#Walk-in Cold Room suppliers

[osworld9]

Walk in Cold Rooms Manufacturers

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 1.

Next

*Author's note: this was not beta and was written at midnight.

Two years. That's how long you had been struggling to survive in hell. The experiments had been brutal in every way imaginable. In the end they had gotten their goal: a meta human capable of healing any illness or wound, with an extended life span.

However you had come out of it too defiant. Some part of you had clung to the child's hope you're family would swoop in and save you. Sure they were often busy and didn't have time for you, but they had still cared right? There was no way they hadn't noticed you were missing for two years. No they had to be on the case, maybe just waiting for that last clue. A clue you would give them by escaping your captors and spitting in the scientist's face as your family torn their facilities apart. Beside, you were capable of escaping by yourself so who cared that they didn't show up.

The security system at the front gates still recongized your fingerprint and retinas. Walking up the pathway, you admired the gardener's work. It looked so different from when you were last here. There was a bubbling in your stomach. Imagines flash in you mind of your brothers being so happy to see you.

Dick with his wide smile, wrapping you in his arms. He would check for injuries and you two would finally have that movie night he promised two years ago. Jason would demand answers and swear to make whoever hurt you pay. You knew he would do it to, all so you could sleep easy knowing they couldn’t hurt you anymore. Tim would listen before getting to work. He would ensure everyone connected to the experiments would be destroyed. Hunt down their suppliers and financial providers. They would protect and help you move past the experiments.

After them were your sisters. Babs, Cass, and Steph would let you in to girls night this time. You would get to watch those cringy 'reality' TV shows, take part in the fashion show, and play around the whole night. Than in the morning Babs would help the boys take out the experiments. Cass and Steph would be right there with them of course before teaching you how to defend yourself.

Alfred would also help you. He would tutor you and help you catch up on school you missed. Not running off to help the others. Just you too bonding. Maybe he would even read the Wizard of Oz to you. Just he promised when you were five.

Lastly, your father Bruce Wayne. He would finally pay attention to you. Postpone his business meetings, decline the galas, take a night off from patrol as Batman because his baby girl was home. The last remaining shred of your mother and his lover. You would be important enough for him.

You blinked as your hand touch cold metal. The front door. Right you must have gotten lost in thoughts again. You could feel every hope you tucked into the hidden part of you heart over the past two years creep out of the shadows. They started to clean the cobwebs out of and prepare the space for warmth.

The door creaked up to a dreary entrance hall. You couldn't put your finger on what made the space feel dark. Sunlight still pour through the grand windows. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Yet there was a weight in the air that made the room feel empty and wrong. It looked and felt as if you had never left.

You began to wonder the halls in search of anyone. The quiet pressed down on your shoulders and feet. You never had thought you would miss the continuous buzz of medical equipment you couldn't name. Yet that seem better the suffocating silence that was clawing at you. You heard a faint noise from the living room.

Sitting in the living room was Tim, Steph, and Jason. Tim was texting on his phone, Jason was reading, and Steph was eating popcorn as she watched a show. It was normal.

Completely normal.

It was as if you hadn't disappeared for two years. Steph turned to look at you, a fistful of popcorn suspended mid-air, "Hey. How you doing?"

"I'm..." Your throat felt like gum. Her reaction was disappointing? Confusing? You couldn't think of the right word, "fine."

"That’s good." She turned back to the TV. Conversation over. Tim and Jason didn't even look up from what they were doing. You shuffled to the next room in a daze.

The kitchen felt like it had also barely changed. There were some new appliances but they sat where the old ones had. Dick and Cass leaned against the center island enjoying steaming cups of something. Cass turned to nod at you and Dick smiled at brightly, "Hey (Name). It's been a minute, how you doing?"

Your head tilted to the side. Two years had to be more than 'a minute'. A weight began to push against the hopes in your heart. They slowed their cleaning, a few began to retreat back to the darkness. You blinked twice before answering, "Fine. Where... where's dad?"

"Oh I think B had a business trip this week. He'll be back Tuesday." Dick shrugged before someone walked into the kitchen. Someone new. He was taller than Cass and shorter than Dick but not by much. He was also young, you would bet a few years younger than Tim. Dick gave him an even brighter smile, "Hey Duke."

"Who's this?" You pointed at him and blinked. Was a friend of Tim's? Maybe Steph?

"Oh, you two weren't introduced. Duke this is-" Dick patted Duke on the shoulder gesturing to you.

"(Name)"

"Duke Thomas. Alfred didn't mention anyone else living in the manor." Duke gave you a friendly smile and held out his hand. You shook it but could feel your head spinning. This didn't make sense.

"Alfred didn't mention me?" The words felt blocky. It was like you were a computer shutting down. Not only was everyone acting normal, there was a new person and it seemed like they knew you were gone. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. I... I'm gonna go... lie down."

"Oh, okay." Duke's face scrunched up. He looked as confused as you felt. You left the kitchen dazed, clinging to the hall as your feet stumbled to your bedroom.

Something wasn't right. Why was everyone acting like you had just gone on a trip? You were gone for two years. Ripped out of the garden and held captive for two years in horrifying conditions. Submitted to endless hours of shocks, shots, burns, and twisted wires to a point it all blend into a red flim in your memory. All that before finally escaping just to have everyone act like you had been on vacation.

Your thoughts were interrupted with a sudden harsh shove. A hand gripped your shoulder tightly creating temporary bruises on your skin. Ringing took over the cacophonous noise in your head. As you looked at your attacker you saw a boy. He wasn't that much taller or older than you. His mouth moved and you barely registered his words, "Who are you? How did you get into the manor?"

Something froze. This boy looked like a copy of your dad. There was a feeling of having all the puzzle pieces but no way to connect them. The bigger picture so blurred you couldn't tell what was supposed to go where. A voice broken the silence, "Master Damian! Unhand her this insistence."

Alfred. Surely he knew what was going on. He could tell you why everyone was acting like you were on vacation instead of kidnapped, or who this new boy was and why he looked like your dad.

The boy looked to Alfred but his hand didn't leave your shoulder, "Who is she and how did she bypass the manor's security?"

"She is your half sister." Alfred marched towards you. Taking Damian's hands from you, he placed himself in between you two. "She has been away at a boarding school for the past two years."

The pieces clicked with a deafening pop. Boarding school. It made sense now why everyone was so causal. You weren't kidnapped in their eyes, you had simply been sent away. Your coming back was expected on some level.

Another realization hit shortly after that. Boarding schools ment tuition payments that were expected to be paid by 'loving parents' who knew where there children were. Boarding school explained when a kid was missing from a wealthy for a period of time to those who would care to ask. A boarding school was the perfect cover for experiments in a highly secured facility.

Surely your dad wouldn't do that, right? He's Batman, a protector of the city. Someone who was ment to be moral and a role model. More importantly, you were what remained of your mother. The last piece of her and your dad's picture book romance. The billionaire CEO that falls in love with his secretary. This had to be a misunderstanding or miscommunication.

Damian's voice cut through your thoughts, again. "How old are you?"

"What?" The question was mis-timed and absurd to be asked immediately after he attacked you.

"I must ensure I am still the eldest blood child and father's heir." He said it so matter of fact like. As if he already knew the answer but wanted to confirm it.

"Ten."

"Hmm. We are the same age." He glared at you through Alfred before lifting his chin, "Date of birth."

"You first." You hated this boy already. He was as self-righteous and arrogant as the scientists in that damn place. Defiance crackled in your veins at the thought. You would not answer anymore questions from him.

"Both of you, stop it. Miss (Name) was born on (DOB) the year after you. You are older but not by much. Master Damian was born on November 11th" Alfred said the words and there was another pop.

"I'm going to my room." You didn't care what was said after that. It was like a wildfire started in your heart. Consuming the oxygen in your lungs to breath was impossible. You could feel them dying. Your hopes, succumbing to the flames, burning away to ash. Some part of you tried to save them with hot tears. It was already too late.

Your room felt like a tomb tucked away in the attic. A thin layer of dust coated everything, telling you not even Alfred bothered to come up here. Good, you wanted to be alone.

The numbers ran in your head again. Than once more. They raced through your head, years, timelines, before finally settling. In order for you and Damian to be born by those dates, your father had to be cheating on your mother with his. That or Bruce had used your mother to get over Damian's. You stumbled towards your dusty bed and fished around underneath it. Pulling out your mother's diary you began to skim the pages.

Swirls flew past your fingers. Finally you they ran over her cursive letters. "Bruce mentioned a woman name Talia. He talked about her with a mix of longing and betrayal. I wonder what happened?" There it was. The crack in your mother's love story, Talia.

Maybe it had been a whirlwind romance for your mother. Her diary was proof of that but your father. No, you couldn't prove she was important to him and by proxy you. Maybe you were so unimportant, unwanted, he could hand you other to those scientists and tell everyone it was a boarding school. All you had to do was prove it and burn him down.

Talia would never admit that she check on Damian frequently. No if anyone asked she was ensuring he followed his training regime. That didn't stop the surprise however to see a girl his age approach the manor gates.

She carried herself with a purpose but lack all the tells of training. Yet that wasn't what held Talia's attention, it was her eyes. They held a cautious fire and moved like she expected it be put out at any moment. It caused Talia's sixth sense to kick in, the one that told her this girl had potential that just need to be refined.

She followed her into the manor. Sure the security system was a pain but she need more information on this girl. When Damian shoved the girl into the wall Talia became certain of two things. One Damian was upholding his training and two this girl did have potential.

She didn't flinch at the knife to her throat. Talia doubted it even registered as a small amount of blood came out. When the butler interfered, Talia almost missed it. The wound sealed shut and the blood evaporated to leave no trace of a wound. Yes, this girl had potential.

"(Name) Wayne. Hmm, I've always wanted a daughter."

Next

[rottenpumpkin13]

Do you think Sephiroth ever does things that his friends find cute? Little moments where he’s being unintentionally endearing and it just throws people off

Cute Things Sephiroth Does

• Sometimes when he's eating something he enjoys, his cheeks puff up and get squishy (like a hamster), and if he's having pasta he might end up with sauce on his face.

• Before bed he either braids his hair or throws it into a messy ponytail if he's too tired to bother with it.

• When he lies down he instinctively cuddles whatever’s nearby—pillows, blankets, random objects, Genesis and/or Angeal, you name it. + Because he's usually too tall for most spaces, he subconsciously shrinks his legs even when he actually has room.

• Loud noises easily bother him even though he's used to suppressing it. His friends find it cute when he pulls away, shuts his eyes or covers his ears in response.

• He gets a petulant expression whenever someone interrupts him while he's eating. Kind of like this -> (￣◇￣;) but his mouth is full of food.

• He acts awkward in front of cameras, especially when he's being filmed. Angeal finds this especially adorable since he's the resident photographer. Sephiroth either rubs the back of his neck, looks away, or covers his face.

• When he gets cold, he pulls his blanket all the way up, covering his nose.

• If he enjoys a new food, he'll look it up online to order more of it before he even finishes eating. One time he did this with an apple granola bar Genesis offered him, not knowing that his parents' company were the suppliers. Genesis also found Sephiroth's excited expression when he presented him with a box full of them very cute.

• He tries to pet stray cats in the slums and gets quietly upset when they don’t return his affection, though he never admits it. He just gets very quiet, sighs, and then keeps walking. When they were on a mission one time, Zack was tempted to chase the cat down and force it to love him.

• He looks unexpectedly cute doing yoga because he's fully relaxed and focused.

• While Angeal never uses sticker sheets (saves them for special occasions) and Genesis uses his selectively, Sephiroth uses all of his at once, sticking them on random places since he never had the notion of saving them for something special. Genesis and Angeal found matching moogle stickers on their coffee cups one time. Sephiroth's giddy expression as he waited for them to say something was, unnervingly, very adorable.

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.12

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Wednesday comforts you in your fear of the rain

Warnings: language, pills/drugs? Fluff

Pairings: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

The darkening skies had you on edge as you walked along the sidewalk.

The presence of Wednesday at your side was starting to become surprisingly familiar as she strode beside you, her pale, well manicured fingers gripping the straps of her backpack rather tightly as her deadpan expression remained focused straight ahead. It was starting to become quite comforting.

The two of you were in town for different reasons; Wednesday specifically wanted to visit the hunting store to look over the recent customers to add to her evidence board, and while you of course were devoted to the case the two of you were engaged in, you were in town for an alternate purpose; supplements.

Not that you found anything wrong with your wolf, merely because you preferred not to spend full moons in the lupine cages. Your most recent prescription had unfortunately been completed right before the full moon; about two days away from now. All you had to do was show your prescription to the outcast doctor and be on your way.

“This way.” A slight nudge on your arm tugged you from your thoughts as you glanced over to see Wednesday turning the corner, barely slowing down as she pointed out without even sparing you a glance. “You’re nervous.”

You scurried back to her side, unable to resist a soft roll of your eyes as you mumbled, “it’s a perfectly normal phobia.”

“I’d hardly label the fear of rain as rational.” Wednesday remarked, shooting you a look as her boots clomped along the sidewalk, a rhythm you repeated with your fingers against your side. “Perhaps some therapy would do you good.”

“Oh and where did that get you?” You retort hotly as her glare darkens. “I’d rather not look for psychological help in a town that’s known for murders. I’m already breaking the rules enough being out here.”

“It’s merely a medical trip for you. Consider it that way if you prefer a clean conscience.” Wednesday almost shrugged, pausing abruptly and causing you to stumble, nearly bumping into her in the process. “I’ll meet you back here once I’m done.”

“It’s a pharmacy, not a drop-off center…” you grumbled under your breath as you stepped into the building, the warm heat welcoming you as opposed to the cold outside. You turned and watched as Wednesday walked off in the direction of the hunting store.

Approaching the counter you instantly recognized Dr. Kennedy, the same man who’d started to become familiar with your occasional visits.

“Ah, Y/N. Welcome back.” The man smiled over his glasses with a warm expression, placing his clipboard down as he approached the other side of the counter to meet you. “How’s life at Nevermore treating you? I didn’t think any students would make it to town with the storm on the way.”

You felt yourself pale slightly at the mention of the storm before responding, putting on a smile to match his. Although you were never very particular about doctors, Dr Kennedy did a decent job at making you feel welcomed in a town like Jericho. It only made sense, seeing as his business catered specially to outcasts. It was lucky that Nevermore had a medical supplier so close to the school anyways.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, honestly; it’s a little chilly but nothing I can’t handle.” You paused before pulling your crumpled prescription from your jacket pocket, slipping it onto the counter for him to see. “I was looking for a refill on my supplements.”

Dr Kennedy adjusted his glasses down the bridge of his nose slightly as he took the paper into his palm, rereading the words. Taking a pen in his palm he re-signed it, turning into the back room as he spoke.

“You're quite lucky you got here in time, Y/N. Our shipment of lupine suppressants came unusually late and with a lot less too; apparently the pharmacist up in Vermont had to deal with some sort of robbery at his place.”

He returned a few moments later with the usual brown paper bag, sliding it over the counter to you as he leant on his elbows, continuing.

“I hear pharmacies aren’t doing too well nowadays. Or at least around here, they’re not.”

You frowned slightly as you reached for the bag, double checking as usual that it was the correct bottle. Spotting the ever familiar green label you stuffed it into your pocket.

“There must be some sort of shortage wherever they’re growing or manufacturing these… probably nothing bad.” You shrugged, not taking notice of Dr Kennedy’s skeptical expression. “Thanks for the pills, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

The man nodded softly and smiled warmly; “good luck, Y/N. I assume you’ll see me in a month or two.” With that he disappeared back into the back room.

You stepped out of the building, looking up at the darkened skies; a low rumble of thunder met your glance, making your skin crawl. Yes, Wednesday had specifically instructed you to wait here until she returned, but there was no way in hell you’d be caught in the rain; besides, she wasn’t in charge of you, was she?

There was a brief moment of hesitation but when you felt a light sprinkle on your shoulder you flinched and immediately made a beeline for the hunting store.

The doorbells clanging over the door announced your arrival to everyone inside and you felt yourself grimace in disgust at the sight of all the different rifles and guns mounted upon the wall, distaste lingering in your mouth. Fortunately there weren’t that many customers; the occasional fisherman here and there but otherwise it was surprisingly peaceful for a hunting store.

As you walked through the stand of furred hats you spotted Wednesday at the counter, speaking with the cashier; a man wearing a Bulls baseball cap and a torn leather jacket. You watched as the raven spoke, recognizing the slight look of impatience in her eye you’d become familiar with lately. Clearly the man’s attitude wasn’t one she was happy with.

“-listen, Miss, I’d love to help you, I really would, but the data we track from our customers is private. We don’t just give it out to anyone, y’know.”

You watched as Wednesday’s grip tightened slightly on her backpack straps as she spoke through slightly gritted teeth.

“My motives are in the pursuit of the school's safety; you’re willing to risk that in order to protect a store policy?”

“Just because Jericho and Nevermore are on decent terms doesn’t mean we’re responsible for each other.” The man frowned slightly as if in slight distaste as he met Wednesday’s glare. “And all that shit that went down last year with the Hyde is over. I highly doubt the safety of the school is at risk.”

“Then explain where the deputies are right now.”

Wednesday folded her arms, her gaze darkening as the man sighed.

“I don’t know everything that goes on in this town, kid. It’s probably just another bear attack up north.”

“How ironic,” you caught Wednesday mutter under her breath as he continued.

“You’re just a high schooler. Even if Nevermore is in danger like you said, I’m not giving just any goth who walks into my store important information. So unless you’re planning on buying something you can leave.”

You weren’t surprised when Wednesday slid a knife across the counter without a moment’s hesitation; the blade was short and straight with a nicked top that looked quite sharp; the handle was a deep black, with silver hints down the sides, making for a tasteful choice of knife. Of course she had good taste in knives.

“I can make it worth your while.”

The raven held up a small stack of bills she had retrieved from her backpack, raising an eyebrow at the employee. He eyed the money for a moment, his eyes narrowing before folding his arms and scoffing.

“I don’t do bribes, kid. Just buy the knife and get out of here.”

Jaw clenched, Wednesday thumbed a bill from the stack and handed it over, placing the rest in her backpack as she took the knife and slid it into her jacket pocket, not bothering to say goodbye as she headed out.

“You’re dreadful at hiding.” Her voice startled you as she paused in front of you, an eyebrow raised. “You’d think a wolf would have a better sense at subtelty.”

“You’d be surprised.” You gave a soft grin of your own as you folded your arms, glancing at the man who was now watching the two of you with a distasteful expression, eyes narrowed as he examined you closely. “Let’s get out of here.”

The two of you were at the door when you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder and you froze, eyes narrowing as you slowly turned on your heel.

“I recognize you.”

“Don’t touch her.” Wednesday shouldered you aside somewhat roughly, but you didn’t mind, you were too busy glaring at the man as you retorted

“Leave us alone. You said you wanted us gone, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved dismissively, removing his hand at the sight of Wednesday’s death stare. “But you’re that Lyall kid, right? The one from Vermont?”

“What’s it to you?” You frowned, suddenly hyper aware of Wednesday’s cold hand on your wrist.

“I’d be willing to give that intel your girl was looking for in exchange for some information. I mean, you’re famous after all, aren't you?”

“She’s not my- my-“ you stuttered dumbly as you felt yourself blush slightly, Wednesday’s eyes on you as you fought for words. “I’m not famous, you’ve got the wrong person.”

The guy frowned slightly, examining you for a moment until eventually muttering something under his breath, “not worth it”. Turning on his heel he started to head back to the counter, but Wednesday stepped forward quickly, gripping his jacket tightly in one hand as the other bore the knife she’d just purchased, pointed at his neck.

“If you want to keep your head attached to your body I’d suggest staying away from us.”

Your eyes widened slightly as the man’s eyes widened in shock and slight fear as he gave what little of a nod he could until the raven stepped back, folding the knife in disgust and putting it away as she turned back to you.

“Let’s go.”

-

By the time you and Wednesday had returned to Nevermore a good rain was already falling, the rumbles of thunder now more pronounced through the school’s walls. If not for the umbrella Wednesday had brought just in case you would’ve been soaked.

“That was a waste of time,” you grumbled as you followed her into the dorm the Addams shared with Enid. “Other than my suppressants we got nothing.”

“Not necessarily.” Wednesday pulled her jacket aside, hanging it over the side of her bed as she faced the recently set up investigation board by the window. Thing scuttled out from her bag, perching himself atop the board; in his fingers he held a pair of keys.

A wild grin burst upon your face as you held out your hand and Thing tossed you the keys, speaking with excitement “how the hell did you get these without being seen?”

“Simple diversion. I would’ve thought you’d learned a bit more after all this time.” Wednesday gave a little roll of her eyes as she examined the board; there wasn’t much on it; a map of the woods, a diagram of a shotgun, and a couple receipts. “Tonight would be more than a sufficient time to break in.”

You started to respond with a grin until a crackle of thunder split through the dorm, sending a chill down your spine, fingers tightly gripping the edges of your jacket. Wednesday clearly noticed, as something akin to a frown flashed across her face.

“I still don’t understand how you can fear such a beautifully gloomy sound. Just because it is meant to instill fear does not mean you have to be afraid.” The Addams paced across the room, until she was facing you directly, her dark stare flitting over your shaking form. God you hated the fact that you were shaking. “What will it take for me to get your pitiful shaking to stop?”

You fought for words, at a loss for what to say. You’d never been asked that before. You didn’t notice the way Wednesday’s gaze softened just ever so softly; the way her furrowed eyebrows lifted slightly and her chocolate-toned eyes met you.

You had no clue what she was thinking.

For Wednesday she was left utterly confused at the muddled mess of disgusting feelings sitting in her stomach like a pile of rot. The Addams had no clue how to handle them, especially since she had such a lack of experience with… emotion. You must have cursed her… at this point she was positive that you were the one making her cup your chin, your skin ever so warm on her cool hand as she lifted your head so that you met her gaze. Her usually confident and sure footed mind was left scrambling to remember all do Enid’s advice on comfort.

“If it will get you to stop quaking like a frightened puppy I will allow you to reside on my bed.” Wednesday paused, before her eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t stain anything or I will kick you out.”

The way your eyes faintly brightened made her heart twist; oh god, you weakened her. She most certainly despised you. Another boom of thunder seemed to end any hesitation you might’ve had as the raven watched you scramble for her bed.

Glancing over at the investigation board she spotted Thing, cutting off his tapping as she gritted her teeth - “not. A. Word.”

A quick look back over at the bed confirmed your still shaking form. You were just sitting there, stiff and awkward on the edge of the mattress. Wednesday couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she strode towards her cello case, kneeling down as she muttered, “one could easily think you were a corpse.”

“I’m getting comfortable.” You defended hotly, clearly a little embarrassed. She decided not to mention it, merely pulling her beloved instrument from its casing; settling herself atop her chair she pulled the cello in front of her carefully, tuning it.

“You’re going to play for me?”

Wednesday halted, her fingers freezing momentarily over the knobs as she slowly looked over at you, her eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. Your phobia of the rain just happened to interfere with my playing time.” She turned back to the pegbox, giving one of the pegs the slightest of adjustments before picking up her bow. She didn’t need sheet music to play the song she desired.

Her bow pulled across the strings as her fingers maneuvered the fingerboard. The haunting melody of “Cello Sonata in D Minor, Op.40” began to fill the room, a deep sense of satisfaction stirring within her as the piece unfolded.

—

Halfway through the song she noticed you’d fallen asleep, draped in a slightly uncomfortable position over the foot of her bed. Sighing, she reluctantly put down the instrument, standing to step over to the bed.

You didn’t even rouse when she draped a blanket over you.

She was unconscious of the fact that she played her cello just ever so slightly softer when she returned.

-

Taglist:

@idkjustliving2 @alexkolax @tekanparadiae

[followsfrankiep]

Haunted (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Chapter 4 - A Long Night

TW: Violence, Explicit Words, and Smut

Izzy's days at the Shelby Company had become a relentless grind. Polly Gray, ever watchful, had taken a keen interest in her activities. Every report, every meeting, every move Izzy made was scrutinized. Polly's presence was a constant shadow, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Izzy's visits to Camden, once a routine part of her role, were now handled by one of Tommy's men. Her responsibilities had been minimized, and it was clear she was under surveillance.

It started subtly. Polly would drop by Izzy's office more frequently, asking for updates on her work. At first, Izzy didn't mind. She understood the need for oversight, especially given the high stakes of their operations. But as the days went by, Polly's visits became more frequent and intrusive.

"How's the report on the Rum shipment plans coming along, Izzy?" Polly asked one morning, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Izzy looked up from her desk, forcing a smile. "Almost done. Just need to finalize a few details."

Polly nodded, but her gaze lingered on the papers scattered across Izzy's desk. "Make sure it's thorough. We can't afford any mistakes."

The constant pressure began to take its toll on Izzy. She found herself second-guessing every decision, fearing Polly's disapproval. Her work suffered, and the stress became unbearable. The fact that she has not been able to visit Alfie after they met at the gym, has been worrying her as well.

One evening, as she was finishing up a draft plan, Polly walked in and picked up the document without a word. She scanned it quickly, her expression unreadable.

"There are so many flaws here, Izzy," Polly said, her voice cold. "You need to redo it, unless you want us dead."

Izzy felt a surge of frustration. "I've been working on this for days, Polly. The plan should be thorough and accurate."

Polly's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you hear what I said? Do it again."

Izzy clenched her fists, struggling to keep her composure. "Fine."

The breaking point came a few days later. Izzy was in the middle of a meeting with a supplier when Polly barged in, interrupting the discussion.

"Izzy, I need to speak with you. Now," Polly demanded.

Izzy excused herself and followed Polly into the hallway. "What is it, Polly?"

Polly's eyes were cold and unforgiving. "I reviewed your revised draft. This is unacceptable."

Izzy's frustration boiled over. "I've been working non-stop, Polly. I'm doing my best, but your constant supervision is making it impossible to focus."

Polly's expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. "We can't afford any mistakes, Izzy. You need to step up."

Izzy took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I understand, but I need some space to do my job. Your constant oversight is making it unbearable."

Polly studied her for a moment before nodding. "We are talking about a huge transaction here. It is your job to make sure everything runs smoothly."

Izzy nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. It has been weeks since Michael left, and Polly has been filling out her son's role. However this time, Polly is the one leading, not Izzy. It made her realize how different Polly is with her son.

One evening, as she was finishing up her work, Izzy overheard a conversation that made her blood run cold. She was passing by Tommy's office when she heard voices—Tommy, Polly, and Arthur. They were discussing a plan to take down the Sabinis once and for all. Izzy pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear every word. She was excluded from the planning, but she made a mental note of everything they said.

Tommy's voice was firm and decisive. "We need to hit the Sabinis hard and fast. No room for mistakes this time."

Polly agreed, her tone equally resolute. "Arthur, you'll lead the charge. Make sure our men are ready."

Arthur's confidence was evident. "Don't worry, Tommy. We'll crush them."

Izzy's heart raced as she listened. She knew this information could be crucial for Alfie. She quietly slipped away, determined to use what she had learned.

The following night, feeling exhausted and frustrated, Izzy decided to unwind at the gym. She was in the middle of her workout when she noticed a familiar figure entering the room. Alfie Solomons, with a grumpy expression, was pointing a gun at her.

"Oi! Where the hell have you been, Izzy? I thought you went AWOL on me," Alfie growled.

Izzy didn't flinch. She calmly took off her gloves and took a sip of water. "Alfie, put the gun down. I'm not going anywhere."

Alfie's eyes narrowed, but he lowered the gun. "Explain yourself."

Izzy sighed, a hint of irritation in her voice. "I have been bustin' my ass at the shithole and it has been a nightmare. Polly's got me under constant surveillance. Every move I make is being watched. They've even reassigned my bakery meetings to one of Tommy's fucking men." she said, wiping off water from her lips.

Alfie's expression softened, and he put the gun back in his pocket. She looked tired, and worn out. "Well... I didn't know.. I thought you betrayed me." he shrugged.

Izzy gave him a warm smile and signalled him to sit on the bench nearby, in which he quietly obliged. A part of her knew that Alfie would have a violent reaction regarding her missing presence. The timing of everything was not right at all so she had to be more understanding of where Alfie's coming from.

Izzy looked deep into his eyes, her voice steady. "I gave you my word, Alfie. I won't break it. But I need your help."

Alfie has always prided himself to be a good judge of character. When he stared at her deep brown eyes, he knew she was a genuine person. At least right now. He nodded, his gaze intense. "What do you need?"

Izzy leaned in, her voice low. "I overheard Tommy, Polly, and Arthur talking about a plan to take down the Sabinis. They're planning an attack, and I think we can use this to our advantage."

Alfie's interest was piqued. "Go on."

Izzy outlined the details she had overheard, explaining the timing and the key players involved. "If we tip off the Sabinis, they can be ready for the attack. It will throw the Peaky Blinders off balance and give us an edge."

Alfie considered her words carefully. "It's risky, but it could work. We need to make sure the Sabinis are prepared and have enough men to counter the attack."

Izzy nodded. "Exactly. We need to coordinate with them and ensure everything goes smoothly."

Alfie agreed, a plan forming in his mind. "I'll meet with Darby Sabini and set things in motion. We'll make sure the Peaky Blinders walk into a trap."

Izzy smiled, her eyes turning into crescents, her cheek dimple appearing. "Thank you, Alfie. I knew I could count on you."

Alfie felt a warmth in his chest as he looked at her. She looked wonderful despite the sweaty and rugged appearance after her boxing. Alfie reached out to the clean towel beside her and wiped the sweat off her face. "I'm sorry for pointing the gun at you, Izzy. I should have trusted you."

Izzy reached out and touched his arm, placing it down. "It's fine. I understand. You don't need to worry about me betraying you."

Alfie watched as she walked away, her figure disappearing into the night. He knew they were taking a huge risk, but he trusted Izzy.

The following days were a whirlwind of preparation. Alfie met with Darby Sabini, who was eager to put a stop to the Peaky Blinders. They reached an agreement, with Alfie becoming an unknown trigger in the plan.

"So, Alfie, you invited the peaky blinders here then somehow, you are here to ask for our help?" Sabini asked, his eyes narrowing with interest.

"Oh is that the way you thank me? You will be dead in a few days if I don't tell you this." Alfie said mockingly, holding his crane.

Sabini's men pulled out their guns and pointed it to Alfie and Ollie, who was sitting beside him. In turn, Alfie's men did the same. They have been at each other's throats for years now. Darby's mockery of dirty fucking jews had always agitated Alfie. But business is business, and this time, Information is a valuable commodity. Thanks to Izzy, he's going to make a fortune.

"Put your guns down. Alfie's here as a friend." Darby Sabini signaled his men which they followed immediately, earning a smug smile from Alfie.

"Yes. Friend." Alfie mockingly nodded to his men, telling them to do the same but still kept their guard up.

"What information do you have, Alfie?" Darby asked.

Alfie scrunched up his nose and shakes his head. "Nah, mate. You know how valuable these things can be. I am just here as an instrument of God. Of course, since you are, as you said, a friend, I would be very much happy for a few thousand pounds."

Darby slammed his palms on the table with a resounding thud, muttering under his breath. "Stronzo." He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he glanced at Alfie who is lying back at his chair, casually caressing his beard. "Okay, Alfie. Ten thousand pounds for your valuable information." he said, gritting his teeth.

Alfie's negotiation skills are topnotch. He leaned casually against the wall, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Oh, you see, friend... It is customary for business if you pay upfront, especially for the priceless commodities.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, eyes glinting with amusement.

The Italian man nodded to his right hand man to give Ollie the cash, upon receiving the payment, Ollie gave Alfie his confirmation. Darby leaned forward, his curiosity piqued and a hint of apprehension creasing his brow.

"Tommy's planning an attack on your territory. You need to be ready for them. I'll provide the details, and you make sure your men are prepared," Alfie explained.

"And what's in it for you?" Sabini inquired, his tone cautious. Everyone knew that Alfie Solomons would not give a shit to their war if it wouldn't benefit him or his business.

"Taking down the Peakys weakens Tommy's grip on the city. It's in both our interests," Alfie replied confidently.

"Fair enough. We'll be ready," Sabini agreed, a determined look on his face.

Alfie provided Sabini with the information Izzy had gathered, ensuring that the Sabinis would have the upper hand. They coordinated their efforts, making sure every detail was covered.

-

On the day of the attack, Izzy was at the office, working under Polly's watchful eye. Arthur and his men set out to execute the plan, confident in their numbers and strategy. But when they arrived at the Sabinis' stronghold, they were met with more resistance than expected.

The Sabinis had fortified their position, and their men outnumbered Arthur's. A fierce battle ensued, and Arthur was knocked unconscious in the chaos. The police, tipped off by an anonymous source, arrived on the scene and arrested Arthur, locking him up.

Arthur, disoriented and furious, shouted, "What the fuck is going on? We were supposed to have the upper hand!" From behind, a blow hit his head, resulting to Arthur losing his consciousness.

One of Sabini's men smirked. "Looks like you underestimated us, mate."

The news reached Polly quickly, and she was furious. The plan had backfired spectacularly, and now Arthur was in police custody. Izzy, meanwhile, continued her work, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. The first part of their plan had succeeded, and she knew there was more to come.

The clock ticked ominously on the wall as Polly entered the dimly lit office. Tommy sat behind a massive oak desk, the shadows casting a menacing aura over his stern face. Polly swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the impending conversation heavy in her gut.

“They got Arthur. ” Polly started, her voice low and tense. She could feel her pulse quicken, each beat a deafening drum in her ears.

Tommy looked up and his eyes narrowed, his gaze cold and unyielding. “What? How?”

“The fucking plan backfired, Tommy.” she paused, taking a deep breath, “he's been taken into police custody. They framed him with the murder of our men.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity. Tommy's expression remained unreadable, his steely eyes boring into the papers in front of him.

Polly raised the boys like her own, and this situation angered her. "Tommy, we need to get Arthur out of there. This is a disaster."

Tommy's expression was grim. "We'll handle it, Polly."

Izzy kept her head down, knowing that the real game was just beginning.

The news of Arthur's arrest and the heavy losses suffered by their men prompted Tommy to call an urgent family meeting. The atmosphere in the room was tense as the Shelby family gathered around the table.

Tommy addressed the group, his voice steady but filled with underlying tension. "We have a problem. Arthur's been arrested, and most of our men are dead. We'll get him out, but first, we need to secure our position. We can't afford any more mistakes."

Izzy listened intently, her mind racing. She knew she had to be careful. Any slip-up could expose her involvement with Alfie.

Tommy continued, his tone commanding. "Polly, I want you to tighten security. No one gets in or out without our knowledge. Lizzy, you'll take over the management of the office. Izzy, you'll handle your usual operations again, including your Camden meetings with Alfie."

As he turned to leave, Tommy turned his face to Izzy. “And Izzy, remember—no loose ends.”

Izzy nodded, feeling the weight of those final words settle heavily on her shoulders, feeling a chill run down her spine. She knew the stakes were higher than ever. But she also knew that with Alfie's help, she had a chance to turn the tide in their favor.

-

Her fingers brushed the edge of the bedsheets as the hotel phone rang unexpectedly, breaking the heavy silence. She hesitated, her heart pounding, before lifting the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Izzy, it’s Michael.” His voice was soft, almost tender, but it sent a shiver down her spine. She forced herself to take a steady breath, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.

“Michael… Hi.” She tried to infuse warmth into her voice, knowing that she had to play her part convincingly.

“I got the news... about Arthur,” Michael said, his voice tinged with concern. “I couldn't stop thinking about you. How have you been holding up?”

Izzy clenched the phone tighter, her eyes flickering to the suitcase on the bed, half-packed with essentials. Forced to balance the tightrope of emotions, she tried to keep her voice steady. “It’s been… difficult. I didn't expect it to happen so suddenly.”

“I miss you, Izzy,” Michael admitted, a hint of longing in his tone. “It’s just not the same without you. I’ll come home sooner. We’ll get through this together.”

Home. The word felt foreign to her now, disconnected from the affection Michael was desperately trying to offer. It was becoming harder to pretend as each day passed. But she forced a small, strained smile. “I’ve missed you too, Michael. Your support means everything to me right now.”

Unexpected guilt gnawed at her; despite the absence of true love for Michael, some part of her didn't want to hurt him. She felt trapped in a maze of obligations and deceptions.

“Izzy,” Michael’s voice softened, overflowing with affection, “I know it’s been tough. But you’re strong, and we’ll find a way out of this mess. I just want to hold you, tell you everything will be okay.”

Izzy’s throat tightened, and she forced herself to respond. “I want that too, Michael. I really do. We need each other more than ever.”

“Take care, Izzy. I’ll see you soon,” Michael said softly, his words lingering like a bittersweet melody. She could feel his love radiating through the line, only making the charade more painful.

“Goodbye, Michael,” she whispered, hanging up the phone with a heavy heart.

As the line went dead, Izzy turned her attention back to her suitcase. She resumed packing, her mind replaying the events of the evening.

Earlier that night, the gym had been dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline. Alfie's words echoed in her mind. “That whole place is owned by Tommy. He’s got every line tapped, every call reported to him. Be careful.”

Izzy’s hands shook slightly as she folded her clothes, the gravity of Alfie's warning sinking in. She had to be careful, every move meticulously planned. There was no room for error. She couldn’t trust anyone—especially not under these circumstances.

The cold, hard reality of her situation weighed heavy on her chest. She needed to find a way out, and soon. The stakes were too high, and the walls seemed to close in tighter with each passing moment.

The morning light filtered through the dusty windows of the flat Izzy had found on short notice. Over night, she moved cautiously, the feeling of being followed still prickling at the back of her neck. Each creak of the floorboards made her heart race. She meticulously arranged her belongings, trying to make the sparse apartment look like home, though her mind was far from at ease.

-

Fast forward to later that day, Izzy found herself slipping into the familiar scents of Alfie's rum distillery. The heady mix of molasses and spices gave the place an air of dangerous comfort. As she entered, Ollie approached her with a look of genuine concern.

“Izzy, you alright? You look like you’ve run through hell and back,” Ollie said, his brow furrowed.

Izzy brushed him off with a tired wave of her hand. “I’m fine, Ollie. Just need to see Alfie.”

Ollie nodded, though his worry lingered in his eyes as she made her way to Alfie’s office. She pushed the door open to find him sitting at his desk, a familiar look of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Oi, look what the cat dragged in,” Alfie mocked playfully, his rough voice filled with a mix of sarcasm and amusement. He took in her appearance, the bags under her eyes and the weariness etched on her face. “You look like you’ve been run over by one of them bloody trams.”

Izzy managed a weak smile, dropping onto the worn leather sofa with a grunt. “Thanks for the compliment, Alfie. I’ve had a hell of a night, moving into a new place and trying to do it under the cover of darkness so Tommy’s men wouldn’t spot me.”

Alfie leaned back in his chair, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Ah, Izzy, always the drama, eh? You know, you’ve got that knack for making life a bit too interesting.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this about a new place then? And being followed, you say?”

Izzy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, I couldn’t stay at that hotel any longer. Not with everything going on. I felt like I was being watched constantly. Found a flat, but had to move everything during the night. Didn’t sleep a wink.”

Despite her fatigue, she noticed a glimmer of sly amusement in Alfie’s eyes. “Well, love, you did a stellar job of looking absolutely knackered. But listen, you’re smart, Izzy. If anyone can outmaneuver Tommy’s lot, it’s you.”

Izzy looked at him, grateful for the strange blend of teasing and support that only Alfie could provide. “I just hope you’re right.”

Alfie chuckled, a sound that was both comforting and unsettling. “Well, darling, if you keep running on empty like that, you’re bound to hit a wall. Take a breather when you can. This game’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Izzy leaned back, her body heavy with exhaustion, but her resolve steadfast. “Thanks, Alfie. You know, for everything.”

“Well, now, don’t go getting all sentimental on me,” Alfie teased, though his tone held a hint of genuine concern. “You know, you keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you’ve got a bit of a crush.” He winked, his playful flirtation something Izzy had grown accustomed to.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Alfie, you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, love. I might just take you up on that,” Alfie replied with a grin. His demeanor shifted slightly, more serious now. “But seriously, you need to get some rest.”

Izzy’s eyelids felt heavy, her exhaustion almost palpable. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Just a little nap wouldn’t hurt.”

As Alfie kept yapping about plans and strategies, Izzy’s head nodded slowly, her eyes struggling to stay open. Gradually, she leaned back on the couch, her breathing steadying as she drifted off to sleep. Alfie continued to talk, only to realize she had fallen asleep.

For a moment, Alfie was stunned. No one had ever dared to fall asleep in his office before. His initial annoyance was quickly replaced by a rare, genuine fondness as he gazed at her sleeping face.

“Ollie!” Alfie bellowed, startling Ollie as he rushed into the office.

“Yes, boss?”

“Get a pillow, would ya? And a blanket too,” Alfie ordered gruffly.

Ollie returned a moment later, looking flustered. “There’s no pillow in the distillery, Alfie.”

Alfie barked sarcastically, “Well, then, improvise! And find a bloody blanket while you’re at it.”

Ollie scurried off, leaving Alfie to watch over Izzy. Glancing at her peaceful face, he muttered to himself, “What am I gonna do with you, love?”

Once Ollie returned with whatever he could gather, Alfie carried Izzy carefully, positioning her properly on the sofa, ensuring she was comfortable. He chuckled softly, noting how heavy a sleeper she was, not waking up with all the movement. He placed a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket.

Alfie sat back in his office chair and stared at her serene face, allowing his mind to wander back to the first time they met. The dim, flickering lights of the underground had cast shadows on her determined face as she walked into his life, fearless and fierce. He had been haunted by that moment ever since, recognizing a kindred spirit in her defiance and strength.

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t bear to wake her. “Guess we’re both sleeping in the office tonight,” Alfie murmured, a rare tenderness in his voice. He settled into his chair, keeping a watchful eye over her, as the underground world around them continued to churn.

The morning light streamed into Alfie's office, casting a warm glow on Izzy as she slowly stirred awake. She blinked groggily, momentarily confused by her surroundings. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she sat up abruptly, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. She had fallen asleep in Alfie's office, of all places.

Izzy noticed the pillow under her head and the blanket draped over her body. Her mind raced, and she wondered if Alfie had been the one to bring them for her. The thought brought a mix of gratitude and mortification.

Scanning the office, she realized Alfie was nowhere to be found. Glancing at the clock, it was barely 6 a.m. She heard Alfie's unmistakable voice barking orders at his men in the bakery below.

She quickly fixed herself, straightening her wrinkled clothes and running a hand through her hair. Taking a deep breath, she stepped outside the office, where Ollie noticed her and subtly gestured to Alfie that she was up.

Alfie turned his attention to her as she descended the stairs, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Ah, there she is! Well, look at that, those bags under your eyes have vanished, love. Quite the miracle, eh?”

Izzy rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks for the observation, Alfie. And here I thought I’d be dragging them around forever.”

As they exchanged banter, Izzy noticed that Alfie was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Did you stay with me through the night, Alfie?”

Alfie’s demeanor shifted slightly, guilt flickering in his eyes before he brushed it off with a casual shrug. “Well, someone had to keep an eye on you, didn’t they? Don’t go getting any ideas, though.”

Izzy chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Thanks, Alfie. By the way, what’s with barking at your workers for being late when it’s only 6 a.m.? Isn’t that a tad early, even for you?”

Alfie’s expression turned mockingly stern. “Watch it, darling. Old men like me have a reputation to maintain.”

Izzy laughed, earning a playful grin from Alfie. Her smile was a rare sight, something that warmed Alfie’s often cold and calculating heart. He was taken aback by her ease and genuine nature, feeling a strange sense of attachment he hadn’t known in years.

Izzy’s presence always had this disarming effect on him, one that made him feel vulnerable yet captivated. Beneath his tough exterior, he recognized a longing to be around her more, to bask in the warmth her genuine nature brought into his life. It was an unfamiliar and unsettling feeling, one he couldn’t quite place or understand.

The scent of molasses and spices filled the air as Izzy and Alfie stood amidst rows of rum barrels in the dimly lit distillery. The atmosphere was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the tension that often surrounded their dealings.

Alfie leaned against one of the barrels, his piercing eyes fixed on Izzy. “So, love, how are things progressing with our little operation against the Shelbys?” he asked, his voice laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and sincerity.

Izzy tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It’s going well, Alfie. The rum is being prepped for shipment, and the logistics are all in place. We’re on track to send the first batch to the U.S. soon.”

Alfie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “That’s what I like to hear, love. When do you reckon you’ll be visiting us in Camden again to finalize things?”

Izzy considered his question carefully, her hands resting on the edge of a barrel. “Probably in a day or two. With Arthur arrested, Tommy and Polly are all wrapped up in trying to bail him out and dealing with the authorities they can bribe. I’ve been reinstated in their daily operations, so I’ll need to be here.”

Alfie observed her closely, his mind racing through the implications. Though he wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, the thought of not seeing her for a day or two left a strange void in his chest. He’d have to keep himself fully occupied to manage. “Well, love, I suppose I can survive a couple of days without you. Maybe.” He sounded sarcastic, maybe not? He was used to being not-so-subtle with Izzy.

She chuckled softly, her eyes meeting his. “I'll make it up to you, Alfie. We’ll get this rum shipped, make a fortune, and maybe you can even show me around London when we’re done.”

Alfie’s chuckle joined hers, a rare moment of genuine warmth. “Oh, Izzy, you really do know how to sweet-talk an old man.”

As Izzy listened to Alfie speak, her mind wandered to their secret alliance. She had always been cautious about working with him, knowing his reputation. The dim light of the distillery cast shifting shadows on his rugged face, and she couldn’t help but feel a mix of uncertainty and intrigue. But this morning, she knew he’d taken care of her —bringing her a pillow and blanket, making sure she slept and rested well—she caught a rare glimpse of genuine kindness beneath his gruff exterior. It was a strange, unsettling realization. She watched him as he spoke, his animated gestures and sharp wit captivating, yet her guard remained slightly raised, wondering if she could truly trust the man who managed to both infuriate and protect her.

Since the tension had eased, and they were both in high spirits, she asked a question that had been nagging at her thoughts. “Alfie, what do you think about me visiting Arthur in jail?" A part of her having a hard time to sleep was the thought of being a part of something that harmed Arthur. They were not close friends but the man was one of the kinder people within that company. She cannot help but to feel guilty considering they were secretly instrumental in his arrest.

Alfie leaned back, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “It’s actually a bloody good idea, love. The Shelbys won’t suspect anything if you go see Arthur." As always, she was three steps ahead. That move might even throw the Shelbys off the fact that Izzy was the one who tipped off their enemies. He gave her a knowing look. “Just be careful, yeah?”

Izzy nodded, her resolve strengthening. “You’re right. It’ll help keep suspicions at bay. I’ll make sure to visit him soon.”

Alfie’s admiration for her grew. She handled herself with such grace and determination, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Though his mind was often filled with strategies and cunning plans, thoughts of Izzy had begun to sneak in, bringing a strange but welcome warmth.

He snapped back to reality when Izzy bid him goodbye. “I need to get home and prepare for work. Thanks for letting me stay, Alfie.”

As they prepared to part ways, Alfie teased, “Just remember, love, try not to fall asleep in random places again. I’m not always going to be there with a pillow and blanket.”

Izzy laughed, the sound like a soothing melody to Alfie’s ears. “I’ll see you in a day or two.”

The young woman left the distillery, her laughter echoing softly behind her, Alfie's gaze lingered on her retreating figure. He felt a strange longing, a desire to stay with her longer, even though he knew it wasn’t practical. Her presence brought a rare sense of warmth, something that had become increasingly precious to him.

He had to keep himself busy to distract from the absence he felt when she was gone. Turning back to his men, he barked orders once more, his gruff exterior firmly back in place. But in the quiet moments, thoughts of Izzy always found their way back to him.

Ollie silently observed their interaction, shaking his head with a knowing smile. He saw what was happening, even if Alfie didn’t yet fully recognize it himself. A young woman had captivated the gruff and tough boss, and it was a sight to behold.

-

The prison visiting area was a somber, cold place. The sterile gray walls were lined with rows of metal chairs and small tables, separated by glass partitions. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glare on the faces of those who sat waiting for their loved ones. Izzy felt a chill as she stepped through the door, her footsteps echoing on the hard concrete floor.

She walked over to the assigned booth, the tension in her shoulders palpable. Moments later, the door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Arthur Shelby was led in by a guard. Even in his prison garb, Arthur carried himself with that unmistakable mix of anger and defiance that defined him. His eyes were fiery, and his jaw was set in a hard line. He looked every bit the fierce Peaky Blinder, despite the circumstances.

Arthur slumped into the chair opposite Izzy, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. “Izzy,” he greeted her gruffly, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and suspicion. “How are ya holdin’ up?”

Izzy forced a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m managing, Arthur. But I’m more concerned about you. How are you holding up? How are you feeling?”

Arthur’s expression darkened, his fists clenching on the table. “How do ya think I feel, eh? Bloody furious, that’s what! Can’t believe I got caught up in this mess.”

She nodded, understanding his frustration. “I know, Arthur. It’s a tough situation. But Tommy and Polly are doing everything they can to get you out of here. They’re working tirelessly, pulling every string they can.”

Arthur’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “Thanks, Izzy. Appreciate you stoppin’ by. Takes guts to come here, especially with everything goin’ on.” He paused, then added with a hint of melancholy, “Michael’s a lucky man to have you, y’know that?”

Izzy’s heart tightened with guilt. Arthur’s words struck a chord, reminding her of the facade she had to keep up. Her feelings for Michael weren’t as genuine as they seemed, and the weight of that deception bore down on her. But she kept her expression neutral, nodding slightly. “Thanks, Arthur. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing again. “So, how’s the dispatch of rum goin’? Alfie givin’ you a hard time?”

Izzy chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Nothing I can’t handle. The shipment’s on track, and we’re making good progress.”

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his anger slightly diminishing as the conversation continued. “Y’know, sometimes I feel like I’m the only one Tommy counts on, especially after John, our younger brother, died. I feel useless in here, not bein’ able to help with our operations. It eats me up inside.”

Izzy’s eyes softened with empathy and strategy as she listened genuinely to Arthur’s pain. Taming Arthur, a known wild dog, would be incredibly beneficial for her in the future. She needed more allies within the company to ease the possible complications with her plans. Arthur was known for his ride-or-die loyalty to Tommy, and Izzy knew she would need that kind of unwavering support as well. “You’re not useless, Arthur. You’re important to this family, and everyone knows it. We’ll get you out of here, and things will get back on track.”

Arthur’s expression lightened slightly as he found comfort in her words. “Thanks, Izzy. It means a lot to have someone listen.”

Izzy’s heart ached with guilt, knowing she played a part in his arrest. She masked her feelings, not wanting to get caught. “I’m always here for you, Arthur. It’s tough for everyone right now.”

Arthur’s eyes met hers, appreciating the sincerity in her tone. “Must be hard for you too, with Polly bein’ tough on ya lately.”

Izzy nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. “Yeah, Polly’s been a bit harsh, but I understand why. There’s a lot on her shoulders.”

Arthur reached across the table, his hand gripping hers in a rare display of affection. “You’re strong, Izzy. You’ll get through this. And once I’m out, I’ll make sure Polly eases up on ya.”

Izzy blinked back tears, grateful for his support. Her mind raced with conflicted emotions. On one hand, she was relieved Arthur had taken her bait once again. The promise to handle Polly meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the older Shelby’s harshness once Arthur was released. But on the other hand, the guilt of manipulating him gnawed at her conscience. She wouldn’t let it show, maintaining her empathetic facade. “Thanks, Arthur. That means a lot.”

Arthur leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know, this jail visit has been the highlight of my week.” He let out a small chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Izzy managed a genuine smile, her heart lightening as they shared this moment of understanding. She knew the road ahead was fraught with danger, but for now, she was content knowing she had earned Arthur’s trust and affection.

-

The clang of machinery and the chatter of workers filled the air around the offices of the Shelby Company Limited. It was another hectic day at work, with deadlines looming and endless tasks demanding Izzy's attention. She moved with purpose, her mind already sifting through the day's list of priorities.

As she reviewed shipping manifests and coordinated with the foremen, her thoughts drifted to her dear friend Sophia, who she had left behind in Brooklyn. Sophia had always been her confidante and partner in crime, and the guilt of leaving her alone weighed heavily on Izzy's heart. She wondered how Sophia was managing, hoping that she was safe and well.

The Shelby Company Limited’s headquarters were busy with activity. The imposing brick building, located in the heart of Birmingham, buzzed with the hum of productivity. Elaborate beams and iron structures gave the place a rugged, industrial charm, fitting for the hardened spirits that ran the company.

Around midday, Izzy felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find one of Tommy's men, who informed her that Tommy Shelby wanted to see her in his office. She nodded, setting aside her work and making her way to the upper floors.

As she entered, Tommy Shelby sat behind his imposing mahogany desk, the room filled with the scent of cigars and ink. The soft glow of lamplight bathed the room, illuminating the stacks of files and dossiers scattered across his desk. This office was where the gears of their empire turned, and Tommy’s serious demeanor hinted at the gravity of the tasks awaiting Izzy.

"Ah, Izzy," Tommy greeted her, motioning for her to take a seat. "I need your help with something. Parliament work has been piling up, and I need an extra pair of eyes to review these files."

Izzy's brow furrowed slightly as she took the seat, her mind racing with questions. Why was Tommy asking her, of all people, to handle such important work? She hesitated, feeling a mix of anxiety and curiosity. "Are you sure, Tommy? I mean, isn't this something you would usually handle yourself?"

Tommy handed her a stack of files, his expression serious. "These are reports and proposals related to housing reforms and industrial regulations. I need you to comb through them, identify any potential issues, and note anything that requires our immediate attention."

Izzy nodded hesitantly as she began to read through the documents. Her keen eye for detail quickly spotting inconsistencies and areas of concern. As she worked, looking up, Tommy’s gaze remained, a mix of appreciation and trust.

"You've got a sharp mind, Izzy," Tommy remarked, his voice steady. "I knew I could count on you to handle this."

Izzy glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. But her mind was still clouded with doubt. "Thank you, Tommy. I'm glad to be of help. Is there anything specific you're worried about with these files?"

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "There are always people looking to exploit weaknesses in the system. We need to stay ahead of them, ensure that our interests and those of Birmingham are protected.”

Izzy nodded, understanding the gravity of the task. As she continued to review the files, her mind occasionally wandered back to Sophia and the world she had left behind in Brooklyn. But for now, her focus was on the work at hand and the trust that Tommy had placed in her.

Hours passed as they worked together, a sense of camaraderie forming between them. Izzy's diligence and attention to detail impressed Tommy, and he felt more confident knowing she was on his side.

As the day came to a close, Izzy gathered the files and handed them back to Tommy. "I've noted all the key points and potential issues. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

Tommy nodded, a rare smile of gratitude crossing his face. "Thanks, Izzy. You've been a tremendous help today."

Izzy stood, feeling a sense of accomplishment mixed with lingering uncertainty. "Anytime, Tommy. I'll see you tomorrow."

The days at the Shelby Company Limited quickly turned into a whirlwind of activity for Izzy. With the added responsibility of helping Tommy with his parliament work, her workload had increased significantly. The promise she had made to Alfie about visiting within a day or two had already stretched into a week without her realizing it.

Izzy found herself constantly going back and forth between the Shelby Company headquarters and Tommy's office in the parliament building. The parliament work involved reviewing documents related to housing reforms, industrial regulations, and various proposals that required a keen eye and sharp mind. She meticulously combed through the files, identifying potential issues and ensuring that Tommy's interests were safeguarded.

In addition to the parliament work, Izzy had to coordinate the upcoming shipment of Alfie's rum to the U.S through Tommy's men. The added security measures meant extra scrutiny on logistical details, securing transport routes, and ensuring their plans would go off without a hitch. She barely had time to catch her breath as she juggled multiple tasks, her mind always racing with the next item on her to-do list.

Her office phone rang frequently, with Michael calling from time to time to check in and discuss business matters. Each conversation was brief, as Izzy barely had time to address his questions. "Hey, Michael," she answered one call, her voice strained with exhaustion. "What’s the issue now?"

Michael’s voice crackled on the line, filled with frustration. “We’ve got a shipment delay here. Customs is holding up the cargo.”

Izzy sighed, rubbing her temple. “Alright, listen, Michael. Have you tried reaching out to our contact in customs? Sometimes it’s just a matter of a small ‘incentive’ to get things moving.”

“Yeah, I’ll give it a shot. Thanks, Izzy,” Michael replied, his tone lightening with hope.

As the days passed, Izzy found herself barely managing to keep everything in line. There were moments when she would stare blankly at the papers in front of her, exhaustion clouding her vision. Her visits to the boxing gym had become nonexistent, and she would often go straight home to rest after a long day’s work.

Every spare moment she had, her thoughts drifted back to Alfie, and the promise she had made. The guilt of not visiting him weighed heavily on her, but there simply wasn’t enough time in the day to manage all her responsibilities.

One evening, as she trudged home, her body feeling like lead, Izzy caught a glance of herself in a shop window. The reflection staring back at her looked worn out and weary, a far cry from the determined woman she prided herself on being.

At home, she collapsed onto her bed, not bothering to change out of her work clothes. The weight of the day’s tasks pressed down on her, but her mind refused to stop racing. She wondered how long she could keep up this relentless pace, juggling her commitments to Tommy, Alfie, and their secret operations.

-

Alfie Solomons sat alone in his office at the rum distillery, his mind restless. He had been looking forward to Izzy’s visit, the promise of seeing her again lingering in his thoughts. But days had turned into a week, and still, she hadn’t shown up. A strange mix of disappointment and irritation gnawed at him, feelings he wasn’t accustomed to.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the intricate patterns of the wood ceiling. Alfie was a man of action, not one to sit idly by. The more time passed, the more his curiosity and concern grew. Something must be keeping her busy, he reasoned, but it didn’t quell the unease he felt.

Unable to shake the feeling, he had discreetly arranged for one of his men to follow Izzy again and keep tabs on her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; he just needed to know she was safe and what was keeping her from their plans.

As the days dragged on, Alfie’s irritation grew. He summoned one of his most trusted men, a burly figure with a stern face, into his office. The man, loyal and efficient, had been keeping a close eye on Izzy’s daily activities.

“Right, what’s the update on our dear Izzy?” Alfie asked, his tone a blend of casual curiosity and underlying concern.

The man stepped forward, nodding respectfully. “Boss, she’s been working nonstop, running between the Shelby Company offices and Tommy’s parliament office. From what I can tell, she’s been dealing with a mountain of paperwork and has barely had any time for herself.”

Alfie silently absorbed the information, a flicker of annoyance tempered with understanding crossing his features. “And ‘eems like she's avoiding me, yeah? Been bloody ages since we last talked.”

The man hesitated before continuing, “Not avoiding you, boss. Just heavily swamped with work. I’ve seen her go straight home some nights, completely exhausted. She’s got a lot on her plate.”

Alfie’s gaze softened slightly as he leaned back in his chair. The thought of Izzy pushing herself to the brink concerned him more than he wanted to admit. “Right, well, you keep watchin’ her. Let me know if anything changes.”

The man nodded, understanding the gravity of the task. “Will do, boss.”

As the man left the room, Alfie sat in contemplative silence. Izzy’s absence had left an unexpected gap in his daily routine. He admired her dedication and resilience, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of longing—a desire for her company and the warmth she brought into his life. That was something Alfie wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge, even to himself.

He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to stay busy to keep his mind off things. The rum distillery needed overseeing, there were deals to be made, and additional barrels to execute. But in the quiet moments, thoughts of Izzy continued to creep back in, bringing with them a mix of frustration and undeniable admiration.

-

Days turned into a blur for Izzy at the Shelby Company Limited. The relentless pile of parliament work and her responsibilities with the rum shipment overburdened her mind. Frustration bubbled inside her as she often found herself drifting away from the real reasons she was tangled up in this world.

Her friends, Esme and Lizzy, noticed the strain on Izzy’s face. One afternoon, they made their way to Izzy and Michael’s office, determined to convince her to unwind. They found her balancing stacks of papers and the buzzing phone.

“Girls’ night out,” Esme declared, leaning against the doorframe. “No excuses.”

Lizzy nodded in agreement, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We all need a break, Izzy. It’s non-negotiable.”

Izzy sighed, her resolve weakening. “Fine, I could use the distraction,” she admitted, setting the papers aside.

That evening, they headed to a beloved Birmingham pub, one protected by the Peaky Blinders. The air was filled with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses. Izzy had dressed the part, donning a sleek, flapper-style dress characteristic of the 1920s, complete with high heels that added a daring flair to her appearance.

Inside, the smell of ale and the crackling fire created a cozy atmosphere as they settled into a corner booth. Drinks were swiftly ordered, and the conversation flowed.

“Tommy’s been driving me mad with all this parliament work,” Izzy ranted to Lizzy, frustration evident in her voice. “Why doesn’t he let you handle some of it?”

Lizzy shrugged, a teasing smile on her face. “He’s got his reasons. Besides, our relationship isn’t like that. He knows I’ve got my hands full elsewhere.”

Oh we know what that is.

Esme chimed in, her laugh infectious, “Plus, anyone not wearing the family name never catches a break around here, huh?”

They bonded over drinks, their spirits lifting with each glass. For once, there were no scheming men, no secret agendas, and no impending threats—just her and her girls, treasuring the rare night of fun.

The night eventually wound down, and Esme and Lizzy were escorted back to the car for their trip home. Living near each other, their return was seamless. Izzy, on the other hand, was dropped off at the hotel where they assumed she still lived. Feeling a sense of invincible freedom, Izzy decided to walk home, the cool night air caressing her face as she strolled, the threat that had been shadowing her slipping from her drunk mind.

One of Alfie’s men, still on her trail, quickly reported her wander to a subordinate. The midnight distillery operations buzzed around Alfie as he cursed under his breath upon hearing the news. Without hesitation, he made his way to her.

Izzy, wobbling in her heels, reveled in the wind's breeze. Her feet ached, prompting her to sit down on a nearby waiting shed, appreciating the brief respite. Just as she considered napping right there, a car honked, jolting her awake.

“Oi! Sleeping in odd places again, are we?” Alfie called out, his voice a mix of sarcasm and concern. Izzy blinked, momentarily believing she was hallucinating.

"Jesus Christ." he cursed softly again, stepping out of the car and instructing his driver to wait. As he approached, the stench of alcohol hit him. Despite her mature mind, she was still so young and wild.

Recognizing him, Izzy beamed, stumbling towards him in an embrace. “Alfie! Finally,” she cheered, her voice slurred but filled with joy. She paid no mind to how he’d found her.

Alfie held her steady, speaking softly, “Missed our meetin’, did ya? What’ve you been up to?”

Izzy drunkenly rambled about her workload, the parliament files, the stress, albeit her words were jumbled. She felt light and unburdened, finding comfort in Alfie’s presence.

Nodding, Alfie guided her into the car. “We’ll get you home, love. Enough of such mischief for one night.”

In the car, the combination of the evening’s events and the warm vehicle air made her feel hot. She shrugged off her coat, revealing a body-hugging dress that caught Alfie's eye for a brief moment before he looked away, a mix of amusement and chastisement in his thoughts.

As the car rolled towards her flat, Izzy’s head rested against the car seat, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Meanwhile, Alfie’s mind wandered to the unpredictable and sometimes exasperating nature of this young woman who had somehow become a significant part of his complex world.

Alfie couldn’t help but shake his head, a mix of concern and curiosity. “What were you thinkin’, gettin’ drunk like that?”

Izzy, still riding the wave of intoxication, giggled softly. “Alfie, it’s the weekend tomorrow,” she slurred, a playful smirk on her lips. “Needed to unwind, y’know? All this stress... couldn’t take it anymore.”

Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, the combination of alcohol and the heated car causing her to breathe heavily. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, catching Alfie’s attention and fighting his manly urges himself.

Alfie huffed, his voice a mix of frustration and amusement. “Well, love, you certainly know how to unwind. Just don’t make a habit of it, alright?”

Izzy nodded lazily, her eyes half-closed. “Promise, Alfie. Just this once...”

He watched her, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise guarded demeanor. The sight of her relaxed, albeit drunken, state brought a strange sense of protectiveness over him. As the car continued its journey, Alfie kept a watchful eye on Izzy, his mind a mix of admiration and exasperation.

Instructing his driver, he muttered under his breath, “Just get her home safe.”

Throughout the ride, Alfie’s thoughts lingered on Izzy. As the car pulled up in front of Izzy’s flat, Alfie carefully helped her out, Izzy's arm wrapped around his waist for support. He fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock the door while balancing her weight. After a brief struggle, he finally managed to get the door open.

“In we go, love,” Alfie muttered, guiding her inside.

Izzy giggled, leaning heavily against him. “Thanks, Alfie,” she slurred, her words barely coherent.

Alfie instructed his driver to go home, deciding it was best to stay and make sure Izzy didn't pass out in a precarious state. “Alright, you can head off. I’ll handle it from 'er,” he said, his tone begrudging but resolute.

Inside her flat, Alfie guided Izzy to the living room, gently lowering her onto the couch. “Stay put, alright? I’ll get you some water,” he instructed, heading to the kitchen to fetch a glass.

Izzy’s head lolled to the side, a dreamy smile on her face. “Alfie, you’re too good to me,” she mumbled.

He returned with the water, sitting beside her and holding the glass to her lips. “Drink up, love. You’ll thank me in the mornin’.”

She drank obediently, her eyes flickering with gratitude. “You really didn’t have to do all this,” she murmured, her voice softening.

Seeing her in this vulnerable state, Alfie felt a mix of frustration and tenderness. He cursed under his breath again, knowing it would indeed be a long night. But as he watched over her, ensuring she was comfortable, he couldn’t shake the feeling of protectiveness that had taken hold.

They found their way to her bed room. As Izzy lay on the bed, she suddenly stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Can’t sleep in this,” she mumbled, her words slurred. She wobbled to her feet, making her way to the closet.

Alfie watched, a mix of curiosity and concern etched on his face. “Izzy, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

She giggled, rummaging through her closet. “Need my nightwear,” she replied, her movements unsteady. Without a second thought, she began to take off her dress, much to Alfie’s surprise.

“Bloody hell,” Alfie muttered under his breath, caught off guard by the sudden display. He turned his gaze away, fighting the temptation to look.

Izzy, now standing in her matching black lingerie, continued to search for her nightwear. The sight of her in such a vulnerable state made Alfie curse again, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. She fumbled with her nightgown, Alfie stepped forward to help her, his mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. He handed her the nightgown, trying to maintain his composure. “Here, love. Let’s get you sorted.”

Izzy took the nightgown, her eyes meeting his with a playful glint. Without warning, she grabbed Alfie by the collar and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It was sudden, catching him completely off guard. For a moment, Alfie froze, his mind racing with conflicting emotions.

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he found himself leaning into the kiss, his hands resting on her waist. Izzy’s arms slowly moved from his collar to wrap around his neck, deepening the embrace. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in that moment.

As they finally broke the kiss, Izzy’s eyes locked onto his, a mix of vulnerability and boldness in her gaze. “I’ve been wanting to do that for some time now,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Alfie’s heart pounded in his chest, a rare moment of tenderness washing over him. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Izzy,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

Izzy giggled, her arms still wrapped around his neck. “Stay the night, Alfie. Please,” she asked, her voice soft and sincere.

Alfie sighed, his resolve weakening. “Alright, love. I’ll stay.”

He helped her into the nightgown, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. Once she was dressed, he carefully laid her down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her. He then settled beside her, feeling a warmth in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

She reached out and embraced Alfie, catching him off guard. He froze for a moment, the sudden turn of events leaving him momentarily speechless. Izzy’s head rested on his chest, and he could feel her warm breath against his skin.

“I’ve missed you, Alfie,” she blurted out, her voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and boldness. “These busy days... I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

Alfie’s heart pounded in his chest as he gently brushed her hair with his fingers, his other arm wrapping around her back. He did miss her as well. Probably more than words can say. Still, this was an unexpected setup, one that left him feeling both protective and conflicted. He listened intently as Izzy rambled about her feelings, her words a mix of drunken honesty and pent-up emotions.

“I’ve been wanting to leave Michael for a long time now,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “I just want to go back home to Brooklyn.”

Alfie’s heart wrenched at her words, a pain he hadn’t anticipated. The thought of her leaving, of losing the connection they had built, was almost too much to bear. He swallowed hard, his voice vulnerable as he spoke. “If you leave for Brooklyn, you’ll be leavin' me as well.”

Izzy looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and confusion. “I don’t want to leave you, Alfie. But I don’t know what to do.”

Alfie sighed, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her back. “We’ll figure it out, love. Just... don’t make any rash decisions. Not tonight.”

She nodded, her head resting back on his chest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time.

His mind raced with thoughts and emotions, but for now, he focused on the woman in his arms. He heard her sigh deeply, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and sadness. “I don’t want Michael to come back to Birmingham, but he will soon,” she confessed, peaking Alfie’s curiosity.

He looked down at her, his brow furrowing. “Why’s that, love?”

Izzy’s eyes filled with a mix of resignation and determination. “Because when he does, I’ll have to go back to the hotel and do things I don’t want to do with him,” she stated bluntly, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Alfie’s blood began to boil at her words, a possessive anger rising within him. He knew what exactly she was talking about. He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go. “You don’t have to do anythin' you don’t want to, Izzy,” he said, his voice firm and protective.

Izzy looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing. She shifted, positioning herself on top of him, her hands resting on his chest. “I want to be with you, Alfie,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him deeply, pouring all her unsaid feelings and tension into the embrace. Alfie’s mind raced, but he couldn’t deny the connection they shared. He kissed her back, his hands gently caressing her back, holding her close. She slowly moved on top of him, not breaking the kiss as it deepened further. Alfie felt her purposely grinding her cunt against his rock-hard pants.

As they finally broke the kiss, Alfie’s eyes locked onto hers, a mix of frustration and desire evident in his gaze. But then, he gently pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Izzy, you’re drunk,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “We outta stop. I don’t want you to regret this in the mornin'.”

Izzy’s eyes filled with a mix of frustration and longing, bitting her lower lip while staring at his. She did not answer, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt one by one, earning a deep groan from Alfie. He would be lying if he said he did not want this. His grip at her waist became a bruising one, as he fight his carnal urges, but Izzy continued to undress him. Still on top of him, she starts to remove her night gown as well, sitting on Alfie's already hardened bulge.

Alfie held her lovingly, letting her unbuckle his belt and pulling down his pants, revealing his hardened cock, she smirks and places herself in between his legs. Alfie groaned as he felt her palm wrap around him and stroking him slowly. "Fuckin' hell, Izzy." He huffed.

"Mmm... let's just have this night for ourselves, alright?" She seductively whispered, earning an exasperated nod from the old man. A moan escaped from his lips when she started placing his shaft inside her warm and wet mouth, hollowing her cheeks and bobbing her head up and down. He carefully grabbed her head and helped her bob her head in his throbbing cock, feelings the waves of unimaginable pleasure every time.

Izzy looked up to him while doing her thing, her gaze met his, turning him on even more. She could feel him getting close to eruption, she smiled and stopped with a pop. "No, no... Not just yet." she went back on top of Alfie, his concerned eyes before were replaced with a hungry one.

"You like being on top, sweetheart?" Alfie teased with a smug smirk on his face, reaching out to unclasp Izzy's lingerie and pulling her underwear down, throwing it all on the floor. He kicked his pants away as well as his shirt, both of them are fully naked now.

"And you're surprised?" Izzy said, scoffing playfully, earning a growl from Alfie. Holding her hips in place with both of his hands, she tucked her feet under his thighs for stability as she slowly pushes her wet cunt, taking his thick cock slowly. Her eyebrows furrowed as both the pain and pleasure hit her, slowly adjusting to Alfie's size and taking him all in. His hands caressed her thighs lovingly, noticing and feeling her adjust. She wanted more of him, becoming more wet as the seconds go by.

She slowly thrust her hips up and down his shaft with a loud moan escaping from her lips. Alfie huffed and grunted each time she rides him. It felt right. For the both of them, this was bound to happen. He gritted his teeth when he saw her tits bouncing along her rhythm, turning him on even more. Still holding her hips, he thrusted into her faster as well, the sound of her ass cheeks being slapped becomes quicker and quicker. Hitting her spot repeatedly.

"A-Alfie... I... I.." she moaned in between her breath. Alfie felt her clench around his cock, nearing her release.

"Let it go, baby... Let it.. go.." Alfie quicken his pace as well, wanting Izzy to release while he's inside her. Their moans filled the room along with their heavy breathing and sounds of their skin slapping against each other.

"Alf-" Izzy unable to call out his whole name, shut her eyes as she cum. His cock was dripping from her release, earning a playful smile from Alfie who is still helping her bounce up and down.

"I'm gettin' close as well, love.." his breathing getting fainter. Izzy nodded and resumed thrusting her hips up and down his cock. Her sweat was dripping down her forehead, wiping it away and locking her gaze with Alfie. She could tell that he was already near his release, with each thrust going deeper and deeper.

Alfie rubbed her arms, and looked at her rather desperately. Knowing what this meant, she nodded, giving him her full consent. "It's okay, Alfie.."

Alfie did not hesitate, he slammed her hips down with his cock twitching and came inside her. Izzy's head fell back with her eyes half open and mouth agape, feeling his loads of hot cum shooting inside her, some of it oozing out of her cunt. It was a feeling she never experienced before.

She plopped down on his chest, both of them panting. Alfie pulled her into an embrace, covering their naked bodies with her blanket. Neither of them had anything to say. Only their breathing filled the air. He felt Izzy's fingertips tracing the tattoos on his chest, she was not even looking at him. He did not mind that.

Having this young woman to himself and in between his arms was more than enough for him. His mind wandered as he stared at the ceiling of Izzy's room. It finally happened and his feelings for her were confirmed.

-

Next Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/followsfrankiep/773364695196450816/haunted-alfie-solomons-x-reader

[em-prentiss]

no proof, not much (but you saw enough)

----

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

Or, how Aaron and Emily fall, through the perspective of multiple settings: the jet, his office, the SUV.

Word count: 3.5k

----

It happens slowly.

Harsh exteriors are worn down, distrust morphs into mutual respect. Slowly, yes, excruciatingly so, but it happens. Sir’s and Agent’s lose their pointed edges, mellowing on lips that start out reluctant, end up blazing with warmth.

The office is the first one to note it. It’s a cold place, despite the minimal personal touches littering the Unit Chief’s desk. There are scarcely happy memories here, between the lifeless beige walls and the polished oak carrying pounds upon pounds of bloody files, their contents heavier than the sheets of paper they’re printed on. There is no room for light, though the sun streams through the windows in gossamer curtains—the Unit Chief knows this, he knows it well.

And yet a ray of light walks hesitantly in and hands him a peace offering, though peace has for a while been settled in a still sheet above their heads. She’s no longer new to the disjointed family they call a team, but where she’s starting to loosen with the others, she’s still stiff with him. Even the office knows it, from its omniscient view over the bullpen. Her voice mingles with the others’ in a laugh, the pale shape of her hand curls around the media liaison’s shoulder in a lighthearted squeeze.

Both the office and its occupier are well aware that this is something new. They’re good friends; it sees him more than his family does. He keeps it company on dark nights, the lamp at his elbow the only source of warm light across the whole floor, burning steady amber. The office knows the man at the desk more than the agent tentatively crossing it, and yet they both catch the way his brows tick up in surprise when he spots the sweet treat in her hand.

His mouth curls around her name. The tail end of it sounds like a question; she greets it with a bashful smile the office guesses doesn’t often cross her features.

Emily reaches the edge of his desk, says so and so about a sale at the bakery—and quickly clarifies that she bought for the rest of their coworkers too, don’t worry. She thrusts out her hand, he takes the chocolate croissant, murmurs a quiet but genuine thank you. 

Nodding, she takes her leave, chewing on the corner of her lip as she slips past the open door. Her retreating form is traced by his eyes, curious, lingering, before they drop to the pastry held in his hand. The office watches as he picks it apart, takes a bite—two, three—even though it’s a well known fact (to the office, anyway) that the team leader has no stomach for a sweet tooth.

Still, he eats the croissant. Lets crumbs tumble messily on top of his desk, sweeps them away neatly with a tissue. His eyes travel to the window; both he and the office watch as the rest of his team tear into their own pastries. The generous supplier perches on her desk, satisfaction in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She looks up, as if sensing his gaze, and he flicks his eyes back to the file in front of him.

That is the tentative start.

From there it’s a smooth, sloping hill—impossible to determine when trust had deepened to a professional relationship between coworkers, when that had formed into camaraderie. When butterflies began to flap their wings and flutter, when eyes started to linger and touches ached to do the same.

___

The jet rarely flows with heat. Its frequent occupants know that, and more than often they’re well prepared with blankets and warm beverages, no matter the weather outside.

For the most part, the newest addition to the team also knows this. She’s bundled in professional blazers and soft cardigans most of the time, but the Florida heat doesn’t allow for anything heavier than the barest of tank tops. Her skin is faintly glistening when she plops into one of the lone chairs, shoulders stiff as she holds herself away from the leather of the seat.

The Unit Chief sits with her, evidence of the sticky heat shown in his loosened tie. Their eyes meet and they share a look, unanimously miserable but unwilling to voice it.

It’s something new, these shared looks between them. The jet notes them with interest, tries to pinpoint when exactly they’d started. The farthest it gets is Milwaukee. 

But looks are all they share. No words are exchanged, no pleasantries swapped as she digs out a book and he opens up a file, his pen in his hand even before they’re in the sky. The jet hums around them, providing white noise that makes some of the team curl up and sleep as it takes them home. It rises above the clouds, stabilizes at over a thousand feet, absorbs the subzero temperature outside and allows it to leak through the walls. 

The woman shuffles back comfortably against the seat, cooled enough to let it touch her bare skin. But it doesn’t take long before she’s shifting again, leaning away, tucking her arms into her body. Covering her elbows with her palms, surreptitiously kneading her skin with her thumbs. She does all this quietly, but being the boss means being ever aware.

Without fuss, the Unit Chief gets up. He walks over to the table next to the couch, pops it open and reaches into the hidden cavity there. Everyone eventually learns about it; it’s stocked with soft, downy blankets that are mostly unused because everyone has learned to carry their own.

Still, every once in a while, the compartment is cracked open. 

Hotch picks up a blanket and carries it back to the shivering agent. She looks up, glances at it, then at him, and immediately refuses, so fast it must be reflex. The jet ponders this, as does the Unit Chief, his brows pinched in a gentler version of his usual frown.

Emily, he says softly, the rumble of his voice running parallel to the hum of the jet. Of all things, it’s what makes her pause.

The sound of her given name seems to take her by surprise, even more so than the offered blanket. Eyes rounded, brows momentarily raised, as if caught off guard. She quickly composes herself, smooths out the surprise in her features as she shakes her head, refusing again. 

One too many take it’s and I’m good, thank you’s later, the blanket is resignedly wrapped around her shoulders. But she stops shivering, her muscles finally easing back into the seat. Her head is turned decidedly away, facing the window, but when her eyes flit to him they catch his gaze.

One more exchanged look, a hidden smile in his eyes that doesn’t show on his lips. She looks away.

___

The SUV doesn’t see much, compared to the other places they’ve been. Its mission is always brief, and yet it’s well acquainted with the man at the wheel. Seldom does someone else steer it, so long as he’s there.

This time is no different.

It’s not that the woman doesn’t try—she does, valiantly, to push him to the passenger seat—but the fact that she’s here is already too much. The SUV knows this from the way the man grips the wheel. He’s never gentle with it, always firm, always alert. Ever aware of the lives in his hands, be it in the face of a Glock or under the wheels of a Suburban. 

But a plate of brownies is placed carefully on the console between them and his grip loosens. She offers him one, around a chocolatey mouthful, and the way the corner of his mouth tilts upward is seen only in the side view mirror, a secret tucked between him and the road.

He declines, she grumbles, and then a warm hand is taken entirely off the wheel. The SUV doesn’t lament the loss. Hotch’s careful eyes no longer pierce the windshield with a heat more acute than the sun overhead; he turns, eyes falling to her, and the SUV finds itself without attention.

This is a first. But the open road ahead of them is forgiving, and so the SUV is, too. It watches, listens above the crunch of gravel, as he protests—it’s all sugar, won’t do any good—and she wraps a tissue around a brownie and places it in his hand.

You haven’t eaten anything all day, she refutes stubbornly, though she’s already won. When she brings up the medication Hotch bites the brownie between his teeth without further complaint. It’s the reason they’re driving past the airstrip and toward the long road, after all.

Slowly, Emily forces another brownie into him. And then his medication. And, when the sun dips lower down the sky, she’s somehow able to kick him out of the driver’s seat altogether.

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

___

The bullpen witnesses his first laugh—at least, the first one she’s pulled from him. The coffee machine separating them, the handles of their mugs almost touching as they wait for the coffee to brew, she makes an offhand comment about diesel fuel, the government praying for their demise, and a Nespresso machine. Her tone is bone dry, a halfhearted grumble that’s more for her than for him. It’s not even meant to be a joke, but the sleep deprivation is getting to them. 

Hotch laughs, stoicism cracking under the soft curve of his lips, and Emily stares. The bullpen—the kitchenette, rather—watches a light dusting of pink spread across her ivory cheeks. It witnesses her wide eyes in return, before lightly dissolving into the same laughter.

These precious sounds are contained within the kitchenette’s walls. Nobody hears them, save for the two living souls pouring their coffee and the lifeless entity surrounding them. Lifeless, yet still swelling with the same surprise that etches across the woman’s features, long after they’ve both dissolved into silence and her face is downturned to the bitter depths of her coffee.

It’s so very interesting, the brightness in the Unit Chief’s eyes as he similarly looks down at his own coffee, lips thinned back to their original shape. So very interesting how the brown of his irises warms, suffused with light even though he’s yet to take a sip of his coffee.

So very interesting how he lingers after he’s done—because he does nothing to prepare his coffee but pour it, and she dumps boatloads of sugars and creamers until the swirl of her coffee lightens to the color of his eyes—and observes her for a fleeting second.

His mouth parts, then softly joins again, bottom lip slotting against top. Picking up his mug, he turns away and out of the kitchenette, shoulders slackening beneath his jacket. He goes, and her eyes follow.

___

The room is not fully dark. The thin curtains let in street lights; they stream in and carve long golden rectangles on the threadbare rug, illuminate hastily packed bags and files stacked neatly atop a desk.

Rooms like this often get visitors like this—fleeting, temporary. The man and the woman have been here for two days, but they only occupy the room to sleep. It knows they won’t be here for long, though it ponders their business. They carry badges and firearms, heave around files and gory pictures. At night, the two hardly speak to each other, except for unnecessary pleasantries—would you like the bathroom first? No, thank you, you go ahead—that speak to their upbringing.

The inky dark of midnight wraps around the gaps between the street lights. The motel room sits, quiet, observing the two sleeping figures bundled in separate beds, until one starts to thrash. The other one stirs, groggy, while the other still fights demons. 

A ragged cry shatters the silence. Even coated with layers of sleep and terror, the room can tell it’s the woman. Her companion blinks sleep from his eyes and tosses the thin comforter from his body, slipping from his bed and to the edge of hers with surprising speed.

Eyes impossibly alert, brows slipping into concern, he stands some distance away and calls out her name.

Emily. 

It’s a hoarse whisper, then urgent. She still thrashes, so he places a hand on her shoulder and shakes, fingers gripped into the flesh of her shoulder. Louder this time, more insistent, desperation curling around the letters of her name.

She wakes up. Opens her eyes with a gasp, the damp patches on her pillow explained by the tears pooling under her lashes. 

The man lets out a similar sound, only lower. You’re okay, he whispers gently, his hand still on her shoulder. You were dreaming.

They’re typical comforts in a situation like this.

What’s not typical is the way she launches into his arms instead of away. A pained sound tumbles from her lips; she curls into him, folding over herself, and the arm he wraps around her back keeps her secured to his chest.

A whimper of his name, a breath of hers. Whispered shhh’s that the room suspects he’s had plenty of practice at. His hands rove over her back, fingers smoothing the sweaty fabric of her shirt. She clings to him so tightly he has no choice but to perch on the edge of the bed, half holding her, half slipping out.

It’s hard to tell whether she’s crying or breathing. The man encourages her to breathe anyway, the low timbre of his voice carrying a bit of firmness that she bends beneath. Minutes stack up on the other side of midnight, a new day starting as the woman’s chest begins to slow beneath the man’s—Hotch’s—instruction.

His lips nudge against her forehead. It’s not yet a kiss, but the gesture is loving, and well practiced. Soon after it’s his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through the tangled mess of hair he finds there.

The woman doesn’t relax for a while. Not until he situates her back against the pillow, her arms still clutched around him. Neither of them say anything further; it seems an unspoken deal that he’ll lay back with her, run his palm between her shoulder blades until her breath evens out.

Eventually, it happens. The man’s eyes blink through the semi-dark as the woman sleeps on, still wound around him. He waits—and the room does, too—until a half-circle is traced by the clock’s arm, before carefully untangling their limbs.

He’d been sleeping on the opposite side before he woke. His back to her bed, almost hiding. But now he slides again beneath the sheets and turns to face her, the target of his eyesight clear to the room, even half shrouded in darkness.

___

In the office it starts, and in the office it comes full circle.

Only his shoulders are stiff with tension. The office guesses that it has something to do with the lumpy gauze under her sleeve, the butterfly bandages along her left cheekbone. She’s not as upset as he is, and not for the same reason. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she still tries to fight back even though she’s in the wrong.

“You would’ve taken ages to come, Anna didn’t have that much—”

“The unsub was armed—”

“And I was, too—”

“That’s not protocol!” He shouts. 

Emily sucks in a breath, the office takes a pause. Not because of his raised voice, no. It happens—rarely, but it happens. What doesn’t happen is his voice cracking, breaking in half. Fading into silence.

The air thickens. Hotch swallows, the solid lines of his body turning to liquid. “Jesus, Emily, you know better.” His voice is weary, wilting. 

She’s silent. Stricken, lips parted, eyes searching. Emily has intelligent eyes, the office thinks. They see practically everything, absorbing the world with a desperate hunger drawn in the circular outline of her pupils. So it makes sense that when the office glimpses a shine in its Unit Chief’s eyes, she does too.

“Why…why are you…?” She steps closer to him, boldly swipes under his eye with her thumb. He jerks away, a shuddered breath heaving his lungs when her finger comes away wet. 

Her mouth still hasn’t snapped shut yet. Emily takes another step, understanding dawning on her features. 

About time. 

“Hotch—”

“I can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head. 

“Can’t what?” She murmurs. There’s hardly distance between them; her hand molds around his cheek, hesitant. The lines of her shoulders are stiff, as if she’s waiting for him to pull away. 

The office knows he won’t. He’ll say he will, but as long as she’s giving in first, he’ll have no choice but to follow.

Fingers twitching at his side, he blows out an exhale. 

“I can’t.” His hand finds her waist; the office swells with satisfaction. She bends into the touch, her grip tightening on his cheek. “We can’t, Emily. It’s not…”

But he’s bowing into her. Their heads almost touch, his bending down, hers looking up. The glossy darkness of their hair glints almost identically beneath the lights, raven on raven.

“Do you want to?”

The office holds its breath. Its owner is good at denying himself of what he wants.

Thick, suffocating silence. A string pulling taut. And then another shake of a weary head. “We can’t.” He repeats; a broken record, a mantra.

Pale fingers curl around his ear. A thumb with bitten nails swipes under his eye, smears the wetness on his skin until it dries. “That’s not a no,” she says quietly. “I’m waiting for a no, Hotch.”

He doesn’t give one.

Silence rings. For a beat, two, three. Then she’s tilting his head further down, rising on her tiptoes even though she’s in boots, and pressing their lips together. His silhouette shakes, shoulders trembling. Three sticky heartbeats later and he skates tentative hands up her sides, squeezing and shakily exhaling into her mouth. She’s slow with him, patient, and when they’ve broken free they haven’t broken free at all, because his forehead is on hers, an inch between their noses.

“You can’t do that again.” He rasps. 

Emily hums, lips turning up. She tilts her head, catches his mouth again with unusual slowness. “We’ll talk about it later, boss.”

When they leave the office, there’s hardly space between their bodies.

___

The park is one of many in DC. It’s not anything special—yes, there’s benches and tall trees and a gravel pathway, but nothing that could tempt a restless pair of lovers. Today it’s doubly cold, a frigid crunch to the grass that scares away everyone but the two figures strolling around under the watery sun.

There’s soft murmurs between them, passed occasionally like the steaming paper cup they share. The woman holds it for longer, sometimes to drink, sometimes to squeeze around in her bare, pale hands. The man notices, and brings them to a stop, quietly chiding as he covers both her hands with his. He doesn’t wear any gloves but she sighs, shifting to hide her hands entirely beneath his own. The corners of her mouth tip up, as does her head, her eyes searching for her companion’s.

They meet and the park almost blazes with heat. Her smile, somehow both sly and bashful, curls around an excuse, her shoulders shrugging helplessly. 

The man shakes his head. It seems a practiced move, exasperated and fond. His thumbs are restless on the back of her hands, kneading fervent circles into her skin.

She tolerates it for a minute before dragging her hands from his grip to get him walking again, passing him the cup and instead hooking her free arm through his. They stay for longer than the weather allows, some identical tension melting from their shoulders, a heavy weight in their eyes fading as pink bites their cheeks. Talk isn’t frequent, but touches are—his lips to the top of her head, her fingers sinking into his coat, her chest against his arm.

When the cup is drained—he lets her have the last sip—the woman tosses it and curls her fingers into her palm, the pad of her thumb skimming under her nails as if it’s habit. She nudges him off the path, onto the grass. Their shadows follow: long, starkly black companions that trail after them, turning a party of two into four.

They lean into each other. Hard lines fade, blur. Two silhouettes become one, joint from shoulders to feet. 

A right hand reaches for a left; fingers interlock, forming a weave of soft skin and calluses. The shadow of them is cool above the grass, and when he gently cradles her cheek in his free hand, tilting her face upward until their lips join in a kiss, the silhouette warps. It merges into a single, fluid shape, formless and inelegant. 

Even when they break apart, they’re still joined.

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

65+87 please?

this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a month lol, i hated it when i wrote it but i just stumbled upon it again and realized it was sad to leave it sitting unread even if its not my favorite - so i hope someone enjoys my slightly angsty take on the prompt

65 First Kiss/Date + 87 Unresolved Sexual Tension

If it were anyone else calling Mickey ‘patient’, he’d laugh in their face.

But Ian had brought out much more outlandish qualities in him over the last few months, so it's no surprise that when it comes to him Mickey could find nearly endless patience. 

Three months ago, standing in front of Ian with his lungs screaming from the cold air he listened to Ian tell him that yes, this was him breaking up with Mickey. 

Mickey looked at Ian for a second. Looked at his pale, shivering form and couldn't find any anger for him. He was fucking heartbroken, and had to turn and look down the street just to take his eyes away.

“Take your meds, Ian” he simply. “Break up with me, sure. I can’t make you love me, I don’t want to. But you have what it takes to get control of this thing, with the meds or therapy or whatever and you’re really, really going to regret it if you don’t just because you were too busy being a mopey asshole to try.”

 “Fuck you, Mickey. I’m doing this because I love you, I’m letting you go, you don’t fucking owe me anything.”

Mickey shook his head, indignation finally welling up in his chest. He pushed the gate open harshly and stomped up to stand toe to toe with Ian “you’re doing this for you, because you want it to hurt. You think you deserve it, and you think I deserve it too.”

Ian looked so tired, like he wanted to cry. So Mickey just huffed a sigh, bringing a hand up to his cheek, patting it once before turning to walk away. 

“I can’t do it with you watching” Ian said suddenly. “I can't make any promises but if I’m going to try to make it work with the meds and get myself back on track, I need to do it alone.”

Mickey looked back with a huff, he knows that Ian wasn’t trying to be mean, but he couldn’t help but feel like Ian was blaming him. And maybe Mickey was the problem, Fiona and Lip and even little fucking Debbie had told him enough times that Ian needed to be in the hospital. 

“But if I can get to a better place, can I come find you?” Ian asked hopefully.

It was like their moods had swapped in a matter of seconds, Mickey just drew his mouth into a tight line, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s not make any promises to each other,” was what he decided on before walking away, back the way he came to crawl back into the den of misplace objects that had taken over his home and get drunk.

The next morning Mickey called over some guys he knew from the moving business that went bust to buy all the suitcase shit and haul it away. He took all the baby stuff Svetlana left behind and shoved it in the attic, working away at a bottle of whiskey as he went. 

It was like doing an autopsy to see how fucked up his life had become over the last couple of years. Unearth a condom here, a little baby sock here, Mandy’s blonde hair dye-

Mandy, Mickey realized with a pang of horror. Mandy left and he’d hardly even noticed. He spent the rest of the afternoon calling (almost) everyone Mandy knew and narrowed down where she moved to. He woke up the next day before the sun was completely over the horizon and started driving South East. 

Kenyatta might not have seen it in the moment, but he got very lucky that all it took was a bullet in the leg to get Mandy into Mickey’s car. 

She got a job at a high end restaurant, as hostess and then quickly moving up to waitress. Mickey started small time dealing again, making just enough cash to cover his meager expenses. They didn’t really hang out for a while, both siblings holed up in their rooms, licking their wounds. 

Mandy left him alone until he came home with a busted up face after he missed off the wrong supplier with his big fucking mouth. She hounded him after that, about getting his GED with her, going to community college.

“What are you going to do when dad gets out?” she asked, following him to the kitchen.

“Hope that this stint of fucking guys for a few months liberalized his views on same sex relationships” Mickey snarked back.

“Mickey, come on.”

“Or claim there was a gas leak that made me crazy for dick” he continued sarcastically reaching into the fridge.  

“Look Mickey, you’re twenty years old, you have no record as an adult and you should be making an effort to keep it that way unless you want to end up in and out of prison like dad” Mandy said testily, snatching a beer out of his hand.

“What the fuck do you want me to do Mandy?”

“Jesus!” she exploded. “The only thing I’ve ever seen you give a shit about was your stupid fucking boyfriend. You’re worse than me!”

Mickey just stared her down with a brusque fuck you and started walking away. 

“He’s getting out in less than a year Mickey,” she warned. “I’m saving up to rent my own place until then, and I suggest you do the same.”

She was right, he knew that and he just wanted to be a pigheaded asshole for a little while longer so he started scrolling through craigslist ads for security until something caught his eye. 

He lied through the interview, surprisingly at ease as long as he was able to be pulling a con in some way, even if he was just lying about who he was. He was armed with the knowledge that he’d bribed Linda Karib into saying that he was a valued member of the security staff at her large, upscale market and that Mandy would pick up the phone and follow any lie he’d told them.

“You got a job where?” Mandy asked incredulously, picking up the two suits he’d been given as a uniform from where he’d tossed them on the couch after he was hired.

“The Art Institute” He said around a mouthful of cereal. “You know, the big building on Michigan Ave with the Lions out front.”

“Why the hell did you want to work there?” Mandy asked incredulously. 

“It pays more than any other security gig I could get without a GED,” Mickey said. “And it’s like really cool, I’ll be guarding fucking Van Gogh and Michelangelo.”

“Yeah, guarding them from fifth grade class trips,” Mandy teased. “There’s a Michelangelo in Chicago?”

Mickey scowled and sucked his teeth, “you know what I mean.”

Against all odds, Mickey loved his job. He was vigilant enough to keep kids and entitled adults from touching anything they weren’t supposed to, but mostly spent his time rotating with the shift changes, getting exposed to something new and beautiful. Ancient Korean pottery, massive modern canvases, baroque paintings applied to wooden triptychs, and he had a front row seat to all of it.

He had nothing but time to think, he’d start his shift hating the painting across from him, and after a few hours he’d come to understand it, if not like it. 

It kept his mind off of Ian, which was important. He’d be reminded of his ex-boyfriend in a particularly golden shade of red, or the odd bright splash of green, but after a while he’d learned to let those thoughts come and then quietly escort them out without any anger or resentment. 

In short, four months after Ian broke up with him, Mickey was relatively happy and fulfilled. He had a good relationship with his family (the only member that mattered anyways), a job he liked (well, didn’t totally despise), and modern technology took care of everything else (grindr).

He was getting ready to meet up with a guy from the app when a wrench got thrown into the whole machine. He had showered and gelled his hair, putting on a clean shirt that showed off his arms, he was grabbing his wallet from the kitchen table when he noticed the shock of red hair contrasting with the grey of his living room. 

Ian turned around once he’d realized Mickey had come out of his room. Mandy must have let him in, seating him on the couch and leaving him like a sadistic little gift for Mickey to find, the fucking bitch. 

Mickey froze, hand outstretched as Ian turned to face him, scrambling up off the couch. 

“Hi Mickey,” Ian said breathily, attempting a grin. He looked good, healthy and normal. He looked like the Ian that left Mickey in his room to run off to the army, just a little older. 

“Uh” Mickey said, unhelpfully. “What are you doing here?”

Ian surveyed him up and down hesitantly. “Your sister let me in,” he said lamely.

Mickey raised his brows to say not the question I asked, fuckhead.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” Ian asked nervously. 

“I’m not really hungry” Mickey said stupidly, not understanding why Ian was standing in his living room.

Ian deflated slightly “we could get a drink, or just go for a walk or something.”

“What are you getting at, Gallagher?” Mickey asked tiredly.

“I’m trying to ask you on a date” Ian said with a halfhearted smile. “I’ve been on my meds consistently for three months now so I thought-”

“Congrats, Ian that’s really great” Mickey said, bittersweet. “But if you got your shit together because I was gone, I should probably stay away.”

“No!” Ian blurted out. “No, I got better so I could see you again. I wasn’t going to put you through anymore than I already had.”

Mickey didn’t say anything to that, so Ian continued. “I know that I hurt you when I said that I needed to do this alone. But I’ve been working for the past few months to try and become someone I was proud of, so I wouldn’t feel so fucking sick every time you looked at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Mickey tried to calm down. He wanted to yell, he wanted to hug Ian, he wanted to leave and never see him again. But most of all he saw that he was being given the chance to start over, and he wanted to take it. 

“Fuck it, yeah, let's go to dinner” he agreed. 

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Ian asked curiously, grinning wildly. 

“I can always eat,” Mickey said, finally sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “Can we get pancakes?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. Let’s go get some flapjacks” Ian agreed excitedly. “Wait-were you going somewhere?”

“Nah” Mickey dismissed. “Faceless Jonny can murder some other twink tonight.”

Ian laughed. It didn’t have that hyper, nasty quality Mickey had grown to flinch away from. 

It seemed like they agreed to set any uneasiness aside for the night so they could sit together and share a stack of pancakes. 

He told Ian all about the rescue mission to Indiana, the way Kenyatta charged at him in the living room before he could get his gun out and had to hold his own against the absolute mountain of a man before he managed to get his gun out. He told him about the spring he’d mostly shared with his sister, about the museum.  

“You do what?” Ian said, letting out a stalling laugh, nearly choking around a mouthful of bacon. 

“Stop laughing, it’s fun and I make good money” Mickey grumbled. “We can’t all be training to save lives.”

“Do you wear the little suit?” Ian asked, ignoring him. 

“Do you?” Mickey shot back. 

“Not yet but I will,” Ian said proudly. 

Ian didn’t share very much about what he’d been doing. Mickey managed to figure out that he was working working at Patsy’s for a while, before he started EMT training, he talked a lot about his family, Debbie getting pregnant and Carl going to juvie, but he had this was of talking around himself that made Mickey realize he probably spent a lot of the last few months pretty miserable. 

“So, I mean-this is our first date, right?” Ian asked with a grin, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Yeah, I guess so” Mickey said hesitantly.

“So, tell me stuff I don’t know” Ian said like it was obvious. “You know, siblings, childhood, likes and dislikes.”

Mickey snickered sarcastically leaning back with his arms crossed “number of siblings unknown, childhood was horrific. Likes; guns, redheads, tattoos, dutch renaissance painting, italian futurist sculpture, Bon Jovi, high fructose corn syrup. Dislikes; boston accents, bostson sports teams, men who can’t fight, vegetables that aren’t fried, and any pop song on the top 100.”

Ian grinned wildly, giddy and joyful “That is a very comprehensive run down, A+.”

Mickey chuckled a little, leaning forward and letting out a quick thanks. He turned to Ian and motioned for him to start talking.

“Five siblings. Mixed childhood, mostly good. Likes summer, professional hockey, pop music, thin highlighters, bad boys-hey, don’t kick me!-call of duty, and these days green tea. Dislikes Romantic comedies, football, mood stabilizers, menthol cigarettes, and hoodies without zippers.”

Mickey grinned at his stupid list, and his stupid smiling face. He felt himself getting sucked back into Ian’s magnetic orbit. 

“Would you let me take you out again?” Ian asked eagerly. “This was a pretty good first date.”

Reality came crashing down on Mickey again, and he remembered that this wasn’t really their first date, that nothing was normal between them “are you sure you’re ready for-whatever if is you’re trying to get out of this?”

Ian’s face fell, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I’ve spent the last few months trying to get to this point so I could come back to you.”

Mickey leaned forward to make eye contact with him, trying to decide wether or not to trust him. His eyes were wide and anxious but steady. Taking a deep breath and praying that it wasn’t a mistake. 

“Yeah, okay. I believe you,” Mickey agreed. “But I’m not doing this again, if we break up again it’s fucking over, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life running around in circles with you.”

Ian nodded enthusiastically “yeah, no, that makes sense. I don't want to do that either.”

He paid the check and they left together, when they got back to Mickey’s house he nodded up at it with a grin, “come in, Mandy won’t be back until later.”

Hesitating slightly, Ian took a deep breath and paused. “So, I’m totally ready to start dating you, totally ready. And I’ll come up to watch a movie or play video games or just hang out, but I don’t to have sex tonight, or for a little while.”

Looking down at his crotch automatically, Mickey pulled a questioning face. 

“It works,” Ian supplied with a blush. “It’s back up and running and everything. I just-once I could finally think clearly, I started getting this really uncomfortable feeling like my body isn’t mine, because I didn’t make choices I’m proud of, all the time. I’m still kind of struggling with that so if we can just go out and not fuck for a while that would be great for me, but-”

“Ian chill out. That’s fine, we can hang out.” Mickey said urgently. “You’ll want to eventually though, right? ‘Cause if this is a never again thing we'll need to figure-”

“No! No, definitely not never again, just like give me a couple weeks” Ian amended.

“Yeah, that’s fine. However long you need” Mickey agreed, walking up the stairs, “come on, I’m gonna’ kick your ass at the new grand theft auto just as bad as all the others.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian groaned and flopped down on Mandy’s purple comforter.

“What’s got you all moody?” Mandy asked, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. 

“Your fucking brother won’t get naked for me” Ian whined.

“Ew! Jesus Ian” Mandy shrieked. “Just apologize for whatever he’s pissed about.”

“He’s not pissed,” Ian insisted. “Why would he be pissed?”

“I don’t know, why else would he be holding out on you?”

“On first date after we broke up, I mean-I guess that was our first date period, I told him I wanted to take it slow, at least with sex. After everything I’d done before getting diagnosed I just-didn’t want to jump into a physical relationship right away” Ian explained. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Mandy agreed. 

“Yeah but that was almost three months ago and I have been very ready for a while and making it very fucking clear, but every time he shuts me down.”

“Shuts you down how?” She asked noncommittally, carefully painting her big toe. 

“The other night we were making out on the couch so I was trying to take his shirt off and he just pulled it down and looked at me like I was trying to fucking deflower him.”

Mandy let out a laugh, moving on to her other foot “have you tried telling him point blank that you wanna’ bang?”

“Kind of, not in so many words but I’ve tried to imply, in a seductive way, that I am really, really beyond ready and that by balls are starting to hurt.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” Mandy dismissed. “Just tell him what you’re telling me, which is what you should have done a week ago.”

“Yeah, I should have just told him. But now it’s like, weird. Like it’s weird that he’s purposely ignoring the like, big neon sign stuck to my forehead that basically screams I’m horny.”

“Maybe he’s not ready,” she said disinterestedly.

“He was three months ago,” Ian said, eye brows drawn. “So you think I’ve like, turned him off?”

“I have no idea, Ian!” She exclaimed. “I’ve already talked about my brother’s sex life way more than I wanted to this afternoon, it’s weird that you guys sleep in the same bed every other night but don’t have sex. And if you’re not the one with the problem, maybe he is.”

Ian laid back, deep in thought until Mandy kicked him out so she could get ready to work. Mickey got back an hour later, dressed in his dark suit. It didn’t fit him perfectly, but it made the darkness of his hair and eyelashes stand out even more. 

He said hi to Ian quickly before disappearing into his bedroom, unaware of Ian perking up and following him. “Mickey?” He asked curiously through the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hold on,” came a muffled reply.

“Can I just come in?” Ian asked impatiently. 

He waited a beat, then Mickey came out fully dressed in jeans and a teeshirt “jesus, where’s  the fire?”

“Why won’t you have sex with me?” Ian blurted out. “I mean, we both want to, unless I’m reading the signs wrong but the sexual tension feels pretty fuckin’ intense.”

Mickey licked his lips and looked away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Ian asked incredulously. “So you’re going to pretend that I haven't been basically practically jumping you every night for the last few weeks?”

“Whatever, you’re the one who didn’t want to have sex” Mickey shot back defensively. “You haven't said anything else since and I know I can be-y'know a little pushy, so I backed the fuck off.”

Ian moved forward quickly, moving to bring both hands up to Mickey’s cheeks and pulling him close before allowing his hands to travel downward slowly until he could tuck his hands comfortably into the back pockets of his jeans. “I get that it’s been weird not having sex, and I really appreciate you being so considerate, but if it’s alright with you I’d like to to back into your bedroom and suck your dick to say thank you for your extraordinary patience.”

From this close, Ian got to actually feel the affect this words had on his boyfriend and watch as his cheeks flushed and pupils dilated sightly. “Yeah,” Mickey nodded, nonchalant like his voice didn’t pitch up a couple octaves. “Yeah, I mean you can do that, if you want.”

Smiling, Ian ran a hand up his back so that he could lead Mickey back through the doorway by the back of his head, rubbing and rocking it lightly, stomach flipping in excitement.  

Believe me - I will be revisiting museum security guard mickey again, taking down heists, helping lost kids, and knowing where all the major pieces are so when wimpy little art students like me come in looking for specific pieces he can give directions -the possibilities are endless.

link to AO3

[namusthetic]

Marauders' Era

The Slytherin Skittles

From the Marauders' Era fandom. Decided to lounge about in the Slytherin common room? Join the Skittles for a late night Slytherin chat.

Regulus A. Black

"From far away I wish I'd stayed with you, but here face to face, a stranger that I once knew.

I thought if I wandered I'd fall back in love. You said distance brings fondness, but guess not with us."

- Astronomy, Conan Gray

Doesn't ask for help

Overachiever

Covers his deep insecurities with a god-complex

Abandonment and trust issues

Suffers panic and anxiety attacks, the others know exactly what to do when it happens and huddle around him, holding hands and grounding him, until he starts breathing normally again and stops shaking

Protective of his chosen family

Instead of fighting to keep people in his life, he lets them go because in the end he thinks he's never enough to stay for

Hates loud noises and making noise when moving or walking

Deeply misunderstood

Tries to remain detached and cold as much as possible because knows he'd end up caring too deeply

Self-isolates when he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings, luckily, whenever that happens, the others storm his usual hiding spots and force him to go outside and enjoy himself

Escapes from his own thoughts by reading or listening to music compulsively

Barty Crouch Jr.

"I used to like liquor to get me inspired but you look so beautiful, my new supplier. I used to like smoking to stop all the thinking, but I found a different buzz.

The world is a curse, it'll kill if you let it I know they got pills that can help you forget it, they bottle it, call it medicine, but I don't need drugs. 'Cause I'm already high enough, you got me, you got me good."

- High Enough by K. Flay

covers his need for attention and approval with loudness and chaos

Fear of missing out

Afraid that people will forget about him and leave him behind

Avoids talking and thinking about his own feelings

Cannot control his emotions when overwhelmed

Hides it when deeply hurt

Clingy drunk, cries if left by himself

Has a soft spot for pets, especially dogs (once he even accidentally cuddled Padfoot without knowing it was actually Sirius)

Hopeless romantic when in a serious relationship

Incredibly intelligent, he just doesn't want to please his father in any way so he acts out

Jokes about his trauma in public, but ends up sleeping in Evan's bed whenever he has nightmares

ADHD kid

Makes dirty jokes all the time but is afraid of having a stable relationship and not being enough for his partner

Evan Rosier

"And hey, you, don't you think it's kinda cute that I (I) died (died) right inside your arms tonight? That I'm fine even after I have died? Because it was in your arms I died.

I cry in the afterlife, I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive. I try to escape afterlife, I try hard to get back inside your arms alive."

- Arms Tonite by Mother Mother

Calm and collected most of the time

Silent anger

Insomniac, spends the nights reading and listening to chill music

Deadly afraid of spiders, always asks Pandora to take them outside

Energy drinks and caffeine

If looks could kill

Tries to keep everyone from getting in trouble together with Dorcas

Doesn't pay attention in class but gets good grades anyway

Grew up too quickly

Joins Barty and Dorcas whenever they are tipsy and start a singing contest

Likes nights out with friends, randomly walking with no precise destination, a few drinks in hand and the warmth of chosen family around him

The observant, silent one

Always carries small perfume vials since he can't stand smells (sweat, cigarette smoke, etc.)

Pandora Rosier

"You don't have to be like everybody else, you don't have to fit into the norm, you are not here to conform. I am here to take a look inside myself, recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm.

I am not my body, not my mind or my brain (ha), not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA. I am the observer, I'm a witness of life, I live in the space between the stars and the sky."

- Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA

Already figured who was going to end up in a relationship with whom years before it happened

Has a private gardening spot where she grows their own plants (especially herbs)

Follows the lunar calendar instead of the solar one, they all celebrate both new years with big parties

Wears long airy dresses with flower patterns and a dozen crystal necklaces and rings

Talks enthusiastically about everything she's passionate about with no restraints (and everyone loves listening to her talk)

Knows weird knowledge nobody knows from where

Walks Hogwarts' halls singing and with a spring in her step

Spends afternoons in the forest sketching fantastic beasts and feeding them treats

Loves making flower crowns, Regulus wears them whenever she makes one for him and hexes anyone who dares say something about it

Always has paint on her hands or face

Dorcas Meadowes

"Say my name, as every colour illuminates. We are shining, and we will never be afraid again.

And when we come for you, we'll be dressed up all in blue, with the ocean in our arms, kiss your eyes and kiss your palms.

And when it's time to pray, we'll be dressed up all in grey, with metal on our tongues, and silver in our lungs."

- Spectrum (Say My Name) by Florence and The Machine

Hates small talk and superficial friendships

Direct, immediately cuts straight to the point

Politically active against all kinds of discrimination and violence

Strong and determined to achieve what she wants

Ready to argue with anyone, anytime, anywhere

Knows exactly what she wants

Stays up late to read and listen to music in the common room

Has everything planned out

Neon lights and cocktails, loud music and cherry flavored lip balm

Travels a lot but is ready to return home immediately if one of her close friends needs her help

Elegant style, always impeccably dressed

Storms out of the dorm and takes a long walk whenever she feels she can't control her anger

Loves to listen to true crime podcasts

------------------------💚🐍

So I love the Marauders' gang, but (I don't know if you guessed it) I really have a soft spot for the Skittles. To me they feel like the ones who never really even had a chance to be saved, who were left to fend for themselves and to die just because of their families and house. They were damaged as much as the others but found no one to help them but each other.

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Twenty Nine - Brick House

Word Count: 624

Warnings: mention of past drug use, fertility issues, mention of sperm donation and clinics, false pretenses, Dieter might be a bit obsessed or a lot

Notes: I wasn’t sure where this was going. I read @fhatbhabie ‘s Dieter fic where he’s being a dad and @wannab-urs has me listening to all the Hozier for her challenge. This is where we are people. We’re on my second D which is Dieter, my first D is Din.

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenges

A safe place for the both of you is what Dieter Bravo wanted. Finally in the spring, the house was ready. He'd studied your likes and dislikes, favorite colors, asked his assistants and interior designer to decorate according to what you wanted. He believed he had to make things perfect for you. Bravo is aware he’s not - far from it. He has numerous issues with drugs, the law, his career. Never stopping, never slowing down. Always moving forward and not always in a positive direction.

Never would he have expected your request. Dieter was aware of your search, your dream. It wasn’t uncommon but you’d convinced yourself that it would never happen. The doctor had told you there was little chance of it happening ever. Still you believed despite your fears. Dieter watched your perseverance in awe. The idea of you getting what you needed from some donor that you’ve never met kept him up at night. More than the last flop he’d made. It more than paid for renovating the brick house over the last eight months and he was willing to do another one if it meant that he could afford to keep you in that house on bedrest for the last month like you were supposed to be and get him some new oil paints from this one Italian supplier he favored.

You asked if he’d be your moral support as you went to one of the clinics, if he’d hold your hand as you went through the door. Dieter suggested that he could have a physical now that he’s been healthy for a good bit and give you a donation that was more likely to take. He swore that it’s the only form of support he would give you, besides being your friend of course. The clinic thankfully made the process feel ‘impersonal’ as you put it. Bravo knew the first try he was hoping it wouldn’t take, just to be able to have you again. Over two months, he only missed two ‘bun in the oven’ appointments with you and suggested some extra, you know just in case.

It was wrong. He should have felt guilty. Dieter did not and would not. He’d use this process to show you and himself that he could be relied on, constant, strong, like the house he bought you.

He’d gotten you to agree to put his name on the birth certificate and he had his schedule cleared for the most part so he could be wherever you needed him to be. In the room, outside, in the parking lot of the hospital.

Climbing the stairs and walking to the master bedroom he was able to talk you into sharing with him because, rubbing oil on your belly helped calm you and lull you to sleep after proper placement of pillows, he crept toward the door. Your sleeping form was rare to see during the day, among a mountain of pillows and blankets you’ve kicked off because you get hot then cold. Dieter watched your chest rise and fall softly, he had taken a few pictures and saved them on his phone of you at first but that wasn’t enough. Leaving to grab his sketchbook he’d need to draw it, then he may be able to paint this moment later.

This moment that despite the lies and reasons covered under the pretext of helping you with your dream, you were giving Dieter Bravo his - a family with you. Maybe you’ll be mad at him later or even laugh it off but after the baby is safely here, he’ll tell you everything. That you’ve been his ambition for years and regardless of people thinking he’s a scatterbrain, he can focus quite well - on you.

[osworld9]

Walk in Cold Rooms Manufacturers mumbai

Walk-in Cold Room

[sixteen-sugars]

Who Are You (Really?)

a dead plate hannibal au

AUX: misery meat - sodikken

Credit: @lcg-lgc

Rody felt his feet skid on the floor as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. A litany of curses filled his head as he frantically checked his watch. I have to be in Quantico in 15 minutes . Vincent had held him late showing him his latest dish, deer tartare topped with a quail egg, where do you even get deer? The beautifully plated tartare turned into a weird slush in his backpack, and just as he went to hop onto his Vespa, it sputtered and died. To try to revive the motorcycle, he attempted to hit the side with his heel. All the key did was spark in the ignition. So, Rody had to make a run for it home. 

The cherry on top was getting a call from Jack just as he was frantically untying his shoes, hands fumbling, he answered the phone, 

“We have a new case, we're hoping you could be in the lab in 10,” Jack said tersely, leaving no room for complaint. 

“Yeah, yeah of course”

Rody took what might be the fastest shower ever, checking his watch, panicking as every minute seemed to pass by slightly faster than the last. Stumbling, he reached blindly into his questionably clean pile of clothes. The haste resulted in a ratty flannel, with a stain of fish guts on the right cuff, and a pair of washed jeans. 

Rody walked through the doors of Quantico with 30 seconds to spare, 

“Now, Jack, what do you need me so urgently for…”

 His voice trailed off as he saw what, or who was on the evidence table. He drew a breath. She was the sixth victim in the last two months and just the same as the five before her; wind-chafed, plain but pretty with auburn hair, trademark Minnesota Shrike. Jack continued his spiel, 

“We need you on the case, you’re the best we have,”

Rody wrought his clammy hands, 

“I can do this, but this is the last one, I have a life outside of this,” 

Jack nodded, 

 “This will be the last one,” He put his hand on his heart, “Scout’s Honor” 

He said that the last five times, Rody could only sigh as he preemptively mourned the next nights of sleep.

-

The file felt like it was made of lead in his backpack as he headed towards his shift at Vincent's restaurant. It was like the girls were holding onto his ankles as he scurried around, serving and bussing. The only time he got a moment to think was when he was taking out the trash. The cold air bit his cheeks as he fought to open the dumpster without covering himself in trash juice. He thought about her , the crime scene as it came back hit him like a semi-truck. Her pale limbs seemed to reach for him as he tried to close the dumpster, the slam rung in the twilight like a death knell. 

Just as he bussed the last table, Vincent came up to him with another elaborate dish, presented with an almost bow, 

“This Antelope is served with stewed collard greens and deglazed carrots,”

“Antelope?”

“Yes, My supplier got some exotic cuts recently,”

“Cool…”

As Rody trailed off he took the dish in his sweaty palms. Being around Vincent was like being around a caged lion. Held back by his instincts and fear, but still scary nonetheless. Vincent was all grace and long limbs as he presented Rody with the Antelope. Rody nervously laughed, 

“I feel all this effort for plating is going to waste, when in my backpack it all runs together,” Vincent almost balked, 

“No, sometimes the plating isn't just to enjoy, it is to see the result, beauty in the infinitesimal,” 

Rody quickly took the dish and scraped it into his stained tupperware and bid Vincent goodbye as he hopped on his Vespa, the Antelope already shaken in his ragged backpack. 

-

That night, the light of the desk lamp was drilling into his already tired eyes, clammy hands pushing back auburn curls as the words inside the file all swam together. His computer was open to College directories to try to track down the Minnesota Shrike’s next victim. In the field, Rody was painfully average. He was an okay shot, and could collect evidence as well as the next, but what he was given acclaim for, was for his focus. When he was given a case, it was all he could think about, he would throw himself wholeheartedly into the investigations. 

Rody’s dreams were full of deer with bloody antlers, dark and shifting. He turned over and saw her, next to him, glassy eyed; mouthing words Rody couldn't understand. Rody bolted upright, patting the bed, checking for unwanted companions. Instead, all he found was his ratty comforter and a shirt he accidentally left out on the bed. Rody shivered nonetheless, taking a hot shower to quell the goosebumps. 

Poking at his now much more pronounced eyebags, He buttoned his white dress-shirt up. Donning the black slacks and socks required by Vincent. Picking up his backpack on his way out, and hopping on his Vespa, he sped off to work.

-

Rody wasn't able to look at the case until early afternoon. It was the tail end of the morning rush and not yet lunch, so the only people in the restaurant were an elderly couple who were brunch regulars. He chewed on his already abused ballpoint pen, red ink staining his lips like fresh blood. There was an idea sloshing in his frontal cortex. Maybe the girl in the field wasn't the Shrike’s victim. Even though it followed the previous patterns, something was off. He drummed his fingers on the lacquered table in thought.

He was startled when Vincent put his hand down next to him and looked over Rody’s shoulder like the nosey person he is. Rody tried to cover up the file, it was classified FBI information.  

“I think I’ve seen that before, maybe on the news, this one seems different from the others,” noted Vincent. 

“That’s why I think this is a Copycat Killer,”

“What evidence showed you that conclusion?”

Rody thought about how to phrase his answer as not to come across like he was insane,

“This one just felt different, the Shrike, he loved those girls but this Copycat, the body was treated like livestock. This Copycat is a killing machine, he sees these girls not as objects of love, but as pigs,”

Vincent looked lost in thought and just as he was going to remark, a party of 8 came through the door. Personable Vincent was gone and now it was Chef Vincent as he went back to his lair in the kitchen. Rody went back to the meek bubbly server. 

The dish that night was cold-smoked pork with a side of roasted mexican street corn. Vincent had changed the meals to be better eaten cold, still presented with the same beauty and care. Given the reverence of a in-house shrine to a forgotten god, dusted and maintained but without the original purpose. Even though the god was gone, Rody could still taste the care and reverence in the food. He could even see Vincent painstaking basting the pork and smelling the wood chips. He felt the microwave annihilated the flavor, but cold pork seemed worse. 

-

Rody smiled sheepishly, the Shrike’s file had gotten stained from a wayward piece of corn. Before Jack could yell at him for staining evidence, Rody gave a peace offering of new insight, 

“Jack, he loves these girls, the body in the field isn't the Shrike, it’s a Copycat, I just needed to see the Copycat to see what made the Shrike,”

Jack looked at him, nodding,

 “Any insight into where the Shrike is from. What he does,” He punctuated with a handwave.

Rody nodded vigorously, 

“Yes, yes, the Shrike is a man, he is a father, he loves those girls not in a… sexual way. But, as daughters, as things he could never keep,”

Jack seemed satisfied with Rody’s insights thus far, 

“We had forensics look into the wounds and clothes of the victims, they found some pipe-threading metal. We have a lead,”

He seemed happy at that, the cat in the game had zeroed in on the mouse. Rody had neglected to mention Vincent’s insight on the Copycat. Letting himself bask in the warm light of victory and appreciation a little longer. 

-

Now that forensics made a lead, Rody was taking his ‘work’ to work. Worn backpack overstuffed with the resumes from every single pipe-threader in Minnesota. His Vespa skidded as he turned into the restaurant's parking lot with 5 minutes to spare. Unceremoniously shoving his bag into his locker, he clocked in.

Rody felt dead on his feet this shift. Customers were more snappy than usual, it seemed they were sending every other plate back to the kitchen. The dress shoes Vince insisted he wear pinched even more. Rody was over it. The cherry on top was spilling the dozen of resume files all over the sticky breakroom ground. Of course, Vince had to be there to witness Rody’s frantic shoving of the files back into his locker. 

“More ‘top secret’ FBI files Rody? You’re getting sloppy…”

“These are just resumes,” Rody shot back defensively.

“Still looking for the Shrike?” Vincent glanced down at the pictures of the workers.

“Yeah, we just got a lead, the Copycat really helped,” Rody admitted.

For a few seconds, Rody deliberated, should I tell him my hunch…Or just keep it to myself . 

“So, off the record, you wanna know what I think about the Copycat?” 

Vincent looked more invested than usual in Rody’s ‘crime shenanigans’, actually making eye contact, and blase barely-recognition, 

“Sure, what has your brain cooked up this time?”

Rody almost vibrated, this was the first time testing his ‘theory’ 

“So, I think this Copycat is the Chesapeake Ripper. What I felt, when I saw her in the field, was unique to the Ripper murders I saw when I was in training. He holds so much contempt for them, it was almost palpable,”

Vincent’s eyes widened, he cocked his head, 

“Really, how intriguing,”  

He added nothing else, and spun on a heel, disturbing the piles of paper. Rody sighed and went to cram them back into his locker. 

The dinner-rush was a fraction of the hell of the afternoon, it was about as nice as working in customer service, so hell but in like the cold circle. Customers were heavy tippers as they left, dresses sparkling in the fluorescent lights. The dish offered to him tonight was a ‘breakfast’ for dinner with homemade sausage. Into the tupperware it went. The lid snapped as Rody hummed the Bach that was playing earlier. 

-

At home, the scramble was reheated as he poured over the resumes, little progress was being made. Everybody looked the same, nothing was out of the ordinary. Just as he was going to give up, words began to run together in his tired brain. He saw something, a lead. Rody traced the letters and under his breath said, 

“Garret Jacob Hobbs, there’s my Minnesota Shrike,” a daughter that was wind-chafed and had brown hair, a carbon-copy of all the other girls. No address was listed, but Rody went up that weekend to do some house to house interviews. Vincent was with him, Rody had to borrow his car, and Vince didn't trust him to drive. Looking at his Vespa, it made sense. They were at the office at the construction site Rody got the papers from, Rody was talking to the lady who worked there about if she knew anything about Hobbs. Turns out he lived only a 5-minute drive away from where they were. 

He and Vince pulled into the gravel driveway, tires crunching. The house was dated, with 70s style window panes and faded drapes. A man looked to be on the phone inside with a silhouette of another shorter woman. Rody laid his hand on his holster in preparation, and knocked. Presenting his temporary badge, 

“This is agent Rody Lamoree, FBI, come out with your hands up,”

Hearing nothing from inside the house, Rody extended his arms into the weaver stance, looking down the sight of the gun. Then, he and Vincent went into the Kitchen and saw Hobbs with his daughter. He was holding a knife to her neck, as she mouthed words too fast for Rody to read her lips. Hobbs leveled a stare at Rody as he shook, he was always too squeamish to work homicide. 

Vincent stood behind him like a shadow, observing as Rody panicked. Then, the silence broke like shattering glass as Rody shot Hobbs in the hand leaving the man reeling. Hobbs’s back hit the cabinet with a thud as the other gunshots echoed. After his ears stopped ringing, Rody heard Abigail choking on the ground, her throat gaping open, blood spilling out onto the linoleum floor, her chest stilled.

Rody heard a low whistle, he startled as he remembered Vincent was standing behind him, Vince spoke, 

“10 bullets Rody? You’re getting rusty, what happened to your academy days?” 

“ Well , getting stabbed in your shoulder will do that do you,”

“Anyways, let's call the police and get in the car, I have to make the marinade for the pork tomorrow,”

The Police showed up minutes later, lights flashing and sirens blaring. That night Rody couldn't sleep, Abigail showing up behind his eyes, mouthing and pleading as she bled out. All Rody wanted to do that morning was stay in bed, but the bills won’t pay themselves. So, up he went, sipping his drip-coffee and blindly stabbing at his soggy eggs, eyes still bleary. Rody spaced out, just as he was nodding off at the table his chin hit his chest, and he snapped awake, he looked at the clock, 

“I’m late, my god , Vincent is gonna kill me,”

[crones-trash]

Two years ago today, my brother—V—kept calling Papa all day to wish him a Happy Valentine's Day. By 10pm, when he still didn't get an answer, he called the Vero Beach FL police to do a Wellness Check. When they arrived one of the next door neighbors came out w/ a key to Papa' door & he was found unconscious on the cold tile floor in his living room. He was rushed to the nearest hospital. By the time they reported back to V it was nearly midnight & he didn't want to wake me up w/ the bad news.

Instead, I was awoken at 7am the next morning by a nurse at the hospital who told me my 98 yo father had been admitted for apparently having a stroke. Papa had asked for me. Would I come? Of course, I would.

I didn't cry. I panicked & scrambled to set my life in order before I could drive down to FL to help Papa. This was the beginning of the worst 2 years of my life. Papa left his body on 27 February 2021. A year later my husband left his on 24 February 2023.

Here I sit in Portland OR in 2023 suffering anxiety attacks. This is not intentional. Vivid memories associated w/ dates on my calendar percolate out of my subconsciousness & set off my past emotional states. I play endless games of Solitaire & put together jigsaw puzzles to distract myself. I dunno. Maybe I should just hysterically cry myself into a stupor.

The other day I noticed the neighbor across the street getting a delivery from the same oxygen supplier my husband used. Sunday, I saw her wearing her portable oxygen tank walking w/ her housemates to the community center to watch the Super Bowl. This morning there was an ambulance outside their house. It quietly pulled away & respectfully didn't turn on its sirens in a Senior+ Community until it got on the main street.

I feel I should go over & visit strangers to console them. But honestly, I have no comfort to give. She's gonna die sooner rather than later. We all do.

[pagepulse]

Bathroom Remodeling NJ: Affordable and Luxurious Ideas for Every Budget

Have you been dreaming of transforming your bathroom into a serene retreat but worried about breaking the bank? Whether you're looking to completely revamp your space or make practical upgrades, bathroom remodeling NJ doesn't have to cost a fortune. You can strike the perfect balance between affordability and luxury with the right approach.

In this blog, you'll discover creative ideas for cost-effective and stylish bathroom remodeling, specific tips for NJ homeowners, and the secrets to creating a space that reflects your taste and meets your needs—no matter your budget.

Why Consider Bathroom Remodeling?

Your bathroom is one of the most used rooms in your home. A well-designed bathroom improves functionality and adds significant value to your property. If you're considering selling your home in New Jersey, a refreshed bathroom could be a big selling point for NJ buyers. But even if you plan to stay put, remodeling can enhance your comfort and style.

Does remodeling sound like a daunting task? Don't worry—we'll break it down and show you how to transform your bathroom step by step.

What Makes Bathroom Remodeling in NJ Unique?

In New Jersey, housing styles range from colonial homes to modern townhouses. Each of these brings unique challenges to bathroom remodeling. Older homes, for example, often require updates to plumbing and ventilation, while townhomes may require working within limited spaces.

The good news? NJ has plenty of skilled contractors and suppliers who specialize in bathroom remodeling NJ. By combining their expertise with your creativity, you can affordably design the bathroom of your dreams.

Affordable Bathroom Remodeling Ideas

Even small changes can make a big difference in your bathroom. There is no need to go all-out to create a stunning space. Here are some affordable ideas that get high-impact results:

1. Refresh the Walls: A fresh coat of paint can instantly rejuvenate your bathroom. Opt for light colors like whites or pastels to make your space feel bigger and brighter. Alternatively, consider peel-and-stick wallpaper for added personality without a permanent commitment.

2. Update the Fixtures: Replacing outdated faucets, showerheads, and cabinet hardware is a quick and wallet-friendly way to modernize your bathroom. For a contemporary look, go for finishes like brushed nickel or matte black.

3. Reframe Your Mirror: Rather than buying a brand-new mirror, update your existing one with a DIY frame. It's cheaper and allows you to customize the design to complement the rest of your décor.

4. Brighten with Lighting: Good lighting can completely transform the mood of your bathroom. Swap harsh overhead lights for warm, energy-efficient LEDs, or add a stylish vanity light for a touch of elegance.

5. Install New Shelving or Storage: If your bathroom feels cluttered, adding floating shelves or upgrading to stylish storage baskets can make a huge difference. Functional and aesthetic, these additions keep your essentials neatly organized.

6. Accessorize with Style: Don't underestimate the power of high-quality bath mats, towels, and shower curtains. Paired with a few plants or candles, these minor upgrades can make your bathroom feel like a spa.

Luxurious Bathroom Remodeling Ideas

For homeowners looking to splurge a little, consider investing in upgrades that make your bathroom stand out. Here are some ideas for taking your bathroom to the next level.

1. Install a Walk-In Shower: A walk-in shower with glass enclosures adds a luxurious and modern feel. Choose textured tiles or stonework to take it up a notch. Though a more significant investment, this feature can also increase your home's value.

2. Heated Floors: No one enjoys stepping onto an icy bathroom floor in winter. Heated floors add unmatched comfort and practicality—ideal for NJ's cold winters.

3. Freestanding Bathtub: Nothing says "luxury" quite like a freestanding soaking tub. Perfect for unwinding, a statement tub becomes the centerpiece of any bathroom remodel.

4. Smart Features: Bring your bathroom into the 21st century with innovative technology. Upgrade to motion-sensor lighting, touchless faucets, or a smart toilet with self-cleaning features and heated seats.

5. Double Sink Vanity: A double vanity maximizes functionality for families or couples and adds an upscale look. Pair it with a quartz or marble countertop for a timeless and elegant finish.

6. Custom Cabinets: Custom cabinetry lets you maximize your bathroom's size while keeping it clutter-free. Choose sleek, glossy designs for a modern aesthetic or rustic wood finishes for a cozy vibe.

Transform Your Bathroom Today

From simple, cost-effective updates to luxurious personal retreats, bathroom remodeling NJ offers endless possibilities for homeowners. These changes can enhance your daily routine and boost your property's value—making it a win-win investment.

Feeling inspired? Whether planning minor upgrades or a complete overhaul, there's no better time to start your bathroom remodeling project. Gather your ideas, set your budget, and contact a trustworthy contractor to turn your dream bathroom into reality.

Looking for more home improvement tips? Our blog offers expert advice and ideas tailored to NJ homeowners.

[raghawaytech]

Unlock Efficiency in Cold Storage: The Importance of Door Heaters

Cold storage facilities play a vital role in industries ranging from food processing to pharmaceuticals. The efficiency of these facilities relies heavily on maintaining a controlled environment, free from frost and ice buildup. One essential component that ensures seamless operation in such settings is the door heater. This unsung hero of cold storage systems not only prevents frost but also contributes significantly to energy efficiency and operational safety.

In this blog, we will delve into what door heaters are, their benefits, applications, and why choosing a high-quality product like those offered by Raghav Industries is crucial for your business.

What is a Door Heater?

A door heater is a specialized heating element installed around the perimeters of cold storage doors, freezer doors, or other refrigeration units. Its primary function is to prevent condensation and frost buildup by maintaining the temperature around the door frames. This is particularly important in environments where there is frequent opening and closing of doors, leading to temperature fluctuations and humidity ingress.

Door heaters are commonly used in:

Cold storage warehouses

Walk-in freezers

Refrigerated trucks

Pharmaceutical cold chains

Industrial refrigeration systems

Their ability to combat frost buildup not only improves functionality but also protects the structural integrity of the refrigeration unit.

Benefits of Door Heaters

1. Prevents Frost and Ice Accumulation

One of the most significant benefits of door heaters is their ability to prevent frost and ice buildup around door seals and frames. Frost can interfere with the door’s sealing mechanism, leading to energy losses and increased cooling costs. By keeping the edges warm, door heaters eliminate this issue.

2. Improves Energy Efficiency

A door that cannot seal properly due to ice buildup allows cold air to escape and warm air to enter. This imbalance forces the refrigeration system to work harder, consuming more energy. Door heaters help maintain a proper seal, reducing energy consumption and lowering operational costs.

3. Enhances Safety

Ice and frost around door frames can create slippery surfaces, posing safety risks for workers. Door heaters mitigate these hazards, ensuring a safer working environment in cold storage facilities.

4. Extends Equipment Lifespan

By preventing frost-related damage, door heaters contribute to the longevity of refrigeration equipment. They reduce the wear and tear on door seals and frames, minimizing the need for frequent repairs or replacements.

5. Reduces Maintenance Costs

Without door heaters, businesses may face increased maintenance costs due to frequent defrosting and repair work. Investing in a high-quality door heater minimizes these expenses, offering long-term savings.

Applications of Door Heaters

Door heaters find applications across various industries, including:

Food Storage and Processing: Maintaining the right temperature is crucial to preserving perishable goods. Door heaters ensure that cold rooms and freezers operate without interruption.

Pharmaceutical Industry: Medicines and vaccines require strict temperature controls. Door heaters help maintain these conditions, ensuring product integrity.

Logistics and Transportation: Refrigerated trucks often experience temperature fluctuations due to frequent door openings. Door heaters help stabilize the internal environment.

Hospitality Sector: Hotels and restaurants with walk-in freezers rely on door heaters for efficient refrigeration.

Why Choose Raghav Industries for Door Heaters?

When it comes to reliable and durable door heaters, Raghav Industries, based in Delhi, India, stands out as a trusted manufacturer and supplier. Here’s why our door heaters are the preferred choice for businesses:

1. Superior Build Quality

Our door heaters are crafted from high-grade materials, ensuring durability and consistent performance in challenging environments.

2. Energy Efficiency

Designed with advanced technology, our heaters consume minimal energy while delivering maximum results. This not only reduces operational costs but also contributes to environmental sustainability.

3. Versatility

We offer door heaters in various sizes and wattages to cater to diverse industrial needs. Whether you need a solution for a large cold storage facility or a small walk-in freezer, we have you covered.

4. Customization Options

At Raghav Industries, we understand that every business has unique requirements. That’s why we offer customization options to tailor our door heaters to your specific needs.

5. Excellent Customer Support

Our commitment to customer satisfaction extends beyond product delivery. We provide comprehensive support, from installation guidance to after-sales service.

How to Choose the Right Door Heater for Your Needs

Selecting the right door heater involves considering several factors, including:

Size and Dimensions: Ensure the heater fits your door frame perfectly for optimal performance.

Wattage Requirements: Choose a heater with the appropriate wattage to prevent underheating or overheating.

Environment: Consider the ambient temperature and humidity levels in your facility.

Compatibility: Ensure the door heater is compatible with your existing refrigeration system.

By partnering with a reliable supplier like Raghav Industries, you can simplify the selection process and find the perfect solution for your needs.

Final Thoughts

Door heaters are an indispensable part of any cold storage or refrigeration system. They enhance energy efficiency, improve safety, and ensure the seamless operation of your facility. Investing in high-quality door heaters, such as those offered by Raghav Industries, is a smart choice for businesses looking to optimize their refrigeration systems.

Don’t let frost and ice disrupt your operations. Equip your cold storage with reliable door heaters and experience the difference in performance and efficiency.

Learn more about our Door Heaters here.

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The Importance of Choosing the Right Cold Storage Solutions for Your Business

Introduction:

In today’s competitive industries, maintaining the integrity and freshness of goods is paramount. Whether you're in food processing, pharmaceuticals, or any other sector, investing in reliable cold storage solutions is crucial. Antes Global offers industry-leading cold storage products to meet the specific needs of businesses across various sectors, ensuring safe, efficient, and cost-effective storage options.

Why Cold Storage is Essential for Your Business

1. Ensuring Product Freshness and Quality Cold storage is essential in industries like food processing and pharmaceuticals to maintain the quality, freshness, and safety of perishable goods. By using state-of-the-art cold storage systems, businesses can extend the shelf life of products, reduce waste, and keep customers satisfied.

2. Regulatory Compliance For many industries, adhering to safety regulations and quality standards is mandatory. With cold storage solutions from Antes Global, you ensure compliance with health and safety regulations, keeping your business aligned with industry standards.

3. Improved Efficiency and Cost Savings Investing in the right cold storage system improves operational efficiency and helps businesses save costs in the long run. With solutions like Walk-in Cold Rooms and Blast Freezers, your business can optimize storage space and energy consumption, reducing operational expenses.

Why Choose Antes Global for Your Cold Storage Needs?

1. Expertise Across Industries As a top cold storage supplier in India, Antes Global offers tailored solutions for industries like poultry, dairy, food processing, and seafood. Our years of experience ensure we understand the unique demands of each sector, providing you with customized solutions.

2. Comprehensive Cold Storage Products From Blast Freezers and Cold Rooms to Supermarket Display Chillers and Docking Solutions, Antes Global offers a full range of products designed for durability, efficiency, and ease of use. Our products are built to meet the needs of modern industries.

3. Reliable and Durable Equipment We prioritize quality and reliability, ensuring that each product is built with high-quality materials for long-lasting performance. Our cold storage solutions are designed to withstand demanding conditions, providing you with the reliability you need for optimal storage.

Conclusion:

Choosing the right cold storage solution is crucial for your business’s success. With Antes Global as your partner, you can be confident in receiving the best in quality, efficiency, and customer support. Our range of tailored cold storage products ensures your business stays ahead of the competition.

Contact Antes Global today to learn more about how our cold storage solutions can enhance your business.

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Unlocking the Untapped Potential of Cold Rolled Steel: Unique Products in High Demand but Low Supply

Imagine walking into a room filled with the sleek, modern furniture that catches your eye with its minimalist charm. Or envision a high-tech tool that looks like it belongs in a futuristic lab. What if we told you that these unique pieces could have one thing in common—a surprising material: cold rolled steel?

While cold rolled steel is often associated with traditional industries like automotive and construction, it holds a treasure trove of potential that's waiting to be discovered. Beyond the usual uses, there’s a world of unconventional products that can be crafted from this versatile material. And here's the kicker: many of these products are in short supply, leaving a golden opportunity for those willing to think outside the box.

Ready to uncover how cold rolled steel can transform your business? Let’s dive into this exciting realm of hidden potential and see what sets you apart from the competition.

Unconventional Products Made from Cold Rolled Steel

Architectural Elements

In the architecture and design world, cold rolled steel products like cold rolled steel sheets are used to create bespoke architectural elements. Designers are increasingly opting for cold rolled steel for its aesthetic appeal and strength. Custom facades, decorative panels, and structural accents can all benefit from the superior finish and precision of cold rolled steel. Its ability to be easily painted or coated also adds to its appeal in modern architecture.

High-End Furniture

The furniture industry is seeing a rise in the use of cold rolled steel for high-end, modern furniture. Cold rolled steel's clean lines and smooth surface are perfect for creating stylish, industrial-themed pieces. From minimalist tables to sleek chairs, cold rolled steel provides the strength needed for durable furniture while maintaining an elegant appearance.

Specialty Automotive Parts

While cold rolled steel is commonly used in automotive manufacturing, there is a growing market for specialty automotive parts made from this material. These include custom performance parts, high-strength components, and even decorative elements. The precision and strength of cold rolled steel make it ideal for applications where both performance and aesthetics are crucial.

Advanced Electronics Housings

In the electronics industry, the demand for sleek, durable housings is increasing. Cold rolled steel is finding its way into the production of electronic device casings and enclosures. Its ability to be precisely shaped and finished makes it perfect for protecting sensitive components while maintaining a high-quality appearance.

Custom Machinery Components

Cold rolled steel’s precision and strength make it an excellent choice for custom machinery components. Businesses specialising in manufacturing custom machinery can leverage cold rolled steel for parts that require high dimensional accuracy and strength. From gears and bearings to custom brackets and supports, cold rolled steel offers a reliable solution for various mechanical needs.

High-Quality Cookware

Another unconventional use of cold rolled steel is in the cookware industry. High-quality pans and kitchen utensils are being crafted from cold rolled steel due to its ability to withstand high temperatures and provide even heating. The material's smooth surface also contributes to easy cleaning and maintenance, making it a popular choice among culinary professionals.

Improve Your Steel Business with JSW Steel’s Premium Products

Cold rolled steel presents untapped potential in several unconventional markets, from architectural features to high-end furniture and advanced electronics. As businesses look to explore these niche opportunities, the choice of steel supplier becomes crucial.

JSW Steel stands out as the premier steel manufacturer in India, offering high-quality cold rolled steel products including cold rolled steel sheet at competitive prices. With their extensive experience and commitment to excellence, JSW Steel provides the raw materials necessary for businesses to excel in these emerging markets. 

Investing in JSW Steel's offerings not only ensures the best material quality but also helps keep costs manageable, giving your business a solid foundation to succeed in the dynamic steel industry. Choose JSW Steel for reliable, cost-effective solutions that will support your venture into unconventional and promising product markets.