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vxnuslogy · 24 days

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— a reason. ft aventurine

— warnings: slight cursing and violence and spoilers for the new hsr quest

— author's note: this is very long and very much a giant word vomit. first work in hsr is aventurine, i fear favoritism is real.

‘everything happens for a reason.’

aventurine has never felt so sick and tired of that phrase. something about it makes his fists clench from beneath the table and stomach flip and twist uncomfortably from within.

if everything happens for a reason, then what was the reason behind his clan’s massacre? what was the reason for the stirring in his guts whenever he looked in the mirror? what was the reason behind all of his fortune now turned to misfortune?

aventurine hated not knowing the reason.

“and this pretty thing,” jade motioned towards you by her side. standing motionless, back straight and all. “is [name]. be sure to play nice, aventurine.”

what was the reason behind your new recruitment? better yet, why were you placed as his new assistant? the last time aventurine checked, he was doing perfectly fine. steadily climbing up his rank with his risky gambles and bargaining skills. he couldn't wrap his head around it so he just sighed and accepted it.

“thank you for always looking after me, jade.” his voice carried evident sarcasm but the woman only smiled and pushed you towards his direction. he had to physically stop himself from recoiling from the action and gave you a smile.

“it's a pleasure to meet you, [name].” he held his hand out for you to take. you were hesitating, aventurine noticed. but after a few seconds you slowly slid your hand into his and gave it a firm shake. “the pleasure is all mine, mr. aventurine.”

the blonde man held onto your hand for a moment longer before slipping it away and tucking it behind his back. he surveyed your form making you want to squirm under such a gaze, and he noticed.

“let's be good friends.”

—

working with aventurine was strange, not that you didn't expect it. you spent the past six months running around the IPC from one office to another carrying mountains of papers and constantly picking up calls from the communication device in your ear. other times, you'll be out and about trailing aventurine like a lost duckling when you need to accompany him to missions that require him to be physically present.

honestly, working for the stoneheart will eventually give you an early death from a heart attack. not only is his risky gambling habits very concerning, his way of speaking wasn't exactly everyone's cup of tea. more often than not you’re needed to play as a peacemaker, the middle ground of negotiations to prevent any physical fights from starting.

but it wasn't as bad as you'd assume. you clock in around 9 in the morning and clock out at 5 in the afternoon. sometimes if certain tasks require you for overtime, you'll clock out at around 8 or 9 at night max. all the work aventurine assigns to you aren't all that difficult to handle as well. just simple reports that need to be proofread so he won't have to read over them multiple times, scheduling interviews, picking up calls and informing him of his new missions, and if the situation calls for it, you play as a spy to gather information.

overall aventurine was a good boss.

today was like any other tuesday morning. you clock in just before 9, get your coffee and another cup for your boss, pick up the last reports from the strategic investment department, and then make your way into aventurine’s office to brief him on his schedule.

his office was on the fancier ends, no surprise there as he was one of the ten stonehearts. your shoes clicking when they met the marbled floors, your eyes skimmed through the reports, trying to guess which proposal will be approved or disapproved. when you reached a familiar door, you fixed your hair and readjusted the insignia pinned to your vest. an aventurine stone, just like your boss.

you knock thrice -short, short and long- before you hear a muffled voice tell you to come in.

“good morning, mr. aventurine.” you greet with a slight bow as normal. “as punctual as ever, [name].” raising your head you nod towards topaz’s direction in acknowledgment before making your way to his desk. “here are all the reports from the last mission. i’ve read through all of them and made sure everything is in order.” placing the papers on the table, he dropped the ones in his current hand before taking the new ones, all the while, you place down his coffee which he gladly took.

“you aren't overworking them, have you, aventurine?” topaz inquired, crossing both her arms over her chest. “what kind of boss do you take me for friend? a bad one? i can assure you my assistant is in good hands.” the blonde man chipped in, his fingers flipping from one page to another as you busied yourself trying to organize the scattered reports on his table. feeling topaz's gaze, you give her a slight smile and nod, confirming that aventurine is in fact, was a good boss.

she just sighed and shook her head. motioning for you to come over, you look to aventurine who gave you a nod in turn. you walked towards topaz -feeling the searing stare of aventurine burn through the back of your head- as she took out a flash drive and handed it to you.

“this is the recording of the last meeting in regards to the mission you're tasked with. since you were still in pier port, we started without you.”

“how cruel of you, to start such an important meeting without even waiting for me.”

ah yes, the pier port incident. you smiled wearily as your shoulder slumped when you remembered what happened. you shake your head in amusement of the memory.

“thank you topaz,” you break the silence, like you always do. “i’ll be sure to look over it today.” she smiled at you in appreciation before turning her back on you and waving goodbye.

“well, that was all i came for. catch you two later.”

once the door clicked shut and the sounds of footsteps getting fainter and fainter, you took it as a sign to turn back to your boss who was already looking at you.

“is something the matter, sir?” you ask. he took off his glasses with a hum and turned his attention back to the papers he was reading. “be sure to give me a summarized report of the meeting before you go home.” you nod and take a seat on the couch in his office and boot up the laptop on the coffee table. you've always wondered when it suddenly appeared in his office, you were 98% sure it wasn't there when you first started working but aventurine always said that's it been there the entire time.

you shake the thought out of your mind and shift into work mode. hours seem to pass by in the blink of an eye before you heard aventurine call out to you. “i’m sorry mr. aventurine, i'm afraid i didn't hear you.” you heard him sigh and repeat his question. “i said, why did you join the IPC? actually, no, that's not what i want to know.”

when you looked up from the laptop in front of you, your boss had taken a seat across from you. you felt your heart thumping in nervousness.

“what exactly did you do to pique jade’s interest?”

frozen. you felt frozen on your spot. fingers stopping midway from pressing onto the keys. those beautiful eyes you've slowly grown accustomed to seeing unfiltered from his glasses, they make your heart and pulse beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.

“i come from a well-off family.” you start, suddenly feeling conscious of your background. “my parents have worked closely with the stonehearts, i suppose miss jade wanted to continue the diplomatic relationship between my family and the IPC.”

“is that the reason why you're here now?”

you simply nod even though you weren't so sure if that really was the reason.

“let me ask you another question.”

letting out a startled noise when the laptop in your lap suddenly close with a gloved hand sitting on top of it, you stare at aventurine's purple eyes that had rings of teal, something so uniquely him that you couldn't help but get lost in them. he took the laptop from your grasp and set it on the coffee table as he leaned both his arms on his legs.

“do you like working under me?”

the question caught you off guard and it showed with how the corner of aventurine’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. hiding behind a closed fist and clearing your throat, you pray that your voice wouldn't waver as you answer.

“i do.” you peaked towards his directions and he didn't seem satisfied with your answer so you list out all the reasons why you like working with him. “despite your… questionable habits, i’ve come to grow used to them as time goes on.” a fond smile made its way to your lips when you dug around your mind trying to find your memories that had aventurine in them, only to realize that he was in all of them.

“i’ve come to enjoy all your little shenanigans in missions.”

“i'll have you know, calling your boss’ plans “shenanigans” could lead to your bonus being cut by a few percent.” he huffed like a child as he decided to just sit back and cross his arms over his chest and raise his chin at you. you chuckle at the action and continue.

“ever since i was a child, i have always wanted to travel the cosmos. but since i’m the only child to my mother and father, my childhood, teenage years, and now adulthood is centered around business and trade. going out on missions with you to different planets, they heal that little part of me that wished to travel.”

“but sometimes, i truly believe that you want me to die from a heart attack.” you hear him snicker from under his breath as he fixes the watch on his wrist. “i know that as a gambler taking risks is just a part of it but aeons, do they scare me to death sometimes.”

“if i knew you cared about me so much, maybe i would tone it down a bit!” there was a playful undertone to his voice as he talked to you. you let out a laugh and shake your head. “no offense sir, but i sincerely doubt that.”

“you wouldn't be the boss i've grown accustomed to if you didn't do your risky gambles.”

something flickered in aventurine's eyes, you were sure of it. but before you could find out what it was he suddenly stood up, putting on his usual glasses and giving you a closed eyed smile.

“well, that was all what i wanted to ask you.” you wanted to ask something in return, but you never had the chance to even get a word out when he was already halfway out the door. “be sure to finish that summary before the day ends. leave it at my desk as usual.”

and just like that, the office door clicked shut.

—

“if i told you the reason, that'd be the same as revealing a trade secret.”

aventurine remembered jade's word. how could he not when they repeated in his mind like a broken record.

after he left his office, it felt like he suddenly went back in time. it just had been roughly a month after you were given the position as his assistant and aventurine wasted no moment at the end of that friday afternoon to dash in jade's office and ask her the question: why were you his assistant.

aventurine scoffed at jade's response while she only smiled. clicking his tongue in annoyance as the woman led him in circles when he kept asking. what was the reason? was it that hard to answer?

the next few days weren't necessarily the best. he was like a walking ticking time bomb, ready to blow up at any second. everyone in the IPC kept their distance from him -not like they didn't keep their distance to begin with, some started whispering among the hallways about his potential termination after a very big gamble he almost, almost, lost. what ticked him off the most, was you.

he felt so frustrated at you because why were you so damn perceptive. those past few days, the papers that were messily and hastily thrown on the giant table in his office were suddenly organized into neat piles, all held together with different colored paperclips and a sticky note of when each pile was due to be submitted. how every morning you wouldn't fail to knock thrice at his door -short, short and long- at exactly 3 minutes before 9 in the morning with two cups of coffee in your hands. or the times where you would take one good look at him and start lighting up the candles in his office that you started buying for him because you noticed he'd be slightly less stressed when the room didn't smell like fear and insecurity.

what he hated the most was even after his little temper tantrum the past few days began to subdue, you still continued your almost doting actions towards him.

when did he start anticipating your methodical knocks 3 minutes before 9? when did he suddenly grow disappointed whenever someone knocked on his door and it wasn't you? topaz had suddenly grown confused when he suddenly came into the meeting room with a cup of coffee in his hand and when she asked about it he would simply say, “well, my darling assistant bought it for me!”. the multiple scented candles in his office that burned too quickly so at the end of every month he'd have you go out and buy some more.

when did he start using his left hand -the hand he left bare from rings, the same hand that shook in fear of losing- to guide the small of your back away from the crowd whenever you would accompany him to missions?

when did he start taking off the glasses that hid the eyes he wanted to sell to someone else?

it was so confusing yet so simple at the same time. aventurine had grown fond of his little assistant. he has grown fond of you. and that was all there is to it. after all, why would he go out of his way to get that customized brooch that you wear every single day when you come to work if he hadn't. how his chest would swell with pride whenever you spoke with higher positioned officers in the IPC and how they would avert their gaze because of the pin on your vest.

and he knows that you know of his sudden change in demeanor. you just never say a word for his sake. how he went from being a distant and acquainted boss to a friend. an actual friend. and that was supposed to be it. he did say in your first meeting that you should be good friends, but how was he supposed to keep his words after the little stunt you pulled at pier port?

it was a simple mission, negotiate and get the upper hand, nothing more and certainly nothing less. like any other mission, he was accompanied by you and some other people under the IPC. everything was going smoothly until one of them just had to open their mouth and talk shit about his already dreadful past just because he had forgotten to put on his glasses. he truly has grown a bit too comfortable with you around, and he didn't like it.

“what's a sigonian scum like you doing in the IPC? why don't you crawl back into the hole you came from?”

he just sighed. shaking his head, hiding his left hand behind his back, shielding it away from everyone's gaze as it shook with anger, disgust, and the tantalizing question of why.

why did he have to go through this?

and then you did something out of the ordinary.

the sweet assistant of aventurine suddenly pulled out the gun situated on your hip and pointed it directly to the man’s forehead, a deathly glimmer shining in your eyes as your index threateningly ghosted over the trigger.

“if you do not take back what you said just now, i won't hesitate to put a bullet or two in that empty skull of yours.”

then you started walking, and he started backing up. you didn't stop until the man was standing on the edge of the port, one simple push and he'd be drowned in the vast icy oceans. that is, if he wasn't already drowning in the fury of your eyes.

aventurine felt his body move in instinct. his left hand holding your wrist and slowly putting it down at your side. he gave a half assed apology about your behavior and ushered you to your original destination. this time, he kept his hand on your back, specifically near the gun on your hips to make sure you didn't point it at someone else.

“do they always speak to you that way?” you ask barely above whisper. eyes strained one the road you were walking one while his bore into your very being. “i’ve grown used to it. be sure to not point that gun of yours to any potential partners, m’kay?” to prove his point, he tapped the gun on your hips with his finger and you just sighed. a simple yes stumbling past your lips before being enveloped by silence.

aventurine was sure. he was very, very, sure that was the last nail in the coffin, and the answer to the question he's been asking.

the entire day, you stuck by his side. glued to the fucking hip and no one dared to utter a single word about him. the meeting went smoothly and when everyone was preparing to go home, he called you over and said:

“that stunt you pulled earlier, stays between us, alright, friend?”

and you simply nod in understanding.

you carry your bags onto the ship to take you back home only to be taken aback when aventurine comes to steal it away from your hands. “take it as thanks for earlier.” he remembered that look of shock before it turned into something else -what it was he didn't know because you turned away before he could even fathom what of it made his stomach do flips.

even when he came to drop off your things at your personal room, he found himself lingering by the door. watching you unpack your things as he stood idly. you would eventually turn to him and ask if he needed anything more, and out of curiosity he asked: “why did you point your gun at that man?” he will never forget the look of puzzlement on your face when he asked.

“because he said something unpleasant to you. as your assistant, i can't allow others to simply trample on your name.”

he spent the night staring up at the ceiling while laying on his bed. your words mingling in with jade's in his mind, trying to fit the two like puzzle pieces to ease the racing of his heart and uneasiness of his mind. he didn't like assuming things. a conjecture such as this would cost him too much, but tonight he indulged himself in the thought.

picking up his phone and messaging jade, he laid his forearm over his eyes and sighed.

“this room smells horrible…” he muttered. the strong scent of chlorine made his mind spin. making him miss the scented candles you had slowly but surely placed inside his office. he'd grown so fond of them that he'd bought some of his own to place around his home. “ah… i think i'm screwed.”

—

it has been approximately 3 system hours since you arrived in penacony, and roughly a few system hours before aventurine's eventual demise.

topaz had just finished speaking with the trailblazer and their companions. when they had left you stood next to her and stared at the giant prison turned hotel.

“you… don't seem too worried.” topaz said, you felt her gaze but you didn't turn to look at her, instead you just gazed into nothing. “it would be a lie if i said i wasn't worried.” you were most definitely worried, terrified even. no matter how many times aventurine does his high risk gambles, you will never get used to it, not when it causes ghostly hands to squeeze at your heart at the sheer thought of him losing. the thought of losing him.

“but i trust miss jade's judgment. i trust aventurine.”

roughly a day before his departure to penacony, curiosity got the best of you and you stuck around the meeting room in secret when aventurine stayed behind.

“what can i do for you, aventurine?” jade's voice slightly echoed in the empty room. your hands slightly shook in fear of being caught, but you were just so curious about what has been going on with your boss that you couldn't fight the urge to eavesdrop a bit. “oh nothing much. i take it you received my message?” you assumed the woman nodded because aventurine continued. “i must admit, your little plan worked. but is it really necessary?”

jade stood up from her seat, her heels clicked on the marble floor and aventurine followed her until they were by the door.

“well, it's better to stay safe than sorry. and besides, this doesn't count as a complaint, right?”

you heard him chuckle. somehow, even though you hid behind a pillar you felt his stare bore into your being. you could almost imagine those purple eyes that had rings of teal in them that made you weak in the knees.

“no, not necessarily. i could never consider it as a complaint.” he took a moment before asking another question. “but i want to hear it from you, friend. why did you assign [name] as my assistant?”

“it's rather simple really,” jade replied. “you need a reason to leave penacony alive, no? i simply made it easier for you.”

you? the reason for aventurine's will to live? it seemed rather silly. how you, a simple assistant, be so much of importance to someone like aventurine, but with how topaz came to hold the hand that gripped the brooch he had given you, you thought otherwise.

this half a year you've been working with him, you like to think that you've gotten to know him very well.

how when you stood beside him as he sat himself in another gamble, he would always lay his left hand on his lap, fingers curled into fists so tight you were afraid his palms were bleeding.

how he always hid his “weaker” hand behind his back in dire situations to hide his fear.

or when he would always take off his glasses in his office whenever you were there. and that laptop you were 98% sure wasn't there when you started working? aventurine apparently got it specifically for you so you could work in his office.

but what you were most sure of was:

“aventurine doesn't make deals he knows he won't benefit from. he'll win, he always does. he'll come back, i know it.”

#✒️ — works #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

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cashmere, cologne, & white sunshine | 𝟙

money is the anthem, god, you're so handsome

dilf!finnick x nanny!reader

synopsis: you arrive at the odair estate for your final interview with finnick's mother mrs. odair. when she offers you the job on the spot, you're so surprised. quickly, you learn that the children might be a challenge for you, but finnick's support and kindness is enough to cheer you on. it seems he even wants to get close to you...

w.c: 2.7k

highlights: {minors dni} extreme wealth, nepotism, children & childcare, flirting, a hint of suggestive content near the end, slow burn romance, power imbalance

table of contents | 𝟚 {coming soon}

You had never considered yourself to be the kind of person who falls for their employer. Not even coworkers. Out of the myriad jobs you picked up here and there to finance college and now grad school, never once did you develop romantic feelings in a professional setting.

But the Odair Estate... is an experience, one dreamed up by a romance novelist with its white rose greenhouse, angel water fountains, and vintage cars. And inside, gold and marble, crystal chandeliers, and winding staircases. And yet the majesty of the home could never blot out the brilliance that surrounds the man who resides here. In your gaze, a halo of light outlines his silhouette. You can’t be the only one who sees it.

He draws you into this fantasy world. A world of sweet pleasure and romance.

Finnick Odair draws you to his arms, to his lips, to his love—all so effortlessly.

“Smith! Come here! You’re going to get jelly all over the furniture!” A handsome man half-dressed, only in a pair of khaki slacks, sprints down the stairs to chase after a small blonde boy with a smear of grape jelly across his cheeks and hands.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance, even during your interview, when you heard the low, melody of his voice. You see the urgency upon his sharpened features as he dashes after the boy, Smith, you assume, who looks to be four years old. Smith leads the chase into the parlor where you are being interviewed.

The greying woman, Mrs. Odair, across from you almost lunges from her loveseat to capture the tiny boy between her two delicate arms. She picks up the child in her arms and seats him on her lap. On the side table is a box of tissues, and she recruits several to wipe the sticky jelly off his face.

“Smith,” she scolds lovingly, “Nana is talking. You are being quite rude. Did you even say hello?”

Smith crosses his arms and pouts his lips, blowing air through them. He looks at you with these big, bright-green eyes surrounded by thick, doll-like lashes, finally acknowledging your presence.

“Hi,” Smith sighs.

“Hello,” you say back.

His nana grounds him, though holding onto his shirt as he tries to scamper away. “Be good!”

A manly laugh to your left startles you. “Smith isn’t interested, Mom.”

You gaze over your shoulder to watch the man crouch down to his son’s level. “Come now, Smith. You have to get ready for school. I’m already late for work!”

Nana snorts. “Finnie, Daddy understands!”

He gives her, who you assume is his mother, a firm glare. Then he looks to you and smiles. You like his crooked teeth. He offers his hand, and you shake. “I’m Finnick. Thank you for coming to interview with us.” His hand is a little calloused but very warm and very strong.

“Thank you for having me,” you say back, on autopilot because ever since he stepped in, the rest of the world, including your own thoughts, have faded into the background.

He smiles again. “Of course. I typically would be a part of the process, but I’ve got to take Smith and Ruby to school now.” He waves. “Nice to meet you.”

He turns to his mother and mouths something to her with the same smile on his face. You wonder if it’s about you. And you wonder if it’s something nice. You haven’t exactly done anything to offend them... yet.

“Nice to meet you too,” you say a little too late because he’s already walking away with his back turned. You doubt he hears you.

Once Finnick and Smith are upstairs, Mrs. Odair looks back down at her clipboard and continues the interview. Your background is flawless of course. The agency cleared you. You’ve yet to have a single encounter with the law, though you speed often when you’re late to work. To Mrs. Odair, you explain why you are interested in the job, how you need to save up for graduate school for next year’s applications. She seems impressed with your academic successes and your determination to pursue higher education.

While the interview went well, you didn’t expect a job offer on the spot. As you got up to leave, you step over to shake her hand, and she says, “You are taking the job, right?”

The next day you drive back to the estate to begin. Mrs. Odair promised to show you the ropes of taking care of her two precious grandchildren Smith and Ruby the first week of your employment. And you were glad she did that first day. Smith, who you learn is five years old, is more than a handful. Ruby is eight and loves only her daddy.

You park your dated Prius—the paint has finally begun to flake off—on the stone road between the three-tiered fountain and the concrete pathway to the manor. At the door, you rang the bell once, and the butler answered.

He says, “Good day, Miss,” and he shows you to Mrs. Odair’s room.

She’s sipping tea and reading the paper. When she notices your arrival, she stands to greet you. The butler disappears without a sound. It’s impressive.

“So glad you are here. And so punctual!”

“Of course,” you say. Never would you show up late on the first day. “I studied the children’s schedules you sent over last night.”

She claps her hands twice. “Marvelous, dear! When do the children need to leave the house for school?”

Put on the spot, you shift a little. Geez, she’s testing me already.

“Seven-forty-five at the latest. But preferably seven-thirty.”

She smiles. “Good job! We should probably wake the children now. I’ll go up with you today. Wouldn’t want to scare them.”

“You did tell them that I would be here today, right?”

Caught up in her own musings, Mrs. Odair must miss your question because she starts to ramble on about the greenhouse as you leave her guest room. She tells you she’s only staying here for a while because the old nanny quit. There’s bitterness in her tone as she mentions the former employee, and you wonder what exactly happened.

On your way to the stairs, you catch a glimpse of Finnick alone at the dining table for breakfast. He’s also reading the paper like his mother did. His brow is furrowed as he reads. It’s a mystery what he finds so interesting on that paper. He’s so oddly invested.

The stairs creak on your first step, and he looks up from the paper. His smile is immediate and dazzling. “Mother!” he calls. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”

Mrs. Odair rushes into the dining room. “Darling, I didn’t want to interrupt your morning routine.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Ah yes.” He waits for a moment and says, “I haven’t had a routine since the moment Ruby was born, Mother.”

She shrugs. “Maybe with this beauty’s help, you’ll have one.” Mrs. Odair pats your shoulder. “Come along. The children are slow to rise.”

As she drags you along, you can’t help but look at Finnick. He’s ungodly pretty. It almost hurts to look at him. And you find it strange that he’s looking back at you with a vivid curiosity. You chide yourself for ogling him like that. One, he’s sky-high out of your league. Two, he’s employed you. Three, he might not be single. Usually, the second reason to not crush on him would be enough. But your previous bosses have never looked like Finnick.

As you ascend the stairs, the walls are covered in family photographs. They’re clearly arranged by the time they were taken. When you arrive at the second floor, the photos are black and white. Mrs. Odair moves fast for someone her age, and you’re panting as you try to keep up with her. Your vision is slightly blurry when you reach the top.

“Smith’s room is...” she pauses, staring at you, clearly expecting you to recall from the floor plan of the house she also sent you along with their schedules.

You close your eyes for a moment. “First door on the left?”

She claps for you. “Such a smart girl!”

You smile, unsure how to respond to such a compliment.

Entering Smith’s room, the thick curtains are closed, and it’s because of the seashell nightlight that you can see at all. The boy is lying on his stomach on top of all the bed sheets but his head at the wrong end.

“Smith,” his nana calls.

Easily, Smith wakes. He rubs his eyes and sits up. He stares at you for a long time.

“Who’s she?” he asks, pointing right at your face with his tiny index finger.

“This is your new nanny. Isn’t she lovely?” Mrs. Odair gushes about you. Her support is endearing. But you’d be lying if you didn’t find it disconcerting.

Smith crosses his arms. “No!”

“Isn’t she pretty!” Mrs. Odair exclaims to Smith.

“I miss Herbie. Bring him back!” Smith shrieks. “I don’t like her.”

Wrinkled hands on her hips, Mrs. Odair hangs her head in momentary defeat. “Smith, I am so disappointed. You are being very rude.”

The child crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out.

She grasps your forearm. “I’m sorry about Smith. I promise he will come around.” She moves around to his bureau. “I can show you where his uniforms are and the proper way to dress him.”

You watch the elderly woman chase Smith around the room for a minute or two without breaking a sweat. She finally snatches him up in her arms and holds him down on the bed. He restlessly wiggles, trying to get away, but she is strong. Somehow, she manages to dress Smith and she scolds him for behaving dramatically.

“Smith, Daddy will be very, very upset when he hears of your actions.” He remains unfazed, as if discipline is a foreign concept to him. “Now, go down for breakfast.”

When his nana opens the bedroom door, he sprints out like a racehorse. You blink and he is gone.

Mrs. Odair turns to you again and sighs. “He’s a handful. Just like his father.”

“It’s quite alright. He won’t be my first difficult case. I just hope he warms up to me. My last family never did.”

“That’s wonderful for us. We desperately needed a nanny!”

Promptly, she leaves with sudden, passionate intent. And you follow her anxiously.

“What happened to the last one?” you ask.

“Ruby is much easier than Smith,” she halts at a room near the end of the second-floor hallway.

Just when you think that she didn’t hear your question, she says, “We do not speak of him.”

Stomach dropping, you step back and swallow. “Oh. Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

She scoffs. “He’s not worthy of a mention.” Mrs. Odair quickly breaks into her granddaughter’s room, as if to escape the topic.

Ruby’s room is a true girl’s room. You hardly step past the entrance before you are frozen over in wonder.

Cherry red must be Ruby’s favorite color. Everything is cherry red. The armchair by the column window is topped with cherry red velvet. There are red roses on each nightstand. Her headboard matches the armchair. The curtains match too. Her frilly duvet stands out in ivory lace embroidered with clusters of little cherries.

Ruby’s long red hair fans out over her pillows. She’s a sleeping angel. And you hate to see Mrs. Odair wake her.

Her brown eyes flutter open when her nana taps her on the shoulder. She looks up and her freckled lips smile widely.

“Good morning,” she whispers and stretches. Quickly, she notices you and sits up to talk. “What’s your name?” She has the slightest hint of an English accent.

You reply, hesitantly inching closer to the bed.

Mrs. Odair gets in the way of your conversation, picking up her granddaughter to dress her. She’s eight years old. By this time, you were responsible for dressing yourself for school.

In a few minutes, she dresses Ruby in her private school uniform. Together, you all go downstairs to fetch Smith, and then Mrs. Odair takes them outside to the car where the driver will escort them to school. Once the children leave, Mrs. Odiar pulls you aside to discuss your other duties while the children are away.

Rummaging through the cabinets is not how you planned to spend your afternoon, but you were told to treat the estate just like you would your home. It’s completely new territory to you, much like a castle with so many secrets you’ve yet to uncover. Today, you’re only trying to find the tea. A cup would do you well. Your thoughts have been a little more unorganized than usual. There’s much you must learn about Mrs. Odair’s standards for childcare. She seems to be more involved than the father, which bothers you.

“Left door. Top shelf.”

You glance over your shoulder.

There he is. Smith and Ruby’s father. You scold yourself for already having an opinion about him. You haven’t even known him for a day.

“Excuse me?”

He smiles. “The tea.”

You can’t think to respond in an intelligible way. How’d he know you were looking for the tea?

“Make me a cup while you’re at it.” He looks at you steadily. “If you don’t mind.”

Pulling the correct cabinet open, you see the boxes of tea neatly stacked on top of each other. You select a black tea and pour boiling water over the bags in porcelain mugs. They steep for four minutes.

You pick at your cuticles and glance out the window. Finnick sits at the table on his laptop, typing frantically.

Once the timer goes off, you walk over to the table to hand him his cup of tea. He doesn’t immediately register your action, but when he does, he offers you the biggest smile.

“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” He closes the lid to his laptop and pushes back the chair next to him away from the table with his foot. “Sit. I would like to get to know you.”

Shaking ever so slightly, you situate yourself beside him. He smells of luxury cologne, too expensive for your tastes. In your previous jobs with the agency, the families never were too interested in developing a personal relationship with you.

Finnick rests his chin on an open palm. “You’re really a lifesaver. Work has been a nightmare, and with Herbie gone... I’ve had to also look after Smith and Ruby more.”

For a moment, you narrow your eyes in judgement.

“Before you form opinions about me, let me say, they are my greatest joys. However, working a job that requires eighty plus hours in a week and two kids isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

You set your cup down before you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

Finnick massages his brows. “That’s an understatement. Dad won’t be around forever. I’m to take over the family business. I’m planning to make a lot of changes when that happens. For Smith and Ruby’s sake. They might not want this.” Finnick quickly covers his mouth. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

You shrug. “I think I might understand. You want them to have a choice.”

Finnick nods. “Don’t tell my mother. You’d get me in trouble.”

You laugh together.

“Snitches get stitches.”

Finnick laughs again. “And disciplined.” He hides his expression as he takes a sip of tea.

Though you don’t quite know what he means by that, you laugh at him anyway. “I don’t think Smith likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like many people. He’s like me in that regard.” Finnick looks at you. “But I know that if you stick around his feelings will change.”

“I hope that’s true.”

He leans close to you. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with his fragrance and his golden warmth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

You giggle. “What?”

“Smith likes anyone who will play hide-and-seek with him. That and chocolate chip cookies are the way to his heart.” Finnick pats you on the shoulder. His hands are massive. “Besides, I’m on your side. I’ll put in a good word.” He winks at you, and your heart drops in your chest.

This is... bad. You really shouldn’t be having these feelings for your employer. But his charming nature is hard to resist. He must have lots of girlfriends.

“Thanks,” you whisper, too caught up in your own worries to recognize that he’s flirting with you.

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#best viewed in dark mode :)#divider by xiaoswrld #loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #dilf!finnick #finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick smut #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #the hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #cashmere cologne & white sunshine

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yuellii · 8 months

Text

baby, we’re the new romantics !

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 some born-rich, noisy man falls for a completely normal ( maybe struggling ) woman

feat. childe, referred to as ajax

wc. 2.7k

note. gn reader, modern au, references a scene from I Love Yoo, this is a little birthday fic for one of my very best friends in the whole wide world : @vivinens !!

To put it bluntly, it sucked working at McDonald’s.

Other than the fast-paced environment and the tough remarks from rude customers, what arguably sucked the most was that he worked in the building just across the street. Literally just a few steps and you’d be at risk of seeing him.

It wasn’t that you hated Ajax ( okay, maybe you did a little ); he was a fun way to wind down in-between classes sometimes at university because of his loud personality. And, he was attractive to stand next to, you’ll give him that in addition to being a very understanding friend. But seeing him in the workplace is quite possibly the last thing you could ever want to ask for.

What made matters even worse was during your desperate job search last month, when you got a recruitment offer at the place he worked at. You thought it’d be some small thing like where generic college students worked, not some big multi-million firm in this massive building with workers walking around in suits and pencil skirts galore. And of course, when you met with the mean recruiting lady named Rosalyne for your interview, it was impossible not to spot Ajax at the corner of your eyes with a goofy smile on his face.

And when Ms. Rosalyne went back to scold him after your interview, it was more than obvious you were only here because he pushed your application.

How embarrassing.

“You can try again!” he said to you in good spirits in the university courtyard one week after. The two of you were sitting together as the sun was setting on campus, having both finished all your classes for the day. “They’re opening another clerical position soon since our current one is leaving, apply then!” And to you, he was acting all completely normal in his normal young-adult way, meanwhile you were trying to erase the image of him in a suit from your head.

You sighed, “I don’t think the high-class life of business is for me yet, Ajax.”

The roll of your eyes caused him to visibly deflate. Just how obsessed was he with the idea of you getting hired? “But I want you to work with you so baddd…!” he groaned, dramatically shoving his hands onto his face.Then he leaned back forward, slumping until his forehead came down to rest on your shoulder. Such an attention-grabbing act of depression—you almost came to entertain the idea, too.

“I don’t even have office clothes,” you scoffed, bumping him off your shoulder.

He yelped from the force of your push for a moment before he grabbed your arm, pulling it so harshly with such a force that had you clashing right onto his chest ( Yeah, friends, or something like that ). And even as you began to punch on his chest in protest, he just hugged you tight and whined, “I can buy you some! You’ll fit right in—and I get to see you every day at school and at work!”

Seeing him every day sounded like hell, you were so sure this man was insane.

“You are not buying me office clothes!” you denied, still trying to push yourself away.

“I can totally afford it, though!” he pouted. After he relaxed his grip around your body, you still found it too tough to escape his weird embrace. That’s your karma for being friends with the guy who goes to the gym in-between classes, you suppose. And after more struggling to set yourself free, you eventually gave up as the sunset reduced to silence.

That was when he squeezed you tight once more for a last makeshift hug, then planted an ambiguously-friendly kiss on your cheek as he said, “Let’s go get dinner now? I’ll drive.”

“Yeah, sure. Can we get chicken nuggets?”

He lifted both of your bodies up to your feet, watching as you collected your things off the seat before he led you by the hand to his car. “Pff, you always want nuggets,” he teased. “But yeah, I’m down—there’s a McDonald’s right next to my work, let’s go there while I try to convince you to apply at my job!”

And now you work at said McDonald’s.

You didn’t tell him, of course. Only that you “finally got a job,” so that he could finally stop trying to get you hired at his stuffy building space.

It was pretty busy in the morning when people in office attire would come in for a quick, cheap coffee. Lunch and dinner time was also busy as expected—it was one of the things that made you happy to be a cashier and not one of the cooks or drive-through people.

And the best part about this was that you never saw the uptight Ms. Recruiter Rosalyne here, nor Ajax himself. You knew for a fact that Ajax only went to McDonald’s when it was with you, as he preferred other fast foods, so even if his work was just right there, you really didn’t have to worry about accidentally seeing him. If you did… Well, that would probably be really embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

It was one o’clock in the afternoon, lunch rush.

People were rude, your coworkers were irritable, customers were in a rush—horrible, really, but also a normal day for you. Just smile and put on that customer service voice and it will soon be over. Plus, you got free chicken nuggets for your own lunch break before this.

It was not until you felt your phone vibrate in the pocket of your jeans. Well. It was not that common to get a text like that. Your family should know you’re at work; your friends, too. Just one peak—only one, just while the customer in front of you is still holding up the line while he decides what to order. Propping your phone up behind the register, you open it to check your lockscreen.

orange fuckwad: heyyy you want some mcds nuggets?!?!? ;)

Holy shit. Absolutely not.

“Can I order the uhhh…” Oh good lord you have to turn off your phone now. “Can I order the uhhh McLobster?”

“Sorry sir, the McLobster was discontinued five years ago.” You were about to blow your brains out.

“No I swear I just ordered it last week?”

Your eyes kept shifting to the door. And there, finally, in all his glory making your heart absolutely drop in fear, was Ajax coming through the door. And for you, too—to buy you a box of chicken nuggets. In any other case, you’d find it endearing ( and it still was! ) but in this instance you really wanted to die right now.

The customer suddenly raised an eyebrow at you when you shifted your body to the side, trying to use his body as a shield from the eyes of your friend. There was a second cashier next to you—hopefully Ajax will line up on their line instead of yours. And hopefully, you could use this crusty McDonald’s hat to hide your face.

“Hey!” your coworker suddenly called out to you. You looked towards their empty cashier line with a glimmer of hope for good news. “I’m going on my lunch!” Your face dropped. “I’ll see you in 30, yeah?”

No! Not yeah! But you couldn’t do anything but plead with your facial expression as they left to the backroom, leaving Ajax with no choice but to join your line. If you could blow up this whole building right now, God, you would.

Five customers until him, four customers until him, three, two, one—

“Woah!” The surprise on his face felt insulting. Actually, you still used the hat to hide your face as best as you could. It was failing at hiding your identity from him as expected, but at least it helped you obscure the view of his… physique. Him, with his… um, his black slacks and white collared shirt that was just a little too tight on him, and his grey blazer that was thrown over his shoulder. One button at the top unfastened, almost as if he loosened it just to breathe during his lunch break.

And his hair, if you didn’t want to meet his eyes then you were honestly staring there. Whose hair was usually messy and tousled, now slicked perfectly for once with gel, all in a proper yet still very Ajax-way. The sides were in place, meanwhile strands over his eyes and at the top of his hair remained loose in that messy way that still characterized him. God, you might just die from embarrassment and awkwardness right now.

“This is where you work?” he asked, incredulously.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you today?” you smiled. Please, please just go with it.

He looked surprised at your voice, especially since it was so fabricated and one he had not heard before. You just hoped he wouldn’t be a dumb prick to you today, just this once. “Oh, um…” Please, please. “One ten-piece chicken nugget, please.” Thank God.

“Would you like a drink with that?”

“Yes, one large soda, if that’s okay?”

“Will that be all?”

“Uh.” He looked confused. You just stared at him. “Yeah… Yeah, I think so.”

Then he swiped his card, you directed him to the side, and he left the line. With a lingering gaze, of course. He looked like a lost ( and maybe even a little hurt ) puppy after his order, and as much as this made you feel sad for him, you were just glad to get through with him as a customer without any complications. He’ll definitely be bothering you after this, anyways.

He pretty much watched you the entire time he waited for his food, eyeing you with a look of concern that did not belong on his usual expression. But you ignored him for your own betterment—you’d really just rather get through this rush hour of customers. And when his order number was finally called, he held the small bag with nuggets and his large soda with confusion. Oh, right. That food was probably bought for you.

You sent him a look and a head tilt that notioned ‘Just eat it’, and surprisingly, he got it. Ajax, with his pristine proper suit and blazer over his shoulder, sat down at a dirty barstool and ate his ten-piece chicken nuggets. He was still watching you, though; he glanced at you every few seconds while he was chewing. Minutes that felt so long passed, and you just hoped his lunch break would end soon so he could get back to his building.

“Hello again!” You almost jumped in place when you found him in front of you again, having finished his nuggets.

“Ajax,” you grumbled, trying to speak quietly. There was another customer coming to line up behind him. “I can’t talk during my shift.”

“Oh!” He looked at you in innocent surprise for a second, definitely not as depressed as earlier. “No, I was just gonna order.”

You wanted to die. “Didn’t you already…” Clearing your throat, you remembered there was another customer lined up behind him. Thank heavens the lunch rush was over already. Time to put on the customer service voice for him again. “What can I get for you?”

“A box of ten-piece chicken nuggets, please!” he smiled. “And a large soda!”

If you didn’t feel like killing him before, well you certainly did now. And guess what, he ate this order, too! Was he doing this out of spite now? Ordering nuggets and then eating them right in front of you? Because honestly, it was making you less hungry and more confused, if anything. This was definitely not what you expected—but then again, you fully anticipated he’d hold up the line just to talk to you. But no, suddenly he was a McDonald’s nugget fan?

The moment you get out of here, you’re going to twist his ear. Time passes again where you purposely avoid his gaze. So, so much time. Either his lunch break was just incredibly long, or time was just going so slow because he was here. You bet it was the latter.

And then, once again, you find him at the front of your line.

“Hello!” he smiled. He looks happy just to see you. “Can I get a ten-piece box of chicken nuggets?”

“And a large soda with that?” you asked, almost with a sigh.

He looks uneasy, standing to the tips of his toes for a moment. “No,” he drags out with hesitance. “Side of large fries, actually.”

Ooo, how different! It’s the most entertainment you could wish for in a day. And when you shoo him to the side this time, he has the biggest smile on his face. How unusual—in this situation, at least. Then when his order comes, he actually turns to leave this time. He walked to the glass doors with an innocent grin and a large McDonald’s bag in his hand, happily waving to you goodbye. Finally.

“You never told me you work at the McDonald’s right by me!”

He was there waiting for you when you walked out of your shift, packed up, ready to go home, and definitely smelling like grease. “Well aren’t you out early…” you sighed at him. “It’s only three in the afternoon.”

“I asked if I could leave so I could come see you sooner,” he frowned. Endearing, once again. And your heart may have skipped just a bit when he lifted up the last brown bag he bought. “I saved these for you. They’re not warm anymore but there’s fries, a soda, and fifteen nuggets… I, uh, couldn’t finish the second order.”

You nearly laughed out. “Why in the world did you order so much anyways?”

“So I could see you again,” he pouted.

He was still wearing his office attire, top button unfastened once again and blazer under his arm once you took the fast food bad again. You might’ve just had nuggets during your lunch break, and this food may be cold and soggy by now, but the thought of him buying it for you made it the best meal in the world. And, it was also the fact he left his own shift early just to see you. He could be nice at times; so nice, it almost comforted the fact he made you want to die earlier.

“You embarrassed me,” you tiredly sighed. The both of you were walking together to his car—how he knew you were dropped off here was beyond you.

“Sorry!” he sheepishly smiled. “I really didn’t think I’d see you there…” Which was understandable, sure, but did he really have to order that many McNuggets just to see you at the cashier stand? “But now that I know you work right next to me…”

“Ajax, no.”

“Oh come on!” He pouted with a considerably loud whine while the both of you crossed the street to his building. You figured he was likely parked behind it, wherever the employee parking was. It still felt a little weird to be in your McDonald’s uniform walking next to a big business building. “I get to see you every lunch break—doesn’t that sound so fun?”

“No not really.”

He groaned even louder again, slumping his shoulders as if he was not dressed like he was going to an office party right now. But then, in some sort of comforting silence, he aligned his arm over your shoulders. It was cute, honestly—how he would still do this despite the fact you smelled like pure grease right now ( and the fact you were trying to ignore the feeling of his arm muscles that were practically bursting through his sleeves ).

He eyed you a few times during this silent walk, watching as you stuffed your face with nuggets and fries. Holy God this tasted so good for some reason…?! You totally deserved this after your shift of rude customers and embarrassing moments—then your good friend Ajax brings you nuggets and fries right after. How romantic.

And speaking of your ‘friend’, he pulled you closer against him, arm practically swallowing your entire being over your shoulders. Not that you were complaining, though; you found his weird obsession with being near you all the time just a little bit cute. And besides, he drove you places, and he bought you chicken nuggets.

Who could not love a man that buys you chicken nuggets?

#childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x you #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x gender neutral reader #childe x gender neutral reader

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

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All around you, corporations are snapping up the corpses of expired corporations and wearing their brands like a mask. And the rate of this happening is accelerating. Acquisition firms form, acquire, and collapse faster than ever before. By 2035, every person on Earth will need to run at least four brands and act as two Marvel superheroes, NASA is projecting.

For instance, I was the CEO of Ford two times last week, and they’re blowing up my voicemail again to get me to come in on Sunday. You would think that being the CEO would be a cool job, but it just isn’t. These accelerated corporate-collapse cycles mean that I don’t get to allocate massive R&D funding to a V-16 school bus conversion. All I do is get in, make my morning coffee, and then dash off an all-hands email telling everyone they’re fired. I have to do it from my Hotmail account, because IT can’t even set up an Exchange server that fast.

At first, it sounded impressive, being in upper management of all these amazing car companies. Then, the interviews began to consist of a recruiter literally telling me to show up on Monday and get the front-door keys out from under the welcome mat. Sometimes I don’t even get my void cheques in fast enough to get paid, and I have to line up in an infinitely undulating queue of bankruptcy trustees, ripped off by one of an unlimited number of intellectual-property-holding corporations. It’s not super great for the resume, either. Just my “recent experience” section is sixteen gigabytes and caused LinkedIn to vomit in its own pants, before the servers were decommissioned and sold for spare copper.

In fact, the only businesses that are surviving these days are the ones that have no intellectual property at all. Nowadays, I work at a little noodle bar down in Chinatown. The owner-operator wears a special mask at all times to confound the acquisition bots’ facial-recognition system, and speaks with us only through cryptic handwritten notes that we must then burn. It also helps that the bar has no name, and is technically part of a city bus, which doesn’t stop for long enough to be considered legally resident, and thus susceptible to eminent domain proceedings, which would inevitably result in us being acquired by Burger King and then made redundant. If you see us passing by your neighbourhood, make sure to hop on. Bring money, but not too much money, or the boss will get jumpy.

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callmeyourala · 2 years

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Today's Job Market: Breaking In

In an age where Bachelor's degrees are as impressive as high school diplomas, and even a Master's does not guarantee an interview, what is it that employers are looking for?

The answer is - experience.

Experience is your most valuable asset when you are applying for a highly contested role.

Consider, if every candidate who applies for a position is required to have a 2.1 or higher how are employers meant to distinguish one 2.1 business graduate from another?

Experience not only shows you have a clear understanding of the industry you are entering, it shows that other organisations in your industry have seen enough potential in you to offer you a position, albeit temporarily.

The issue is the job market is more competitive than ever. Many people struggle to secure internships at top firms and that is because nowadays you need some level of work experience to even secure an internship, especially at top firms.

So, what do you do when you have no experience and the odds of you securing an internship are slim?

Unpaid/volunteer work. It is the best way to gain all the skills and experience you need to help your application stand out.

Volunteering as a committee member for a social enterprise or society shows a level of tenacity and initiative that is appealing to employers.

Unpaid internships or work experience in your industry can also award you with connections and the commercial awareness to help solidify yourself as a stellar candidate.

Unfortunately, many people don't have the means to take on long periods of unpaid employment.

This is where your communication skills come into play. Working customer service, retail, cleaning jobs etc all come with transferable skills which, when clearly communicated, can make up for a lack in industry experience, especially when you are still a student.

Another thing to note is that you don't always need to look for experience in your desired career. If you are an aspiring a solicitor, you can also get experience as a paralegal. If you are an aspiring journalist, you can gain experience as a copywriter.

As long as you can get some sort of experience in your desired field, you can still develop an understanding of your industry and the necessary skills that you need to demonstrate to recruiters.

General Tips

1. At the end of the day, making your experience work for you is the key. Companies will tell you in their job descriptions and person descriptions what your position will involve and what skills they require from you. Find a way to make the experience you have fit what they are asking for. Use their words against them - make it clear that you are what they want.

2. When applying for internships, traineeships and work experience, make it clear what your learning needs are. How can this company and position support you in bolstering your career and why should they care about your career progression?

3. Know your stuff. Do your research on the company and the specific department you would be working in. Not irrelevant information like the year it was founded but what direction the company is heading down, their 10 year plan, how your role would fit into it and what expertise you have that can support their plans.

#musings of igbo barbie

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kittydesade · 12 days

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I'm very sorry. Six months ago you commented on a Gordon Ramsey accessibility post that your job to help make websites accessible. How do I get that job? I would love that so much. I'm sure you've answered this before but I can't find it.

I, too, am sure I've answered this before, but I can't remember where and I'm not about to brave the Tumblr search feature to go looking, so you and @the0dd0ne get a twofer.

Hi, I'm not a bot, and I was wondering if I could ask you a weird career question? I saw your addition on that "Accessibility Nightmares" post where you mentioned it's your actual job to email websites about their lack of accessibility and what they need to do to make it accessible, and can I ask how you got into that? I got injured on the job and need to make a huge career change, and that type of work has always been really interesting to me, but I don't even know where to start to get into it! Also feel free to ignore this lol I know it's out of left field.

(This is actually the third question I've got on this, so no, not that out of left field.)

So the first thing to understand is that it's actually pretty hard to get into digital accessibility because there just aren't that many companies doing it. As far as I know from company meetings there aren't that many schools teaching it as a part of their core web development curriculum. It's just not that common to think about it as part of web development. Which is vastly irritating.

I started mucking around with the web when there was first a web to muck around on, but when the pandemic hit and my Mom suggested (in a hilarious twist of circumstances) that I go to one of those Learn to Code boot camps to get a certificate that said I actually knew my shit so I could get a job in web development. A number of these boot camps also have job placement programs and pipeline agreements with certain companies. and in a nutshell that's how I got into it. The company sent my boot camp a letter saying "we need N warm bodies" and they sent the company a list of names, I got interviewed, I got hired as a contractor, and after a couple years of good work for them I got invited to interview for a permanent position, which I got.

These days due to the state of the everything, there are probably 10-50 programmers for every open development position, depending on language and job type and company. It's a rough field out there and I got very, very lucky in my timing. But if you want to try it, the boot camp to job pipeline is probably your best bet. Ask the boot camp recruiters if they have connections to accessibility firms. If they don't, you can always try asking if they have connections to web development/site packaging firms and then check if the firms have an accessibility department. Tell the recruiter up front what you're looking to work in, and keep in mind that the recruiter's job is to convince you to give the boot camp your money. (Mine was $12k USD.)

For resources to study in the meantime, there's the A11y Project which has discussions, videos, articles, posts, etc about digital accessibility, a lot of good information. You can also look at the resources for the CPACC exam, I don't recommend taking it unless you have a few hundred USD to burn but you can definitely study up on the Body of Knowledge, which is a free PDF to download. And there is, in fact, an accessibility job board, although I don't have any experience with applying for any of these jobs cold.

The languages I use most in my job are HTML and jQuery, and I passively use (meaning I read and interpret but don't actually program in) JavaScript and CSS. This is mainly because we work with client sites and there's only so much of the client code we can touch; if there's a problem in the client code we can't touch we have to write it up and tell them to fix it. If you end up in house for some large brand you may end up working in more web development languages, but a lot of accessibility can be handled by basic HTML attributes called ARIA attributes (and roles) and there's the documentation on that. Another tool to have is your soft skills: communication, specificity of language, writing up good descriptions of what code does what so you can explain exactly what needs to be fixed where and why. You might also want to look at documentation on what makes good alt text, where it's needed, what kind of labels are standard, etc. I think you can find that in the A11y Project pages, but honestly I just learned it on the job working with senior developers.

It's a hard time to get into software development at all, let alone a niche field like web accessibility. But Europe is about to have a digital accessibility law come into effect in July of next year (that encompasses more than just the web, that's just my area of expertise) and the US is making slow but steady strides in requiring digital accessibility as well, so there are jobs out there and there might be companies hiring to capitalize on the need. There will definitely always be companies putting off conforming to regulations until the last possible minute, and then needing services and specialists. So study up, practice, and good luck!

#a11y #digital accessibility #accessibility

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spenglersweetheart · 14 days

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You’ve got me addicted to your writing! Hear me out, the ghostbusters are still pretty new, and in need of one more recruit. (This is before the hotel call) so the put a flyer out. Reader is a well known parapsychologist and Doctor of science. This whole idea of catching ghosts intrigues them so they decide to go and apply and boom they’re a ghostbuster.

Ray is the sort of dude, she fell he fell harder type of dude and this is true between him and the reader. I just need fluff of Ray and the others reacting to reader helping catch the ghostbusters first ghost

This honestly makes my heart so so so happy! i'm honestly happy that you like my writing so much! :) this idea is so cute (as are all of the other ones) but i really like this one!

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I'm Proud Of You

Ray Stantz x Reader

WARNINGS : none!

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YOU SAW THE FLYER A FEW MONTHS BACK. YOU were on your way to the subway station when you found the flyer pinned onto a pole while you were walking. Usually, you didn't even look at the papers that were on the poles, but this one has definitely caught your interest. A paranormal investigation and elimination firm. Fast cash, flexible hours, and on the job training was an opportunity that you couldn't pass up.

You were pretty much interviewed. It doesn't last long because you pretty much knew the answer to everything that was asked. Yes, yes, and yes. You believed in anything that was out there. One of the guys has walked in. You immediately took interest. After you're hired, you learn that his name is Ray. You talk for a while before meeting the other two, who you learned that their names are Egon and Peter.

You've been in training for a while now, but there hasn't really been any ghost calls. Until now.

Turns out the Sedgwick Hotel has a ghost problem and they had called to fix it. Of course you were nervous. It's the first ghost that you've even come across. Well, not necessarily. It was your first time catching one. It was exhilarating but nerve-wracking at the same time, as this ghost moved pretty fast for a green glob of ectoplasm.

They're in this fancy dining room. Doors locked behind them, but you can tell the doors were thin. Some people could hear the noise from outside. Which makes the manager at the hotel very nervous.

Egon had attempted to capture it, but to no avail, breaking the glasses and plates along the counter. He doesn't even know it's gone until Peter practically shouts at him to stop.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah! Nice shootin', Tex!" Peter yells. It's sarcastic.

You're observant. You saw where the ghost flew. You see a glimpse of green out of the corner of your eye. You fully turn to make sure that it is green, slimy, ghost that you guys were supposed to capture. Once you've got a stable target, you start to shoot. It's stunned in place.

"Guys! Guys I got it!" You tell.

"That's great, Y / N, hold it still! Egon you shoot next!" Ray says. "And Peter then you shoot!"

They move over to where you are. First Egon shoots, and then Peter. The ghost is paralyzed due to it. Ray slides the ghost trap under it, putting his goggles on.

"Okay, I'm going to open the trap and fly guys drag it down. Don't look at the trap!" Ray tells them.

He opens it, Egon only catches a glimpse of it. "I looked at the trap, Ray!"

The three of you eventually try to drag it down. You guys are careful about it, ironically after all the mess and the chaos that you guys have already created in the room. Once the ghost was in the trap, Ray immediately closed it. The other three stop shooting.

All three of them walk toward the trap. It's smoking. The smell of it is quite wretched. You scrunched up your nose.

"God, who knew ghosts could smell so bad?" You mutter, looking at the other three.

"Congratulations, newbie. You caught your very first ghost," Peter says.

"Isn't it teaching our first ghost?"

"Well, yes, but you're the one who secured it," Ray says to you, "All of that training led to this, and you did a really good job. I'm proud of you."

You couldn't help but to give a huge smile afterward. You're a little bit more excited about it now that Ray had told you that.

"I say you're a good addition to the team," Ray says, "You two agree?"

"Your hand-eye coordination is what we need," Egon replies, "I think we've found your skill."

"It's definitely useful," Peter says, although his tone of voice is boring.

"Cool," is the only thing you can say after this. All the words have been jumbled up in your mind. You then look at the mess you've created.

"Now ... What are we gonna do about this?"

#ghostbusters #ray stantz x reader #ray x reader #egon spengler #peter venkman #spence's small fics #egonspenglerishot

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ibrithir-was-here · 4 months

Text

Council of War

@animate-mush (and everyone else following/contributing to this AU!)

Arthur Holmwood stood with his hands pressed down hard upon the round table where he was holding cabinet; trying to look like the collected, confident, and assured leader he knew his organization needed him to be--and not the tired, battered, worn to unraveling wreck he felt like inside.

“I'm sure by now that you've all heard what happened last night”, he began, his voice low and solemn, but with an edge in it that made everyone in the room sit up straighter.

“Count Dracula himself came into the grounds and attempted to abduct young Mr. Harker. He was stopped only by--by the quick intervention of Lucille”

If the agents around the table noted the slight tremor in Arthur's voice as he recalled that particular event of the night, they wisely kept their silence.

“The Count was also followed by two more vampires who were also able to enter the grounds…Mr Harker's parents.”

This revelation did produce a faint flutter of disturbed whispering, which was instantly cut off by a firm look from Jack, seated as ever at Arthur's right hand.

“Both they and the Count managed to escape, miraculously without any casualties. And what I want to know now…” Athur said slowly, forcing himself with every inch of aristocratic decorum that had been drummed into him to keep calm --

“Is just how they all got here, where they are now, and how soon can we be ready to finally end this?”

Arthur stood straight, looking each person at the table in the eye, one by one. Each person in his organization had their reasons for being here, their own strange and often terrifying experience that brought them into his circle, that had led them to believe him and Jack in their warnings of the threats that lurked within the shadows.

Henry Harrington, who's brother had run afoul of a truly nasty hedge magician, who'd sent something to stalk his brother's steps day and night, and which finally overtook him on a lonesome road with no help in sight.

Harrington had gotten justice on the fiend, and had gladly joined their ranks when they'd crossed paths while doing research on one of their missions, determined that no one else's loved one would suffer a similar fate.

There was young Ben Edwards, who'd somehow caught the eye of a vampire-witch at the age of 16, and been stalked by her in dreams until only a few years ago, when she'd finally tried to sink her teeth into him upon the unfortunate occurrence of him being put up for the night in her old tower room.

He'd escaped with his life and soul, been desperate for answers, stumbled onto Arthur's organization, and eagerly joined up.

And Alwyne Hargreaves…she'd also found them, trying to make sense of the strange memories she had of being carried off by ‘A Bloofer Lady’.

Arthur had been sick all day after their first interview, and Jack was not much better.

Her experience had apparently rendered her sensitive to all manner of strange phenomena, and she and her employer (and later husband) had made a good business out of clearing out houses reputed--and often proved-- to be haunted, so that they could finally be put on market.

Though her abilities often drained her, she was more than willing to put them to use to help keep her country safe. In truth, with her cheerful cleverness, she reminded him of what Mina might have been, had they all been luckier.

And, of course, dear, unstoppable Kate Reed, Lucy's old friend. Mina and Jonathan's old friend.

Their first recruit.

She’d tracked him and Jack down after it had all gone wrong, demanding to know what had become of her friends, what he and Jack had done to them.

Kate had dogged their steps until finally, she'd found them facing down the last of the Count's victims, had seen what the no-longer-a-woman had done to her staff--to Lu's mother--and she'd had learned just what had happened to Lucy and Mina and Jonathan. And she'd vowed to fight them ever since.

The people seated here at this table were his top agents, the ones he knew he could always count on in crisis, who had proved themselves time and time again, each time the threat of a vampire had reared its fangs, weather in town or country or seaside, they had risen to thrust it back down into the earth where it belonged.

And none of them, it seems, had managed to see the devil coming until he--they, were at the door.

There was a moment of weighted silence, each person at the table going over Arthur's questions.

“As to how the Count got passed us, I'm sorry Art, I just don't know”, Kate said with quite calm, a calmness that Arthur knew well enough was hiding her own unease and frustration that after all their preparation and prior successes they'd still all been taken so unprepared.

Kate Reed wasn't a woman who brooked failure well, especially her own.

“But as to the Harkers…you told me that before you and Jack went off with the rest to try and stop Dracula that you performed a-a burial service for Mina, correct? And since she was not in fact laid in any one resting place…it's possible that anywhere in England could count as hallowed ground for her to rest in. It's all her native soil.”

Kate paused, looking at Arthur and then away before going on.

“And Jonathan…Jonathan's home was always wherever she was…That could explain how she and Jonathan have been able to seemingly move about unimpeded, without us getting any wind of a vampire's nest being set up anywhere near.”

“Yes…that's a plausible explanation.” was his terse reply.

Arthur knew he needed to be calmer, less brittle. He'd already broken down last night with Lu, when she'd offered her blood up to the boy. It had brought back far too many memories of similar, ultimately useless gestures done by himself and Art and Quincey's namesake.

It seems he was destined to keep being reminded of the futility of all his grand gestures.

He wished he could just crawl into bed with Jack, Lu still small enough to tuck between the two of them and wake to find the last few months nothing but a terrible lingering dream.

While he was at it, he might as well wish to wake from the last 21 years.

But he didn't have the luxury of wallowing, none of them did.

“Is it possible that the Count, by dint of having fed on Mr. Harker so long and so singularly, could have had something of that connection transferred to him?”

Harrington asked, brows furrowed in concentration, no doubt thinking over his eclectic knowledge of the arcane, built up from the many old tomes they'd confiscated and stored away for safekeeping.

“After all, we've seen from Edwards' case and what we read about that business in Styria that a vampire can establish a psychic link with a victim if they share blood that can persist through time and space without the victim necessarily being turned by the exposure. But the link can draw the victim to the vampire, and the vampire to them”

“Couldn't we extrapolate out from that? The blood shared needn't necessarily be familial, it could, well, actually be shared.”

“Oh!” Alwyn jumped in, the light of discovery coming into her eyes at the prospect of a new puzzle to solve.

“And the longer it's shared the stronger the psychic and physical link! Through the physical blood! So that the Harkers, being bound already, and Dracula, bound to them by sharing blood, and both concentrating on the same goal of reaching our young guest, have been, so to speak, drawing each other along?

He wants to reach Quincey, he knows they'll follow if he does, and so uses their own determination to head him off to follow in their wake, as it were?

Because they can walk here, The Count can walk here, and because Quincey is already here--”

Jack interrupted this spiraling metaphysical explanation by tapping at the table to gain everyone's attention--and drawing it away from thoughts of Quincey, Arthur noted, unsure of his own feelings on that point.

Arthur hadn’t wanted to throw the boy to the Count, and he’d agreed, reluctantly, to let Lu…provide for him. Quincey had been nothing but polite and courteous since the day he’d walked into Arthur’s study— and in doing so dug up the most painful parts of his past to literally haunt him once more.

He didn't see how trying to shield the boy from his role as lynchpin in this whole mess helped anything.

Except, perhaps, to spare the boy what little innocence they had not already shattered by revealing the truth of his existence to him. Jack had told him of the…conversation he and Quincey had after Arthur had given him the saved documents to read over.

He’d never wanted to drive the boy to those extremes.

He just wanted his own family to be safe.

And now Jack had gone and declared Quincey part of it.

And Arthur didn’t know what to do.

* There's certainly something there I think,* Jack was saying, each person seated having learned his signs by now *But it's something we'll need to look into more at a later date, I think the more pressing matter now is finding where they're all sleeping during the day*

“Well if they've all of England left open to them, that could be anywhere!”

Edwards said with a shudder, lacing his fingers together tightly as if it would help keep his thoughts steady under the weight of free roaming vampires.

“It's a miracle they seem to have at least been kept out of the house proper, that protection doesn't seem to have been overcome by whatever psychical link or blood bond might be going on.”

“True, we'll need to be extra vigilant to ensure nothing could be possibly said to invite any unknown factors in.” Arthur said, going over the conversations he'd had and overheard between everyone last night, trying to assure himself nothing had been said then, in the heat of everything.

None of the vampires had been able to enter the house physically. Even if they had apparently manifested themselves to both Quincey and Lu through dreams.

He clenched his fists at the thought of the vampire that had replaced Mina Harker rummaging around in his daughter's head, extracting promises that fed off Lu's far too big heart and could only ever lead her into greater danger.

But no, whatever else might be going on, the rule of Invitation still held, and at least did not seem to extend to relations in Quincey's case. His unwitting invitation did not grant his parents nor the Count access to Arthur's physical threshold, if not his grounds.

This mercy, at least, seemed to be granted to them.

Not that they didn't need to still worry about whatever “blood bonds” might be in play.

Dracula had entered Quincey's dreams, played mind games with him, and had eventually been able to draw him out to where he'd been vulnerable to the Count's physical attack via his mental ones.

And Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before he tried again.

The devil was determined to drag the boy back to hell with him, whether it was due to some darker plans, where he wished to use the boy's unique existence to further spread the Count's misery, or to further torment his parents, or simply out of spite for having his ‘property’ dare to disobey him--none of that mattered.

Whatever Arthur felt personally about any of the Harkers, he wasn't about to let Count Dracula have anything he wanted ever again.

“Our main objective should be finding the Count.” Alwyn said, echoing Arthur's own thoughts. He wondered if her sensitivity wasn't picking up his roiling feelings and tried once more to sink into aristocratic composure.

“If Mr. Harrington's theory is true, it's likely he and the Harkers are all in close proximity anyway, whether he likes it or not.”

* What do you mean?* Jack asked.

“Well, If his ability to walk England freely is siphoned off them, well that blood bond will have been getting weaker by the day since Mr Harker senior…isn't available anymore.”

“He may still be able to siphon from Mrs Harker, being bound by turning her, but either way he's caught in a leash that's winding tighter and tighter around a pole.”

“And besides, their wills and blood are all bound together, his reason being here is the whole reason they're here as well as. He's the reason that any of this--” She waved her hand about the table and out towards the estate in general, “--Even exists. If we can find him, finally end him once and for all…”

“We can finally have some peace. All of us.” Kate said softly.

“But how do we track him?” Edwards asked, “We don't have any hard evidence for this link to the Harkers, just conjecture. You said before that Mrs. Harker used her link to track the Count, but even if we could find her first, I doubt anyone here wants to be making alliances with a vampire, even if they are temporarily aligned against a greater threat.”

“ No. ” Arthur said bluntly. “That most certainly won't be happening.”

The group sat in silence, each lost in their own doubts and conjectures as to what they should do.

“...The boy could do it”, Harrington said finally, looking grim, but certain of his proposal.

“He's linked to his parents, by blood and bond. And last night he bit the Count, tasted some of his blood, or what passes for it. Everything you’ve told us and we’ve learned points to him being by far our best bet for tracking any of them down.”

Arthur saw Jack's face blanch, causing the bit of scar that peaked above his high collar and through his beard to stand out like it was still fresh, and he rapidly began to sign:

* No . That's putting him directly in Dracula's sights. Besides, all else aside we can't possibly ask him to turn over his parents--*

“Dracula must be stopped .” Arthur said, and his tone instantly made each person sit up straighter.

“I don't wish to put anyone in any undue danger but--”

“I'll do it.”

Each head whirled around at the declaration, to see Quincey Harker standing framed in the doorway.

The door they had locked before coming in, which none of them had even heard open.

“Just how did you get in here??” Arthur asked, wondering what new vampiric power he was going to have to produce a counter for given this intrusion.

Quincey for his part ducked his head sheepish and fished something out of his pocket, holding it up towards the group.

“Lu slipped me the key this morning before she fell asleep and told me to go listen.”

Of course.

“Mr. Harker,” Edwards said slowly, speaking as if to a skittish hound, "Do you understand just what it is we're asking you to do? The danger it will bring on your head?”

Quincey's gaze dropped to the floor, and one of his hands moved to the wrist of the other, rubbing softly at clear skin that had only a few hours ago been mottled black and blue.

“I believe danger has already come to me sir, and to all of you because of me.”

“ I know you said you wouldn’t send me out as a scapegoat. But I-I wish to help. I couldn’t…I couldn’t call myself a good man if I didn’t do my own part to stop Fa…The Count. You’re right, Lord Godalming, he must be stopped, he deserves to be stopped.”

The boy stopped, swallowed hard, before continuing, hands clenching and unclenching.

“He threatened Lu, he tried to hurt her and… he-he hurt Mama and Papa…he’s been hurting them for a very long time…”

He raised his head and looked Arthur steadily in the eye, his own dark red ones alight with hardened determination.

“I’ll help you to find him, so that you can stop him from hurting anyone else. But…”

“But?” Arthur echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“But…I would ask, that—that you don’t harm my parents.”

“…And if your parents try to harm any of us?”

Quincey looked as if he was about to object, to say that they never would do such a thing, but stopped, swallowed again, and said quietly, “You of course should be able to defend yourselves…but please, don’t hurt them if you possibly can.”

Arthur’s nails dug into the palms of his hands, memories of white snow awash with red blood threatening to rise up and undo the little calm he’d held onto this whole meeting. The faces of Jack and Dr Van Helsing and his own Quincey flashed across his mind, one by one. All the men this boy was named for, all the men his father had cut down like nothing.

Didn’t he owe the dead and damaged vengeance for what they’d lost?

….Would vengeance bring any of it back?

At last, he managed to grit out;

“I promise, that no harm will come to your parents, so long as they pose no harm to anyone else. That’s the best I can do. Does everyone agree?”

There was a faint murmur of assent from the group, with a nod from Jack. Arthur nodded back, before turning once more to Quincey, and there was steel in his voice as he said;

“And you must promise me something in return, Harker.”

“Yes sir?”

“You say you love my daughter, you want to undertake this mission so that you can protect her?”

The boy blushed deeply, and Arthur had the bizarre realization he was blushing with Lu’s own blood, her gift to him coursing through his veins.

“Oh yes sir! I’d do anything for her.”

Arthur nodded, his blue eyes narrowing as he locked them on Quincey’s red ones.

“Then you promise me, that when it comes down to it, no matter what happens going forward, that you will do anything for her. You choose her , you understand? You do whatever it takes to keep her safe and whole and alive.”

He wanted to say: “If she’s so damn willing to walk into hell for you, it only seems right you live up to your family legacy and follow after her. If your father was willing to slaughter all the other people who he cared for to save the woman they’d failed to, the least you can do is the same. She must be the priority, no one else, no matter whom, no matter the bond. ‘ Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife and they shall be one flesh’ and all that.”

Of course, given the boy’s reaction to seeing a crucifix for the first time, Arthur doubted he’d ever so much as seen a Bible, let alone read one to recognize the verse. Remembering the crucifix, Arthur made a point to tell the young vampire to start wearing it. Heaven knows the boy could stand to have some extra protection going forward. They all could.

But back to the matter at hand.

“Do you understand what I mean when I say ‘you choose her’?”

Quincey’s face paled slightly, Lu’s blood rushing back to hide within his barely beating heart. But at last he whispered.

“Yes sir…I do…And I promise”

Arthur nodded, satisfied. The boy had never lied, Arthur wasn’t sure he even knew how.

“Good. Well you may as well go back and see if Lu’s awake and have her come in on all this properly. I’m sure she already told you to report back everything you heard anyway.”

A small smile crossed Quincey’s face, and from his other pocket, he pulled a small notebook and a bit of pencil.

“I took notes”

Of course he did. If there was anything else one could mark as an hereditary trait of the Harkers, they were wonderful for taking notes, no matter the circumstances. If they all managed to live through this, maybe Arthur would finally see about getting the boy his inheritance in the solicitors firm. It was probably time it moved on from being a front for the organization to getting used for actual real estate opportunities, with property taxes going up and all.

“Alright then, go and get her. And then, we’ll get to work”

I have to give credit to @see-arcane on tumblr for the line “he’s been hurting them for a long time” as it came from their own divergent Blood of My Blood fic which ripped my heart out and can be found here

Also the people at Arthur's round table are all from actual ghost/spooky stories of the time!

Alwyne Hargreaves nee Sargent is from Allen Upward's "The Ghost Hunters" series

Ben Edwards is the hithertoo unnamed narrator or E. F. Benson's "The Room in the Tower"

Henry Harrington is a character from M.R. James' excellent "Casting the Runes"

(All of which I would highly recommed listening to for free at the links provided)

And Kate Reed was a cut character from the original Dracula novel, a friend of Mina and Lucy and Jonathan's from school.

#blood of my blood #dracula #arthur holmwood #quincey morris #jack seward #lu holmwood #casting the runes #mr james #ef benson #the room in the tower #allen upward #the ghost hunters #victorian horror #edwardian horror #ghost stories #vampires #dracula fanfiction #re dracula #dracula daily

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molsno · 2 months

Text

I feel like it's foolish of me to fantasize about getting this job that a recruiter brought to me today.

it feels too perfect. my passion project for the past 5 years has given me the exact skillset they're looking for, after all.

the pay is unbelievable, beyond anything I've ever dreamed about. literally double what I was getting paid before, at minimum. on top of that, it comes with full benefits and unlimited vacation time. sure, it would require me to stay in this area, but would that really be so bad? how could I not fantasize about a job like this?

but part of me knows that no matter how qualified I am for it, they'll still find a way to turn me down. I don't have the privilege to deserve a life like that. even if they checked out my passion project and realized just how talented I am, I have a feeling that my hopes will be dashed. one interview is all it takes for an employer to realize I'm not what they're looking for.

can they see it in my features, I wonder? do I look a little too clocky for their liking? can they hear it in my voice? I genuinely can't tell, but there has to be something. there's no other explanation I can think of for why every time I get an interview, even when I think it went really well, I get ghosted, or if I'm lucky, I receive an email weeks later telling me the position has already been filled. I know it's not my skills that are the issue.

it's funny. people seem to think that people like me have "male privilege". that I'm a "tech bro" whose "male socialization" puts me ahead of the rest of the community. I wonder what they would think if they knew that my last and only job was a predatory contracting firm that forced me to move across the country with less than a month's notice under threat of legal action, and that I knew exactly what I was getting into when I signed a contract with them because it was either that or nothing. the best I could get as a tranny was the absolute bottom of the barrel in the industry I decided to dedicate my life to.

sometimes I think about how much easier it all would have been if I was a man. my accomplishments would be taken seriously, my appearance wouldn't be judged, my personality would be viewed as "eccentric" instead of "incompetent". I could be making even more than what this job offers me. wouldn't that just be wonderful?

sometimes I think back to when I was first considered the possibility that I might be trans, the sleepless nights where I was paralyzed with terror over how I would be treated. I was always told I had a future, but there I was, considering ripping it all away. I couldn't imagine why on earth I would give up my "male privilege", and yet I wanted to anyway.

the more and more I thought about it, in fact, the more I came to realize that holding onto it was a guarantee that I would have no future. I had already decided that I would kill myself when I turned 30, for no particular reason at all. maybe I could regain some economic opportunities if I detransitioned, but there is no belief I'm more certain about than the fact that if I did, I would end my life sooner than I originally planned to.

in other words, to me, the only privilege that would come with being male is that I would no longer have to live under capitalism.

so, maybe it's unrealistic to believe I could still attain such success. but I'm a trans woman. that's all I've ever been, and that's all I ever will be. and because of that, I have to believe that I have a future. transitioning was not an act of destruction. it was, is, and will always be an act of creation, the synthesis of life itself.

even if it's foolish to dream, I'll do it anyway. because that's what it means to be alive.

#personal

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hamsterclaw · 2 years

Text

Reprieve

You're the newest recruit to Namjoon's investigative team. Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, you've met before, and he knows about your past, which is why he doesn't trust you.

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, police detective Namjoon, smut

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: Sex and swearing, non-graphic violence, mentions of drugs, gangs

Kim Namjoon’s heart is thumping in his chest, fuelled by adrenaline and terror. He’s in the middle of a drug deal that’s gone very badly wrong.

He’s undercover with his partner Hoseok, standing on the opposite end of the warehouse.

There isn’t gunfire yet, but weapons are drawn, fingers on trigger guards.

His partner angles his head to the exit. He’s called for backup, but they’re at least five minutes away.

There isn’t anything in the police manual that explains how to deal with this. Namjoon glances at Hoseok, who’s now signalling something he can’t make out.

What the hell is he trying to say?

The room is full of men with guns and itchy trigger fingers, apart from one woman, unarmed.

Namjoon feels that this situation is wrong, somehow. The only women who get involved in things like this are usually girlfriends of bangers or part of the gang, or being exploited in some way.

He meets her eyes.

She looks back at him evenly. She looks preternaturally calm.

Sirens cut through the tension, and the characters in the tableau start to murmur. Namjoon’s not sure who the first person to run is, but he knows who he has to follow.

Kang Min, the leader. Namjoon keeps his eyes on him as he makes his way through the warehouse.

The sound of a cocked trigger makes his heart stop.

Namjoon turns and realises there’s a gun levelled at his chest.

‘The fuck,’ comes a female voice. ‘Let the kid go.’

Namjoon watches as the woman he saw earlier steps in between him and the loaded gun.

‘Not the time, Jae. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

Namjoon’s already moving. He hears swearing, the sound of a slap, but he doesn’t look back.

***

Back at the station, Namjoon’s in between conducting interviews with Hoseok when he sees her again.

She’s sitting slightly apart from the men. There’s an ugly bruise over her cheek, a cut close to her left eye.

He walks over.

‘Thanks for stopping that guy from shooting me,’ he says.

She flicks her eyes up at him. ‘You’re too young to die. Get better at protecting yourself or get out of the line of fire.’

She looks down, and Namjoon takes that as the end of the conversation.

Later, then he’s starting on the paperwork, he spots her booking sheet with her name and date of birth on.

L/N Y/N. Fuck. She’s younger than he is.

***

You’re early for the interview, but that was a mistake because looking at everyone else here is making you nervous.

Inside you’re the girl from the bad side of town. You doubt any of these middle-class twentysomethings have seen half of what you have.

It doesn’t make you feel any better that you can hotwire a car, shoplift with ease or that you know three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

Right now, those are useless skills, because they’re not needed in this job. And you need this job.

‘L/N Y/N? You’re next.’

You nod at the woman running the interviews and wish you hadn’t worn a light skirt suit because you’d give anything to wipe your sweaty hands now.

The door opens, and a tall man holds out his hand to you.

‘L/N Y/N? I’m Kim Namjoon.’

You clasp his hand and give it a firm shake, then look up into his face.

It’s your first mistake.

It’s the man from the warehouse five years ago. The man who looked so nervous he was asking to be targeted.

The man you stopped Jae from shooting.

If he recognises you, he gives no sign.

The interview, with Kim Namjoon and two other men whose names escape you, goes fine, up until the point where they ask about previous jobs.

You shift in your seat. ‘This is my first job,’ you say, flatly.

One of the men looks at you curiously, but before he can say anything, Kim Namjoon is standing, offering his hand again. ‘Thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch by the end of the week.’

You can’t wait to get out of there.

You’re sitting in the café next door when the door pushes open and Kim Namjoon walks in.

You don’t know if he’s seen you, but you’re not going to call attention to yourself.

You look down at your coffee. The pastry that had been flaky and warm now tastes like sawdust.

His voice makes you jump.

‘Do you live close by?’ he asks.

‘Not far,’ you say, pasting a smile on your face to cover your nervousness.

‘Why do you want this job?’ he asks. His eyes are serious as he waits for your answer.

You click through the list of model answers in your head before deciding on the truth.

‘I lived it. Your other candidates will find links, but I’d guarantee you I’m the only one from that room who knows Kang Min’s son goes to school with the Sung family heiress.’ You shrug. ‘I can search a database as well as any of them, but I can put it all together too.’

You look up at him.

‘Why would I trust you?’ he asks. His face is unreadable.

You get up. ‘Do you have to ask?’ you ask him. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’

His hand lifts as though he’s going to stop you from leaving, but you aren’t done yet.

‘I need this job,’ you tell him.

It’s the closest to pleading you’ve ever come in your life. His expression softens, just enough for you to see that he’s wavering.

‘We’ll be in touch at the end of the week,’ he says.

You nod.

The call comes at the end of the week that you’ve been successful at interview and that you’re to start the following week. It’s an administrator who calls you to let you know.

You’d been hoping to speak to Kim Namjoon again.

***

It’s near the end of your first week as part of Kim Namjoon’s team, and so far all you’ve done is look up various snippets of information for members of the team.

You spend most of your days working alongside a young but serious looking man called Jungkook. He’s quiet, probably a little shy, but he helps you out a lot as he’s been working for Namjoon’s team for months.

You’re asking Jungkook about cross-referencing arrest warrants when you see the change in his demeanour. In one second flat, the soft, kind Jungkook you’d been talking to turns into serious Jungkook, sitting up straight, eyes wide, ready to take orders.

You know who he’s responded to even without turning around.

You stand, to give yourself extra height, which is ludicrous, because he still towers over you.

Kim Namjoon is tall, broad and intimidating as fuck.

He nods at you. ‘Can I speak to you about something in my office?’

You’re already stepping forward. ‘Yes, of course.’

You stand nervously in front of Kim Namjoon. He’s perched on the end of his desk.

‘Comms have intercepted a call about the Victoria Pier,’ he says. He pulls off his glasses and tosses them on his desk.

‘It’s an unusual location,’ you say, frowning. ‘They’ve never used it for a drop before.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Namjoon says.

‘Unless –‘

He looks up at you, waiting.

‘Kang Min’s new daughter in law used to date a guy who ran a small business out of the town next to the pier,’ you say.

The way Namjoon’s eyebrows rise show you that this is news to him.

‘Who was the guy?’ he asks.

‘Chan Jung-hyuk,’ you say. ‘Prick.’

Namjoon waits for you to say more.

‘I dated him briefly,’ you say shortly. ‘Anyway, I can check out the link.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Bring your findings directly to me by the end of shift.’

You nod and are heading out the door when he stops you.

‘Is your car the white Hyundai that parks near the end of the lot?’ he asks.

You look at him curiously.

‘You need to get it checked. It’s leaking oil.’

You feel your cheeks heat. ‘I’ll sort it,’ you say.

***

Your father was the bookkeeper for the Kangs for most of his life. He’d inherited the job from his uncle before him. Your family have worked for the Kangs for generations, a step removed from the violence but always aware of it.

When your father died a few years ago, there had been no one to take his place from your family. You’re an only child, your mother died when you were very young.

It was the perfect opportunity to get out.

Your father had been well-respected, loyal and reliable. He’d kept you as separate from his work as he could have, as a result you’ve always been on the outskirts of the gang, with no involvement with anyone from the gang.

Kang Min had sent you his condolences after your father’s death, and for a while you’d waited for a summons. It had never come. You’d chosen to move away from your family home and to start a new life.

Working for the police had seemed like playing with fire, but over the years, with no contact, you think perhaps you’ve got away with it.

The job you’ve got now pays good money, with hours that suit you and is close to your new home. Plus, you’re technically just a data drone. There’s nothing about you to attract any attention.

It’s exactly how you want it.

Namjoon eyes you as you finish explaining your report.

‘The other members of the team don’t know about your link to the Kangs,’ he tells you.

‘There’s no link,’ you reply, terse.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Hoseok may not remember you from that warehouse, but I sure do.’

‘If I hadn’t saved your life, you wouldn’t remember me either,’ you tell him. ‘Seems unfair that I should be punished just because I stuck my neck out for you.’

Namjoon stares at you.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle. ‘You’d been beaten when I saw you at the station that night. Was that because you stopped him from shooting me?’

‘I can’t remember,’ you say. You may not be part of the Kangs but you’re no snitch.

Namjoon nods. ‘Thanks for your report. It’s very helpful.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ you ask.

He shakes his head, and you leave his office, breathing a sigh of relief as you do.

***

You’re frowning over your car, trying to get it to start, when another car pulls up alongside you.

You glance over as Kim Namjoon rolls his window down.

‘Good morning,’ you say.

‘Car trouble?’ he asks, getting out.

He’s in his shirtsleeves, you can see his jacket thrown over the passenger seat.

You watch as he rolls up the cuffs, forearms flexing, biceps pressing against the material.

He catches you looking.

‘The car,’ he prompts. His lips are perfectly straight, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ you say distractedly. ‘It won’t start.’

‘I’ll give you a jump but I think you’ll need to take this to the workshop,’ he says.

You don’t know the first thing about cars apart from how to steal one.

You think you’d better keep that information to yourself.

After an unsuccessful jump, Namjoon shuts your car hood for you. ‘I’ll give you the number for the garage I use. My friend Taehyung is pretty skilled.’

You nod.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift to work,’ he says, opening the passenger door. He picks up his jacket, and you slide into the seat.

Namjoon’s a good driver. You glance over at him as he weaves through traffic.

‘How are you finding the job?’ he asks, without looking at you.

You lean back into the seat. ‘It’s great,’ you say, honestly. ‘Jungkook’s fun to work with.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Namjoon agrees. ‘The info you got checks out,’ he confirms to you.

You hadn’t been worried that it wouldn’t, but you guess if you were Namjoon you might not trust you either.

You chew on your bottom lip worriedly as you look out the window at the passing traffic.

You wonder if Namjoon knowing about your past is going to colour his judgement of you.

You need this job, it was the highest paying out of all the jobs you were qualified for.

You realise Namjoon’s watching you in the rearview mirror.

You wonder what he thinks of you.

‘It’s routine to double and triple check all the information I’m given,’ he says to you. ‘It isn’t personal.’

‘Of course,’ you murmur.

You can’t get out of his car fast enough.

***

It’s a team dinner at the bistro opposite work.

You’ve never really been in this kind of situation before, but at least you know Jungkook.

You recognise Hoseok from your interview. He smiles at you kindly.

You’re relaxing a little, the rest of the team seem nice, when a familiar figure enters the restaurant.

You freeze in your seat, then hurriedly get up and excuse yourself.

It’s Hye-jin. You went to school together, which is fine, but you happen to know she’s dating a member of the Kangs. Which would also be fine, apart from that she has the biggest mouth this side of the planet.

You don’t think anyone will be interested that you were sitting with a table full of cops, but you can’t be too careful.

You let yourself out the back entrance of the restaurant, through the kitchen, and startle as a hand reaches out to grab your arm.

‘What’s up?’ Namjoon asks.

His voice is quiet, almost casual, but his eyes on you are shrewd, observant.

‘I feel sick,’ you say, hoping your voice sounds as casual. ‘I thought I’d leave early. I was just about to text Jungkook.’

‘Let me take you home,’ he says.

‘What? No, it’s fine, I’m getting a taxi.’

What does this man want from you?

He hasn’t let go of your arm. His voice hardens. ‘Do I need to be worried about you?’

His words are laden with meaning.

‘I’m not a snitch,’ you tell him, evenly. ‘I’m just not sure it’d be good for me if the Kangs knew I was working for the police.’

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home, then I think you’d better tell me the whole story.’

You stare at his hand around your arm. ‘What are you going to do if I don’t go with you?’ you ask.

He drops your arm immediately. ‘I’m asking,’ he tells you.

You consider the repercussions for your job if you don’t talk to him.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.’

Namjoon takes you home. You lead him up to your small apartment. There are no pictures anywhere, you know how it looks.

‘My parents are dead,’ you tell him. ‘I have no family.’

You tilt your chin. ‘My dad used to work for the Kangs. He was their bookkeeper until he died a few years ago. I haven’t heard from Kang Min since.’

Namjoon’s sitting on your couch despite the fact you hadn’t invited him to sit.

‘Why do you need this job?’ he asks.

‘I need the money.’

‘I can’t afford a mole in my team,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘I’m not a mole,’ you say. ‘But if you can’t trust me you might as well fire me. If you’re suspicious of me, your team will be too.’

You can’t believe you’re being judged for risking your own life for Namjoon, but in your experience, life’s never been fair.

‘What were you doing at the warehouse that night?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I was dating one of the guys. Jae. No one ever believed I wasn’t a part of it. They knew my dad was the bookkeeper.’ You smile, but there’s no humour in it.

‘Jae couldn’t believe it when I stepped in front of you. Like I couldn’t believe it when he slapped me with his gun.’ You shrug. ‘I guess it was a night of surprises for all of us.’

‘Why did you stop him?’ Namjoon asks. He’s still looking at you, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

‘Honestly, Namjoon? I didn’t believe he’d shoot me. I didn’t think you deserved to die.’

You give Namjoon a cold look. ‘I’m rethinking that now.’

To your surprise Namjoon laughs. ‘A lot of people say that about me,’ he tells you. ‘That they want to kill me.’

You slip off your jacket. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ you say.

Namjoon stands, and you realise he’s staring at you again.

You follow his gaze and too late, remember your tattoo. It’s visible under the gauzy material of your blouse, a swirling snake that curls under your breast and around to your back.

You take a step close to Namjoon. ‘If you want to see it close up, you’ll have to buy me a drink first,’ you tell him, hoping to throw him.

He looks down at you, unmoving. There’s heat in his gaze now, making you feel warm all over.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing your lower lip so gently it’s almost like you’re imagining it.

You flick your tongue out at his thumb. His hand curls over the angle of your jaw, fixing the position of your face.

He leans down, slow, giving you plenty of time to move away.

Like you were ever going to.

You meet his lips eagerly, closing your eyes at the feel of him. His lips are firm and warm. He kisses you slowly, dragging his lips over yours, tugging at your top lip. He slants his head to get closer, and you slip your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like the sake he’d been drinking at dinner.

When you pull away, you lean your forehead against his chest, trying to catch your breath. His hand cups your head, holding you to him.

He huffs out a breath.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ he says.

You’d answer, but it sounds he’s asking himself more than you.

***

Jungkook’s looking at you thoughtfully, and this worries you, because nothing good ever came of Jungkook thinking.

You think you’re as smart as him, but he has a knack of hitting the nail on the head.

‘Pocky?’ you offer, hoping to distract him.

Jungkook accepts. Now he looks faintly ridiculous with a chocolate stick on either side of his mouth, like tusks, but that thoughtful look is still in his eyes.

You get up and start sorting through the crime scene reports Namjoon’s had delivered to your office.

‘I was walking to my car last night and this guy came up to ask about you,’ Jungkook says.

The chocolate stick in your hand snaps.

‘Yeah?’ you say. Your back is to Jungkook, thankfully he can’t see the expression on your face.

Jungkook hits a key on his keyboard. ‘This guy.’

You turn around to see the database picture he’s pulled up and helpfully zoomed into.

It’s Jae.

Specifically Kim Jae-beom, your ex-boyfriend who was a hairsbreadth away from killing Namjoon, all those years ago.

‘He’s an ex,’ you tell Jungkook.

‘There was a drug bust a few years ago, before I started. Namjoon and Hoseok were leading the case.’ Jungkook’s looking at you. ‘I was reading through the reports, and I recognised your picture.’

You look Jungkook fully in the face but don’t say anything.

Your face healed a long time ago, you don’t even have a scar, but right now it feels like it’s burning.

‘Where are you going with this, Jungkook?’ you ask.

Jungkook asks, ‘Why was he looking for you?’ His expression isn’t unkind, but you sense he’s not going to let it go until he gets an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ you say, honestly. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in years.’

‘I think I should let Namjoon know,’ Jungkook says, gently.

‘Sure,’ you say. You know you shouldn’t feel hurt, Jungkook’s just doing his job, but part of you had thought your relationship was friendlier than colleagues. You’ve been working together closely for months, you think you get on well.

That’s what you’d thought, anyway.

All day, you wait for Namjoon to haul you into his office and ask you again about your previous gang ties, but it doesn’t happen. By the end of the day, your nerves are frayed.

You nod goodbye to Jungkook and head for the bus stop. Your car’s still at the mechanic, Namjoon’s friend Taehyung seems reliable but you won’t be able to collect it until next week.

You’re already thinking about going straight to bed when you reach your apartment. You’re fumbling with the keys when a shadow falls across your door.

‘We need to talk,’ says Jae.

You shove your keys into your pocket. ‘What about, Jae?’

‘Can we do this inside your apartment?’ Jae asks. He’s not really asking.

You let him in and wait.

‘Are you working for the police?’ Jae asks, as soon as the door’s shut behind him. He leans against it. Ther’s no other way out of your apartment.

‘I just do data entry and follow up parking tickets,’ you tell him. You’re only partly lying. ‘A job’s a job.’

Jae’s still leaning against the door, the there’s a tenseness to his posture, like a coiled spring.

‘You should find another job,’ he tells you, flatly.

‘There is no other job,’ you reply. ‘And I was lucky to get this one.’

Jae moves quickly. In a move too fast for you to fully follow, he’s got you pinned against the kitchen counter, hand out flat. Your wooden chopping board slams down on your hand, and you hear the thud before you register the pain.

You push out at Jae with your other hand, but he’s strong.

‘We have a history, which is why I’m going easy on you,’ he tells you. It’s ironic given the flat look in his eyes. He doesn’t look like he cares at all that you’re writhing in pain.

‘If I have to come back, it’s not just your hand that they’ll have to put back together,’ he says.

He slams the board down on your hand again, and you bite your lip until you taste blood in your mouth.

He’s gone before you can say anything else, leaving your front door ajar.

***

You take two days off work, just until you can move your fingers without crying. Thankfully, it’s your non-dominant right hand.

Even so, Jungkook notices.

He raises his eyebrow at you.

You’re not telling him a damn thing if you can help it.

You’re staring at each other in challenge when you hear pointed throat clearing.

You look up to see Kim Namjoon.

‘Y/N, can I see you in my office please?’ he asks, politely.

You stand and follow him. You resist the urge to glare at Jungkook before you go.

Namjoon stands behind his desk, as though he wants to put distance between you. You haven’t seen him since you kissed him.

‘Please sit,’ he says.

You’ve barely sat back before he asks, ‘What happened to your hand?’

‘I was clearing out boxes in my apartment, and a stack of books fell on my hand,’ you lie. You’ve been practicing it so much it rolls of your tongue smoothly.

‘Is it broken?’ Namjoon asks.

‘It’s just a little swollen,’ you reply.

‘You should get it checked out,’ Namjoon advises you.

‘I have,’ you say, briskly. ‘Anything else?’

‘Jungkook said one of the Kang clan approached him to ask about you,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘It was Jae,’ you say.

Namjoon’s looking at your hands folded across your lap. ‘Did you speak to him?’

‘The Kangs know I’m working for the police,’ you tell him, honest. ‘They want me to find another job.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Do you want a transfer?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t think going to a different department will solve the problem. They’re not going to check which division I work for, they just don’t want me working for the police.’

‘I can help you find another post,’ Namjoon says.

For some reason his words, like Jungkook’s, cut deep. On some level you understand that he doesn’t want trouble in his new investigative unit, but he’d been prepared to take you on when he thought you might give him intel on the Kangs. Now he’s quick to cut you loose when there’s the slightest hint of trouble.

You haven’t done anything wrong, but it feels like you’re being punished anyway.

The memory of his lips on yours makes it feel even more like he’s pushing you away.

It was foolish for you to ever think you might be able to escape your past.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll put in my resignation.’

Namjoon gets up. ‘It’s safer for you to have another job,’ he says.

‘It is,’ you agree. You look at the floor. ‘Will that be it?’

You spend the rest of the day working solidly. You’re preparing to leave when Namjoon stops by your office.

‘Need a lift home?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine, there’s a bus,’ you say. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

‘It’s on my way,’ he says.

***

Namjoon walks you up to your apartment despite your protests. You look around a little warily for Jae but thankfully he’s nowhere to be found.

‘I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow,’ Namjoon says. ‘If that’s ok with you.’

‘Thanks for the lift,’ you tell him.

You’re halfway into your living room before you realise it’s all wrong. You’re looking for the baseball bat you laid near your front door when there’s movement in your peripheral vision.

You’re shoved up against the wall, stars behind your eyelids as your face hits the exposed brick.

Jae’s merciless, strong, his hand curled around your neck squeezing so tight you can’t breathe.

You struggle against him, elbows out. He lets out a grunt as your elbow connects with his chest.

You both freeze as the knock on your door sounds.

It’s Namjoon, calling your name through the door.

Jae’s hand closes over your mouth.

All you know is, Namjoon’s bigger than Jae and you could sure use his muscle right about now.

You stomp down on Jae’s foot, just enough for Jae’s hand to slip off your face, then scream as loudly as you can.

The knocking stops, then the door shakes in its frame as Namjoon puts his weight into kicking it open.

Jae shoves you onto the floor and runs to your bedroom. He’s out the window before you’re up.

Your door flies open just as you’re about to get to it.

Namjoon’s breathing hard, scanning the room.

‘He went out through the window,’ you tell him.

‘What the hell happened?’ Namjoon asks. His words are harsh, but his hands are gentle on your face as he examines it.

‘Kang really doesn’t want me working for the police,’ you say. You hiss as Namjoon’s thumb brushes across a tender spot on your brow.

‘Do you have ice?’ Namjoon asks. He’s already heading for your freezer.

***

You’re trying not to get flustered at Namjoon’s proximity to you, but you’re failing. His warm hands are cupping your face as he holds a makeshift ice pack to your forehead.

You lift your hand to take over holding the ice pack, and you see his gaze fall to your hand.

You’re glad Namjoon was there to help you, but you don’t need to give him information he didn’t ask for.

He’s asking now, though.

‘Your hand. Did books really fall on it?’ he asks.

‘Jae,’ you say.

A muscle flexes in Namjoon’s jaw.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me Jae was threatening you?’

You look at him warily.

‘We’re the fucking police, Y/N. We look after our own.’

‘I didn’t realise I was considered one of you,’ you say.

‘That’s a failure of my leadership. You’re part of my team.’ Namjoon shakes his head.

You get up. ‘Want a drink?’

Namjoon gets up to help you. ‘Where else are you hurt?’

You catch sight of your face in the mirrored surface of the toaster. ‘Nowhere,’ you say, wincing at the sight of the graze across your cheek and forehead.

‘Why did you come back, anyway?’ you ask, curious, as you sip your water.

Namjoon frowns. ‘The front entrance to your building. There was a dent in the metal frame.’ He shrugs. ‘Also, I wanted to ask about your hand.’

‘Well, thanks,’ you say, belatedly.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear you could come to me,’ he tells you. He looks regretful. ‘I’m also sorry about kissing you. It was – inappropriate.’

You look up at him, straight-faced. ‘Not as inappropriate as what I wanted to do with you.’

Namjoon stares at you for a moment, then huffs out a humourless laugh.

‘How could any man look at your face and want to hurt you,’ he mutters. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking you, so you don’t answer.

He tosses you the ice pack. ‘Come on. I’ve got a spare room at mine. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?’

***

You’re sipping a mug of tea Namjoon’s made you and looking around Namjoon’s house. He lives in a two storey in the suburbs, it’d been a half hour drive from yours.

Namjoon’s looking at you.

‘Do you want another job?’ he asks.

You choose your words carefully. ‘It’s probably for the best. The Kangs are aware I’m working for the police, and you’re aware of my links to the Kangs. I’m a liability.’

‘You’re not a liability,’ Namjoon says. ‘I don’t think you’re working for them.’

You laugh, dryly. ‘Jungkook and I are at a crossroads. If you’re ever worried about a mole in your unit, never suspect Jungkook. He’s so loyal to you I thought he was going to kick me out himself.’

Namjoon’s frowning, so you add, ‘it’s not just about you trusting me Your team has to trust me too. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out.’

‘Finds out what? That you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that you saved my life?’

You look at each other.

‘You don’t owe me just because I did that.’ You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm.

‘You stepped in front of a loaded gun, for me.’

‘I didn’t know you. I would have done it for anyone.’

‘Still,’ Namjoon says, frustrated. ‘You did it for me.’

‘So what, now you’re responsible for me?’ you scoff.

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘Also, I hired you. I put you in this situation. And if I’d broken that door down faster you wouldn’t be sitting there looking at me with that goddamn huge graze on your face.’

‘Don’t look at me then,’ you say, tiredly.

‘That’s the problem, that I can’t fucking stop looking at you,’ Namjoon replies.

You stare at him.

‘Should we just stop talking and fuck instead?’ you ask.

There’s a flicker in Namjoon’s gaze.

‘If only fucking was the answer,’ Namjoon says. He gets up. ‘Go to bed. I’ve got to do some thinking about tomorrow.’

***

You’re quietly heading towards the door the next morning when Namjoon calls out from the kitchen.

He comes to the door, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

He holds it out to you.

‘If you’re going to sneak away you might as well have breakfast first.’

‘I wasn’t going to---’

You break off at the look on his face.

You take the coffee he’s holding out to you, and set it down. You take his other mug and set it down, then tug his arm.

You reach up and curl your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. He leans down, and you go on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips.

Your arms loosen, and you’re slipping down a little when he curls his arms around you, big hands cupping your ass.

‘Did you sleep?’ you ask him, between kisses.

‘Not a wink,’ he tells you, voice husky, sexy.

‘I thought about you,’ you tell him. ‘Like this.’

Namjoon nibbles your neck. ‘Hold on,’ he says.

He carries you to his bedroom, his king bed with its rumpled grey sheets.

‘Are we doing this?’ he asks, kissing down your neck, tugging at your t-shirt.

‘Hey, I saved your life,’ you tease. ‘You fucking owe me.’

Namjoon laughs.

‘I’m going to show you how grateful I am,’ he promises.

***

Namjoon’s hands are splayed on your back, smoothing over your skin as he kisses you. He’s slow, languid, like he has nothing but time.

You, however, have been fantasizing about his arms around you ever since that night at the restaurant.

‘C’mon, Joon,’ you whisper to him, positioning yourself in his lap, legs spread to accommodate his torso. You roll your hips over his to encourage him.

Namjoon’s pulling the front plackets of his shirt that you’re wearing apart. He slips a hand over your tattoo.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he asks, fingers tracing the snake, from bevelled head, down the coiled body, to the tail over your hip.

‘It was easier to blend in than to stand out,’ you tell him, kissing his neck. Your tongue flicks against his ear. ‘Especially when I started dating Kangs.’

Namjoon groans. ‘Do that again.’

‘This?’ you ask. You nibble at his ear, pressing your lips to his neck. He smells delicious, woody, musky.

Namjoon’s big hands curl over your ass as you roll your hips against his again, helping you grind on him.

You bite his neck, and he groans again. ‘Fuck. Let me get a condom.’

You help him slide his briefs off, just enough that his rigid cock is freed, slapping against his skin. He’s so hard you’re worried it’s going to hurt.

Namjoon presses the condom into your hand. ‘Put it on me,’ he says.

You’re tearing into it when his hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your arousal. He slips a finger into you, and you clench involuntarily around him.

‘One more,’ he grunts. He slips another finger into you, other hand over your hip, thumb stroking over your clit.

Your hands tighten over his cock, and he groans. ‘Fuck.’

He jerks away, pushes you back onto the bed and presses his whole face between your legs. He licks you out in earnest, humming his approval as you get slicker and wetter for him.

‘I need –’ You break off, and Namjoon nods.

‘I’ve got you,’ he tells you.

He slips the condom that’s dropped out of your hand onto himself, coming back to rest on top of you.

‘You ready?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

He watches your face as he positions himself, pushing in slowly, inching his way in.

Your hips wriggle and you push up, trying to take more of him.

‘Joon,’ you plead.

He laughs darkly. ‘I’m here.’ He pushes in another inch, so maddeningly slow you could scream.

He dips his head to kiss you as he pushes the rest of the way in, tongue invading your open mouth as he fills you with his cock.

‘Good?’ he asks.

You open your eyes when you realise he’s waiting for an answer.

You nod. ‘Good. Keep going. Fuck. Keep going.’

Namjoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thrusts, filling you again and again, rocking against your clit. His thumbs on your hips feel like they’re bruising you, but you’re barely aware of it, too caught up in how good he feels.

The weight of him, the stretch of his cock, the sweat glistening between your bodies.

You cry out as he fucks you, relentlessly pulling you to the edge with him.

‘Go on,’ he urges. ‘You’re nearly there.’

His voice, already deep and low at the best of times, sounds guttural, more of a rumble than actual words.

Another push of his hips, a well-timed long stroke of his thumb, and you’re cumming on him. Namjoon’s hips stutter as you cry his name, and his rhythm falters, a low moan falling from his lips as he spills into you.

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, when you curl your arms around him, pulling him down to you.

‘Don’t want to crush you,’ he utters. ‘Your hand.’

‘I like the weight of you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon huffs out a laugh. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

Again, he doesn’t sound like he’s really asking you, so you don’t answer.

***

Again, you’re nervous, but this time it’s a situation that’s more familiar to you.

You’re not the girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to pretend to be middle-class and uneventful at an interview.

Today, you’re on your own turf.

Kang Min used to come to your house to meet your father when you were a girl, and they used to drink and talk and smoke well into the early hours of the morning.

You didn’t always stay up with them, but Kang Min was never anything but kind to you.

You bow as you approach him, at a hole in the wall noodle restaurant your father used to take you to as a child.

‘Uncle,’ you say, politely.

He sits back, and there’s a sudden flare of fear in your chest as you wonder if you’ve misjudged this situation completely.

Instead, he smiles. ‘Y/N. You’ve grown up.’

‘I found this amongst Papa’s things,’ you tell him, holding it out. ‘I thought he’d want you to have it.’

He looks at it as you place it on the table in front of him.

It’s a silver box lighter, the one your father always used to use when they smoked together at your house. You’ve polished the tarnish away yourself.

He looks up at you. ‘Your father was one of my best friends, you know that.’

‘I know, uncle.’

‘He never wanted you involved in the business,’ he says. ‘I’ve always respected his wishes.’

He looks at you shrewdly. ‘What’s this about you working for the police?’

‘I needed a job,’ you tell him. ‘I can’t live off the inheritance.’

‘He wanted you taken care of. I promised him I’d do that,’ Kang Min says. ‘Will you find another job?’

‘I’ve resigned,’ you tell him, truthfully.

‘He built up a trust for you. I’ll give you access,’ Kang Min tells you. ‘I’d have given it you sooner if you’d come to me.’

‘I didn’t know – ‘

He cuts you off. ‘I’m not going to involve you in anything, as long as you give me your word you’ll not lose your loyalty to your father’s memory.’

His eyes flicker over the tattoo that’s faintly visible through your gauzy shirt. You hadn’t been entirely truthful with Namjoon. The tattoo had never been for the men you dated. It’d been one of your father’s ideas to prove your loyalty to Kang Min after he was gone.

Your brilliant, pragmatic father who’d taught you how to hotwire a car, shoplift with ease and three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

‘I won’t forget,’ you tell him.

He smiles then, eyes on the lighter you’ve given him.

‘See that you don’t.’

***

Namjoon’s waiting a block away from where you met with Kang Min. The relief on his face when he sees you makes you feel warm inside.

‘Done?’ he asks.

‘Done,’ you say.

You’re another block away before you speak again. ‘You’re going to help me find another job, right?’

‘What would you like to do?’ asks Namjoon.

‘I always wanted to learn to fix cars,’ you say. ‘Think Taehyung will take me on?’

Namjoon whistles. ‘I think you’d be hot as a mechanic.’

‘I don’t know though, who’s going to save your ass at drug busts?’ you tease.

Namjoon levels you with a look. ‘You know that was one of my first cases as a detective.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘And?’

‘I’m a better cop now than I was.’

You nod. ‘More careful?’

Namjoon gives you a crooked smile. ‘Stakes are higher now that I’ve got your pretty ass waiting for me at home.’

‘Damn, you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet?’

‘Let’s go right now,’ Namjoon says. ‘Then I’m taking you home with me.’

He curls his arm around you and you lean into his embrace.

You don’t know how this is all going to work out, but it’s a promising start.

#bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #btscarnivalnet

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mariacallous · 2 months

Text

Jalon Hall thought she was being scammed when a recruiter reached out on LinkedIn about a job moderating YouTube videos in 2020. Months after earning a master’s degree in criminal justice, her only job had been at a law firm investigating discrimination cases. But the offer was real, and Hall, who is Black and Deaf, sailed through the interviews.

She would be part of a new in-house moderation team of about 100 people called Wolverine, trudging daily through freezing weather to offices in suburban Detroit during the early pandemic. When she accepted the job, the recruiter said via email that a sign language interpreter would be provided “and can be fully accommodated :)” That assurance unraveled within days of joining Google—and her experience at the company has proven difficult in the years since.

Hall now works on responsible use of AI at Google and by all available accounts is the company’s first and only Black, Deaf employee. The company has feted her at events and online as representative of a workplace welcoming to all. Google’s LinkedIn account praised her last year for “helping expand opportunities for Black Deaf professionals!” while on Instagram the company thanked her “for making #LifeAtGoogle more inclusive!” Yet behind the rosy marketing, Hall accuses Google of subjecting her to both racism and audism, prejudice against the deaf or hard of hearing. She says the company denied her access to a sign language interpreter and slow-walked upgrades to essential tools.

After filing three HR complaints that she says yielded little change, Hall sued Google in December, alleging discrimination based on her race and disability. The company responded this week, arguing that the case should be thrown out on procedural grounds, including bringing the claims too late, but didn’t deny Hall’s accusations. “Google is using me to make them look inclusive for the Deaf community and the overall Disability community,” she says. “In reality, they need to do better.”

Hall, who is in her thirties, has stayed at Google in hopes of spurring improvements for others. She chose to talk with WIRED despite fearing for her safety and job prospects because she feels the company has ignored her. “I was born to push through hard times,” she says. “It would be selfish to quit Google. I’m standing in the gap for those often pushed aside.” Hall’s experiences, which have not been previously reported, are corroborated by over two dozen internal documents seen by WIRED as well as interviews with four colleagues she confided in and worked alongside.

Employees who are Black or disabled are in tiny minorities at Google, a company of nearly 183,000 people that has long been criticized for an internal culture that heavily favors people who fit tech industry norms. Google’s Deaf and hard-of-hearing employee group has 40 members. And Black women, who make up only about 2.4 percent of Google’s US workforce, leave the company at a disproportionately higher rate than women of other races, company data showed last year.

Several former Black women employees, including AI researcher Timnit Gebru and recruiter April Christina Curley, have publicly alleged they were sidelined by an internal culture that disrespected them. Curley is leading a proposed class action lawsuit accusing Google of systemic bias but has lost initial court battles.

Google spokesperson Emily Hawkins didn’t directly address Hall’s allegations when asked about them by WIRED. “We are committed to building an inclusive workplace and offer a range of accommodations to support the success of our employees, including sign language interpreters and captioning,” Hawkins says.

Figuring out how to accommodate people like Hall could be good business for Google. One in every 10 people by 2050 will have disabling hearing loss, according to the World Health Organization.

Mark Takano, who represents a slice of Southern California in the US House and cochairs the Congressional Deaf Caucus, says that Google has an obligation to lead the way in demonstrating that its technology and employment practices are accommodating. “When Deaf and hard-of-hearing employees are excluded because of the inability to provide an accessible workplace, there is a great pool of talent that is left untapped—and we all lose out,” he says.

Unaccommodated

Hall was born with profound bilateral sensorineural hearing loss, meaning that even with hearing aids her brain cannot process sounds well. Two separate audiologists in memos to Google said Hall needs an American Sign Language interpreter full-time. She also signs pre- and post-segregation Black ASL, which uses more two-handed signs and incorporates some African American vernacular.

During her childhood in Louisiana, Hall's parents pushed her into speech therapy and conventional schools, where she found that some people doubted she was Deaf because she can speak. She later attended a high school for Deaf students where she became homecoming and prom queen, and realized how much more she could achieve when provided appropriate support.

Hall expected to find a similar environment at Google when she moved to Farmington Hills, Michigan, to become a content moderator. The company contracts ASL interpreters from a vendor called Deaf Services of Palo Alto, or DSPA. But though Hall had been assigned to enforce YouTube’s child safety rules, managers wouldn’t let her interpreters help her review that content. Google worried about exposing contractors to graphic imagery and cited confidentiality concerns, despite the fact interpreters in the US follow a code of conduct that includes confidentiality standards.

Managers transferred Hall into training to screen for videos spreading misinformation about Covid and elections. She developed a workflow that saw her default to using lipreading and automated transcriptions to review videos and turn to her interpreter if she needed further help. The transcriptions on videos used in training were high quality, so she had little trouble.

Her system fell apart late in January 2021, about 20 minutes into one of her first days screening new content. The latest video in her queue was difficult to make sense of using lipreading, and the AI transcriptions in the software YouTube built for moderators were poor quality or even absent for recently uploaded content. She turned to her interpreter’s desk a few feet away—but to her surprise it was empty. “I was going to say, ‘Do you mind coming listening to this?’” she recalls.

Hall rose to ask a manager about the interpreter’s whereabouts. He told her that he and fellow managers had decided that she could no longer have an interpreter in the room because it threatened the confidentiality of the team’s work. She could now talk with her interpreter only during breaks or briefly bring them in to clarify policies with managers. She was told to skip any videos she couldn’t judge through sight alone.

Feeling wronged and confused by the new restrictions, Hall slumped back into her chair. US law requires companies to provide reasonable accommodations to a disabled worker unless it would cause the employer significant difficulty or expense. “This was not a reasonable accommodation,” she says. “I was thinking, What did I get myself into? Do they not believe I’m Deaf? I need my interpreter all day. Why are you robbing me of the chance of doing my job?”

‘Pushed Aside’

Without her interpreter, Hall struggled. She rarely met the quota of 75 videos each moderator was expected to review over an eight-hour day. She often had to watch through a video in its entirety, sometimes more than an hour, before concluding she could not assess it. “I felt humiliated, realizing that I would not grow in my career,” she says.

Throughout that February, Hall spoke to managers across YouTube about the need for better transcriptions in the moderation software. They told her it would take weeks or more to improve them, possibly even years. She asked for a transfer to child safety, since she had heard from a colleague that visuals alone could be used to decide many of those videos. An HR complaint filed that spring led nowhere.

Black and disabled colleagues eventually helped secure Hall a transfer into Google’s Responsible AI and Human-Centered Technology division in July 2021. It is run by vice president Marian Croak, Google’s most distinguished Black female technical leader. Hall says Croak supported her and described what she’d been through as unacceptable. But even in the new role, Hall’s interpreter was restricted to non-confidential conversations.

Hall says the discrimination against her has continued under her new manager, who is also Black, leading to her exclusion from projects and meetings. Even when she’s present some coworkers don’t make much effort to include her. “My point of view is often not heard,” Hall says. In 2021, she joined two gatherings of Google’s Equitable AI Research Roundtable, an advisory body, but then wasn’t invited again. “I feel hidden and pushed aside,” she says.

Hall filed an internal complaint against her manager in March 2022, and an HR staffer has joined their one-on-one meetings since October of that year. One of the interpreters who has assisted Hall says the friction Deaf workers encounter is sadly unsurprising. “People truly don’t take the time to learn about their peers,” the interpreter says.

The allegations are notable in part because a civil rights audit Google commissioned found last March that it needs to do more to train managers. “One of the largest areas of opportunity is improving managers’ ability to lead a diverse workforce,” attorneys for WilmerHale wrote. Hawkins, the Google spokesperson, says all employees have access to inclusion training.

Hall says when she has access to an interpreter, they are rotated throughout the week, forcing her to repeatedly explain some technical concepts. “Google is going the cheap route,” Hall claims, saying her interpreters in university were more literate in tech jargon.

Kathy Kaufman, director of coordinating services at DSPA, says it pays above market rates, dedicates a small pool to each company so the vocabulary becomes familiar, hires tech specialists, and trains those who are not. Kaufman also declined to confirm that Google is a client or comment on its policies.

Google’s Hawkins says that the company is trying to make improvements. Google’s accommodations team is currently seeking employees to join a new working group to smooth over policies and procedures related to disabilities.

Beside Hall’s concerns, Deaf workers over the past two years have complained about Google’s plans—shelved, for now—to switch away from DSPA without providing assurances that a new interpreter provider would be better, according to a former Google employee, speaking on the condition of anonymity to protect their job prospects. Blind employees have had the human guides they rely on excluded from internal systems due to confidentiality concerns in recent years, and they have long complained that key internal tools, like a widely used assignment tracker, are incompatible with screen readers, according to a second former employee.

Advocates for disabled workers try to hold out hope but are discouraged. “The premise that everyone deserves a shot at every role rests on the company doing whatever it takes to provide accommodations,” says Stephanie Parker, a former senior strategist at YouTube who helped Hall navigate the Google bureaucracy. “From my experience with Google, there is a pretty glaring lack of commitment to accessibility.”

Not Recorded

Hall has been left to watch as colleagues hired alongside her as content moderators got promoted. More than three years after joining Google, she remains a level 2 employee on its internal ranking, defined as someone who receives significant oversight from a manager, making her ineligible for Google peer support and retention programs. Internal data shows that most L2 employees reach L3 within three years.

Last August, Hall started her own community, the Black Googler Network Deaf Alliance, teaching its members sign language and sharing videos and articles about the Black Deaf community. “This is still a hearing world, and the Deaf and hearing have to come together,” she says.

On the responsible AI team, Hall has been compiling research that would help people at Google working on AI services such as virtual assistants understand how to make them accessible to the Black Deaf community. She personally recruited 20 Black Deaf users to discuss their views on the future of technology for about 90 minutes in exchange for up to $100 each; Google, which reported nearly $74 billion in profit last year, would only pay for 13. The project was further derailed by an unexpected flaw in Google Meet, the company’s video chat service.

Hall’s first interview was with someone who is Deaf and Blind. The 90-minute call, which included two interpreters to help her and the subject converse, went well. But when Hall pulled up the recording to begin putting together her report, it was almost entirely blank. Only when Hall’s interpreter spoke did the video include any visuals. The signing between everyone on the call was missing, preventing her from fully transcribing the interview. It turned out that Google Meet doesn’t record video of people who aren’t vocalizing, even when their microphones are unmuted.

“My heart dropped,” Hall told WIRED using the video chat app Sivo, which allows all participants to see each other while a hearing person and sign language interpreter speak by phone. Hall spent the evening trying to soothe her devastation, meditating, praying, and playing with her dog, which she has trained in ASL commands.

Hall filed a support ticket and spoke to a top engineer for Google Meet who said fixing the issue wasn’t a priority. WIRED later found evidence that users had publicly reported similar issues for years. Microsoft Teams generally will record signing, but Hall wasn’t permitted to use it. She ended up hacking together a workflow for documenting her interviews by laboriously editing together Meet recordings and screen-captured video using tools that she paid $46 a month for out of her own pocket.

Company spokesperson Hawkins did not dispute Meet’s limitations but claims support for the Deaf community is a priority at Google, where work underway includes developing computer vision software to translate sign language.

Google leaders have often paid lip service to the importance of including people with diverse experiences in research and development, but Hall has found the reality lacking. Despite her understanding of the Black Deaf community and research into its needs, she says she is yet to be invited to support the sign translation work. In her experience, Google’s conception of diversity can be narrow. “In the AI department, a lot of conversations are around race and gender,” Hall says. “No one emphasizes disability.”

Her research showed Black, Deaf users are concerned about the potential for AI systems to misinterpret signs, generate poor captions, take jobs from interpreters, and disadvantage individuals who opt for manual interpretation. It underscored that companies need to consider whether new tools would make someone who is unable to hear feel closer or further from the people with whom they are communicating.

Hall presented her findings internally last December over a Google Meet call. Twenty-four colleagues joined, including a research director. Hall had been encouraged, including by Croak, to invite a much larger audience from across the company but ultimately stuck with the short list insisted upon by her manager. She didn’t even bother trying to record it.

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

Text

Memento Mori

"Just one more week, Mr. Winslow. The shop is slow, my boss reduced my hours. But I have enough coming in this next check to pay off some of the arrears..." David pleaded, his voice quivering. After several bad months, he was behind on rent for the very first time in his life. Was that enough to convince the landlord for some patience and leniency? Of course not. As he droned on about the lease and the state laws, David kept typing furiously on his laptop. All the stress of daily bills and daily life had taken it's toll on his degree, and his grades had started to slip. What he needed was an injection of funds, and within the next few days. He hung up the cell phone, hit the submit button on his essay, and immediately starting hitting the job boards. His new Applicant Headshot proudly sat atop his impressive résumé filled with internships and volunteer work. A deep breath and he started searching.

First listing: Receptionist Needed, part time, 7.25/hr. Definitely not enough to even cover the electric bill. ISO Experienced Line Cook, at least 6 years of experience required. Not even gonna try with that one… Now Hiring Sales Representatives for multi-level marketing firm, $50k Introductory pay possible. Possible? What the hell does that even mean? Scrolling through Indeed, it was clear there were slim pickings, and that was being awfully optimistic. David sighed, thinking of every past due balance, the credit cards, the rent, the student loans, the utilities. At bare minimum he’d need a job paying at least $18-20/hr. But without a completed masters, few openings would even come close. Just as he was about to slam the laptop shut in utter frustration, the little ping of a new notification rang from the speakers. He scrolled up and read the listing.

“Assistant Needed. $25/hr. Part time, full time possible with successful first gig. Training provided. Apply below.” The listing was bare bones, but it caught his attention. If anything it was rather mysterious, and somewhat alluring to him. Either way, mysterious or not, he clicked the submit resume button. The only listing he was remotely qualified for now submitted, he closed his laptop. Almost immediately, his phone rang. The number was unrecognized, and didn’t even show a Caller ID. Normally, he’d ignore such calls, but perhaps it was a recruiter, or perhaps it was a debt collector. He closed his eyes, swiped accept, and pulled the phone to his ear.

“This David Bellingham?” The voice was youthful but gruff, and a bit odd. He affirmed his identity with caution. “Yeah, we got your application, and wanted to get you in for an interview as soon as possible. Are you available?” David’s heart plummeted to his toes.

“Yes! Absolutely. I can be there immediately if you give me the address!” The man on the other side of the line began to whisper, clearly not to David, and after a few moments, he responded.

“Knock knock.” The line disconnected. Trying to call the number back, he found it to be “unreachable at this time.” Concerned he was the victim of doxxing, he threw the phone across the room just as the heavy pounding on his door echoed from the front of the apartment. David sat nervously in his desk chair, unable to bring himself to even stand. He watched the front door, only the doorknob and lock viewable from his perch. To his horror, the top lock swiped to the left, and the knob quickly turned. The door swung open and a tall, lean man entered the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. The heavy footfalls from his gigantic Nikes slamming against the hardwood approached quickly, and the full sight of the man came into view.

He was inked from the face downward. A teardrop just under his right eye, various designs littered his shirtless torso and crept beneath his ratty grey sweatpants. A good looking guy for certain, but the air about him was certainly heavier with a sense of dominance and malfeasance. This was not a “good guy.”

“You stay right there, and don’t move. Got it?” The voice was the very same from the phone call. How could he have possibly found him this quickly? Let alone let himself into his own private domicile? Terrified, he nodded gently at the man as he leaned his sweaty body against the wall. “Interview time. You need a gig, right? Quick money?” David nodded, trying to coyly pull at his pockets for his phone, only to remember he’d tossed it across the room in rage. “Phones over there. I wouldn’t go for it if I were you.”

“What do you want?” David’s voice was trembling, the fear overtaking any bout of feigned defiance he’d intended to convey. The man smirked and looked around the apartment.

“I want an assistant for a job. You applied for the job. Now I’m interviewing you, right?” Knowing full well he’d lost complete control over the situation, he accepted he just had to make it through this interaction and wait for the man to leave before he’d be able to call the cops. “The group I work with are… let’s just say repo men and leave it at that. We need a guy that certain people wouldn’t recognize, and I think you fit the bill nicely.” The man looked David up and down, the pristine black button up and jeans contrasted entirely with his own attire. “I’ll sweeten the deal for ya. $75k for this one time job.” David’s jaw dropped. There was no way in hell this guy was legit. Nor was he offering a job that law enforcement would likely approve of. He could read between the lines. Mustering his strength, he found himself able to mutter out a single question.

“What’s the job, exactly?” The man smiled, his one gold tooth sparkled in the sunlight coming in from the window.

“All we need you to do is drive a car for me. In fact, I’ll drive the car, all I need is you to be in the drivers seat.” David was confused, terrified, nearly delirious with desperation to escape whatever scheme he was to be implicated in should he go through with it. Certainly the money would help, but with no guarantee he’d ever get that sum, paired with the fact his potential boss had literally broken into his home sparked should have sparked a fight or flight response within him. However, whether it was his brain misfiring or fear just getting to him, he found himself nodding once again and quietly saying:

“Okay. I can do that.” The man put his hand up to his ear, needing one more bout of confirmation. “Yes, I’ll do it.” It was a lie. Anything to escape the situation. But that confirmation to the man was in line with a verbal contract. The deal was sealed.

“Aight. Get up. Time for training.” Shit. It had backfired. The man walked over to him, extending his hand to pull the lanky young man out of the perceived safety of his swivel desk chair. His body moved of its own accord, accepting the hand, and the yank to his shaking feet. The man towered above him, looming over him like a monolith of muscle, skin, and ink. He began to poke and prod, seemingly making an inventory in his mind of what David could offer. “Tight squeeze. But you’re a good fit I think, Bellingham.” He pointed to the wall. “Put your hands against the wall, don’t fucking turn around. Do you understand?”

David did as he was told. He scampered to the wall, placing his clammy palms on it, breathing heavily. The room fell silent aside from the labored breath, and the cacophonous footsteps from the man. Against the back of his neck, he could feel the breath of the man mere inches from the little hairs standing on end.

“Try not to moan too loudly.” The man’s hands slithered around his skinny waist, riding his shirt up ever so slowly. Looking down, he could see the man’s black fingernails glide across his bare midriff, pulling him close until he could feel his warm, wet chest against his back. He let out a quiet gasp, as the fear began to subside under his gentle touch. “Mmmmmm yeah, baby. This is gonna feel good.” The man’s right hand made its way to the back of his shoulder blade, the fingertips massaging his tight deltoids. The second hand followed suit, pressing and pulling against his boney shoulders until he could barely feel them. That’s when the numbness made way to a new sensation, undefinable by mere words. It was fullness, it was tightness, it was euphoric, it was… stretchy.

Opening his eyes for a moment, he looked down to see the outline of two large hands pressing outward from beneath the skin of his chest. He gasped, but the sound was immediately caught in the back of his throat. The man hummed low and quiet, as the sound of elastic stretching followed the hands slowly pressing into his shoulders and down into the top of his arms. As if his body was slurping and sucking them into place, they traveled down his biceps, the intricate ink faintly visible beneath his pale porcelain skin. The hands were pulled by an almost vacuum force down his forearms and slipped into his hands. David’s skin began to pulsate and creak under the pressure of this alien mass as the fingers pushed the tips of his own further outward. He could feel the man’s larger biceps and longer arms stretching and stretching until a loud “Schlick” signified their suction in place. Against the wall, where his hands once were, were a pair of massive meaty hands: tattooed, black nails, thrice their original size. The man rested his chin on David’s shoulder as the hands began to move on their own, cracking their knuckles and caressing their tight muscles.

“Yeah, we gonna get you all trained up for the job.” David looked down as he felt the tips of the man’s massive toes pressing against his Achilles’ tendon. He moaned in pleasure for a mere second before his left hand clasped over his mouth as the foot pushed into his. His thighs ballooned out as the man’s legs began to slide into him, the creaking and groaning of his elastic skin growing louder as he pushed himself deeper into David. For a moment, he thought he could hear the sound of bones cracking as his foot stretched out to accommodate the invader’s, but as the tips of his toes were finally filled, they had grown into two high arched, musky size 15s. The heat from his new soles created a steamy footprint against the wood floor, and only as he backed up did he see he’d grown almost a foot taller. His jeans struggled to contain the cut, chiseled quads and calves. One firm push further, and he felt a squirming within his groin.

“Ahh, fuck. Let me just…” His hands unbuttoned the waist of his jeans, pulling down the whitie tighties which had cupped his modest package. With a firm grip from his calloused hand, he pulled the tip of his cock outward, watching in erotic confusion as the lurking outline of the man’s monstrous duck slurp up the base of his own- pushing farther and farther, until the man let out a loud sigh as it had expanded fully into David’s, snaking longer and wider than ever before.

Gently stroking his new python, the man pressed his chest against David’s back, squeezing his own shoulders together to squirm and shimmy into the tight confines of their soon-to-be home. As if crouching, David felt the man slip into him, the elastic skin of his back slowly sealing shut behind the invading torso. Finally within him, the man stood up straight, letting his shoulders stretch outward, and his pecs burst out of the formerly skinny body. Hearing the soft chuckle of a devious thug growing closer and closer, David could only watch in the mirror as the man’s face pressed out from beneath the skin of his neck, protruding sharply as it slid upward. He could feel the man’s sweaty black hair in the back of his throat, pressing hard against the tight hole leading to his mouth; and thus his head. Pressure had mounted, vision became blurry, his eyelids flickered open and shut just as he felt the crown of the man’s head finally stretch past his jaw. It was seconds. The man’s head was immediately suctioned into the smaller skull of David. As his now dark Hazel eyes opened, David could only watch as the man pinched and contorted his face; pressing his nose, lips, chin, ears into their respective places. The man smiled, his one gold tooth now sparkling from within the merged body of his host.

“Not bad. Lookin good, if I’m being real. You in there, little man?” The man tapped on his temple, David acknowledging the echoing beating from the dark void of his mind. “Yeah, you watchin’. I told you I was gonna train you.” The man flexed his new muscles. “This is just part one. Now we get your mind all fixed up.” David’s consciousness was merely floating in the endless abyss of darkness, unable to resist as a flood of foreign thoughts began to pour in. The man continued to jack his thick rod, the pace quickening as David’s mind was filled with the man’s own memories and experiences. Or, rather was filled with Dante’s memories. Whatever rage, discontent, or distrust flashed away, and the figure of Dante, the invader of his body quickly shifted from an adversary to a mentor. Methods of hot wiring cars, lock picking, slide of hand, coke sniffing, ass fucking, pussy licking, pit sniffing, sneaker huffing, tongue kissing, machismo all but replaced whatever he once had stored in the vault of his memory. Dante and David were no longer two, but for the moment at least, were one.

Dante blew the load of David’s useless collegiate education, meek insecurities, nervous demeanor, and whack sense of right and wrong right out of his long thick cock into a puddle on the floor. He flopped backward onto the rug, and lay there huffing and sweating.

“Fuck yeah, man. You feelin’ good up in there?” The faint murmur of his new pupil within him purred in ecstasy. “Let’s get this job done, get you your money. Then we’ll see how you feel about goin’ full time.” Dante smirked from within him, knowing all too well that he had a new member to his crew.

———————

“State police are still on the lookout for those involved with the robbing of a New Orleans bank approximately seven months ago, a small bounty has been offered to anyone with pertinent knowledge of…” Dante smirked as he closed the YouTube video. Sitting in plain daylight on the steps of the Courthouse, the gang flaunted just how untouchable they were to all who knew who they were. There wasn’t ever going to be any leads for the police, no one would ever dare. Besides. Rob from the rich, give to the poor. The poor, of course being themselves.

Walking over to Dev, their new getaway driver, he handed him a cigarette from his own personal collection. The sneering visage of his crewmate and pupil was thanks enough for him as he flicked his lighter and ignited the Treasurer Luxury smoke. Training went well over the past few months, and after five or six successful heists, the newest Libertine boy found himself a permanent fixture. Now rolling in the finest cars, fucking the hottest guys and girls in the club, and throwing hundreds like they were dollars, Dev was rearing for the next payday. And as a professional, he was bound to deliver.

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