#and one of the suggested accommodations was glasses that block the light???

[ace-of-hugs]

the most annoying thing about being a low support needs autistic person is that you are never an autistic person.

at school, none of the teachers believed that I was autistic. nobody was really willing to accommodate properly for my needs and expected me to do things that were clearly too much for me. in year six, I nearly had my part in the leavers play taken from me because I was unable to access school after having masked every day for the last six years and I had completely burnt out. my teachers were aware of this. we were trying to get an autism diagnosis and they knew that. but to them, I would only ever be a person, like everyone else, so if everyone else can do it, why can’t you.

then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, you have people like my dentist (who I do not like, but that’s a story for later in the post) and the people from the school that I was nearly forced to go to by the local authority (who I dislike even more). both of them went into meeting me with a preconceived notion of me because I’m disabled. my dentist speaks to me like I’m five, explaining everything clearly in a condescending voice that grates on my ears. and it’s not just me, because my dad hears it too. and then when I went to visit the school, I told them that I want to go to university and study psychology and their response was “we’ll have to see if that’s a realistic option” and I was like??? just because I’m disabled, you automatically think that I can’t go to uni??? and I did some tests to see what educational level I was at and the teacher was genuinely surprised when I’d finished quickly. and this is made more annoying by the fact that neither of them are that great at actually accommodating me anyway! they just see “disabled“ and refuse to see past that

outside of my family and my friends I can only think of one person/authority figure in my life who’s ever actually treated me like an autistic person, who has support needs but is also intelligent, who doesn’t understand the questions initially but just needs a bit of a prod in the right direction and will be fine soon. I will be eternally grateful to her for helping me trust again.

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[yountville12]

72 Hours in Yountville, Napa Valley – the Ultimate Food Lovers Experience|Yountville

Napa Valley is dotted with five distinct cities and towns. Among them, Yountville is widely acknowledged as the culinary heart of the valley. For food lovers, the town is the epicenter of culinary excellence – both for fine dining and at a more casual level. Culinary luminaries such as Thomas Keller, Philippe Jeanty, Cindy Pawlcyn, and the late Michael Chiarello all selected Yountville for their flagship restaurants. Spend three nights in Yountville and you can’t help but discover what makes this small town the ultimate food lovers’ hub. 

Day 1: Arrive in Napa Valley, the epicenter of fine food, wine, and hospitality in the U.S.

Check In to Your Home Away from Home

Hotel Yountville, for example, is situated at the edge of town on five secluded acres. The 80-room boutique resort property is exclusive to guests, giving it a private vibe. Take a walk around the property, unpack, and relax. On the opposite end of town, try the family-owned Napa Valley Lodge, which was named one of Travel + Leisure’s top 500 hotels of 2024. 

Explore & Cocktail

Yountville is imminently walkable. Stretch your legs and stroll through town. Take in the public art walk sculptures and stop for a glass of wine, cocktail, or zero proof options at one of Yountville’s favorite spots. Suggestions: R&D Kitchen, Ciccio, The Restaurant at North Block, RH Yountville, or Bottega.

A Classic Yountville Dinner

Start your visit off by dining at one of Yountville’s restaurants with maximum staying power for your first night. Mustards Grill has delighted locals and visitors alike for more than four decades with elevated American faire. Since 1998, Philippe Jeanty’s Bistro Jeanty and Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bistro have taken the quintessential French bistro to a new level.  

Day 2: Wine, Dine, Indulge

Food and wine discoveries are what Napa Valley dreams are made of. 

A Delicious Morning, Your Way

Breakfast in Yountville can be as simple as a perfectly executed scone and coffee or a more elaborate affair. You decide, but on this food tour, don’t skip this most important meal of the day! Read more about breakfast options in Yountville. 

Book a Leisurely Culinary Experience 

Legendary wine estates such as Chandon, Cakebread Cellars, St. Supéry Vineyards & Winery, and Trefethen Family Vineyards complement many of their wine tasting experiences through a culinary lens. Wine and food are made to go together and no one knows this better than Napa Valley’s winemakers. 

Add a Light Lunch  

Since 1996, Brix Restaurant & Gardens has defined the ultimate farm-to-table experience.  Take in a light lunch and enjoy a stroll their culinary gardens. Or drop into Honor Market for one of their famous hotdogs.  

Lounge at Your Accommodations 

Part of what makes a 72-hour visit so relaxing is being able to build in downtime. Yountville’s resorts offer hidden perks and surprises. At the Estate Yountville, for example, enjoy complimentary wine tastings at the estate’s Hotel Villagio lobby on Thursdays through Saturdays. 

Afternoon Pick Me Up 

Yountville is home to myriad places to get a sweet treat. Don’t miss Kollar Chocolates, Madeleine’s Macarons, or Bouchon Bakery.

Takes a Lot of Beer to Make Wine 

Beer is a favorite beverage of winemakers throughout Napa Valley, including the crafters of Mad Fritz Beer, a uniquely brewed beer. Stop into their Yountville Tap Room for a taste of something completely different. 

Dinner

If night one was about the classic restaurants, night two affords you the opportunity to check out newer entries in town. The Restaurant at North Block, The Restaurant at RH, and Ciccio are three names shaping Yountville’s modern dining scene. 

And for a Nightcap…

As a small agricultural community, Napa Valley restaurants tend to close around 9 p.m., but Yountville’s RO Restaurant & Lounge is open late with music, caviar and cocktails, and small bites to wind down this epic day. 

Day 3: Add a Wellness Day

After a few days of indulgence, add a day of wellness with a dash of great food to your itinerary.

Move in the Morning, Get Outside

Play a round of golf right in the town of Yountville or take a run or bike ride on the Napa Valley Vine Trail. 

Recharge with a Nourishing Brunch or Lunch

Napa Valley restaurants are known for their use of fresh, local, and organic ingredients, and Yountville’s favorites are no exception. Try: Lucy at Bardessono Hotel & Spa, which has its own onsite gardens, or on the weekends, dip into La Calenda for their brunch offered all day. 

Relax and Pamper 

Alongside a food fueled visit to Napa Valley, reconnect with yourself with a spa afternoon. Soak in a pool, indulge in a massage treatment or facial treatment. Tip: Book your spa experiences when you book your hotel rooms. 

Walk to a Shared Dinner

Nothing recharges the mind, body, and soul quite like sharing a meal together. Try Ad Hoc, that serves the nightly selections family-style (another Thomas Keller favorite), or Bottega, where nourishing plates of pasta and grilled meats are easily shared. 

Day 4: Depart, but Before You Do….

One last croissant from Bouchon Bakery, and a sandwich for the road. Stop into Finesse the Store by Thomas Keller for last minute gifts and reminders of your ultimate culinary visit.

[milindpaii]

How Interior Design Can Improve Quality Of Life

In spite of being medically fit, some people find themselves out of sync with their usual efficient self, feel low all the time or worse still, dread going home because it somehow enhances negative feelings. Not many realize that this could be because of the chaotic interior design of their habitats. In such a scenario, it is highly advisable to hire professional interior design services because it is scientifically proven that certain colors, layouts, wall hangings and placement of objects can either result in emotional upheavals or provide divine bliss.

Fine tuning the finish and furnishing offers improved unwinding time which most of the humanity finds in the shelter of their homes. A professionally designed property not only improves mood, emotional resilience, and greater appreciation of life it also increases productivity and efficiency due to improved energy levels.

Even small professional tweaks results in improved mental health - Best Interior designers vouch for this theory

Reputed interior designers follow certain design principles that affect humans positively. These design fundamentals are typically broken down into five categories -

Color Palette - Color is one of the main sources of vibrancy or dispirited resonance depending on its usage. By and large, lavender is known to bring peace while green is the ambassador of "Good mood". It is also synonymous with nature and therefore affects health. On the other hand blue builds trust, improves the functioning of brain. When it comes to nurturing love inside a house there is no substitute for pink. It ushers understanding too. Interior designers use these colors depending on the functionality of the space / section. Colors cover a gamut of elements such as walls, windows, curtains, furnishing and tiles. “Interior designers India” is a perfect phrase to Google search and connect with reputed agency for color enhancements.

Form Factor - Over-sized, mismatched furniture and fixtures bought and arranged by an amateur may end up looking like a warehouse. A criticism many “Interior designers Mumbai” will voice. It is an eyesore which and a sure shot way of inviting negativity, frustration and mood swings. A cluttered or incorrectly designed home can only increase stress level. It will hinder with the occupant's thought process resulting in fatigue. Bumping into furniture and unable to find a vacant space can result in verbal arguments which is a harbinger of serious divides. Interior designers through their experience and expertise not only fulfill the space demands of the owner but achieve the same through efficient utilization. 

Power of Sunlight - Every interior designer or an interior design agency worth its salt knows that the health of the occupants depends on the health of the habitat. A property where the sunlight has been blocked to enhance glamor or due of architectural limitations is a recipe for disaster, of nurturing illnesses. Even Vastu suggests East or North facing windows and glass fixtures. Top interior designers exploit these fundamentals for a mood enhancing, power saving and disease free habitat. Well planned spaces, especially when it comes to natural light, boosts productivity apart from improving the quality of life.

Privacy & Functionality - Exploiting spaces for multiple functions is always a bad idea, unless the owner or owners are stuck with a small property. Even then interior designers exploit architectural expertise to rearrange or create disjointed spaces for specific use. The concept of "Functionality based spaces" has now become a standard norm. Even shared spaces are designed to accommodate privacy of individual occupants. Some examples would be children's room or a home / office.

Safety & Security - A pleasing and well-designed house may offer comfort and pride, however, if it offers little or no security, it can dilute that satisfaction to a great extent. Thoughtful and experienced designers tend to provide features that improve the safety of a habitat. This includes fire alarms, CCTV ( especially if one of the occupants is a toddler), metal grills and wire mesh enclosures. All this adds up to a greater sense of well-being. Most of the renowned interior design services provider offers this lineament.

Summary -

Interior design improves the quality of life through organic principles and contemporary methodologies. Choosing the right colors, placement of windows, form factor of furniture and fixtures can improve the overall health and mood of its occupants. A clutter free and well lit habitat leads to a stress free living.

For More Information Please visit Us:

[glassofficepartitionsuk]

Glass Partitions Put Into Your Office

When you are thinking of having your office redecorated or refitted there are many different options for you to choose from and many things that you may have to consider. This can range from what colour scheme you want to how you may want it to be refitted in order to suit everyone Double Glazed Acoustic Glass Partitions Manchester

It is important to get some ideas together by asking yourself, fellow managers and also employees. This is so you can create a working environment that everyone likes as this can potentially increase team morale in all areas.

Once you have done this it would be wise to contact a company that deals with office refits. This is so you can use their experience and knowledge when deciding what the best options would be for you. At first it would be good to talk to them to discuss your needs and they would want to find out what you are looking for.

One aspect which is becoming increasingly more popular in offices spaces is the use of glass wall partitions. These are generally used as the doors to many offices and also walls and doors going to meeting rooms. However, they can be incorporated into any area of an office.

Another use that they have is to separate different areas while not totally blocking them off. For example, they can separate elevator doors from the main office, toilet areas, or even different departments of your business away from the others.

They can create some very modern designs which can give a very streamlined look to any office. They can come without any frames on them and can make any partitions look straight, curved or faceted.

Having a frameless glass partition can really open up an office space and can give the feeling that more light is being let in. This is because as it is glass, light can pass through it and reach areas of the room which didn't receive it before. Also, being clear it can create the illusion that there is more space.

They are very useful if you require a space which you like to keep open but still require a quiet area for a meeting or phone call that the space in your office cannot provide.

Having a partition such as this means that the soundproofing qualities of it provide a quiet space in which you are able to work. This is especially useful if you are looking to finish something undisturbed and by a deadline.

Some companies can even provide these glass partitions to you with your company logo and branding on it so that when people come into your office they can see straight away that it is your business that is working there. This can give off a feeling of ownership and prestige.

There are many places that you can look for inspiration for ideas as to what kind of glass wall or partition that you should go for. If you speak to a company that provides them then they may have photos of partitions from past customers that came to them.

Alternatively, there are many sources such as the internet and magazines where they are shown to great effect. This enables you to look through many different options before making a final decision for your office.

If there is a design for your glass partition that you like then it is a good idea to speak to the commercial interior company to see whether or not they can accommodate this. If they cannot then they will be able to suggest the nearest thing possible so that you can get what you want.

Handpicked Commercial Interiors is a company specialising in commercial interior services throughout the United Kingdom. The company has years of knowledge and experience in the industry with a dedicated team who pay close attention to detail to provide customers with the highest quality products and finishes.

[hyacinthian-chateau]

Denial.

-- You really thought you could carry on being indifferent, but the truth is, no matter how adamantly you tried to detach yourself—He's been relentless when it came to pursuing you. The attraction between you two is fiercely palpable. It only takes a small push for someone to cross the boundary between personal security detail and client. Will you be the one to do so?

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya (ft. F!Reader)

Notice: Suggestive.

╰ ☆ ☆ ╮

Diluc

As the owner and CEO of Dawn Winery, one of the most widely-known wine companies in the continent, Diluc was accustomed to being in the public eye. It was shortly after the crimson-haired man had taken over his father's position that he had begun to experience being always swarmed by either reporters, paparazzi or fanatic admirers. It was though his father's recommendation that he decided to employ your services.

Who would have thought that after five years you still found yourself working for one of the most successful and eligible bachelors of Mondstandt? Sure, the profession was hard mental and physical work but you found it to be enjoyable and the most beneficial out of all your contracts. Furthermore, the fact that you received a salary with decent accommodations and had a healthy professional relationship with both your boss and other employees was enough for some of your service mates to turn green with jealousy.

After spending time with the rough and stoic redhead, you eventually came to learn of his preferences and habits. You accompanied the heir everywhere he went whether it be at a banquet to meet business partners, an abrupt visit to a few of his establishments or a short walk a few blocks away from the office. One of your most memorable memory had been when you accompanied him to a cocktail lounge to help out the staff who were short for the night. While on the way home, you complimented him on his bartending skills and he merely replied with a gruff thanks and averted his eyes to the window--even with the amber light coming from passing lampposts, you could see the faint red dusting his ears.

From there on your relationship began to shift ever so slightly and you found yourself doing a few more personal errands--from helping him purchase a few gifts for the administrative staff and following him to different new building locations as he planned to expand the company outside the country. It didn’t take long for the seasons to change and you found yourself abruptly leaving the company’s annual founding party with your drunk employer.

“Hang on just a few more minutes, Sir.” You glance at the young CEO from the rearview mirror. “We are almost at your home.”

You merely received a garbled response from your boss who had taken to haphazardly lying down in the backseat. You had been dutifully observing your surroundings during the party but failed to notice Diluc’s step-brother, Kaeya Alberich, who seemed intent on antagonizing the said man this evening and had underhandedly switched his regular glass of grape juice for actual wine. In your effort to rush the wine tycoon home, you had run over a speed bump and you heard a groan from the backseat to which you swiftly apologize. You prayed that the man would hold out until you reached your destination, afraid that he would start heaving in the back.

But of course, fate had other plans for you and it took almost another fifteen minutes to coax the tipsy man out of the car. If you thought Diluc was stubborn while sober, he could have been a mule in his past life. It took promises of doing him a few favours that he finally agreed to let you drag him out of the vehicle and towards the house.

"Sir, I suggest that you let the butler take care of you as soon as we get inside." You suggested as your boss hung onto your smaller frame while you tried to ring the doorbell.

"No one's 'ere." Diluc mumbled, hiccupping in between sentences. "Sent 'em all 'ome.”

Sighing softly, you reached into your coat pocket to retrieve the spare key before unlocking the front door. Once the door was opened, you began to half-drag your employer to his bedroom and help him sit on the mattress. You help the man with removing some of his clothing but opt to leave him with just enough garments, ensuring that there would be no misunderstandings between you two when morning comes.

"If you need anything just give me a call, Sir." You spoke while hanging his suit-coat and tie on a hanger then turning your attention back to your dopey-looking boss.

"You're leav-leaving?” He hiccups mid-question before reaching out to hold onto the sleeve of your dress shirt. "Stay.”

“Sir Ragnvindr, I-” You hesitate for a moment before glancing at the nearby wall ornate-looking wall clock to see that it was a little bit past midnight but the incessant tug on your wrist caught your attention again.

“No.” He tries to correct you all the while struggling to stay awake, his hold on your sleeve now moving up towards your arm. “Call me Diluc.”

Before you can remove yourself from your employer’s grasp, you felt his warm breath fanning against your cheek. It was only when you finally meet the man’s gaze that you found yourself struggling to breathe for a moment as bright ruby eyes bore into yours. You didn’t even notice how the two of you had drifted dangerously close and his hand holding unto you.

“S-Sir?“ His eyebrows furrow and you feel him tug at your arm to which you finally relent. “D-Diluc.”

“Yes?” The man merely whispers while slowly blinking at you. You can't help but notice how full and lovely his lashes looked against his pale skin. And those eyes—Those eyes you had spent years looking at but never really took notice how they shone so alluringly like glittering jewels even in the dark room.

“I--“

Your body involuntary stiffens as the man held onto your arm tightly and moved closer, enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of him. You succinctly make out the sensation of the redhead's nose against the side of your neck and jaw. You can’t help but gasp audibly when you feel his soft lips trailing and mouthing against the sensitive area.

“Ah,” You could barely hear your boss murmur as his rich-crimson locks brushed against your cheek, while placing feather-light kisses. “You smell wonderful.”

“What—“

Heat surged through your face at the sudden onslaught of honyed words but just before you could formulate some sort of reply, Diluc tightly clutched unto your shoulder and abruptly bowed his head before emptying the contents of his stomach unto your lap. You froze in place with wide eyes, unable to make even a sound of surprise.

You ignore the damp mess on your slacks as you instinctively grab unto your boss who was dangerously tilting backwards, keeping him from crumpling against the headboard. Releasing a grunt, you finally manage to pry your boss’ hold on you and try your best to maneuver Diluc in a comfortable position before escaping towards the ensuite.

After a few minutes of trying to wipe down the mess with a spare face cloth, you finally decide that it would be best to change out of your soiled clothes as soon as possible—surely, the man wouldn’t mind you borrowing a pair of pants. Walking back into the room, you catch the redhead passed out on top of the sheets before deciding to borrow a pair of sweats located on the topmost drawer in his closet. Only after you had changed into the said article of clothing do you come back to make sure your boss was still resting comfortably.

You sigh and make your way to the kitchen to locate some painkillers and a glass of water. Returning to the darkroom, you settle the items on the bedside table alongside a note to call you if he needed anything. It wasn’t part of your job but you wanted to make sure Diluc wouldn’t feel suffocated from the heavy blankets but still be warm underneath. Without thinking, you reach out to brush long crimson locks out of his handsome visage. You briefly feel his nose pressing against the palm of your hand affectionately before you finally decide to leave for the night.

You make your way towards the door and glance at the sleeping individual, allowing yourself a moment to admire his peaceful features before softly closing the door behind you. After making sure to turn on the security alarm and locking the front door behind yourself, you opted to walk to your lodging. Taking your time, you looked up to the dark sky to relish the peaceful and beautiful scenery around you until you felt your wool-clad shoulders getting wet from the melting snow.

Shortly after showering, and taking care of your poor pants--you were going to have to bring it to the dry cleaners, you sat on your bed. You quietly find yourself reflecting on how time seemed to have passed rather quickly and how your life constantly revolved around the young heir. Speaking of your boss, you found yourself flushing at the rather bold move from earlier--It was rather uncharacteristic of him and you tried to reason that it must have been the alcohol talking.

But Archons! How could you bury the feeling of his well-defined torso hidden underneath his dress shirt as he held unto you with a vice-like grip? How could you avert your bewildered gaze from those half-lidded scarlet orbs that seemed to stare into your very soul? And how could you fight back when his voice dropped dangerously low just as took the liberty of trailing his lips on your jaw?

And those kisses! Until now, your neck still felt hot and you didn't know what else could have happened if he hadn't stopped. Your fingers unconsciously trail over the side of your neck where Diluc had graced with his lips and you cannot help but feel flustered. Wait, had you wished he had gone further?

"Damnit. He was drunk." You chided yourself as you swiftly buried yourself underneath the covers, willing yourself to halt any more indecent thoughts related to your boss. "Snap out of it."

Turning to your side, you opted to watch the snow that continued to fall from above for a few minutes to clear your thoughts. Moving closer to the window, you admired the sparkling particles that accumulated on your window ledge before a sudden gust of wind blew it all away. Based on the amount of snow, you concluded that you may have a difficult time leaving the house in the morning.

You had been given the day off tomorrow morning and you had initially planned to spend some time with your family but you couldn't find it in your heart to leave someone on what is supposed to be a joyous holiday. Thankfully, you had enough foresight to drop off your family's presents a few days prior and they had been understanding enough that you may be called in at any time due to your job. There was also the small, wrapped item perched on your small coffee table that was waiting to be given to its receiver in the morning. Snuggling under the warm covers, you find yourself easily lulled to sleep as both your mind and body began to relax after having a rather turbulent day.

The morning was quiet with you feeling slightly sluggish as you made your way into the shower. It was only after dressing in your usual smart attire and having a cup of coffee that you felt more awake. It had been a little past eight when you trekked through the snow to get to the main estate with the small package in your gloved hands. True to his word, Diluc had indeed given the housekeepers time off seeing as no one had greeted you upon entering the large home. After dusting yourself off and slipping out of your shoes, you walk upstairs to the master bedroom and gently knock on the mahogany doors.

"Sir? It's me."

After receiving no reply you entered the room only to come across your boss who looked to be still asleep. You slowly lean over the man and quickly retreat after seeing that he was indeed breathing under the thick blankets. Noticing the half-empty glass of water on the bedside table and missing painkillers, you concluded that he must have gotten up at some point in the night and taken them.

Gathering the glass of water and walking out of the bedroom, you found yourself in the vast kitchen looking into both the well-stocked fridge and pantry. It would be best to prepare something that would be easy on your employer's stomach alongside a warm drink. In the years you had worked for the frosty man, never had you thought you would be in a situation where you had to stand in as both a bodyguard and caretaker--Not that you were embarrassed at all! You were rather proud of your housekeeping skills.

Making breakfast was easy and within the hour you had a decent-looking tray of food: a bowl of oatmeal and sliced fruits with a side of sunny side up eggs, and a mug of black coffee. Taking the platter and carefully making your way upstairs, you announce your presence shortly while knocking on the door.

"Sir Ragnvindr?"

"C-come in."

Using your shoulder, you push the door open and find yourself being greeted by a mass of tousled red hair as its owner was trying to sit up slowly. The scene was rather ridiculous seeing your normally stoic-faced boss staring at you with wide eyes and his hair akin to a bird’s nest and you wearing a bright, frilly yellow apron over your suit.

"Good morning, Sir." You walk into the room without missing a beat, greeting him in the same calm and respectful tone every morning. "I hope you slept well. Are you feeling well enough to have breakfast?"

"I-" He tries to clear his throat before continuing. "I think so."

"Wonderful." You deposit the tray onto his lap, making sure that it was perfectly balanced as you continued. "Apologies if it's not the same as Miss Adelinde's."

"You-you cooked?" The dishevelled man stares at the hot breakfast on his lap before looking back at you, no doubt trying to wrap his head around the incredulous circumstance that he was in. "Isn't it your day off? Why are you here?"

"Yes." You gingerly hand him a napkin to place on his lap to which he accepts. "But I needed to come and check on you after what seemed to be a rough night.

Your words finally dawn on Diluc as an alarmed expression appeared on his handsome face rather instantly. For a man that should be suffering from a hangover, he was quite fast to catch on. With a shake of your head, you try to reassure him that everything was alright all the while trying not to reveal what you considered to be your own one-sided emotions.

"Last night, I wasn't in the best state of mind." Your boss tries to explain followed by a quick apology. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"It was nothing I couldn't handle, Sir Ragnvindr."

You flash him a practiced smile to hide the uncomfortable throbbing in your chest. Denying it in your head was easy but refuting the existence of your feelings out loud was on a whole different threshold. Deciding that it would be best to let your boss have a peaceful breakfast, you give him a polite bow before making your exit.

"I'll be back later on--"

"It's fine." The man interrupts you, still not making a move to help himself to the spread on his lap. "I can manage. There's no need for you to come back."

Oh.

You mindlessly nod and give a polite bow to the company heir before wishing him a pleasant morning. Mechanically walking down the stairs and cleaning up after yourself, you eventually found yourself hanging the apron away. Deciding it would best to let Diluc have his peace, you opted to leave shortly after making another sweep of the house. It doesn’t take long to make sure everything was in order before you finally don your wool coat.

Diluc Ragnvindr was the perfect example of the upper-class echelon of modern society. Although you had worked for multiple affluent individuals, the said man exuded the impression akin to individuals coming from old money. It was foolish on your part to desire anything more than a professional relationship with him.

You were his security detail. Nothing more.

You scolded yourself mentally as you opted to walk back to your lodging in the knee-high snow. There was no point in dwelling in such one-sided affections and instead focusing on getting changed to see your family for rest of the day. Opting for more casual attire and letting your hair loose for a change, you were about to gather your purse when you heard your phone ringing and you immediately answer the call.

"Sir? Is something--"

"I'm sorry." You find yourself pausing as Diluc's gruff voice cuts you off abruptly. “I shouldn't have sent you away like that.”

"It's fine. I overstepped my boundaries, Sir Ragnvindr."

"No. You've never done that." You find yourself furrowing your brows, trying to make sense as to why your boss was acting rather odd. "In the years we've been together, You were always there. Watching and waiting patiently."

"I-It's my duty as your escort." You stiffen at the sudden direction the current conversation was going in and you could barely catch something moving on the front lawn of your residence.

"Really. Then again, you never disappoint." The young CEO sounds a bit out of breath while you finally walk towards your living room to peek through the windows only to see a familiar figure.

"W-why are you outside!?" You frantically make your way over to the front door to open it after realizing your boss was treading through the snow with no coat. "Sir Ragni-"

"Diluc." Amidst the snowy background, the shock of vibrant red tresses of your boss was quite a sight. “ I told you to call me by my name last night.”

The tall figure of the young CEO moved closer until you were only a few steps away from your door. You can't help but stare at him with a bewildered expression even as the snow drifted towards your smaller frame.

"Bodyguards don't go up and beyond like you do." The intensity in those vermilion eyes kept you from speaking as he takes a few more steps closer. You could barely register the fact that both of you were still holding your respective phones to your ears.

“I know because I've been looking at you too."

You couldn't move. Nor could you speak. Even with the cold breeze, you felt immensely warm. There had always been an underlying tension between you and Diluc but now it seemed to have sky-rocketed after his abrupt confession. He stood so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off him even if he wasn't clothed appropriately for the chilly weather.

"Don't act like you don't want it." His much larger figure almost towered over you and you felt his warm breath against your lips.

"But I-I'm your bodyguard, Diluc."

You try to grasp at the last of your reasoning but ultimately don't reject his advances as bare hands cupped your cheek, forcing you to keep his gaze on him. A shudder passes through your back as he releases an unsteady breath after trailing eyes trail over your slightly parted mouth.

"Then say no."

The tension between the two of you was quite palpable and you watch with bated breath as the handsome man leaned down, only stopping a hair's breadth away. But like the gentleman that he is, the young CEO of waits for a few moments for you to reject him--which never comes.

He kisses you tenderly, afraid that any sudden movement may scare you away and you can't help but melt against him. Diluc is compelled to deepen the kiss but doesn't press for more, seeing as he had already summoned every ounce of bravery in his body to finally confess to you after years of attraction. Having both of you admit your feelings towards each other was sufficient enough for the young wine tycoon.

.

Kaeya

A famous actor and model in Mondstandt. The said man is considered to be the country’s beau—due to his gorgeous looks and immense popularity that even grandparents wanted him as an in-law. In the years you worked as a security detail in the entertainment industry, you mostly found yourself bending to the will of a few celebrity clientele who sometimes made difficult demands. Initially hired to chaperone a different celebrity, it seemed like fate had other plans for you.

You had been walking around the perimeter of a venue when you come across the blue-haired man who seemed quite suspicious. Dressed in streetwear, a cap and sunglasses, you called out to the said individual. It was only when he spoke that you eventually recognized the voice of 'Mondstandt's Captain' and you offered to usher him to where he needed to be. Although the walk was short, both you and the actor talked about the drama series that he was currently in. Once by the door of his fitting room, he abruptly asked for your name and you gave it to him thinking that he merely wanted to thank you to which he does. You give the man a small smile as he waved back before entering his dressing room.

It was after you had completed a rather short contract for another that you were offered a new posting—Your superior had told you that the client specifically asked for your skills as a bodyguard. Compared to a few others, you were the least experienced among the handful of bodyguards. Most people considered you to be rather unintimidating due to your small stature but you had proven time and time again that you were the best when it came to providing excellent integrative security. Regardless, you decided to accept the offer thinking that it would be another brief contract.

Oh, How wrong you were.

It had been almost four years since you met the person you would be escorting. You vividly remember being taken aback as the famous Kaeya Alberich introduced himself as your new client, sending you a flirty wink while getting his make-up done for the day. You fondly recall the following weeks as one of the busiest ones you have ever experienced seeing as the man’s schedule has been packed to the brim. Fortunately, you found it quite easy to work with the said individual alongside his management team. Although the tanned man exuded the air of a charismatic playboy—an image that the public seemed to be eating up—he was rather considerate towards the staff members and that included you.

There had also been times where you found yourself in odd circumstances related to the actor who just claims that it was normal. To start with, the tanned man had insisted that you accompany him for lunch and if not, he's always making sure to buy you a sandwich or a bento box then depositing it into your hands before running off for filming. Initially, you thought he was merely trying to be nice since you had no choice but to keep him company--You didn't mind of course.

What did worry you was when the man had one-sidedly appointed you as an assistant and a proxy-stylist at the uncanniest of times? It had been a day before you had to attend an award ceremony alongside the manager and Kaeya when he sent various photos of him in different outfits, asking for your opinion. He wore an loose silk shirt which revealed a lovely view of his toned chest, pair of tight-fitted trousers that accentuated his lean frame and a fur-collared cape draped over his shoulder. It had been one of your favourite attires but you opted to reply with a respectful compliment in which he immediately retaliates with a disappointed emoji and a phone call.

"You have immaculate taste, Sir." You immediately state as soon as you pick up the call before adding. "Will that suffice?"

"That's it?" You almost laugh, picturing his slightly sullen expression. "Can't you be more enthusiastic?"

"You are handsome regardless of what you wear." You take a moment to think before deciding to tell him your real thoughts. "But with a smile like that, it's hard to care about clothes."

There is a silence that takes place between the two of you and you grew more concerned as it stretches on. Separating yourself from the earpiece, you glance down at the screen to see the call time; The call hadn't been dropped. Taking a moment to listen for any signs of distress, you finally ask if he was still on the line.

"Ah, Sorry." He quickly affirms with a chuckle. "I was just taken back. I never took you to be the sappy type."

"My apologies, Sir Alberich." All concerns you had few out the window and you feel a small smile appearing on your face. "Compliments aren't my strong suit."

It had been a few years and you still haven't assented to calling your boss by his first name. Even though the relationship between you and the actor was rather informal, you were adamant in addressing him as Sir Alberich in the hopes of retaining the line between client and bodyguard. It was mostly a selfish reminder to yourself not to get attached and that the flirting and teasing was nothing else but an act.

The days and nights easily bled unto one another and again you found yourself in an odd situation once more. The actor appeared on your front doorstep, dressed in street clothing with a cap to hide his hair and demanding that you accompany him for the day. Before you could take a step outside, your boss blocked your way by leaning against the door frame which caught you off guard.

“No. Not dressed like that.” The tanned man shook his head, smiling.

You glance down at yourself. Was there something wrong with slacks and a simple blouse? Unless it was something more formal then you would opt to change into a pressed button-up—

“You aren’t on the clock right now.” Kaeya states and you stare at him in confusion. “I’m taking you out.”

“Pardon me?” You barely manage to retort as the man grabs your shoulders, turns and walks you towards your bedroom.

“We’re going on a date.” He gives you a smile before adding. “Now quickly so we can go.”

The door behind you is closed and you find yourself in your bedroom, trying to make sense of what just happened. Sighing softly, you humour your charge and change into something less stuffy. Once satisfied with your simple outfit which consisted of jeans, a simple shirt and a knitted cardigan, you make your way into the living room where your boss seems to have made himself comfortable on your couch. You easily ignore the way he seems to be appraising you from head to toe while you gather essential items into your pockets, usually, you would be flattered.

“Catch.” You throw a pair of keys to which the tanned man grabs mid-air.

“Really?” His bright eyes almost sparkle in excitement as he tears his gaze at the object in his hand as to look at you. “You’ll let me drive today?”

“As long as you promise to stay on the right side, Sir.” You open the front door and glance back to see your boss a few steps behind, grinning.

“Don’t worry, you're in good hands."

The two of you get in the car and right after you both put on your seatbelts, the periwinkle-eyed man starts the car. It was only halfway into the car ride that you were silently questioning your decision in keeping your client company for the day. Not only were you going to have to keep an eye out for a possible appearance of photographers but there was also the mortifying chance that your tongue may slip valuable information—like how you held a deep affection towards your client for a few years now.

Kaeya begins the day by dragging you to a small bookstore to peruse the mystery thriller section. Unfortunately, the actor had decided to entertain himself by goading you into what type of literature you fancied in. You mindlessly motion to the nearest publication to your left, thinking that it was another thriller but lo and behold--it turned out to be a gossip magazine with your boss' face on it.

Simultaneously, you feel your face heat up while your eyes grow comically large. Before you could provide an explanation or defend yourself, the actor merely took a copy into his hands before shooting you a rather vampish smirk. Fighting every nerve in your body, you tried not to swat the magazine out of the man's hands as he antagonizes you.

Your client being the playful flirt that he was, doesn’t miss the rare opportunity to tease you and even offer to purchase the said publication and exclusively sign it for you. After a few minutes of bantering and friendly threats, you were able to somewhat convince your companion to make his purchase and leave the magazine behind as you move on to the next place.

The day stretches on with the two of you visiting multiple places such as a pop-up art gallery, a quaint café for some snacks and lastly a popular clothing store. You thought nothing as your client made a beeline for the women’s section all the while you kept an eye out for unwanted paparazzi or a few over-eager fans. Trailing behind the actor to the changing room, you were about to take a seat and wait when you felt someone yanking you back up. Even with the mask on, you could tell the man was grinning widely as he deposits the items into your arms.

“Try these on. I think these would look good on you." He begins pushing you towards the changing room.

“But Sir—”

“No buts.” Your client drops himself into one of the nearby chairs and looks at you with a smile, looking quite expectant. “Won’t you humour me?”

There was no point arguing with your boss as you resign yourself to playing along. You nod and sigh good-naturedly before making your way towards the changing room. It was only when you had undressed that you finally do take a good look at the dress that he had picked out. It takes a while for you to change into the outfit and you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror. The garment was charming as it both complimented your figure and your skin tone quite nicely--You weren't surprised at this point since the tanned man did have good taste when it came to fashion. Glancing over yourself one last time, you finally exit the changing room and walk over to your boss who was playing around on his phone.

"Took you long eno-"

Kaeya doesn't finish his sentence as he finally looks up at you after hearing the click of your heels stopping in front of him. You can't help but feel a bit flattered as amaranthine-coloured orbs widened ever so slightly. A few seconds pass and you can't help but squirm under the scrutinizing gaze of your boss.

"So this is what you've been hiding all these years." You ignore your companion's ogling while trying to disregard the embarrassment you felt. "You're quite lovely dressed like this."

You feel a small blush adorning your cheeks but you cover it up by raising an eyebrow at the tanned man. It was odd being complimented by Mondstand’s resident heartthrob but you can’t deny the warm feeling in your chest as you try to play it off. There was no way in high heaven or hell that he would be attracted to a simpleton like yourself.

"We should get going, Sir Alberich. " You glance at the small watch on your wrist before meeting your boss' eyes. "Just a moment. I shouldn't take too long."

Not waiting for a reply, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the changing room. Once in the confines of the small room, you press your cold hands against your hot cheeks to compose yourself. After feeling a bit more grounded, you began to unzip and remove the dress. With your shirt on and one foot inside your jean leg, you hear hurried footsteps making their way in front of your door.

"Quickly open the door.”

“I-I’m sorry?” If this was another one of his tricks, he was going too far.

“There’s a group of people inside the store and I’m sure they saw me sitting outside.”

You hear a commotion close to the sitting area where the tanned man had been sitting a few seconds earlier. The sound of footsteps and muffled voices soon became much more audible and you open the door to pull your client inside. Shortly after you had closed the door, several individuals entered the hallway leading into the fitting rooms.

"I swear I saw him entering this place." A girl's voice spoke alongside a few others who confirmed that they had indeed seen a man's figure going inside.

"We should check all the rooms." You froze and glanced at your companion who looked to be quite alarmed as well when the sound of doors being opened filled the small space.

You had dealt with a multitude of overeager fans in the years you had been employed as a bodyguard but it would be difficult in your current situation. You kick your pants off to the side and push the tanned man in one of the corners of the tight space and motion him to crouch down, effectively hiding him right behind your frame. Ignoring the sensation of your boss' chilly breath fanning over your bare thighs, you try to keep a composed façade. The doorknob to the changing room begins to turn rapidly and a cacophony of women began calling out.

"He's in here!"

"Ah! Really!?"

"Ohmigosh!"

"Kaeya! Can we get a photo please!?" That was followed by a series of hands slamming against the door and you take a breath before answering in an annoyed tone.

"Excuse me!" You call out loud enough for the people on the other side to hear. "There's someone in here changing!"

With that, the eager voices of many fans stopped and were instead replaced by confused and annoying complaints. You answer their questions and even open the door an inch to prove that you were in the room 'changing' into the dress from earlier.

“ Kaeya Alberich?” You blink incredulously at the group of women before cracking a smile. "You seriously think he's in here? With me?"

"I swear we saw him going this way!"

"All the other doors are unlocked and this was the only one being used." One of them stated. "That's rather sus. "

"Right! For all, we know you could be hiding him in there."

You feel your back prickle with nervous sweat as you tried to look rather innocent. Thinking quickly, you motioned for your crouched boss to grab your trousers that were by his feet. Once the cotton fabric was in your hand, you dug into your back pocket to fish out your wallet before unveiling a small photo. It was a long shot and unorthodox one but you considered yourself to be in a dire situation.

On that said piece of laminate, was a faintly smiling handsome young man with bright teal eyes, pale skin who sported light brown hair that was partially pulled back into a braided half ponytail, dressed in a pressed suit.

"Huh!?"

"That's--"

"As you can see," You smiled proudly as you waved the signed limited edition laminated card. "I wouldn't even take a second glance if Alberich showed up in front of me."

"You're crazy!"

"Kaeya's the most handsome in all of Mondstandt--no, Teyavat!"

"I wouldn't date him even if he asked nicely." You pray to the heavenly entities that your boss would stop grabbing unto your ankle as he struggled to keep his silent laughter in check. "Not when there's someone more striking like Albedo."

In under a minute, you had been able to successfully disperse the small group and you closed the door and listened to them slowly walk away looking quite disgruntled. Waiting for a few minutes until the coast was clear, you finally let out a sigh of relief. You glance behind only to find the tanned man still crouched on the floor, eyes bright with laughter as he tried to muffle his chuckles with the palm of his hand.

"We should go, Sir."

"What's the rush?" You ignore the grin on your boss’ face as he remains in place. "If anything we should wait a little bit longer.

“I suppose.”

You cleared your throat once but it seemed that your companion hadn’t gotten the hint. Ignoring the smirking man beside you, who didn’t seem all too phased by you changing, you quickly slipped one foot into the leg of your denim pants. Although you wanted to leave the premises quickly there was still a good chance that the Kaeya’s fans would be waiting around. Also, waiting a little bit wouldn’t hurt.

“While we are waiting, I would like to know since when did you become a fan of Albedo’s?” The man plucks the wallet from your back pocket just as you had your back to him making you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t even finished buttoning up your trousers and he was already at it!

“I don’t see as to why you are so concerned about my preferences, Sir Alberich.”

Once decent, you turn to grab your wallet only for the actor to raise it above his head, just out of your reach. You wanted to sock the infuriating man but you instead leaned up to try and snatch it out of his hold.

“Oh, I can’t help but feel hurt now that I’ve learned that I’m not your favourite.” Of course, not one to let an opportunity pass, Kaeya kept dangling your wallet overhead laughing.

“You’ll become my favourite as soon as you hand my wallet over.” You try to grab at the small item but unknowingly begin to lean over your boss in the process.

“Really now. Prove it."

Your attention is abruptly stolen when you feel cool breath against your collarbone making you tense. The relationship between you and your boss was friendly at most but there had been an underlying tension that only continued to grow as the years passed. Like a cord that had been tightly wounded, it was bound to snap at some point. Usually, you wouldn't have engaged nor entertained the actor's teasing and instead taken it all in stride but today, your boss had been acting quite forward.

"What?" You ask dumbly while the man repeats himself, eyes never leaving yours.

"I said to prove it. Better yet, tell me if it’s really Albedo that you prefer to be locked in here with.”

"T-this conversation isn't appropriate." Your brain short circuits as a slightly calloused hand raised your chin gently, forcing you to meet Kaeya’s gaze.

"Appropriate? I think it’s a little too late to be concerned about such things." Bow-shaped lips quirked up into a familiar smug smile as your boss continues. "Not when both you and I are guilty of fancying each other for a while now."

The statement was enough to make your cheeks darken with colour and your mind into overdrive. Generally, you would have disputed the claim and placed some semblance of space between you and the actor then dragged him to his next appointment in normal circumstances. You hadn't felt the strong arms that had been wrapped around your waist and lower back which effectively caged you in.

“S-Sir Alberich, this is—I’m not—!”

“Come now,” The dastardly man intentionally trials a finger down your clothed back making you shudder. "Why deny when we've both had known it for a while now."

You couldn't speak but somehow your hands had found themselves on top of his broad shoulders, loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt that it would surely leave wrinkles. In all the years you had trained to be one of the best in your company, never had you thought you would be held captive by your client. The space between you two was none existent and you swear every time you squirmed, your boss would not only tighten his hold on you but also press himself closer against your smaller form.

"Well?" He drawls while leaning closer. “Are you going to confess or will I have to coax it out of you, Sweetheart?”

You feel your brain short-circuiting as he draws closer to the point that all you could see was the tenacity in his lovely eyes. The tanned man had bent towards you, those fascinating orbs turning dark even under the soft light of the fitting room. You could feel your heart hammering in your throat as your boss delicately cupped the side of your face. Angling his head, you can't help but release a weak gasp upon feeling your companion's mouth brushing against yours.

The actor's sharp eyes were edged with thick dark lashes. They didn't curl up as if they hid his eyes from the world but not at that moment. Those periwinkle eyes shined with an emotion you recognized but had fiercely denied.

"This is crazy." You whispered weakly, no longer pushing the handsome man as he reaches up to lightly rub his thumb against your cheek.

"Yes, it is. But I don’t regret it."

At that moment, you come to realize the Captain that held the hearts of Mondstandt’s citizens—a man who was used to being waited upon by others and getting what he desired —was at your feet.

And right now, he was pinned between you and a wall and kissing. The moment your client brushed his lips against yours, you couldn't help but part them. Immediately, your breath is stolen and your hands found themselves pressed against a sturdy chest to which the thin shirt did nothing to hide. The moment you gasped for breath, a talented tongue slid into your mouth and an inarticulate sound akin to a growl came from the man before you.

You shouldn’t. But you couldn't help but meet his tongue with your own as desire begins to rush over your being--it was searing through your veins at an alarming pace. Intimacy was something you had experienced multiple times before but never had anyone kissed you so passionately. The kiss--It was decadent, hungry and hot.

Heated breaths mingled as you two finally separated, eyes bright and chests heaving. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, and under your fingers, you could feel the tanned man's own heart was pounding too. If you two could kiss all night, you could sense that your boss wouldn't complain.

"Well?"

His voice was soft and dark. Those talented hands slid around your waist and up your back making you shiver. His hands were larger than yours and cool to the touch which oddly helped calm down your erratic heartbeat.

"This is crazy." You repeat yourself, unable to fight the smile slowly tugging at the corners of your mouth. "But I suppose I'm a bit enamoured with Mondstandt's infamous Captain."

"Finally, I got a confession after all these years." He chuckles while giving you a gentle squeeze. "Not an 'I love you' but it's a start."

"Apologies, Sir Alberich." You laugh and sincerely add. "I love you."

"Much better."

It takes a few seconds before you can untangle yourself from your reluctant boss. He doesn't hold your hand on the way out of the shop, understanding that he still had an image to protect. What he does do instead is keep a hand on your lower back as if protecting you from prying eyes. Again, he flashes you that mischievous grin as he hands you back your wallet making sure to brush his long fingers against yours longer than necessary. It is only when you return home that you realize Albedo's photo card has gone missing and you conclude that your client-turned lover had a hand in its disappearance.

.

[architectuul]

Autobus Park №7: Kyiv’s Abandoned Transport Circus

Kyiv might be Europe’s single greatest city for late-twentieth century Modernist architecture. It boasts many wild, eclectic, and vividly imaginative examples of the style, built during the height of Soviet monument-mania. Though amongst its steel and concrete marvels of Soviet-era architecture, one of Kyiv’s most striking modern buildings has, in recent years, also become one of the city’s most problematic ruins. Autobus Park №7  – once the pride of the Ukrainian transport industry – exists today as a decaying morgue for almost a thousand abandoned buses.

Autobus Park №7 today. | Photo © Darmon Richter

The design challenge of the Autobus Park №7 was to create an efficient depot capable of housing and maintaining a fleet of some 500 buses, in an urban environment where building space was limited. Had the building been constructed like a warehouse, or a factory, using a square plan and a regular pillar-based solution for supporting the roof, it was estimated that the total size of the building would have needed to be at least 4,000 square metres. However, an ingenious solution was proposed instead.

Under construction (1972), promotional photographs (1970s) and technical sketches (1979). | Photo via Khabarovsk Polytechnic Institute.

The chief engineers on the project, V. A. Kozlov and S. I. Smorgon, were responsible for the idea of using a cable-suspended roof. They took their inspiration from circus buildings – the cylindrical concrete-and-steel constructions which were by this time a ubiquitous feature in cities throughout the Soviet Union. By designing the building on a circular plan, and suspending concrete roof panels on cables strung between a central support pillar and the outer walls, it was found that both space and construction costs could be significantly reduced. Moreover, this design, with its organic, circular shape, lent itself more to what was then considered a modern and humanistic work environment for employees – while its form, reminiscent of circuses and Palaces of Culture, presented the bus depot not as a bland, functional box, but rather a community venue.

Kyiv’s Autobus Park №7 during its heyday with the tall building on the left accommodating administrative offices and staff canteens. | Photo via Exutopia

Left: Workers outside Kyiv Autobus Park №7 in 1977;  right: A new fleet of buses ready for service, 1975. | Photo via Exutopia

Kozlov and Smorgon built a 1:10 scale model to test their idea. The central support pillar would be 18 metres high, a tower of reinforced concrete with a diameter of 8 metres, consisting of 0.3-metre thick concrete walls around an inner support of solid steel with a cross-section of 0.32 x 0.22 metres. Attached to the top of this pillar, were 84 radial cables – steel ropes with a diameter of 65 millimetres. Each of these cables was able to support a weight of up to 350 tons, and the roof would be constructed on top of them: a suspended tent dome, created from concrete plates, and with a total diameter of 160 metres.

On its completion in 1973, the building was considered an engineering marvel – its hanging roof was one of the largest ever constructed, and this system of support reduced the building’s necessary size from 40,000 square metres (the estimate for a pillar-supported roof) to a footprint of just 23,000 square metres. 

Details of the relief on the front of building showing staff, passengers, vehicles, and the logos of various automotive brands. | Photo © Darmon Richter

As much as possible, the design aimed to take advantage of natural light. The concrete plates of the roof were fitted with portholes, most of which were concentrated close around the main support tower. In the outer wall, upright glass cylinders were installed between concrete panels, serving as sturdy support pillars that both insulated the building against the cold outside, and allowed refracted light to shine into the wings of the building. This solution proved particularly robust, and most of these glass pillars have survived intact since the early 1970s until this day. Between them, these design choices resulted in an interior space and working area that enjoyed bright sunlight during the day, thus minimising the additional cost of electrical lighting.

Attached to the 18m central support pillar, a metal staircase leads up to an observation platform. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Once operational, Autobus Park №7 was the largest vehicle depot in the Soviet Union – and it was rumoured, potentially the largest anywhere in the world. It served as more than just a garage, though. It was the base of operations for the entire fleet of buses serving the capital, including city buses, intercity buses, and also those working international routes, to Germany, Poland, Belarus and Russia. The building was fully air-conditioned, it featured a four-gate vehicle wash, and a mechanised repair bay fitted with conveyor belt systems. The building had a staff of 1,500 workers, and featured workers’ canteens, as well as a computing centre too – where teams calculated staff salaries and work shifts, as well as designing and optimising bus routes.

Sadly, the glory days of Autobus Park №7 would be short-lived. Following the break-up of the Soviet Union, many of the fleet’s international routes were discontinued. Services were gradually reduced through the 1990s, into the 2000s, while meanwhile, the building was increasingly used to store wrecked vehicles awaiting repair or decommissioning. The reduction of domestic bus routes in 2005 was a further blow, and eventually, in 2015, the autopark closed its doors for good – the building slipping into disrepair, as the once-proud circus was steadily transformed into a scrapyard.

Since it was officially closed in 2015, almost 1,000 buses have been stored inside the abandoned building. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Today, Autobus Park №7 in Kyiv seems to be locked in a downward spiral of decay. The building itself is nothing short of an engineering marvel, an extraordinary work of architecture that supporters have suggested could be adapted now into a museum, or even a film studio. In April 2018 a petition was registered on the website of Kyiv City Council, calling for the building’s preservation – but it only received 321 votes, a long way short of its target of 10,000 signatures. Even had it been successful though, good intentions don’t count for much without action and intent on the part of Kyiv City Council; where currently, any talks of potential preservation are being blocked at a bureaucratic level.

For 25 years the building has been owned by the company Kyivpastrans (‘Kyiv Passenger Transportation), whose deputy general director, Sergey Litvinov, has said that Autobus Park №7 poses an imminent risk of collapse, and, given the cost and scale of such a project, would be almost impossible to save. Meanwhile, other former transport depots around the city have already been bulldozed to make room for new residential blocks and shopping centres. Many property developers would jump at the chance of getting their hands on this 23,000-square metre plot – and from the perspective of the current owners, it is probably a more attractive financial proposition. The building is neither listed nor protected, so were it empty, there would be nothing to stop the owners from knocking it down overnight.

This rooftop capsule offered a panoramic view of the 180-metre diameter suspended roof of Autobus Park №7. | Photo © Darmon Richter

However, for the time being all parties are locked into a kind of stalemate over the building’s contents. The estimated 903 rusting vehicles stored inside (including LAZ, Volvo, Ikarus, and various other brands of urban and long-distance buses) pose a major administrative problem. These buses cannot easily be removed, or scrapped, as technically they are yet to be decommissioned from service. A new regulation that was introduced into Ukrainian law in 2013 complicated the bureaucratic procedure and created a backlog; so that all of the vehicles inside Autobus Park №7 today are – officially, on paper – still in service and awaiting audit. As such they cannot legally be taken apart for scrap, and right now, there’s nowhere else to store them in the city but here.

The vehicles have still not been officially decommissioned under Ukrainian law – which means they cannot be scrapped until the necessary paperwork is processed. | Photo © Darmon Richter

So for now, it’s a waiting game. If Kyivpastrans and Kyiv City Council are able to solve the bureaucratic headache of their vehicle decommissioning procedure, remove the abandoned buses, and then find the will, not to mention the funding, to undertake the colossal project of preserving Autobus Park №7 (while turning down more lucrative offers from property developers in the process), then perhaps the building might yet be saved. But in the meanwhile, the circus roof is sagging, and young trees are already sprouting from cracks in the concrete.

It may just be that this building, an engineering marvel of the Soviet period, having failed to find its place in a post-Soviet world, is doomed to go the same way as the regime that built it.

--

by Darmon Richter 

[adapted with permission from an article at Ex Utopia]

Sources: Smena Magazine (1974) Issue No.19 Khabarovsk Polytechnic Institute (1979) Reinforced Concrete Space Structures (lecture notes, p.24-26), M. P. Danilovsky Hmarochos (2018) Why are Storage Facilities for Faulty Kyivpastrans Buses Being Set Up in Kyiv? Kiev Vlast (2019) Kyiv City Council Decided to Solve the Riddle of Bus Depot №7

[writingtoforgetreality]

Guarding Your Heart (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

Request: THE ENDING WAS PURRRRRFECT i'm gonna miss tfatws sm. I don't know if on the raft they allow inmates to be visited but let's imagine it: you visiting zemo for the first time since he was sent there, a little angst cuz you can't have skin-to-skin contact anymore but you two talk about some things and how life is going, if everything is okay 🥺🥺🥺 (by anonymous), [Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: Inmate: Helmut Zemo. Accommodation: The Raft. Visitors: Generally prohibited. Exceptions: Maintaining a friendly relationship with an Avenger.

Words: 3,547

Warnings: angst, jail (is that a warning?), fluff, feels, my emotions, I didn’t use any pronouns!, TFATWS spoilers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Countless attempts from your side had been ignored. You were an average citizen. No superpower, no higher-up. Ordinary. It appeared that the Raft did not think highly of such people. Not when they proposed to visit an inmate. And definitely not when said inmate was the same Baron who broke out of a high security jail in Germany. But he was yours. His imprisonment in Europe had not been as restricted. For his sake, you had moved to the other end of the world. Simply so you could spend a bit of time together every day. Your old life had been completely abandoned. And for almost ten years, Germany had been your home. Until Sam & Bucky entered your lives once again. Though you started off on the wrong foot, this time around, you were more than grateful for their presence. Without them, especially without the former Winter Soldier, Helmut would still rot away in that tiny prison cell. Your time together had been adventurous. Often hazardous. Life threatening. In the end, you made it out alive. Coming back stronger than ever before.

It could have been a fairy tale. A long awaited fulfillment of a seemingly impossible dream. Were it not for the Wakandans crushing your reverie at the worst place imaginable. The Sokovian memorial. Where you held one of his clothed hands in both of yours. Shedding tears, remembering his old life. His wife. His son. You would never replace them. At the same time, you did not even intend to. His past was part of him & made him to the man you loved endlessly. Bucky did not receive your blame. Were you mad at him for handing Helmut over to the Wakandans? Absolutely. Then again, the super soldier was the reason why he was out of jail in the first place. It was a fine line between resentment & gratitude.

Luckily, throughout the various missions you had been a part of, you gained Sam’s trust. He took a liking in you & when he saw you struggling, he was eager to help. Obviously, the Raft yielded when the Captain America himself transmitted an inquiry. Only a few hours passed & you were on your way to Helmut’s current accommodation. A small jet that had been arranged just for you. In this instant, you did not feel average anymore. For a second, you experienced what it would feel like to live this kind of lifestyle. The one of a Baron. Why you were still unfamiliar with that even though your boyfriend was rich? Truthfully, you did not touch his money at all. It was his & when he did not have access to it while imprisoned, you did not dare using it either. Loyalty. Of course Zemo suggested utilization for you but you declined politely. After reasoning enough, he swore he fell even harder for you. The staunchness of you was remarkable.

It was bizarre. Entering the Raft with multiple workers circling you. You were told that these were the security measures that had to be met if someone wanted to visit an inmate. To you, it sounded like a poor excuse but you would not speak that thought out loud. Prisoners needed social contact. Physical contact could not be provided, that much you understood. But one would go insane without having the opportunity to see another human being that was not a guard working here.

Your body was a mess. Heart hammering at your chest with such a force, you believed it would burst any second. Irregular breaths left your lips. Trembling hands fiddled with each other in order to prevent others from noticing. Weak knees that threatened to no longer stabilize your body weight with each step you took forward. To bystanders, you probably appeared as a put-together person. On the inside, there was chaos. Nothing but chaos. How would you react? How would he react? Would you have privacy? An audience? Observers? Innumerable questions flooded your mind. Seemingly, having only one purpose. To drown you. To drown every bit of you. But you would not succumb that easily. You were so close to where you wanted to be. The fight could not end now. Disappointment would cloud you. More importantly, it would cloud him.

Four guards. It took four guards to guide you through the facility. To your surprise, the insides radiated a calm, almost content atmosphere. The walk lasted an eternity. At least, that was what it felt like. Your Helmut occupied a cell at the very end of the building. No explanation had been given to you as to why they decided to accommodate him there. Maybe, with Sam’s assistance, you could change his quarters & move it further up to the entrance. That way, if you visited again, you would not have to waltz through every narrow hallway. Listening to the whimpers of some inmates. The screams. The bashing. The��pain. There was only one person here who you were familiar with. Helmut. The others? You had no idea what crimes they implemented to end up at a place as dark as this.

“He’s at the end of that corridor.” one of the guards motioned for the others to leave you alone. His hand gestured to a tall white door that had a small built-in window. Your sight was obstructed by the frosted glass of it.

“Will you join me?” you questioned, wanting to prepare for it if he had to accompany you.

“Generally, yes.” he breathed out, putting his hands in the pockets of his uniform. Then, he sighed quietly & eyed you once more. “But since it was requested you speak to him alone, I’ll leave you be.”

“Whose request was that?” your eyebrows furrowed. The Raft was not an institution for exceptions. At first, the mere thought of getting to see Helmut again was an impossibility.

“Captain America’s.” he stated monotonously. The way his face scrunched up made it obvious that he was less than pleased about this decision. As soon as you were out of here, you had to call Sam & thank him for making this feasible.

“Oh.” it was all you could muster at the moment. There was an overwhelming feeling you had to handle. And it was not exactly one of your specialties.

“The door is unlocked. Walk down the hallway & the cell will come into view. If something happens, there’s an emergency button that should be operated whe-“ you stopped him during his speech.

“Thanks for your concern but I’ll be just fine.” a genuine smile formed on your face. The guard nodded at you, still slightly uncertain, & turned around without another word. Letting the uncomfortable silence envelop you. Your legs were frozen in place, preventing you from running to him. Maybe it was the thought of having to say goodbye again. As wonderful as it was that you were allowed to visit him, the concept of abandoning him broke your heart. The difference between the jail in Germany & this one was that you could not linger close by. The trip lasted for a while. Daily visitations were out of the question.

Slow but steady steps moved you over to the door. A hand raised to the doorknob. The coldness of it grounded you the slightest bit. You had to take a few deep breaths, just like he had instructed you multiple times before, in order to reduce the fast, almost unhealthy pace of your beating heart. Your hand twisted the doorknob to one side & when you heard the lock click, you pushed the door open with your entire body weight. Otherwise, you would have been too weak to do so. Bright lights had you squint your eyes. A hand was used as a shield to block most of the luminosity. When your eyes adjusted to the different setting, you straightened your back & brushed non-existent dust from your clothes. This motion gave you something to do with your hands. It was a much needed distraction. You held your head high, looking straight forward to the very end of the corridor. At the sides, the walls were painted bright white. Almost too bright for your liking. It resembled a hospital & you had never enjoyed them. The consistency of it was broken with the glass wall you were staring at. The one which was straight ahead. His cell, you figured. But there was no silhouette you could make out. Considering the size, you should have noticed him already. But he was not there. So you no longer moved in slow motion but jogged over to the pane.

Fast footsteps echoed in Helmut’s ears. Time was fluid in a jail like that. But it had not been long since a guard brought him breakfast. Whoever visited him now, it seemed to be urgent on the basis of the fast pace they approached. He scooted closer to the frigid wall behind his bed. Something he did to mess with the employees here. At least it gave him something to do. Besides reading tons of books & listening to the radio that had been prepared for him. That was luxurious enough for an inmate. All of a sudden, it was silent. Too quiet for his liking. The next thing he heard was music to his ears.

“Helmut?” your broken voice whispered & filled the room. Was he turning hallucinational? Nobody would blame him in a place like this. But not even his imagination could recall your softness so perfectly. He stood up, carefully, & widened his eyes at the sight of you. There you were, on the other side of the transparent wall. Separating the outside world from the box he found himself in.

“(Y/N)? You’re here.” no time was wasted. Helmut dragged his body as close to yours as his cell allowed him to. One of his hands touched the smooth surface & you mimicked his actions. There were tears threatening to escape but you tried everything to keep them locked inside. “Don’t cry.” the volume of his voice had lowered. Nobody could listen to you in here but it almost felt illicit to talk at a normal volume.

“I’m sorry.” you chuckled shortly, your free hand coming to your face to wipe at your cheeks. How he wanted to be the one to touch your tender skin. To have you lean into his palm.

“What are you sorry for?” the proximity was given yet unattainable. Your gaze averted, staring at the pavement floor.

“I don’t know…For everything?” you shrugged your shoulders, laughing at how incomprehensible you sounded. Helmut shook his head. That was how he knew you. Always being the one to carry everyone’s burden on your own. Though you did not need to.

“Stop that.” it was an order but not a forceful one. One that eased the tension immediately.

“Okay.” you mouthed.

The floor was everything but comfortable but you made do. Sitting cross legged opposite of Helmut was dreamlike. In your dreams, you had skin-to-skin contact but that delight had been denied. Simply having him next to you was enough for now. Helmut had his elbows on his knees, watching your every move. Reminiscing every small detail he could get a glimpse of. But there was nothing new he came across. He remembered you like the back of his hand. Sometimes even more precisely than you did yourself. And yet, his observation resembled the first time when his warm, chocolate brown eyes fell onto your frame. Usually, you handled his stares well but something inside of you told you to inquire.

“What?” you asked with a playful, teasing tone. His eyes locked onto yours. You giggled at his confused state.

“Is there a problem?” Helmut turned insecure for a second. And people who knew him were aware that he was barely ever uncertain.

“No, not at all.” you shook your head to emphasize your words. “Just…you’re staring.” you called him out. It made him laugh, his head falling back briefly.

“Is it forbidden to stare?” one of his eyebrows perked up. “I believe most people are flattered by the attention.” though he played the serious act quite well, you could tell that he was joking.

“You’re awful.” you laughed at his antics.

“I am aware.” he saw you opening your mouth to disagree with him but Helmut was faster. “(Y/N)?”

“What is it?” you rested your intertwined hands in your lap. But he had noticed the trembles. He had noticed you struggling. And he realized that it was because of the position you were currently in.

“How is it like? Outside, I mean.” he skillfully changed the topic before the atmosphere between you two could shift in a negative way.

“You have a radio.” your finger pointed to the one sitting on a small table inside the cell right next to a stack of read-through books. “I’m sure you have an idea of what it’s like.”

“But I would love to hear it from you.” there was an encouraging smile on his lips that you could not resist, no matter what.

“Well, Karli’s dead. Sharon took care of her.” you began & watched him nodding approvingly. “Bucky finished his amends & it really looks like he’s doing much better. He’s taking baby steps but he’s doing well.” you could not suppress the small smile when you spoke about the super soldier. Helmut was not jealous. Bucky & you had become fast friends over time.

“Could you deliver a message from me?” he continued after a hum from you. “Tell James that I am happy for him. And thank him from me.” that warmed your heart. All of the previous disputes aside, they had started tolerating each other. You would not go as far as calling them friends but what was not could still be.

“I will.” you promised with certainty. “Right, um…Sam is Captain America. This job is made for him. I truly believe, with him, we’ll achieve great things.” you quieted down, not exactly knowing how to continue.

“So you established Sam’s & James’ success. But what about you?” he read you too easily. No other person saw through you like he did. That affirmed the close bond you two shared even further.

“What about me?” a phony dumfounded expression was plastered on your face.

“How have you been doing?” it was a question with so much emotion & care hidden beneath, it brought tears to the corners of your eyes instantly. Your attempts to blink them away were gratuitous. They started rolling down over your cheeks. So fast, in fact, you could not even wipe them away with your sleeves in time. Helmut’s heart broke at this sight of you. It was clear as day that you experienced a rough patch. The cause of it was him being imprisoned, that much he knew. “Talk to me.” he whispered & cursed the guards for not granting his partner access inside his cell. But they thought he would plan another escape. At the same time, they were unaware that he would not take the risk to jeopardize your safety with a second try.

“It’s…” you took a deep breath to steady your voice & avoid the wavering & cracking. “It’s been hard.” you admitted quietly. “Without you.” you finished. Your eyes flickered up to his face. His look brought you the tiniest bit of contentment. The way his body language could comfort you in such a way was prodigious.

“Love.” the nickname gained your entire attention. It was like all of your worries melted away by the simple sound of it rolling from his lips. The tears did not stop but they were mixed with happiness now. Gratitude that you shared this moment with him. You were here. Helmut was here. Similar to how it used to be. Yet, entirely different. “Please look at me when I tell you this.” & you obeyed without a second thought. “You are my world. If I could change this situation, trust me that I would instantly. I understand your struggles. And I abominate that I cannot dispose of your demons. Or make them part of my own. Your pain causes me aching ten times worse. It is painful seeing you like this. My love, you must promise me one thing.” it was hard for him to get through this speech without his voice fading at the emotions he was experiencing. But he had to stay strong for you. It would only cause you more distress if you noticed him showing how affected he truly was.

“Anything, Helmut.” your reply followed straight after. If he asked you for something, you would do your very best to make him proud of you.

“Promise me to take care of yourself. I would hate to watch you disappear because of me.” the sincerity assured you how important it was to him.

“Helmut, I don’t think I coul-“ he shushed you when he spotted what you were intending to do.

“Promise me, my love.” he repeated & you closed your eyes briefly, releasing another wave of tears.

“I promise.” your eyelids slowly opened & you could detect the relief in his at your words.

“How did you persuade them into visiting an inmate?” the atmosphere had shifted to a relaxing feel once again. And his attempt to start another conversation was welcomed.

“I didn’t do anything. Though I’ve tried multiple times…Sam came to my aid.” you chuckled at the memory & the excitement you emitted after his call. The news had been the best in a very long time.

“Ah, of course, if Captain America requests a visitation…” Helmut started.

“The chiefs are on board in an instant.” you finished his sentence & the both of you laughed at the tomfoolery.

“Means that Sam is the reason for your stay.” you confirmed his thought process quietly. “Please express my gratitude for him as well.”

“Will do.” you wanted to maintain the dialogue with him but a loud noise from behind you caught you by surprise. The same guard who had instructed your appropriate behavior inside these hallways was back. There was a look on his face you could not quite identify but it left you uneasy.

“Time’s over.” the statement felt like someone stabbed you with a knife. Not once, not twice. Multiple times to cause as much damage as possible. Helmut then stood up from the floor, gesturing for you to do the same. The moment you were on your feet again, your knees were close to giving out. Digging deep inside, you mustered all the strength you had left & fixed your posture. You did that to avoid radiating a fragile appearance. “Bid your goodbyes, I’ll wait by the door.” the guard took his place in the doorway, waiting for you to approach him. Your body faced Helmut’s & you rested both of your hands on the glass in front of you. He mimicked you & if it were not for the transparent border, you would have touched.

“I’ll miss you.” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against the boundary.

“I will miss you more.” he followed right after. “But you are always here with me.” one hand rested above his heart. Goodbyes were difficult. Especially with the ulterior motive of not returning the following day. It would most likely take a while until you would face him again. Secretly, so nobody could discern what you were doing, you pulled a small paper out of your pocket & pushed it through one of the many, tiny holes in the glass wall. It dropped to the floor on the other side. Helmut sent you a questioning glance which you retuned with a soft, gentle smile. Coughing behind you brought you back to reality. You had to leave. As much as it hurt, you turned your back to Helmut & distanced yourself from his cell. Arriving at the exit, you looked over shoulder one last time. One last time, your eyes locked. One last time, you let your tender features speak. One last time. While you walked away from him, he picked the small paper up from the ground. Unfolding it with much care, his eyes got stuck on three little words that were neatly curved in your handwriting. So when your eyes met, he returned that favor without anyone realizing it. His lips moved & you saw him mouthing that same phrase back. Your smile grew wider, as did his. And then you were gone. Of course, you would come back. And with Sam’s help, it would probably be sooner rather than later. He stared at the door where you just walked through. His gaze then turned to the paper in his hands. Never would he let go of it again. He would treat it like it was made out of gold. To him, it was. And it was worth so much more. The feeling it triggered inside of him could not be purchased. It could only be provided by a special someone. That special someone was you. Reading through the note one more time, he sat down on the uncomfortable mattress. The displeasure was ignored for now. For a minute, he bathed in the loving emotions you brought to him.

“I love you. -xo(Y/N)”

Published (05/09/2021) by Cathy

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Tags: @there-will-be-p-e-a-c-e, @simply-skeletons, @weareironmanbitches, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @trelaney, @bibliophilewednesday, @msmarvelsmain, @takacsgram, @ya-boi-is-dead, @deamus-liv, @therenlover (thanks for your support <3)

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Diplomatic Daemati Part 2

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: @itscheybaby recommended doing more parts for this series and I had more ideas so we’re going for it. Part 1 Here

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) At 2,310 words this isn’t quite as long as the first one, but given I wrote 1,200 words per one shot for years, I’m apparently doing better lol

^^^^^

The week between the High Lords’ meeting and my first visit to the Night Court passed quickly. My soldier training was temporarily halted in lieu of diplomatic training. As well as Thesan giving me the rundown of what was known about the reclusive Night Court.

The day arrived for my departure, and I realized I didn’t know how I was supposed to get there. I could fly—but that would involve crossing the Day Court territory and would take more than all day. Hours longer than I could afford without angering Rhysand. Rhys, I guess. I didn’t have enough power to winnow, either, but I doubted Thesan would know where to drop me off; if he could even take me at all.

I mused over breakfast how I was supposed to get there when a crack of thunder almost made me drop my toast.

High Lord Rhysand stood in the mess hall otherwise empty of any legion soldiers besides officers, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, tendrils of night wafting off of him. “Good morning, emissary,” he greeted casually. My fellow officers stared. “Ready to go?”

“Allow me to grab my bag,” I said, rising from my bench. He waved me off. Dismissive, casually aloof. I went to my officer’s quarters, grabbed my bag, and went back to the mess hall. Rhys held a hand out for me. “I’ve never winnowed before.” My trepidation made him smirk as I reached out and took his hand.

His grin was feline. “I’ll be gentle then.”

I doubted that, but didn’t dare say so out loud.

Winnowing was darkness and wind buffeting me from all sides. Pulling me apart and slamming me back together simultaneously. I clenched Rhys’ hand so tight my knuckles blanched.

Then it stopped. “Welcome to the Night Court,” Rhys remarked.

We were standing in a beautiful palace of moonstone. It reminded me of the sunstone of Thesan’s palace, but different—grand in a simple but elegant way. I found I liked the aesthetics of it better.

Rhys let go of my hand.

“Being daemati,” he began without preamble as I stared at the palace perched atop a mountain peak, “is about more than just reading the current thoughts of those around you. It’s not just speaking mind-to-mind or taking control of someone entirely.” He strode down the open-air hall to a glass table and sat. I took the seat opposite him at his indication and set down my bag.

“Being daemati,” he continued, “is having everything they are laid bare before you. Every memory, every secret, every muscle, under your control. You can alter their memories, stop their blood from flowing, shatter their minds to turn them into a living ghost. It’s a gift not to be taken lightly.” He lounged on his chair without a care in the world, but his eyes burned as he stared at me. “You understand?”

I nodded. “I understand.”

The High Lord seemed satisfied by my response. “Good. Then let’s get you settled in and then we can properly begin your training. Daemati lessons in the morning, diplomacy in the afternoon. You’ll be here for a week, and then you will return home for the time being. High Lord Thesan will be in touch discussing when you will return. When you’re alone in the Dawn Court, I suggest you practice what we work on here.”

I nodded again.

Rhys stood, I followed. He strode back the way we came down the hall.

“You’re allowed to fly, too, by the way, while you’re here. But please do not go farther than this peak and the ones adjacent. All the mountains in this range look the same and I do not have time to find you or send out a search party if you get lost.”

Reasonable. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Shall we get started?”

We made it to the back of the hall, where a large wall of marble with doors inset in it was waiting. I followed Rhys through one, down a flight of stairs, and into a beautiful guest bedroom. I stared around at the room, jaw gaping. “This… is not what I expected. No offense,” I said.

An amused smile appeared on his face. “No screaming, no torture chambers, no blatant debauchery?” he asked.

My ears and neck burned in shame. “Well… the Night Court has a… harsh reputation,” I admitted.

“It’s not an unwarranted one. But the wicked members of my court reside elsewhere. Deep beneath this mountain, actually. They’re not allowed up here. And you will not be interacting with them. Your business with me has nothing to do with them. So, you won’t be subjected to the worst the Night Court has to offer.”

“Thank the Mother,” I breathed. My wings drooped a bit with relief. Rhys smirked, crossing his arms across his ribs and leaning against the doorframe.

“Go ahead and unpack, if you wish. Then meet me upstairs in the hall.”

“Okay,” I said. Rhys slipped out of the guest room. I set my small leather rucksack next to the armoire. I hadn’t brought much in the way of clothing. A few semi-formal outfits, my ceremonial uniform, some sleep clothes, and that was pretty much it. There wasn’t much to unpack, so I didn’t bother. Just stared around the incredible room—including the pool-sized bathtub that allowed water to flow into thin air off the side of the mountain.

When I’d stared my fill, I went back upstairs to the open-air hall. Rhys was lounging in that chair at the table again. He must have known I was there, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge me.

I hadn’t made it halfway when claws slammed into my shields. Dark ones. Powerful ones. My shield held strong, but I felt it strain. I grunted.

“Huh,” Rhys mused. “For a self-taught daemati, you’ve got a pretty good shield.”

“Thank you,” I said, walking forward to retake my seat across from him.

His power slammed into my shields again, before I could reach him. Much stronger this time. My shield shattered before I could reinforce it.

Those claws dug into my mind. I wondered if they hurt non-daemati. They made me stagger, landing on one knee and definitely bruising my kneecap. Push me out, Rhys’ voice said in my head, so loud and so overwhelming that I put my hands over my ears in a futile attempt to block it out. Shove me out!

“How?” I demanded. Tears welled up in my eyes. The claws twisted—and the tears drained. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Everything was under Rhysand’s control.

He stood from the table and strode over to me. I couldn’t move my eyes to track his progress. His boots appeared in my line of sight and he crouched in front of me. A claw twisted and my eyes looked up to meet his. Out of my control.

“Shove me out of your head,” he said. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

How?! I pleaded internally. Everything was so dark—overshadowed by such immense power… it must have dwarfed even the other High Lords’ reserves…

Shove. Me. Out.

Darkness. His power was darkness.

I was a Peregryn soldier of the Dawn Court.

In my head, I clamped down my surging panic and released my own power. The streaks of dawn broke over his shroud. I sent each shaft of light to his claws. Pushing them out of my head, building my shield behind them. More rays of the rising sun pierced the clouds of night. With a final push, I hurled those claws away from me, slamming my shield back into place and reinforcing it. Once. Twice.

Control of my own body flooded back to me. I slumped, face-first, to the moonstone floor. Panting. Sweaty.

I heard a soft thud. Rhysand sat on the ground. “Not bad,” he remarked. “The light. Not a choice I would have thought of from you. I’m impressed—and, bear in mind, that’s not a compliment I give easily.”

Chest heaving, I pushed up to meet his eyes. He was sitting with his ankles crossed, long legs stretched out before him, arms braced on the floor behind him in an easy-going posture. “You don’t believe in starting slow, do you?” The demand came out as more of an exhausted plea—which I hated. I wasn’t weak. I was a soldier—an officer—not some downy fledgling. I was just new to this level of skill.

He shrugged. “I wasn’t taught slowly. Besides, I had no intention of doing you any harm. There was no real danger. But teaching you the most important skills right off the bat will give you greater advantages if you ever come across another daemati.”

My breathing finally slowed. I wiped my sweat off on my sleeve. My wings were still trembling. I flapped them half-heartedly to ease out the tension. Rhys’ eyes followed them.

“What… what did you see?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said—” I cleared my throat. “You said every memory is laid bare before you, when you’re in someone else’s mind. What did you see?”

“I didn’t. This is a training exercise. Despite what the other courts are led to believe, I’m not heartless. I understand that as an officer in Thesan’s aerial legion, you probably know a few secrets of the court.”

I scoffed. “Bold of you to assume High Lord Thesan trusts me that much. Did you see me at the meeting last week? At the far end of his left-hand side? The lowest rank?”

“He trusts you enough to defend his life in a room full of the most powerful men in Prythian,” Rhysand pointed out.

My expression dropped. I’d never thought about it like that.

Rhysand laughed. “Did that just occur to you?”

I didn’t reply. Just pushed myself to my feet. I fluffed my feathers with a shake of my shoulders and shook my hands through my hair in an attempt to fix it up a little. Rhys stood in one smooth motion.

“Can we sit for the next part? That trip hurt my knee.” I gestured to the bruise forming on the bottom of my kneecap, exposed under the hem of my trousers.

“Sure.”

I preceded him to the table and sat down. The chair—I hadn’t paid it any mind before, due to being used to it in a Peregryn legion—but the chair was built to accommodate wings. I looked back at it, and then faced the front again. Rhysand sat opposite me. I pointed to the chair. “This is made for wings,” I said.

He nodded. “I have Illyrians in my lands, remember? Two of them are my closest counsel,” he said.

“I remember. I guess I just never considered… that you’d have chairs made for them here. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making assumptions. About this place. About your court in general. It’s rude.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Assumptions and expectations are how we survive and prepare for the worst to do so.” He shrugged.

“You really didn’t look at any of my memories?”

“No. I will respect the terms of our business.”

“Thank you.”

“I will ask, too, that you do the same. When we get to that point in your training.”

“Of course,” I said. I definitely didn’t want to see what was inside his head. The wickedness of the Night Court’s reputation… any atrocities he’d caused or committed… I didn’t want details.

He inclined his head to me. “Thank you.” He looked out to the mountains surrounding us. “We may not get to that this week, though. We’ll see.”

I nodded.

“The next bit of your training we can discuss before demonstrating. They’re the two biggest rules of being daemati. The first is: if you delve into someone’s mind, keep your exit open so a fellow daemati doesn’t leave their shields down and slam them shut behind you, trapping you in their mind. You become their slave. No control over anything. Unable to get out.”

My wings shuddered as a chill went down my spine. Rhysand smirked slightly.

“Second rule: be prepared to see things you might not like and definitely don’t want to see. Unpleasant memories. Evidence of your father having an affair. Lives are messy and complicated. It’s part of being daemati.”

I nodded. “I know that part already,” I said.

The smile turned from amused to an understanding purse of the lips. “I know you do. Based on what you said at the meeting.”

His claws lashed at my shields again. They glinted harmlessly off. My reinforcements held. Rhysand nodded in approval. “Not bad.”

“The third rule, I’m guessing, is always be prepared for your mind to be attacked at any moment.”

“That’s optional, but yes.”

“So, if I may ask, my lord, what was with the droning at the meeting?”

“I sensed another daemati in the room. Magic brushing my shield, passing through the room against everyone else’s. I just couldn’t pinpoint who. So I sent out a wave to test who it was. You resisted for a long time, actually. Longer than I would have imagined. Then you screamed. Which startled me, actually. I didn’t know it was you, at first. But during the mingling afterward, I saw you alone. Everyone else was talking, but you were shaking. Your wings were trembling. I took a guess. Figured I’d wipe the encounter from your mind if I turned out to be wrong.” He smirked. “But I wasn’t.” There was the arrogance I recognized. I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. “Sorry. That was probably unpleasant.”

“Understatement,” I muttered.

Another laugh. Then he went quiet. “Shall we move on to the next demonstration? About leaving the way out open?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yes. Let’s move on.”

[flowesona]

catnip - yandere! hybrid yoongi x reader

“Just stay here for me, okay Yoongi?” The hybrid nodded, even if he was still shivering slightly. He’d freaked out seeing where they were parked, crying about her adopting someone else.

His emotional reaction had tugged at (Y/N)’s heartstrings to no end. She was starting to second guess her decision, but it was the right thing to do. 

“Be back soon.” Yoongi nodded, still sniffling slightly as he curled up in the car seat, letting her climb out and close the door gently behind her.

The shelter still smelt strongly of disinfectant. He’d complained about the smell one night to her, humming about how glad he was he would never have to spend another night there. The thought of him finding out how he was wrong was heartbreaking, yet (Y/N) pushed on, right up to the reception desk where the same kind faced volunteer was typing away.

“Hi?” She spoke up timidly. The young woman glanced up, beaming.

“Ah, Miss (L/N)! Just in time! I was going to call you to ask how you two were getting along. Is Yoongi settling in alright?” 

“Well, that’s the thing. Yoongi doesn't seem to be very… comfortable.” (Y/N) posited, fidgeting slightly. “He got in a fight with one of the neighbour’s hybrids about a week ago. Left him quite injured. And I don’t want to risk such an incident recurring.”

That was the best way to describe the incident. She’d left Yoongi with her neighbour’s fellow cat hybrid whilst she had a cup of coffee and a catch up with him, only to hear a loud ruckus a few minutes later and discover the two in a serious scuffle, both ending up with serious scratches on their arms. When she’d taken Yoongi home, apologising to her neighbour profusely all the while, she interrogated him on why he did it, only to have her reprimands shrugged off as Yoongi chose instead to weep about how he felt so lonely whenever she wasn’t in the room.

That’s not to say that Yoongi was a demonic hybrid. Compared to the horror stories she’d heard from her friends about hybrids attacking their owners or destroying their homes, Yoongi was practically a saint. He provided pleasant company, always happy to curl up with her as she talked about her day or laying his head on her lap so that she would scratch behind his ears in a way that made him practically purr in delight. But the bad moments stood out more than the positive ones, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure she could cope with the irregularity of his moods.

All in all, he was nearly the perfect companion. But she didn’t want to give up her friendship with her neighbour, and the fear that she couldn’t provide enough emotional support was pushing her to help him find a new owner.

“Really? He never showed that kind of behaviour with his previous family. Are you sure it wasn’t just a simple disagreement that escalated on both sides?” The receptionist frowned, her hand resting on the computer mouse.

“There was another occasion. He attacked a human yesterday. My brother.”

Like the last time, she had no idea what happened. Her brother had just dropped by to greet her as he was in town, but when she’d gone to get him a glass of water, she heard them talking. All of a sudden she heard a yelp, as if someone was in pain, and when she returned her brother was halfway out the door. 

“Get that mutt of yours put down. He’s no good.” Was all he said before slamming the door in her face. She’d tried to pry what happened out of Yoongi, but once again he cried to her about being unloved. Rather than feeling pity for his feelings, she felt irritated beyond all else that he was refusing to take the blame for wounding her brother. 

Ultimately, to (Y/N) blood was thicker than water, which led her to the adoption center to see about relocating Yoongi.

“I see. We’ll have him assessed to see if he’s a threat to any other humans, and I’m very sorry that happened to your family. Did you bring him here with you?” The receptionist finally started to tap away at her computer, leaving (Y/N) with a bittersweet feeling.

“Yes. He’s in the car.” 

“Okay. If you want to say goodbye and bring him in here? And if you ever miss him you can always call us and we’ll tell you how he’s doing.” The young woman gave (Y/N) a kind smile. 

Each step felt like she was wading through glue. She was scared about what would happen, about how Yoongi would feel. No doubt, he wouldn’t react well to the news considering how just being in the area of his old accommodation was enough to trigger a meltdown.

“Yoongi? How are you feeling?” She slid into the driver's seat. He lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, cocking his head to one side. A seemingly innocent question sent shivers down her spine, though she wasn’t sure why. Yoongi was good, he just didn’t get along with the people around her right?

“There’s someone who wants to check up on you. You need to come inside the building with me, okay?” The little white lie hurt to say, as she held out her hand for him to take. Yoongi looked apprehensive, but when she gave him a nod of encouragement he reached out to take it.

She would miss the way his warm hand felt curled around hers. Especially when, late into the evenings when he thought she was asleep, he’d snuggle his cheek into her hand for comfort, falling asleep quickly in her hold.

Yoongi was becoming more tense as they entered, wincing at the strong smell and pressing his face into her shoulder, as he’d done a few times when there was strong thunder and lightning.

She made eye contact with the receptionist, to let her know she should get a keeper to help take him away.

“Yoongi, you’re a very good boy aren’t you?” She said softly, feeling him nod as he stayed clung to her back.

“The people here are going to take good care of you, aren’t they? I want you to stay strong for me.”

He froze.

“What do you mean? (Y/N), you’ll stay with me whilst they help me right?” Yoongi’s breathing was getting heavier, his eyes widening in terror.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, wanting nothing more than to keep lying but not having the guts to do so.

“I don’t want to stay here. Please, can’t we go home? I’m a good boy, I swear!” It was just as bad as she expected. Luckily, two of the keepers had arrived just in time.

The second Yoongi was separated from (Y/N) by another human, he became fully hysterical.

“Let go of me! No! Don’t you dare take me away from her!” He cried out, thrashing against the hold of the keepers.

“He’ll be absolutely fine, Miss. No need to worry.” One of the keepers panted, trying their best to keep the now feral Yoongi, who was hissing and scratching at them.

(Y/N) turned her back on the chaos, trying not to feel guilty as she heard the cries grow fainter and fainter. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

By the position of the moon in the night sky, Yoongi could tell it had hit midnight. He’d spent the afternoon and most of the evening pacing his room, with the same old white walls and tiny window. He’d tried to break the glass, but his hands were no match for the triple glazed glass.

But the heartache he felt from losing (Y/N) was worse than any pain some bruised knuckles could cause. He’d been scared that he was pushing it. The first few times that he played the victim after lashing out, she seemed to forgive him. But it was her brother that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back - all Yoongi had done was try to suggest that her brother shouldn’t return to their apartment as he clearly wasn’t needed, and (Y/N)’s sibling had been completely unreasonable in rejecting the idea. But when he’d tried gaining her sympathy after the matter, she evidently didn’t believe him, thus he was dumped.

Even if he’d initially been angry at (Y/N) for leaving him, that emotion didn’t stick around for long. The sick “love” he’d developed for her triumphed anything she could ever do. He had to be by her side, to protect her from any man that might try to corrupt her - that was his new purpose in life, and there was no way he could let the pound keep him from that.

With newfound will, he slammed his body into the door of his room. The lock rattled, but didn’t budge. He slammed into it again, and then a final time to see the bolt shattering. 

Yoongi didn’t even wait to catch his breath, hurrying through the halls with nimble feet and light breath. Even in his tantrum earlier he’d been taking in the layout of the building, so he could find his way back. 

Fortunately, this paid off as he was able to get to the reception, meaning he was so close he could practically feel the warmth of (Y/N)’s bed again. Unfortunately, he was not alone. There was a security guard at the reception desk, yawning and sipping a piping cup of coffee. When he saw the escaping hybrid he reached for something on his belt only for Yoongi to pounce first, knocking him to the ground. The frustration inside Yoongi built up, this man being the sole obstacle in his journey to find (Y/N), and before he knew quite what he was doing his sharp fingernails had tore the guard’s throat out, leaving him to choke on his own blood. 

Seeing the pathetic human reaching for a phone, presumably to call the other security guard for help, Yoongi snatched it far out of reach and crushed the guard’s hand underneath his foot with a satisfying crunch. As a final gesture Yoongi spat on him, smirked, and snatched up the keys.

Once he was outside, locking the door behind him, Yoongi was elated. He just had to find a way back to his home, and even if his head was too messed up to think of the directions, his heart could guide the way. Navigating the dark city streets, ducking into corners when he saw people knowing that he could be busted at any second, all whilst racking his brains for the directions to the apartment. If only he’d left the comfort of home more often, he wouldn’t be in such a tough situation.

Finally, he started to recognise the area he was in. Even better, he was starting to pick up her scent, until finally he found himself outside of their apartment block.

He knew where he was now, and he couldn’t help but to dash up the stairs, not caring about the noise, until he found her apartment. There, after trying the doorknob only to find it locked, he rapped on the door continuously, until finally it opened for him.

He launched himself into (Y/N)’s arms upon seeing her, leading to her stumbling back in shock and ending up on the floor. Yoongi just laughed in delight.

“I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). Never let them take me like that again, okay?”

[bittykimmy13]

Playing with Fire  (18+ GT Drama / Horror)

Premise: Sequel to Heart of Gold. Sherry navigates a vicious life teeming with cruel and lustful giants eager to get their hands on her. The only lifeline within reach is the person who sealed her fate.

Warning: Graphic descriptions of sexual assault, violence, and dehumanization in a GT context. This is not intended to be fetish material; commenting on it as such will result in an immediate block.

Print/Trinket Universe and characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5​ / @little-miss-maggie​, who made the sick header image <3

(( Read Heart of Gold here ))

(( More from the Print/Trinket Universe ))

"I already told you, I'm done. Delete my number."

"One last time, Sher, please. You can't turn your back on me now."

"What'd you do this time?"

"I just... I need you here. Please. I know how we left things. I understand if you never wanna see me again, but I need your help. This is the last time I'll ever bother you, I swear."

Tears drenched Sherry's face. Her attempts to drift away from her current hell led her down the most miserable memories. She wasn't sure which was worse: revisiting the moment she ruined her life, or being present enough to confront her ruined life.

A voice huffed overhead, forcing her to choose the latter. "Stop crying already. Fuck."

But Sherry couldn't stop. She didn't have a clue what was happening or why. All she knew was that she was pinned to a cold metal table while a human woman tried to fit a gold collar over her head.

Agent Taylor. That was what her badge said.

The cabinet doors had flown open at Zane's place, and the reaper's cold eyes had filled the space. Her grasping hands wrecked the makeshift shelter while she thwarted Sherry and Adam's pitiful attempts to bolt out of reach. They had been dumped into a glass cage and then separated before they reached their final destination.

Adam was nowhere to be seen. Was he being forced into a collar somewhere else? And what about Odessa? She had not been caged with them. Maybe because she had been captured by a different reaper.

"Please," Sherry whimpered, twisting her head side to side to avoid the collar. "W-what are you doing? Why am I here?"

Taylor wound Sherry's teal hair around one fingertip and tugged so sharply that Sherry screamed. The back of her head slammed against the table, making the world turn fuzzy. She squinted through the blinding fluorescent lights to see the reaper's annoyed expression hanging over her.

"Stop squirming, or I'll snap your pretty little neck, you hear me?" Taylor looked down at her with disgust. "I don't have a clue why Mitchell insisted on keeping a whiner like you, but you should be grateful. The best thing a trinket can hope to be is a snake."

"A-A... what?"

Fingertips viciously groped Sherry's neck until she held still enough for the perfect gold circle to slip over her head. The invasive hands pulled away finally. Panting, Sherry sat up and felt her collar all around, intending to yank it off. Impossibly, it retracted to a smaller size and settled snugly around her neck. There was no clasp to be found. Smart metal—the kind that was used on tracking cuffs for prints. Since when was such expensive material used on trinkets?

Feeling like she couldn't draw a full breath, Sherry whimpered and clawed at the collar. She felt the thin engraving of an inscription etched along the metal, but she was not interested in deciphering it.

"Don't bother." A hand swept Sherry into a fist, pinning her arms awkwardly against her body. "Mess with it too much, and it'll choke you out before you can even think to regret it."

Sherry trembled in the woman's grasp—not only from fear, but from the shock of being handled so roughly. She had been spoiled by Zane's consideration and careful touches, even if he had turned out to be a lying bastard in the end. Hours ago, she had felt like a real person, and already it seemed like a fever dream to ignore what she really was.

Trinket. Criminal. Doll. Prisoner.

She was whisked out of the small, blinding room and taken into what appeared to be the main hub of a police station. Sherry shivered harder than ever. The giants typing away at computers and chatting around the desks were not regular cops. These were reapers, government agents specifically tasked with the repossession of wayward prints and trinkets.

Although she fit the category of wayward trinket, she figured she would have been shipped straight to a facility to be redistributed to another bar. Maybe a brothel as punishment for her misguided attempts to be rescued by the rebellion. Why was she still here?

"New snake?" boomed an unfamiliar voice. A reaper passing by Agent Taylor eyed Sherry like a choice cut. She shrank away from his stare, which only seemed to encourage him. He stopped to reach out and brush a finger over her hair. "Where'd you nab this one?"

"Some barfly who can't get his story straight about whether he's black market or rebellion." Taylor made no move to thwart the other reaper from lifting Sherry's chin to see her tear-soaked face better. "Either way, the truth will come out. We got taped confirmation about a meet-up tomorrow at noon."

The guy whistled, finally pulling his hand away. "A confession and a follow-up location? Lemme guess. Odessa?"

"Who else?"

The mention of Odessa's name made Sherry perk up, but the conversation ended before she could make sense of what had been said. She'd been too preoccupied about being petted like a captive mouse.

Taylor took her to the center of the station. What Sherry saw made her stomach churn. A glass labyrinth of trinket-sized rooms sat atop a huge table. There were faint lines of translucent circuits within the walls that suggested it was no ordinary glass. There was no ceiling on the enclosure, as though a pet store had decided to set up shop in the middle of the government establishment.

"Welcome home," Taylor said derisively. "For however long you last. We call this the Warren."

The longer Sherry stared at the enclosure, the sicker she felt. There were over a dozen rooms. The walls offered no privacy, other than one cubicle that had sheets thrown up over the sides for some reason—but it still lacked a ceiling. There were doorways, but no doors. None of the openings provided a path onto the table. No exits. The only way a trinket could leave was if a human plucked them out.

Sherry was released into one of the cubicles, which looked like a rough draft of a bedroom. She backed up against the wall, shivering. She eyed the doorway, but with a reaper glaring down at her, there was no point in making a run for it. Her trembling legs were hard to convince.

Blessedly, Agent Taylor turned her attention to a tablet that lay beside the Warren and tapped away at it. "Name?"

Flinching, Sherry clutched her hands close to herself and stared up blankly.

"Tell me a name, or I'll pick one for you." Taylor's eyes flickered to her. "You look like a 'Diva' to me."

"Sh—" She swallowed a sob. "Sherry."

Taylor made a noise of ridicule under her breath. Perhaps like Zane, she didn't believe that was her real name and that it was really what she had been saddled with when being passed around at a bar. Whatever she thought, the reaper typed something into the tablet. Circuits along the wall flickered, and Sherry's name appeared in translucent letters on the wall by the doorway. It was then she noticed that the other rooms had names, too. The one across from hers was Raquel.

Despite her best judgment, Sherry couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Tell me what's happening," she said, hating the pathetic note of pleading in her voice. "Please. I... I don't understand."

She had never begged as a trinket. Not at the facility. Not at the bar. Not when she was worried that Zane's impossibly gentle touch was fake. But she had been able to make some sense out of those situations. For the life of her, she could not pinpoint what she had done to end up in the Warren with Agent Taylor leering down at her.

The reaper, forthcoming as ever, gave her a barbed smirk. "Do a good job, and you'll be rewarded. Do a shitty job, and you'll be at the mercy of that new necklace of yours. Do a particularly shitty job, and you won't even get that mercy. We'll leave you to the wolves to do as they please. Simple as that."

There was nothing simple about it.

Agent Taylor tossed the tablet onto the table and strode off without telling Sherry what her job was.

For a few minutes, Sherry couldn't do more than stand in one spot while her thoughts reeled. The moment it sank in that nothing stopped her from walking through the doorway of her assigned room, she stepped out. The glass walls were so clean, she might have walked right into a few if not for the pale circuits within.

She came across three other trinkets in her tentative exploration of the Warren. None were helpful. A couple of them were sleeping in their own rooms, and one was sitting on the floor in a central hub area.

He stared up at a news channel playing on a wallscreen that was embedded into the glass. Sherry didn't even realize they made screens so miniature, let alone that there were any systems in place that allowed trinkets to use them. It felt like a twisted, sanitized version of Zane's makeshift trinket hideout.

"Hi?" Sherry said, her voice thready. She stopped a few feet from him. No, inches. Inches. "Can you tell me what's going on here? What is this place? W-what do they want with us?"

He didn't look away from the screen. Didn't say a word.

"Hello? Can you hear me? Please... I-I have no idea—"

"You'll figure it out," he grunted. "Or maybe you won't. We don't bother each other around here, I'll tell you that much." He gave her a razor-sharp glance that told her it was time to stop bothering him.

She retreated back to her room and hugged herself on the bed. That's all there was. No pillow, no sheets. She had glimpsed a few other rooms. Most were fairly simple, but others were adorned with extra accommodations. More pillows, thicker blankets, extra furniture, a box packed with clothes. A couple even had their own wallscreens.

All around the outside the Warren, the reaper station went on business as usual. Footsteps thudded back and forth past the enclosure, but despite Sherry's instinct to duck down out of sight, no one seemed to give the trinkets more than a passing glance. As if the glass cage was no more out of place than a light fixture.

Although intense confusion continued to plague her thoughts, her adrenaline waned and exhaustion crept in. She absently felt along her collar to trace the letters and numbers. C117.

Without realizing she had curled up on her side, she fell into a fitful sleep.

She couldn't be sure how long she had laid there by the time heavy footsteps rattled the floors and walls, closer than before. Sherry jolted in bed, but she kept her head down. She debated on whether it would be a better idea to sit up or pretend to be asleep. A shiver ran through her at the thought that a person was towering over the Warren, looking down at her.

A familiar voice silenced her internal debate—a voice that didn't belong to a massive reaper.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't know."

Odessa.

Sitting up, Sherry almost tripped over her own feet as she scrambled for the doorway. She gripped the glass edge and looked high up. The reaper who had approached was still there. A cold spike of recognition ran through Sherry as she examined his icy blue eyes and dark hair. He had raided Zane's place along with Agent Taylor. Currently, he held Odessa in a fist and glared at her.

"Well, someone must have tipped them off," he snapped. "We've gone over the recording a dozen times—there's nothing left up to interpretation. A distributor was supposed to be there at noon. Are you sure there wasn't some change of plan? Did he ever look at his phone as if he received a message? Because I'm still feeling pretty fucking suspicious about how long it took for you to boot up your tracker."

Despite being trapped in a gigantic grip, Odessa didn't cower. That was strange. She had been so skittish around Zane, and here this reaper was raising his voice at her.

"I wouldn't have gotten the confession at all if you all had busted in any earlier," Odessa spat. "It's not my fault the distributor didn't show up. Maybe some neighbor spotted Zane being arrested and passed the info along. Could be that you all weren't subtle enough. Instead of asking me, why don't you ask Zane?"

The reaper scoffed. "Haven't been able to get another word out of him. He's already on the docket for trial. Let's see if he's so quiet during his follow-up interrogation at three inches tall."

The hand holding Odessa plunged and deposited her in a nearby hall of the Warren. Overwhelmed by the appearance of a friendly face, Sherry bottled from her doorway. Seconds after the hand retreated, she flung her arms around Odessa and held on tight.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Sherry gasped.

Odessa stiffened, but after a moment, she hugged Sherry back. "It's okay," she said softly. "Everything's going to be okay."

"I-I thought I'd be alone here. I heard what Zane said about being with the black market. I knew it. But they won't tell me what's going on here! What are they making you do? Zane just barely got you last night—how can they expect you to know anything about what he was up to?"

A laugh boomed from above, effectively reminding Sherry that they were being watched. She cowered, but Odessa seemed more annoyed than frightened as she held Sherry close. The glare she aimed upward looked like it had been bred in a blizzard.

"Oh, that's just precious," the reaper said, bracing his hands on the table to lean down closer to them. "You sure picked a bright one, didn't you, Odessa? Poor thing hasn't even put two and two together, has she?"

Sherry looked from his looming face to Odessa's icy expression. "What's he talking about?" Sherry asked.

Odessa sighed. "Let me explain—"

"Allow me," the reaper laid in overtop. The cruel amusement in his eyes should have been reserved for a kid frying ants with a magnifying glass. "Sherry, is it? Well, Odessa is the reason you were dragged from that cute little hideaway in the cupboard. I mean, if we hadn't stepped in, you'd be up for bid on the black market. But still. You were rounded up thanks to our expert two-faced bitch here. I suggest you start thinking of her as your new role model if you want to make it through your first week."

Sherry's desperate arms went slack. She wriggled out of Odessa's protective embrace. "He's... he's lying," Sherry said. "Tell me he's lying!"

But Odessa did not attempt to deny any of it. Fury and a sense of utter loneliness exploded through Sherry so violently that she nearly collapsed. Spotting this, Odessa caught her arms and kept her standing despite Sherry's protests.

"Fuck off, Mitchell," Odessa snarled. "Why don't you go figure out the Zane situation before the captain mounts your head on the wall?"

Agent Mitchell was still chuckling as he straightened to his full, dizzying height. "Better start explaining things to her quick. She'll be out in the field before you know it."

Odessa locked her hand in Sherry's and led her away. Still in shock, Sherry allowed herself to be taken. There was a room with Odessa's name displayed on the outside. If Sherry had only explored a little further, she would have saved herself a few precious moments of humiliation. Even more mind-boggling, this was the room with sheets thrown over the walls.

As they entered, Sherry's eyes widened. Odessa had more possessions than anyone she had seen so far.

"Sit." Odessa led her to a dollhouse chair against the wall.

Sherry ripped her hand away and glared, making no move to obey. Her throat was too tight with tears and anger to say all the things racing through her mind. Odessa took her by the shoulders and made her sit.

"Listen up." Odessa's fingers stayed perched firmly on Sherry's shoulders. They were nearly nose-to-nose. "I'm going to explain my job. Our job. Are you listening? When a human is suspected of stealing prints or trinkets, the best way to find everyone they've stolen is to send in a snake. That's us."

"That's you," Sherry protested, her voice a mere croak.

"No. It's us. Whether you like it or not, you have to understand right here and now that there's no choice, Sherry. Either you comply, or they'll send you somewhere worse."

Sherry shook her head. "You said or. Sure sounds like there's a choice in there somewhere."

"Not when one of the choices is a fucking stupid one." Odessa knelt by the chair and looked up at Sherry, taking her hand. A display of vulnerability meant nothing when it came from a professional liar. "I saved you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but this is the best thing I could've done for you."

"My collar disagrees." Sherry yanked her hands away, glaring daggers at Odessa's imploring expression. "If we're being set out as bait to catch these people, we're still ending up in bars. How is this any better?"

"The difference is that you'll be saved if you do your job right. You'll have a bed to sleep in. Food to eat. Moments of actual rest. Those other trinkets out in the world... They have nothing. They're dead."

"Oh, this is what you call living?"

Odessa pursed her lips, patience wearing thin. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it and say it's easy. It's the hardest job you'll ever have to do, but it's a job. You're not a doll or a sex toy or decoration anymore."

"You're right," Sherry spat. "I'm all those things at once, just depends on who the reapers plan to target, huh? Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," Odessa said simply, rising to stand in front of Sherry with her arms crossed tightly. "I'm expected to teach you what to do. So if you want to survive, I suggest you listen up."

Sherry scowled and clenched her hands on her lap, but she listened.

"Depending on the target, you need to tailor your personality to be tantalizing but believable. Some of these creeps have wizened up, or at least know that the reapers have a few tricks up their sleeves at this point. You just need to be something they want to take home with them. Whether it's for personal, black market, or rebellion reasons."

A sour look crossed Sherry's face. "So, that scared girl thing you did at Zane's place... that was just a routine to get him to nab you?"

Odessa scoffed. "Zane was hardly worth the effort. But then again, bar jobs are usually the easiest. The reapers work with the staff to make sure a snake gets served to the target. Those jobs are the most common. I'm sure that's what they'll assign you at first."

"And what about Adam?" Sherry said when he occurred to her suddenly. "Why isn't here, getting this informative seminar with me?"

"There's no way I could convince Mitchell to take you both."

"So... I'm just the lucky one you chose, then?"

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Odessa glanced away, frowning as if she was still processing her own decision. "I've never asked them to bring in a new snake before. But you were convincing when you hid your suspicions from Zane. Convincing enough that I know you'll be good at this job."

Before Sherry could help it, her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to be good at this job."

"Sher... I'm giving you something that didn't have before tonight. I'm giving you the power to take control instead of staying a helpless victim." Odessa leaned in closer and put her hands on Sherry's shoulders again, squeezing. "Lesson one. Never cry unless it benefits you."

One last time, Sher, please. You can't turn your back on me now.

Rage flooded over the fear. Sherry sprang to her feet and shoved Odessa to the ground, catching her off guard. "You're a fucking monster! Just as bad as Zane, and these reapers, and all the other psychos out there who can't keep their disgusting hands off trinkets!"

A shadow darkened over them. Mitchell seemed to materialize out of nowhere, his voice rumbling with dangerous amusement. "Well, well, trouble in paradise?"

Sherry made a choked noise and tripped over the doll chair as his hand dove down for her. She scrambled to kick her legs free of the flimsy furniture, but in no time at all, fingers closed around her body and yanked her out of Odessa's room. He observed her panicked struggles for only a moment before raising his eyebrows at Odessa.

"Guess you forgot to mention in your little orientation that fighting isn't tolerated."

"Back off," Odessa said, brushing herself off. "You've barely given me fifteen minutes with her."

"Hm. Didn't happen to teach her about the collar yet?"

"I was getting to it," Odessa said hurriedly. Her voice jumped in a way that made Sherry's skin crawl with dread.

That was all the answer he needed. He released Sherry on the table's expansive surface outside the Warren, right beside one of Odessa's walls. Odessa tore down one of the hanging sheets, pressing her hands to the glass.

"Just relax!" she ordered Sherry, seeming caught between genuine worry and cold nonchalance in Mitchel's looming presence.

"Oh, stop babying her," he chided, doing nothing to fight a sick smile of anticipation.

Mitchell's hand crowded Sherry again. She backed up frantically, but bumped into the glass, unable to avoid his fingertip as it tapped her collar. He went on conversationally as if she wasn't cowering under his gaze.

"Now, if you're out in the field and need to communicate, put your fingertips on both sides and hold for a few seconds. When you've got a solid enough confession from the target, turn on the tracker by tapping the sides three times." His finger pulled away, but not before dragging it down her shoulder, arm, and leg. "Timing is everything. You'll find that several targets scan for trackers, so be smart about when you activate it. You wouldn't want them to know your little secret."

Once his hand no longer filled her vision, she managed to shudder out the breath she had been holding. She reached for the collar, pursing her lips. He spotted the question on her face and chuckled.

"Why would we give you the power to choose when we come for you? Because we have a neat little failsafe in the event that you try to dodge us. I think you deserve a demonstration."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. The reaper logo was stamped on the back. He set it on the table in front of Sherry, giving her full upside-down view as he moved through screen after screen until he came upon a list of codes and names. He stopped and tapped on one of the pairs.

C117 - Sherry

Before she could process how quickly her identity had been synced in the reaper station, she couldn't breathe.

A cry squeaked past her throat. She coughed and tried to pry her fingertips under her collar as it constricted against her neck. Panic seized her. She fell to her knees and writhed uselessly, certain that the metal would decapitate her in its rapid compression against her windpipe.

Odessa's voice sounded far away. "You made your point, now quit it!"

"Just showing her what happens if she gets any bright ideas," Mitchell drawled.

He tapped his device. The collar sprang back to its normal, snug fit. Bracing one hand on the table, he leaned in closer to get a better look as Sherry put herself back together. Gasping, she managed to stand shakily.

"That's for trying to rough up my favorite snake," he told her in a low, dangerous voice. "If you don't turn on your tracker while you're on a job, it starts a little slower than that. You won't even notice at first. Like a frog in boiling water. Just don't even think about activating the tracker until you've recorded some evidence or found some hoarded inventory. You got it?"

Sherry stood there and trembled, reeling to process the way he referred to smuggled people as inventory.

His hand slammed down beside her and sent a shockwave that knocked her off her feet. She looked straight up as he put his face inches from her.

"I said, you got it?" Mitchell barked.

"Y-yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yessir!" She nodded frantically and pressed her back against the glass that separated her from Odessa, who looked on with wide, furious eyes.

"You done?" Odessa demanded of Mitchell. "Already collected plenty of material to jack off to later, don't you think?"

He smirked. "You know me so well."

In one smooth motion, he straightened and plucked up Sherry before she could think to be startled by it. He deposited her in Odessa's room, where she fell to her hands and knees. She didn't pause for a single second—she sprang to stand. Bolting from the room, she headed for her own, empty one. Mitchell's leer followed her path effortlessly, still laughing and watching when she reached her destination.

"Expect your first assignment tomorrow, new girl," he said. "Hope you'll leave a good review about orientation."

"I can't take this anymore. Why can't you just... just stop!"

"You don't understand, Sher. If we don't keep splitting it between us, I... You know what'll happen to me. Is that what you want? It is, isn't it? Then you'd be rid of me for good. Fucking finally, right?"

"Don't say that!"

The feeling in Sherry's gut was so familiar, it hurt like a freshly reopened wound. No matter which body she existed in, the universe demanded she be dragged into something she wanted nothing to do with. No choice but to follow through.

This time there was no family. There was no love, no urge to protect. There was only the will to see another day.

What's the point of seeing another day if this what the days are like?

As she lay in her depressing, issued bed and stared at the ceiling, she sincerely thought of running over to Odessa's room to punch her squarely in the face. Maybe Mitchell would swoop in and let the collar finish her off this time. But Sherry couldn't bring herself to budge. She stayed fixated on the fluorescent lights as the hours of the day dragged on. The lights never turned out—not even at night. Busting people for hoarding prints and trinkets was a twenty-four-hour business, but reapers could go home at the end of their shifts.

In all her waiting, she found herself becoming numb. By the time Agent Mitchell came stomping back to the Warren, she felt ready for whatever horror she was expected to carry out. At least she tried to lie to herself that she was ready. Odessa, a known liar, was certain that Sherry was an excellent one. So maybe she could convince herself.

"Four assignments tonight," Mitchell announced, reading from a tablet. "Odessa, Collin, Miranda, and Sherry."

Through the glass walls, she saw the summoned trinkets making their way to the common area. She followed suit, making sure to be as far away from Odessa as possible as they stood at attention.

Mitchell's gaze settled on Sherry immediately, seeming equal measures curious and amused as he wondered how she would react to carrying out her first job. She dropped her gaze to the floor. If some creep was going to toy with her tonight, the least she could do for herself was not let Mitchell get the ball rolling.

"Don't look so sad, Sherry," he chided. "You've got a bar tonight. Easy."

"I'll take her assignment," Odessa said as if she was commenting about the weather.

Sherry's head shot up to look across at Odessa. The other trinkets were staring too, while Mitchell raised his eyebrows steeply.

"See, that's a problem. Did you miss the part where you have your own job tonight?"

Odessa shrugged. "I'll do both. One after the other. She isn't ready yet, but the jobs need to be done, so I'll do them."

He scoffed. "What's the point of her taking up space here?"

"What space? Look around. Half the rooms are empty. Just give me more time to work with her, and she'll be as much of an asset as I am. You're risking her if you send her out too soon. Think long-term, Mitchell. She'll be worth it."

The reaper thought on it for a second, resting a hand over one of the outer walls and drumming his fingers on it. Looking more amused than ever, he turned his attention back to Sherry.

"And what do you say to that?" he asked her.

More than anything, Sherry wanted to demand what Odessa was playing at. Was this her way of apologizing? Sherry was not used to anyone taking the fall for her, but she stuffed down her shock with a cool look and mimed Odessa's shrug.

"If that's what she wants, you won't hear me complaining," Sherry said.

"Fine by me." Mitchell reached for Odessa. "As long as both jobs get done tonight."

And with that Sherry was left standing alone in the common area as the other snakes were plucked up as well. Dropping the pretense of her disinterest, she drew a deep breath and made a slow path back to her room. Along the way, she saw a couple of other snakes who had not been assigned anything that night. They rolled over in their beds, eyes open. No doubt they had heard the whole thing, but none of them had offered to take on Odessa's extra job.

Sherry spent the day drifting between her room and the common area, trying to block out the sounds of the station around the Warren. It was like existing as a ghost. Feeling real while having no significant impact on the real world.

She stared at the wallscreen as it played the news, but she may as well have been watching a broadcast from Jupiter for all the effect it had on her life. Watching the news from Zane's apartment had filled her with a weak sense of hope—at least, in those times when she could force herself to ignore how suspicious she was of his motives. Here, she was filled with nothing but sorrow, watching as the distant world went on without her.

Odessa had been taken at five in the afternoon. She was returned at four in the morning, looking as exhausted as Mitchell looked pleased. It must have been the end of his shift because he didn't stick around to torment anyone as the returning trinkets staggered to their rooms.

Sherry put up no argument when Odessa leaned in her doorway and beckoned her to follow.

"So... I'm guessing it went well?" Sherry asked once they were in Odessa's room.

She refused to give Odessa the satisfaction of immediately asking why she had taken the second job.

"I was responsible for three arrests." For all the extra privacy of her room, she didn't seem shy at all as she stripped off her skimpy bar outfit. Sherry averted her eyes to the corner as Odessa went on. "The first job was a well-off couple. They had been hoarding trinkets from bars and selling them on the side. Not part of any black market networks. Those are the easiest. They rarely have a clue what they're doing, and it's very obvious. Remember that."

Catching a flash of fabric out of the corner of her eye, Sherry peeked and saw Odessa had thrown on a sunflower dress. She did a double-take. It looked a lot like the one Zane had kept in his storage of trinket clothing.

"Independent sellers are easy," Sherry recited glumly. "And the other?"

"A low ranking distributor on the black market. He was crashing parties that had trinket rentals. Keep this in mind, too—those trinket rental services are the most notorious for losing their inventory. Too many moving pieces and rarely a solid guest list to keep track of."

Sherry nodded, sinking into the dollhouse chair as she tried to process it all. "How did you pull that one off?"

"I was alone. I made myself the easiest one for him to grab. So he did." Odessa leaned against one of the sheeted walls and crossed her arms. Her eyelids looked heavy. "It was hard getting info out of him. See, distributors are usually either batshit crazy or stoic. Still, at the end of the day, what most of them love is to feel powerful. The trick was for me to be awed and skeptical. In the end, he wanted for me to know how much of a badass he was."

Something cold warmed through Sherry as she watched Odessa rub her arms up and down like she was trying to rid herself of a lingering sensation.

"And did they..." Sherry cleared her throat. "I mean, did they touch you?"

Odessa dropped the back of her head to the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "The couple caged me. They weren't interested. The distributor... Well, he was handsy. I had to lure him to get those confessions out of him. A lot of humans are like that. They start getting physical, and their walls come down while they brag. They just need to make it clear how much stronger they are."

Humans. "I'm guessing you weren't human, then?"

Odessa fixed her with a guarded look. "What's got you so curious all the sudden?"

"What's got you so selfless all the sudden, taking my job like that?"

A scoff. "You don't know me enough to be shocked by my choices." She paused, her jaw ticking for a second. "Born and raised in a print community. That's where I get my sunshiney personality."

Sherry tried not to gawk. They had been born in entirely different worlds, and now here they both were, living in a glass cage together.

"Did you try to escape?" Sherry asked.

"To go where? The wild? Nah." Odessa pursed her lips as she reminisced. "It wasn't so bad there. I worked in a local bakery, and I was taken to the city a few days out of the month to pull weeds at a botanical garden."

A little snort escaped Sherry before she could stop it. When Odessa raised her eyebrows in question, Sherry shrugged. "Sorry, I have a hard time picturing you in an apron or surrounded by flowers."

"Well, I did have a different face at the time."

That sobered Sherry up in seconds, but she in no way apologized. "So what happened?"

"This keeper started harassing me when I was old enough to have my own place."

Cocking her head, Sherry waited for more, but Odessa just stared at the ceiling. Her gaze was beginning to look distant. Sherry supposed she could understand that. She stood, walking close enough to see the individual petals on Odessa's sunflower dress.

"Did you get into trouble with him?" she asked softly, as if it mattered at all who heard. "It's the kind of thing you hear about sometimes, you know. Keepers getting handsy with prints and getting no repercussions for it. Finding ways to get them in trouble when they don't reciprocate."

Odessa's eyes snapped to hers. "I killed him."

Sherry took a step back, her blood icing over. Her wide eyes incited a smirk on Odessa's lips.

"You were human, weren't you?" Odessa said. "You may not be as freaked as every other human-turned-trinket I've met, but you've still got that look, that way you carry yourself. Like you used to be on top of the world."

"Oh, please. I was never on top of the world."

"Yes, you were. Consider this. The poorest human is living better than the most well-off print." Still, she paused to think about Sherry's statement. "I'm guessing you didn't leave much behind?"

Taking slow steps back to the doorway, Sherry didn't have the energy to protest the shift of spotlight. The mere inquiry of her old life sent her head spinning along with Odessa's casual confession.

"I left behind plenty," Sherry said, gripping the glass doorway. "I have a twin. Had, I guess. Don't quite look alike anymore. Her name's Mia."

Odessa's poker face remained intact, but Sherry swore she saw a flicker of sympathy. "Since we're sharing, what did a sweet thing like you do to deserve what you got?"

It was Sherry's turn to be amused, though she felt like a cold knife was twisting in her gut as she made her exit. "You think you're hot shit for taking out one creep? You're looking at a convicted serial killer, queen."

"Hey, I'm here. I found your backpack, but where are you?"

"I-I..."

"Hello? Mia?"

"I'm sorry, Sher. I-I'm s-so sorry, I had to, I had to—"

"Whoa, slow down! Why are you crying?"

The next night, Odessa insisted once again on taking Sherry's assignment. And the night after that. And the night after that. Mitchell was apparently determined to saddle them both with jobs every night. The other snakes were granted periodic nights off.

There was no attempt to hide it—Agent Mitchell was thoroughly entertained. On the fifth night, he clicked his tongue and looked down at Odessa with what might have been admiration. "You know, you're this close to pissing me off, but I'm kinda curious how much you'll kill yourself to protect your pet girlfriend."

Being in the clear every night did not win Sherry any friends among the snakes. Then again, none of them seemed overly fond of each other anyway. As far as Sherry knew, she and Odessa were the only ones who visited each other, even if those visits were out of pure survival on Sherry's part.

Odessa returned later and later into the morning every time, burdened with the double assignments. The dark circles under her eyes became a permanent fixture. And yet, her performance in acquiring confessions and finding hoarded trinkets did not seem to wane in the slightest.

"Why not call the reapers earlier?" Sherry asked when she noticed Odessa massaging her neck and grimacing. She was back later than ever, which meant she must have put up with the collar tightening quite a bit.

"Holding off a little bit longer pays off," Odessa explained. Even her voice sounded sore. "More damning confessions. Plus, info on others in their network. I'm sure you've noticed that we're rewarded when we do a good job."

Sherry had noticed.

Odessa's cubicle was the most decked out. The best clothes, the most pillows, the softest blankets. The reapers didn't even bother her about the extra sheets she had tossed over the glass walls, allowing her privacy that the other snakes were denied. She did her job well, and like a prized poodle, she was given treats for it.

The reward system gnawed at Sherry over the next few days, but she had little time to confront Odessa about it. She continued taking Sherry's jobs and took to sleeping the entire time she returned to the Warren. The rage that had first taken over Sherry was slowly but surely flickering down to nothing each time she saw Odessa drag her feet to her room.

Then, out of the clear blue, the snakes were taken outside. Sort of.

They were allowed one hour of outdoor time per week. It turned out to be the necessary amount to keep the majority of them from snapping and killing each other in their sleep.

The seven of them were placed in a glass box that had been fixed outside a window. Naturally, the dreariest day of the week had been chosen. Drizzling rain pattered against the glass, keeping the occupants downcast as ever.

Odessa, for all her exhaustion, seemed the least bothered by it. She sat cross-legged in front of one wall. Her hands were braced on the floor behind her, chin tilted up and eyes shut as if she could feel the sunshine through the compact clouds.

Taking a seat beside her, Sherry curled up and hugged her knees. Instead of looking up, she watched the crawling traffic below. Watching from ten stories up made her feel less small.

"Was I just another reward?" Sherry blurted. "Just something you asked for when you did a good job with Zane?"

Odessa didn't answer.

Sherry sighed sharply. "Why bring me into this? What do you want from me?"

"I dunno, Sher," Odessa murmured finally. "Maybe, for once, I wanted to be around someone who wasn't hand-picked by reapers. Maybe I'm just fucking lonely, and you had enough potential as a snake that I could use it as an excuse to keep you. Or maybe I just think you're cute."

There was no more wrath in Sherry. Only an awful, hollow feeling. "I really am your pet girlfriend, aren't I?"

"You still don't get it. You don't have to be anything to anyone. That's the gift I gave you with this job. You choose the role you want to play. You aren't the prey anymore. You're the hunter. If you don't want me to take your assignments anymore, all you have to do is tell me."

Sherry dug her fingers into her arms, holding herself closer. "Why take my jobs in the first place? You care so much about survival and rewards. You think you're getting in my good graces?"

Odessa was quiet for so long, Sherry thought she wouldn't answer. But then she sighed. "I only meant to take the first job. It would have sucked for you to die on your first assignment. Then you didn't seem ready for the second one. Or the one after. And so on. Now here we are."

"You still don't think I'm ready?"

"You could be." Odessa kept her gaze fixed on the clouds. "Maybe I'm the one who's not ready to imagine someone getting their filthy hands on you. But I gotta say... Being a good liar is one thing. You seem a bit soft for a serial killer."

Sherry swallowed hard, feeling like she was stumbling up a staircase in the dark, knowing that one step was missing.

"Makes sense," Sherry said. "I was framed."

Odessa turned to look at her, scooting closer until their arms brushed each other. It was weirdly comforting to have someone listen instead of scoff. "Huh. Ain't that a bitch. Wrong place, wrong time?"

"No. I was right on schedule. I knew I was there to be framed. It wasn't the first time."

Clenching her jaw, Sherry stared straight ahead at the skyline. The city was loud, but it was so quiet inside the glass box, she felt as though every snake was listening in. None of them gave a shit, other than the one sitting beside her.

"Mia and I would switch places all the time," Sherry said, her words feeling strangely disconnected from herself. She had kept them in for so long. "Ever since we were kids, we would share the blame. We would keep track of whose turn it was to get in trouble. As we grew up... she was the one doing most of the bad things.

"And then, once we were adults, it was legal trouble. She could never seem to get herself back on her feet without being dragged back down by something new. It happened over and over. I would let myself get arrested for her petty crimes, and then I'd be let go. She had this terrible boyfriend who kept dragging her along. She may have loved me, but she was obsessed with him. It got to be too much. Once I realized she liked that life, I was done. I moved away, cut her off. It was more like cutting off an arm or a leg. She had turned into this awful thing, but she was still my sister.

"Four years, we didn't speak. Then one day she called me up. Said she needed my help one last time. Said she'd leave me alone after that. I almost didn't go, but I missed her, and I was worried. She promised it was nothing too bad, but she had built up her record so much since I left, she just couldn't afford to get caught again.

"So I showed up where she told me to. I found her backpack in an alley. When I called her, she was a wreck. She kept apologizing, kept saying she loved me. But that she couldn't be a trinket. She just couldn't do it.

"Right on cue, I was spotted and recognized by a witness. I was arrested. The police line-up lasted for about thirty seconds before I was singled out. I was dragged in for an interrogation. That was when they told me what she did. What I did. Seven counts of first-degree murder. See, her boyfriend had been arrested for gang activity and who knows how many hits. At his trial, the jurors took less than five minutes to deliberate: guilty. He was sentenced to be a trinket. And she snapped. She blamed it all on them."

Odessa nodded, having the decency to look disturbed. "The jurors...."

"Picked them off one by one over the course of a year. On her seventh one, she was spotted, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she was found. So she called me up. Told me where to wait. I hadn't even looked inside her backpack, but buried at the bottom was the gun she had used."

"I'm guessing they didn't buy the whole 'my twin sister did it and told me to stand here'?"

"Oh, they knew something was off. But the precinct was a laughing stock because of how long it took them to find the serial killer. By then, Mia was long gone, and they had the perfect scapegoat, along with eyewitnesses to back up that they knew my face. Detectives even lifted some of her DNA from a few crime scenes. We matched."

For a long time, the two of them stayed silent.

"I was right, then," Odessa said finally, leaning her head on Sherry's shoulder. "Great liar. Terrible criminal."

As the rain began to slam harder against the glass, Sherry couldn't bring herself to shrug her off.

That evening, Sherry was fully prepared to step forward and take the job that had been assigned to her. Odessa took it before she could say a word. Mitchell was beginning to look frustrated, but apparently he was more interested in testing Odessa's limits than he was in making her play by the rules.

Odessa did not return until the next afternoon, and judging by the state she was in, Mitchell had gotten what he wanted.

He was all smirks as he dropped her into the common area. "Walk it off, little snake."

Her injuries were so brutal that even the other trinkets broke out of their disinterested fog to stare. She had a split lip and dried blood caking the lower half of her face. She clutched her side tenderly, staggering against the glass to stay upright on the path to her room. She left a smear of blood on the pristine wall along the way. Mitchell watched for only a minute before taking his leave.

Sherry rushed up beside Odessa. A couple of weeks ago, it would have been satisfying to see her this way. Now, Sherry couldn't bring herself to remember what that smugness would have felt like.

"What happened?" Sherry demanded.

"You should see the other guy," Odessa croaked, wincing a cold smile.

"Don't be cute," Sherry said, allowing Odessa to lean on her as they headed to the sheet-covered room. "Don't we have some kind of medic? They know it's a dangerous job."

"Already stopped by the clinic downstairs. This was all they could do. Or wanted to do, anyway."

Sherry looked the half-assed job up and down, gently touching the hand that Odessa kept pressed to her side. "Your ribs might be cracked. What the hell happened?"

"Reapers suspected my target was working for the rebellion. He was spotted with the same trinkets multiple times, so he wasn't selling. I got myself all set up to be 'rescued', and it turns out this guy is a high roller in a fighting ring. Once I realized what was happening, I called for the reapers to come collect. But before I knew it, I was in the pit with another trinket, and he was not interested in talking it out." She smiled crookedly. "What, you worried about me, or something?"

Making a face, Sherry nudged Odessa toward her bed. "Yeah. If you can't go back out there, then I'll have to. Now lay down, come on."

"Bossy," Odessa sing-songed. "Kinda hot."

"Did you get a concussion too, or what?"

Sherry helped her lay down, then started looking around for something to help. Water and cloth were easy enough to get, but Odessa needed far more than that. Noticing Sherry's plight, Odessa raised her head.

"Raquel's got salve." She pointed to the box of clothes in the corner. "Take her the sunflower dress. She'll trade."

Digging out the dress, Sherry hurried out the door to find Raquel. It was a surprisingly easy trade for a mini bottle of salve. Mini to humans, at least. The bottle was the length of Sherry's forearm. It seemed that pretty clothes were just as much a commodity as life-saving medication. Sherry was still wearing her standard issue institution-like set despite Odessa's offer to share.

Returning to Odessa's room, Sherry set everything down on the nightstand, pulled up a chair, and got to work. She started by cleaning away the blood, moving more gently when Odessa winced.

"How do you not have your own salve?" Sherry asked to distract her.

"Covering my walls was a big ask. Mitchell, in his infinite wisdom, says he doesn't want to spoil me. He has decided that I can only ask for one or the other."

"Salve seems a little more practical if you ask me."

"Can always trade if I need it." Odessa reached back behind her head to lovingly touch the sheet on the nearest wall. "Ever notice how everything meant to contain trinkets is made of glass? Polished, perfectly see-through glass. That's part of the punishment, even if no one says it out loud. We're always on display. Always meant to be looked at and humiliated. Sure, there's nothing I can do about the ceiling, but... it's something, at least."

Sherry had never thought hard about it, though it had been staring her in the face for three weeks now.

"Lift your shirt," Sherry instructed, helping her sit up.

"That's forward of you." Odessa smirked at Sherry's eye-roll and did as she was told, lifting her shirt enough to expose her ribs.

Tenderly as she could, Sherry spread a few fingertips of salve over the bruising area. It wasn't a cure by any means, but it would help with the pain. After prompting Odessa to lay back down, Sherry dabbed salve onto Odessa's lip. Their eyes met, and Sherry felt heat rush to her cheeks.

Odessa shut her eyes for a moment and released a heavy sigh, reaching up to squeeze Sherry's hand.

"I poisoned the keeper," Odessa said quietly.

If she had been searching for the perfect way to kill the mood, she hit the nail on the head.

Frowning, Sherry slipped her hand free. "With what?"

"I worked in a botanical garden, remember? All kinds of plants. Prints were the only ones allowed to get up close and personal with the most poisonous ones. Prints and trinkets aren't affected the same way as humans. But let's be honest, they'd send us in there even if that wasn't in the case. Anyway, I started up a little collection, harvested the oils, and mixed them."

"He... he didn't suspect anything?"

She shook her head. "I didn't do it right away. I kept thinking... if he gets worse. And he did. I tried to convince him to stop, but he wouldn't. He had firmly decided there was nothing I could do about it, so why stop? That last night, he broke my window to get to me. The timing couldn't have been more deserved."

By that point, Sherry was fixated, forgetting the salve and soaked cloth entirely. "How did you manage to get it in his food or drink? It couldn't have been easy."

"Who said anything about food or drink?" Something sinister flickered at the back of her eyes. "I rubbed the oils all over my skin."

"Oh," was all Sherry managed to breathe out.

"Yeah. Oh. He had me strip like he normally did. Then, the moment he put his disgusting mouth on me, he was doomed. He didn't even know it. He drove home and didn't show up for his next shift. They found him in his apartment three days later."

"And they traced it back to you?"

"Well, I didn't go bragging about it." Odessa touched her sore ribs absently, staring at the buzzing fluorescent lights high above. "The autopsy revealed the poison. Those types of plants weren't native to the area and were traced to the botanical garden. And who was his only connection to the garden?"

"But you didn't slip it into his food or anything! For all they knew, you just happened to have leftover poison on your skin from working in the garden. He's the one who put his mouth on you."

Odessa laughed. "Like they gave a shit. Plenty of keepers knew he had a thing for me, then he suddenly shows up dead? They even had a few of my neighbors testify about how much I hated him. I didn't stand a chance. But... the way I went about it is also the reason I'm here to begin with."

"Oh. You said that reapers usually pick snakes, right?"

"Mitchell attended my trial when he heard what I did. It didn't last long. He approached me hours before my consciousness transfer. His timing is impeccable with that sort of thing—offering a deal just when you think things are hopeless you're desperate enough to say yes to anything.

"He said I could come work for him, or I could be shipped off to whichever business called dibs on the next trinket shipment. He fed me all this bullshit about being able to stop worse people than the keeper I killed. All he needed to say was that being a snake meant I had a fighting chance. I said yes, of course. From that moment, I was his. He even picked my new face. Took me into a storage room every night the first few weeks for training."

Sherry reached for Odessa's hand and squeezed, trying to draw her out of her distant gaze despite the quiet horror Sherry felt herself. No wonder Mitchell seemed to have the greatest sense of ownership over Odessa compared to the other snakes. She was his project.

"So," Sherry said. "Ever daydream about making some poison and letting Mitchell have a taste."

Odessa smiled wanly. "I used to. Then I realized that Mitchell is our survival. He's a sadistic fuck, but we need him."

The response took Sherry off-guard. She didn't think Odessa could look or sound so complacent.

"You're not covered in poison right now, are you?" Sherry asked. Before Odessa could process the question, Sherry leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to her cheek. "Thanks for taking the fall for me. Since Mitchell's off-limits, can we at least daydream that the keeper is burning right now?"

"Now that one's a favorite."

Minutes ticked by, stretching into hours as Odessa rested. Sherry didn't realize she had dozed off in the chair beside the bed until the approach of a human rattled her awake.

"Odessa, you're out of commission for the weekend, lucky you," Mitchell announced, prompting her to jolt awake too. He smiled as his icy gaze moved between them. "Sherry, your assignment's already in, and I'm nice enough to give you a head's up. Velvet Delights. Be ready by 5 for pickup."

Cold fear drenched Sherry, stealing her breath.

"What!" Odessa snapped up to sit, grimacing at her sore ribs. "She can't go to a brothel! She's never even gone to a bar!"

"See, here's the thing," Mitchell said, leaning over to look straight down into the room until they had to crane their necks. "On file, she's been doing a hell of a phenomenal job at bars for the past three weeks. Even survived a fighting ring. No one can argue that she's ready as anyone for a brothel."

Odessa snarled, kicking off her blanket and standing to glare up at him. "Send someone with experience! You know she isn't ready!"

"Whose fault is that? She could have been more than ready if you didn't coddle her."

Eyes wide and frenzied, Odessa looked to Sherry, who had her hands over her mouth as she tried to keep a sob at bay. This couldn't be happening. She'd known that eventually she would have to work, but she had all but blocked out the possibility of being tossed into a brothel.

Drawing a deep breath, Odessa squared her shoulders and looked back up at Mitchell. "Send me in with her."

His eyebrows shot up. "You have three days off."

"Which means I'm free to volunteer. You know as well as me that brothels have the highest death rate. Always better to send more than one. It divides the attention, makes it easier to get evidence."

Mitchell scoffed, but he paused to consider it. "You really are something else," he finally told Odessa. His eyes slid to Sherry for a moment, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm starting to get a little jealous if I'm being honest." He straightened and walked off. "Ready for pick up at 5," he said over his shoulder.

Sherry put on a pretty good show of pretending she wasn't scared out of her mind. In the weeks of getting to know her, however, Odessa could spot her tells. The way she rolled her shoulders. The slight pinch of her brow and lips that could be mistaken for a determined frown. The deep breaths she took to steady herself.

Velvet Delights was upscale, almost heavenly in its angel theme, which could either be helpful or disastrous. The reaper team wouldn't be far, patrolling the area and waiting for one of them to send the signal on their collars. The owner was thrilled to have a couple of free laborers, along with a promise that his inventory would not be snatched by the scheduled suspect that night.

The two of them were ordered to stand close together on the tray. Since Sherry seemed to have forgotten how to move, Odessa went and sat next to her. They were imprisoned under a wine glass and carted into a silk-lavished room. A luxury bottle of wine towered beside them. Odessa had been to enough brothels to know this setup was a special request.

The hostess straightened the pillows, made sure the glass was centered on the tray, and locked the door on her way out.

"You were right about the glass thing," Sherry whimpered in a half-assed attempt to giggle.

"Just relax," Odessa said. "Don't draw attention to yourself. Trinkets have mysteriously vanished around this guy, and that most likely means he's selling. He won't want to damage his product."

"And if he's not selling?" Sherry whispered.

Odessa squeezed her hand. "Just leave everything to me."

"You're hurt."

"The salve helped. I'm fine." Breathing only hurt a little.

The lock scraped. Sherry jumped, letting out a noise of fright. Her breathing quickened, and she shivered with the beginnings of a panic attack.

"Don't," Odessa hissed.

The door swung open, revealing a man with brown hair. When his eyes landed on them, he broke out in a smile that could light up a room. He glanced behind himself dramatically to check the number on the door.

"Am I in the right room?" he said. "Didn't know I'd be getting two. Hope I don't get charged extra."

Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it on a lounger and sauntered to the cart by the bed. He leaned over for a closer look, his fingertips trailing along the glass, tapping.

"Though... I say it'd be worth it for you two stunners."

Odessa tried to keep a neutral expression while she read him. It didn't take long to surmise that he had a thing for power. According to Mitchell, he was a bartender at a fancy downtown club. Trinkets were an everyday fixture for him, and still he visited brothels.

He reached for the bottle and worked on opening it. Didn't waste time, this one. Neither trinket said a word. "Don't be shy, now. Let's break the ice with some introductions." He popped the bottle and smiled pleasantly at them. "I'm James."

"Lolli," Odessa said, purposely trying to make herself look smaller and vulnerable.

He gave a hearty laugh, eyeing her red hair. "Lucky me. Cherry is my favorite flavor. Well, tonight it is." His gaze slid over to Sherry expectantly.

"Charity," she squeaked out, huddling closer to Odessa.

"Precious. Does that mean you're giving?" He grabbed the edge of the cart and dragged it closer. "I'm pretty giving myself, but we'll see if you're grateful enough to appreciate it."

Delicately pinching the stem of the glass, he pulled it closer, forcing them to approach him. Lifting the bottle, he tilted it to pour wine over the upended glass. Pale red dribbles raced down the outside of their prison. Odessa bit back a sneer, knowing he had either done this dozens of times or had scripted this fantasy down to the last beat in his mind.

Still, she was hardly prepared when he thudded the bottle down and slipped his hand beneath the rim of the glass. They had no choice but to scramble onto his fingers, stuck in their enclosure like captured bugs. James lifted them to eye level.

"Sorry for the theatrics," he said without sounding sorry at all. "I have my way of sampling."

Hunger, lust, and amusement battled for dominance in his gaze. Odessa bumped against Sherry as they were suddenly lowered, bringing his mouth into direct view. Sherry gave a breathless shriek as he licked the dripping wine in front of them. She snagged Odessa's arm and urged her to back up to the other side of their prison—as if it would make any difference.

As he turned his hands to drag his tongue further along, his breath fogged the glass. Odessa tried to look more frightened than outright disgusted. So, he was the type who liked to scare his victims instead of winning them over. How original. At least she did not doubt the character she had to play now.

"S-stop," Odessa said, loosing a fake sob and covering her face. "P-please!"

He pulled away, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. "You're right, I shouldn't have all the fun."

Air rushed past them as the glass was lifted off, leaving them exposed in his palm. Odessa thought for sure they were about to get the same treatment with his tongue. To her surprise, he lowered them to the nightstand and let them slide off. Grabbing a cloth from the cart, he wiped off the glass and poured himself a real drink while Sherry huddled against Odessa.

"Oh?" James took a long pull from the wine as he observed his audience of two. "Are you two friends? Adorable. That always makes things more fun." His gaze settled on Odessa. "Lolli, wouldn't you say our friend looks awfully warm in that get-up?"

The two of them wore matching white babydoll lingerie meant to make them look like angels. Instead of halos, they had their collars. Sherry shivered in her outfit like she was sitting in a snowstorm.

"In case it wasn't obvious," James said, his voice taking on an edge. "I'm telling you to take it off her."

Swallowing hard, Odessa turned to face Sherry, nodding her assurance. They needed to do what he said, lure him to let his guard down. With any luck, they could get a confession before he stole them from the brothel. Her goal wasn't to be perfect tonight; it was to get Sherry the hell out of there.

With trembling fingers that were only partly theatrics, Odessa reached for the straps of Sherry's bra. She felt sick to her stomach, particularly when she felt Sherry recoil from her touch. Sherry's voice seemed to echo from weeks ago, accusing her of being a monster. She certainly felt like one right now, though not as fearsome as the one looming over them with his expectant stare.

"I'm sorry," Odessa whispered.

Sherry looked like she might burst into tears as she dropped her head. She made no move to resist as Odessa undid the straps and pulled her bra down her arms, leaving her topless. Reaching for Sherry's panties, Odessa stopped halfway and pulled her hands back. She shook her head, leaning into her guilty expression as she looked up at James pleadingly.

James scoffed and drained the last of his wine, slamming the glass onto the nightstand beside them. "If that's too hard, tonight's gonna be a rough one for you, babe. But I guess I'll let you off the hook for now."

Odessa breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll finish the job myself." James reached for them.

Sherry cried out in protest and latched herself to Odessa's arm, weeping. James' hand faltered as he eyed them. It wasn't pity—far from it. It was intrigue. Odessa could practically see the gears turning in his head as he took in the sight of Sherry cowering against her for protection.

He grinned. "Am I crazy, or are you blushing, Lolli?" Both. "Goddamn, more than friends, huh? I'm starting to wonder if management thinks it's my birthday or something. I'll do you a favor and show your little girlfriend how it's done, from the top."

His hand closed the distance this time, claiming Odessa as its prize. As he pulled her away, Sherry tried desperately to hold onto her, crying, "No! No!" But she fell back on the polished wood when James shook her off.

"Settle down, babe," he cooed. "You'll get your turn with her. You should be taking notes."

Odessa squirmed and whimpered in his grasp, silently relieved to have the sicko's attention focused all on her. She was no stranger to being stripped bare, but there was something particularly chilling about how expertly his fingers navigated her. He managed to be delicate and possessive all at once as he slipped off the straps of her panties and tossed them aside.

"N-no!" Odessa sobbed dramatically as he lifted her toward his mouth.

He curled his thumb in, effortlessly pinning her to his palm as hot breath spilled over her. His teeth teased at her skin gently until he found one of her bra straps. He tugged until it came loose, leaving her naked in his hand. The delicate lace was still pinched between his teeth as he pulled back to observe her. His thumb rubbed her middle up and down, testing how much pressure it would take to make her squirm in terror.

He let the lingerie fall from his mouth and flutter to the floor. "You're going to be a fun one, aren't you? Thank fuck. These high-end places usually have the prissiest trinkets."

"Please s-stop!" She dug her heels into his palm, trying to pry up his thumb. "You don't have to do this!"

"That's the best part." He leaned in again, trailing his tongue up along her side and circling her breasts while she tried to wriggle out from under his thumb. He sighed as if he couldn't be happier with how she tasted.

She could feel him start to pull away, could see that he was beginning to turn his attention back to Sherry. Odessa yanked her head up and bit his lip. He gave a start and looked down at her, jaw dropping.

"Fun and feisty," he purred. "It's like you were made for me." He caught one of her flailing arms between his teeth and bit her back. Not enough to break skin, but enough for her to let out a scream that wasn't staged.

But that did the trick. He seemed to forget Sherry for the time being, keeping Odessa clenched in his fist while he undressed. Her sore ribs screamed in agony. He moved slowly, making sure she brushed up against his body when he pulled up his shirt or unbuckled his belt. When the dizzying journey was over, he was as naked as she was. He was more muscular than she would have assumed, toned chest and abs filling her vision. She made sure he caught her staring.

A fresh grin lit up his face. "It's about to be all yours, Lollipop."

When he spread himself out on the bed silks, Odessa caught a glimpse of Sherry standing helplessly on the nightstand. Her shoulders moved up and down with visible breaths of panic. Odessa felt a fierce tug at her heart, but she didn't dare look too long, lest James get new inspiration to have Sherry join the party.

As it turned out, Odessa didn't have much of an opportunity to stare, anyway. James laid back and put one arm behind his head, observing as he dangled her by an ankle. He twisted his fingers, scrutinizing her at every frightened angle. He breathed with deep contentment, trailing her up and down his chest and abs.

Only her hair tickled at him at first, but with each stroke, he claimed more of her. Arms, face, shoulders, back, breasts, until the entire length of her was skating along the heat of his skin. When she managed to catch a glimpse of his face, she realized he wasn't even looking at her. She followed his gaze overhead and nearly gagged. There was a mirror on the ceiling, and he was fixated on the sight of himself torturing her.

She put on a good show for him, whimpering and squirming and trying to pull herself up to avoid touching him. She dug her fingers into his skin and made him groan. She screamed a few profanities for good measure, followed by desperate apologies begging him to forgive her.

He loved it. Now if she could just get him to confess.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," she babbled to herself out loud, as if she had completely lost it. "Just tonight, and he'll be gone. I can do this, I c-can do this."

He paused, stopping her halfway down the slope of an ab. "Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings. Wouldn't you want to stay with me forever?"

A sob wracked through her. "You can't have me! You'll have to give me back."

Her vision spun as he carried her in front of his face to look her over. His chuckle was sinister, but not damning. She wanted to scream in frustration. Just say you're stealing us, already! She kicked her free leg and writhed, actually feeling his fingertips get tugged from the motion.

"Fuck, you're a fiery one," he murmured low in his throat.

That was all he had to say for now. She saw the lust gathering in his eyes, the way his breaths became deeper. He sat up halfway and dragged her down the planes of his body once more, not pausing to drag her back up this time. With a sinking heart, she knew the destination he had lovingly chosen for her.

Seeming miles away, Sherry let out a shriek as she watched from the nightstand. "No! No, don't, please!"

Odessa blocked it out. She would have to deal with this before she could hope to get any info from him. It was far from her first time. As he pressed her up against his hardening cock, she shut down entirely and let it happen. His fingers guided her up and down, the motion becoming rougher by the second.

But he was more sensitive to her mood than she gave him credit for.

"Aw, what happened to all that fire?" he grunted.

Just as quickly as the pressure had started, it faded. He pulled her away from his dick, and she watched in horror as he turned his attention to Sherry's frantic form pacing on the edge of the nightstand.

"Maybe our girlfriend here will be a little more fun. It's her you want, isn't it?"

Odessa's reaction was genuine as she abandoned everything she knew about being a snake. "You keep your sick hands off her!"

But that only inspired him to move quicker. "There's the fire, Lollipop."

His other hand raced to snatch up Sherry. He laid back down, pausing to relish the violent squirms in both his fists before he placed them on his stomach. He stared down expectantly at them like they had been deposited on a stage. He raised his eyebrows viciously at Odessa.

"If you're not a fan of making me happy, I'll let you make your girl wet instead." He reached past them and started stroking himself with anticipation. "Go on."

Odessa turned to Sherry as the two of them rose and fell in tandem with their tyrant's breathing. She reached for Sherry's hand and squeezed. Biting her lip, Odessa searched desperately for some confirmation that this was okay, that they could do what they needed to continue the job. But Sherry gave her head the smallest, pleading shake as tears streamed down her face.

Not here. Not like this.

Turning murderous eyes toward James, Odessa dropped her act entirely and flipped him off. "I'm not putting my hands on her for you, you fucking psychopath."

James groaned in disappointment. "You know, it turns me on a little less every time someone calls me that."

Quick as lightning, he tore Odessa away from Sherry and dumped her in the glass on the nightstand.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Odessa pounded her fists against her damp prison as Sherry became the object of James' scrutiny.

He plucked her up under the arms, watching the panicky kick of her legs. "Oh, don't be like that. Your girlfriend didn't even want you. Don't worry, Charity, I'm here for you now."

Sighing in rapture, he leaned in and pressed kisses to her writhing body. Sherry's whimpers took on a higher octave as he nibbled at her panties. That was all the warning he gave before jerking his head back and ripping them free of her body entirely. He spat them out, eyeing her with a crooked, boyish smile.

"Doesn't that feel much better?"

He teased her with a few more deep kisses, poking his tongue between her legs long enough to elicit an involuntary moan.

"Listen to that. You love it."

He dropped her back on his chest. He nudged her to lay face down and let his hand fall over her, massaging himself with her squirms. He rubbed her down to his abs and back up again. Her muffled cries were silenced each time he fully smothered her, only to surface again when he eased up on the pressure. He couldn't seem to get enough of the rhythm.

All the while, Odessa did not stop shrieking for his attention. By the time he turned his gaze back to her, her throat felt screamed raw. He ignored Sherry's violent struggles against his chest to give Odessa a chiding look.

"No whining, now. You had your chance with her. But don't worry, I'm generous enough to include you."

James sat up halfway and lifted his hand to set Sherry loose. She slid partway down his stomach, scrambling to cling to him so wouldn't slip onto his erection.

"See?" he chuckled, giving her another rub against him. "She's crazy about me."

Reaching past Odessa, James snagged the wine and poured it over her head, filling the glass until she was swimming. Surfacing, Odessa grabbed hold of the rim and coughed. "L-leave her alone! Use me instead!"

The shadow of his hand darkened over her. "You talk too much."

His fingertip came down on her head and dunked her under the wine. He held her down for a good long time while she thrashed and tried to dodge around his finger, which only shoved her down further.

Even when he let her come back up for air, she was given only a millisecond to gather herself. He plucked up the glass and swirled his wine, making her dizzy as she struggled to keep her head up. She slammed into the side of the glass and nearly passed out from the explosive pain in her ribs.

Then he lifted the rim to his lips and took a long gulp. She was too disoriented to swim away from the current rushing into his mouth. Once he caught her arm between his teeth, she could do nothing but wait until he was satisfied with his drink.

As the wine settled back in the glass, Odessa gasped for breath and pushed her wine-soaked hair out of her eyes. She spotted Sherry crawling away on James' stomach. She made it to the sheets before he noticed, chuckling with delight.

"Oh, you like games?" The wine that held Odessa rippled at the rumble of his voice. Sherry moved faster and ducked under a fold. James gave her a head start before setting the glass down so he could poke through the sheets in search of her. "Ready or not..."

While he was distracted, Odessa frantically tapped at her collar to activate the tracker and communicator.

"He confessed," she coughed out, keeping her voice low so James wouldn't hear her. "He has other trinkets with him! He made other stops before this one. Come on, hurry!"

There was an agonizing pause in which James crowed in triumph upon finding Sherry. She screamed as she was yanked out of her hiding place.

"No shit?" Mitchell's voice crackled through the collar. "On our way."

James settled back down, holding Sherry in a fist. He kneaded her front with his thumb as he entertained himself with her weakening struggles.

"P-please," she said. The fight seemed to leave her body. She looked right at him, trying to appeal to a better nature that just wasn't there. "I don't belong h-here. I'm innocent, you have t-to understand! I was framed. Please, please believe me. S-stop this..."

He pursed his lips and nodded along as if he was listening. When she was done, he broke out in a grin so wicked that Odessa swore she felt the temperature drop. "As if I don't hear that same sob story every damn day of my life."

Sweeping his hand out, he deposited Sherry beside his swollen cock.

"Let's see what you got," he said, his voice growing huskier. "Make me happier than you did the judge, and I might be nice."

Sherry tried to run for the sheets again.

"Do I have to do everything around here?" James sighed, though he sounded pleased as could be.

His hand barreled into her and shoved her back where he wanted. He pressed her up against himself with his thumb, rubbing in tight circles. As his panting grew more frantic, he seized both her and his cock in one hand, hiding her entirely with his fingers as he began to jerk himself off. His hand pumped up and down, drowning out Sherry's sobbing screams.

"Stop!" Tears flooded Odessa's eyes, mixing with the wine. "P-please! Just stop!"

His head snapped toward her, wearing a toothy grin. "Don't think I've forgotten about my Lollipop," he panted.

He grabbed the glass and tipped it into his open mouth with reckless abandon. Wine poured in and spilled out the sides. Odessa scrambled to grab hold of something as gravity took over, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself as he tipped her over entirely. The cold glass was replaced with a warm, slick cavern.

Light vanished when he shut his mouth. The surface beneath her lurched upward. His tongue mashed her against the roof of his mouth while he swallowed the rest of the wine around her. The gulp was deafening.

Once she was the only occupant in his mouth, he began toying with her. His teeth narrowly missed crushing her limbs as he clenched his jaw and moaned from the ecstasy of Sherry's struggles. He tilted his head back, and for an awful moment, Odessa thought he was about to swallow her next. Instead, he opened his mouth and left her propped up with his tongue, allowing her a view straight up at the ceiling mirror.

In the reflection, she saw how he parted his fingers around Sherry, giving her a chance to shriek freely. Then he pressed his fingertip to the back of her head to muffle the sound again. An answering groan quaked around Odessa.

She gave a wordless cry and tried to grab his teeth and haul herself out of his mouth. His tongue practically wrapped around her and reeled her back in. He shut his mouth again, rolling her around and sucking on her like a piece of candy.

To her shock, he stuck his fingers in his mouth to grab her by the ankle and pull her out. Losing no rhythm with Sherry, he leaned over to the freshly-refilled wine glass and dunked Odessa headfirst inside. He swirled her around and yanked her out just as suddenly. Holding her over his open mouth, he let wine drip onto his waiting tongue.

Odessa couldn't muster the energy to plead or hurl profanities at him. The hold on her ankle vanished, and she was dropped back toward her dark prison. She managed to twist in the air, landing on the corner of his mouth with her legs halfway out. His teeth came down on her torso, gnawing with dangerous pressure. She tried to wrench her way free, but it was no use. While she was pinned, his tongue returned to greet her, and his finger nudged her the rest of the way in.

James gave another deafening moan of appreciation as he savored her wine-soaked skin.

The noises became more consistent, and his movements quickened. He was heading toward climax. Odessa couldn't help but feel a tiny measure of relief as she curled herself away from his teeth. It was almost over.

Then, to her horror, his tongue began nudging her toward his throat.

In that instant, there was no doubt in her mind that he meant to swallow her as the finale of his pleasure. She scrambled to pull herself away, but there was a shift in gravity as he tilted his head back again to thwart her pitiful struggles.

"NO!" she howled, but the sound went nowhere. The harder she tried to pull herself up, the further she seemed to fall. Her legs slipped into a steep drop.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Suddenly, she was tilted back to the center of his tongue.

"Occupied," James snapped, teeth gnashing against Odessa's shoulder.

The door banged open. He was so startled that he bit down on her arm. A wail of pain tore out as an incisor cut her. It was a miracle that the bone wasn't crushed.

She felt him cringe at the taste of blood. He plucked her out of his mouth. She coughed herself ragged while his fingers pinched her by the diaphragm and spine. Snagging Sherry's limp body, he used the same hand to toss the sheet over his nudity.

"What the fuck is going on?" James roared, making Odessa slam her hands over her ears.

It all happened in a whirlwind.

Odessa and Sherry were confiscated by Agent Taylor while Agent Mitchell gave orders to the others. They were kind enough to let James put some clothes back on before he was dragged into a corner for rapid questioning.

The trinkets were placed back on the cart tray, but it seemed everyone forgot to give them the privilege of clothing. Sherry looked ready to faint as she stumbled over to Odessa and threw her arms around. She wasn't crying, just breathing heavily. She pressed her hand to Odessa's wound to help staunch the bleeding. Odessa sank with her and held her close, knowing that things were not about to get any easier.

As everything unfolded around them, Odessa found herself looking at Sherry's face. Her gaze was fixed on James across the room. Where there should have been fear, there was pure, unadulterated hatred. She hadn't even looked this angry when she found out the truth about Odessa's role in her capture.

She looked like she would kill if given the opportunity.

"Are you okay?" Odessa whispered.

Sherry blinked and shook her head as tears began falling. Sniffling, she surprisingly chuckled. "Sorry, I know I'm going against lesson one. No benefit to crying here."

Giving a small sob herself, Odessa tucked a lock of hair behind Sherry's ear. "Hey, don't tell anyone, but I was crying half the time. Didn't do me much good, either."

"I'm telling you, I don't know about any other trinkets!" James insisted, pulling their attention back.

Mitchell, looking like he had just won the lottery, walked over to the cart. "Where are the others?" he directed at Odessa.

When she didn't answer, his smile dropped. He leaned in closer, expression darkening dangerously.

"There are no others," Odessa said, figuring she may as well rip off the band-aid.

Mitchell went perfectly still. "But you got a recorded confession?"

"Nope."

And with that, James was released with a heartfelt apology and an assurance that he would be compensated for his night at the brothel, along with a promise that the agency would negotiate with the owner about a few free nights.

"You're lucky if I don't sue the shit out of you," James snapped, making his way to the door.

But Odessa doubted he would. He had to be a black market dealer, or a skilled independent seller at the very least. He wouldn't dare draw the attention of a lawsuit. Even if he didn't complete his fantasy that night, he was walking away with the knowledge that reapers were on his tail, and now he could act accordingly.

Odessa swore he winked in her and Sherry's direction on his way out.

Mitchell sent out the rest of the team while he remained in the room with Odessa and Sherry. He loomed over the tray, looking ready to break them both in half. His hands even flexed at his sides as he gathered himself.

"What the fuck was that?" he managed finally, each word coated in malice.

"He was going to kill us both," Odessa said calmly.

She was prepared when the weight of his hand fell on her, but nothing could help the pain of her ribs crushing against her lungs.

"Like I give a shit," Mitchell hissed. "Snakes die. That's how it goes."

"If you're willing to let your best snake die over one creep, you're a fucking moron."

He pulled out his work phone, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. She took the deepest breaths she could manage, though it wouldn't do her much good. He was going to choke her until she passed out—it wasn't the first time. But when he finished tapping at the screen and looked down at her with relish, her collar didn't tighten.

Sherry gave a shrill squeal. She fell to her knees, clawing at the collar. Odessa gasped and bucked uselessly, every one of her injuries smarting as she fought.

"Quit it!" Odessa pleaded. "It's not her fault! I made the call!"

"She's nothing but a distraction to you," he said grimly. "Maybe this will show you what happens when you let your precious little wants get in the way."

He let her up, and she rushed to Sherry. It wasn't mercy; he intended for Sherry to die in her arms.

"If I lose her, you lose me!" Odessa shouted. "I'll fuck up every job, and you can choke me to death, too! Now stop!"

Mitchell let it go on for a few more seconds, but he did stop, looking weary. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Odessa? You ruined a perfectly set-up sting because you couldn't let your girlfriend take a little punishment."

"It won't happen again. I know she can survive now. I'm going to train her until she's perfect, for real this time."

He paced in front of them while Sherry wheezed and leaned against Odessa for support.

"The station's not gonna go under just because two little snakes are gone," Mitchell said, coming to a stop in front of them. "Either she's an asset or a problem. She'll make it clear which one when she goes on her first solo job."

With that, he scooped up Sherry, leaving Odessa alone on the tray. At first, she was confused as she watched Sherry get handed off to Agent Taylor in the hallway. But as Mitchell shut the door behind him and started taking off his jacket, she knew precisely what was happening.

She wanted to collapse and sob and beg that she couldn't take anymore tonight, but she was better than that. She held her ground as he loosened his tie and gave her a deeply possessive look.

"Well, my shift's over just about over," he said. "It's been a while, hasn't it? You want to keep your cute little girlfriend? Convince me."

At dawn, Sherry padded to Odessa's room. It had been stripped bare of incentives, including the sheets on the walls. It was as empty as Sherry's now. Her clothes were standard issue. A small spot of blood seeped through the cloth bandage on her arm. She couldn't trade for salve. She had nothing.

Well, not nothing, Sherry decided. She could have been confiscated just as easily.

Sherry crawled up beside Odessa, whispering an apology when she startled her. Odessa lay with her back to the doorway, curled into herself. No blankets. No pillow. Just the two of them. Sherry wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"Hey, queen," she whispered. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing that hasn't happened before."

"That doesn't mean you're okay." Sherry slipped a hand to Odessa's ribs. "Sorry," she murmured when Odessa flinched.

"No, it's alright." Odessa placed a hand over hers, using it to rub a slow circle on the sore spot. Then she guided Sherry's hand higher and left it on her breast. Sherry squeezed gently and ran her thumb up and down. As right as it felt, Sherry stopped herself.

"Aren't you tired of being touched?" Sherry murmured.

"You're not them." Odessa's voice sounded tight. "You're soft. You could never hurt me."

Moving Odessa's hair out of the way, Sherry pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, trailing up until she reached her jaw, her cheek. Her lips brushed Odessa's ear. "Tonight may have been a bust, but on a normal job, it must feel good to put away sick fucks like that bartender," she whispered.

Odessa gave a weak laugh. "You're buying into the bullshit, huh? Saving the world? You realize we're not helping anyone, right? Just sending off our 'rescues' to a different circle of hell."

"At least the sick fucks are joining them along the way."

Odessa turned in Sherry's arms to face her more fully. "Rebels join them just the same. Tell me you know that."

Sherry was quiet for a moment, feeling an odd sting of guilt for something she hadn't even done yet. "I know."

She reached for Odessa's chin and gently guided it closer. Their lips touched softly at first, then fell into deeper, more frantic kisses. The fluorescents beat down mercilessly on them. Anyone could watch, but they didn't care.

"I think I'm ready to start doing my job," Sherry said between kisses as they leaned their foreheads together.

Odessa snorted. "I can't tell if you're lying."

"Then I know I'm ready."

[spyskrapbook]

"The Blue House", Landstuhl, Germany [1980] _ Architect: Christine Hawley.

"The Blue House was part of a portfolio of house designs for a development in Landsthul, Germany, where the requirements were to create maximum energy efficiency. Although this is now a standard prerequisite for almost all design, in 1980 there was minimal awareness of how critical this was going to become in the future. The discussions of sustainability remained theoretical and the houses at Landsthul were one of the few pioneering projects of the time. We worked closely with an environmental engineer who established the technical principles the designs had to adhere to. There were five typologies providing accommodation in a number of different spatial configurations. The organisational and positional principles were established to harness as much solar power through passive methods. The importance of describing the environmental requirements is needed to contextualise the design. The natural energy source came exclusively from sunlight and this became one of the principle influences in the design, both technically and symbolically. The house was situated on the edge of a disused quarry; the building was south-facing and organised around a semi-circular plan to allow the south façade to receive as much light as possible. The principal south-facing space was the living area, which rose through a double-height volume to accommodate a studio gallery. At the rear of this double-height volume was the ‘trompe wall’, absorbing and subsequently redistributing the heat; the south façade was predominantly constructed of glass to allow maximum light absorption. However, it was the rear north-facing wall that provided the entrance to the building where the narrative of the house could be expressed. 

The wall was constructed with 600mm block work and then a render was applied as a surface finish. The fenestration was limited in order to allow as little heat loss as possible. It was through the manipulation of the render that the narrative was told. It was critical that the dynamic of the light was captured; the geographic contours of the location were abstractedly inscribed on the surface, which not only functioned as the entry to the building but also acted as a metaphor for the first chapter of a book where the introduction to the main themes of the story are often told. The render was applied with different levels of thickness to create surface articulation. The geography of the site could be easily read geometrically and the arc of land on which the house sat was translated into a recognisable form that was profiled on the façade with the application of raised render. There were other contextual features – the presence of water, an escarpment and distant hills – and these were all acknowledged through forms of abstract representation on the façade by manipulating the surface so that the cement finish was differentially articulated. Shadow would be cast by the differentiated surface and as the day passed, so the shadows would lengthen and contract, both metaphorically and physically suggesting that the sun played an integral part in the working of the house. Fehn memorably talked about the use of light as part of the architectural palette and how the designer needed to respond quite differently according to latitude. Architecture is flat and characterless without the articulation of light, but the Blue House had surfaces that dramatised the use of light and shadow. The nuance described in text is impossible to reproduce with solid surfaces; perhaps the closest reference is the genre of film noir, where the self-conscious use of side- and up-lighting not only articulates profiles but also insinuates atmosphere. The front façade of the house obviously does not achieve this level of drama, but it is an inspiring quality to refer to."

Hawley, C. (2016). Transitions: Concepts + Drawings + Buildings, Abingdon: Routledge.

[fae-redux]

rules of the game: ch. 5 - my kind’s your kind

Story Summary: 

The Evergreen and Imagi were never quite in peacetime. Roman’s just trying to figure out how to survive and succeed his mother. Logan wants to live long enough to use his magic however he wants. Patton is coasting while repressing everything, still trying to figure out what feelings are. 

Virgil doesn’t want to change the world. 

Luckily, it isn’t up to him.

first | ao3 | prev

Chapter Summary: Dee and Virgil are both of the Evergreen. They don’t already know this.

Word count: 2658

Pairings: future lamp, platonic anxceit

~|~

When he finds Dee sitting innocently at his dining table with nothing but a cup of tea and a saucer in front of him, Virgil knows he knows. 

“Did you know,” Dee starts, not looking up from his tea (Virgil can feel his barely contained glee from where he stands), “that Queen Valerie received quite the surprise this morning?”

He’s smirking like Virgil should already know. “No,” he attempts to shrug casually because it’s not technically a lie, “What surprise?”

“The queen certainly did not acquire a child,” His eyes light up, “And she really didn't get the twin fae child of the one you just cursed, no, she did not.” He laughs and practically spins out of his seat to get a good look at Virgil, effectively cutting off his path to his room. “Why didn’t you invite me on your hunt? We wouldn’t have had any fun together! There’s always something as good as some classic bonding, cursing unsuspecting humans, stealing children, you know!”

Virgil exhales a long breath through his nose, trying to move around the fae. “You are way too excited about this.”

“Well, it’s only what I haven’t wanted for years,” Dee tilts his head forward facetiously, an arm blocking his exit again, “Horrible of you to give me an early birthday present.”

Virgil gives up trying to get to his room and takes the seat Dee vacated, but then his brain catches up with what Dee just said. “Wait, I didn’t curse the kid, I cursed the queen.”

“According to the Seelie that just came from the outskirts, you definitely did not get the kid, and your magic is super stable,” Dee shrugs, moving his cup to the sink, practically fluttering his hands in joy. “The kid’s a bad mark, and if he grows up anything like his mother, you’ll be sorry you did it.”

Virgil looks at Dee, who is still grinning, genuinely ecstatic for the first time since Virgil’s met him, and thinks, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. If the queen does raise the child herself, he doesn’t have that much hope for the kid, and with King Cromwell under her thumb, it’s unlikely the kid will know what life outside the citadel looks like.

“I can see it now,” He says. The deal is composed of a thick cord that holds strong. Even tugging on it now, he feels the prince, crying alone in a nursery, and can’t believe he didn’t feel it before, “I should probably break it.” 

“Sure, if you don’t want the death of a child on your hands. Magic doesn’t come with backlash.” Dee raises an eyebrow, and he hastily takes his hand back from the rope. “Besides there have been plenty of instinctive magic curses in fae history. It’s not like we don’t have the theory to even begin going about breaking it without killing you or the kid.”

He shakes his head and resolves to ignore the thing.

Dee is happy. It’s a shame, Virgil thinks. If what Virgil can recall about what he said is right, the young prince has twenty years to live, and nothing he does will affect the curse or change its course. It’s all up to Adelaide. 

He doesn’t dwell on the seed of guilt that starts to grow in his stomach. 

He doesn’t.

~|~

As much as he likes to focus on his misfortune, Virgil knows that when he can’t fix all his problems, it’s best to start with the ones he can handle. 

The thing is, Dee’s right. His magic is unstable in that he doesn’t know what he already did with it or how to use it, and if he can’t learn to put some sort of a leash on it, he’ll be reliant on Dee forever, which isn’t ideal. 

On the bright side, Dee seems delighted by the turn of events that is Virgil asking for magic lessons. They’ve started to learn to live with each other in the past couple weeks, Dee accommodating Virgil and teaching him how to do things around the estate, and Virgil carefully staying out of the way of Dee’s clients. This really is an extension of their preexisting lessons.

Dee starts them off by trying to figure out what sort of fae Virgil is. It would be going better if the only things he could talk about weren’t the way the plants lead him to Dee’s hide-away home in the Evergreen and the whole “curse” incident. 

“How did you get away from a full ballroom of knights and iron? The queen wouldn’t have been extra careful with the presence of a child,”  Dee has about seven books open trying to figure out what Virgil’s fae history is made of. 

He shrugs, letting his shoulders slump in a little more, taking another bite of his food and ducking behind his bowl a little as Dee tosses another book to the side. “I heard the sound of breaking glass behind me? It sounded like your illusion breaking that first night we met, so I assume it was some kind of illusion magic. I just remember thinking I didn’t want them to see me leave. Illusions and plant-based magic are two very different things, though, so I don’t really understand how I would have both.”

Dee snorts, putting his own bowl down. “Even for a novice, you’ve got a horrible understanding of magic.” He brushes through his history of plant fae grimoire while frequently glancing from Virgil to the book. He turns the book so Virgil can see, “Match?”

Virgil looks at the portrait in the book of a fae with a wide face and a stubby nose and shakes his head. “I read a lot in the castle so I know a lot about magic. My mother’s collection told me about fae magic, but Adelaide’s collections taught me other kinds of magic. I moved most of her spellbooks and grimoires to my room, so even if the queen decides to go book burning, those would probably be safe. She probably doesn’t remember that I used to live in the west tower.”

The ache that comes with thinking about his old home isn’t new but he almost wishes the bittersweet feeling would go away. The castle always used to have the best view of the sunset and the most wonderful view of the full moon in the sky. Jam tarts were always a bonus too, especially when they got the ones with the special red jam. Those were things that made it really feel like home.

Dee turns the book around again. “This one?” 

Virgil stops thinking about the castle. 

The portrait shows an eager lady with sharp ears and elongated incisors and long silver blonde hair, about to pounce off the page. Her grin looks the same as his mother’s did before she hatched a plan to get them both in trouble. The manor staff used to hate that smile. 

“That one,” he swallows down and clenches his fists to hold back the tremors he feels coming on, but it just sends sharp stings of pain through his palms. No one had told him about being part fae. No one even suggested it before Dee. If the queen knew, she surely wouldn’t have allowed Romulus to take him in. “Well, we know why about the plants now, though I’m not really sure how diluted my ancestry is,” He fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, and the hollow feeling in his chest persists. Enough fae blood to be fully realized by a deal gone awry, but not enough to affect him for the first 17 years of his human lived life. 

Dee waves a hand and begins to put books away. “The real problem is that we know exactly why you have illusion powers like me,” The muttering increases as Virgil just sits at the table, head leaning against his palm watching as Dee pulls random books out at will, only to look through two or three pages and return them to the shelf. “Your existence as a fae makes complete sense.”

Today has already been too much, but at the very least they have a hint. “Thanks,” he replies dryly. “It’s not as though anyone told me there was a fae in my family tree somewhere. I would go back and look for the documentation if it didn’t mean getting captured and tortured for eternity for daring Adelaide.”

The scowl on Dee’s face makes him use an arm to cover the lower half of his face and stifle his snicker. 

“Yes, you could go back, and all my hard work, gone, just like that?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, as he shoots his judgmental gaze towards Virgil, “Stunning idea.”

“Nah, I think you like me too much to let me do that anyways,” Virgil openly smiles at the fae as he huffs and returns his attention to the shelves. “You do.”

“If the universe had not given you to me as a gift,” The light from the window glances off his yellow scales, making them glow, “You wouldn’t be dead right now. You would do well not to remember that.”

“Yeah,” Virgil rounds the table and plucks Dee’s bowl from where it sits, heading to the sink, “You like me.”

He doesn’t interrupt him, lets the grumbles fill the air, the only noises Dee can make without outright lying or telling the truth in the way he does.

Dee is a lot easier to understand than whatever the queen had going on, and they got on fairly well. Virgil doesn’t think it would be the worst thing to stick around for a while. 

~|~

Watching Dee set up his tools for their first illusions lessons shouldn’t be as funny as it is. He left early that morning after breakfast with a cementing potion, tubes of sticking potion, and a basket of things he hadn’t let Virgil peak at.

When he’s finally allowed outside, he sees the monstrosities that Dee made in all their glory. There are trinkets of every sort pulled together from various places in the house that appear to be fashioned together into odd amalgamations. One is made up completely of porcelain doll legs in the shape of a duck and another is made up of small duck statues that have been organized into the shape of a person.

Ridiculous sculptures aside, Dee’s efforts come with a long lecture that Virgil only manages to absorb parts of. 

“These won’t do for now, but the basis of this is you needn’t be able to maintain the same image in your head as the one you want to project as an illusion. It’s not like making the image in your head and turning it out of your brain to appear in the real world. Make sense?” Dee is looking very intently at the ducks while Julep watches amused from the sidelines.

Virgil frowns. “Is the correct answer yes?” He stares at the sculptures as if they will help him figure it out. “Because no.”

Sighing, Dee points at one of the ruinous creations, “When you look at that, what are you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about how weird it is that you own enough dolls to make a large duck out of their legs and how fucking weird you are for doing this. Why, what’s the point?”

He looks like he’s going to facepalm in a very undignified way for a moment. “Can you think of anything else besides the thing you’re looking at?”

Blinking at the creation, he thinks for a moment. How could anyone who had that in front of them not think about it? Then it hits him. That’s why he made these insane things. “You’re trying to improve my concentration on what I want the actual illusion to be.”

“You mustn't hold your concentration, or this won’t work. Try to focus on the statues, not an open field with flowers. Anything not like that.”

From where he sits with his eyes closed, he can feel the grass pulling up between his fingers and in the breeze. Imagining an empty field, he tries to picture what he thought of being in front of him. After a full minute of intense focus, he peeks one eye open, and Dee just waits, not saying anything. Nothing happened.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing,” He huffs, frustrated. He picks the dirt and grass out from under his nails, a wrinkle in his brow. “Turn the image, what does that even mean?”

“Don’t picture it in your head first,” Dee sits next to him and puts down the dangling chicken bone mobile he created. His back is straight and he rests his palms facing up on his knees. “Don’t take a deep breath, and forget to concentrate.” He moves his hands to the ground in front of him, “Now, don’t shift the image, like it's on a wheel from your mind, in front of your eyes.” 

Virgil watches as between blinks, the things vanish from sight. He raises a hand to tap the illusion, then hesitates and looks to Dee for permission. 

“Please don’t touch, it’s just so fragile,” Dee smirks and examines his nails. 

The tap sounds exactly like tapping a glass of water or on a window. A bright sound rings out, but the illusion doesn’t break. More confident now, Virgil knocks on the glass, and the prairie scene stays playing in front of him. 

“Honey, you’re gonna have to try softer than that to break it,” Dee picks up the shovel he brought with him to build his structures. “Watch and don’t learn a thing!” The fae laughs as he swings it full force at the illusion, spinning with the momentum of the turn. 

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the field with his laughter, and Virgil can’t help his flinch, looking away so his eyes don't get hit with any of the glass. Nothing that comes his way feels like it hits him. In fact, the bits that do appear to hit him just vanish on impact. Curious, he runs his fingers along the edge of a piece that landed near him and startles as it melts into nothing the second he would have made contact with it. 

Behind the illusion, a single duck falls off its structure from the hit of the shovel, but otherwise, the creations are unharmed by Dee’s magic. 

“Illusions are weak until they are broken. You won’t learn in your own time,” Dee looks disappointed at the duck that fell off and tucks it in his pocket, though what for Virgil doesn’t know. “Not your turn!”

Virgil looks at the spot Dee had put his hand down and takes a deep breath, just like Dee told him. It’s hard not thinking about the statues in the yard, but he manages to make some sort of image in his head of an empty field. The wheel behind his eyes pulls the image over the image of the current field.

The turn feels strange but there’s something there. It leaks into his arms as he tries to put the image in front of him, and it feels like water running over his arms, uncomfortably smooth. He blinks his eyes open, and he’s completely dry, but he’s looking at an empty field. Well, a version of an empty field, anyways.

Dee clicks his tongue happily. The illusion is clearly the wrong time of day, the black of a night sky curling at the edges with sunlight, and as Dee flicks it with two fingers, it shatters. “For a first try, terrible.” It’s silly, but Dee grins just like Thomas would when he scored well on his chemistry assessments. “Now don’t do it again.”

Virgil puts his hands to the ground more confidently. He can do this however many times it takes to get it right.

[glassofficepartitionsuk]

Accounts Benefits of Glass Partitions

There has always been a debate on the advantages and disadvantages of glass office partitions. Some managers believe the best way to get the highest work rate out of a team is to segregate them so there are no distractions whilst others believe a happy and interactive environment boosts motivation and productivity. The other consideration for many managers is whether installing glass walls around your office will provide any financial benefits. We are here to show you the financial benefits of installing glass office partitions and how it can help your company succeed Glass Partitions Manchester

• Efficiency - The most obvious financial reward of having glass walls throughout your office is it reduces your dependency on using all your office lighting throughout the day. If more natural light is emitted throughout your office, it means you can reduce the amount of electricity you use and if you work in an independent office block, this could save the company lots of money throughout the year.

This also has a positive effect on the environment as it will reduce the company's carbon footprint as well as increasing energy efficiency. If you are seen as acting ethically, then it will have a positive effect on the reputation and perception of the company which could increase the companies appeal to potential clients. On top of that, your company may be eligible to a range of environmental incentives as part of your sustainability efforts.

• Productivity - One of the main selling points of glass wall partitioning is that it increases motivation and productivity among your workforce, which can mean tasks are carried out quickly, and the standard of work produced can improve a great deal. If companies do not have to allocate a vast amount of time and resources on to a task or project, it will save them money and enable the company to take on more business and easily manage the extra work load.

• Corporate Appeal - With many business markets appearing to be highly competitive, trying to win a new client for the company is becoming increasingly tough, and therefore you need to give yourself every possible advantage when looking to liaise with and impress a potential client.

Glass partitions generate a comfortable and slick corporate feel for any offices, and a client will be impressed with a clean and organised office which they feel comfortable visiting for meetings or to work should the project require them to. If your company is looking to target premium brands or corporate companies, then many would suggest this change is a necessity for any business with big targets and long-term aspirations.

• Flexibility - The final financial benefit of having glass partitions installed in your office is that they give you a great deal of flexibility, meaning they can easily be demounted and moved should you need extra space or if there is a need to segment an area of the office for privacy reasons. If you did need the change the layout and did not have these partitions, then you could continually keep paying for changes to the layout of your offices. Demountable glass walls are very easily dismounted and moved meaning you can continually change and redesign the layout of your office to accommodate for any unforeseeable events or circumstances.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Crane Team: Part 3 - Sun Tattoo

In a conference room, ten chairs have been set up around a round mahogany table. The seven new clan chiefs, along with Nanami Sakurai and Yoko Uesugi, sat around it, facing each other and a screen that featured three high ranking former members of the Devil Clan who were teleconferencing in from behind bars.

Nanami Sakurai sat in a prim royal purple business suit, her hair up in a tight bun. Yoko sat next to her, her hair up in a high ponytail, covered from the neck down. When given the permission to speak, Yoko said, “The legal department has agreed to take up the cases for appeal. They’ve also agreed to weekly status updates on these. However, this will take significant staff away from regular duties.  I would like to request a budget for emergency staff members to handle follow up and logging of reports.”

“How many people are we talking about?” A heavy set man rumbled, completely unconcerned. His head was bald save two tufts of hair over his ears. He smoked from a long Japanese pipe. He was Minato Ryoma, a business mogul specializing in real estate. He was the late Clan Chief Genichiro’s cousin and had quickly inserted himself into the vacuum left by his death with very little fuss. 

“My primary objective is to reassure the defendants that Hydra will take their cases seriously. I will therefore hire 45 people. No more than 10 cases per employee.” Yoko replied. “Pay should be a sufficient living wage for Tokyo on its own so that they will not need secondary employment to focus on this task.”

Minato snorted roughly, his stomach bouncing under the table. “Preposterous. Our finances have barely recovered from this disaster and you want to throw away this much money for this project?”

“Our recovery is pointless if we are lax in pulling the Yakuza gangs together and another war break-...”

Sakurai silenced Yoko with a stern look. 

Yoko sat back against her chair. “My apologies.”

“I will make sure that we do a full review of our budget and accommodate as much as we can to the effort.” Sakurai Nanami spoke quietly and dutifully.

“Genji Heavy Industries is still a wreck. The contractor’s we hired are over priced due to the scarcity of workers and materials. We must build the house before we invite other tenants.” Ryoma grumbled.

The other clan chiefs seemed to agree, nodding to themselves. 

“Perhaps priority can be given to the breadwinners within the former Devil Clan so that some of the children currently in foster can be reunited with their rightful families.” The newest clan chief of the Inuyama clan, Inuyama Ren, was a surprisingly young man of 21 years old. His face was smooth and handsome and reminded Yoko a bit of Chance. He was Katsu Inuyama’s last remaining son. The rest had died in the fighting. Yoko couldn’t argue the practicality of his suggestion but he could certainly see objections in her eyes. “Does Ms. Uesugi have a response to this?”

“Yes… I do agree that this is a good suggestion. However, placement of Devil Clan children can’t all be with Devil clan members. Particularly if their actual families are alive. Parents should raise their children.” She said softly. “Furthermore, the youth of the Devil clan are the least responsible for their crimes and the more likely to suffer future effects. I believe the younger members should have a high priority as well.”

Minato huffed again, “Future…” He muttered.

Yoko’s nails squeezed her hands but the effect of such emotion dampening tactics was hampered due to her gloves. 

From the speakers of the computer, one of the Devil Clan representatives unmuted themselves. “It has been demonstrated that the increase in violence of the Devil Clan were the result of illicit drugs being produced to enhance the bloodline. Before these drugs, while there were violent and dangerous hybrids, the population of berserker hybrids was not nearly as high as after these drugs were produced. The Clan Chiefs of the Hydra could be excused for thinking all Devils are going to die young but that wasn’t always the case. Even the rules stated that Devils could be imprisoned for up to 40 years with hope of release.”

Minato huffed but didn’t dispute this.

“We will run an analysis through the accounting department. I can’t promise 45 employees but making sure each temporary hire is paid enough to focus fully on the work is wise.” Nanami nodded her head.

The meeting dragged on to discuss politics. The mass slaughter and outbreak of violence had alarmed non-hybrid officials. They were pushing through an anti-Yakuza bill and needed immediate reassurance that such shocking events weren’t going to recur. Yoko scarcely suppressed a yawn as she struggled to listen. Her Japanese was phenomenal for having studied for such a short time but the details and intricacies of parliament still escaped her.

Her cell phone buzzed at her side and she peered down.

The message: “The Fuma child was rejected this morning. He’s back at the orphanage.”

Her eyes widened. Why? It had taken ages to finally place that child with relatives after a thorough search. He had been marked, improperly, as violent. He’d understandably acted out after witnessing the death of his family. She had been reassured and thrilled that he would finally be placed with his own clan! Yoko looked up at Nanami Sakurai. “I’m sorry. There’s an emergency. Excuse me.”

Without asking permission, Yoko got up from the table, bowed to everyone and dialed the number to the group foster home.

The placement officer over the children’s group hostel answered right away. “Hello?”

“It’s Yoko. What happened? I thought we resolved all concerns?” Yoko stood outside the door and then walked a few more steps to further conceal her conversation from the conference room. Outside the room,  people were passing back and forth but most of them were on phones of their own. Half the corridor was blocked off with construction tape to repair an earthquake damaged wall, making things extra crowded.

“His bloodline isn’t the problem. The problem is he’s not Fuma.”

“Not Fuma? Then what is he? All his paperwork said Fuma!” She said, dodging passersby and trying to find a quiet spot.

“We don’t know. We don’t know why he would falsify his information…”

“There has to be a mistake. He’s eight years old. How can someone his age falsify information?” Yoko started walking towards the exit. “I need to talk to him. How is he?”

“Distraught but…”

“Of course he is…” Yoko broke into a jog. After the assassination attempt, she wasn’t allowed to leave the Genji building without an armed escort and armored car, but this was an emergency! “Excuse me, are you headed out?” She approached a couple of Executive Board members who pointedly ignored her. Even though she chose to believe they were already busy with their own tasks, most of the Hydra members still thought of her as Ruri Kazama’s woman and wouldn’t willingly help a former enemy.

“Look, I'll try to get there as soon as possible.” Yoko hung up and walked over to the information desk. “Hey I need to get a ride to the foster home. Is there anyone available?”

The woman behind the desk looked harried and brushed aside hair that had gone askew. “This is not a scheduled outing and currently there are no armored cars available…”

“When will the next one be back?”

“Probably not until four pm and that will depend on traffic.” She said with some regret. 

“No, this is too important. Can we recall one?”

Her eyes widened in outrage. “Recall one? And what are we supposed to do with the person who’s actually there on-site?”

“I’ll take her.” said an approaching voice.

The secretary’s eyes widened and she stood up.

Yoko turned her head and looked into a familiar face behind thin rimmed glasses. “Crow!”

She hadn’t seen the man since he dropped her off at Genji Heavy Industries after the Cassell Team departed. She thought he had retired. Crow was the last remaining man on Chisei Gen’s original team. Both Sakura and Yasha had died during the Dragon’s awakening. Sakura was killed by Ruri Kazama. Yasha died blowing up Kaguya’s core in Genji Heavy Industries. The man looked a bit thinner than she remembered and he looked like he had aged with dark circles under his eyes.

He stood there in his usual trench coat and colorful shirt. “Are you coming or not?”

“Thanks.” She smiled gratefully and followed him out. 

The sun was bright but there was a noticeable chill that heralded the onset of the fall season. Hydra members walking by were looking up at Crow in shock, doing a double take, just as surprised as she was to see him back.

Crow led her to a red sports car but didn’t hold open the door like a regular driver. He just stepped around to get in.

“Did you see everyone’s faces?” She laughed. “Where have you been?”

“Taking a long vacation.” He slid into the driver's seat. “Where are we going?”

“The foster home for the Devil Clan children. What made you come back? If anyone deserves retirement, it’s you.” She said, buckling her seat. 

Crow didn’t respond but pulled into traffic. His expression was stony and his eyes were grim.

Yoko’s smile gradually faded. “Did… something happen?”

“No, nothing happened. Old habits die hard.” He pulled up to a stop light and they waited for it to change. After a pause, he added. “I never got to thank you for saving Sakura that day. At Tokyo Tower.”

Yoko looked straight ahead. Sakura Yabuki had used herself as bait to trap dead slave monsters at the top of the Tokyo Tower. Once they were nearly on her, she threw herself off the tower and let them follow her down. Yoko knew there was a rope dangling from the tower, where Fingel had saved himself from falling only minutes before. She had grabbed Sakura and the rope and watched the dead slaves continue their descent to the ground, a full 8 second fall. 

Unfortunately, Sakura would die anyway.

“I just wish I could have done more.” Yoko murmured

“Believe me, we all do. Normally, I probably would have just committed harakiri after the young chief’s passing, but I got my old man to take care of. Meanwhile? Might as well come back here.” 

The light turned green.

“Do you really still hold to notions like that?” Yoko asked with a cautious glance. “I don’t think that’s what Chisei would have wanted.”

Crow’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “Woah, you two were on a first name basis?”

“Ah… I…” Yoko stammered.

“Ha. I’m teasing. I know you’re not from around here.” He gave a vicious grin however.

Chisei and Yoko had an inevitable conflict. She was a member of the Cassell Team, a devil and in love with Ruri Kazama, the leader of the Devils. He’d hurt her deeply by killing a man named Chance who’d fallen in love with her and fought his hardest to stay alive. The killing was brutal.  She couldn’t like him. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel that, had circumstances been different, she and Chisei would have been friends. It was true that Yoko had always referred to Chisei by his first name and she couldn’t remember him ever objecting or correcting her. 

Crow had likely noticed that long before now.

The orphanage was actually a juvenile correction facility set back off the road by two layers of guarded cinder block walls, manned sniper towers and armed guards at the gates. Once inside, a large building that appeared to be something like a multistory hospital greated her with an imposing cliff-like presence. Were it not for the playground out back with its colorful slides and swings, you would have thought it was a military facility.

Crow walked in with her as she signed in but she stopped him from entering. “Dressed in that trenchcoat, you’ll frighten the kids. I’ll be right back.”

The only memories Devil Children would have of the enforcement department were invasive interviews that asked probing and embarrassing questions. One wrong answer and they would be sentenced to death or eternal imprisonment. While the caretakers were kind to them, fed them and let them sleep in comfortable beds, at the end of the day, they were locked behind vault doors that were secured by heavy chains. 

It reminded Yoko a lot of Black Swan Bay. Only these children weren’t controlled by a clapper sound.  The influx of orphans after the Hydra’s devastating purge had left the facility staggering and in dire need of funds and personnel. So placing these orphans with families was a top priority of Yoko’s work.

Thankfully, Sakurai, Inuyama and Miyamoto threw open their doors and opened their arms to the orphans. Fuma and Ryoma however had little room in their hearts for these children. Many of their clan members were orphaned at the Red Well when the massive influx of those strange white filaments swallowed up the Fuma Ninjas who had been stationed in the forest to guard the area. Fuma was extremely hurt by the fact that the Devil Clan leader, Kazama Ruri, viciously humiliated the Kotaro Fuma. But with some cajoling Yoko had finally been able to persuade them to take this one child… but he wasn’t even a Fuma child in the end.

She stopped in front of a door and pulled the file from the slot next to it. The name Tatsuya Fuma was crossed out and replaced with “Unknown”. She knocked twice and opened the door.

The boy who, up until now, had been named Tatsuya Fuma sat on a small bed. His room was neat, with a red rug and a shelf full of small toys that had been donated. Mostly toy cars and one toy gundam action figure. There was a TV but it was off. Tatsuya’s face was flushed and sticky from crying.

“Hey…” Yoko approached quietly until she was halfway across the room and then knelt down on the rug. “Hey… what happened?”

The boy hiccuped and sniffled, his knees gathered to his chest. He stared blankly at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

The boy shook his head sharply, clearly and adamantly blaming himself.

Yoko knew better than to argue. “Then what did you do?”

He looked at her and shook his head. 

“Are you scared?” Yoko whispered.

The boy nodded. 

“Why?” She opened her arms and beckoned him over. “Here, come whisper in my ear.” Her frequent visits to this boy made her known and trusted. He knew how hard she’d worked to get him placed and they’d grown a bit close. Day after day, she’d visited with candy and toys and talked to him, reassuring him that she was on his side.

The boy got down from the bed and hugged Yoko around the neck. He didn’t know it, but Yoko always wore a wire on these visits. Sometimes when she was with them, the children would whisper to her the secrets of their trauma, bits and pieces that they’d seen and heard. Little by little, Yoko was building cases against certain cadres of the Executive Board.Given the overwhelming dominance of the Executive Board of Hydra, getting witness testimony directly was nearly impossible. No one would dare speak of the vicious attacks on them. Their killers were still alive and well.

Tatsuya hugged her so tightly around her neck she nearly gagged. He was warm and trembled like a puppy. His arms were thin but his grip was strong, like iron. She could feel every bone through his cotton shirt.

“Tatsuya died. They shot him in the wall.” He whispered, then he sniffed loudly.

“Who did?”

“The people with the sun tattoo.”

“So you took his name?”

“Yeah...they were trying to kill me. So I can’t use my name. They thought Tatsuya was me. So I am Tatsuya now.”

Tatusya was a real child, not a falsified identity! This boy had taken the dead child’s name to hide from people who were looking for him. She'd sent the wrong child to the wrong family! That family had to find out on the day their son returned to them, that their son was actually dead. Yoko’s heart felt like it fell into her stomach.

“Okay honey… okay.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t tell anyone what you told me. Okay? I’ll find somewhere for you to be safe. Can you whisper to me your name?”

“Mitsue Ryoma…”

Ryoma. No wonder he never admitted who he was. Ryoma hadn’t adopted a single child since the purge. Yoko always had a bad feeling about them. Their Clan Chief’s dismissal of her proposal this morning was just one of many. They’d opposed unification at every opportunity. She couldn’t place this child with them. “You’re very smart. Okay. You can keep calling yourself Tatsuya.”

Crow had walked outside to smoke while Yoko was in the facility with the kids. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and imagined the young chief’s arm around him, shoving the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it in a sudden show of uncharacteristic affection. It was a cherished memory that came back to haunt him every once in a while.

Even though the Young Chief never talked about that girl who now called herself Yoko Uesugi, he could tell she was never far from his mind. Especially after she rescued Sakura Yabuki. Crow would notice the Young Chief staring at his reflection in his sword. Sakura returned that sword to him and told him that Yoko had saved her life. It was odd behavior and for a long time Crow’d wondered why he would stare at his reflection like that.

The door behind him opened and the girl walked out, head down, hands in pockets. “Let’s go.” She grumbled and jogged down to the sports car and stood next to it, waiting for him to unlock it.

Her sudden change in demeanor surprised him. “Did things not go well?”

She didn’t answer him. She just kept her eyes down.

Once they were in the car, she pointed to the cigarette lighter in the dashboard. “Does that work?”

“Yeah. You want one of mine?” He reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Yoko, however, removed one of her gloves, revealing the clear scales on her hand, and pulled the cigarette lighter. She took the glowing red-hot cigarette lighter and pressed it to her own skin!

“What are you doing?” Crow shouted. He reached out and snatched the lighter from her, but the damage was done. That white skin was blackened and turning red at the edges. 

Yoko cradled her hand to herself.

“It’s fine… it’s fine.” She whispered but she was cringing in pain. “Look.” She held out her hand to him. The burn was already starting to fade, rapidly healing thanks to her elevated blood.

“Don’t do that again! What’s wrong with you?” Crow shoved the lighter back into the dashboard.

Yoko didn’t answer. She just turned her head back to the entrance of the orphanage. 

Crow massaged his forehead wearily. “What happened there?”

“I can’t tell you.” She ran her hands over her face and massaged her eyes.

“Why not?” He asked, looking down at her from his glasses.

She looked him up and down silently. “Do you have a sun tattoo?”

“I got lots of tattoos… sun’s not one of them.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”  Quiet anger boiled beneath those dark eyes.

“Why are you asking?”

She let out a loud sigh and turned back to the window.

Crow sat back, resting his arm on the steering wheel. “Anywhere else you need to go?”

Yoko squeezed the fingers on her burned hand. “Can we go to the track?”

[kannra21]

I dare you! - even before the anime confirmation - suzue and daisuke headcanons lolol gonna take the risk?

Yea I thought ab something, for instance how they met and all that stuff. It's fairly different. In the novel, she came to the Kambe household as a secretary but from the anime we can conclude that she's so much more than this. In anime she can't be considered father's secretary since his parents both died I guess, although it wasn't mentioned but the creators pointed it out in a way.

Since that's clear, I made a couple of hcs/scenarios featuring their relationship from the begging. Hope you enjoy. ^^

- Kambe and the co needed to investigate the suspect of whom they had recently gathered information on the possession of suspicious substances. They didn't know exactly what it was about but they hoped they wouldn't arrive at the wrong time and encounter the entire mafia, in which case Daisuke decided to take the rest of the police department members as reinforcement in the case of an emergency. Daisuke has never needed any help, he often relied on his advanced technology and fortune, but this time was different and he clearly doubted that he could take on a couple of their men by himself. He's not a fool, he'll assign as many people as needed, just tell him how much and he'll find himself fine agents to cooperate with.

- When they reached the place he entered first, climbed the stairs and came across a room whose doors had a circular glass window. He cautiously peered through it and noticed eight men. Among them was also their suspect who was holding an open suitcase and showing it towards a person who was obviously someone from a higher rank. He held it before him like he was waiting for his approval. He couldn't make out anything else since the lighting was really bad and there were also three SUVs parked at the side of the entrance. Were there more people in the cars? He couldn't tell.

- He took his high-tech glasses to analyze his surroundings. He realized that the suitcase contained some dangerous chemicals involving nitrogen. Nitrogen-based explosives are considered incredibly volatile and Daisuke decided that this was no situation for messing around. But then he saw a girl with them. She emerged from the shadows and stood by the mafia boss's side, she looked somewhat insecure but knew that she was supposed to be there despite the tension building in the room. And then in the midst of their negotiations he heard him say that he'll pay for a bigger amount in exchange for the girl.

- She looked shocked beyond belief. She didn't want to enroll into yet another criminal organization. Just from her reaction Daisuke could conclude that she was nothing like the rest of the people she worked for, perhaps she was just a victim? Taken as a hostage so she could do their dishonorable job? He heard him say that the suspect could create more goods with her help. He admitted that they were running out of material recently so he offered her as the ideal tool. He praised her capability and skillful hands, that she was qualified for production of weapons, especially firearms.

- She objected, expressing her disapproval of the whole idea. She was nobody's minion to let herself be manipulated so casually. She didn't want that. The mafia boss seemed vividly unnerved by her attitude, she was lucky to be so pretty otherwise she'd experience a faith worse than death.

- Before the situation could get out of control Daisuke opened the door and dropped a gas bomb. The thick smoke filled the room and everyone started coughing. With his high-tech equipment Daisuke could still identify everyone and he entered the scene, ran past the group of distracted gang members and tried to save the girl by taking her hand. Since she also couldn't see much, she started to resist and she managed to kick him a couple of times before he took her by force and carried her somewhere safe. When they took a refuge, he called his police colleagues who then entered and started shooting. The mafia members were shooting as well but to no avail so they got into their cars and tried to flee. The police waited outside creating a barrier but with enough speed and force they succeeded in breaking it and escaping their sentence. Daisuke was disappointed, it was supposed to be a clear catch but it seemed like their cars were built of some fine titanium-like material which allowed them to push through it a lot easier. His thoughts got interrupted by the tight clenching of the woman's hands on his jacket, she was still holding onto him from all the fear she just expected.

- He got worried so he took her hands and shifted a little to look at her face. He asked her if she was okay and if she was going through some sort of a panic attack. She told him that she was fine. She still looked somewhat stressed out so he stroked her hair to calm her down. It was considered a normal police approach towards victims and children, it's not like he had compassion towards anyone in particular, he never did. He was a millionaire detective with no sense of empathy. They stood up and he decided to take her to the police station so she could give her report. When they arrived and got seated in the office she introduced herself. Her name was Hamada Suzue and she was working as a weapon constructor for the mafia boss, she knew of mechanics and engineering but also some other kinds of small jobs she used to do in the meantime. She got involved with them by accident and needed to keep up with their wishes for the past six months. She revealed everything they were doing, the plans she overheard them talking about and their lab for creating all sorts of things.

- After the interrogation she proved herself to be quite useful and gave them a large amount of information. Daisuke then went to drive her home but she said the mafia knew where she lived. It was unfortunate because everyone had already gone to their homes by now so they couldn’t organize a night watch. It would be too dangerous to leave her alone by herself anyways. Daisuke suggested she take her things from home and move in with him for a while until they finally caught the criminals. She began to refuse but he assured her that it was the right thing to do.

- Eventually she agreed and did as she was told. When they reached Daisuke’s mansion Suzue couldn’t believe her own eyes, she practically stared at the unique sight in front of her. When they went inside, she looked around and found herself fascinated by the whole place. She asked him where he got all this from and he replied that he was a millionaire detective. She told him that it was wonderful, that he must be so lucky. But then he looked a bit down and replied that it wasn't really like that, Suzue then looked somewhat sad and apologized. Daisuke ordered the servants to prepare dinner for them and during that time he showed her where her room would be.

- The servants, despite knowing that Daisuke's business was none of their concern, were still curious enough to ask him who was the girl that he brought with himself. He replied that it was a victim who needed a temporary accommodation until they imprisoned the criminals. Telling them that, he left and headed for the dining room. The servants gave each other knowing looks, they knew perfectly well where this was going. Daisuke could have called a hotel room for her but still decided to keep her here at his place. When she moved all her things to the closets, she joined him in the dining room and they ate.

- The atmosphere was nice and cozy. The ambiance so beautiful and luxurious and the food delicious. It was some type of unusual food since Suzue ate it for the very first time. As they ate, they talked a little about themselves and got to know each other. Suzue's discussions mostly revolved around work and so did Daisuke's. Despite working for the bad guys in the past couple of months, Suzue realized she didn't resent her work, in fact, it motivated her even more to promote her knowledge and skills. She had earned her bachelor's degree for a reason and she wanted to achieve herself as a person, to gain respect and approval. The only misfortune that struck her was that she entered into business with bad people, and now she claimed that she has learned from her mistakes. Suzue took the opportunity to thank Daisuke for the rescue and accommodation.

- Although she didn't come from an aristocratic family, Suzue had fine manners and a cheerful spirit, something Daisuke admired about her. She was so talented, so smart, so capable. She's doing things he couldn't even imagine himself doing without HEUSC, she was a real sight to behold.

- Daisuke talked about his detective work and motivation behind it, his past and the loss of his parents. Suzue felt bad but he told her it was fine, that it was something he needed to get used to. She asked him if he lived with someone to which he replied that he was alone. Suzue admitted that her childhood also wasn't all that great and that she lost confidence in pursuing relationships because of being surrounded by thugs, Daisuke on the other hand, felt proud that she felt comfortable with him and his place. They needed to grow up into responsible adults by themselves, they fought so hard to become people they were today. She concluded that they were lucky for how far they have come and wished Daisuke all the best, she said that past doesn't define a person and that each struggle is a steeping block to reach one's true potential.

- And then she got up from her seat and came to Daisuke's side. She placed a hand on his cheek, thanked him for the dinner and apologized for hitting him at the mafia hideout. Daisuke smiled a little and told her it was nothing. Then she left the dining room, leaving Daisuke alone with his thoughts. She was so respectful and kind through the dinner but something changed, the sudden confidence and flirtiness wasn't necessary, Daisuke concluded. It's like she was honest through the whole conversation that all of a sudden she remembered something that made her change her attitude, that sudden change of personality worried him. She's still hiding something. He chose not to make a fuss over it but still decided to keep his eyes and ears open in case something happens.

- He left the room and found a couple of servants spying on them. They panicked and apologized for their inappropriate act. They admitted that they just wanted to be supportive of their boss and the pretty lady. He said that their shift was over and that they were allowed to leave their work. As he watched them disappear into the dark hallway Daisuke felt embarrassed, did they really just look that close and comfortable with each other? No, it must be their imagination.

- He was climbing the stairs and just as he was about to enter his room Suzue stopped him and looked a little discouraged. He wondered if there was something wrong and she asked him if she could spend the night with him. She explained that the trauma of being surrounded by the hooligans took a tool on her and that she couldn't fall asleep. Daisuke felt uneasy, before fifteen minutes ago she was flirting and playing confident but now she's traumatized and frightened by her dreams. Either she developed some sort of PTSD, bipolar or she's trying to manipulate him into something which lowkey frightened him. His detective senses screamed at him that something was fishy about the situation but he decided to let her into his room, maybe she was just afraid.

- As he put his things away and went to take off his jacket, he felt something thin and cold pressed against his neck. A knife, wonderful. He should have listened to his instincts. He told all his servants to leave their work, it meant no one could help him anymore. Suzue told him to hand her the gun, he did so and she threw it on the floor far away from their reach. Now she didn't have to worry about him hurting her, so she ordered him to reveal important information they had gathered during the investigation. Daisuke asked her why she was doing this and she replied that she must have a plan B in case the mafia finds her anyway. If she proves herself to be useful and gives them away all that information maybe they'll spare her the torture and take her back in. Daisuke felt sad, realizing that she still didn't feel safe with him, that she didn't trust his words. It seemed like she was betrayed by the authorities before, that it wasn't the first time. Daisuke wanted to fix that, he just wanted to gain her trust again, this time for real.

- He laid his hand on hers, not to take away her knife but to calm her down. This time it wasn't a classic police procedure towards victims, he did this because he genuinely cared about her and he wanted her to know that. He told her about how much he had been in the police force, about his high-tech equipment, alarm system and other surveillance components, the basement where he kept all his weapons and aids in the case of emergency. He told her that he even does boxing and admitted that he could've disarmed her at any given moment but still decided not to do it because he didn’t want to hurt her. Suzue lowered the knife and let it fall out of her hand. She was so shaken, insecure, desperate. She said that all she really wanted was to finally trust someone and feel safe without having to make up for it.

- Daisuke slowly approached and hugged her, she hugged him back and cried. This was the first time Suzue could actually rely on someone and she was very grateful. He said that her past was being too hard on her but he also reminded her of her own words, that past doesn't define a person. He let her stay in his room that night.

- The next day he woke up to see a tray with food placed by his side and Suzue greeting him. A breakfast in bed? She told him she did it just for him after what happened the last night as an apology for being a nuisance. Daisuke was preparing himself to properly mock his servants for making their guest doing all the work but she stopped him by saying that it was entirely her idea and that they had nothing to do with it. Daisuke thanked her and asked how he should repay her to which she replied that she didn't want that, that she didn't want him to make up for anything. This reminded him of her words from the last night, that all she wanted was to feel safe without having to make up for it, she wanted him to feel the same way. So it was supposed to be a mutual understanding? When Suzue realized that, in all her determination to make things better between them, she didn't notice that she was ordering him around and acting very impolite to which she panicked and started apologizing.

- Daisuke smiled and he actually found it quite sympathetic. Listening to a stranger in his own home was oddly satisfying. It felt so normal and domestic, it reminded him of the days when his family was still together. No, he shouldn't feel so nostalgic just from a nice gesture from a stranger. A certain stranger who decided to step a foot into his world. Daisuke felt a warm feeling overflowing him, is she really supposed to be just some random stranger? They talked only yesterday and yet it felt as he knew her very well from the conversation they had.

- He thanked her for the meal, returned to his bed and tried it out. This was the very first time he tasted someone else's cuisine that wasn't from servants or specialized chefs. It was exiting in a way; she didn’t know his taste and everything she made was based entirely on her own preferences. He took a bite and couldn't believe how good it was. The flavors were nicely balanced and the texture was good, nothing too bland nor spicy. He complimented her cooking and she looked happy and proud of herself.

- After breakfast he needed to go back to detective work. He was still kind of worried that Suzue will feel uneasy being by herself so he showed her the basement with weapons and video surveillance so she could see what's happening in the house at any moment.

- Needles to say, when he came back he realized that she turned the basement into a workshop and he found her working on a weapon he has never been in a possession of. She greeted him and said that she noticed he didn't have enough firearm despite calling it the weapon's room so she took matters into her own hands and constructed something by herself. Daisuke, instead of warning her about messing around with his belongings without permission or criticizing his lack of equipment, decided to take a look at what she had made for him. She made a sniper rifle, he examined it and noticed it was correctly handled in every way. He decided to try it out on a dummy and it also worked perfectly. Daisuke smirked, showing her his satisfaction. He allowed her to do things like this more often.

- Daisuke has been away from home often lately and Suzue was not allowed out for her own safety. It was pretty boring for Suzue and even if she was allowed, she could only do so with Daisuke's escort. When he returned home she asked him if she could take part in his missions which he refused, saying that he didn't want to expose her to unnecessary danger. It's true, he took her to dinners and everywhere outside to spare her the boredom but she asked this time because she wanted to be useful. Daisuke finally decided to give in and let her do as she pleased. Arguing with her wouldn't do him any good and outraging her might even lead to an worse outcome, because she would probably come out on her own and get into trouble which would then result into him being guilty since police officers are the ones who're supposed to take care of their victims' safety. He couldn't really do anything about it, she was so determined and passionate about her goals that he had no other choice but to play along. Daisuke noticed that she was the first person to ever control him that way, he never let himself be manipulated by anyone. He was the millionaire detective, no one was supposed to get into his way of things and yet, this woman had the audacity to interfere and shape things the way she wanted. This was the first time Daisuke realized that he felt something more for the person he shared his mansion with.

- Suzue tried herself in the role of a spy and seductress so thanks to her help, they managed to uncover several other dealers and smugglers. She wasn't afraid this time because she knew that she was being put under constant watch and Daisuke decided to borrow her his high-tech equipment because he was this worried. Daisuke never shared his equipment with anyone, at this point it was obvious that he started acting so unlike himself, that he actually cared for her well-being.

- As they lived longer and longer with each other Daisuke discovered something new about her every day, all positive things. He adored her driving skills and when she told him that she was also in the possession of a pilot license, he felt so proud. He supported her in everything she was doing and she couldn't be happier to return his kindness with whatever he asked her to construct.

- The day has finally come when they managed to capture the mafia Suzue was working for. Now she was a free woman, she could go home and continue living her own life. The thing is, she couldn't. She was so happy living with Daisuke and she could finally use her talents for good, for helping the police and other innocent people like herself. It's like she finally found a place she could belong, Daisuke felt like home to her. When she waited for his answer she wasn't expecting him to kiss her. He was holding back all this time and hid behind his aristocratic politeness that he managed to deceive her, making her believe that he was just kind and supportive of her without any ulterior motives. She laughed with tears in her eyes, she was so happy and they returned home, holding each other's hand.

- They got married and in the two years since living with him, Suzue has adapted to a rich lifestyle and mastered all manners while Daisuke showered her in luxuries.

- He couldn't judge her at this point, because he knew that everyone would do that in her place, so he asked her if she had decided to marry him because of his wealth that he owned. To his surprise, she said no. She admitted that she was never the type of woman to be influenced by money so easily. She stayed with him because of him, and that was the only thing that mattered.