#high-profile murder investigation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedensworld · 2 months ago

Text

Why Women Kill | K. Mg

Genre: Mistery, Smut

Summary: your husband of 2 years was found dead while you were away. Kim Mingyu, the detective, try to help you find the truth.

The maid immediately dialed emergency services when she found her master lying lifeless in the dining room. Meanwhile, you, the wife of the house, were in your hometown when the devastating news broke. As soon as you stepped foot in the house, you were met with the sight of police officers investigating the scene. The circumstances of your husband’s death had led them to suspect foul play—potential murder.

A tall man introduced himself as Detective Kim, accompanied by Detective Hong. They both approached you as you stood at the entrance, your luggage still in hand. The devastation on your face was unmistakable, a combination of the long flight from abroad and the shocking news had clearly shaken you.

"I'm so sorry for what has happened to your husband, but we need your full cooperation during the investigation," Detective Hong said gently, before outlining the procedures that would follow in light of your husband's sudden death. His voice was professional yet compassionate, understanding the weight of the tragedy you were facing.

"Please, let us drive you to the place where you'll be staying," Detective Hong offered. "It’s the least we can do for you right now."

"I'm afraid it would be an inconvenience..." you started to protest, your voice weak, but Detective Hong insisted.

The three of you made your way toward the car. Detective Kim took your luggage, his silent demeanor revealing a quiet respect. As you walked, Detective Hong engaged you in conversation, asking about your husband.

"I'm sorry," Detective Hong suddenly said, glancing at his phone. "Mr. Choi needs to see me right away. Mingyu, is it alright to drive alone?"

"Of course," Detective Kim replied politely, opening the car door for you. "Please, Mrs. Moon."

As you settled into the passenger seat, Detective Hong, whose full name was Hong Jisoo, tapped Detective Kim on the shoulder. "Mingyu, I trust you with this. You’re a skilled profiler—I hope you pick up on anything during the drive."

"I’ll do my best, hyung," Mingyu replied with a determined nod.

Later that night, Mingyu and Jisoo reconvened at the police station to discuss the case. Moon Junhui, a renowned celebrity chef, was now the subject of a murder investigation.

"The forensic results should be in by tomorrow," Jisoo informed the team. "It’s hard not to feel for Mrs. Moon. She was on vacation in her hometown, and now she comes back to find her husband might’ve been murdered."

"During our conversation, she seemed like a devoted wife," Jisoo continued, his gaze flicking toward Mingyu. "She sacrificed a lot after settling down with Moon Junhui. Did you notice anything suspicious about her while driving her to the hotel?"

Mingyu leaned back, thoughtful. "Just like you said, hyung—she seemed lost, devastated even. But I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Still, I don’t want to jump to conclusions until we get the forensic results."

The next day, the results came in. Moon Junhui had died from arsenic poisoning, found in his system. The investigation kicked into high gear, and police began interviewing those closest to the victim, including Jung Seyeon, the maid who had found him.

"What was your relationship with the victim?" Detective Kim asked Seyeon as she sat across from him in the station.

"I work for him. I’ve been his maid for about a year now."

"And what happened on the day you found him?"

"My shift starts at 6 AM, and I usually stay until the next morning. Mrs. Moon wasn’t in town, and Mr. Moon is typically at his restaurant until 10 PM. But when I went to check the kitchen, I found him lying on the floor and immediately called emergency services."

Mingyu scribbled down notes. "You mentioned your shift starts at 6, but you called emergency at 5. Why did you arrive an hour early?"

Seyeon nodded quickly. "Mr. Moon asked me to come early that day to get groceries to stock the fridge."

"Your husband was found dead after drinking a cup of coffee he supposedly made himself. He was estimated to have died around 3 AM, but wasn't discovered until 5. Can you tell me anything about your husband’s habits that might help us?"

You took a deep breath, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure. "I—I’m not sure why he was home so early. He’s usually at the restaurant late into the night. I’m usually home alone."

"But he did—he does love coffee. He couldn’t go a day without it."

"Is it common for him to drink coffee around that time?" Jisoo asked, his tone gentle but probing.

You shook your head. "No, not at all. He’s normally at work. But I always made his coffee in the mornings."

"What time would that be?" Jisoo pressed.

"Jun’s an early riser. He usually had his coffee around 7 AM, before his morning workout."

You hesitated, then added, "He also preferred his coffee made with bottled water, never tap."

Both Jisoo and Mingyu’s attention sharpened at that. It was a small detail, but potentially significant. The tap water—or the bottle—could be a key to unraveling this mystery.

Who would have thought that a maid, secretly having an affair with her employer, could murdered him out of jealousy toward his wife? The case involving the popular couple—Moon Junhui, the celebrity chef, and Ji Y/N, a former actress—shocked the nation. The story immediately went viral, flooding the internet with comments as netizens discussed the tragic events that had unfolded.

The police had finally unraveled the tangled web of deception. They revealed to the public that a woman with the initials JSY—Jung Seyeon, the maid—had laced one of the water bottles in Jun's fridge with arsenic. The poison had originally been intended for his wife, but fate had intervened, and Jun himself drank from the bottle instead. When Jung Seyeon was apprehended, the footage of her resisting arrest and furiously denying the charges went viral, fueling the public's fascination with the case. The world watched in disbelief as the truth unfolded, and messages of sympathy poured in for you—the true victim in the entire ordeal.

Now, you sat across from Detectives Jisoo and Mingyu, the weight of revelation hanging heavy in the air between you. Jisoo had just asked about the state of your relationship with Jun in the months leading up to his death.

"I don’t think I should talk about this, especially since the investigation is officially over," you said softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

Jisoo shook his head gently. "I understand, and I don’t mean to press. But you did mention earlier… you said you couldn’t get pregnant? And that your relationship shifted after that?"

Your gaze fell to the floor, the pain of the past months bubbling up inside. "I don’t want this to be public knowledge. He was… someone I used to love, even though he cheated on me in the end. I can’t deny that, for a long time, he was a husband I loved." Your voice cracked with emotion.

Jisoo looked at you, sympathy in his eyes, before he nodded slowly. "I understand. We’re very thankful for your cooperation. Please, if there’s anything you need during this time, don’t hesitate to reach out."

With that, Jisoo and Mingyu quietly excused themselves, leaving the hotel room and giving you the privacy you so desperately needed.

As they walked down the hallway, Jisoo let out a long breath. "She’s an amazing woman," he murmured, the weight of everything they had learned settling on him. "I just don’t understand why Jun would cheat on her."

Mingyu nodded in agreement. "It’s a tragedy. But at least the truth is finally out."

"Yeah," Jisoo replied, "at least now she can start to heal."

Meeting you again felt like a miracle. The once-hopeful theater student you had been had blossomed into one of the top actresses in the country. Your face was everywhere—on billboards, magazine covers, and in TV commercials. You were known not only for your beauty but for your incredible acting talent. Mingyu couldn’t help but feel proud as he watched you move effortlessly through the crowd at the college reunion for the photography club. He had been there during your early struggles, and seeing you now made him realize how far you’d come.

After mingling with old friends, you finally made your way over to him. “Hey, how are you?” you asked, your voice soft yet familiar.

Mingyu smiled, his heart skipping a beat. “I’m great. You look amazing today.”

You smiled back, a gentle warmth in your eyes. “Thank you. How’s your work, Mr. Detective?” you teased, your playful tone bringing back memories of the past. Mingyu chuckled softly, feeling a rush of nostalgia.

“How do you know?” he asked, biting his inner cheek to stop himself from grinning too widely.

“I saw your promotion in the newspaper. Congratulations,” you replied.

Mingyu’s heart skipped again. You had still been keeping tabs on him, even after all these years. “Thank you,” he said. “I watched your last movie in the cinema. You were incredible.”

You laughed lightly. “That was two years ago. I haven’t been in anything since then.”

Mingyu nodded, recalling how you had become more elusive since your marriage to celebrity chef Moon Junhui. You had once been everywhere, but now you rarely appeared on TV or in public.

Despite the years and the changes in your lives, the conversation flowed easily, as if no time had passed. By the end of the night, you and Mingyu had exchanged contact information, rekindling a connection that had been dormant for years. This time, it was different—friendlier, warmer, but without the romantic tension that had once existed between you.

In the following days, Mingyu would occasionally send you pictures he found of you during work, little snapshots of your past. In return, you’d send him amusing messages or pictures from your quiet days at home.

One night, Mingyu saw five missed calls from you, all while he had been buried in work. Concern immediately washed over him as he dialed your number, and you picked up almost instantly.

"Hey, sorry… I was working earlier. You never call this late," he began, but his voice faltered when he heard something unusual—your sobbing.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he asked, alarmed by the silence that followed.

“Can you come? I’m so scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling with fear. Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He asked for your location, and you told him you were in a hotel, far from home—almost an hour away. Without wasting another second, he grabbed his keys and left.

When he arrived at the hotel and knocked on your door, nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. Your hair was disheveled, your eyes were red and swollen from crying, and there was a small cut on the corner of your lip. Mingyu's heart dropped.

He gently pushed you back into the room, his eyes scanning your body. Bruises covered your arms, your neck, and one side of your cheek.

“Did he do this to you?” Mingyu asked softly, kneeling before you as you sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with concern.

You nodded slowly, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks as a sob broke free. Mingyu wrapped you in his arms, holding you tenderly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his heart breaking for you.

He had always admired your strength. You were passionate, driven, a force to be reckoned with. But now, seeing you like this—shaken, broken, after your husband’s abuse—something inside him snapped. He couldn't stand to see you treated this way.

“Does he do this to you a lot?” Mingyu asked gently, afraid of the answer.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “This is the first time… but he’s been verbally harassing me for a while.”

Mingyu's eyes trailed over the bruises, fury boiling inside him. The thought of your husband doing this made him clench his fists. How could anyone hurt you like this?

“We had a fight,” you continued, voice barely audible. “I haven’t been able to get pregnant… and I was angry too, but he—” Your voice cracked, and you broke down, the weight of it all crashing over you.

“You’re safe now,” Mingyu said softly, pulling you into his embrace again. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

From that night onward, Mingyu became your rock. He was your confidante, someone you could trust during the darkest moments of your marriage. He supported you as you navigated the abuse and waited for the right moment to free yourself from your toxic husband.

And finally, that moment came—when you discovered the ultimate betrayal. He had been cheating on you with the maid you hired just months ago.

“They slept together while I was in the same house as them,” you said bitterly, your voice full of pain. “Every night.”

Hearing this, Mingyu’s protective instinct only grew stronger. You deserved better, and he vowed to stand by you until you found your way out of the nightmare your marriage had become.

However, the past never truly left either of you. Despite the years and distance, there was still a powerful connection between you and Mingyu—one that neither of you could ignore. The comfort, warmth, and undeniable attraction remained, sparking once again whenever you were together. It felt like you had been transported back to your university days, when everything between you was new and exciting.

Originally, the plan was simple: expose the truth about your husband. But the abuse had escalated, and the maid, to your disbelief, had begun dropping subtle hints about her secret affair with Jun, almost as if she wanted you to know. It was sickening, and you found yourself thinking that they deserved each other—a match made in hell.

“He could have killed you eventually,” Mingyu muttered, pressing gentle kisses to the bruises your husband had left behind. Each touch was a mixture of tenderness and suppressed rage.

“I won’t let that happen,” Mingyu whispered, though he knew the reality all too well. If you divorced Jun, the public would likely turn on you—the former actress with a scandal attached, while Jun, the beloved celebrity chef, would play the victim. The world loved him too much to see the truth.

That’s when the plan took shape. Together, you and Mingyu devised a way to make them pay. Using the maid’s background in chemical engineering, and Jun’s obsessive perfectionism and need for control, the pieces began to fall into place. The plan was as meticulous as Jun himself—just as he liked things.

“We’ll be fine. Trust me,” Mingyu reassured you, his voice low but full of conviction. He leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours before closing the gap, sealing your pact with a kiss that was both comforting and charged with a passion that had never really faded.

You knew what had to be done. This wasn’t just about revenge—it was about survival, about reclaiming the power that Jun had stripped from you piece by piece. And with Mingyu by your side, you felt like you could finally take it back.

“Did you use water from the bottle?” Jun’s voice was low but scrutinizing as he looked at the steaming cup of coffee you placed in front of him. His eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when he suspected something was off, as if he was already preparing to find fault.

You nodded, offering nothing more. There was no need to over-explain; you’d already learned that. A year of being with Jun had taught you to anticipate his every need, his every request. You had become attuned to the meticulous nature of his preferences, the way he expected perfection in even the smallest details.

Jun lifted the cup to his lips, his expression unreadable. You watched as he took a slow sip, his sharp palate immediately distinguishing between the coffee made with tap water and the bottled water he’d insisted on after one too many complaints. When he set the cup down, he didn’t say anything, just gave a slight nod of approval before turning his attention back to his tablet.

It had been months in the making, this habit you built, subtly weaving it into his life. First, it was the coffee. Then it was his food. Every dish prepared to his demanding taste, all of it crafted to make him dependent on that bottled water, his palate too sensitive to accept anything less. It was the perfect setup.

As you walked out of the room, your mind flickered back to Mingyu’s advice. “Start with something small,” he had said. “Make him dependent on it, and when the time comes, we’ll use it against him.”

You didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning.

“That woman should handle the groceries from now on,” Mingyu’s voice had been calm but purposeful when he suggested it. He was sitting across from you at a small café, his hand reaching out to touch yours. “Since she’s his girlfriend, she’ll be careless. She won’t put in the same effort you do.”

The idea was brilliant. You had already seen how Seyeon was beginning to infiltrate your life, little by little, her presence creeping into spaces where she didn’t belong. Letting her handle the groceries would be one more way to let her sink deeper into the affair.

The next phase of the plan was more complicated. It required emotional manipulation—a confrontation that would spark tension and lead to what Mingyu called “the perfect motive.”

One evening, after Jun returned from work, you sat him down. The air between you was cold, detached, as if the love that once filled your home had long since evaporated.

“We need to talk,” you said, your voice steady.

Jun glanced at you, sensing the seriousness in your tone. “What’s this about?” he asked, suspicion already creeping into his expression.

“I think we should divorce,” you said plainly, watching for his reaction.

Jun’s face contorted, a mix of disbelief and anger flashing in his eyes. “Divorce? What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you continued, keeping your voice level. “I know about you and Seyeon. I’ve known for a while.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Jun’s hands clenched, his jaw tightening. You could feel the rage building beneath his composed exterior.

“If you leave her, I won’t say a word about it to the media,” you added, throwing down the ultimatum that would push him over the edge. “But if you don’t—”

The threat hung in the air like a blade. And just as you had expected, the storm followed soon after. That very night, you heard Jun and Seyeon arguing in hushed but heated whispers, thinking you were asleep. You found your dresses shredded, your things broken, and Seyeon’s jealous tantrums began surfacing in ways that made it clear she knew her days were numbered.

The moment had finally come when Mingyu handed you the small vial containing the colorless, tasteless powder. “Here, put this in his water,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a steady, unwavering gaze.

You stared at the vial in your hand, feeling its weight—not just the physical weight but the weight of what it symbolized. This was it. The culmination of everything you and Mingyu had planned, carefully, methodically, over the last few months. You felt a slight tremor in your hand, not from fear but from the adrenaline rushing through you.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice betraying a sliver of doubt. “What if something goes wrong? What if we get caught?”

Mingyu reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “Nothing will go wrong,” he said softly, his voice soothing. “Seyeon’s been doing the grocery shopping, right? She hasn’t been restocking the fridge properly. The water bottles will run low, and when Jun reaches for one, it’ll be this one.”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the anxiety bubbling up inside you. Mingyu had thought of everything, hadn’t he? He’d been so meticulous, so careful, just like Jun. And now, he was asking you to trust him with something so dangerous, so final.

“I’ll handle everything,” Mingyu reassured you, his fingers brushing over yours, calming your nerves. “If anything happens, I’ll make sure the investigation leads straight to her. She’s been careless, reckless. We’ll plant the arsenic in her things. No one will suspect you.”

This was it. The moment you had been waiting for, months in the making. Everything was going according to plan.

And just as Mingyu had promised, everything unfolded perfectly. The investigation led straight to Seyeon. The arsenic was found in her apartment, carefully planted in a way that left no doubt in the minds of the police. The media frenzy that followed was everything you had expected—and more. Seyeon’s public fall from grace was swift and brutal. The perfect crime, and no one suspected a thing.

“We’ll be fine, love,” Mingyu whispered one final time, pulling you into his arms as the chaos unfolded around you. You had trusted him, and in the end, he had been right. You were free.

“How was your mother?” Mingyu’s deep voice broke the comfortable silence as he watched you from the couch. You were standing in front of the mirror, slowly smoothing lotion onto your skin, your body illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Mingyu leaned back, his gaze following the gentle movements of your hands, admiring the peacefulness in the room. After everything the two of you had been through, moments like this felt sacred—quiet, intimate, and free from the chaos that had once consumed your life.

You glanced at him through the mirror, offering a soft smile. “She’s doing fine. But she’s getting older, and I’ve been thinking about asking her to move in with me. She’s so stubborn, though. She won’t leave the countryside. She’s always been attached to that place.”

Mingyu smiled, enjoying the way your voice softened when you spoke about your mother. It was something he admired about you—the way you cared so deeply for the people you loved. “It’s understandable. She’s probably got a lifetime of memories there. But, maybe one day she’ll change her mind,” he said, standing up and walking toward you.

His hand rested gently on your shoulder as he spoke. “How did she react to everything with Jun?” Mingyu asked, referring to the fallout from your former husband’s scandal, his voice cautious but curious.

“She was shocked,” you admitted, turning slightly to look at him. “But not entirely surprised. She’s always known something wasn’t right between Jun and me. I think what worried her the most was me suddenly staying with her for a month and then leaving again. She probably sensed something was going on beneath the surface.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, his eyes warm with understanding. “She’s your mom. She knows you better than anyone else.”

He reached for the lotion bottle, squeezing some into his palms. Without a word, he gently began to rub it into your shoulders, his strong hands massaging the tension from your muscles. His touch was firm but soothing, easing away the weight of everything you had carried over the past few months. His reflection in the mirror locked eyes with yours, and there was something grounding in his presence—something that made you feel safe.

“How are you feeling?” Mingyu asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, as his hands continued to glide over your skin, working their way down your back.

You tilted your head slightly, pausing to think before responding. “I feel... relieved, but also worried. It’s strange. I thought I’d feel only relief after everything, but there’s this part of me that’s still anxious, like something could go wrong.”

Mingyu’s hands paused for a moment, then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. “That’s normal,” he whispered against your hair. “You’ve just come out of a toxic relationship, and it’s going to take time to fully feel like yourself again. But you’re free now, and I’m here. You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore.”

You smiled at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. His reassurance was exactly what you needed, a reminder that you were no longer trapped, no longer alone. “Thank you, Mingyu,” you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude.

He turned you toward him, his hands moving to cup your face as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. “Anything for you,” he whispered, sealing his promise with a tender kiss.

The kiss deepened, turning heated as Mingyu's hand trailed from the nape of your neck down to your waist, gently yet possessively pushing you against the wall. His fingers explored every contour of your body, mapping out your curves, while your hand slipped into his hair, massaging his scalp. A soft moan escaped his lips, the pleasure from your touch sending shivers through him.

His hand slid under your pajama top, his palm pressing against the bare skin of your back before moving upward, cupping your breast perfectly in his hand. He massaged it with slow, deliberate strokes, while his other hand trailed lower, squeezing your ass firmly.

“I want to make you feel so good,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear before his lips traveled down to your neck. His tongue painted your skin like a canvas, leaving wet trails as he marked you with kisses.

With a firm grip, he lifted your thigh to his waist, thrusting his hips against your core, letting you feel how hard you had made him.

“I need you…” you whispered, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He pulled you down to the floor, urgency in his movements as he unbuttoned his pants. You helped him peel his shirt off, both of you shedding layers like you couldn’t get close enough.

His lips found your breast, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking and teasing it as if his life depended on it. Meanwhile, his hand slipped under the waistband of your pants, slowly dragging them down just enough to let his fingers explore. He groaned softly as his fingers brushed over your warm, wet core, teasing you with playful strokes before finally slipping one finger inside.

“Mingyu…” His name left your lips in a breathless plea, the sound making his smirk grow wider.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, his voice deep with lust.

“Please… I want you,” you murmured, feeling the need building with every slow, tantalizing movement of his fingers.

“Not yet, baby…” he shushed you, his finger moving faster, his other hand steadying your body against the intensity.

“Ah… fuck…” you moaned, your body arching as he added another finger, filling you even more. His movements quickened, relentless, as he pumped his fingers inside you, the wet sounds filling the room.

“Can you hear that? That’s you, so wet… just for me,” he rasped, his voice low and husky.

Your breath hitched as he slipped a third finger inside, the stretch making your head spin as your body tightened in response. The pooling heat in your belly grew unbearable.

“Mingyu… I can’t, it’s too much—”

“Cum for me, baby… I can feel it,” he urged, his fingers moving faster, harder, as if he were chasing your release himself.

Your body obeyed, the tension snapping as you hit your climax, gasping as waves of pleasure crashed over you. “I’m cumming…” you barely managed to say, your voice breaking as your orgasm rippled through you, leaving you breathless.

Mingyu smirked in satisfaction, watching you squirt against his fingers. He lowered you to the floor, giving you no time to recover as he kneeled between your legs, his mouth instantly finding your wetness. His tongue swirled against your sensitive core, drawing out every last drop of pleasure as you let out a desperate whine, your legs trembling beneath his touch.

His tongue worked you expertly, tasting every inch of you, the sound of your moans driving him crazy. He could listen to you like this forever, and he knew he’d never tire of making you feel this crazy.

"Too much…" you managed to whisper through your hitched breath. Mingyu stood from his position, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the bed. As he laid you down gently, he pulled off his boxers, freeing his cock, which was swollen and slick with precum, the tip flushed red—an undeniable sign of how badly he wanted you. But tonight wasn’t about his desires; it was about making you forget all your worries, about making you feel cherished.

His lips captured yours again as he hovered over you, gently laying you down on the bed. His hands moved up to your breasts, teasing them, thumbs circling your sensitive nipples, while his kisses trailed down your neck.

"I'm going to treat you so good, baby. You're my princess… Cum for me again, yeah?" he murmured, his voice low and tender as he gazed into your eyes. Then, without hesitation, he lowered himself between your legs again, his lips finding your core once more.

"Please, Mingyu… it's too much…" you whimpered, the overwhelming pleasure making your body tremble. Mingyu only hummed in response, the vibration from his voice sending another jolt of pleasure straight to your belly, making you moan louder.

His tongue worked you with expert precision, every flick and swirl pushing you closer to the edge. It felt like you were floating, everything around you fading away as pleasure consumed you. You could see flashes of white behind your eyelids, the sensation so intense you could barely breathe.

Sensing how far gone you were, Mingyu playfully pinched your thigh, grounding you in the moment just as your second orgasm began building. Your body jerked in response, and you gasped, arching against him.

"I'm close…" you whispered, the words barely making it past your lips.

"Yes, baby, cum for me," Mingyu urged, his deep voice almost a command. "I’ve got you."

Your body convulsed as your orgasm crashed over you, more powerful than the first. You cried out, hands tangling in Mingyu's hair, pushing him closer to your core as he licked you through your release. His tongue didn’t relent, driving you further into ecstasy as your body quivered and your mind spun from the intensity.

When you finally came down from the high, breathless and trembling, Mingyu lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence. His warm smile filled you with a sense of peace. Climbing back up your body, he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy of the moment leaving you breathless once more.

"I love you," Mingyu murmured against your lips, his voice soft but filled with passion. He kissed you again, slower this time, as if savoring every second. "You’re everything to me."

The warmth in your chest spread, a feeling of deep love and connection wrapping around you. Mingyu wasn’t just making love to your body; he was worshipping every part of you, showing you just how addicted he was—to you, to the way your body responding his every touch. He was all yours tonight, and he would remind you of that over and over again.

"You want me, baby? Think you can handle me?" Mingyu asked, his voice low and teasing as his gaze trailed down your body. Desperation laced your nod, your breaths coming quicker as you clenched around nothing, your body betraying just how much you needed him. Mingyu smirked at the sight, loving how your body was begging for him just as much as he wanted you.

"Are you sure you can take me?" he murmured again, his tip barely grazing your entrance, rubbing teasingly against your slick folds. Your lips parted in a soft whimper, eyes pleading as you muttered a quiet beg.

"Well, since you asked so nicely…"

Mingyu slowly, deliberately, slid his cock into you, the stretch sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your walls welcomed him with a tight warmth, like he belonged there, and Mingyu whimpered softly near your ear as he pushed deeper, still amazed at how tight you felt around him, even after all this time.

"Oh my—just like the first time…" he groaned, his voice thick with need.

"You're so big," you breathed out, making his cock twitch inside you. Mingyu hissed through his teeth, half-warning you to stop saying things like that, his control hanging by a thread.

"You feel so amazing… you have no idea," he muttered, burying himself fully inside you, both of you moaning at the sensation. It felt perfect, as if everything about this moment—about you two—was exactly right.

"Move, baby… you can move," you urged him, your voice barely a whisper, but Mingyu heard it loud and clear. He began to thrust, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as you adjusted to the delicious fullness.

"Did he fuck you good?" Mingyu asked, his tone darkening as he picked up speed, the jealousy biting at him. He needed to know, needed to hear it from you—needed the reassurance that no one else could make you feel the way he did. Not Jun, not anyone.

You shook your head, desperation and pleasure etched into your expression as your breathing grew more ragged. Mingyu could feel your walls tightening around him as he angled his hips, hitting the spot that made you see stars.

"Only you," you gasped out, barely able to form the words as he continued to thrust, hitting that perfect spot again and again. "Only you can do this to me…"

Mingyu groaned deeply at your confession, pulling your face toward his for a sloppy, heated kiss. His lips claimed yours, your moans mingling as he lifted your leg, folding you in half to get deeper, hitting places you didn’t even know existed.

His pace quickened, every thrust sending shocks of pleasure through your body. His fingers found your clit, circling it in sync with his movements, pushing you further toward the edge. You couldn’t stop your hands from clawing at his back, your nails leaving marks, but the pain only heightened Mingyu's pleasure.

"I'm close," you gasped, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable peak. Mingyu's arms slid beneath your head, pulling you closer, craving the skin-to-skin contact as he chased both of your releases. His moans mixed with yours as he felt your walls clamp down around him, your orgasm washing over you, pulling him deeper into his own.

Your body shook as he thrust through your high, and despite the overstimulation, he kept going, desperate to find his own release. His thrusts grew sloppier, more erratic, until finally, with a groan, he buried himself inside you, ropes of hot cum filling you as he reached his climax.

He dropped his head onto your shoulder, panting as he continued to ride out the last waves of pleasure, even as your body trembled through another small, overstimulated orgasm.

When the intensity finally subsided, Mingyu flipped you both over, letting you rest on top of his chest as your breathing slowly returned to normal. He gently stroked your back, grounding you as you recovered.

"Let's rest for five minutes… then I'll ride you," you whispered, voice still thick with exhaustion, but the promise in your words sent a spark through Mingyu.

His ears pearked at your words, and like an eager puppy, he grinned widely. The thought of you riding him filling him with anticipation. Finally, after everything, you are his— completely and utterly his. And he couldn't wait for more.

"Tell me something I don't know," Hong Jisoo stated, his voice slurred as he and Mingyu sat across from each other, four empty bottles of soju scattered on the table between them.

Mingyu didn’t falter, continuing to grill the meat in front of him, though he knew where this conversation was heading. Jisoo's drunken state had loosened his tongue, and now he was asking about something they both knew all too well.

"I saw you with Mrs. Moon. Or should I call her Y/N?" Jisoo’s brow raised, his words no longer filtered by sobriety.

Mingyu glanced at him, a brief silence hanging in the air before he sighed. "Since when?" Jisoo prodded, his curiosity piqued.

"We've known each other since college," Mingyu finally admitted, flipping the meat on the grill with a practiced hand.

Jisoo nodded, leaning forward. "So why did you pretend like you didn’t know her during the investigation?" he asked, a hint of accusation lacing his words.

"It was... awkward," Mingyu confessed, his hand absently scratching the back of his neck. "We used to date for a long time. She got married, and then her husband died... tragically."

Jisoo’s expression softened slightly as Mingyu continued. "You know the case. Jun treated her horribly, and honestly... my feelings for her were too strong. I couldn’t just ignore it. Once the investigation was over, I reached out to her because I wanted to support her."

Jisoo nodded again, slowly digesting the explanation. He was a man who valued logic, and Mingyu’s reasoning made sense to him in his inebriated state. "So, you two are dating again? I heard she announced her retirement."

"Yeah," Mingyu replied with a nod. "We started seeing each other again. She retired and decided to move in with her mother. It’s been good for her."

Jisoo sighed deeply, slumping forward on the table. "I was her fan, you know. She was a great actress!" he slurred, nearly knocking over the grill as he lost his balance.

Mingyu quickly reached out, steadying Jisoo before he burned himself. "Yeah," Mingyu agreed quietly, glancing down at the sizzling meat. "She really was."

As Jisoo drifted into a drunken stupor, Mingyu couldn’t help but reflect. You were a great actress. And somewhere along the way, you’d taught him to be one too, hiding secrets behind composed smiles and well-practiced lies.

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clementinegreye · 9 months ago

Text

the sweetest sin of all

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader ||

summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

word count: 3.4k

warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):

a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!

a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)

From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.

His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.

He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.

Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.

There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.

Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss.

Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.

It was her. Of course, it was her.

She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.

She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.

‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office.

The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.

"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.

She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.

"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.

She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.

She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.

His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.

Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.

‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.

He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.

‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.

‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.

‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.

She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.

His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.

She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.

Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.

His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.

‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.

'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.

"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.

He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.

‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.

Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.

He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.

Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.

On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?

As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.

The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.

Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?

Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.

He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.

“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.

She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.

‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.

‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.

As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.

Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.

As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.

After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.

(you can now read part two here!)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds hotch

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incognit0slut · 2 years ago

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (4)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part summary: Y/n and Spencer's unexpected reunion ends in a quarrel. wc: 4k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, blood, graphic details of murder

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER CONSIDERED HIMSELF AS A GOOD PROFILER. His background in psychology was a strong contribution to becoming the expert that he was now. He also believed he had a very strong sense of detail in his work, especially when it came to assessing body language. It took a lot of careful observation and attention to interpret it correctly, and with all the experiences he went through this past decade, it came to him naturally.

But to observe meant to be focused and right now he was anything but that.

"Ms. L/n, this is Dr. Spencer Reid."

How could he focus when he couldn’t believe what he was seeing? Spencer had always been fascinated by the concept of the afterlife, the mystery and unknown of what went beyond death. Granted, he had never encountered anything superstitious, but maybe this was as close as he could get to ever experiencing that because right now it felt as if he was seeing a ghost.

The idea of meeting the stranger he tried to forget never crossed his mind, especially in a situation he least expected. While he wouldn't completely deny the possibility of coincidence, he tended to be more skeptical and cautious about things that push the bounds of rationality and reason. But now that she was right here in the flesh, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

She had the kind of face that made you stop to look, the sudden pause in a person's natural mind when they glanced her way. Delicate face, high cheekbones, full luscious lips. But beyond the appeal of her beauty, there was deep exhaustion in her eyes. Her shoulders were tense. Her cheeks were flushed. Her chest rose in rapid movements as the pace of her breathing increased.

There was a sense of agitation in her posture, a clear sign of anxiousness. He could decipher that all too well because it was exactly what he was experiencing now. A storm of panic suddenly rose inside him, a sense of overwhelming dread and anxiety taking over his body and mind, leaving him feeling as if he was trapped in a fight-or-flight mode.

Y/n opened her mouth, closed it again, then tilted her head. His eyes scanned the crease on her forehead as if she was deep in thought before she threw Morgan a hesitant look.

His panic intensified.

"Well, actually—"

"Nice to meet you!"

Both of their heads snapped at him. He couldn't blame the way they were gawking, because between the panic and the shock still lingering in his system, his vocal cords managed to change his voice into a higher pitch. He cleared his throat and smoothed down the suit he was wearing, calmed his breathing, and carefully lifted his other hand.

He gave her a wave.

"It's nice to meet you."

He saw her looking at him warily before she calmed herself, crossing her arms against her chest in an act of defense. She eyed his hand as it settled back to his side.

"Let me guess," she started, quirking an eyebrow. "The number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering?"

There was a heavy pause as they both held their gaze. Morgan glanced between the two. "Do you know each other?"

The air suddenly charged with tension, a thick weight that settled in her chest before she looked away. "I suppose not." She walked towards the door, pushing it ajar. "After you, boys."

Morgan threw her a skeptical look before stepping into the room. The moment Spencer stepped forward, her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. An overwhelming sense of anxiety, coupled with a feeling of wanting to hide took over him as he shuffled past her, looking straight ahead.

The two agents sat by the table. She watched as Morgan observed her with an immense amount of curiosity while the man sitting beside him finally had the courage to look at her. The moment he lifted his eyes and settled them on her own, she couldn't help but notice a slight shift in his demeanor. It was as if in the midst of trying to calm his nerves, a switch suddenly clicked inside him, showcasing a very focused and intent look that commanded attention and respect.

She took the seat right in front of him.

Morgan's eyes swept over to her. "Ms. L/n—"

"Y/n is fine."

"Y/n," Morgan started again. "Can you tell us what happened?"

She gave Spencer one last look before focusing her attention on the other man. "I don't understand why I have to repeat this process again."

"People's recollections and perceptions of things can often change over time. It also helps us better to understand the situation," he explained. "What happened before you found Mr. Lynch?"

"Technically, Eric was the one who found him." She placed her hands on the table, intertwining them as she recalled what had happened a few hours ago for the second time. "Jamison called me before everything happened. It was a short, desperate call and it ended too quickly after he asked for help. I ran back to his office after that."

"What exactly did you hear on that call?"

"Heavy breathing. He sounded..." She trailed off, a look of forlorn set in her eyes. "He sounded as if he was in pain. There was also a loud crash in the back."

"Was there any other voice besides him?"

"I didn't hear anyone else."

"And you're the only one he called?"

"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully, shrugging her shoulders. "He might've called Eric as well."

The two men shared a look. She waited for either of them to respond and was taken aback when Spencer regarded her the next question. "What were you doing prior to the call?"

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

Something about the way he was watching her vexed her. One moment he was scurrying off trying to diminish any relation he had with her, the next thing she knew he was addressing her with a keen interest, and not in the way he had on that eventful night. There was wonder and excitement on their first encounter, but all she could notice now was the intensity of him assessing her as if he was trying to analyze her.

She wondered whether he had two different personalities.

"Ms. L/n?"

She steadied her gaze before correcting him, "Y/n."

Then she tried to think back on what happened before the rush of panic took over her body. She remembered recalling her conversation with Oliver and how declining his obvious interest was the right thing to do. And then somehow her mind manage to reminisce about the last man she was involved with, who ironically, was sitting right in front of her.

So basically, I was thinking of you.

"I was walking to my car in the parking lot," she finally said.

"Did you see anything suspicious before you got the call? Or when you ran back to his office?"

"Not that I was aware of—" There was a moment of sudden clarity. It was like a rush of insight and understanding, and everything clicked into focus like a puzzle or a riddle. The sudden realization made her heart race with disbelief and fear at the same time, and her mind started to race with all the possibilities and connections it had discovered. "Someone did push me in the parking lot."

Morgan frowned at her. "Push you?"

"Somebody accidentally brushed me and I lost my balance," she explained, her brows knitting in concentration as she tried to recall that exact memory. "He was tall and... fit? He wore everything black and when I called out on his lack of manner, he ran away."

"Did you see his face?"

She shook her head. "It was pretty much covered with his clothes. He was wearing a hoodie, I think."

"Was there any other thing that stood out from him?"

"No, I don't remember anything significant. After that Jamison called, then everything happened so fast." She gave them a resigned look. "I'm not even sure if it has anything to do with what happened."

Morgan gave her a reassuring smile. "It's fine. Any information might help us with this investigation."

She nodded, and before they could ask further questions, she inquired about a curiosity of her own. "May I ask why the FBI is investigating this case?"

There was a feeling of great importance and a weight of significance as Spencer clarified, "We suspect Mr. Lynch's murder is linked to another case that happened not long ago."

She blinked her eyes in bewilderment. "You're telling me there's a possible serial killer behind these two murders?"

"Yes," he confirmed, his words seeming very heavy. "The nature of these deaths are very similar, we think that the Unsub has a motive behind all the killings."

"Unsub?"

"It's an abbreviation for Unknown Subject, and it's mainly just a code word that represents the suspect."

She nodded once again, then eyed both of the agents sitting across from her.

"Is the death of my boss linked to Kevin Marshall?" When the two men narrowed their eyes suspiciously, she stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "I'm a journalist, I was working on that case—well, before it got assigned to someone else."

"What do you know of Mr. Marshall's case?" Morgan asked cautiously.

"Nothing much, really. I simply knew he was found dead with some kind of writing on his body." She looked away. "I saw a glimpse of something written on Jamison's arm, it's not that hard to put two and two together."

Morgan regarded her with a nod. "We do suspect these deaths are done by the same Unsub."

Spencer then gave her a look, one that clearly indicated his opinion of her. "And we highly appreciate it if you could keep this information confidential," he requested. "We don't want the media to compromise our investigation until we have further information."

She frowned at the charge behind his words. "You think I'm going to write a story about what happened?"

"Isn’t that what you do for a living?"

It took a lot of self-control for her not to throw the pen sitting in front of her across the room.

"With all due respect, Dr. Reid, I find it offending that you think I would write a story on the murder of someone I personally know."

"I—Ms. L/n, I wasn't trying to accuse you of being inconsiderate."

"Well it seemed exactly like that to me."

The silence after that was deafening. It was a sort of heavy, oppressive stillness that hung in the air that it was so brittle it could practically snap, and if it didn't, one of them might. It was terribly uncomfortable that Morgan could feel the tension building as the seconds dragged by without a sound. "Are you sure you don't know each other?"

"Yes."

Doubt was written across his face. There was a sense of discomfort that came along with the uneasiness from the escalating tension as he glanced between the other two people in the room. He gladly let out a sigh when his discomfort was saved by the sudden call coming from his phone.

"Saved by the bell," he muttered under his breath, which didn't go unnoticed by the two people who were now glaring at him. He simply stood up from his chair and moved toward the door, pulling it open before answering his call with a firm yet flirtatious voice. "Talk to me, baby girl."

She wrinkled her nose at the pet name as the door closed behind him. "Was that his girlfriend?"

"No," Spencer responded. "That's the technical analyst in our team. They have a unique way of addressing each other."

The sound of his gruff voice suddenly pierced her, and it was then that she realized she was left alone with the man she never thought of ever seeing again. Her attention went back to him as her eyes slowly wandered across his face, noticing the way he was observing her.

One of the things that had always caught her interest was his disheveled hair. It was untamed, the mass of wild, chocolate-colored curls brushing against the collar of his shirt was something that often caught her attention. Then there was his attire, wearing a nice fitting dark suit over an even darker button-down and a tie wrapped around his slender neck made him look very professional.

But it was his eyes that stood out the most.

There was something in his gaze that seemed to unnerve her tonight. The warm, hazel orbs that greeted her in the dim light of the bar seemed darker now with a certain intensity engraved in their depth. The man in front of her was different from the man she had left that night. The man who sat alone at the bar didn't have the same air of authority he had at this moment. Spencer Reid after hours was adorable, awkwardly charming, and very much easy to approach.

Dr. Spencer Reid, on the other hand, still managed to keep his calm while being very serious, even after his flustered episode from their unexpected encounter. The soft stubble on his jaw also helped the somber look he was going after, which if she was being completely honest, made him look even more handsome than he already was.

It was a good thing he couldn't read her mind.

"So," she started, crossing a leg on top of the other. "FBI agent, huh?"

He addressed her with a nod. "A profiler, to be exact."

"And what does a profiler do?"

He looked surprised by her interest but managed to explain the nature of his job. "We study and analyze crimes and criminals through an analysis of their behavior to understand the reasoning and motive behind them."

She hummed in response. "You know, I thought you were a medical doctor." Confusion passed across his face before she continued, "You have a lot of certificates."

"...so you do know my name."

"It's hard not to when it's plastered everywhere on your wall."

He paused for a moment, assessing the weight behind her words. "Then why did you call me by the wrong name that night?"

She went completely still. She knew the best way to avoid a question was to throw in another one, so she uncrossed her arms and leaned over the table.

"Why did you pretend like we didn't know each other?"

His body tensed as he felt the discomfort crawling on his skin. The overwhelming feeling of uneasiness and tension wrapped inside him was so intense it was smothering him.

"It is true though," he defended. "We don't know each other very well."

She couldn't stop the scoff slipping out of her mouth. "Ah, yes. I may not know the city you grew up in but I do know what position you like in bed."

"How could you even conclude that?" He choked, clearly dumbfounded by the crude and unexpected comment. "We've only been together once."

"In which you put me on your lap the whole time."

She knew there was a truth in her notion by the way his cheeks slightly flared in embarrassment. He simply cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen, I think it's best we keep what happened that night between us."

"And why is that?"

He finally tore his eyes off her.

How could he explain that something in this occurrence never happened to him without feeling self-conscious? That she was the first person he was sexually involved with no relation whatsoever? That sleeping with a stranger never happened to him in his thirty-five years of life?

And how could he explain he preferred not to share one of the most unforgettable nights of his life with his colleagues? How could he explain he wanted to keep his personal life private without offending her?

But before he could explain himself, she was already jumping to conclusions at his lack of an answer.

"Is it because you're ashamed that a smart, hot-shot FBI agent like you spent a night with a mere journalist like me?"

His eyes went wide. "What? No—"

"Are we done here?" She quickly cut in, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the weight of his gaze. "Do you have any more questions?"

"Of course, I do—"

"Regarding my witness."

"I..." He frowned, then shook his head. "No, I suppose I don't."

"Great. It was nice talking to you, Dr. Reid."

The bottom of her chair scraped against the hardwood floor as she got up, staggering toward the door. One might say she needed to work on her pettiness, but she had always been stubborn when it came to feeling unreasonable. So before she could leave, she turned on her heel, pointed a finger at him, and narrowed her eyes before she sneered, "And just so you know, do not flatter yourself. You weren't even that good in bed."

She threw him one last glare before stalking toward the door, tugging it with utmost force only to find Morgan standing in the way. "Agent Morgan." A rush of heat coursed through her body. "I believe I can go now?"

He looked between the two of them with curiosity. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, Ms. L/n." The menacing look in her eyes beneath her embarrassment urged him to correct himself, "Y/n."

She then left the two men behind with the last thread of dignity she had. It didn't take a trained profiler to understand she left the room fuming with anger.

Spencer watched her leave. A sudden overwhelming sense of shock and disbelief flew through him, leaving him in a state of surprise and confusion. He was so stunned he didn't know how to respond while the woman he wanted nothing more than to follow behind had practically tarnished his self-esteem and bruised his ego.

And to make things worst, his teammate was watching him with intense interest, eyes twinkling with amusement as he leaned against the door frame.

He expected a lot of things to happen tonight, but he did not expect it would end the way it did. Suddenly feeling drained, he slowly got up in a daze. It felt as if he had recently gone through the most amount of emotions he had ever experienced in just one night.

The only way he could forget what had happened—albeit momentarily—was to put his mind on other matters. Like the current case at hand. Like the crime scene a few rooms away. He needed to focus on more important things and he couldn't do that with his friend constantly finding amusement in his misery.

"There are a lot of questions in my head right now, pretty boy."

He stalked toward the door with a newfound resentment. "Good, keep them to yourself."

Morgan's laughter followed him out of the room.

>> NEXT PART

taglist

@comboboo @sebastiansstanswhore

a/n: i am today’s years old on finding out that having a taglist is a thing😭 tell me if you want to be added please i am such an amateur on this app.

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 4 months ago

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Training Part 3

Prompt: Enemies to Lovers type. You and Gibbs never got along, and luckily you never really had to work with each other…until now.

Part 1 Part 2

It had been days after your latest lead and both investigative teams had come up with zilch. You and Tobias had returned to the Bureau to continue working on other tasks and that had been the last time you saw Special Agent Gibbs.

“These crime scene photos are trash Stevens. I can’t even make out the license plate number in this one,” you chastised your team probie. His cheeks burned pink as he adjusted his unnecessarily large glasses and scrambled to grab at some of the prints.

“Uh, sorry Agent L/N. I’ll uh- I’ll go get some new ones.”

He scurried out of the conference room, passing by Fornell who raised his eyebrows and looked over at you, knowing how much you terrified the probies.

“You can’t keep scaring off the new Agents, L/N. He’s the 3rd one this month,” he joked, stepping into the room and picking up one of the crime scene photos, squinting his eyes as he brought it closer to his face. “But you are right. These pictures are trash.”

“Any leads on the Ramos case?” you asked, changing the subject.

“That’s what I came in here to tell you. Gibbs and his team managed to find out about a meeting that Ramos’ boss is having with a very high profile drug runner tonight. The plan is to plant Ramos in the meeting with a wire and either get his boss to confess to the killing of Petty Officer Killbourne or grab some of his DNA for a match to the murder weapon used.”

You stood from your seat and grabbed your jacket that hung over the back.

“Well I’m ready when you are. Let’s go-

“Well just a sec L/N. I still need you to finish transcribing the crime scene photos with Agent Stevens and then you can join me. Meet us for a briefing at NCIS at 7pm.”

You sighed audibly and dropped your jacket down onto the table.

“And would it kill you to be a little nicer to Stevens? Maybe smile a little.”

You put on the biggest fakest smile you could muster before dropping it and rolling your eyes. With a sigh from Tobias, he left the room, leaving you with a table of blurry pictures.

————

You stepped into the NCIS squad room at exactly 6:50pm, seeing Fornell already there, chuckling with the team and sipping on a coffee.

“Alright, let’s hear it. What’s the plan,” you interrupted, sitting at the edge of Agent DiNozzo’s desk, successfully blocking his view. Your eyes briefly locked with Agent Gibbs but broke contact once Agent David started explaining the op.

“The plan is simple. Ramos’ boss will be at the Crimson night club with our drug runner and Ramos will be in attendance. McGee and Fornell will be in charge of surveillance, Tony and I will be undercover as employees and you and Gibbs undercover at a nearby table. Ramos will bring up the murder, hopefully getting some convicting evidence from his boss or Plan B, he gets us some of his DNA to give to Abby.”

You nodded in understanding, the plan seeming pretty cut and dry. As everyone got ready and you got dressed in your undercover outfit, you noticed Gibbs clearly avoiding you, snagging the last available spot in the charger, leaving you to ride with McGee and Fornell in the surveillance van.

In the nightclub parking lot, Ramos was a nervous wreck. The plan was for him to go in first, meet up with his boss and then we would come in after so as not to raise suspicion. Tony and Ziva were already inside, just in time for the shift change.

"What if he finds out I'm wearing a wire?" he asked as McGee checked him over.

"Run like hell," Tobias joked. You would have almost laughed if Gibbs wasn't standing there, looking all judgmental.

"Everything will be fine. Just act normal, we'll be there every step of the way. If you act nervous or scared, he's gonna know something is up," McGee explained, calming him down a bit.

"I've got eyes on both of our guys," you heard DiNozzo report through your earpiece. "A couple of bodyguards by the VIP Entrance, all armed."

"That's your cue kid," Tobias responded, giving Ramos a hard clap on the back, pushing him towards the club. You all watched him go in and continued watching surveillance from the live building cameras McGee hacked into.

When it was time, you and Gibbs walked into the club together, getting your hands stamped and paying the entry fee. McGee had previously reserved a specific booth that gave you direct line of sight of the VIP section and the both of you sat down, Gibbs making it a point to keep some space between.

Immediately, Ziva came over and pretended to take your drink orders.

"Two exits besides the main. One down the hall next to the bathrooms and another in the kitchen," she updated before leaving. You turned to look at Gibbs and gave him a once over. He was dressed in a suit like usual but this one was personally tailored with a handkerchief and he was adorning an expensive looking watch to give off some "old money" vibes in order to fit in to the scene. You weren't gonna deny, he looked delicious.

He glanced at you, noticing you staring and gave you a warning look, making you smirk and look away towards the dance floor while moving a little to the sound of the music. Ziva returned a minute later with fake drinks that you wished weren't. Between the sexual tension you were creating and just the party atmosphere, you were craving some form of a buzz.

The both of you took turns watching the meeting happen out of the corner of your eyes before something happened.

"I-uh-I gotta go to the bathroom," you heard Ramos say before watching him get up abruptly and walk off.

"Shit. He's gonna blow this op." Tobias cursed.

"Not gonna happen," you said, getting up and following him, hearing Gibbs protest but follow as well. You caught up to Ramos in the dark hallway before he reached the bathroom. You grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"I-I don't know if I can do this. They're not even talking about the murder, how am I suppose to bring it up?"

He wiped the sweat forming on his forehead as Gibbs came over.

"If you can't get him to talk about it then just grab some DNA. Put a napkin in his empty glass and we'll have one of ours grab it."

"Heads up guys. We've got one of the bodyguards coming over to you. Get out of there," McGee warned.

You fixed Ramos' hair and pushed him towards the men's bathroom.

"You're almost done Ramos, don't mess it up."

Once he was inside, you looked over and saw the bodyguard McGee was referring to. He hadn't spotted Ramos but there wasn't enough time for you and Gibbs to leave before he got there so you did what any undercover agent would do in that scenario. You leaned up against the wall, lifted your leg to hook onto Gibbs' waist, and pulled him in for an intense kiss.

You were genuinely surprised when he kissed you back, grabbing your exposed thigh where the slit of your dress opened up and stepped in closer. No amount of alcohol could measure up to the buzz the whole interaction was giving you. You ran your fingers through his hair and draped your arms over his shoulders as your tongues danced with one another.

He pulled away from your lips before dipping his head down to kiss your neck. You let out a breathy sigh and closed your eyes at the contact, your neck being an extra sensitive area.

"Focus, Y/N," Gibbs spoke against your skin, his other hand sliding up your side, dangerously close to running over your breast.

You opened your eyes and looked around, seeing the bodyguard and Ramos exit the bathroom together, both seemingly fine.

"He-uh...They're going back..Don't think he suspected anything," you managed to speak, still caught up in way Gibbs was making you feel.

He ran his lips to your ear, nipping at it before whispering, "I've barely touched you and you're falling apart. How long has it been?"

You were thankful he spoke quietly enough that the team couldn't hear through your mic but peeved by his question. Mainly because he was right. It had been awhile since someone touched you in such a way, let alone, a hot silver fox running an undercover operation.

"I think we can go back now," you replied, avoiding his question and straightening yourself, before walking back to your booth, him following closely behind. You sucked down your fake drink, suddenly dying of thirst and tried calming your raging hormones. Gibbs slid in beside you, now leaving zero space between the two of you, looking completely in control, annoying the shit out of you.

You were a competitive person and absolutely hated feeling like you lost the upper hand in anything. The way Gibbs teased you was no different and you weren't gonna let it slide.

So when you took your hand and let it rest on his leg, feeling his muscle flex beneath it, you smirked to yourself. Slowly, you trailed your fingers up and down his thigh, each time getting closer and closer to his growing bulge. The look he gave you was borderline murderous but it didn't phase you at all, if anything, it egged you on.

"DNA is secured, boss," DiNozzo spoke.

You leaned in close to Gibbs, your hand moving to rub the length of his straining bulge, earning a groan, that he covered up with a fake clearing of his throat.

"Boss? You good?" DiNozzo spoke again.

"Yeah, get out of here DiNozzo. You and Ziva. Go with McGee and Fornell. We'll meet you back at the office."

Before Tony could reply, he reached up to remove his earpiece and put it in his pocket, you doing the same but giving it to Gibbs.

He then grabbed your hand before you could go back to touching him and spoke. "What is your plan Agent L/N? Where do you plan on going from here?"

You brought your lips to his, giving him a simple kiss before pulling back.

"I was hoping you could tell me Agent Gibbs. You're the boss."

He looked at you, then your lips. "This is completely unprofessional."

"Then do something about it, Agent Gibbs," you replied, speaking the previous words from the elevator.

A second later, he pulled you out of the booth and lead you out of the club, to the charger outside. As he drove fast down the streets, you had a feeling you weren't going straight to the office.

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @ainttalkinboutlovesblog @bluebellinatardis

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

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vague-humanoid · 6 months ago

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MADISON — Civic Media, a Wisconsin-based progressive talk-radio network, said Thursday it had agreed to make two edits to an interview with President Joe Biden at the request of his campaign before the broadcast aired, a decision the station said fell short of "journalistic interview standards."

Still, the station said, it stands by its popular host Earl Ingram, who conducted the interview with Biden following the June 27 televised debate with rival Republican Donald Trump during which the president lost his train of thought and at times made nonsensical statements. Ingram's interview was recorded on July 3 and aired on July 4.

"On Monday, July 8th, it was reported to Civic Media management that immediately after the phone interview was recorded, the Biden campaign called and asked for two edits to the recording before it aired. Civic Media management immediately undertook an investigation and determined that the production team at the time viewed the edits as non-substantive and broadcast and published the interview with two short segments removed," the station said in a statement released on Thursday.

The station said it would make the full, unedited interview available online.

The two edits, according to the station, were:

At time 5:20, the removal of “...and in addition to that, I have more Blacks in my administration than any other president, all other presidents combined, and in major positions, cabinet positions.”

At time 14:15, in reference to Donald Trump’s call for the death penalty for the Central Park Five, the removal of “I don’t know if they even call for their hanging or not, but he–but they said [...] convicted of murder.”

"With a high-profile interview comes a listener expectation that journalistic interview standards will be applied, even for non-news programming. We did not meet those expectations. Civic Media disagrees with the team’s judgments in the moment, both with respect to the handling of the interview questions and the decision to edit the interview audio," the statement read.

@bmoreisapunkrocktown @ubernegro @meanmisscharles @thecolorsfucked

#if you don't support him #you aint Black #lmao #we are fucked

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 11 months ago

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Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

Part two || Series masterlist

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its-hazzia · 4 days ago

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Okay I need to spell out my thoughts about the Luigi Mangione stuff goin on

I am not at all convinced he did it. And not in a "no way he and I were hanging out that day at that time in Panama" way either, even though we totally were but that's besides the point.

So I've seen other people discuss how it doesn't make sense for someone who had thought out and executed a plan for the murder AND escape so flawlessly, only to be caught with all that incriminating evidence in-hand a week later at a McDonalds in another state, which is obviously kinda a huge deal, but I have further thoughts on what's going on.

So Luigi does indeed look like the Starbucks security footage, and it does seem that he had used a fake ID to stay in the hostel (assuming it was him in the hostel to begin with, and I only say this out of an assumption that the hostel verified the ID used and that we're not just taking the police's word for it, but it'd also just be easier for the police to be like "yeah he used his real actual ID and that's how we got him" so I'm fairly confident about a fake ID being used). We know that he had been missing for months ahead of time, and we know that he had been suffering from chronic back pain prior to a spinal surgery.

Why don't I think he did it? Well aside from the questionable legitimacy of the "evidence" he was found with, after that Starbucks photo came out, EVERYBODY was immediately like "that looks nothing like the shooter". Sure, you can add a change of clothes and people have pointed out that the unibrow can disappear on grainy footage, but from what else you can see of the face, it does not look the same. Once again you could chalk it up to poor image quality... but then how can you match an identity in the first place?? The NYPD have never come out with any good justification as to WHY they thought the guy on the starbucks camera was thought to be the shooter. It wasn't even the same damn jacket! In my opinion, in their frenzy to not look completely incompetent and catch The Guy, they were just throwing everything they could and were ready to go all-in on framing investigating Literally Anyone that could function as a reasonable scapegoat.

"But his profile and circumstances really line up to make it look like he was radicalized by his pain and Absconded to Do a Murder!"

While this is a good point on a surface level, I'm not convinced that it lines up the way this narrative is playing it, and I think the NYPD just got really lucky with this scapegoat.

"His Back Pain Radicalized Him": HE HAD HIS BACK SURGERY, AND MADE A FULL RECOVERY. He wasn't denied by his insurance - and according to a post he made on reddit, he was completely off pain meds a week after! All things considered, the insurance worked out pretty damn well for him! Oh yeah and HE HAD BLUE CROSS BLUE SHIELD

"Then Why Did He Go Missing?": Think about it. He was an upper class kid who had been crippled by back pain for a significant portion of what should have been his fun years. I don't think anyone has to stretch their imagination to think that maybe he'd fuck off somewhere on his own to reclaim that lost time? Just, source a fake ID so your family doesn't find you, hopping from town to town in budget-friendly accomodations and happening to be in NYC when A Guy gets shot (crazy). Sure, kind of a dick move to just not tell anyone what he was planning to do, but we don't know what his relationships with his family were like, nor do any of us know him personally as to what he would and wouldn't do, no matter how many news articles of what kind of guy he is come out.

So really, which is more likely:

The Adjuster was a guy that was radicalized after the healthcare system, under a different provider, worked for him, after which he planned out a meticulous murder + escape plan only to effectively give himself up a week later?

The incompetent undewfunded and ovewwowked uwu NYPD was desperate to not look like complete fucking idiots regarding such a high profile case in their jurisdiction, but because they never learned how to do their fucking jobs wewe just sooo undewfunded and ovewwowked uwu they just threw a bunch of shit at the wall until something stuck and happened to get lucky that the guy they found happened to have been A) a missing person and B) Had A Serious Medical Thing At Some Point

#luigi mangione #uhc ceo #uhc shooter #uhc assassin #the adjuster

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am-i-obsessed---maybe · 2 years ago

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Growing up suits you (Spencer Reid x GN!Reader)

Imagine graduating from high school with Spencer Reid and years later working on a case with him.

Word count: 600ish

Look at that, a blurb that actually stayed a blurb.

Warning: smoking (herbal cigarettes) and mentions of teenage drug use

You had driven two hours to the middle of nowhere Georgia because your boss had invited the BAU into your investigation. It wasn't how you wanted to spend the day but you could either complain or catch your serial killer. Not both. You chose the second one, so you drove down from Atlanta to meet the BAU at the site of the newest crime scene in a spree of murders over the past year.

When you stepped out of the SUV you took in the scene.

There were small crowds of people looking in, not so many that it was distracting but enough that the local PD had to have officers keeping the crowd back. You showed your credentials to get in and walked up to who you recognized as SSA Aaron Hotchner, the BAU's unit chief.

"Agent Hotchner" You called out, getting the man's attention.

"Agent L/N" Hotch greeted, shaking you hand and leading you to the where the rest of his team were huddled.

"Guys, this is special agent Y/N L/N from the Atlanta field office" Hotch introduced.

"Agent L/N, these are SSA's Rossi, Morgan, Jerau, Prentiss and Dr. Spe—" Hotch wasn't even able to finish before you cut him off.

"Spencer Reid. Wow, it has been a long time" You said and you saw him searching his brain for where you knew him from before recognition flashed through his eyes.

"Last time I saw you you were much shorter and had just gotten your first breakout" You said and his cheeks flushed.

"I was 12" He said quietly and you chuckled.

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" Rossi asked and you smirked.

"We graduated high school together" You answered and Morgan looked very curious to ask what you were sure would be very embarrassing questioned before Hotch cleared his throat.

"Agent L/N led the preliminary investigation with the Atlanta field office and will be working with us on this case" He said and you all went back to work.

---

You stood on the roof of the local precinct, coat wrapped around you and a cigarette between your index and middle fingers.

"You still smoke" Spencer said as he walked across the flat roof to stand beside you.

"It's herbal, I quit tobacco a couple years ago" You told him and took a puff.

"Herbal cigarettes are actually just as harmful as tobacco products. Even without the tobacco the herbs in the cigarette burn and create tar, carbon monoxide and about 73 other toxins, 40 of which can cause cancer" Reid said and you laughed.

"Right, I'll put this out then" You said, putting out the cigarette on the edge of the roof.

"You didn't have to do that" He said but you shrugged.

"wouldn't wanna expose you to the dangers of secondhand smoking" You joked.

The two of you stood in a somewhat silence for a while. You'd just given the local police your profile and as soon as you finished you'd gone out.

"How's your mom?" You asked.

"She's good. Still back in Las Vegas. How's your brother?" He asked in return.

"He's good. He's in a band touring with some singer, I can't remember who" You said and then silence again.

"So, the team" You said and he flushed.

"I'm sorry about the questions" He said.

"Don't worry about it, they just wanna know more about you. It seems like you all don't tell each other much about your pasts— and you don't have to— they're just curious about you" You said and he nodded.

"High school's not exactly a time I like remembering" Spencer admitted and you nodded. You remembered what he went through. The bullying, the humiliation, you couldn't imagine it. Not that your high school career was particularly pleasant but his was so much worse.

"I understand" You said and smiled, deciding to find a lighter subject.

"But you grew up well, that height suits you" You said and you saw the blush rise to his cheeks.

"Thanks, you uh— you you look really good too" He said.

"We should get in, I can't tell if it's my compliments that are making you that red or the chill" You joked and Spencer was slightly too embarrassed to say anything as he followed you back into the precinct.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #fbi agent reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine

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calabria-mediterranea · 8 months ago

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A high-profile Italian author has accused Rai of censorship after his antifascist monologue was abruptly stopped from being aired, in what he called the “definitive demonstration” of alleged attempts by Giorgia Meloni’s government to wield its power over the state broadcaster.

Antonio Scurati was due to read the monologue marking the 25 April national holiday, which celebrates Italy’s liberation from fascism, on the Rai 3 talkshow Chesarà on Saturday night.

But as he prepared to travel to Rome, he received a note from Rai telling him his appearance had been cancelled “for editorial reasons”.

Scurati is well known in Italy for his books about the dictator Benito Mussolini and the fascist period. The cancellation of his monologue provoked fierce reaction from Rai journalists, fellow authors and opposition leaders.

His speech referenced Giacomo Matteotti, a political opponent of Mussolini who was murdered by fascist hitmen in 1924, and other massacres of the regime. It also contained a paragraph criticising Italy’s “post-fascist” leaders for not “repudiating their neofascist past”.

“Undoubtedly, this is what infuriated them,” Scurati told the Guardian. “And also because of what I represent and maintain in my books … [that] there is a continuity between the fascism of Mussolini and the populist nationalists in Europe.”

The Rai director Paolo Corsini denied that the monologue had been censored, telling the Italian media that an investigation “of an economic and contractual nature” was under way, while implying that the speech was cancelled because of the “higher than expected” fee sought by Scurati.

Scurati said his fee had been agreed and the contract signed before the monologue was due to be broadcast. “The fee was perfectly in line with those paid to authors … It was the same as in the past, when there were no issues.”

In solidarity, Serena Bortone, who presents Chesarà, read out the monologue on the show. It has also been published in full by several Italian newspapers and websites.

Meloni, whose Brothers of Italy party has neofascist origins, came to power in October 2022 with a coalition including the far-right League and the late Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia.

During the election campaign, Meloni said the rightwing parties had “handed fascism over to history for decades now”. However, Scurati claimed in his monologue that when forced to address fascism at historical anniversaries, Meloni has “obstinately stuck to the ideological line of her neofascist culture of origin”, for example by blaming the Mussolini regime’s persecution of the Jews and other massacres on Nazi Germany alone.

Meloni responded by publishing the speech on her Facebook page, while attacking Scurati and accusing the left of “shouting at the regime”.

“Rai responded by simply refusing to pay €1,800 (the monthly salary of many employees) for a minute of monologue,” she said. “I don’t know what the truth is, but I will happily publish the text of the monologue (which I hope I don’t have to pay for) for two reasons: 1) Those who have always been ostracised and censored by the public service will never ask for anyone to be censored. Not even those who think their propaganda against the government should be paid for with citizens’ money. 2) Because Italians can freely judge its content.”

Since coming to power, the Meloni government has been accused of increasingly exerting its power over Rai while edging out managers or TV hosts with leftwing views. The European Commission was last week urged to investigate the government’s alleged attempts to turn the broadcaster into a “megaphone” for the ruling parties before the European elections.

Meloni’s administration has also been accused of trying to influence other areas of the press and targeting journalists with legal action who criticise the government. A Brothers of Italy politician recently proposed toughening penalties for defamation, including jail terms of two to three years.

Elly Schlein, the leader of the centre-left Democratic party, said: “The Scurati case is serious; Rai is the megaphone for the government.” Carlo Calenda, the leader of the centrist Azione party, said: “Silencing a writer for saying unpleasant things about the government is simply unacceptable.”

Scurati said he has received solidarity from many authors and journalists who were otherwise afraid to speak out against the government.

“This episode is the definitive demonstration, as it has finally aroused the revolt of other writers, intellectuals and journalists who until now kept quiet,” he said. “This government launches violent personal attacks against you for speaking out, in my case [that] I asked for too much money.”

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liver-f4ilure · 5 months ago

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Academy Maniacs article Translated PT.2

Here’s another one to hold y’all cuz this info post is killing me!!

IT MAY BE SLIGHTLY INACCURATE!

—

"Akademovsky" maniacs came to a rally dedicated to them

AUTHOR: ?

Young men suspected of attacking residents of Akademgorodok in Irkutsk were detained with the help of a vigilant local resident. The local district inspector also worked quickly. The suspects were detained at their place of residence. The press service of the Main Department of Internal Affairs reports that the detainees were planning to commit another crime at night, and if the police had not detained them, it is not excluded that in Akademgorodok there was again a murder.

The evidence base is the records from a cell phone. The crimes were filmed by young people.

In addition, the suspects also came to the rally, which was organized by the Irkutsk police to calm the residents of the neighborhood. At that time a people's squad was organized.

Gen. Alexander Obukhov, head of the Irkutsk Oblast police department, thanked the Akademgorodok people's squad, the public and journalists who helped solve these high-profile crimes.

The press service of the Investigative Department of the Investigative Committee of the Irkutsk Region reports that in the near future the Sverdlovsk District Court will decide on the measure of restraint for the suspects. The Investigative Committee will petition to take the young men into custody.

#tc community #tccblr #tcc columbine #true cringe community #tcc tumblr #eric columbine #eric and dylan #dylan columbine #info post #academy maniacs #artyom anoufriev #nikita lytkin

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

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Forbidden Desire (Part 16)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

As Tommy walked downstairs, he was greeted by his cousin Michael and an inspector who was unfamiliar to him.

"Michael," he greeted curtly, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of the stranger.

"Good morning, Thomas," Michael returned politely, stepping aside to allow the inspector to follow Tommy into his office.

"You are Mr. Thomas Shellby?" the Inspector queried, glancing at the paperwork in front of him.

"I am sure you already know who the fuck I am, eh?" Tommy chuckled.

"Please sit down, Inspector." he then offered a seat to his guest. Settling down across from him, he sized up the man. From what little he could discern from the brief introductions, the detective appeared to be relatively young—likely eager to make a name for himself with a high-profile case like this.

"So, tell me, why exactly are you here?" Tommy asked casually, leaning forward in his chair, intimidating the inspector slightly.

The inspector hesitated, examining his notes once more before answering. "There have been a series of murders occurring recently," he began, attempting to strike a balance between formality and informality. "All victims share connections to various factions within the city and all of them had also been employed by one of your companies," He paused momentarily, his gaze steady.

"One such murder happened just yesterday evening, and another today early morning. Both occurred at a significant distance from our territory – indicating a wider area of interest for the perpetrator(s). We believe these incidents may be linked somehow," the inspector explained.

"Listen carefully pal, my family owns ninety percent of all businesses in fucking Birmingham. So, of course these men were employed by us. There is only a slim chance for them not be one of our employees," Tommy expressed clearly, his tone serious and direct. The inspector looked steadfast, his demeanor calm yet cautious.

"Mr. Shellby, it would greatly aid our investigation if you could provide names of those known to have had dealings with the deceased within your organisation," he requested firmly just as Polly Gray came barging through the door with the intend to put an end to the meeting she had overhead part of earlier. Her face flushed with anger, her hands tightened into fists.

She had only just found out who was behind this all, trying to take up their family bond and, with concrete evidence in her hands, she snapped.

"This meeting is over and you, inspector, need to go back to London and investigate this," Polly snarled, presenting a file to him containing all necessary proof proving Liam's involvement in the crimes. Tommy raised an eyebrow, surprised by Polly's swift reaction.

Seeing this, the inspector rose slowly, gathering his papers and folders without uttering a word.

"My understanding is that, last night, Liam O'Connor was shot dead by an unknown perpetrator and, whilst he was employed by Shelby Company Limited, he acted upon his own volition when carrying out these crimes. WE had nothing do with this," Polly concluded confidently, standing tall despite her emotional turmoil.

"Well... that doesn't change the fact that multiple individuals connected to your company have died suspiciously," the inspector retorted sharply, refusing to back down. However, seeing the undeniable evidence provided by Polly Gray, he relented marginally.

"Very well," he finally conceded but, before departing, he turned to address Tommy and his cousin.

"Just bear in mind Mr Shelby that, by the time the elections come around, your organisation's involvement in illegal activities will be thoroughly scrutinised," the inspector warned, and, with that, he left the room, leaving a heavy cloud of unease among the trio.

"Tom, I had nothing to do with this. You must believe me," Michael pleaded as soon as the three of them were on their own.

"It wasn't me who helped Liam," he went on to say and his mother stepped in.

"No, it wasn't you, Michael. It was Finn. He took it upon himself to bring you down Tommy and, because he isn't smart enough to do so on his own, he got involved with Liam O'Connor and another member of your gang. Unfortunately, jealousy over your own fucking niece made you too blind to see this as all you could think about was Liam making a moving on Y/N," Polly revealed. "And how typical! For someone like you to think with your cock," she continued sarcastically. Tommy didn't respond directly to her accusation but instead glared at her.

Anger flared in Tommy's eyes as he considered Polly's words. This entire situation was becoming increasingly messier, complicated further by the complex web of lies and betrayals.

"What about Finn? Where the fuck is he, eh?" Tommy seethed, rubbing his temples before he paced around the room, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His mind raced through possible scenarios, wondering how far Finn could possibly have gone in order to sabotage him.

"He won't get away with this," he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw.

"I dealt with him myself," Polly affirmed defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of determination.

"Dealt with him how?" Tommy asked, his curiosity piqued despite his growing anger.

"He is gone, that's all that matters right now," Polly replied brusquely, unwilling to discuss further details of her encounter with Finn.

Tommy grunted noncommittally, unsatisfied with the answer but knowing better than to push Polly any further on the matter. Instead, he changed the subject abruptly.

"How much does the inspector really know about Liam's death?" he asked cautiously, causing Polly to shake her head.

"Not enough to cause problems," Polly informed him reassuringly.

"What you need to concentrate on now are the upcoming elections, which involves doing the right fucking thing by Lizzie and stop fucking your own niece. I can smell her perfume on you even from here," Polly scoffed, turning her nose upward in disgust.

"Why don't you let us worry about our personal lives, eh?" Tommy snapped back harshly, annoyed by Polly's intrusion into his private affairs even though he knew that, if Arthur would find out, he would be furious.

"Because Tommy, when it comes to our world, everyone's life affects everyone else.

Your decisions echo throughout the whole community, regardless of whether people care to admit it or not," Polly added solemnly, a hint of sympathy masking her previously fierce facade.

"Your relations with Y/N reflect poorly on your leadership skills, especially considering the forthcoming elections and, if you want to maintain control during these challenging times, you should focus on improving your reputation rather than destroying what's left of it," Polly said before, with these final words, she exited the room, leaving the two men alone. Silence hung heavily in the air, punctuated only by the ticking clock and Tommy's labored breathing.

"You know my mother is right Tommy, don't you?" Michael interjected nervously, looking at his cousin imploringly.

"Of course, I know she is right," Tommy agreed reluctantly, breaking eye contact with Michael as he thought about Polly's warning. Tommy knew that, realistically, he could not be with you, regardless of how much he wanted to and, with this in mind, he came up with a plan.

"Y/N should take over the export division in Boston," Tommy suggested, causing Michael to nod in agreement, knowing that this would keep you away from him and allow him to think clearly.

Tommy's voice held no trace of emotion when he said the words while yet, deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness at the prospect of losing you. He knew how much it meant to him to have you close, physically and otherwise, yet it seemed impossible to continue having this secret relationship with you.

Thus, Tommy decided it was best for you to leave town until things settled down and, much to your despair, when you were told days later about the plan for you to leave, you could hardly argue against it. You knew why Tommy needed space from you and, you were willing to give him exactly that for the sake of your family.

Your entire relationship with him was condemned. He was your uncle after all and, despite wanting desperately to protest, you understood where they were coming from. It was important for him to win the elections and it was even more important for your father not to find out the truth.

***

Therefore, within two weeks, you packed up your belongings and made your way to America with a view to start a new life.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you realized how lonely these months or years apart might feel. You knew that this was the end and, even though Tommy promised to visit you, this time never came. He never visited you in Boston during those long, solitary eleven months abroad and neither did he call you. He always had Polly make contact with you when business matters had to be discussed and not once did you receive a letter from him.

Your heart ached as memories of tender moments spent together flashed through your mind, bringing tears unbidden to your eyes. The distance between you grew more pronounced each day, and it felt as though something vital had vanished from your existence. In spite of the passage of time, the pangs of loneliness remained ever-present, lingering in the depths of your soul.

The painful reminder of your love affair brought a wave of regret. Regret for allowing yourself to become entangled in such a dangerous game of passion. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw his piercing gaze, felt his rough touch on your skin, and remembered the way his body moved above yours.

Memories of intimate encounters surfaced unexpectedly, triggering an irresistible yearning that threatened to consume you completely. Days passed by with the weight of your absence growing heavier and heavier, a constant reminder of everything you once shared but lost along the way.

And then, one day, you received a telegram containing a message you had not expected and which shook you to the core.

It was an invitation to Tommy's and Lizzie's wedding in Birmingham and, as the news sank in, your pulse quickened, and a rush of blood coursed through your veins.

Although the eleven months since you had parted ways had dulled some of the pain associated with the separation, this announcement reignited old wounds, awakening raw emotions that you hadn't experienced in quite some time. Your palms began sweating profusely, hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting nearby. Taking a large swig, you winced slightly at the burn running down your throat.

Grabbing a cigarette, you lit it hastily, taking a moment to compose yourself. How could this happen? After everything that transpired, why would he ask you - someone whom he loved dearly - to witness his marriage to Lizzie? This sudden revelation shook you to your core, stirring a concoction of bitterness, resentment, and confusion within you.

Unwittingly, you found yourself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions – the intensity of which was almost suffocating.

There was anger, frustration, jealousy, sorrow, and, most disturbingly, an insatiable desire that refused to be quelled. As the reality of the situation dawned upon you, you vowed that you wouldn’t attend the ceremony. But somewhere deep inside, you couldn’t help hoping for just one last glimpse of Tommy… just one last chance to prove that nothing had truly changed.

As you mulled over the decision, weighing the pros and cons, your mind drifted elsewhere as your maid, Sarah, entered the room.

"I think he is hungry ma'am," she commented softly while carrying a small bundle of joy wrapped carefully in linen cloth.

"He has a good appetite that's for sure," you acknowledged as you took another sip of your drink while admiring the baby's tiny fingers pointing straight at you.

"Pass him here, please," you told your maid gently and with a smile. "Let me feed him before he tears down the house with his mighty screams," you chuckled before Sarah placed him gently in your arms. His warmth filled the void within you temporarily, soothing your turbulent emotions.

Gazing down at your son's face, you noticed its striking resemblance to his father.

Every feature mirrored the essence of Tommy, right down to the shape of his lips and the blue of his eyes. Feeling an odd mix of tenderness and vulnerability, you rocked the little boy slowly back and forth, careful not to jostle him too roughly.

"So you think we should go back home for a little bit, hmm?" you asked your baby-boy lovingly. Giving a light kiss on his forehead, you continued to cradle him in your arms. His sweet laughter warmed your heart, giving you strength amidst the chaos enveloping your life. With each passing minute, your resolve weakened, and eventually, you accepted the invitation, hoping against hope that seeing Tommy again would provide closure.

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storyscribeforthesentiment · 4 months ago

Text

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 3

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f! main character

Author’s note: Enjoy a fun gala, a smitten Bruce, and a fiercely charming detective!

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: mentions of murder

The Batmobile’s engine hummed softly as it navigated Gotham’s winding streets, the city’s dark pulse steady beneath its steel frame. Inside, Bruce Wayne, wearing the mantle of Batman, was lost in thought.

The night had been unusually calm, a rare break from Gotham’s constant chaos, but his mind was miles away from the immediate dangers outside.

Instead of focusing on the usual criminal trends, Bruce’s thoughts were occupied by Detective Marie Manning. Over the past few weeks, their paths had intersected during several intense cases, most notably the Red Lotus case.

Each encounter had revealed more about her—her fierce determination, her sharp intellect, and a bravery that stood out in Gotham’s darkness. Despite Gotham’s deep-seated corruption, Marie approached every challenge with a clarity and resolve that impressed Bruce.

He found himself increasingly drawn to her, not just as a detective but as a person.

As the Batmobile rolled into the Batcave, its lights cutting through the shadows, Bruce’s thoughts remained on Marie.

He had been considering meeting her not as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne. At first, it seemed like a distraction from his mission, but now it felt like an important step.

He wanted to connect with her on a personal level, away from the shadows of his alter ego.

Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that Marie was more than just a good detective. There was something about her—an integrity and a passion for justice—that resonated with him. It made him want to see if she was as remarkable outside their work as she was in it. He wanted to understand her beyond the role of a detective.

As he walked through the Batcave, he paused by the massive screens showing city maps and crime stats. The data was crucial, but tonight it felt secondary.

His staff was busy upstairs preparing for the gala—a high-profile event supporting the Gotham City Police Department.

Bruce had arranged the gala with two goals in mind: to support the police and, more importantly, to create an opportunity to meet Marie without the Batman persona hanging over them.

—-------------------------------

Later that evening, Bruce stood in front of a mirror in his bedroom, adjusting his tuxedo and making sure everything was perfect. As he smoothed his hair back and admired the sharp lines of his suit, he couldn’t help but smile.

Playing the billionaire was surprisingly easier when he got to dress up in these sleek, stylish suits. It was like putting on a suit of armor, but one made of silk and satin instead of Kevlar.

Bruce would be lying if he said his motives for the gala were entirely unselfish. As he and Marie had worked more closely, he found himself wanting to know her outside of their professional encounters.

He had never felt this way about anyone he worked with as Batman. Bruce had carefully crafted a public image as a billionaire playboy, often seen more at glamorous events than managing Wayne Enterprises.

He had longed for someone who could understand him as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. He hoped secretly Marie could be that person.

“Everything is set for the gala, Master Bruce. You seem particularly focused on this event,” Alfred said, breaking into Bruce’s thoughts.

Bruce glanced at his trusted confidant, a small smile on his lips. “It’s important, Alfred. I’m curious to learn more about my colleague at the GCPD.”

Alfred’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “The cute brunette colleague with a knack for crime fighting?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I want to get to know her better, and this event seems like the perfect chance.”

Alfred nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’m sure the evening will provide some interesting insights.”

As Bruce adjusted his cufflinks and prepared for the gala, he felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Meeting Marie as Bruce Wayne rather than Batman was a risk, but one he was willing to take.

Tonight wasn’t just about the fundraiser or the charity. It was about understanding the woman who, in such a short time, had become someone he deeply admired.

—-------------------------------

Marie adjusted the strap of her gown, her reflection in the mirror showing a striking contrast to her usual attire. Her gown was a deep emerald green that seemed to shimmer with every step.

The fitted bodice accentuated her slim waist, while the flowing skirt draped gracefully to the floor, creating an almost ethereal effect. Her hair was styled in soft waves that cascaded down her back, with a few delicate strands framing her face.

She cast a glance at her partner, Commissioner Gordon, who was straightening his tie with a sigh.

“You know, Commissioner,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “ I’ll stay long enough to grab a handful of popcorn shrimp, flirt with a few millionaires, and then make a hasty escape before anyone starts asking me for donations.”

Gordon chuckled, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not my favorite scene either, but we’ve got a job to do. And besides, this gala is supposed to support the GCPD, so it’s for a good cause.”

Marie rolled her eyes but smiled slightly. “Yeah, yeah. Just wish I didn’t feel so out of place.”

As they entered the grand ballroom, the lavish setting was a stark contrast to the grimy streets of Gotham they were used to.

The room was a sea of polished suits, glittering gowns, and clinking glasses. Bruce Wayne, ever the charismatic host, was making the rounds, his attention caught by the arrival of Marie and Gordon.

“Detective Manning,” Bruce’s voice was warm and genuine as he approached, his admiration unmistakable. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” His eyes lingered on her, taking in the gown and the way her hair cascaded perfectly.

He’d always found her striking, even in her everyday detective attire, but tonight, she was nothing short of breathtaking.

Marie raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “We’ve never met before, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce looked momentarily taken aback. “Oh, I must have mistaken you for someone else then. But it’s wonderful to meet you now.” Great going, Bruce thought.

Marie offered a polite smile, offering him a handshake, “Likewise.”

Gordon stepped in, “Mr. Wayne, thank you for hosting this gala. It’s a great support for the department.”

“Of course,” Bruce said smoothly. “I’m glad you could make it. Please, enjoy the evening.”

As Bruce moved away to greet other guests, Marie turned to Gordon, her expression a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “I just don’t see the point of these fancy events.”

“Neither do I, but it’s part of the job. Let’s just get through the evening.” He responded. Marie’s gaze fell on the appetizer table, and Gordon nudged her. “Go mingle. The millionaires worth flirting with are likely not by the shrimp.”

The gala proceeded as usual, with conversations buzzing around the room, many of them centered on the figure of Batman. A group of well-dressed individuals, likely part of Gotham’s elite and wealthy, were engaged in a heated discussion.

“I can’t believe he’s allowed to take matters into his own hands like that,” one guest said disdainfully. “It’s a blatant disregard for the law.”

“Exactly,” another chimed in. “He’s practically a vigilante with a God complex. It’s irresponsible.”

Marie, who had been mingling nearby, could barely contain her irritation. She stepped closer, listening to them carry on about their disdain for the dark knight. She tried to bite her tongue. I can’t just let them talk shit on one of the best people I know, she thought.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ve worked with Batman on several cases. He’s not some rogue lunatic—he genuinely seeks to make Gotham a better place. He’s doing what he can where the system falls short.”

The group looked at her in surprise. “Oh, you’re a detective, aren’t you?” one of them said with a hint of condescension. “Well, I suppose you’d have a different perspective.”

Marie straightened, unwavering. “I’ve seen what he does firsthand. Gotham needs Batman. And no matter what you think of his methods, the city is better off with him fighting the fight he does. This city would be screwed without him.”

As the conversation moved on, Marie felt a pang of regret. She had spoken passionately but wondered if she’d overstepped, thinking back to the conversation in Gordon’s office where he asked her to keep their involvement with Batman a secret.

She found Gordon standing alone by a table and approached him. His eyes were already on Marie, making it clear he had just heard the conversation.

Marie ran a hand through her hair, her frustration palpable. “Commissioner, I’m really sorry for jumping in like that,” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “I just couldn’t sit there and listen to them trash-talk Batman. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Gordon gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. You made a valid point. Sometimes, people need to hear the truth, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

A waiter approached with a tray of champagne flutes. Marie grabbed two, downing one quickly and setting the other glass on the table for Gordon.

A few feet away, Bruce had overheard the exchange, and his admiration for Marie only grew. Watching her stand up for Batman with such sincerity and conviction deepened his feelings for her even more.

The evening wore on, and Bruce and Marie found themselves trapped in a conversation with a particularly boring socialite. The woman, draped in a gown that looked like it had been designed by someone with a particular fondness for sequins, droned on about her latest charity event and the “charmed life” she led.

Marie’s polite smile had turned into a strained expression of barely-contained boredom. Bruce could see the moment her eyes glazed over, her fingers twitching with the urge to escape.

“...and then I told the decorator that if it wasn’t completely on theme, I would simply—”

Marie’s gaze flicked to Bruce, her eyes pleading for an exit. Bruce, ever the perceptive observer, decided it was time to intervene.

With a smooth, practiced motion, he interrupted the socialite. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but Detective Manning and I were just discussing how refreshing it would be to get some fresh air. Would you like to join me for a brief respite?” He said formally, looking at Marie.

Her relief was palpable as she practically leaped at the chance. “Oh, absolutely. I could use a break from all the... excitement.”

The socialite’s eyes narrowed in mild annoyance, but Bruce’s polite smile was unwavering. “I’m sure you understand. We’ll catch up later.”

With that, Bruce guided Marie toward the balcony. She felt his hand gently caress her lower back as they stepped outside.

The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. The city lights below twinkled like stars, and the sound of muted chatter from the gala seemed to fade away.

Marie took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “God, I thought I’d have to endure another hour of that. Thanks for the rescue.”

Bruce chuckled, leaning casually against the railing beside her. “You’re welcome. Sometimes, escaping from the charm of socialites is the best part of the evening.”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her mood lightening. “Charm? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Bruce’s grin widened. “Apparently. I’m still trying to figure out how to survive these events without losing my sanity.”

Marie laughed, shaking her head, “I appreciate the break—and the chance to talk to someone who doesn’t think a yacht is a personality. Unless you do…?”

“A yacht as a personality? No way. If I had to pick, I’d say I’m more of a convertible type—something sleek and stylish, but still with a bit of freedom and fun.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, breathing in the crisp air and enjoying the view of the busy Gotham streets below. Bruce’s gaze lingered on her, clearly intrigued. “You know, I have to ask—what’s a detective like you doing at an event like this? You seem a bit too down-to-earth for all this.”

“I’m just here because Gordon dragged me along. I’d rather be chasing leads than schmoozing with the city’s elite. Though, I suppose this balcony has its perks.”

Bruce took a step closer, “Oh, is that so? I guess it’s a good thing I found you then. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on some fresh air and a halfway decent conversation.”

Marie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m starting to think I owe you one. Maybe I’ll have to find a way to repay you—assuming you’re not just here to escape your own party.”

Bruce chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Oh, I’m definitely here for more than just a breather.”

Marie tilted her head, a playful smile on her lips.

Bruce’s eyes softened, a genuine smile on his face. “You know, if you’re up for it, I’d love to continue this conversation somewhere a little less... pretentious.”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling your own house pretentious?”

Bruce’s smile softened as he met Marie’s gaze. “Touché. I suppose it does come with its own brand of grandeur. But honestly, I see it as a place that reminds me of my parents—of where I started. It helps me stay grounded, even with all the expensive marble.”

Marie’s expression shifted to one of solemn understanding. She remembered the news reports from when they were younger, the brutal murder of Bruce’s parents that had shocked Gotham.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Bruce’s smile returned, warm and genuine. “No need to apologize. It’s just part of who I am.”

He leaned in slightly, his tone sincere. “But seriously, if you think this place is pretentious, just wait until you see my secret lair. It’s got all the charm of a high-tech bat cave—minus the pretentiousness, of course.”

Marie’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “Well, you’ve definitely piqued my interest.”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “How about this: next time we meet, it won’t be at one of these stuffy galas. I’ll take you somewhere a bit more... personal. How does dinner sound? No yachts, no overpriced wine—just a good meal and better company.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce’s grin widened, playful and confident. “Absolutely. I promise, it’ll be a lot more enjoyable than this party.”

Marie laughed, her smile genuine. “A dinner sounds perfect. I’ll hold you to that. But for now, I should probably head back before my boss thinks I’ve disappeared with a handful of popcorn shrimp.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on her. “I’m really glad you stayed.”

Marie’s eyes met his, her smile softening. “Me too.”

—-------------------------------

The Batmobile cut through the darkness of Gotham’s streets, its engine a low, steady hum against the backdrop of the city's nighttime noises. Batman’s thoughts were focused on the case at hand—the Red Lotus, which had become a grim symbol in a string of recent murders.

The call about the latest crime scene had come in just hours after the gala ended.

Arriving at the scene, Batman saw Marie already there, her gala dress now replaced by more practical work attire—a long, dark jacket over a button-down shirt and beige trousers. Her hair and makeup, however, were still immaculate from the evening's event.

Batman approached, his cape billowing slightly in the wind. “Detective Manning,” he said, his voice steady and authoritative.

“Don’t comment on my overdone hair and makeup. I just came from a gala at Wayne Manor,” Marie said, rolling her eyes. “What’s the situation?”

Batman nodded towards the body sprawled on the ground, the red lotus tattoo glaringly prominent on the victim’s skin. “The brand is more elaborate than the previous cases. It’s designed to make a statement, and it’s clearly linked to Falcone.”

Marie crouched beside the victim, carefully examining the tattoo. “Yeah, this isn’t some random killing. The brand is the same as the other victims. What’s the deal with this guy?”

Batman leaned in, scrutinizing the victim’s features. “He’s one of Falcone’s men. I’ve seen him in the records. It looks like Falcone’s sending a message or trying to provoke a reaction.”

Marie looked up from her inspection. “Shit, this is too on-the-nose. Is Falcone really messing with us, or is someone else setting him up? It’s almost too easy to connect him to this.”

Batman scanned the scene, his eyes moving over the surroundings. “It’s possible someone is framing Falcone. The timing and the details are too convenient. We need to dig deeper to find out if he’s behind this or if someone else is manipulating the situation.”

Marie stood up, brushing off her hands. “I’ll see if any of the officers found anything else that might give us a clue. Maybe someone saw or heard something that could point us in the right direction.”

Batman pulled out a compact device to check nearby surveillance footage. “I’ll review the footage for anything that might give us a lead on who was here before the police arrived.”

As they worked, their focus was sharp and methodical. Batman and Marie meticulously analyzed every detail, their conversation flowing easily despite the grim circumstances.

Marie glanced around the scene, her frustration evident. “We’re running in circles if this is just another game Falcone’s playing. If it’s a setup, the real perpetrator is smart enough to make it look like Falcone’s doing it.”

Batman nodded, his eyes never leaving the crime scene. "We need to find out who would benefit from framing Falcone. It’s possible that someone is using his name to cover their tracks.”

Marie nodded in agreement. “I’ll run a check on known associates and rivals back at the precinct. Someone could be trying to take advantage of the chaos Falcone’s name causes.”

Batman’s gaze shifted back to the body. “I’ll dig into the connections between Falcone’s operations and any recent incidents. We need to understand the motive behind this to figure out who’s really behind it.”

They both continued studying the scene, with Batman standing a few feet away from Marie, using one of his devices to research Falcone's men. His voice cut through the tension with a cool, casual tone. “How about the gala? Did you happen to overhear anything that might connect to the case?”

Bruce knew she probably hadn't gained much intel from the gala, but he hoped to gauge whether she had enjoyed herself—and their time on the balcony.

Marie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Batman, then she chuckled. “Oh, the gala? It was a typical pretentious affair. Lots of small talk and high-society nonsense. I met Bruce Wayne, actually.”

She paused, “I mean, not that it’s relevant. I just—he was, you know, doing the whole billionaire thing, schmoozing with everyone. I didn’t exactly hear anything useful about our case. Just a lot of chatter about yachts and overpriced wine.”

Batman continued typing away on his device. Not sure if he was even listening, Marie’s face hardened, “Alright, let’s not waste any more time. The sooner we finish up here, the sooner I can rip into my Crab Rangoon waiting for me at home." She waited a moment before teasing, “Though I bet you haven’t been to a party like that in a while. I can’t see you mingling with the high-society crowd.”

Bruce’s eyes, hidden behind the mask, watched her with an unreadable expression. It took everything in him not to smile at her, or throw a jab back at her.

Instead, trying extra hard to maintain his serious demeanor, he responded “So, nothing pertinent about Falcone or the case then?”

Marie blinked, catching herself. Guess he's not in the mood for banter tonight. “No, nothing like that. Sorry, I guess I’m just tired and rambling. It’s been a long night.”

Batman offered a curt nod and started to vanish into the shadows. “Stay safe. I’ll be in touch with any updates.” And about that date, Bruce wished he could say aloud.

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