…” He lets out a slow sigh. “That can’t happen. They’re under our protection for a while.”

You don’t ask any further questions. Picking it up, you turn the fob over in your hand, your thumb sliding over the metal print of the Mercedes sign. Letting out a small breath, you look up at Yoongi. “No holding back?”

Expression somber, he nods. “No holding back.”

Bang. 

Lowering your gun, you turn and walk away from the body as soon as you see you met your mark. 

Six down, two to go. 

Teeth gritted, you ignore the dull ache that starts to spread its way through your muscles. Just a few more and you can be out of here within an hour. 

As you approach the huge rusted doors of the warehouse, your chest rises and falls faster but you will yourself to breathe a bit slower as you lean against the door that’s been left ajar. 

Back against the metal, you strain your ears and listen for voices. 

You can make out at least three and your judgment tells you they’re around twenty feet away from the entrance where you stand. 

Ever so slowly, you edge closer until you can peer inside. The space ahead of you is mostly obscured by tall shelves carrying scaffolding poles — it’s the same set up as the last time you were here. The warehouse is disguised as a unit for scaffolding materials with aisle after aisle of tall shelves. This works greatly to your advantage so you can enter unseen. 

However, although you’re confident in your skill, you know that you can’t take on three armed men at the same time, so to make things easier for yourself, you draw them out. 

One hard knock on the metal door is enough. 

“The fuck was that?” You hear one voice say. 

“Oi, go check it out.”

“You go check it out, you pussy,”

“Who the fuck you calling pussy?”

“Prove it then, go fucking look.”

“I will, fucking idiot, don’t call me pussy.”

You hear a few more mumbles but you’re not paying attention as you draw the small Gerber Mark II from your thigh. Moving behind the door that’s slightly ajar, you wait with bated breath as you hear the sound of a gun cocking just a few feet away from you. 

Seconds later, the door is being kicked open further and you move steadily with it, careful not to make any noise behind the creaking metal. 

The door being pushed open further gives you better space to hide and as the man raises his rifle and steps out, aiming at the space around him cautiously, you quickly step out from behind the door to make your move. 

One hand clamps over his mouth as you press your chest against his back as close as you can to protect yourself if he tries to shoot. He doesn’t get much of a chance though, only managing to shoot one stray shot in a second of panic before the sharp edge of your knife is slicing his throat. 

He drops to the ground, body writhing and his gaze meets yours — your chest tightens and you have to look away as you shoot him once more in the head to end his misery. 

With no time to spare, you grab his phone and throw it hard against the warehouse wall. You know that the men inside will have heard the shot which means you need to hurry before they realize the rest of the guards are dead and call for more help. 

Hurriedly, you slip into the warehouse and move to hide behind the closest shelf while you hear the sounds of footsteps coming closer.

You hold your gun up towards the sound of the footsteps, ready to shoot as soon as someone comes into view. Finger hovering over the trigger, you wait patiently in your obscured position, and then the first man appears. 

Bang. Bang, Bang. The shots fire from your gun and before his body even hits the floor you’re stepping around the corner of the shelf and moving fast behind the next one to change your position before you get caught. 

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” A harsh voice bellows from where you just were. 

Of course you don’t respond, instead rushing down the length of the aisle. You reach the end and cautiously peer around the corner to see one of them by the entrance. He’s facing away from you, standing still with his gun raised. Without hesitation, you aim for his chest and pull the trigger. 

He drops to his knees first, his rifle dropping to the concrete ground before he falls. 

Your mistake is watching — from right next to his body, a man steps out with his gun raised right at you. He shoots and it misses you by a thread as you step back just in time. 

“Go around the other side!” You hear his voice call out and footsteps fill the space around you. 

Fuck. There’s two more men and you have nowhere to go from here, so you do what you have to do. 

Looking around the corner again, you see the man approaching. He shoots as soon as you stick your head out but this time you shoot back in his direction, noticing your advantage as he walks towards you out in the open. But you know that there’s the fourth guard coming in your direction so you have to be quick. 

You step back after every shot you take and after the third, you hear him swear out loud. One more look and you see him clutching his shoulder as blood drips down his arm. 

Before you can even shoot again, you’re alerted to the presence of someone behind you and just as you turn around to aim, a hard kick meets your ribs and your gun gets knocked out of your hands.

The pain shoots through you and your hand instinctively raises to the source as you stumble back, your other hand reaching for the glock. 

“Not so fast, pretty,” the guard says, grabbing your arm and pushing you against the shelf.

Your fumbling is useless and he grabs the gun from your holster, pressing the barrel up against your chin as his friends join him, guns all pointing right at you. 

Fuck. 

notes. i really hope you liked the little teaser and thank you for reading! please do share your thoughts with me as they help me when writing too! 💓

[blu3-ja3]

Hi! More context for my Cursed Gotham au! More specifically I was thinking of context for Jason and eventually the LoA and Talia. Eventually it led to all of this and I added more details to the Batfam timeline. There have been some changes to quite a few things like certain backstories and ages of certain characters.

So I was thinking that Thomas and Martha knew the Al Ghuls and were friends for a bit, Bruce and Talia both weren't born yet, maybe Martha and Mrs Al Ghul are pregnant together. Anyways during that time they make each other the godparents of their child, skip to them having a falling out because the Wayne's find out about Ra's hobby (League of Assassins).

So because there's paper work when the Wayne's are murdered little Bruce is sent to live with the Al Ghuls for a bit, like I'm thinking a year and a half because Gotham's justice systems are slow and Alfred is having trouble proving that the paperwork stating the Al Ghuls are the godparents of Bruce was nullified. So lil Bruce is trained to be Ras next in line, man's crazy and obsessed with immortality. Anyways lil Bruce just thinks he's being trained for self defense, so he can save people. Because if he could've done the thing he's seen the instructors do then maybe he could've saved his parents.

Alfred gets custody of lil Bruce and sees the kid really enjoys his martial arts. Alfred also sees how much lil Bruce hates being in the Wayne Manor and decides to take Bruce traveling to learn cool ass martial arts from different masters. Eventually when Bruce is a teen he goes back to Ras to finish his training, Bruce doesn't know that Ras is making him into a weapon. Mrs. Al Ghul is dead and Bruce doesn't know how. Talia and Bruce have a bit of a romance, nothing serious but the building bricks for their later relationship that leads to Damien's existence.

Bruce gets curious about Mrs Al Ghul's death and puts his detective skills to work and learns about some of Ras's plans. He learns of Ras making him into a weapon not the part of taking over Bruce's body. He also learns that Ras killed Talia's mother. Anyways Bruce gets pissed and is like nope I'm out, he tries to convince Talia to come with him. Talia refuses and they get into a big argument, they both say some hateful and horrible things before Bruce reveals Ras's hand in killing Talia's mom. Talia tells him she already knew and Bruce says that Talia is just like Ras before leaving.

When he's back in Gotham he's sad loner Bruce Wayne see Robert Patterson's Bats and becomes the vigilante. He gains a bit of a reputation for being extremely brutal and violent. Like I said originally Bruce didn't name himself, Gotham's people named him Batman. I'm thinking of a new reporter who writes articles talking about the local cryptid like being whose fighting crime. Like all the pictures are blurry as hell and all you can see are the squinting whites of his cowl or really blurry Batman shaped pictures of him flying across Gotham and kicking ass. Eventually as an off hand comment the writer calls him a bat man and the name sticks.

Bruce at like 16 is emancipated which officially makes him the CEO of Wayne Enterprise's and the owner of all his father's previous projects and money. Corruption has a chokehold in the business ranks due to a power vacuum. Bruce immediately starts rooting out corruption from Wayne Enterprises, initially wanting to fire everyone and start over completely. Alfred points out that if he does that he'll also fire the innocent people who had nothing to do with the corruption.

So begins Bruce's investigation of his own company, he notices that everyone is underestimating him. They think he's a stupid kid so he uses that to his advantage, he plays dumb for everyone including the media. 'I had no idea Mr. Kendall was embezzling from the company, I was going to give him a raise because if he needed more money then I'd like to pay him more but then Ms. Penelope told me where the money was going and showed me the ledgers, yes exactly... Hmm? Oh I found out because I was in his office looking for a pen, I saw the papers and didn't recognize them. Oh Ms. Sullen's front information just kinda showed up on my desk I hadn't a clue what she was doing!'

Bruce also set up the Wayne foundation to help with Gotham as much as possible; public housing, roads and parks, funding for schools, helping with health care. If Bruce can throw money to help fix a problem in Gotham he's doing it. Gotham loves their Loner, Emo, Socially Awkward Teenager, Golden Boy, Bruce Wayne and they'll defend him till the end. Like the one time a Metropolis reporter who had a live interview with a newly 17 years old Bruce and asked a rude as hell question that caused Bruce to freeze up a bit. The Daily Plant had to make a public apology to Bruce and fire the reporter.

Bruce also helps build and fund Arkham Asylum, in official interviews and outside of official interviews Bruce always has the same stance when keeping the Asylum up and running. That stance is that people deserve a chance to change, no matter how corrupt they think they are. Bruce makes a joke about Batman needing to go to Arkham, not for the vigilantism but for the fashion choices. I love the idea that Bruce Wayne has a bit of beef with Batman.

Bruce went to the Hailey's Circus and witnessed the death of the Flying Graysons, there's video of 18 year old Bruce Wayne running from his seat, jumping a barrier at the front, and quickly scooping up a little Dick Grayson from where he sat next to his parents bodies. In the video it shows Bruce holding the small boy and quickly making his way out of the tent with his butler/caretaker quickly following behind them. Gotham isn't at all surprised when the young man adopts Dick.

I think initially Bruce doesn't tell Dick about being Batman, like he's training Dick because it's a relatively healthy way of getting rid of all the anger the kid has. Bruce also takes the kid to therapy cause Bruce goes to therapy. I think little Dick knows Bruce has social anxiety and is immediately like Take me to all your public events! And Bruce does but is incredibly confused???

But it works well, when Dick feels Bruce getting too anxious about the crowd and attention Dick starts performing circus tricks. It takes all the attention away from Bruce and Dick is used to it, he loves the attention it reminds him of his parents in a way. It's their normal for a bit until one night Bruce as Batman is badly injured and stumbles back home only to collapse in a very visible place for little Dick to see. A Dick who's supposed to be in bed hours ago but couldn't find Bruce after a particularly bad nightmare. A Dick who sees his father figure bleeding out in front of him.

After Alfred saves him, Bruce has to explain to Dick why he kept it a secret for two years. Dick immediately is like I'm going with you, I'm helping you catch bad guys. Bruce is reluctant but concedes for only one case, that case being bringing in the killer of Dick's parents. A case that Bruce had been working on since that night, a crime lord by the name Tony Zuko came to the circus demanding protection money from the ring master who refused. As punishment Dick's parents were killed.

Que Dick making the Robin costume and demands no pants, he's a master manipulator and gets his way. Bruce is very hesitant about all the bright colors as well but Dick reassures him that if he can hide wearing this he can hide wearing anything. Bat doesn't immediately take Robin to find Tony, they kinda have a trial run for like a week. Bat sees that Robin is capable and proves himself to be able to hide well.

They eventually bring Tony to justice. Robin is a little menace that Gotham falls in love with and goons fear. Like I said Dick was the feral murderous Robin, goons can't hear a child's laughter without flinching and getting twitchy. Like Robin is as much as cryptid as Batman because no child can do the absolutely impossible stunts Robin performs on the regular. Not even Gotham's beloved Dick Greyson-Wayne, which starts Dick's public feud with Robin. Dick constantly "tries" to perform Robins tricks and fails, he even goes so far as to fake a broken bone after trying to do a trick at a Gala.

When Dick's like 11 Bruce helps form the Justice League, he begs to meet Superman. When Dick becomes 13 he finally gets to meet Superman, Dick also becomes the leader of the Teen Titans; Cyborg, Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy. 3 years later Bruce stumbles across Jason Todd stealing the tires off the Batmobile (Dick called everything in the cave bat- as a joke which Bruce joined in on. It was a joke until Bats said Batcomputer in front of the JL and he just committed to the bit.) at first Bruce wasn't going to bring Jason into the vigilante side of everything.

Bruce didn't keep the secret as long as he did with Dick, after a month Dick let it slip accidentally. All three had a serious discussion that night at dinner. Dick wanted to become his own hero but didn't know who just yet. Bruce and Dick came up with the mantle of Red Robin as a temporary mantle until Dick figured out his path. Dick would stay as Robin during the months it would take to train Jason and then once Jason was ready they would exchange mantles.

They make a new robin suit for Jason because Jason is tiny, like he's severely malnourished. The new suit has shorts because Jason likes shorts and more pockets for snacks, Bruce also brings more snacks for patrols. Because Jason is smaller than Dick, Bruce gives Jason a boe staff. At 19 Red Robin helps Superman and Supes tells Dick about the Kryptonian superheroes. Dick becomes Nightwing in honor of Superman and Batman.

Robin at 12 saves a 5 year old Tim Drake from something minor, like baby genius Tim is trying to take pictures of the different species of nocturnal birds in Gotham. Baby Tim is on a roof trying to get closer to the edge with his camera and almost falls but Jason saves the kid. Que a very smart small child becoming absolutely obsessed with Robin and sneaks out to capture pictures of him, Nightwing and Batman. Jason helps form the Young Justice League; Mrs. Martian, Speedy, Kid Flash, and Aqua-Lad.

Two years later when Robin is 14 he's killed by the Joker, who beat the boy nearly to death before blowing up the building Jason was in. Before this Joker was getting increasingly deranged with his laughing gas and traps. Batman didn't notice mostly because he'd been able to cure the joker toxin and escape any trap before it was set off. Superman was off world when Bats called for him so it took a while to get back to earth.

When Superman arrived in Gotham he found Batman beating a nearly dead Joker on a live broadcast. After he had killed Robin, Joker decided to taunt Batman and try to lead him into a trap. Unbeknownst to Joker Batman was fully ready to kill him, Bruce was ready to break his one rule and then turn himself in. But Superman stopped him, he pulled the man away from the unconscious body. The last thing Gotham heard was the broken wail of Batman before the broadcast was cut off.

Joker was taken into custody and placed at Arkham until deemed mentally well. Gotham mourned the loss of the young Robin and kinda turned a blind eye to Batman's sudden increase in violence. A month later Bruce Wayne holds a closed casket funeral for his son Jason who died fighting illness. Jason is buried in the private Wayne plot at the graveyard next to Martha and Thomas Wayne. There is a memorial statue of Robin in the park.

A young Tim Drake tracks down Dick Grayson to Jump City and Titans towers. Tim begs the man to go back to being Robin. Dick refuses to go back, he's mourning his little brother and can't go back to vigilantism. Starfire has to remove Tim from the tower, Tim decides to become Robin himself. Tim sneaks into the batcave and is found by a very confused Alfred. Tim tells Alfred everything including knowing the secret identities of Batman.

Tim at 7 takes the mantle of Robin and does his best to prevent Bruce from killing criminals. Barbra Gordon becomes Batgirl to hopefully prevent Batman from accidentally killing someone in his violence. After a few months of Tim as Robin, Dick holds an intervention for Bruce with Alfred and Tim. They all managed to convince Bruce to take some time away from Gotham and go traveling. Dick promises to take on the mantle of Batman temporarily while Barbra continues being Batgirl and Tim continues being Robin.

Bruce first goes to travel around parts of India while there he meets with Talia again, they're both untrusting of each other until they realize it's a coincidence. They decided to travel India together and in the process have a relationship picking up where they left off as teens. They travel together for 3 months until they have another falling out, less intense as their last one and they both mutually agree to just be friends. Bruce learns Talia is trying to disassemble the LoA from the inside and he isn't happy about all the risks she's taking.

They split up and travel separately, Bruce continues his backpacking across the Eurasian continent. After another 3 months he returns to Gotham having figured his shit out and isn't violent. Dick is happy to give back the mantle of Batman back to Bruce and he becomes Nightwing again. Dick goes to Bludhaven and becomes their vigilante. Bruce and Tim run around and prevent crime until Joker breaks out of Arkham and kidnaps Robin.

Bruce is quick to notice Tim missing because Barbara is his babysitter and the Drake's had to leave for a business trip. Both Barbra and Bruce find Tim within two weeks of him being in Joker's and Harley's capture. Harley snaps a bit from all of Joker's torture and attacks Joker when he tries to harm Tim again. In the fight Joker throws an explosive at Batgirl that catches her off guard and paralyzed her. After Joker is placed in cuffs, Harley reveals that Joker was using Tim as a test experiment for his newest Joker Toxin.

The Drake's are contacted and told it would take time to create an antidote for the young boys. They relinquish their parental rights and vanish from the public eye, Bruce steps in and takes in Tim. It takes 4 months to find an antidote for Tim but there are still lingering effects on Tim from his time with Joker and Harley. So Tim is benched and helps Barbra create the Oracle system to help Batman while he's patrolling alone. Jim is only told the Barbra was Batgirl none of the others reveal themselves.

Stephanie Brown becomes Robin at 10 after she helps Batman take down her father. She stays in Gotham with her aunt and mom after convincing her mother to stay because she has friends here. Steph helps Cassandra and the two become inseparable, Bruce later adopts Cass who becomes Black Bat. Stephanie and Cass ran around together for a few years and attended school together.

Scarecrow releases a batch of fear toxin that was mixed with Joker's Laughing Gas, Duke's parents have an adverse reaction to the conditions and the current antidote doesn't work. Bruce takes in the young boy and covers all expenses to keep the Thomas parents safe until they can find a cure. When Duke was exposed to the Toxin his powers manifested, he and Bruce talked about Duke becoming the Signal.

Bruce and Selina begin their relationship as civilians, Harley and Ivy are released from Arkham and live normal lives in Gotham. Harley becomes a therapist for the Gotham vigilantes, Tim has recovered enough that he requested to become Robin again at 13. Stephanie gives the mantle to Tim and she becomes Spoiler.

Tim starts a new team of Teen Titans with Impulse and Wondergirl, their first mission causes them to accidentally stumble across the cloning facilities where Superboy Prime was being created. They release Kon and they form their team under the instruction of Nightwing and Starfire. Tim leads this team for multiple years and ends up in a relationship with Kon.

Talia is on the run from her father with Damien ending up in Gotham and comes across a freshly revived Jason, she doesn't know how he's back but she takes him in. She finds a second Lazarus pit under Gotham and puts Jason in for a short time. She continues with her plan and takes both Damien and Jason to Bruce. Talia explains to Bruce everything she knows including Ras's plans to steal Damien's body, she explains what she knows about Jason and how to help the catatonic man. She doesn't know how he came back but decided to help him by placing him into the pit.

Bruce takes in both boys and offers refuge for Talia which she denies. It takes months for Jason to have some semblance of normal again, not enough for him to go out patrolling but enough that he's helping Oracle from the Batcomputer. He's still dealing with a little bit of pit madness but not as severe, he's being helped by Roy and his daughter.

After a few months Tim passes the mantle of Robin to Damien and becomes Red Robin until he figures out his own vigilante name. Damien meets Jonathan Kent and they become the superson together, Jon helping curve some of Damien's awkwardness from being raised by multiple assassins. Cassandra also helps because she gets what Damien went through.

Damien is the first introduced to the public and when Jason is ready Bruce makes a story claiming Jason was in witness protection services because he saw the death of Robin. Gotham is so excited to have the boy back as well as the newest Wayne.

So the current Wayne Family is Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damien. Steph has her own family and so does Barbara.

The romantic relationships for everyone are as follows:

Bruce and Selina

Dick and Kori

Jason and Roy

Tim and Kon

Cass and Steph

[chiefdirector]

Discovering | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Tim could feel the blood pounding through his veins, the sound reverberated through him. Each pump seemed to get louder and louder. Each thud was felt in his chest. He looked down only to find his hands were shaking beyond his control. If he hadn't drawn his attention away from his heartbeat, he wouldn't have noticed the tremors, or the people rushing around him as he stayed frozen to his spot.

Harper and West were getting equipment. Nolan and Chen were to one side, discussing something that Tim couldn't hear. Grey and the Captain whose name Bradford hadn't bothered to learn were to the other side of the room, silently watching the rest of the station prepare to go into the unknown.

The files that had been given out in the briefing yesterday had instructed each team on what their assignment was. Harper would be going with Nolan to check out the safehouse that was assigned to (Y/N)’s operation to see if there was anything that could hint to her current location. Lopez was to head back to interrogation to attempt to get Williamson to give up any more information. Chen was staying behind with him to review everything from the beginning. 

“Hey,” Chen said, bringing Tim’s mind back to him, “Grey is waiting for us in the conference room. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, lead the way.”

-----

“So, from the beginning, Detective Bradford started her undercover operation two years ago on the 5th of May. She last checked in with us on the 17th of May, and was declared legally M.I.A on the 23rd of May.” Sargent Grey said, sticking a post-it note to the left side of the board at the top of the room. He continued sticking post-its as he spoke. “The initial investigation turned up little but her gun was found in the assigned safehouse alongside a bottle of her medication.”

“According to Williamson, he saw her for the last time shortly after that. He turned on her a few days after they went M.I.A. But she didn't know, or she wanted to play it cool because she kept in contact via burner phone semi-regularly.” Chen said, looking down at the notes in front of her.

Tim’s head snapped to face his rookie “Was that when you spoke to him privately, or was this in interrogation?”

“When we were alone.”

“Text Lopez, get him to confess to it on record. If not, it's not solid enough to go from.”

“Tim’s right, Chen, but it's helpful nonetheless.” Grey sighed, “From then on it's pretty rocky. We have a few civilian sightings but nothing concrete. She stayed away from CCTV and any heavily policed areas. She knew to stay hidden. Which doesn’t help us, but we now know that it was intentional. WIlliamson said he spoke to her less than two weeks ago, she was near the Mexican border in Arizona.”

“Does the border patrol know to look out for her?”

“The Captain is alerting them now, as well as local police departments. The FBI has also been told of this development due to the crossing of state lines. They have agreed to give manpower as needed but let’s hope we can keep this in house.”

“So what now? We have barely anything to go from?” Chen tentatively said, trying not to provoke any reaction from her T.O with her words.

“We wait for Lopez to finish her interview with Williamson and then we will make a plan.”

-----

“He seemed to realise he was in a lot of trouble and asked for a lawyer pretty quickly.” Lopez said as she walked into the room, “I did, however, manage to get him to reveal the names of his employers in a trade for a letter from the Watch Commander stating his cooperation to whatever judge he gets assigned.”

Grey nodded his head before prompting Angela to continue.

“I had another Detective look up the names he gave. As expected they are tied to all sorts of crimes; drug distribution, embezzlement, fraud, unlawful use of a lethal weapon. And those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. However, there is also good news, none of them seem to have a history with kidnapping or anything more extreme, or at least anything that has been reported.”

“And we want to keep it that way, so we will have to be extremely careful with what we do next.” Grey said, moving towards the door to go brief the Captain about their discovery and to start to make a plan of action 

“Yeah, but there is one more thing he said before lawyering up.”

“What is it?”

“That we shouldn't waste the manpower on finding (Y/N). He said that she wasn’t the one they wanted to hurt but she was used to punish other people. Her vanishing was only a means to an end.”

Tim could hear his heart begin to pound in his ears once again. He breathed in, then out, then in again. If she wasn't their target, then who was? And if she was only a pawn in their game to hurt somebody else, then what else would they do to ensure their target would suffer. How many more lives had been ruined by these monsters, and how many more would suffer a similar fate to the ones that had gone before them?

“Who were they trying to hurt?” Tim ran his hands through his hair as the question unintentionally tumbled out from him. “Did he give a name?”

“Yeah, that's the thing…” Angela let the words trail off as she tried to compose herself. Tim watched as she took a deep breath. “Williamson claimed that the cartel they were hunting threatened (Y/N) into silence with photos of her loved ones to make you vulnerable.”

“I dont… I dont understand.”

“You were the one they wanted to punish, Tim. This is about you, it always has been.”

Part Three | Part Five

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989

Tags are open :)

[femdomdiaries]

Kinktober “Day 2”: Roleplay

Sub!Satan x Reader Drabble

Warning/Desc: 700+ word drabble, electro stim, general narrative violence, 18+ nsfw content, hand job, sex toys, edging, bondage, dom/sub relationship, is gender neutral but mentions heeled boots

Synopsis: You and Satan roleplay as a dirty detective and a crime boss.

A/N: Took a bit longer but that’s cuz it’s a bit better than the first. Next one will likely be just as slow, if not slower bc i don’t have any ideas for it smh. And I call these drabbles cuz they don’t feel like fics but they also feel a bit too long for drabbles? Idk. Format later.

The heels of your boots click heavy against the linoleum, echoing through the dimly lit room, catching the attention of the blindfolded figure seated in the center. Frustration etches his face as he tugs pointlessly against his restraints, which have him completely bound to the chair. His voice trembles as he demands, "Who's there?"

You approach without a word, closing the distance until you're within arm's reach. When you're finally close enough, you run your fingers through his sweaty blond locks, feigning it as an affectionate touch before roughly yanking his head back. The resulting sound from him almost makes you break character. Almost.

"Do you know why you are here, detective?" You ask him, your voice taking on an authoritative tone. You move your free hand to slide his blindfold down and lift his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

After locking gazes with you for just a tad bit longer than necessary, he jerks his face from your grasp. "What's the meaning of this, MC? I demand an explanation."

The dim lighting accentuates the eerie shadow cast across your face as you curl your lips into a sneer. "You don't get to make demands, traitor." When Satan's eyes widen in surprise, you nod affirmatively. "That's right. We've had eyes on you for a long time. Ever since Lucifer uncovered your little embezzling operation. Thought that was off the books, didn’t ya?"

Satan barely manages to stifle a laugh at your choice of backstory. You make a note to punish him a little extra for that.

"I haven't done anything," he retorts, voice laced with defiance, "You don't have any proof."

You respond with a skeptical raised eyebrow before sliding a hand beneath the waistband of your pants. His gaze fixates on you, and a flush gradually tinges his cheeks. "What are you doing?" he stammers, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

With deliberate slowness, you withdraw your hand, bringing with it a pack of meticulously rolled documents. His eyebrows furrow, and he starts to object, "Pockets have a purpose—"

"Silence, traitor." You slap him across the face with the rolled paper, earning a lip bite. "This is the proof. Documents, photos, all of it evidence of your crimes, of your betrayal."

You fail to hide your excitement, and Satan's eyes widen further, realization dawning on him. "...You've been planning this."

You shake your head and manage a disappointed expression. "I was hoping you'd come to your senses. I vouched for you time and time again but now it seems you've left me no choice."

Satan replies with resignation, "What are you going to do, kill me?"

"Unfortunately, you're of no use to me dead," you explain, moving with deliberate slowness as you circle around him, the echo of your footsteps only adding to the rising anticipation. Reaching the table behind him, you slide a sleek black briefcase towards you and pop open the clasp. You brush your hand over its contents, hand lingering on the arrangement of electro stim toys. "However," you continue, "your crimes will not go unpunished."

***

Satan whimpers as you stroke him again, flinching back when the shock transfers from your finger attachments to the shaft of his cock. Your other hand maneuvers a wand across his body, lingering on his chest and dancing around his nipples. Physically, he’s a mess. His demon form manifested involuntarily about four ruined orgasms ago, and now his tail lashes out aimlessly around the legs of his chair, mostly because he knows you’ll worsen the punishment if he tries to touch himself with it. His hair clings to the sweat coating his forehead, eyes once again blindfolded but failing to conceal the tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.

When his breath gets irregular and he starts bucking his hips against the restraints, you pull back all at once. He cries out at the loss of touch and moans in discomfort, a sign that you have once again effectively ruined his orgasm.

With a predatory smirk, you lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “How about this: I’ll let you go, but only if you can count up to the exact sum of money you embezzled. Starting at one and ending, hm, somewhere around a couple hundred thousand?”

Satan’s hips give one last weak thrust, which you discourage by slapping his cock and watching it bounce back against his abdomen. He whimpers. "Please, M-MC, I—I need to come. It hurts. I—"

You make a shushing sound, effectively quieting him. "You're breaking character, detective. Now let’s hear those numbers. One…" You start stroking him again.

[definitelynotaminion]

Rated "R" - Part 4

First 7k here (my blog) or on ao3 here | Skip ahead to the end of my WIP doc/see all updates on patreon (full 11k doc) | The tag i'm using for this fic on tumblr (chronological order)

-

His breath picks up, exactly like a little bird trying to keep his respiration even without the cheat of tactical breathing patterns. Giving Jason his-- fuck, his honesty here, not trying to hide behind the training!

“God, I was a little asshole.” Jason says fondly. “Leaning over you, nudging you, teasing just to get a reaction.”

“It was terrfying.” Tim says, lips pursed but audibly fighting a smile. “I was worried you’d find out that I knew. Or that I was so far from home.”

“Instead you showed me a shit picture of the sky—you totally took that right before I landed on the balcony, you little shit—and stuttered through your planned lies and let me talk you into sneaking out to the corner ice cream shop.”

It’s fuzzy around the edges, just another night as Robin before the end, but Jason remembers how easy it was to coax startled laughter and wide-eyes out of the boy, how impressed he’d been when Tim shimmied down the fire escape so easily for his ‘first time’.

“It was the best of night of my life.” Tim says quietly. Not quite wistful, but something… a treasure, here, pressed into Jason’s hands.

Jason had swung the young boy back to the landing, felt his shock and joy even as he was so quiet, not whooping or screaming—Jason wasn’t suppsoed to use the grapple with civilians outside of emergencies, but aside from the stuttering and awe he hadn’t managed to get strong reactions out of Tim.

He'd wanted to.

“I’d have recognized you.” Jason announces. His head thumps back on the pillow. “At the next gala.”

A sharp inhale.

“You… that was only two weeks before Garzonas.”

“And three weeks before I fucking bit it, I gotcha.” Jason blows out air heavily. “I don’t remember the dates, but that was April. Earth Day had already happened, so…The next one would have been, what, the Belmonts’ charity ball?”

Tim disagrees with a little noise of dissent.

“Sophia Starr held a big event in May to raise money for cancer research.” He reminds. “Her aunt died from brain cancer the year before.”

“Better that than fundraising for shitty outreach programs that ended up embezzled, or tax write offs, or fucking—early movie showings.” Jason had almost forgotten the contempt in his heart for all the different reasons Gotham’s elite got together to spend their hoardes of money.

“Mm.” Tim quietly agrees. “You weren’t there.”

Jason squeezes his eyes closed, thinking about where he was instead—and what he would have given up to be there, once the trap sprung. 

Shit. He needs a distraction. Galas and balls, little birds dancing around each other.

“If I had been?” Jason tips his chin up, eyes still closed. “What was your plan, hmm? I’d have recognized you.”

A shaky inhale as his reward. Jason grins again.

“Do you think you’d have come, even if your parents weren’t in town? Tim Drake, almost old enough to be chauferred there, to apologize with a smile for his parents’ absense. Schmooze a little on their behalf.”

“I first did that to get close to… well.” Tim lets the words trail off, lets Jason pick up what had really been going on at the time. “It was closer to the end of summer by the time I realized someone had to step in.”

“Let’s not go there,” Jason decides, letting his eyes open, see the lines in the ceiling. “We’re painting a different picture, here, Tim. C’mon.”

“Yeah?” Something soft in that tone, almost breathless. Jason gets more comfortable.

“Mm.” Jason prompts. “The mysterious boy at the gala. I’m… on edge. Fed up with Bruce’s bullshit. I’d latch onto that kind of distraction.”

“Latch onto… me.” Tim blinks hard.

“You were a mystery, baby bird. I was a detective.” Jason clicks his tongue. “Besides, those parties were miserable. You would have been fun.”

[dhirenshahca]

Forensic Audits & Fraud Investigations | Dhiren Shah & Co

Dhiren Shah & Co specializes in forensic audits, fraud detection, and financial investigations. Trusted experts for businesses seeking transparency and accountability.

Google Map:--> https://maps.app.goo.gl/Apx9ixqY6pmzdoC47

Forensic Audits & Fraud Investigations, Forensic Audits, Fraud Investigations, Financial Misconduct, Embezzlement Detection, Asset Tracing, Regulatory Compliance, Litigation Support, Fraud Investigations, Financial Misconduct, Embezzlement Detection, Asset Recovery, Regulatory Compliance, Forensic Accounting, Financial Transparency, Dhiren Shah & Co

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Charmer | TEASER | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader (ft. Lee Know) Genre: detective/crime au, smut, angst, thriller, mystery/suspense Warnings: murder, psychological manipulation and gaslighting, swearing, substance abuse, mutual obsession, strong violence, narcissistic tendencies, stalking, yandere, explicit sexual content (specific warnings will be posted with release) Release Date: TBA

As a detective, Hyunjin’s life is centered around lying and fabricating his own version of the truth. After all, to catch a mastermind, you have to be a mastermind yourself. 

On this fateful evening, Detective Hwang is working on his internationally sought-after case, which was assigned to only his genius after a string of brutal murders in the city. The savant he is, he finds his target sitting innocently in an upscale cocktail bar, instead of some kind of an underground lair. 

But he doesn’t expect this nefarious new villain to be so… beautiful. And it’s the kind of beautiful that would make anyone sink to their knees and beg for even an ounce of her attention. Hyunjin can’t help but be drawn to her charm and enigmatic persona, through their sultrily guarded exchange over drinks- but really, it’s laden with innuendos of the night’s secrets. And more than just secrets are bound to be revealed… 

...You know very well that the handsome stranger eyeing you at the bar is the Miami Police Department’s star detective, Hyunjin Hwang, and exactly what his intentions are. You’re one of the most notorious crime lords the world has ever known, overseeing every kind of illicit cartel agreement, from a global drug enterprise to a booming embezzlement affair. For years, INTERPOL has been after you, failing to capture you every single time, but somehow, this scrappy local detective managed to figure out who you are. Color yourself impressed. 

You’re new to the glittering scene of the Southern coast, looking for trouble, fun, and the best cocktails. And looks like you’ve found all three right here, in this bar next to a sexy detective. He’d treat you to great drinks and a good time tonight, and maybe, just this once, you’ll let yourself be handcuffed.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

TAGLIST @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi

If you’d like to join my taglist, click here!

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[williamrablan]

Unlocking Secrets: Kate Warne's Case Study

"Why have money if you don't spend it?"

This is the second entry in the Kate Warne story of her first major case. While she plays a small piece in it, she’s part of the strategy and eventual trap. Strategy Session – According to modern fiction, the detective works alone. They work the case with minimal, if any external help. Nothing could be further from the truth. Detective work is a collaborative effort. Maybe the reason TV…

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

Nines hoped this newest witness would prove cooperative, allowing them to collect necessary intel as quickly as possible. Not just for the sake of appeasing their captain but because of a uniquely off-putting trend that seemed to be emerging in their inquiries. 

Namely, that every location visited was more repellent than the last.

At first glance, one could assume Mikey's Electronics had only been open for weeks, although a review of registration details swiftly contradicted this. The compact space was appallingly organised, resembling a seasonal pop-up store more than a longstanding business. Poorly mounted shelves and barren display cases were scattered haphazardly throughout the room, lacking any discernible logic or cohesion.

The entire room seemed coated in a thick layer of dirt, with a series of worn posters half-fused to the grubby windows—advertisements for long-past fairs and festivals, as well as another, more contentious feature Nines hoped to bring to the owner's attention.

As the officers stepped through the threshold, food molecules and dermal fallout wafted into the air, displaced by the shuffle of their feet.

The stench was appalling, overloading his olfactory channels. For a moment, the android was tempted to vacate the premises immediately, sacrificing any fledgling hopes of furthering their investigation.

The last few days had left him increasingly disenchanted with how disgusting humans could be. Reed, unsurprisingly, was less perturbed. He strode with confidence through the room toward a grimy register counter. 

A heavy-set man was stationed behind it, the impressive girth of his backside all but eclipsing the fold-out chair he lounged on. An inexpensive wireless headset—matching the specifications of those in a nearby display—sat askew over both ears. He scrolled idly on his phone, oblivious to their presence.

> SCANNING SUBJECT…

> SCAN COMPLETE.

> SCOTT, BERNARD MITCHELL 

> BORN: 06/29/1990 // REGISTERED BUSINESS OWNER — MIKEY'S ELECTRONICS.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: TAX FRAUD, EMBEZZLEMENT, HARASSMENT.

Lacklustre customer service, it seemed, was also a common trend amongst local businesses. 

The RK begrudgingly followed his partner. As they drew closer to Scott, a new wave of rancid odour entered the equation. The musk of sweat, both fresh and old, suggested it had been a disconcerting amount of time since the human last washed.

Scott was surely aware of his condition—though if he was, it clearly served as no concern. There was zero regard for self-presentation, which did nothing to aid his already unfortunate anatomical traits. His features were poorly balanced, squashed into the centre of his rotund face, leaving a wide margin of space on either side. 

Reed was first to break the silence, addressing him with surprising gentility—likely more than was deserved. 

"Hey buddy, how's it going?"

Scott responded with an uncouth snort. The resultant mucus was wiped with the back of his hand before being transferred to the front of a grease-stained vest. Reed bristled, his expression contorting in fervent displeasure, evidence that he wasn't immune to the more repellent aspects of his species.

"... Hello ?" he repeated, his tone growing thinner, less cordial than before. When Scott failed to answer, the detective leaned forward, snapping his fingers across the counter in an attempt to secure his attention.

In an obnoxious display of stubbornness, Scott slouched deeper into his chair, his attention consumed fully by his phone. Reed grunted in annoyance, poised to gesture again before Nines moved to stop him.

"He cannot hear you; there is no point in persisting." 

This was likely untrue, although he determined it would be the quickest way to dissuade the ritual.

Given the poor sound quality of the headphones and subpar noise cancellation, Scott had undoubtedly heard. Unlike with Walters, there was no uncertainty—he simply didn't care, making an overplayed show of appearing busy.

Nines' patience, already strained by their previous witness, felt a spiteful inspiration take shape in his mainframe. Musings wove themselves together, creeping forward in a way that proved impossible to resist.

"Not to worry, I am confident I can secure his attention." 

Under the guise of 'logical practicality,' Nines extended his reach. Fingertips hovered inches above one of the earpieces before he deactivated his conductive fail safes—sending a small charge of electricity rocketing through it.

The resulting feedback was unable to be contained by the flimsy plastic shell of the speakers. Scott recoiled, almost tipping from his seat as he yanked the device from his head.

The action carried an air of familiarity as if this wasn't the first time the product had malfunctioned in this way. Nonetheless, he was disgruntled, staring into the hollow of the cup and grumbling under his breath:

"What the fuck? Useless piece of—"

"Good day, sir," Nines said calmly, skillfully disguising any sadistic catharsis that had resulted from the performance. "We are from the Detroit Police Department—Officer RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 87, and Detective Reed. There are a few questions we wish to ask you. If you can spare us the time."

Scott turned to face them, his head snapping up with abrupt speed. His beady eyes canvassed the android, jaw slack, only adding to his gormless appearance.

His sluggish mind clearly struggled to process the information he had been given—until his gaze latched onto the android's jacket, as well as the rhythmic pulses of light emanating from his temple.

The vacant expression contorted into one of disgust as his already compressed features tightened further. 

"...Actually, I was in the middle of somethin' important ." The words were spat viciously, to which Nines sidestepped, deftly avoiding the liquid debris. 

He noted the phone had been slammed indignantly onto the counter, screen facing down in an attempt to preserve privacy. 

The display may as well have been projected onto a nearby wall, it would have proved just as effective, but the android neglected to disclose this—yet. He was more concerned with how Scott's respiratory rates had spiked, combined with the nervous darting of attention down to the counter.

He was hiding something. To ensure no illicit material was being accessed, the android performed his professional diligence in scanning the device.

The results had his suppressed satisfaction grow significantly. Whilst not illegal, the material contained had nothing to do with work. Unless the man intended to begin trading in women's swimwear, as well as budget electronics. 

"—So no, I don't have time." Whether or not this was a conclusion to some prolonged rant or a direct continuation of the previous statement, Nines wasn't sure. He hadn't been listening. 

Scott spoke with surly confidence, puffing out his chest. Completely unaware of the compromising position he had landed himself in and the swift takedown about to transpire. 

"Are you sure about that?" 

His chest deflated, bravado slipping with it, as the indignant pinch of his brow loosened into confusion. He gawped at the android, awaiting an explanation that was withheld. Then, the stuttering wheels of cognition began to turn, and the man realised what was happening. 

He reached for the phone on the counter and hurriedly snatched it away. Clutching it protectively in his hand, stubby fingers clamped around the screen before it was shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants.

" Y-You can't be scanning my phone like that —!" he snarled, crooked teeth bared in a hostile sneer. "It's private property."

"There are no laws which prohibit the use of my scanners. Although, I suppose, some might consider it 'poor form.'" Nines hummed, relishing in his composure as the man in front of him grew increasingly uncomfortable—vitals fluctuating, tensing up in a mixture of trepidation and confusion—before delivering the finishing blow. 

"Much like viewing indecent material in a workplace environment."

Scott made no further attempt to save face. Just spluttered haplessly, reeling from the sting of his defeat. Wounds that would be licked, no doubt, in the form of one, or many, hedonistic indulgences later. Until then, he would settle for the comfort of insults hurled defensively at the android.

"You've got a lot of nerve. Coming into my store, insulting my lifestyle—"

"So you're the owner of the establishment?" Nines queried, allowing Scott to believe he had implicated himself in providing this information.  "While we are on the subject of legalities, I feel there is something I ought to point out." 

The RK executed a niggling subdirectory that persisted on his HUD. Aware they needed to move on to the crux of their enquiry but not wishing to allow the offence in question to slip by unaddressed:

> INFORM BUSINESS OWNER OF SIGNAGE VIOLATION. 

> CLASSIFICATION #6456

> HIGHLIGHTING OFFENDING CONTENT(S)...

He directed Scott to a poorly adhered sticker in his storefront window. The corner was peeling away, its bold text weathered and faded from prolonged sun exposure, but the oppressive sentiment it sought to convey remained staunchly clear. Looming over the establishment, like another foul stench:

NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED. 

"As you may be aware, recent changes in legislation mean that anti-android admission policies are no longer permitted. Displaying such notices constitutes a direct violation of the Android Equality Act and is punishable by fines up to $5000, or 6 months imprisonment."

Scott appeared unswayed by the details of his offence. Snub nose upturned with a dismissive snort, as though debating the fine print on a parking ticket rather than defending xenophobic propaganda.

"It's only been a couple months since the rules changed. Must'a forgotten to take that one down. My mistake." 

"A costly mistake should you fail to remove the offending material immediately."

The more Scott was challenged, the more incredulous he became. A lack of cooperation that did not come from meandering focus or misunderstanding, but knowing and targeted disrespect. 

"What the hell is your problem, officer ?" The title was hissed with callous amusement as though the punch line to a joke. Fingers were also raised and flexed in a rabbit-like formation. "Can't have been one for long, can you? Enjoying the power trip?"

Nines felt inclined to inform the man that, personal sentiments aside, attacking a police representative in this manner constituted yet another offence. The list of which was expanding at an alarming rate. 

He never got the chance, however, as his associate interrupted:

"Don't mind my partner—" Reed placed hands on the android's shoulders in a performative show of assurance. A gesture that felt far more condescending and distrustful than it did considerate. "It gets a little zesty when it's due an oil change."

This didn't help, making his alignment with Scott's antagonism all the more apparent.

Nines, frustrated, offered some resistance as Reed pulled him back. He remained stubbornly in place before ultimately resigning himself to the paltry attempt at force. With a reluctant step back, he permitted the human to guide him to the junction of two display cases.

"Look, I'll handle chuckles," Reed eventually spoke, whispering sharply once they were clear of Scott's wax-clogged earshot. " Just take a look around and do what you need to do. Okay?" 

Nines cast a withering look back to the counter. He witnessed as the 'chuckles' in question jammed a meaty finger into one of his aural cavities, further compressing the blockage. Some residual debris clung beneath an overgrown fingernail, briefly inspected before it was flicked away.

"Gladly," he said bluntly, agreeing to the suggestion. "That man is revolting. I doubt he's bathed in a number of weeks."

The two split up, with Nines left to commence a sweep of their wider environment. Moving down the lines of smudged glass cabinets, he noted an absence of security cameras mounted on the walls. An irksome detail but to be expected—given the owner's obvious reluctance to shave any minute sliver from his ill-earned profits. 

Instead, he turned his attention to the underwhelming merchandise. He inspected the phones available for sale, comparing their specifications with those outlined in the TSU report.

> ANALYSING MULTIPLE SUBJECTS…

> ONEPLUS 5T

> MANUFACTURER: ONEPLUS — RELEASED 2017

> IPHONE 13 PRO

> MANUFACTURER: APPLE — RELEASED 2021

> XPERIA Z1

> MANUFACTURER: SONY — RELEASED 2013

> NO MATCHES FOUND. 

He shifted focus to the price cards, searching for anything noteworthy beyond the inordinate markup applied on each product.

> INSPECTING BROADER ENVIRONMENTAL DETAILS — RETAIN CURRENT SPECIFIED SEARCH CRITERIA.

> SEARCHING…

As he completed his analysis, fragments of conversation filtered through his attention. The pair nearby were talking about a low-budget eatery that had predated the electronics store. Reed made the ever-insightful claim that their submarine sandwiches had been 'the tits', to which Scott grunted in vague agreement.

No doubt, the detective was attempting to sand off the abrasive edges of the man's demeanour, making him more amenable to ongoing questioning. The efforts proved successful, as following an exchange of personal introductions, Scott permitted a shift of focus towards the details of their investigation:

"Do you remember anyone suspicious coming into the store on January 13th or the days leading up to that?"

"Nope, no one of interest. To be honest, it's only the regulars I see comin' in these days. I don't bother them, and they don't bother me."

> SEARCHING…

"Anyone that might have bought an old Samsung Galaxy? "I'm talking 2010's old. Real hunk of crap. Probably a SIM card as well—AT&T?"

"Nah, I don't carry phones that old. Sorry." 

> MATCH DETECTED.

Nines pulled back, noting the strained inflexions of Scott's tone and flighty shifting of his gaze.

"That is incorrect," he said plainly, eager to address the deceit. "You carry several phones with a similar manufacturer date."

The man bristled at the sound of his voice. He turned to glare at the android as though his continued presence in the establishment served a mortal offence. "So what if I do? I don't remember the release dates of every fuckin' phone I sell."

"It is concerning that you seem unaware of the stock you carry. With such a negligent approach, it's little wonder your business is failing."

Both men stalled, receiving the statement like a slap of cold water. Reed was particularly dismayed, his head snapping around with an awkward jerk as he mouthed a sharp demand for his partner to disengage. 

The interjection came too late. 

Scott had not taken the insight graciously. His patience had dwindled, evident by the twin slaps against his meaty thighs. He then lumbered to his feet, the flimsy metal foundation of his chair creaking from the release of pressure.

"I'm sorry, Gavin, you seem decent, but I'm gettin' pretty sick of your 'partner's' attitude." He leered over at Nines, levying him with an accusatory point. "If you ain't got any more questions, I think we're done. Cus I ain't about to sit here and be lectured all day by some damn—" 

The RK900 interjected, cutting off whatever inflammatory remark had been poised on the man's lashing tongue. 

"I would refrain from finishing that sentence, Mr Scott." 

He refused to relent in exercising his authority, demonstrating exactly where his' power trip' might lead. Instead, he gave Scott a chance to re-evaluate his position and whether or not he wished to add both 'obstruction of justice' and 'verbal abuse' to his list of indiscretions.

"We have good reason to believe that one of your customers was responsible for the murder of an HR400 android, with the wares my partner just described having acted as accessories in the crime."

"I already told you, no one suspicious came around here." 

Nines resisted the urge to laugh in the man's face. He was so focused on maintaining his own meagre deception that he failed to notice when the favour was returned in full. 

"I can detect when you are lying. Besides, we already know they were here—we have a witness who is willing to testify."

The increase of pressure proved extraordinarily effective in shattering the human's confidence. Scott sunk into himself, the base ruddiness of his swollen cheeks turning to brilliant scarlet. 

"I, uh—" With no other options, he offered a weak repetition of his prior dismissal. "There was nobody suspicious…"

Nines did not hesitate to annihilate the mangled remains of his argument, pounding them into dust. 

"If your claim that 'only regulars' frequent your establishment is to be believed, then anyone new coming into your store would have undoubtedly struck you as 'suspicious'" 

He placed his hands on the counter, much harder than was necessary, to which Scott recoiled in dismay. His already strained heart rate skyrocketed, rattling in his broad chest, as his heavy breaths adopted a shaky cadence.

"So either you are misremembering things, or you are once again lying." 

Scott had already been nervous, but the emerging fear was a welcome addition, widening the cracks in his testimony. Nines sought to exploit this opening as he leaned across the station, positioning his face inches from the human's own. 

He delivered a firm nudge, this time mingled with a more overt hint of aggression. "I already know which one it is, but perhaps you could save us the time and admit it. Lest I make you."

The fearful glint in Scott's eyes ignited into roaring flames before he attempted to smother them beneath a blanket of contempt. 

"You can't threaten me—I know my rights—!" 

The prevailing tremble in his tone said otherwise. It was clear the man was uneducated in most subjects, including legal protections.

"It is not a threat, Mr Scott. It is a promise, should you like it to be."

While not the target of his assertion, it was evident Reed, too, was becoming influenced by its weight. His focus shifted uncomfortably between his partner and Scott as if subconsciously placing himself in the latter's position. He then shuffled back, establishing a greater distance between himself and the counter. 

It was an unnecessary precaution. Like Andrews, the RK had no real intent to harm their witness. A force that would be difficult to justify in their official reports…

That being said, he would gladly stretch the definition of 'justifiable self-defence' should the need arise. No doubt, the force would be effective in dislodging more stubbornly held information.

Despite all his profound cognitive deficiencies, it transpired that Scott was not this stupid. The innate human instinct for self-preservation triumphed over his loathing, and with a terse grunt, he disengaged.

"...Someone new came in," he muttered thinly, slumping back into his chair, which groaned in protest. "Few days ago, either Wednesday or Thursday, can't remember. Don't think he bought a Samsung. He wanted somethin' else."

"It would appear that he settled." Nines directed his hand towards one of the glass cases, calling attention to an empty space. "It just so happens that a Samsung S3 is missing from that display. It can't have sold that long ago, as you have yet to remove the price card."

"That don't mean he bought it", Scott fired back. A misguided attempt at confidence as he clumsily tried to deflect the questioning. "Could've sold it to anyone."

"Would you have any transaction records from that day? Perhaps these could provide some clarity."

Scott baulked almost immediately, beady eyes narrowed resentfully at the mention of 'records.' 

Admittedly, it had been a long shot. Nines doubted the man had any robust provisions for bookkeeping. A scan of the register revealed an antique with no digital functionality. The nearby card reader, depleted of paper, only confirmed his suspicions. 

"Whatever this guy may have done," the store owner began, his tone dripping with venom, "it doesn't have shit to do with me. So why am I being treated like a criminal?"

"If you truly had nothing to hide, then you wouldn't be so defensive."

"What the hell do ya want from me?" 

Nines raised a brow in bemusement. He held firm, hands crossed behind his back, and head tilted to one side—indicating to the human that the answer should be obvious.

Scott held his breath as though silently weighing his options before releasing it with a prolonged groan.

"Look, I'll tell you what I saw," he conceded, throwing his hands into the air, "but only if you promise to get out of my damn store."

"Agreed." Nines pivoted on his heel, gesturing smoothly to the notepad clasped in his colleague's lax grip. "Detective Reed, if you would be so kind as to take the statement."

This had been intended as a show of goodwill, a chance for his partner to take the initiative that had been spurned back at Cedars Motel. 

The forthright approach was underappreciated. 

Reed glowered at the android as though he'd suggested that he play in the traffic outside—a seemingly knee-jerk response to being told what to do.

Despite this, he pushed past his contempt. Silently whipping back the tattered cover of his notepad, his well-chewed pen was poised above it, prepared to take records:

"Just tell me anything you remember."

"Well…he was a little guy…maybe 5" 6?" Scott spoke in a dull, unenthused monotone—his sunken eyes drifting to a nearby window, focused on the streets outside. He scratched his chin, adding to the performance of concentration. 

"Bit round in the face, but built, you know? I want to say he was in his forties…oh, and he was wearing sneakers. Red hi-tops, men's size 7, give or take..."

Cross-checking the details against their suspect profile, Nines found several inconsistencies.

Two theories emerged as the reason. The first was that their current profile was riddled with deductive errors. The second, more compelling, possibility was that Scott's peculiarly detailed account was entirely fictional.

The man provided nothing but a list of trivial observations, with sparse to non-existent recollections of the actual interaction. Nothing was offered to explain why the stranger had proved so agreeable to purchasing the phone. Considering they had no prior interest in it, with it shilled at such an extortionate price.

Despite the gaping holes in logic, metabolic rhythms suggested Scott wasn't fabricating his account. At least not in the traditional sense…

Upon following the path of his diverted gaze, the answer clicked into place. Nines huffed in amusement, realising he had been providing a scrupulous description of the man in a dated headphone advertisement. 

It was clear their current witness would prove just as useless as their last—only with the added irritation of intentional misdirection.

He considered informing Reed, still diligently scribbling notes but decided against it. Nines did not wish to show too much of their hand, making it clear that he was aware of what Scott was doing and raising his suspicions unnecessarily. 

For now, he allowed the human to coast in ignorance. The influence of which grew more pronounced as he grew increasingly brazen. Grinning smugly, his dull tone adopting rising vibrance. 

He was exceptionally proud of his 'achievement' of duping the officers—the RK900 especially. 

Nines utilised the opportunity to comb through the data collected from his mobile phone. He had gotten a fairly comprehensive snapshot of its contents, including recently accessed apps and web searches. He was confident there would find something of note, aside from a leering appreciation for the female form. 

"—Hope that's enough for you to work with." Mikey huffed, notably out of breath after concluding his long-winded ramblings. He then directed a finger between the partners, eyes narrowed into contemptuous slits. 

"Now, you two make good on your word and get the hell off my property."

As they exited back onto the streets, Nines noted the eager bounce in his partner's step. Radiating an almost unsettling degree of positivity, given his usual surly demeanour, as he combed through the scrawled information he had meticulously documented in his notebook.

"Well, shit. Good call on that lead, tin can." The praise was delivered with uncharacteristic sincerity despite the childish nickname. He tilted the account proudly towards the android, a broad grin stretching from ear to ear. "Once we get this down to the station and have the boys draw up a sketch, we'll finally—"

"You may as well throw that description out. It is less than worthless."

Reed's enthusiasm shattered instantly. The smile slipped limply from his face, crumpled in a heap at his feet. 

"...What the fuck do you mean it's worthless ?" The sharp grunt was a smooth pivot back to his usual gruffness; surly tones edged with a budding degree of accusation. 

"It won't help in guiding our enquiries. The witness was lying." 

"Then why did you let me—" The sentence trailed off into aggrieved fragments, his voice falling and rising in line with the disbelieving arch of his brows. 

He ripped a page from the notebook, crumpling it into a tight ball. With a bitter sidelong glare at the android, he likely imagined the mangled paper to be his head before callously tossing it aside.

" Goddammit , Nines, were you on standby for the last 10 minutes?"

"Mr Scott was not prepared to relinquish any meaningful truths," the RK began, calmly justifying his actions. "Even if I had subjected him to physical persuasion, cooperation would have been unlikely. I was simply curious to see the lengths he would go to in maintaining his lie."

"And why is that?"

As they paced ahead and the storefront disappeared from view, Nines marked its location on his mapping software. The marker linked itself to Cedars Motel by a thin band of light. Timestamps were assigned, and the scope of understanding became more transparent. The crime scenes were also added, completing the visual projection of their killer's movements. 

As he worked, his navigational tracking guided him, maintaining a steady path back to the precinct. Reed, still visibly upset, followed nonetheless. His gaze locked on Nines, silently pressing for elaboration, boring impatient holes into his peripherals.

"...I believe he is covering for someone." He eventually offered—hoping to placate the human long enough to save the newly inputted data and prepare a more thorough explanation.

He dismissed the map, watching it slip from his HUD in sporadic glimmers of light as his vision returned to full clarity.

But not fast enough.

With both partners distracted, they had failed to notice a developing obstruction. The pedestrian rounding the street corner. 

Reed marched blindly into the stranger, and there was a simultaneous yelp from both figures as they staggered back. Nines autonomously calculated the force of the impact. The probability of injury was minimal, a low-force collision that was unlikely to have resulted in more than disorientation.

Despite this, Reed's entire body stiffened, and he mumbled a string of pained expletives under his breath. 

This only stopped as he glanced down at the unwitting victim of his stumble. 

It was an enfeebled-looking man, his unimposing stature stunted further by a noticeable hunch. He was clutching a wire-frame walker and struggling to steady himself with it.

The detective's gaze lingered on the scene before snapping towards Nines in an accusatory glare—as though he were responsible for the accident. The stranger then stumbled far more noticeably, and his bitter expression vanished, softened into apprehension as he moved to assist.

" Whoa , buddy—" He extended a hand towards the man, ready to support him should he topple over. "I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

The stranger looked at the officers, sunken eyes darting between them, filled with growing contempt. Focus soon diverted from Reed and locked squarely onto the android, his lips formed into a curled snarl as he snapped to address him: 

"Watch it, bot ." 

The barb was spat out alongside scattered molecules of hops and barley, its sharpness dulled only by the slurred edge of intoxication.

Reed retracted his arm instantly, snapping it firmly to his side. 

Despite his own unspoken accusations, he seemed disarmed by just how aggressively blame had been assigned—given he had already made his role as perpetrator known.

He muttered a strained reiteration in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Hey, cool it, gramps. I was the one that hit you…" 

It wouldn't have mattered what he had said. The drunken man wasn't listening, his bleary focus and venomous leers reserved exclusively for Nines. The surrounding world slipped from consideration as he drew closer, raising a crooked and pointing down the street. 

"You just came from Mikey's, didn't ya?" 

Clearly, the neighbourhood was even more barren than expected. The man's accusation came curiously fast, given his impeded state. 

It was no surprise that he was acquainted with Scott. Birds of a feather tended to flock, their contemptuous ideals asserting dominance in the gaudy vibrance of their plumage.

Nines may have let it go had it not been for the sheer plainness of the affront, zero provisions made to dampen or disguise it. 

"Didn't you read the signs? He doesn't want your kind in there."

Embers of resentment simmered beneath his chassis. The RK straightened, his riposte swift, as he challenged the man to repeat himself. "I beg your pardon?" 

The stranger refused to relent. His drunken courage spurred him to persist in the confrontation despite being so heavily weighted in his opposition. "You heard me. He doesn't want you freaks in his store. Show some damn respect."

"Mr Scott has no legal grounds to prohibit androids from his business," Nines deflected firmly, robbing the man of any satisfaction that might come from denting his confidence. "I had as much of a right to be there as any other person."

"You ain't no person." He was looked up and down, regarded with disdain and disgust that seemed fitting of an overflowed sewage drain. "They found a bunch of you in a warehouse the other day. I saw it on the news."

The RK despaired at the calibre of 'journalism' that may appeal to such an individual. Maintaining equanimity, despite a growing urge to arrest the stranger on the grounds of harassment, he informed that this detail proved as benign as a weather report in the current context. 

"I assume you are referring to unconverted androids? Given the recency of the revolution, it is quite a common occurrence. Nothing particularly newsworthy."

"No, I mean they found you. " 

The concluding word struck like a blow—harsh and unwelcome—before Nines reminded himself that the hateful individual likely didn't realise what he'd implied.

A generalised 'othering' of the group he held in such vile contempt. That was it, nothing more.

This was before contact was made with his jacket, digit jabbed forcefully against his identifier, outlining the lettering. A creeping dread emerged, pealing through the frayed lines of his already strained central processor. 

"They had your face. Hundreds of them. It's damn ungodly—how all you bastards look the same."

The words attached themselves to the lines, speared like tender hooks, piercing holes in the synaptic nerves. Gaps formed, flooded with the dull roar of static until an encroaching sentiment replaced the drone—loud and piercing.

Guilt. Remorse.

For all those who remained sealed in darkness. Unworthy, untrusted, never to be granted a chance to exist beyond their current confinements. 

Their uniformed ranks stood frozen in slumber, and he would never be allowed to forget.

"They tried to get those terrorists at Jericho in, but they wouldn't touch 'em with a ten-foot pole. So they locked them back up."

All because of what had happened. 

The damning role he, and the others, had unwittingly played.

“S0meth!#g's 2r0#̷̡̛͎̹͎͉͙͋̊ǧ̸̩̪̎̑;̸͓̙͛̈͆ ̷̛̪̠͑̍͛̚t̵̨̽h̴̪̦̭͍͎͓̿ȩ̵͕̭̟̫͎̎̀̈́ÿ̷̺̦͖̯̥̆͗̽̄*̴̡̧̱̱͎͙̀̑̽̇͆̓ē̷̛̮̭̲̈́͗͐͠ ̴͈̦̙̲͐̈́͋n̴̡̢̤̩̓͋o̴͇͛t̶̨͐—̸̹̩́̽̿̒͂̚”̴͓͈͍̌

“—̴̨̝̖̙̹͈͈̯̤̝̥̤͎̯̜̽̈͋̎̑͂̈̇́̿̄̈͒*̶̡̧̺̗̦͔̹̲́̉͌̓̆̊̽̀̔͌̒̚͝ͅA̷̡̺͓̭͕͚̗̘͊̈́͝͠9̴̢̠̣̞̩̥̯͉̗͓̥̖͆̈́͗̓͐̋̓̃̿̒,̶̡̤̞͖̤͉̣̞͙̩̣̌ ̶͓̻̥̣̲̘̺͓̱͖̆́͗̑͂͋́̏̈́̔ͅͅ2̵̨̯̥̝̼͕̈́͗́̈̊̊̅͊̆̈̐̿̋͘͘h̵̙̖̲͓͍͔͚̗̖̝̩͈͙̬̞́͋̒̄̋̐͒̋a̷̘͙̰͕̮͚̩͌͊̎́͋͛̈́̈́̉͊̌͗̐̃͝t̸͉͎̝͓̹͓̥̎͊̾̔͊͂̓͗̒̅͆͆̑͝͠'̶̫̲̞͕͙̫̯͓̯̮͈̦͖̳̖̹͗͋̊̈́ͅṡ̴̢̫̝͍̩̼—̸̨̧̗̻͎̝̞̟͎̹͓́͛̀͋͆̈́̌̅͂͊̃͒̽̎̀̍̕”̵̛̗̞̲̳̖̱̀͛̅̂̃́͌̀̎̆̕

> ERROR

> UNABLE TO EXECUTE MEMORY LOG ?@&£!* 

The splintered fragments of recollection were mangled and twisted beyond the point of reassembly. All he could recall now was the fallout, the full extent of the subsiding events buried in a tomb of corruption.

“He ca#̷̓̆ͅ'̷̩̳͘ṯ̵̢̂ 5̷̧��̹̘̼̞̱̦̪̩͙̱̺͙̹̗̀̌͊̔͑͂͝t̴̨̮̯̭̣̳̣̬̲̟̩̲̥̺̱͕̆͛́̇̈́̕͜a̶̤̫̙͖̩͔̒̏͆̊̍̈́̑̔̍͜y̷̜͖͎̼̭̣̤̱̰̦͕͛̃͒̉̾́̕͜͝ ̷͔̇h̴̡͚̟̼͉̹̰͉̺̐͗͂̑͘͜e̷̡̲̖̖̪͓͕͙̙̍̔̈́̇̍̈̇͜*̵̛̛͍̤͙̦̪͆̈͛̉̒̽̚̕ȩ̶̡̠̺͓̮̫̟̘̩͕͇̰̅̓̐͜͜.̶̦̭̣͕͚͉̻̖̙̳̃̑̋”̶̢̡͈͕̥̭̬̙̠͙̱̠͇̓͜͜ͅ ̵̯͉̇͌̌̐̌̃͛̊͂̏̄͐͜͜͝ 

“!'m s̷̡̟̈́0̸̧͝ṟ̶͉̇r̵̥̾͊y̴̘̆ RK—”

"Seems like your own kind doesn't even want you." 

He was trapped in a hailstorm—blows beating down as ceaseless, enduring punishment. For events that he couldn't recall with any stable clarity. Unable to ever consolidate with them, or to answer to them honestly, taking accountability. 

An accountability that he was expected to take.

The man's voice had become white noise—almost entirely meaningless. Just another series of harsh, crunched decibels mingled with the discordant screams that rattled his mind.  He couldn't stay here—he needed to go. Gripped by a sudden, all-consuming fear of being pulled back into the dark.

"Do us—favour—go back—came from—" 

> I D0N'T W@NT T0 G0 £ACK—

"That's enough."

The forceful interjection brought him back to reality as the pressure on his wrists eased, releasing some weight from their unyielding shackles. A defence had arisen, providing Nines with the time to secure a lifeline, clawing himself free from his encroaching spiral. 

The protection had come from such an improbable source—inexplicable—that it left him reeling.

Reed stepped forward, positioning himself between the human and his partner. There was a moment when their sights met, and Nines caught a glimpse of his own astonishment reflected back at him. 

Then, it disappeared, either fading organically or hurriedly suppressed. He couldn't tell for certain.  Along with it slipped any lingering threads of geniality. 

The detective placed a hand on the thinly padded walker and applied pressure—an action which encouraged the frail man to back down without opening himself up to accusations of manhandling. 

"Run along, gramps. Your catheter bag needs changing."

The pensioner stalled, wobbling on the unsteady foundation of his feet before re-establishing balance. At the very least, as much as he was presently capable. 

" S-Smart-mouthed punk—!" He spluttered incredulously, reddened eyes trained on Reed as he glared viciously. "What's it to ya?"

" Detective Smart-mouth punk." The younger man retrieved the badge affixed to his belt, brandishing it in front of his face. "The plastic prick you are harassing is my partner—and we are in the middle of an investigation. So I suggest you skedaddle before I arrest you for causing an obstruction." 

The old man focused on the ID as though assessing it for authenticity before tutting in dismissal. He mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath, snippets alluding to some disparaging rant on the DPD hiring processes, as well defamatory remarks pertaining to Reed's sexuality. 

'Android-loving fairy' was the last audible comment before the stranger reoriented his walker and angrily hobbled away. 

"What a peach," the detective remarked dryly before swiftly changing the subject—as though the previous interaction had never occurred. "You were saying. About this guy trying to protect someone?"

Nines could not move on so quickly, disoriented by the speed at which it had all transpired. He couldn't make sense of it. For what reason had Reed opted to intervene? 

With no insight into the intricacies of his internal struggles, it would have been fair to assume the RK was more than capable of handling the situation. His partner, more than most, had experienced firsthand just how assertive he was willing to be.

Nines could identify no motivation for his actions, even within the confounding, often erratic, realm of the detective's behaviour. It troubled him greatly, plunging him into a well of ruminative introspection. So deep it escaped his notice that Reed was still awaiting a response. 

Interest soon waned in the discussion, and he dismissed the point with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Whatever. We can talk later."

The android followed blindly after him, his stalled navigation software having failed to recalibrate. He was going through the motions, suspended in a mindless haze, with limited conscious input. A state that a human might liken to shock. 

With the same mindless autonomy, his lips began to move, having paced alongside Reed in silence for quite some time. A silence he would have otherwise revelled in, were he able to escape the feeling it ought to be filled. 

Then, a performative nicety escaped. One that undoubtedly had been instilled by RK800 and his persistent social conditioning.

"Thank you." 

Reed recoiled from the gratitude. As though the words had adopted a physical form and struck him cleanly in the face. "...Sorry, Nines, I think I'm hallucinating. What did you just say?"

"Thank you," he reaffirmed, slowly, purposefully, as stunned as the human that the words were leaving his mouth. "I was surprised how readily you jumped to my defence. Given how much you supposedly despise me. And that you likely agreed with the vast majority of what that man was saying."

"I didn't—" The rebuttal came quickly, burning bright and fast, an instinctive defence against a perceived attack on his character. As Reed paused, reflecting on the implications, his conviction deflated significantly. "Well. Not everything, anyway."

"I would wager you agreed with enough," Nines said plainly, looking ahead, attempting to reorientate his navigational routing. "Given your previous assertion that they should have left me 'in the warehouse to rot'"

The detective bristled at the reminder, clearly perturbed. Perhaps he had likened the mistreatment of his partner to something else. An attack against those disadvantaged or marginalised for reasons he assigned more credibility…

The man himself appeared to oppose this hypothesis. Shaking his head, standing in staunch denial that anything of the sort had transpired.

"That guy was wasted—I wasn't going to stand there all day and listen to him run his mouth. I told him to beat it because he was pissing me off. That's all."

He was lying.

Reed's character profile was loaded autonomously onto Nines' HUD, flagged on his systems, demanding immediate review.  Anomalies presented themselves again. This time, with even greater force. 

They cut and slashed at previously established criteria, a fervent demand to be acknowledged:

> SUGGESTED CHANGES — 'DETECTIVE GAVIN REED'

> REED SHOWS COMMITMENT TO THE CARE AND WELL-BEING OF HIS [ REDACTED ]

>PET.

> PROFESSIONAL INFERIORS.

> VULNERABLE INDIVIDUALS. 

> BEHAVIOUR COMES AT THE DETRIMENT OF HIS OWN PERSONAL WELL-BEING.

> DETECTIVE REED DEMONSTRATES SELFLESSNESS. 

> ACCEPT CHANGES?

"...Nevertheless, I am grateful."

In the wake of all that had just transpired, Nines was forced to concede that—perhaps—he had refused to lend the prompts rightful consideration previously. That mingled within preposterous statements; there existed grains of truth.

"It would appear my assessment the other day was accurate," he began, citing his previous exaggerations—shameless attempts to get under the detective's skin—which now seemed to bear more significant weight. "Past all the rudeness and forced bravado, there exists a kindness in you. Even for androids."

Reed dismissed the notion with a prolonged groan. 

"Don't you start on that sentimental bullshit," His stride lengthened, the pace increasing, until he was stood at the edge of a nearby crosswalk—fractiously waiting for the light to change. "I should have left you to deal with the old man, you smug fuckin' prick."

A warmth emerged, genuine and sincere, giving Nines no time to process its sudden arrival. Before he knew it, the gratitude had expanded, unable to be contained.

The corners of his lips pulled upwards, and he smiled. 

An occurrence that appeared to leave Reed just as bewildered as him. He openly gawked at the android—as though he had sprouted an additional limb or burst into flames.

His heart rate spiked, beat stuttering, and he averted his gaze with as much exuberance as he'd held it. The light switched, and he stormed ahead. His head lowered, and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, refusing to spare so much as a backward glance.

Nines stood alone momentarily as an unanswered prompt blinked on his interface. Flickering repeatedly until he provided anxiously awaited input:

> ACCEPT CHANGES?

> CALCULATING…

> …

> …

> CHANGES ACCEPTED. 

[ladylaviniya]

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 5 || MasterList || Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: You get the ultimate privilege of meeting Nicholas Tortano who grants you the ability to surprise August Walker

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Sexual tension, P in V intercourse, fingering, petnames, dubious consent, hate sex, rough sex, gun violence, threats with a gun, forceful handling, belittling, manipulation The reader vomits and is kissed briefly at some point. Mentions of dacryphilia, sadism.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: .I dont honestly know but it's definitely more than 6k

Author Notes: the chapter and editing process was very rough I'm very sorry full stop my life has been in a business because I'm trying to find a new place to live and I've started going to the gym and missing out on a lot of sleep. I'm about to pass out which is why I'm posting this now. Again sorry for any mistakes granrma and otherwise

Inspiring Song: "girl with one eye " Florence and the machine. (Yes I know it's a sapphic song- I sing it like every day but let me have this pass to add it in)

08:09am Monday 19th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

'What the hell is she thinking?'

Henry shook his head as he reached the complex exit and walked out onto the street to the waiting car.

He wanted to smirk but the frowning scowl would not drop from his face.

'If I was anyone else, God what I'd do to her-' his hand clenched the passenger side door handle hard and slammed loudly behind him. His eyes shut and his head tossed while the car swayed and rocked.

Jude, his driver and loyal friend smirked, “You must like this one...or is there a pile of meat up in that apartment that I need to fetch? I can call Riggan the pig farmer in the Lockyer Valley, anything left over he can throw in Wivenhoe dam.”

August sighed and chuckled, "She's alive and well. No sweet treat for Coles piggies...but...I need you and Wesley to look into the Pig she has been accompanying."

Jude smiled and leaned over, clicking the button of the glove box compartment. Inside was a yellow envelope. August's eyes fluttered before his face broke out into a grin.

"You are a fine friend Jude," he said as he plucked the envelope and spilled the printed notes out onto his lap, "Do you ever sleep? Jesus mate."

The raven hair man giggled and started the car to a silent hum.

As the driver put a hand behind Augusts car seat and reversed the car out onto the main roads he smugly said, "I take pride in investigating, especially bastards like him."

August's fingers flicked through the pages of graphic intel. With racing eyes he soaked up the words and photos. Lloyd Hansen...an absolute moron. His nose flared at what he was reading. He grit his teeth. Especially when he recognised a name in bold he hadn't thought about in at least half a decade.

"Well, well, well, he's got kittens for sale," August scoffed.

Jude hummed, "And meddles in the dogs pack, it would seem little Nicky is out of the jailhouse."

Both men smirked. But August was by no means pleased.

He was grumbling to himself. You were now sticking your toes into the deep end of the pool without floaties and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to catch you in time for the dunk.

Entering his club, sneaking in with the detective, he didn’t think you were dumb enough to think you’d distract him... He read through your charade the moment his eyes laid down on you from above walking in with that man.

His eyes and ears were turning red.

It was tricky but thankfully he had the means to warning that cop not to touch what belongs to him...however how close could he really get to that bastard without potential outlash. He knew he needed to order another grandeur meeting. While everyone was in town, it might be his only opportunity.

When August forced you to watch the murder of the embezzler, he had every hoping intention that it would persuade you to never talk to the cop again. A normal undercover pig would’ve stopped the show then and there, called back up.

But there was no back up...no...there was only sweet little innocent you and your pathetic phone camera. If Lloyd was after information he would’ve wired you up...Lloyd wasn’t there for him...he was there for some selfish reason...

When you ran off and pulled the alarm a dozen things went through his head. You were going to get yourself killed if you kept running. So he chased you. If the other men of his circle saw August Walker hunting, they would have been inclined to hunt you down too. And if they caught you...they would have done more than rip your head off.

He couldn’t tell you. He wasn’t sure how. You were already distrusting and scared of him there was no way he would be able to explain all the details and with your pure heart, you wouldn’t understand his world and why his side of the fence did such heinous things.

But...he would keep you safe. He wanted to gain your trust while not mistaking his authority...he knew what he had done was traumatizing.

He was no stranger to rape. Especially the european parties...those special events where he would join his friends like Kenny Strong and Arthur Kingsley ran the highlife of elite gentlemen and some lucky women born into those elite families. He wasn’t entirely fond of the practice. He didn’t like to beat women, but he did love to tie them up and humiliate them to tears.

Something about crying made his cock hard- no, something about you crying did...

He made you cry and he tried to bend you to his whims...he had already begun the conditioning where you would call him Daddy to gain his affection and praise. It pleased him significantly. He would shield you from those terrible memories even if it meant torturing you into talking about them. Externalising, confessing, it was all a form of therapy and he knew he had finally cracked the surface of your mind. He wouldn’t break you but he would chop at you and cut the mould. He would heal you. He would rebuild you and give you all the happiness you could ever want.

Sitting back and shoving those papers into the glove box he licked his bottom lip in thought.

When he woke up that morning, he watched you sneak out of the room. He smiled and amused himself. He watched the cameras from his phone. You were in his room...now that was very silly...he watched you choose his shirt and his shorts. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh. You looked so confident but so ...innocent...particular. He watched you grab a knife from the kitchen, he half heartedly believed you were coming back to stab him.

When your hands reached for the glass doors he launched up. He hadn’t warned you about Kal and he knew that dog could rip a man up, probably kill you easily if his fangs cause your wrist or neck.

He wanted to spank you and fuck you hard until you screamed mercy for trying to run away.

Rather he chose a simpler and easier punishment, one you essentially consented to the night before. Watching you suck cock was an interesting spectacle. There was a certainty you’d never done it before or not that many times before.

As you gagged on his cock with those big beautiful eyes of yours, he imagined all the things he’d buy for you...all the things he’d do for you... You might’ve been on your knees but something screamed at him to serve you as a slave.

Jude broke the silence eventually. He smirked, “So, am I right? You like this one?”

August smirked back, “’Like’ isn’t a word I’d be using.” He was fucking obsessed.

09:06am Monday 19th August 2023, Woolloongabba, Brisbane

You didn’t make a call. You couldn't. August broke your phone as you recalled.

You showered and scrubbed your face until you could feel the slight peel of your skin. It stung, but it was better than the sting you felt from the memory of his cum over you...in your mouth. You brushed your teeth for probably fifteen minutes just to erase the muscle memory of his cock brushing the back of your throat.

You changed out of August’s clothes and threw them into the bin. You couldn’t take off the collar and it made you feel suffocated. The kitchen scissors managed to scratch up the leather but the metal ring that encased inside was too strong.

You shook your head and felt nausea rise in your belly again. Without any food, all that came out was bile and acidic spit. You fell to your bedroom floor and started hitting the carpet, awful noises of grief and need bellies from you. You felt strangled. You huffed and spat random threats and insults, pretending he was there to hear them...he...August or your father? It didn’t matter.

You clenched your fist and smacked your head trying to regain your thoughts.

You kicked your dresser and rose from the floor. You found your bus pass and left the apartment, walking out in some jeans and a loose tshirt with a pair of running shoes.

The bus trip wasn’t a far trip to the police station.

You didn’t have the intention to report the kidnapping. No, no...now you were pissed off. You were scorned more than once by men around you. There was only one person you could trust in this world.

“Hi,” said the administration clerk, “How can we try an help today?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes, 'oh bitch if only you knew.'

“I’m after Detective Lloyd Hansen, is he here?”

You needed to confirm if the man was still alive. When you pulled the alarm, things were run or die in that moment. You hoped the man had the wit to run instead of confront the mafia or whatever this criminal group was.

The office was feeling slower today. It was filled with idle chatter and coffee machines grinding beans and a printer scanning documents.

“Do you have an appointment today?” she hummed, tapping at her keyboard.

You blinked and your teeth sneered.

You almost strangled that worker with the telephone cord. No. You didn’t have an appointment.

You just wanted to see he was alive. To tell him you were alive...and to collect your fifteen thousand promised reward for your “services”.

Your hands uncontrollably slapped on the desk cause the admin clerk to roll a little away in their office chair.

“I want to see the detective, now.”

“It’s alright Sandra...I can see her...” Lloyd said behind you. You flipped around. He was coming out of a small cubicle.

He looked...tired...shocked...relieved. it was all over how he looked with his loose tie, bags under his eyes and the clench of his hands on some paperwork.

He slowly stood to you and guided you away from the service desk. He whispered, “The white corolla...I’m about to finish shift.”

09:14am Monday 19th August 2024, Sunnybank, Brisbane.

You remembered his car well. The day he drove you home, you were so scared and confused. That day you’d reported that August may have sexually assaulted you...that day he definitely did...

This time you weren’t waiting in the cold for Lloyd, the sun was hot and beating down.

He came jogging down the front stairs of the station and hastily unlocked the car.

You wordlessly slipped in and buckled up.

When he got in he slammed his door a little too hard. He pressed his face to the top of his wheel and swore softly.

“I thought,” he swallowed nervously and sat up to look you up and down, “I thought he really had killed you. I tried calling thirty fuckin times these last two days. What happened? Were you hiding?”

Two days....god...you had been gone, missing, for that long?! Missing Friday...return Sunday.

You shook your head, “I was the one who pulled the alarm Lloyd...he knew what we were doing...he was going to kill you. When I made a run for it like everyone else in the club, he managed to track me down...he...” you trailed off unsure if you wanted to repeat the actions, the words, the confession.

Licking your lips you said, “August Walker is a dead man walking...and...” your stomach started to growl, “I’m starved, and I’m sorry to be bitchy but you...you at least owe me a meal Lloyd.”

Two days...you had only a few pieces of chicken in two days. No wonder you felt like total crap.

Lloyd didn’t argue. He took you straight away to the closest fast food drive thru. You ordered so much and Lloyd didn’t dispute a single item. He settled for a simple burger, fries and larger soft drink.

Lloyd drove you both to the kangaroo point lookout, it wasn't too far from where you already live. You stared out at the city buildings and Brisbane River with a strained sigh.

You chewed silently on a nugget for a moment before you explained what happened. How you were caught, how you almost got away...

“Jesus,” Lloyd rubbed his eyes and sighed, “I...I think I...I’m sorry I took you for granted Y/N. When I left the building I search everywhere for you. I thought...well- I didn’t know what to think.”

You munched on a handful of fries, you didn’t care if you looked like a pig as you did it. Stuffing your cheeks full of a burger and then a massive gulp of an extra large drink. You swallowed and thrived off the heart burn aching in your chest, reminding you you’ve eaten too quickly.

You burped and then softly moaned, “I need to feel safe.”

“You need to move...Y/N please,” The begging in his tone was loud and clear. There was serious fear in Lloyd.

You wouldn’t submit to August Walker and you refused to run from him. You were now met with the choice...you were either going to destroy his reputation or literally destroy him....your blood pumped loudly. He made you talk about your father....your fucking father...and on top of that, he made you call him daddy.

What mind fucked you was how you were yet again able to walk away...not unscathed but definitely alive.

“No,” you dismissed unwrapping your second burger, “He will find me...I know he will...and even if he kept me alive both times, a third is pushing my lucky, I know you understand that.”

Lloyd shook his head at you and put his hand over your burger, stopping your next starved bite, he hissed “You think staying where you are is safer? You don’t know-“

“Lloyd!” You snapped, you slapped his hand back and shoved your pointer finger into your chest, you sucked down a shakey breath, “...I know...I do know. I need to protect myself when he strikes again...it’s worse now...I have too much collateral... He let me witness that murder in the club.”

The detective raised his brows at you, “You mean...” the blood drained from his face.

“Cameras were in the VIP rooms Lloyd,” you grit your teeth and glared at the view of the city buildings, “I saw a lot more than just a fucking man’s brains being blown out from his skull, hookers, coke... Auctions...he’s got it all in The Lion Lounge.”

The detective rest his fingers on his top lip. He was slowly nodding.

You sucked down a long drag of your straw and gasped, asking in the same breath, “Lloyd I want a gun. I won’t let him rape me again.”

You needed the protection from August or any man he sent to kill you.

Lloyd chewed his bottom lip and shook his head.

“Do you have a gun license?”

“Do I look like I have one?” you snipped. You knew it wasn’t fair on him for your attitude but you didn’t have the time to focus on his hurt feelings in regards to your mental health and physical safety.

“Have you ever even shot one?”

“Nope. But it only takes one shot to kill him close up.” You threw the wrapper out of his car window and rubbed your face.

If he didn’t come near you, he would be safe, and you could just work on collecting evidence for the courts.

The detective sucked his bottom lip and shook his head, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh piss off!” You stomped your foot and twisted your body to face him, you grabbed his loose tie and tugged it as you seethed, “Lloyd, you practically thrust me into his arms and you have the gall to say now, me owning a gun is ‘too dangerous’?”

He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled his tie out of your fingers as he shook his head at you. His nose flared and he started to raise his voice at you, spit flying from his mouth as he hit the wheel with the palm of his hand. You expected a detective to hold a little more composure.

“Fine. Fine! But are you really willing to go to prison for life if you do manage to kill him? Think about this logically.”

His eyes were wide and his brows twisted with worry.

You fell quiet. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to stamp your foot again and scream that you’d spend two lifetimes behind bars if it meant his demise...except...was your demise worth the cost of his? Would you drown with him in the end of all of this if you killed him.

You noisily sucked at your straw.

“No...” you whispered, you didn’t want to cry in front of Lloyd but your tears were coming up, beading in the dips of your lids.

“No, that’s right,” Lloyd rubbed your shoulder with his thumb, “He isn’t worth it.”

Your lip pouted, “Why can’t you just...arrest him.”

He sighed and rubbed your back as you started to break down into pathetic frustrated sobs.

“Lawyers, laws and money,” he whispered and fluttered his eyes shut, “He has his ways. The only way we can take him down is if he is caught doing the hefty, big crimes. If I could’ve gotten the proof of the weapon dealers he would’ve been considered accomplice to the crime.”

“S-so if...if you..” you wiped you snotty nose on the back of your arm, “If he was caught on camera...he’d be sent to prison?” You started to laugh mechanically, “What if...what if I let him rape me. A nanny cam on my night stand or something?”

The office shook his head for the dozenth time, “By the law that wouldn’t be considered rape...only a messed up porno, especially if they see you set up the camera.”

Your fingers aggressively clenched another handful of fries, you didn’t eat them, you just threw them back into the bag.

“...I...what do I do Lloyd?” A fear of hopelessness tapped your brain.

He was quiet for a solid minute. He stared at you all over. You knew the bruise on your face was visible. He kept looking at your cheek instead of your eyes. And his gaze fell down to your neck. “It’s a collar Lloyd...he chained me to a bed for two days...”

His lips parted and with a impatient voice he asked, “Do you have a gym membership?”

“No? Why?”

He started his car and made you put your seat belt back on, “Okay, I don’t care, you’re getting one, right now."

Your eyes shrunk, “Why?”

Lloyd gruffly snarled, “Because I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

He would teach you at least some self defence. August might’ve been twice your size but if you could get the chance to get away...Lloyd would make sure you would take it..

05:30pm Monday 19th August 2024, East Brisbane Anytime Fitness Gym, Brisbane.

“Again.”

Your back hit the padded wall, your knees hit the floor as you cupped your middle and tried not to puke up the fast food from earlier.

“We have been at this for three hours!” You groaned, trying to use the foam wall to stand up again.

You were convinced Lloyd liked to beat you around, the red marks and bruises that were rising were the evidence.

“Until you can take me down,” Lloyd nudged you with his hand causing you to almost fall back down, “We aren’t leaving.”

You hissed angrily and stood up tall “Fuck sake.”

You held up your arms like he showed you. He started throwing his blows, you blocked him with your forearms and ducked away from his large swipes. He kicked your ankle and watched you crumble to the ground again.

“Watch your feet.” He scolded, “You are smaller and surprisingly speedy, use that to your advantage!”

You rolled your eyes and bit your lip. Getting to your feet you pushed up and launched your body at Lloyd who was checking out one of the yoga classes in the other room window.

He crashed to the floor. Your knees straddled his hips as you huffed with glee, “Ha! Home time!” your palms rested on his naked sweaty chest.

He chuckled and shook his head. He pushed you up by your hips. He shut his eyes, panting, “Again...then home time.”

You grumpily groaned, “Fine!” your ribs hurt bad and your knees felt swollen.

It was agreed by you both that if you needed to reach out you needed to use a burner phone or a payphone. Any calls or emails were going to be noticed.

When you felt the spray of the hot shower water at home, you cried. It felt good. You touched the collar still around your throat. Training to protect yourself reminded you the pain was worth it.

10:16am Wednesday 21st August 2024, Brisbane CBD

“Mr Luther, I’m so sorry for not calling in sick,” You wrung your hands in front of your boss, “Please forgive me for the unwarned absence.”

“Please!” He laughed heartedly, “I just assumed you were clicking some more photos!” He stood out from his chair and sat on his desk above you, “Did you hear about Walkers club almost burning down?”

Looking down at your lap, you reminded yourself that Mister John Luther was not a man included in the circle of trust. Nor were you convinced he understood the severity of the crimes the criminals he wanted to chase for gossiping stories committed. Your hand touched the ends of the scarf you wore, covering up the hideous black leather around your neck. You tried all morning to cut it off with a pair of scissors but you came to feel the metal circlet inside and gave up. There was a hole in one of the bottom cabinets where you had kicked in a hole...that was okay, you had an extra fifteen thousand pounds in your bank account.

You assumed Lloyd finally sent the money through.

“Did it?” you coyly asked.

“No clue how damaged the place was but the massive party was cancelled. The fire engines went zooming down this street Friday night.”

“What happens now then?” You glanced up at him and chewed the inside of your cheek, “With the smuggling case?”

“Put on hold for now,” he sighed and squeezed your shoulders, “I don’t have any sources about the next possible meet and greet. I was hoping you could keep the same production rolling. I have a new project involving a Nicholas Tortano. I want to get an interview with him.”

You didn’t recognise the name at all. Your fingers pinched at your long sleeve shirt. “An interview?”

Luther nodded, he winked and went back to his desk draw, slapping out a manilla folder.

He rubbed and clapped his hands, pushing and opening the new case to you.

“He has a history of his employed persons going missing. He has criminal history ties with Irish gangs and the italian mafia. I have a page of questions, I would like someone to ask him.”

You cleared your throat, “Me?”

Wagging his finger the elder man laughed, “No one has quite the balls as you deary...”

It sounded...Too dangerous.

“In that case,” you shuffled forward in your chair, “Can I be paid upfront for this job?”

You would not die at the hands of one gangster when you had your eyes set on another. Luther almost looked like he was going to tell you to get the fuck out of his office until he looked at your photos of August you’d taken. He was quickly reminded you had the best skills and to lose you would be suicide for his paper... You were the best thing to have happened to him. He accepted.

You sat in your work cubicle and aggressively jabbed at the key pad of your work phone. It’s not hard to find phone numbers. Nicholas Tortano had a nickname, “The Black Dog.” He was caught by paparazzi coming out of court a few times. His business empire related to charities. He was a philanthropist with a dirty history of crime connections. He had only been found guilty of third degree murder but many news articles in the past twenty years all labelled him as a omen of death, because anyone that had done him wrong was found dead not too long after...

You found the phone number and took a lucky gulp. There wasn’t an address for any business so if no one picked up, you were worried Idris might fire you for that mere disappointment alone.

The phone rung out once. You dialled again, the receiver picked up. You held your breath.

“Hello, Tortano and associates, who is calling?” the masculine tone soothed out.

“Hello, my name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m a journalist from the local paper. Is there a chance I may be able to book an interview with Nicholas Tortano?”

There was a steady silence and a soft hum, “What does this pertain to?”

You rubbed your eyes and looked over the notes Luther had given you in the folder, “....People think he is ‘a mass murdering psycho with a thirst for crime’, I’m hoping to ask him some questions to seek the truth.”

“How ludicrous,” the man chuckled, “I am a gentleman. A businessman. Not a criminal.”

You strained over the phone as you spoke to the secretary, “I am sure but this is in regards to Mister Tortano.”

The phone went quite again, you thought maybe you’d lost the connection.

The sweet condescending waved through the sound, “I am he...are you free today for lunch?”

With widened eyes your voice caught in your throat. You felt like an idiot...you never imagined he would answer the call to his own company. CEOs never answer the call of a civilian first hand...

You cleared your throat and nervously clicked a pen, “I am, where would you like to conduct this meeting.”

You could hear him click something too. He sounded warm, and inviting on the phone, “Do you like Italian? Have you ever heard of Vapianos?”

A tiny smile touched your lips. When was the last time you were asked out to lunch? Your eyes rolled, for fuck sake, this was a job...not a date.

“I don’t mind it.”

11:54pm Wednesday 21st August 2024, Brisbane CBD, Vapianos.

Nick Tortano had invited you to a side of town with skyrise buildings. The Vapianos restaurant was on the bottom floor of some massive buildings.

You wrapped your scarf around your neck again. The leather was tight around your throat. It was like he was there with you...holding you...as you cried over a father that you loved and hated.

You shook your head and looked down at the notebook and piece of paper you were given by Luther.

You looked around at the tables and the waiters. The place was sparkling with a quality of...the wealthy and corporate. The palm leaves, the tinted glass windows that raced from floor to ceiling, the champagne glasses on a nearby table. It was all glorious decoration.

All the people there were beautiful...not a single appearance that resembled you...a pauper.

The awkward steps you took towards the receptionist resembled a weak lamb. You felt stupid for being there.

The server looked you up and down and it caused a sting to any confidence you had left. You touched your scarf.

“Hello, I’m looking for a Mister Tortano we have a meet-”

A hand glided across your back, you jumped a little and became confronted with a pair of dark brown orbs and handsome white teeth, “Hello, Miss Y/N.”

Nicholas...he was tall and wearing a simple sweater. Despite his causality he held an air of regality. Not to be overly romantic but you felt he would be a stunning prince if he was a royal member.

“I hope you don’t mind but I’ve had them set a table already.”

He held out an arm to you.

“Not at all,” You flushed and happily accepted it. You tucked it around and let him lead you carefully to a table. There was a set of plates and two wine glasses.

“Just give me a second or two to set up, is it alright if I tape your voice?” you asked reaching into your handbag.

He pulled out a chair for you and explained, “I would prefer no tapes, but I’m not adverse to photography.”

It wasn’t an unusual request. Lots of people didn’t like the sound of their voice. He must’ve been one of them.

It didn’t matter, photos were more your talents anyway.

“In that case, may I take the photos first and then perform the interview?”

He nodded and flashed a bigger beautiful smile.

“Where would you like me?”

You pulled out a office camera from your bag, you didn’t have time to go home and grab one of your ten others. You started to turn it on.

“If you could look away from the lens, relax your shoulders, lean back and look like you’re thinking. No smiling.”

“Do I look ugly with a smile?” he cheekily asked.

You couldn’t help but smile. He was charming and flirtatious and incredibly handsome.

“Terribly,” you teased, “No, my boss would just prefer a little more seriousness I believe. To make the page appear professional...plus the topic regarding the article with a smiling photo you’d look like a madman.”

He nodded promisingly and fell into the pose. When he heard the camera clicked a small smirk pulled at his lips before quickly trying to compose his face.

When the photos were finished you stuffed the camera back in your bag. He relaxed from his falsified stern appearance.

Now came the interview. You pulled out the sheet of questions Idris provided. Under no circumstances were you meant to ask anything but these....except....the questions....well...they were...

“So, you...ugh...hold on a moment....”

How many people have you killed?

What is currently the cheapest drug you can achieve from your circle?

Are you a homosexual?

What the fuck?! You weren’t even sure if you were legally allowed to ask these questions due to discrimination laws.

“Um...I...”

He smiled at you from across the table. You felt a pearl of sweat forming on your forehead.

“Stage fright?” Nick asked softly, tilting his head. He snapped his finger and a waiter came over and poured water into two cups. A basket of breadsticks were placed in the centre.

“No, well...yes...um. the questions I’m meant to ask you I stupidly didn’t read before coming here...” your cheeks felt warm. The embarrassment rose fast.

“So they’re not your questions?” his eyebrows lifted. His finger traced the lip of his glass.

“They’re my boss’s but I said I would ask them.”

Nicholas' lips parted back into a smile, “Enlighten me, I will be less offended knowing they’re not from you.”

You smoothed the paper out on the table and pulled out a notepad, clicking a pen after finding the least offensive one you licked your bottom lip and stuttered, “How...how would you describe yourself?”

He sighed and held the cup to his lips, “Vain, rich with a dominating grace.”

Those weren’t usual qualities someone described themselves as, usually people preferred to remain humble and soften their reality. It was an interesting new perception to attach to Nicholas Tortano the criminal who covered his wrong doings with funding medicine for sick children.

You noted it and looked at the page again to try and find another less offensive question. Frantically your finger scrolled down all the words. Your heart started to pick up. These were so ridiculous and disgusting. Right I go the jaws of the black dog- that’s what Luther had done to you.

You shyly laughed, “hmm, I...let me...-”

Nick slapped the cup back on the table. His smile had fallen, “Politely, Miss Y/N I don’t like my time to be wasted...how about you hand me that piece of parchment.”

He reached over with lightning speed. He pinch the paper and dragged it to him.

“Hey!-”

“Now now, here’s what we will do,” he peaked up at you and licked his bottom lip, “I’ll answer these questions and so will you.”

You lifted your chin and looked at him cautiously.

“But they’re not for me.”

“That doesn’t matter, I can see you’re nervous darling...so...let’s break tension.”

He trailed his thumb down the page and sighed, “Let’s see...ah yes I see how these would make you less inviting to involve yourself.”

After a moment he glanced and smirked at the questions, god you could throttle Luther right now for letting you go through this stupid interview.

“How many years did it take you to be where you are now as one of the most notorious crimelords?”

You tried to put on your best smile, “...yesterday...I stole this scarf...” you lied.

“Why Miss Y/N you must be a terrible influence!” He feigned a gasp of horror which made you lightly giggle, “I don’t label myself as a crime lord. As over the phone I stated simply, I’m a business man...my business so happens to involve crime. I’ve been in this business since I was thirteen years old. My first offence was Car theft. That was almost twenty years ago.”

Your throat shut. He was in his forties!? The damn bastard had the option of early 30s or maybe 20s if he shaved off his stubble entirely.

He looked between your face and your hands, “Are you going to write that down or do I have to do that too?”

You blinked and jumped with a start of noting down the new information, “Oh yes! Sorry!” Scribbling quickly you watched him, watching you...he was staring...like you were...something unusual.

“How many sentences have you been charged with?”

You shrugged unsure why you felt ashamed to say, “None.”

The pen in your hand twirled as the handsome gentleman scratched his nose, “Too many...in all up it has kept me behind bars for nine years total but I’ve been in and out for years. I only returned to the public eye a month ago.”

“Woah,” you whispered.

Nine years? A month? You didn’t have a lot of time to research him considering the call for lunch was so quick and speedy.

His fingers tapped the table softly. He shrugged, “Its not as bad as tellie makes it out to be...in fact it’s a way to network well. You can learn lots of new tricks when you’re forced into tight confinement.”

You started to take dot points. It’s interesting...being in prison for nine years...not all together but all total. Making connections and friends inside prison didn’t really click at first. You always assumed prison was a scary and lonely cell where you had to pee in front of everyone.

Nick looked back at the page and laughed, he rubbed his mouth and shook his head, “Are you a homosexual?”

You also laughed but it was more a awkward shyness, “No, I think I’m bisexual if anything but strictly gay I’m not. I can’t understand why that question would be even asked, I’m so sorry.” You grit your teeth and looked away.

He tilted his hand and shrugged, “It’s vicious rumour that I’m a pillow biter...I am not a homosexual.”

Its all he said. And that was something you really didn’t like writing down...it was so unnecessary.

“What is currently the cheapest drug you can achieve from your circle? Miss Y/N don’t tell me you sell drugs?” he giggled and folded the paper back a little.

'Jesus Christ'Luther!!!...you really wanted me to ask that!?' Your fists clenched under the table.

You dismissed it and grinned, “No, I do not. Sorry to be so boring....you?”

“Paracetamol,” he answered, “I can sell you some right now, I like to keep some nearby.”

Anyone could sell paracetamol...he deliberately said that, you knew.

“After the interview I think I might just,” you laughed and rubbed a little at your temple.

“How many people have you killed?”

You gasped. Your chest was like a loud metal band concert with your heart as the instrument racked, you didn’t understand how that was possible.

“None.” Well...your father....maybe...Nick didn’t need to know about that.

The philanthropic crime lord aka ‘businessman’ remained totally silent. Your hand paused.

“Are you not going to answer the question?...”

He put the paper down and plucked the menu, he unfolded the cardboard covered in matte black and gold designs, he looked down at the wine selection, “I think you might need to do something for me to answer that.”

“What?” you wanted to say you’d do it. But why would you promise anything to a man with his bad record.

“I’d need you to kill someone. And you don’t strike me as a murderer Miss Y/N.” His dark gaze flickered up at you, “Now...what would you like to eat?”

You bit your lip. He’s definitely killed before, or else he would’ve just said no. He wanted to you to know he was a murderer...you knew because his eyes remained perfectly still as he said it. No tremble or lying shame in those pupils.

You sat forward and drank a bit of your water.

Perhaps meeting Nick wasn’t just a benefit for the paper gossip. Maybe he could help you...you heard his voice ask you another question, probably about the menu, you do not remember...instead your thoughts tumbled out of your lips.

“....do you sell weapons Mister Tortano?”

The question caught him off guard. They weren’t on the paper your boss provided.

“Weapons?” he asked cautiously.

Shit, you had gone too far now to recall your thoughts, “Would you sell a gun to a woman even if she doesn’t have a license?”

His eyes sparkled.

“Whatever would you want a gun for Miss Y/N?” he leant back in his chair and pressed his fingers to his lips.

You tried to explain, but it was hard. You looked over your shoulder. It was too public to be discussing this. You whispered, “... There’s a rat who won’t leave me alone. I’d like to scare him...”

His eyes narrowed a little at your speech. He knew you weren’t being literal, so he replied coolly, “Are you asking for a gun or pest control?”

You whispered again, “A gun.”

He fluttered, you could tell he was staring down your shit to check for a wire.and clapped his hands loudly. The entire restaurant went from idle chatter and laughter to utter silence...it was eery...like a dream or a nightmare.

Nick shouted at the top of his lungs, echoing off the walls, “Leave us!”

The entire assembly of guests started to rise from their chairs. They packed up their brief cases and hand bags. Abandoning the half eaten food and untouched wine and champagne. Your nose wrinkled. What the fuck... they were all heading to the stair well, ignoring the elevators.

You looked back at Nicholas, confused, wondering if he meant you to leave too...you pinched the table cloth worryingly.

“Have you thought it through?” Nick asked now that the restaurant was empty, and quiet.

“What?” you didn’t understand. The entire perception of Nick Tortano was collapsing. He was so powerful...all those people were his. All of them under his thumb...all of them so obedient...

“Do you intend on threatening or killing?”

You felt trapped by his words.

“That’s my business Mister Tortano, politely speaking...” how could you confess to your intentions.

It was bad enough that he knew you wanted a gun.

You wondered if there was any chance you you make a run to the doors and run away. You were stepping from one scary man to another at this point.

After a while of sitting ashamed in silence, he stood up from his chair. His fingers lazily brushed the table, until he paused in front of you. He dragged his hand under your chin. He made you look at him, standing above you. His hand violently tore off your scarf and he tutted, “Is he the one who put the collar on you? The man to cover you in bruises? Might need a better foundation darling...I’m not stupid. I’d like to know if it’s going to reflect back on me. What’s the chaps name?”

You didn’t like how personally close he was standing above you. You felt small and trembled beneath his pinning dark brown eyes...they were practically black like some soulless shark. His white teeth looked starved.

You lied again, “...Lloyd...Ha-Han-Hansen...” perhaps Lloyd could handle Nick? But how? He couldn’t handle August. You regretted saying his name but that was it...you threw the only friend you had under the bus.

“Hmmm can’t say I know him well...”

“He’s um...a lawyer,” you lied again.

He smirked and whispered, “Is he?” his eyes narrowed with a glint of mischief.

He flipped his cardigan sweater up, on his hip, inside tucked in his jeans was a scary black gun... A hand gun.

“Well I do hope you get what you want out of him,” he pulled out the gun and set it on the table in front of you, “Here, consider it a gift...I find your disposition incredibly pleasing...”

You glanced at the gun and felt a rush of something...adrenaline? Anxiety? Arousal? Something became alive...

“I need to go. I’m so sorry,” you rushed to stand up, you pinched the weapon and carefully tucked it into your hand bag, “I need to leave.”

This was too easy. Far too coincidental. Maybe this was your father's spirit watching over you?

“Until we meet again,” he chuckled and stood aside. You could hear his wickedly laughter as you fled to the doors. As the doors closed behind you, you could see in the distance, Nick standing by the windows smelling your scarf deeply. Your hand touched your throst and felt the jagged material. You weren't sure if you wanted to go back for the scarf. Watching him press his face into the soft material- the action was perverse...he was perverse...just like August. A mighty shiver rolled up your spine. You didn’t have time to worry about that.

You were filled with all the raw emotions of the last month. Anger, grief, revenge....

You now had a gun... The power to wield death easily. Now you just needed your chance.

You kept hearing Lloyd in the back of your mind...would killing August be worth your own life?

Especially life in prison.

You shoved it back and focused on the pain you felt, the agony as you cried in his lap under threats of his spanking. He wiped you when you used the toilet...he called you puppy...he forced you to cum and cry....he made you beg and suck his cock just to hold you...he treated you as a subhuman.

02:06pm Wednesday 21st August 2024, Woolloongabba, Brisbane

You opened your front door, slamming it behind you. And as you started to slide the bolts and chains, you heard something down the hallway...a small crash? No? A grunt...

Angry eyes and a sneer grew on your face. You marched down, your father’s door was wide open.

And there the fucker was. August... Folding clothes into your father’s bed from a washing basket.

You saw red.

“Wh-what the fuck...get out!”

He lifted his head and finished folding a pair of your jeans, your head leaned back to your bedrooms opened door before you looked back at him inside your father's room.

“Your home is a mess,” He said nonchalantly, “I won’t have you stomping around in squalor.”

He had gone into your room and cleaned it. And on any given day, that would’ve earned a man a blowjob, not him though, no...he was in your space and invading your life too much.

With a flared nostril you snarled, “I am giving you five seconds to leave. Or I'll-”

He snickered at your defiant demand, “Or what? You’re going to call the cops?”

You didn’t want to kill him here...You dug into your hand bag and it felt impossibly slow and heavy in your hand. You pointer the gun at his head and fought the trembling in your body and your voice, “Or you’re going to choke on your own blood August.”

His eyes widened, he didn’t expect your display. He paused and continued to fold the laundry. You didn’t like being ignored and moved inside of your father’s room. It wouldn’t be the first time a man died in this room.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” He said without a single hint of fear.

You held the gun now in both hands. You stood strong and came closer around the bed.

You scoffed, “No, of course not, you manipulate me, drug me, hit me, and raped me but 'oh nooooo I won’t shoot you'?”

He smiled and shook his head slowly. He appeared so unafraid and that caused a spit of hate to hit your face. You wanted him to be on his knees, begging for his life, pleading for forgiveness while he pissed himself. This was not at all what you imagined, him folding the washing and sorting to find pairs of socks.

“One,” You said.

He sighed and threw your underwear back into the basket. He started to walk around the bed gradually.

You screeched, “Two, stay the fuck away from me!”

He stopped and raised his hands. Slowly he perched himself on the corner of your dad’s bed.

“Three,” you said a little shakily. He still didn’t flinch. You felt suffocated. Why wasn’t he scared?

You pissed in his lap when he pointed one at you in the club. This wasn’t fair.

Tears uncontrollably started to fall from your eyes. You didn’t want to kill him...god you hated him...but if he wasn’t going to beg you, you didn’t want to kill him. Especially in this room...besides ...what would you do with his body?

“F-four, don’t make me do this August!”

You moved closer and closer until the tip of the metal weapon pressed into his forehead.

It was now or never...“Pl-please, don’t...” you begged, hoping he would walk out of the room and apartment. You squeezed your eyes shut.

You pulled the trigger and screamed as you did it. The trigger didn’t move...it felt stuck. You pulled it again and nothing happened. You opened your eyes and noted how the gun hadn’t gone off and August was still happily breathing with a dark, sadistic grin on his moustached lips.

“Five...” he hummed and wrapped his palm around the barrel, pulling it up and tugging it away from your trembling hands, “your safety is still on, and...” He clicked off the top and sighed, “It’s not even loaded.”

You crashed to your knees and vomited right over his leather shoes. You weren’t prepared for the rush of exhaustion to hit you. Your body shook. Your fingers clenched the soaked carpet. The metal of the unloaded gun lifted your chin up. Tears ran down your cheeks beautifully.

“Tell me, did the piggy give this to you?”

Your swollen lips blubbered, “No!” Lloyd didn’t need any more wicked men following him around.

You shut your eyes and sniffled. Surely August would kill you. This must’ve been some sort of a strike three, yes?

“Then where did you get your paws on one of these?...” he bit his smile lip.

“A friend...” it wasn’t a total lie. Nick liked you, you somewhat found him intriguing. Yes you’d only met that day...but he was a friend now for a moment in your mind.

August pulled you up into his lap by your hair. Hot lips pressed into your neck and nuzzling your ratty leather collar, “You were really going to kill me...weren’t you?” he cooed as you started to sniffle and choke on your tears, “You pulled that trigger. I underestimated you sweetness...don’t worry. I won’t punish you for that.”

He cupped the back of your head, pulling you in for a big kiss. His lips soft, but his hand tight and filled with dominance.

You felt light. He was kissing you just after you vomited. Gross.

He pulled away and spat at the floor, he chuckled and pressed his nose against yours.

“In fact...I got you a gift.”

You whined and fluttered your eyes, “I don’t want a gift from you.”

You weren’t mentally prepared for any sick sexual torture he had in store for you. You could see his jaw shift and his eyes dash back and forth.

“Are you sure? I think you’ll like it.”

Your hands touched the collar hopefully. Maybe it was the key?

He slid his hands under your armpits. You heard your bag hit the dry side of the floor.

He lifted you with ease to your feet and pressed a hand at the small of your back, pushing you to the bathroom.

He was so huge compared to you. The lower ceiling made you have a flash of worry...what if he hit his head?

He was fine.

He turned on the shower and peeled away your clothes. He wasn’t rough, and he wasn’t leering...he was soft...and patient. He pushed your long sleeved shirt up and gasped at the sight of bruises Lloyd created from the gym. His thumb unkindly pressed into one. You whined and tried to step away but your ass pressed into the vanity sink.

He knew he hadn’t given you these.

“And who has my puppy been playing rough with? Don’t tell me you’ve spread your legs for someone else now...”

He turned you around slowly, inspecting the marks he had not made on your skin. His hands palmed over your flesh.

The steam from the shower began to whaf out. You tried to not imagine the water bill ticking up.

He pinched your bra off and watched your arms circle to cover your chest.

He turned you back to face him. Unbuttoning your jeans, he tugged them down and helped take off your shoes. He pressed his lips to a bruise on your outer thigh. The temptation to throw your knee into his throat was great.

His hand cupped the back of your knee. His nose was so close to your underwear covered pussy, you could feel his hot breath tickling your clit.

Your panties were gradually pulled down to your ankle and you used his shoulder for balance as you stood out of the flimsy material.

He stood back and opened the shower door for you. He left the bathroom door open and you didn’t want to risk a punishment for locking him out. He took your clothes to the laundry and heard him open your cleaning supply closet where you kept a mop and broom and vacuum cleaner.

As you soaped your body, the suds building along your skin and back you sighed. The collar rubbed against your neck. It was a reminder...

He was powerful. He was scary and you were risking death. You had just tried to kill him...at any moment he could bash your head in until your skull caved, no one would find you for days...maybe weeks...he said he wouldn’t kill you but that was before you pulled a gun on him.

You were angry at yourself...angry at Ben....why would the gun be empty?! Couldn’t Nick have told you that? Maybe he assumed you knew how to handle one...

August came back into the bathroom after ten minutes of cleaning. You didn’t dare to leave the shower in that time.

He was back. And now...he was naked. You uncontrollably worried and pressed your back into the bathroom tile. He stood into the shower, stealing the hot spray when it hit his back.

He was so hairy, and huge. He was like a bear.

You gulped and glanced at his dick. He was flaccid but you knew he could fuck you with a soft dick or just his hands alone.

He held out his hand and whispered, “The soap, please.”

Your hand shook as you shakily handed over the small white bar. It was the cheapest shit on the shelves you could find.

Now you regretted not spending the money you saw in your bank account. You would die feeling poor.

You tried to cover your nakedness. A hand between your thighs. You felt the bareness and cringed your face. He would’ve waxed you again or shaved while you were ‘in his care’ after the club incident.

The huge man started to rub the soap along his thighs and his arms and chest.

He smelt of your vomit...he cleaned it up for you...his clothes...you could hear the laundry machine.

He either was cleaning evidence or he was staying the night.

His face...was soft. He wasn’t angry...he was deep in thought... He was pleased. The faintest of smiles was on his furry face.

When he was finished. He touched your waist and pressed you to turn around him in the cubicle. Now the hot water covered your shivering skin. He rubbed some more soap into his hands and rubbed the bubbled into your skin. Along the back of your neck he rubbed and pinched. A tiny moan imminently slipped from your lips. You hoped he hadn’t heard it.

He did...

You knew he was gliding his hands down to your bottom and rubbing the darkened skin he planted when he spanked you. You hissed and softly swore as his thumb pressed in. A small threat, a warning? A reminder...

He touched you everywhere except your tits and your cunt...which shocked you as you braced from his hands every time they drew near those areas. The sense of denial played in your mind.

Your body felt warm...humming as it was teased.

He did touch the leather around your neck and tutted at the parts you damaged with scissors, where the metal you couldn’t cut poked out.

Turning the shower off, August opened the door again and guided you out onto the soft floor mat. He took a towel from the vanity draw and wrapped it over your shoulders like you were some kid at the beach.

He wrapped a towel around his waist. His body dripping and soaking into the edge.

You were poked out of the room and made to go into your room. Your dad’s door was still open however and that made you uncomfortable.

On your bed...was a box....

The gift...was an actual gift!? It was wrapped in white and gold paper with a pink tulle ribbon around it.

You shifted your towel around to wrap yourself in and looked between the man leaning on the doorway and the wrapped box on your bed.

He nodded to it. Open it. A silent command.

Your curled your lips into your mouth as you pulled the tulle ribbon away and scratched the paper back.

A deep gasp left your chest, “A phone?...”

It was one of the newest if the models you used. This type of phone usually cost three thousand dollars!

Behind you the awful man laughed softly, “For stepping on the one from the club.”

The tiny smile that was coming to your lips, disappeared. If he hadn’t reminded you of that night, you might’ve kept smiling. Your fist clenched. You were angry. Did he know how scared you were as you ran in the dark? Did he know you hated him even more because of this gift. This wasn’t a gift, this was a bribe...

Your jaw ticked and you turned on your heel, you held your towel tightly, “I am not saying thankyou.”

He chuckled at that and nodded, he tilted his head to the side and wagged a finger at you, “I swear every time I see you, you become twice as fiery.”

When he stood forward you got scared and tripped back and fell onto your bed. The phone box slid to the floor. Your heart raced. You noted how you accidentally flashed him as the towel fell from your hands.

He paused, not moving any further. He could see how frightened you were. And if you didn’t know any better...he didn’t want to scare you today.

His smile fell and he sighed, “Before I forget...your sex toy arrived.”

You crept off your bed as he left the door way. He was quickly back before you could make an escape.

He held a box and threw it to you. Without thought you let go of your towel and caught the box with the erotic images and product on it.

Stark nude and wet you stood. You turned away from him and put the box with your newly bought toy on the bed. You put your phone box beside it.

He was watching you with bird eyes as you tried to pick up the towel and cover yourself again.

“So let me see,” he hummed, he crossed his arms over his chest and clicked his tongue, “First you threaten to kill me,” he pushed away from the door, “You then attempt to actually kill me,” and he shakes his head chuckling, “and now I find out my cock isn’t enough to satisfy? Good heavens...have I neglected my greedy little puppy?”

Your hands lifted... Your towel was loose but you had tucked it to your body. You prepared your fighting stance like how Lloyd showed you.

“Get out...” you spat.

“No,” he smirked, “I will not.” He launched forward.

He grabbed your towel and you slipped from the material. You ran around his body, ripping his towel off as you ran out.

You slipped on water droplets in the hall and slid down the hall to the kitchen.

As he came around the corner, you flung a cupboard door open hard that smacked his hard in the face. You smiled hearing his painful groan.

"Fuck!"

He pushed it back and tried to grab you as you ran around the mini island. You threw his towel at his face as you made a rush back to your room. You managed to lock a chain and bolt on the bedroom door. You panicked and climbed under your pathetic single bed. You heard him behind the wood.

“Open up little puppy...or I’m gonna huff...” he said, “and then I’ll puff...”

When you made no sign of opening the door and remaining beneath the bedframe. The door burst open. The locks tore through the metal nook. He walked through. He nakedly crouched by the side of the bed and sighed at you curled up under your bed. He shook his head and softly smiled. He laid flat on the floor beside you.

“Watcha doin down there sweetness?”

You felt a breath escape you. A soft laugh. Was he fucking serious?!

“Hiding,” you mumbled into your wrists.

He fluttered his eyes shut. His hand rested on his Bare stomach.

“Well I found you, so you might as well come out. You’re black and blue. I don’t want to drag you over the carpet, don’t want rip up your knees pup.”

You couldn’t understand why he kept calling you that. You weren’t a puppy...you...you were human and you still weren’t sure how that pet name even fit you .

You knew he was right though, there was only way out and it didn’t matter. You would need to face him. If he wanted to kill you, nothing could’ve stopped him from strangling your throat. After a minute or two you finally gave in... Wiggling your butt from under the bed. He moved up to his knees. He watched you stick your head out and shimmy to the open air.

You knew trying to run out the door was useless and there was no other locks other than the front door. You rubbed your lips, staring at the broken locks and the door that hung off only one hinge...you really hated him...

His large soft hand rubbed your cheek and the back of your neck, cupping you closer to his body.

Both in your knees, he pulled you into his chest.

You pleaded softly, “Please...”

“Kiss me puppy,” he begged and looked down at your lips. You glanced to his eyes and shut yours as your pushed your face up.

He was gentle. His tongue poked Into your mouth and your lips closed. He kissed you and sucked on your bottom lip loudly. God it felt good. It felt hot and inviting. This kiss was like a deep hot bath or a cosy blanket. His hands squeezed your arms and cocooned you closer to his damp skin. You just wanted to wrap yourself in his body and sleep...except your body felt attacked by an invisible electricity, like a dozen bees rumbling down from your chest to the folds between your thighs.

Your could barely breathe.

When he pulled back he shuddered, “Are you turned on?”

You gasped, “No, why would I-”

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m scared,” your nose twitched and your gazed over his chest, feeling his cock twitch against your belly.

He chuckled and shook his head, he pressed a hard kiss against your cheek, “Merely two sides of the same coin...”

You whimpered and felt his hands smooth down your ass to your thighs. He lifted you up and pushed you onto your bed. You were at the same height now. Him kneeling on the floor with your sitting on your bed.

“You are safe, trust me,” he kissed your lips briskly, “Say it.”

“I...” you hesitated, “I am safe...and I trust you.”

His thumb pressed under your jaw, he kissed you again, “Good girl. I am not going to hurt you...truly...I promise.”

He dragged his lips down to your chest. He sucked in one of your tits. His lips smacked as he licked and sucked around your skin, you felt strange. Dirty but in a good way. Your own back curled to push into his mouth.

He pulled up after one satisfying suck, “That felt good yea?”

“S-so good,” you stuttered. Your cheeks felt warm it was like you were drunk but you knew you had a full sober conscious..

“Would you like to feel that again?” he asked, his hands ran up your thighs, spreading your knees.

You sighed as his thumb licked at your clit. You rocked your hip a little and whined. Fuck it felt good.

“Answer me puppy”

“I- oh god- I want to feel that again.”

He kissed your belly and pushed you back a little. Your head thudded against the wall. Your hands shakily grasped some pillows and put them behind your back. Your gleaming cunt glistened...that was totally you...no lube...no spit....just your arousal alone.

“Look at this pussy.” He marvelled as he pushed two fingers inside. You gasped and let out a feral moan.

“It just swallows up my fingers...do you like my fingers fucking your wet pussy?”

You whined and but your lip. When you didn’t answer, he pulled them out. He started licking them lewdly as he waited for your reply.

“I...” Your hands covered your eyes as you moaned, “I don’t know.”

“Are you turned on?” he asked you again.

“Yes,” you admitted. You just wanted his fingers back there again.

“Do you want my cock?” He purred in a soft belittling time.

“Y-yes...” you almost sobbed. God admitting it now made yourself sick. How could you admit to that? Your entire goal was to kill him. Take him down. Destroy his reputation. But here you were.

In your bedroom, crying for him to fuck you with his huge dick.

He climbed on top of you and tugged your ankles over his waist.

You felt his hard head press into your hole. His cock popped inside and his hips started the deep defend inside of you. He held your hips, lifting you up.

“Do you hate me?” he crooned, his teeth gnawed at your earlobe.

“I do,” you growled, in his ear, “fucking hate your guts.”

He laughed and groaned, “You hate my fucking guts?”

“Yes, fuck,” you gasped and scratched the back of his neck.

He was stretching you out and you drowned in his touch. You felt his cock tapping at your special spot and felt your knees clench tighter around his ribs.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked despite being balls deep and jerking his hips into yours.

“Yes. Oh god,” you gargled as he decided to slam himself harder and faster. Your nails dug into his biceps. Your teeth were grit tightly. You kept swearing. It hurt and felt so good altogether.

“Who do you belong to?” he sighed, his eyes winced while your pussy clenched him tightly.

You grunted angrily, “No body.”

He punctuated with his jerking hips, “You. Belong. To. Me.”

“N-no!” You yelped, his finger curled under your collar and tugged up you neck until you were forced to put yourself up on your elbows. He slowed his speed but kept his deep entrance.

“Oh but you do puppy, you do. You already know it. You just don’t want to admit it.”

His other hand pressed against your clit and your eyes rolled a little. Your nostril flared. Fuck that was painfully good. He tugged you up by the leather strap until your nose pressed against his. His moustache tickles against your lip.

“Whose collar is around this throat?” he growlee.

You grunted, “Yours.”

“That’s right...it’s. Mine. My. Collar.”

He kissed you hard and possessively. Not once did he let the collar go. He shoved his mouth into your ear as he ground down hard inside your cunt.

“Would you fuck any other man with this collar on?”

Your hand hugged the back of his neck and scratched, “No!”

“So tell me, who do you belong to.”

Your gasped, spit flying from your mouth against his as you said it, “Y-you.”

“That’s right, good puppy. You belong to me. I own you. You are my pet. You are mine to look after...mine to protect.”

It was a mantra, a speech that planted itself into your mind as a new fact...like a new commandment that always had been yet unspoken until now.

“Say it you little bitch,” he barked.

“Yours, I’m yours,” your eyes rolled as you started to cum, your words caught in your mouth until you Released a ear piercing scream, “I belong to you!!”

You felt him cackle as you wailed through the orgasm. The pressure was like a water balloon bursting in your belly and shooting a burning pleasure through your cunt.

It took you a while to calm down. You sobbed. The pleasure was too much...you felt confused and consumed. His cock twitch and he grunted loudly before freezing. His cock moved again and you felt him pull away, his cum rushed out and dripped out of you.

You felt full and empty. It was an unusual sensation.

He was sweating, your were drenched. Leaning over your trembling body, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and sighed, “what are you?”

“Yours,” you whined.

He chuckled and shook his head. His fingers pinched your jaw, “No, what are you to me?”

“I...” you paused and blinked lazily. Your brain was too fuzzy. “I don’t understand...I don’t know.”

Your hand wandered up to your throat. His hand was fiddling with the metal. You heard the collar pop and click. He pulled the collar away and threw it over his shoulder, “You’re my puppy.”

"And..." You voice rattled through your teeth, "And you're...daddy?"

He kissed you again and nodded, "Good girl."

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[we-didnt-playtest-this-at-all]

I did enjoy duck detective but it seems a little strange that there’s no option to arrest Rufus and Margaret after they openly confessed to embezzlement lol. Also I really thought that the post credits scene would end with Freddy kidnapping you to lead into the next case. I do wish there was more than one since it’s fun but short.

[philtstone]

Eowyn, 1

1 - in lonely beds ive finally scraped together a functional first scene for my accidentally-a-psych 3 hunters detective agency au. if you guys like this mess i'll turn it into a real fic. with chapters and a plot and everything!!!!! the prompt is ... interpreted but loneliness and my girl eowyn are well acquainted

It is four o'clock on a Tuesday and Eowyn Eomundsdottir has three significant problems. 

Arrest, rapid-onset dementia, and laundry.

Each of her issues is easily explainable if considered separately. Eowyn is the first to admit that her brother Eomer’s always had a bit of a temper, and if she puts aside the necessary development of maturity and commitment to familial responsibilities that happened after their parents died, it was always a matter of time before some poor idiot pressed his buttons in just the wrong-enough way in front of another just the wrong-enough idiot to get him jailed overnight for knocking in an unwitting nose. 

Plenty of people’s uncles develop rapid-onset dementia, she is freely ready to acknowledge. 

And – if Eowyn may be so self-aware – she has certainly fallen behind on her laundry many times before. 

But no matter how short her brother’s temper, he wouldn’t be arrested for trying to embezzle family funds. Rapid-onset dementia is far less likely when there is next to nil history of it in your family tree, and even less so when the Uncle in question is a scant fifty-three and doing perfectly fine not two months ago. And, most importantly: Eowyn has fallen behind on laundry before, but never because of the above-mentioned two issues, and never such that the only thing she’s got left to wear is a thin white sundress from when she was fourteen that is too short at the knees and not at all suited for the early spring cold spell they are currently experiencing, nor the creepy wandering eyes of Uncle Theoden’s new business manager, who routinely looks like he’s been doused in oil. 

It’s fucking miserable, is what it is. Her knees have goosepimpled, she’s so cold. And to make matters worse, her cousin Theodred, whom she would usually text for help in a crisis, seems to have blocked her phone number.

That, Eowyn simply can’t believe.

It’s because of all these things that she finds herself standing at the dingy brick building by the docks, eyeing the circling seagulls warily, and clutching her backpack in one hand and her bike helmet — which has left her long blonde hair looking like a birds nest — in the other. It’s a small place, with a glass window in place of a front wall that’s got the blinds drawn on the inside. There’s no official sign, but someone has taped a small piece of cardstock to the back of the windowpane, facing out. It reads, in surprisingly elegant black Sharpie penmanship:

Telcontar, Gloinson & Thranduilion Private Investigators for Hire 

Beneath this, there is an additionally taped series of brightly coloured post-it notes, which are scrawled over with the following in various hands:

Got a phone! +1591-334-9920 (If no one answers the door, call the number! We DO NOT have a website.) That’s because Gimli thinks the government is spying on us. SO DO YOU! All inquiries welcome :-) 

Eowyn takes a moment to read through it all. Then she pauses, listening. There is the distinct sound of voices from within, muffled. So someone must be home, then – better just to open the door, rather than knock, in case no one hears her. She takes a deep, steadying breath, tugs at the too-short hem of her dress, and twists the doorknob.

Inside there is what can only be described as carefully organized chaos.

Within the small office space there is a cluttered desk housing a laptop and overlarge monitor. Boxes cover everything, as though someone has only just moved in, and a lopsided whiteboard rests against the far wall, covered in a far less elegant version than the hand that wrote the outside sign. Everything smells a little bit like camphor, and also cookies, and a very faint touch of gym socks. A man sits on a rolly chair in the corner; he is on his cellphone. Eowyn wouldn’t have even seen him if he wasn’t talking, so well does he somehow blend into the taupe walls and cluttered box decor, but as she does: he is tall (too tall for the chair), dark haired, and wearing an old grey hoodie, running shoes, and an abominably ratty pair of jeans. He’s talking on the phone in a low gentle voice that is nonetheless a touch put-upon, but nowhere near snippy or even frustrated. Eowyn (in a fit of fancy) doesn’t think a voice like that could be capable of snippiness, and then promptly feels very embarrassed by her own foolishness. At his feet, by the bottom of the whiteboard, a pile of dirty blankets rests. From within them sounds a plaintive meowing. Opera music plays from a speaker system Eowyn can’t see; a hammer (maybe?) is banging somewhere in the distant back room, the door to which hangs open on squeaky hinges; and two other voices can be heard arguing loudly from the same general direction.

Also, there is a young man, around Eowyn’s own age, standing very awkwardly with his green jumper and moppish brown hair to the immediate left of the door and looking as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with himself. At Eowyn’s bewildered look, he offers her a pained smile and a weird little wave hullo. Eowyn waves weirdly back.

“Yeah – yeah, just a second. We’ve got a client –” The man in the rolly chair looks up at Eowyn and smiles. It is such a very nice, genuinely kind smile that Eowyn cannot help but smile back immediately and then feel her whole face go red; she’d be thoroughly soothed if she wasn’t also feeling so completely out of her depth. Bang bang bang, comes the hammer from the back room, along with a swelling of the arguing voices. “Someone will be with you in a second,” whisper-mouths the man. Then he reaches down, takes off one of his running shoes, and flings it very expertly through the open door. There is a small noise, like a crash, and the other two voices stop. He returns to his phone call.

“... what I was saying. No. No, I don’t want you to be halfway across the world. That’s not the point, the point is your dad stopped practicing ten years ago and now owns a bed and breakfast. He’s not the one who’d be navigating a corrupt healthcare system. Do you know how much lobby money lines the pockets of mega corporations? Remember the whole Nestle baby formula thing? The media definitely doesn’t …” 

“Good afternoon!” declares a second, much louder voice, minutes before its owner materializes behind the cluttered desk. He is more beard than man, wears a very formal and very 1990s plum coloured suit and one single gold earring, and comes up to about Eowyn’s shoulder. He claps his hands together. “Now, which of you was here first? No – don’t tell me, I will guess!”

But his imminent guessing is interrupted by the third voice, floating in: 

“I still can’t find it!”

Desk man deflates by a margin. Without turning his head, he calls, 

“I told you to look in the third box!” 

“I looked there. It’s not there, Gimli. I’ll try going through the books.”

“Why would a thing like that fit in a book?”

“Try the kitchen,” mouths the man on the rolly chair. A muffled woman’s voice comes through his mobile. He has one hand covering his face now, and his head tipped back to face the ceiling. “Well, yes – I do know that. You’re really telling me you don’t want to go to Paris for a year.” While Eowyn watches the meowing blanket pile moves and from within it a truly horrible looking little cat emerges. It shoots one paw out as if intending specifically to scratch its phone-occupied companion; the speed at which he moves his foot to pin the blankets hem and thwart the little paw is bordering on superhuman. Cat hisses pathetically from under its blanket prison. On the speakers, the opera singer has reached a uniquely high pitch in her stanza. “No, obviously I don’t want to do long-distance, I just think — uh huh. Yes. I’d tell anyone to go to Paris. I’d tell Gimli to go, if Gimli’s university was offering to send him to Paris.”

“He’s already tried the kitchen,” says the man at the desk – presumably Gimli. Still, he yells out, “Try the kitchen, would you?”

“I’ve already tried the kitchen!” calls the disembodied voice. “I can’t find it!”

“You can’t find it because of your terrible organizational system.”

“It is not my terrible organizational system, which you know, and besides which I have never had problems with it before.”

“No,” from the rolling chair, “Legolas is maligning my organizational skills. I know you think they’re fine, so you can tell your cousin that on Sunday …”

“Try the kitchen.”

“I’ve tried the kitchen twice.”

Bang bang bang, continues the sound from the back room. Eowyn wonders if there isn’t an ongoing construction project. The young guy on her left, with the moppish hair and jumper, gives her a look as if to say, Filing cabinet, maybe?

“As you can see, gentle lady,” explains Gimli the desk man, very politely to Eowyn, while the second voice declares somewhat redundantly that he is, in fact, going to check the kitchen, “we are a tad busy this afternoon. Someone will be with you momentarily.” He turns, presumably in the kitchen’s direction, and calls out, “if you ask my opinion on the subject again, I’ll wallop you with Aragorn’s dratted guitar!”

Eowyn looks. There indeed is a battered old guitar, perched merrily on a pile of papers behind the front desk, ready to be used for walloping.

“I could come back later,” says Eowyn. She looks over at jumper guy, who’s staring at the still-hissing pile of blankets with some concern. “Can’t really speak for him, though.”

Jumper guy looks aggrieved. “Er – no, I’d rather not come back later. Gandalf said you’d be free to help.”

“And help –” begins Gimli, while there is another crash from the back room (they all wince, though Gimli does it with serenity) “-- we shall! If you give my colleague Legolas a moment to get his head on straight –” (the disembodied voice says something very rude in response to this pointed inflection), “-- then the two of us will be at your disposal.”

“Three of us,” interjects the first, almost forgotten voice. 

Eowyn and her jumper-clad companion turn startled to look: cellphone put away, rolly chair man has stood up to his quite considerable height and is looking at them consideringly. Despite his mildness of expression Eowyn experiences the uncomfortable feeling of being looked at by someone who could in a more fantastical setting have, like, laser vision or something – how is he doing it? And she is sure he isn’t really seeing right through her but she does get the sense he is understanding a lot more than she’d like to let on. Almost defiantly she tugs at her dress and clutches her bike helmet closer to herself. Jumper guy clears his throat. Then from the back room comes – presumably – Legolas, who is fair, thin, and for reasons unexplained wearing sunglasses indoors. He is also covered in what Eowyn hopes are pillow feathers and holding, in one hand, a very large glittering silver sword, and in the other a dingy looking VHS tape. It has cartoon vegetables in cloaks on the front.

“Did anyone know we still had this?” he asks pleasantly, and it is not clear to which find he is referring, “Arwen and I used to stare at it for hours as kids.” He spots Eowyn and her jumper-clad counterpart. “Oh – hello!”

Eowyn gapes. The three of them make a fascinating picture, standing there alongside each other.

“Now then,” says the man called Gimli. “Faramir, we know of already –” he nods at the boy beside Eowyn, who looks a bit bewildered by this, “as Gandalf sent him here! But this young lady we do not. How can we help?”

Perhaps it is the blinding reflection of the hopefully-a-prop sword, but Eowyn is suddenly overtaken by an awful affliction of watery eyes, which has nothing at all to do with her general feelings of overwhelm — until now expertly repressed — she is sure. She feels at once full of despair and yet shaking with eagerness, and everything she’d been desperate to explain to a listening ear gets stuck in her throat in the face of three, admittedly sort of weird (somewhat stern, verging on intense, dipping into outright comical), thoroughly kind faces looking right at her. It suddenly occurs to her how horribly, horribly alone she’s felt for the past six weeks.  

She remains rooted to the spot and tragically mute while Faramir, from beside her, begins all at once,

“I wasn’t sure where to go. I didn’t want it getting back to dad, so Gandalf seemed like the best option — and he said you were very trustworthy, and I do trust Gandalf of course – but it's my brother, you see, he’s disappeared,” vaguely Eowyn is aware of a grim look of surprise rippling through the collective at this reveal, “and it’ll sound crazy but I had this awful dream two weeks ago …”

While Eowyn attempts to wrangle her misbehaving emotions like one would a wobbly-legged yet stubbornly misbehaving colt, an impromptu consultation begins.

“Gone missing?”

“I bet he went hiking or something and lost his phone. It’s happened before.”

“Boromir hates hiking, though. Remember when Aragorn tried to bring him camping with us?”

“No wonder Gandalf sent you here.”

“I have odd dreams too sometimes; they are usually because of indigestion. I’m sure old Boromir’s just fine.”

“No,” insists Faramir, who seems – in Eowyn’s half-attentive estimation – to be doing an admirable job at hiding his surprise at this existing knowledge of his brother. “He’s not answering my texts – it’s like he’s blocked my number, which doesn’t make any sense!”

Eowyn’s head jerks around to stare at him. 

Could it be a coincidence? That is exactly the thought she herself had, not an hour ago, about her own cousin. Is it possible that she isn’t crazy, and her awful yearning for Eomer to be here and not in overnight jail, so someone who is not Eowyn could deal with things, is not childish? She opens her mouth, but her words are stuck again. All she can do is inhale like a small bird puffing up its chest and make a very very faint squeaking noise, which she is mostly sure no one can hear.

“Legolas,” interjects rolly chair man. His sharp grey eyes, which had flitted around briefly and shrewdly throughout the hubbub, are now fixed again on Eowyn, and thoughtful. The commotion dies down. In a mild voice he says, “Maybe you could fetch a clean pair of gym shorts and a blanket to lend our new friend, so she’ll be a bit more comfortable.” 

Eowyn, swaying a bit on the spot, hadn't even realized she was tugging at her dress again. 

“Oh,” she manages.

“Aye, I’d say you’re about the same size,” agrees Gimli, to Legolas, after a beat. “Aragorn has a good eye for these things,” he adds, as if needing their prospective clients in crisis to know this.

“I’ll bring her a comb, too,” says Legolas, not at all meanly, and goes to fetch these things.

“And I’ll put on some tea,” says Aragorn, so named, and for a second time his face softens with that warm, open smile. “I’m Aragorn,” he continues. “Let’s all sit down, and you can both start from the beginning; everything will be alright.”

In the moment after this offer Eowyn locks eyes with Faramir. He is standing next to her. His jumper looks particularly sad now that she is paying attention. He isn’t looking at Aragorn or the sword or the pillow feathers Legolas left behind, but at her. Right at her. There’s a solidarity there. It would be a touching exchange, Eowyn thinks, if not for the fact that the feral cat in its blanket pile has started talking to itself in oddly pitched meows.

A large crash sounds from the back room, accompanied by the sound of a child swearing.

“Yeah, okay,” Eowyn says. 

For the rest of today, at least, she has decided that she refuses to feel alone.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (68)

Part 1 - Part 62 / Part 63 / Part 64 / Part 65 / Part 66 / Part 67 /

Created: May 24th, 2024

Last Checked:------

Capitol Life-JavisTG (ao3) Summary: An Everlark story inspired by “The Americans”. Born in District 12, Katniss and Peeta are sent to the Capitol as spies. Can real love grow when everything around them is a lie? Code Name: Mockingjay-hutchabelle (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne are the best detectives in Panem. Mayor Snow demands their help finding the Mockingjay, a mysterious benefactor who embezzles funds from the city to benefit the poor. Katniss doesn’t trust politicians—including Peeta Mellark, Snow’s chief financial advisor who has previously been convicted of a white collar crime. When the Mockingjay leaves a calling card in Peeta’s office, Katniss discovers they have a deep connection neither of them can ignore. Quiet Resolve-kismet4891(ff) Summary: After months of sexual tension and unresolved attraction, Gale finally gets to take Madge on the date he has been waiting for. However, things get complicated when he is suddenly strapped with the responsibility of watching nine-year-old Posy. A contemporary, fluffy AU – just in time for Valentine's Day! Snapshot-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Peeta Mellark is a player. Three ghosts are about to change that. An Everlark version of “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” and “A Christmas Carol”. Spin-Court81981 (ff.net) Summary: Katniss Everdeen has never bothered with the gym. But when she takes her first spin class, instructor Peeta Mellark gives her a workout in more ways than one. Stand By Me-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Peeta Mellark returns home to find himself mysteriously drawn to his little sister’s best friend. Trigger warnings: child abuse, kidnapping, reference to suicide Start Me Up-Court81981 (ff.net) Summary: Katniss Everdeen is well aware of Formula 1 driver Peeta Mellark's reputation when she's hired as his mechanic. But Peeta's never let anything stand in the way of getting what he wants—and he wants her. A modern AU Everlark The Barrier-hutchabelle (ao3) Summary: Prompt 77: Married Everlark are coworkers and their marriage is on the rocks. They’ve been sleeping in separate rooms. Divorce looks inevitable. On a business trip, there is *dramatic pause* only one bed. Does the forced closeness lead them to really talk for the first time in months or does it drive them further apart? The Session-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: “You have that look in your eyes, Katniss. Like you’re hungry but you can never seem to get full.” Katniss had one last chance to kick her addiction—and it came in the form of therapist, Peeta Mellark.  The sophisticated and the simple-keeptheearthbelow (ao3) Summary: Katniss and Peeta, a young power couple in the modern world of food, approach cooking from different angles but meet cozily in the middle.

[dream-beyond-the-fantasy]

I started watching Marcella on Netflix for Jamie Bamber. As I like detective shows, I was drawn into the serial killer story and desperately wanted to know how all the characters fit together and tied into the overall story. I like the title character, even if she annoys me for not getting help with her blackouts and obstructing the cases she or one of her coworkers are supposed to be investigating. Is she a good detective? Yes, but her actions are all over the place. Did I like her relationship with Tim? Yes. While I didn't like the way he taunted Jason, Marcella's cheating not-quite-ex-husband, I was all for Tim/Marcella. The first season was great, except for the way they just kinda dropped the Jason/Stuart story of killing Andrew Barnes.

I just started Season 2 this morning. New case, some new characters. Laura is out and Tim is now Marcella and Rav's boss. Not thrilled with the dynamics of the relationship, but okay. A little past halfway in the second episode of Season 2. Tim is too cozy with the rich blonde lady. I hate it. I made the bad decision to read ahead. What the fucking hell?! Tim is a cheater?! And apparently is embezzling funds through blondie's children's charity?! I hate what the writers did to his character and relationship.

Jamie Bamber deserved better. I guess I'll be hate-watching the remainder of this show.