#there's a receptionist job in the city + they're not looking for anyone with like. Actual Experience

[oolhan]

Too Many Beds

welp. I've managed to make some decent writing out of @waywardangel-wilds's blog about reversed tropes lol. This is unbeta-ed and all so here goes nothing!

Part 2 is here and 3 is already up here

Part 1:

It started innocently enough. Their friend group after college always had an annual trip somewhere far from their busy lives from their respective cities. Three years ago, they did the Bahamas with Delly's boyfriend Thom as their local tourist guide. Because of the good weather and the white sands, the island was packed with tourists. They almost fought the receptionist of a dingy motel just to secure four tiny spaces. One for the couple, another for Finnick and Gale, Johanna and Annie's, and the last door for both of them.

Katniss and Peeta, bestfriends since childhood. Witnessed each other's puberty and insecurities, pulling all nighters just to be handed with diplomas, presenting those diplomas in countless job hunts. Found themselves only a block away from their workplaces, Katniss a columnist for the city's paper, Peeta baking all day at the nearby posh pastry shop.

So, sharing the tiny bed for two nights in a vacation shouldn't be weird at all, right? They've seen it all. Almost.

So, they did. Ironically enough it didn't feel weird at all. It felt the opposite, actually. What is that opposite though?

After those two nights of fitful sleep, it became an unspoken agreement they share a room in the next trips. They shared an old rickety bedpost with just a mattress and no duvet covers in some hut in Thailand last two years ago. A mattress with no bedpost when they decided backpacking across Europe was fun and their hostel in Barcelona only had three rooms for the 8 of them. A big enough couch in Austria. Wrestled a tiny blanket in Portugal.

No one in their group questioned their sharing, only teasing glances from Johanna and Annie in that Bahamas trip.  Because it felt natural, it felt fitting.

The conditions were weird, but it was okay. She likes the excuse she gets just to feel his arms spoon her, even just for a night. It became Katniss' favorite thing to anticipate in these vacations. Yet, she's never admitting that to anyone because after they come home and separate again at the airport, some sort of spell dies and only reawakens on next year's trip. For some reason they never sleep together even when visiting the apartment of the other. Really though, it was innocent cuddling between two childhood friends.

Peeta on the other hand, barely keeps it together. Sure, the sharing was innocent, and he likes the feel of her limbs bumping and tying with his own, but God does he want to just cocoon her in his chest, smell the fragrance of her hair, play with the strands, fidget his fingers on the circles of her shoulders. But he knew it's weird to do, and it may only make her uncomfortable.

And so, in those few nights they lay together in the past three years, he musters up most of the restraint he can. Because it was painful enough to just be friends with her, painful enough to hide the fact that he was a goner ever since they were five and never took the chance to confess, painful enough to witness her grow into a beautiful woman and hang out with jerks like Cato in high school and Marvel in college.

He'll fall apart if he admitted his feelings and she break up their friendship. Not when he can get these borrowed moments instead. Not when they're almost 30. Innocent sleeping, right?

No. Not when she wore some skimpy sleep shorts because she complained it was too humid in the tropical island. Not when she can feel his morning wood against her backside on mornings when she's the first to wake. Not when a housekeeper complimented how good of a couple they look when she carried some extra towels in their room, teasing with innuendos on her way out that made both blush and frantic.

Fuck those shorts, he thinks as he tries to pry his eyes away and concentrate on getting the shading right. He was propped up on the bed post, sketching away as a habit before sleeping and he has a good view of her ass bent over the end of her bed, arranging clothes on her luggage.

"What?" She glanced his way. Shit. Did he say that out loud?

"What?" He tries to keep a normal tone, his shading shaky.

"What about these shorts?" She's standing now with her hands on her hip, challenging him. What's wrong with her sleepwear?

"I-" before he could answer though, her phone rings. Her sister was calling all the way from New York, finishing medicine at NYU. Katniss' tone is cheerful when she answered Prim, though her mind lingers in Peeta's soft aggressive whisper. She settled on the bed cross legged.

"Hey! just checking in on you. How's Paris?" Prim's walking while on a video call, and Peeta hears her stride. He abandons his sketchbook and jumps close to Katniss over her shoulder to greet Prim.

"Oh, it's bad, duck. She shits on pain au chocolat. Uncultured and rude. Can you believe that?"

"Shut up! I was only being honest, it's overrated,"

"Honesty is not shitting on food," Woah. He's way too close now. She flusters as she notices the lesser gap. He smells fresh from the shower.

She covers it up with an eyeroll. There.

"I think she just misses your buns, Peeta," They saw Prim wiggle her eyebrows comically in the phone. She rolls her eyes again. God, not Prim too. If Peeta even flushed from the teasing, he doesn't show.

"Where are you off to, anyway?" Katniss steers the conversation, subtly shying away from Peeta.

"I actually have a make-up class in Bio and I'm running late but I wanted to see you for a minute. Paris looks good on you," Prim's video was shaky now from her walk-run.

"Yeah yeah, I'll send you pictures tomorrow morning. Or tonight, or your morning. I don't know," Katniss chuckles.

Peeta loves her most in these moments with her sister. He's always entertained by their sisterly banter and unfiltered bickering. Things far from the physical jokes and pranks from his brothers, like random hard punches on the shoulder or being locked up in the bakery's store room.

"And you finally got your own beds this time! No more cramping in one bed," Prim says, which irritated and startled Katniss enough because ugh, she didn't want to get awkward with Peeta, especially when they already got some tension lingering. She couldn't roll her eyes enough to disperse the growing tension.

"Uh-yeah-finally, Cinna's a bit lavish,"

"Yeah, but that doesn't keep away her snores," Peeta added good naturedly, trying his best not to sound disappointed or whatever.

Because when Cinna decided earlier to welcome the group in his enormous apartment in Paris above his tailoring shop, he became a generous host. Provided them with enough toiletries, towels, full pantry of food, and of course, beds for each of them. Two twin beds per room, and so they divided by couple, leaving Peeta and Katniss staring at the most spacious room they've ever been on their trips.

What if they just move the bedframes together and make one giant fluffy king size mattress?

No, no. That's ridiculous. And stupid. That's like crossing some kind of boundary. So as much as they want to, they remain stubborn and got to unpacking. Besides, they'll only be here for the night. After that they can sleep again together like before in a small Venice hostel tomorrow, right?

"Well, two beds or not, you can always share-"

"Okay goodbye duck, I hope you trip on the sidewalk and fall flatfacewithyourmatchalattespillingalloveryouuu," Katniss taps the end button and tosses her phone on the bed.

"Come on dude, just admit you like sleeping with this," Peeta grabs her hand and press it on her chest, enjoying how she blushes with his and Prim's teasing abilities.

"fuck you, I'll kill you in your sleep," She scowls and pulls her hand away. He's roaring with laughter. She doesn't indulge the fact she likes feeling his broad skin under her palm.

"No seriously, we're used to sleeping side by side. Let's just move the frames... or you can sleep in mine,"

Fuck. Why is he so blunt about this?

"Or I could just sleep with you on this. Ah, so soft," he lays down with his arms cradling his head. He knows she'll be convinced if he tries to play it casually.

Very, very tempting. But Katniss is stubborn, and instead grabs the pillow beneath his head and smack him with it. "Hey!"

"Fuck off my bed Mellark. Go to your own," she directs with little conviction. A little more, just convince me a little more.

He sits up and feigns disappointment, even though he is really disappointed. "I'm serious, let's just sleep together..." He stares her up with those piercing blue eyes.

Tension grows by millimeter with their stare and hitching breaths.

Is he really serious? Is this okay? Why is he so casual about this?

"Just get off my bed, Peeta. It's the first in weeks I can sleep with my head on a real pillow,"

So she's not convinced with casual talk.

A beat.

“Okay fine, just don’t set your alarm so loud,” He stands and reaches for his abandoned sketchbook. She already misses the weight of him on her bed.

“Fine then. Don’t stay up late with the lights on. Opening the window is enough,” she settles on her pillows.

“Fine,”

Blankets rustles on both ends, lamps turn off.

“Goodnight, Peeta…”

“Sweet dreams, Katniss.”

They pretend to not notice the other still not asleep. It was a restless night.

[echologname]

Well said, Chatty. If I do anything with my adulthood, it's to make magic for kids every day. They're so precious and I love them SO much, they deserve the world! ❤️

I often think if a kid asks me, "What do you do when you're not playing with us?" Or if I had a kid and their classmate asked, "What job does your parent have?" What do I say? I would want to say something they would want to hear:

I play with puppies (dog daycare)

I make toys (Build-A-Bear or toy factory)

I make candy

I help out grandma's and grandpas (assisted living caregiver)

I blow up balloons and wrap gifts for birthday parties (Party City associate)

I clean schools (janitor)

I clean cars

I make music

I protect the Internet and all the cat videos and video games on it from bad people (Cyber security specialist)

I feed people (restaurant server)

I help sick people feel better (nurse/receptionist)

I swim in paperwork

I type on a computer

I make rainbows (mix paint at Home Depot)

I would want to live as an example of the beautiful possibilities they have for when they grow up too. I want to show that ANYONE can use WHATEVER skills they have to be awesome! Even if it's a seemingly "lame" job that only pays a few dollars an hour, their minds and hearts are so full of wonder, ANYTHING sounds fun and cool to them and that's the same mentality I want about a job. Whatever I do, I wanna love life doing it. I want to teach them that every job, big or small, has an important part to play in helping the people in our community and each one is an opportunity to love like Jesus, whether it's working at McDonalds, or scaling the tallest trees. Simply showing love in whatever you do is how to be a true hero and be someone to look up to.

"You can make a change" - Steven Universe

[riahlynn101]

"The Caretaker's Keeper" (1).

Summary: Based on a prompt from GoofyBoss about All for One hiring Izuku as a caretaker for his brother.

Trigger warnings: Trigger warnings: child abandonment, swearing, All for One being his usual creepy, possessive self, implied/referenced murder, and implied self-harm - nothing graphic but please don't risk your mental health to read this. I'm always more than happy to give people a TL;DR if they're curious and want to avoid triggering topics.

Chapter 1

--

Izuku taps a pen to his bottom lip, thinking. Some would say looking through the newspaper for jobs was old fashioned, but usually the job offers put out into the paper didn’t ask for much information on the person they’re hiring. 

The last job he got was as a delivery person, though he still doesn’t know what he delivered from one side of the city to the other. And he doesn’t want to know. His employer for that particular job kept to themselves and only spoke to Izuku long enough to, one, give vague threats to not tell anyone, and two, to give Izuku a wad of cash. Which helped pay for groceries for the upcoming week. 

Ever since his deadbeat father left them, citing some excuse about “needing to find himself,” because “Izuku is clearly not his,” his poor mom has had to take on extra shifts at her job at the local hospital, as well as picking up a second job as a receptionist for a dental office. 

It makes him unspeakably angry. 

How was it fair that his father could continue his life, unbothered, when both his mom and Izuku were struggling to get by? 

They downsized, moving from the apartment he knew all his life to a one-bedroom apartment on the sketchier side of the city. His mom tried to give him the bedroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his mom’s last comfort away from her. She thought the same way, just in the opposite direction, so they compromised. On the days she had to work a double, Izuku could have the bed (at least on the doubles she worked overnight). And on the nights, she was home, Izuku would refuse to step foot in the bedroom (lest his mom somehow convince him to take the bed, while she took the floor or couch). She needed rest, and Izuku would be damned if he didn’t make sure she got it. 

Even worse than being forced to relocate from his childhood home-and maybe this is childish of him-was him having to sell his merch collection. His mom didn’t ask that of him, but at the time he hadn’t been able to work (being only eleven). 

He felt useless (just as Kacchan always said he was). 

So, he decided to pawn anything of value. 

He still attends Aldera, though now he has to get up even earlier and ride the city bus. The other kids make fun of him - thankfully (and he uses that word loosely) still only for his quirklessness. Either they have no idea he’s been knocked down a class or two, or they don’t care about that. 

Kacchan, to his credit, has backed off (to some extent). But every so often he’ll corner Izuku, and do his usual spiel on all the ways Izuku's useless, worthless, and can’t possibly become a hero. 

And, while it hurts to admit, Izuku agrees with him. 

Not because he’s quirkless, but because even if he does get in, he won’t be able to afford to attend. There are scholarships, but none of them would be nearly enough. So, he spares himself the emotional pain of almost making it (or being straight-up rejected), and applies to an affordable, normal-enough highschool closer to their apartment. 

After school, he browses through the daily newspaper, circling and highlighting jobs that look somewhat legit. He might be desperate, but he would very much like to not be kidnapped by some creep and kept in a basement. 

“Huh, caretaker?” Izuku briefly skims the listing. It looks….simple enough. 

He highlights the phone number. 

-x-x-x-

Mikumo Atakani crosses off yet another name. He sighs heavily, leaning back in his swivel chair. How hard is it to find someone that is both authoritative enough to take care of his hard-headed little brother and pliant enough to do whatever he says?

A knock on his office door shakes him from his reverie. 

He straightens up. “Come in,” he orders.

One of his minions-some nobody with a flexibility quirk-steps into his office. “Hello, master, another applicant for the job posting you put out is here.”

“Well? Bring them in. I don’t have all day.”

The minion nods frantically. It’s so fun to see them get so worked up. He hadn’t even threatened him. 

A young boy with curly, green hair and green eyes is pushed into his office before the doors are once again shut. 

“H-hello, sir.”

It might be rude of Mikumo, but he can’t stop staring at the boy in front of him. There’s something about him….

He snaps back to reality, realizing the boy is staring at him. He coughs to disguise his moment of absentmindedness. “Hello…..” 

The boy trembles a little, fidgeting with his hands. “Midoriya Izuku….sir.”

He chuckles. “Let’s chat, Midoriya Izuku.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku is sure he has the wrong address. The house is about twenty miles outside the city, and has a tall wrought-iron gate surrounding the premises. There’s even a tower overlooking everything with people carrying weapons of all sorts. 

His gut twists.

But his mom needs the money. And this job might even help her be able to quit her receptionist job. He knows she hates it there. Her boss is overtly misogynistic, and her coworkers are cruel. He’s heard her cry herself to sleep enough for a lifetime. 

Izuku needs to do this. He owes it to the woman who has raised him (and continues to whenever she has the time). 

He approaches the gate, still wearing his backpack (the only bus that could bring him this far ran twice a day - once at three in the afternoon, and once at ten at night). He at least remembered a change of clothes, so he doesn’t have to show up in his high school uniform. Though, his button-up dress shirt (the one thing his father forgot in his haste to abandon their family) and black slacks that he has to roll up to keep from stepping on the ends, aren’t much of an improvement. Especially when he still has his red sneakers on. 

Someone shoves a gun in his face. “Identify yourself!”

“I-Izuku Midoriya! I called earlier about the job posting.” He holds his hands in front of his chest, trying desperately not to look at the gun dangerously close to his head. 

The guard eyes him, muttering something into his com. They stand there for a moment, eyeing each other, before a garble reply comes through. 

“Let him in.”

He’s led to a set of double, extra-tall, doors. The guard who accosted him outside confiscated his bag, so he has nothing on him. He was reassured by the person leading him inside that he would get it back after the interview. 

The person-a much kinder-looking man with hair the color of a campfire-knocks on the door. 

Idly, Izuku wonders what kind of quirk the man has. Something fire related? Those weren’t particularly rare. Hell, his own father has one. 

Before he can ask, Izuku is pulled into the office. The person whispers good luck to him, scampering off. 

A man behind a large oak desk. He’s…..

….tall. 

Very tall, and suddenly, all the high shelves and doorways make sense. 

“Hello, sir,” he says. 

But the man just continues to stare at him. 

Did he do something wrong? He fidgets with his hands - a nervous habit he’s never been able to break. 

Finally, he speaks. “Hello…” The man raises an eyebrow, obviously expecting Izuku to introduce himself.

Oops! How could Izuku be so stupid! 

He stands straight, forcing his arms to his sides. “Midoriya Izuku…..sir.”

The man leans in, the corners of his mouth uptick into a small smile. “Let’s chat, Midoriya Izuku.”

Izuku nods, staying put. 

“Take a seat,” the man says, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. 

“O-of course, sir.”

The minute he takes a seat, the man is back to staring at him in silence. Which makes Izuku feel a little awkward, but he’s not in any position to say so. He squirms in the chair. 

“How old are you, Izuku-Kun?” He asks, which is a little forward. Most people don’t just use first names during a first meeting, but once again Izuku can’t say anything about it. 

At least it’s better than Deku.

“Fifteen, sir. I’ll be sixteen in July.”

The man nods, jotting something down on the paper in front of him. “And what about your family? Tell me about them.”

Izuku clamps up. This person seems….very powerful. What if he messes up and they hurt his mom? 

“You can trust me, Izuku-Kun. I only ask because the position requires you to take care of a family member of mine.”

That eases Izuku up just the tiniest bit. “I’m an only child and live with my mom.”

“No one else…?”

“No- uh…uh my father…he’s not around.” Izuku fights back the tears. One would think, after four years of this, he would be used to it. He isn’t. 

If the man notices him tearing up, he says nothing. “Okay, and two more questions. One, what’s your quirk?”

In a voice more befitting for a mouse than a fifteen-year-old, Izuku says, “I’m….uh…quirkless.”

The man looks at him strangely-not the way others do (which is usually a mix of disgust and pity)-but in a way that indicates interest. 

“Oh?”

“I-is that going to be a problem?”

“No.” The answer comes without hesitation. “I was simply curious. Last question, what made you want to apply?”

Izuku squirms. The chair he sits in dwarfs him, as does everything else in this house. It makes him feel….small. 

He takes time to process what the man asked. 

Why did he want to apply for this job? It was one of many job postings in the daily paper, there had been no information on what benefits he would be receiving, nor pay or the duration of how long he was to work. Just a small blurb about needing a “caretaker” and a phone number. 

He took it on a whim. 

He applied because someone hiring out for a caretaker likely has some money, and not the kind that’s handed off to him in a off-white envelope. 

He applied because they’re short five hundred for this month’s rent (partially due to being short last month), and their landlord is starting to run out of patience. 

He applied because his mom routinely works seventy-two hours straight with less than two hours of sleep. 

“I didn’t want to apply, sir,” he says, summoning the courage to look the man in the eyes.

“Really now?”

“I needed to apply.”

“Do go on.”

Izuku takes that as permission to continue. “To put it bluntly, my mom works herself nearly to death to provide for us both. I find work where I can, but there’s not many places hiring a quirkless teen. Or a quirkless person in general.”

The man nods. “Family-oriented, good. Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if your mom was a danger to herself, or something was a danger to her?”

Izuku hums. It’s an odd question for sure, but he likes abstract questions (even if this particular one is kind of upsetting). “I suppose I would have to lock her in a room without sharp objects and padding on the walls. At least until the danger passed.”

“And what if it didn’t?”

“Then…I guess, she would stay there until it did. She’s all I have.”

The man smiles at him. “Hired.”

Izuku perks up, edging closer to the desk. “Really!?” In his excitement, his volume goes up more than is strictly necessary. He clears his throat. “Sorry, I got a little excited there.”

“That’s quite alright. I’d rather have someone be over-eager than someone reluctant.” He grabs a pile of papers off his desk, handing it over to Izuku. “Now, we’ll go over rules and expectations, as well as benefits and pay.”

Izuku looks over the papers. 

“Starting with your pay. A thousand per day, but that can be more or less depending on the mood my…family member is in.”

That- that would be enough to cover rent, and that’s just for a single day? He finally processes the man’s last sentence. 

“What does the last thing you said mean?”

“Well, my family member is….let’s just say finicky. He’s prone to going on hunger strikes, and trying to escape his room.” The man fixes Izuku with a serious expression. “Under no circumstances, are you to allow him to leave his room. Failure to comply with that rule will result in severe punishment. Failure to get him to eat a meal will result in lost wages. Three hundred per meal not eaten, so it would be in your best interest to make sure he eats.”

That certainly didn’t sound pleasant. But a thousand dollars a day…..

“Understood, sir.”

“What’s the soonest you can be here?”

“The bus runs at three, so probably four? And the last bus leaves around ten at night.”

“Hm. Well, I guess 4:15 to 9:45 is decent enough coverage.” He jots some more stuff on the paper. “Can you start today?”

-x-x-x-

Mikumo can’t believe his luck! This kid-Izuku-couldn’t be more perfect to help care for his stubborn little brother. 

Yoichi may not take kindly to his goons. They’re Mikumo’s mouthpieces, there only to force him to eat, change his clothes, or go to sleep. But Izuku is different. Sure, he will be under Mikumo’s control (otherwise suffer the consequences), but knowing his brother, he’ll overlook that. 

Oh, he’ll still try the same tired tricks. Things like, trying to make the guard feel bad. Or threatening to harm himself (ways in which he does so has varied throughout the two hundred years Yoichi’s been under his care). There has even been a time or two that he’s played dead.

Mikumo’s ashamed to say he’s fallen for that trick both times. 

He exits the elevator taking them nearly a thousand meters below ground. After his brother escaped (with help) the last time, he’s been forced to take more “extreme” measures. 

Clearly just keeping his brother in a vault in their basement wasn’t enough. 

While designing this house, he made sure to make the vault deeper underground. And the only way to enter or exit is via elevator which is monitored closely, and the corridor is lined with motion-sensor cameras.

They stand before the vault door. It’s reinforced steel with tungsten in the very middle. Strong and will definitely stand up to any vigilantes, or heroes that may, or may not want to kick it open. 

“Here we are,” he says, entering the necessary code into the panel. He then puts his thumb on the scanner. “I’ll have to give you the code and enter your prints into the system before you leave.”

The boy nods. His bright green eyes go between him and the door. 

Awww, Mikumo thinks, opening the door the rest of the way. He’s nervous. 

He ushers Izuku inside, lest his little brother get the drop on them and escape. 

“Little brother,” he calls, shutting the door behind them. “I found you a new caregiver.”

The room is nicely furnished, at least in comparison to the last vault. Mostly due to the fact that he isn’t ever going to let Yoichi leave here. And he kind of likes his brother not being totally and utterly insane. 

There’s a twin bed in the corner of the room, with a small nightstand right beside it. A desk for writing or drawing (when his idiot of a brother isn’t threatening self-harm), a bookshelf filled with books, and various supplies for arts and crafts (all of which Mikumo has to be present for, though now that could extend to Izuku if all goes well). There’s also a full bathroom in a connected room. 

Izuku, whether he means to or not, clings to his side. He kind of reminds Mikumo of a frightened rabbit, or a little duckling (what, with his fluffy hair, wide, innocent eyes, and skittish demeanor). 

His brother finally pops up from underneath the bed. 

Izuku screams, jolting backwards. 

Instantly, Yoichi is scrambling for the kid. He waves his hands frantically. “Ohmygoodness-”

“Little brother,” Mikumo says, pleased to be able to lure him out. 

Yoichi fixes him with a sour look. “What do you want?”

“As I said, I hired a new caregiver.” He pulls Izuku closer to him by his shirt collar. “Introduce yourself,” he orders. 

Izuku is still trembling but does as Mikumo says. “Midoriya Izuku.”

His brother tilts his head, hair falling over one of his eyes. “How old are you?”

Izuku looks up at him-and, oh, this one is definitely a keeper. He hands over control so easily. He’s practically wet sand, just waiting to be formed into something magnificent-and he nods his approval. 

“I’m fifteen, sir.” 

Yoichi’s eyes soften. “You-you’re so young.” He turns to Mikumo, snarling. “How dare you hire a child!”

“But I needed this job,” Izuku pipes up before Mikumo can defend himself. “My mom and I were going to be evicted if I didn’t find a better paying job.”

Once again, his little brother softens. “Oh.”

Mikumo claps his hands. “This is fun. I should warn you, though, Izuku-Kun, my little brother, isn't usually this well composed. Actually I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything besides vulgarities since his first escape attempt.”

“Fuck you, Mikumo.” 

“Ah, and there he is.” He looks at Izuku. “Don’t take it to heart. I’m afraid it’s just his way of getting back at the world for making him so frail.” He pointedly ignores Yoichi’s indignant huff. “Anyways,” he starts, ushering Izuku towards the door, “I still need to put you in the system, give you the codes and keys relevant to your job, and show you how to get to and from the kitchen.”

“Wait!” His brother calls out, arm outstretched. 

Mikumo pauses. “Izuku-Kun will be here every day from four to nine. I have a meeting to attend to after I send him off, but I’ll be sure to bring dinner down before bedtime.”

“Brother-”

The door shuts and locks.

-x-x-x-

“It’s not too late to quit,” his boss’ brother murmurs. “

“Are you finished with your dinner?” He asks, only taking the plate once he receives a nod. 

His boss told Izuku over and over that any attempt to help his brother outside of assigned tasks would be punished with garnished wages. 

His mom had been so happy when she found a thousand dollars stashed in her purse. Hiding money in her stuff is the only way to make her accept it. She eyed him suspiciously but asked no questions. They even had enough to put towards the debt they had slowly been gathering since the day his father abandoned them. 

Izuku, even though it hurts to see Yoichi’s (the name he insisted on being called. Though, he only refers to him as such in his head. His boss might get angry otherwise) downcast expression whenever he refuses to engage, cannot afford to lose out on that money. His mom’s happiness and their precarious financial situation depend on it. 

“Why are you being so cold?” Yoichi asks. 

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry, then please, just talk to me.”

Izuku puts the tray of dirty dishes on the desk. He’ll take them to the kitchen to be washed before he leaves. He makes eye contact with the camera in the corner of the room. He feels bad for Yoichi. His every move is recorded and meticulously controlled. 

It’s easier to ignore his pleas than to indulge them. 

“It’s time to take your meds.”

“I understand you want to help your mother. That’s admirable, but my brother will only take advantage of that kindness.”

Izuku stares at him. 

He sighs, bowing his head. “I left them in the bathroom. Can you fetch them for me?”

Finally, something that doesn’t involve pretending to be a robot. His emotions are frayed and he’s had to bite back tears twenty times just in the past hour. Which is one time more than usual. 

He goes to the bathroom and flips on the light. There’s no mirror, or anything pointy. One of his jobs is to check and make sure none of the items in Yoichi’s room have been made into weapons. 

There is, however, a wooden cabinet in place of the mirror. He goes to check inside when he’s shoved to the floor. He thankfully doesn’t hit his head on the toilet or bathtub, but his back aches when he sits up. He hears the door shut.

Yoichi and he make eye contact. 

“Wha-” 

“Shut up,” Yoichi demands. His tone is not unkind, but it also brings about a sense of impatient urgency. “We don’t have much time. I can play this off as me helping you find my medicine, but anything over five minutes will be suspicious.” 

He offers Izuku his hand, which is accepted without a second thought.

When he checks Izuku over and sees he has no serious injuries, he continues on. “I apologize for pushing you, but I couldn’t risk you running away. I understand money is important, but it certainly can't be worth this.”

“My mom….her happiness is worth everything to me.”

“And that comes at the cost of what? Becoming a villain?”

Izuku wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a villain,” he protests. 

“You like heroes, right?”  

The change in direction throws Izuku for a loop. His obsession with heroes never really ended, but it’s been hard to keep up on the different battles and debuts. “They’re okay.”

Yoichi gives him a knowing smile. “Your words say one thing, but the light in your eyes when I asked you said another.”

He frowns. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be a hero regardless.”

“Never say never.”

Izuku opens his mouth, confused beyond belief, and is immediately interrupted by the sound of the vault door being slammed open. It bangs against the wall. 

“Little brother! Izuku-Kun!” He hears his boss call out. 

“All is not lost,” Yoichi murmurs, before grabbing the necessary meds out of his pocket and opening the door. “In here, brother. We were looking for my medicine.”

Izuku stands in the bathroom, processing what just happened. 

-x-x-x-

“I like your eyes,” his boss compliments. 

It’s out of the blue, but it seems innocuous enough. “Thank you, boss,” he chirps. Better to be overly eager than reluctant, right?

His boss laughs a little at that. “Do you get them from your mom, or dad?”

Izuku shifts in his seat, pausing his homework. Yoichi had (what his boss calls) a temper tantrum earlier, so he’s still under the effects of a sedative. A baby monitor sits on the corner of his boss’ desk, so they can tell when he’s awake. 

“Um, mom, I think. But her’s are darker and her pupils are black.”

“And your father?”

“I never looked into my father’s eyes, sir.”

His boss sighs, chin resting on his hands. “That’s a shame.”

“What the-”

“Ah, someone’s awake,” his boss says, snatching up the baby monitor. “You can bring his lunch down when you go.”

“Yes, sir.” Izuku shuffles his homework back into his bag. With his boss’ permission, he keeps it hidden in the closet in his office. 

“Oh, and Izuku-Kun?”

He freezes in place. “Yes?”

“If I ever catch you being caught off guard by my brother again, you won’t like the consequence that follows.”

Izuku clenches his hands into fists. 

“Yes, sir,” he says. “It was my mistake.”

“Good boy.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku is shaking with unbridled anger the whole way down. He does his best to act composed, as the cameras capture everything. But no matter how big he smiles, the tray in his hand still shakes ever so slightly, sloshing the soup. 

His boss had really said “good boy” to him. Like- like he’s a dog that’s learned a new trick. 

Yoichi is sitting at his desk when he enters the room. A book older than Izuku’s grandparents sits nestled in his hands. “I’ve brought food.”

“I see that, thank you, Izu.”

He feels some of the residual anger slide off him. The nickname reminds him of his mom. “I made sure the cooks left out the cilantro this time.”

Yoichi makes a face. “Thanks. Big brother always forgets how much I hate that.”

He watches Yoichi eat his lunch, standing-as instructed-next to his desk. The food smells amazing and Yoichi seems like a good conversationalist, but his boss is already upset at him enough. 

Besides, he really doesn’t want to know what someone like him considers a severe consequence.

“You look upset, Izu,” Yoichi says, stacking his dishes. “Did my brother dig into you about the whole bathroom-thing?”

“Yes, but it was nothing I couldn’t take. My one and only gripe was him being overly condescending.”

“That’s his natural state, though.”

The noise Izuku makes fighting back laughter can barely be classified as human. He hides his mouth behind his hands and turns from the camera. After feeling so humiliated it’s nice that, at the very least, Yoichi has his back. 

“I won’t do that again,” Yoichi promises him. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Big brother has a tendency to overreact.

And isn’t that an oversimplification. His boss is one incident away from making Izuku into a pair of leather boots. But he has no energy to argue (not that he could if he wanted to), so he nods at Yoichi, makes sure his desk is cleaned up, and moves to the next activity.

-x-x-x-

“You like him.” 

All for One-his brother in only blood-stands before him. He wears his usual smug smile. It annoys Yoichi to no end that trying to punch him only ends with being sedated. He misses when they were kids, and he was a whole head taller than his older brother. 

It had been easier to deal with him then, even if Yoichi had been extremely sickly and weak. 

“Why? Because I’m cooperating?” He pretends to read his book, scanning the words more than reading them. His brother has always been particular in how Yoichi responds to people. More specifically, his brother hates when he likes someone more than him (which isn’t hard but the last time he was honest about not hating one of his caregivers, his brother “fired” them on the spot. Yoichi looks at the reddish-brown spot he tried so hard to scrub out on the carpet). It’s better that he plays it safe.

“Yes and no. It's a combination of many things. You cooperate: eating your food with a fuss, taking your meds, and even making your bed. The latter of which you haven’t done since we were kids. Not to mention the one sided conversations you get into with the boy.”

Yoichi puts his book down. “Please, don’t punish the kid for that. I get lonely, and he’s been following your stupid rules to the letter.”

“I’m aware. Wasn’t planning on punishing anyone, though if you want to continue to insult the rules and structure I put in place, then I might reconsider that-”

“No! No, please don’t. I’m sorry.”

All for One chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “You do like the boy.”

“He’s just so….young. I still don’t like that you’ve hired a child, but….”

“But?” His brother presses.

“But as long as he’s here, I will do everything in my power to make sure he’s safe. He needs someone to look out for him.”

“Like a big brother?”

“Like a big- wait, no.”

His brother looks amused. “It’s fine. Now, if you thought of him as an older brother, then we would have some issues. But Izuku-Kun is still younger than the age I gave you that immortality quirk. He’s no threat to me. And, if I’m honest, I find myself growing fond of the boy.” His brother sighs. “He reminds me of you.”

Yoichi hunches into himself. “But he isn’t me, big brother.” He doesn’t like where this is going. 

“No, no he isn’t. But he has all the qualities.”

“Please, fire him if you must.”

“Why would I fire him? I just said I’m fond of him.” All for One hums, reaching out to stroke his face with his thumb. “You always used to complain about being the youngest in the family.”

Yoichi fights back tears. He promised himself a long time ago-after his boyfriend had been brutally murdered by his brother-that he would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing him cry. To see him weak and needy. 

“Leave him alone. He has a mother who loves him.”

“Does she?” He pulls away, and Yoichi instantly feels the tension in his body relax. “He has to give all his earnings to her, when he should be saving them so he can attend college.”

He bristles. “Because they’re dirt poor!? Don’t act like you don’t remember the days when we were poorer than that!”

“I remember those days well,” his brother answers him in a calm tone, which only makes Yoichi even angrier. “But if you’ll remember, I never once put that burden on you. It was I, your caregiver, that shouldered that responsibility.”

“It should have been on mom’s and dad’s shoulders.”

His brother ducks his head, before looking at Yoichi once again. He doesn’t smile when he says, “maybe they should have. Which is why it's hard for me to see someone so young and so full of life being put in a similar situation. I look into that boy’s eyes and see-”

“Me?” 

“Myself,” his brother finishes. “I see you in his eyes and his mannerism, but I must admit, I see myself more often than not.”

“And you think holding onto him will do what? Solve all our childhood trauma? Newsflash, Izuku-Kun isn’t you! He isn’t me! He’s his own person, who has a mother whom he loves very much!”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” his brother snaps, patience evidently wearing thin. “I simply wish for him to have a better upbringing than we had.”

“He’s fifteen.”

His brother shrugs. “My decision is final. I’m lifting the conversation ban, and you’ll be responsible for helping him complete his homework. He will still be in charge of making sure you behave and follow my rules, but I will allow you two to converse.”

“How thoughtful,” Yoichi snarks, head in hands. 

His brother heads for the door. “Oh, and I shouldn’t have to tell you, I’m always listening.” They both look towards the camera, always recording in the corner of the room. “Breathe a word of this conversation to him, or try to warn him in any way, and you won’t like what happens.”

Yoichi watches his brother open the door in mute horror. 

“Sleep well, little brother. I love you very much.”

The door shuts and locks, leaving Yoichi in stunned, horrified silence.

[vigilantejustice]

there are a couple jobs around that seem like they’d be sort of ideal but. the thought of going back to work at all is mildly terrifying in that there are at least five different levels of anxiety to overcome + then the concept of being trapped into having to leave the house (which sounds like an oxymoron) every day is a real pickle

[royalscarlet]

you don’t get paid enough for this

After recently moving to Raccoon City you were desperate for a job, thankfully you found one at the RPD.

Everything was going smoothly until a certain Captain started to play around with you. He might be infuriating, but you won't let him get to you. At least you hope you won't.

(Ao3)

You fell into your chair with a sigh as the tension tried to leave your shoulders. After you inspected the mess on your desk you pulled out the newspaper you picked up earlier that day. Cardboard boxes towered over you as your eyes slid along the local job postings. At times your eyes grew heavy and you fought to keep them open. Lab assistant, retail worker, babysitter; they all sounded dreadfully boring, but you needed a job. You scraped by enough to move from your smaller hometown to a larger city, and you weren’t ready to give up already.

You circled a few jobs that weren’t terrible for starting positions and started the application process for each of them. A few quick phone calls later and you felt as if your heart dropped, not a single one was interested.

You gave up for the night and started to unpack your small two room apartment. There were a few cracks here and there, and a draft from a window, but overall it wasn’t a bad place for the price.

A week passed and you nearly gave up hope until you got a call back for a receptionist job at the police station. The net day you drove into the heart of town where the Raccoon City police department stood just over two stories tall.

Your meeting went well, and it was decided you would start the next day after some brief training.

You woke up at 8 am to get ready and arrived there by 9. You were met by another woman, named Susie, who also worked at the reception desk. She was nice enough and showed you the ropes of the normal routine.

"Sit down and look like your busy so no one will bother you," she joked. "In all honesty you just have to sign in anyone that enters, even the officers. We can't let anyone unauthorized enter the building."

You nodded and sat down next to her and watched as she would take the ID badge of an employee and slide it through the scanner and hand it back to them. "See super easy. And if there are any guest visitors just leave it to me until you can get a handle on it."

Thats how the rest of your first day went. You signed in anyone that came in and exchanged a smile or a simple 'good morning/evening.' You noticed a few officers had a different ID with the word STARS on it and asked Susie what it was about.

"Oh they're like the elite unit around here. Handles the really important stuff. But you have to sign them in like everyone else, no exceptions."

"Got it, no exceptions," you muttered.

You went home at 5 after the next receptionist signed in for the later shift. The job seemed easy enough and the pay was decent so you went home happy.

The following day you came in at the same time and arrived before Susie was there. You put your bag behind the desk and sat down at your chair. It was just before 9 and it was relatively quiet in the lobby. You shut your eyes for a moment but opened them when you heard footsteps on the tiled floor.

You saw a man in a STARS uniform, his blond hair was gelled back and he wore sunglasses even though it was cloudy outside. You sat up and watched as he walked right past you and only slowed down when you called out, "excuse me, sir?"

He took another step and you stood from your seat.

"Sir please, you have to sign in."

"New around here, are we?" He turned at looked at you.

"Uhm. Yes." You sat back down.

He grunted and turned around while pulling his ID out of his pants pocket. You took it from his black gloved hands and swiped it. ' CPT. WESKER, ALBERT. STARS DIVISION.' You handed the card back with a forced smile and he smirked as he took it back.

The rest of the day you were haunted by that man and the presence he put off. It was only when you were back home you were able to finally relax your shoulders.

The next day you arrived on time and Susie greeted you at the desk. You idly chatted until you heard the sound of footsteps again. Those shoes sounded loud and expensive. You looked up to see Wesker about to walk past the desk again.

You hesitated and cleared your throat in a loud manner. He ignored you.

"Excuse me? Sir?"

"Captain." He stood still, "must we do this again?"

"Well, Captain. We must. It is my job to verify everyone who enters into this building." Your voice grew shaky towards the end.

"And my job is to keep you safe. How am I supposed to do that when I'm stuck in this room all morning?"

"Signing in only takes a minute sir- uh captain."

He grumbled and pulled his ID out of his pocket and handed it to you. Your hand gently grazed his gloved fingers as you took it. You swiped it through the machine and handed it back to him.

Susie looked over at you as he walked away. "In the 2 years I have been working here I have never seen Wesker sign in the front desk."

"Oh well, I got him to do it yesterday too."

"You must be some sort of miracle worker. Chief Irons has been asking me to get him to sign in since I started. Something about knowing when he's here or not for vacation days."

"Hopefully he won't continue to be difficult about it."

Your hope was smashed every day for the next week. He continued to ignore you until you stood up and called out to him. Only then would he smirk and give you his card to sign. Susie told you that even when he showed up on weekends he refused to sign in.

The following week started the same way. It was only on Wednesday when Susie ran late did Wesker walk right up to the desk. You reached your hand out with a smile on your face. Yet his hand went right past your own as he reached down and slid his own card through the machine. He chuckled as he walked away and left you with a confused look on your face.

Thursday went the same as usual since Susie was there. But on Friday morning you were almost ready to deal with him again. The clock ticked past 9, then 10, and when it approached 11 you decide to take a small break for a snack. When you returned Susie told you Wesker had walked in as you left and strolled right passed the front desk.

You grumbled and sat in your chair and tapped your fingers on the desk.

"He's really getting to you huh?" Susie stifled a laugh.

"No... It's just this is my job and you think he'd just stop acting all tough and cool just to sign in. Its not that hard or anything." You crossed your arms. "I don't get paid enough to deal with people like him."

"His office is on the second floor in the STARS office, if it really means that much."

You contemplated it for a moment before you stood up. "I have to get him to respect me!" You exclaimed as you walked to the stairwell as Susie laughed and cheered you on.

By this point you leaned the layout of the building fairly well from having to direct people around it. You quickly walked up the stairs and down the hallway. It was only when you got to the door of the STARS office you stopped. You took a breath and reached for the handle and froze again. 'This is ridiculous. But he clearly tried to avoid me. But it's just one sign in. It's the principal of it.' you mentally argued until you finally gripped the handle and opened the door.

It was an average sized office room with a few desks in the middle. At the desks sat two people, a guy and a girl. They both turned to look at you and you awkwardly smiled. "I need to speak to the captain."

"He's in there." The guy pointed to the door on your left. You turned to see another smaller office with the light turned on and walked toward it.

You took a breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

You opened the door and Wesker sat behind his desk and casually sipped from a white mug. A small smile grew on his face as he saw you. "I didn't know I was back in the main lobby."

"You didn't sign in this morning, Captain." You put extra emphasis on Captain.

"Close the door."

You hesitated, 'I overstepped, didn't I?’ you thought.

"Did I stutter miss?" Wesker asked.

You closed the door behind you. And turned to look at him. "If I C-could just get your ID I can run it down and scan it myself."

"Hmm, then come and get it."

You took a few steps towards him at his desk and he didn't move. "Can I have it?"

"I said, you have to come here and get it." He raised his eyebrow and put his mug down.

You looked at him and saw his ID clipped to the side of his pants.

"Alright. Fine." Amazed by your own courage you walked over to him and reached over his lap to grab his ID. You only grew red once he grabbed your wrist with his gloved hand and stopped you from unclipping it.

You looked up at him and he smiled at you. "Quite a brave one, I like it."

He tugged on your arm and you lost your balance and fell onto his lap, and practically straddled him. He firmly held your wrist in one hand while his other made its way onto your lower back.

You grew warm as embarrassment washed over you. "Sir please this is getting off track. I'm sorry if I bothered you with this you don't have to sign in again," you rambled.

"Captain." He let go of your wrist and pulled his hand up to your chin. He lifted it and you saw your own reflection in his glasses.

"Right, Captain. Sorry." You tried to turn away, but he held you still.

He moved to take his glasses off and put them on his desk. You looked at his eyes and were surprised at how gently blue they were.

"No one but the Chief has ever made me do something here I didn't want to do." He ran his hand over your cheek. "But something about you and how brave you were to demand something so simple of me was endearing." His grip on your back tightened and he pulled you closer to him.

You got a strong whiff of his cologne along with the black coffee he drank.

"Do you want me to stop?"

You looked at the older man in front of you. The Captain of the STARS division, and you're sat on his lap in his office. You heard so many rumors about him from other officers and employees. He was a lone wolf and didn’t accept any sort of funny business, but there was something so alluring about him.

"Don't get shy on me now," he put his hand on your chin and stared you down with hungry eyes. "Should I stop?"

"N-no." You stammered.

"Good girl."

He leaned toward you and planted his lips onto yours. He was gentle for only a moment before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled at your hair. The sudden act caused you to gasp which allowed his tongue to enter your mouth. You reached your arms up onto his shoulder and leaned into it. Your tongues danced around one another and the taste of fresh coffee filled your mouth.

His mouth left yours and then met your neck with force. He sucked at your skin and bit enough to get you to react with a light moan. He licked and nipped at you as your hands dug into his shoulders further.

"Keep it quiet dear, don't want the whole office to hear." He lifted his mouth off your neck and back to your mouth.

You eagerly opened your mouth to let his tongue back in which made him grunt and grip your back harder. After another quick squeeze he pulled back and reached over for his glasses.

He slipped them on, "You should get back downstairs. Don't tell anyone about this understood?"

You nodded your head and stood up. You fixed your hair as Wesker stood and walked over to the door. He opened it and watched as you walked out of the STARS office. He glared at the other two in the room before he retreated into his office and closed the door.

You walked out of the office on auto pilot. 'What just happened?' you walked down the hallway. 'Did I just imagine that?' you walked to the stairs. 'Why did I like that so much?' You sat at your chair and stared at the empty space before you.

"Helloooooo," Susie waved a hand in front of you.

"Huh?" You blinked back to reality and turned.

"Is he going to sign in or not?" She looked at you.

You slumped your head onto the desk and sighed, 'I completely forgot.'

"What even happened up there?"

You turned to her to say 'nothing' but she gasped before you could even speak. She let out a chuckle. "What?"

"I knew something was up with you. You should probably use this," she pulled some makeup out of her bag "don't want anyone seeing that mark on your neck."

You lifted your hand up and felt a slight pain from a bruise. You grew red, "you can't say anything. I didn't even expect it, it all just happened." You took her concealer and quickly headed to the bathroom.

You looked in the mirror and saw a large hickey grow darker on the left side of your neck. You had to suppress a giggle as you admired the mark before you covered it and returned to the desk and finished your shift for the day.

[thefactsofthematter]

spravey office romance but like... they're not cops and theyre nice to each other

ask and you shall recieve!! (two months after you asked... oops)

here is some good ol spavey, vaguely inspired by the office, where they are in fact nice to each other!!! its like 2.8k, modern au, and fuck it disabled!spot rights he’s in a wheelchair because i said so. here you go anon!!

-

"David... Davey. My office, now. Get in here."

Davey can't roll his eyes quite hard enough to express just how annoyed he is in this moment. Race shoots him a sympathetic look from across the office.

"Coming, Mr. Wiesel!" He's thankful his desk faces away from his boss's office, so he has time to school his expression into something happier before he turns around. "Can I help you with something?"

Now... Mr. Wiesel isn't the worst boss in the world. He really isn't. But he most certainly isn't the best either, despite what his favourite mug (that he probably bought for himself) might tell you. He's nice enough most of the time, and he seems to try his best... but god is he ever incompetent.

Like right now, he's probably going to task Davey with something that could've been handled by literally anyone else. Davey has actual work to do— he's not sure what Wiesel even does all day in that office of his, because he seems to delegate everything off to his unfortunate employees. He's a regional manager, in charge of sales and finances for the Manhattan branch of a major New York City newspaper, and yet he seems to have the brain of an actual goldfish.

"Secret meeting," Wiesel says, as Davey walks in. "Close the door behind you and sit down."

"It's not exactly a secret, sir," Davey replies, though he does as he's told anyways, settling into a chair once the door is closed. "You yelled across the office to tell me about it."

Also, he's immediately going to disclose every detail of the meeting to Race and Jack as soon as they're done in here, but Wiesel doesn't need to know that.

"Details, shmetails," scoffs Wiesel. "I have an important job for you."

This can't possibly be good.

"I have a lot of other work to do," Davey sighs. He truly does— he's the head of accounting for their office, and they're in the middle of a company audit. "Jack didn't look that busy, I'm sure you could give him something to entertain himself with."

Jack works in sales— which basically just means he has to convince distributors that newspapers totally aren't a dying medium, and they should definitely keep buying their copies to sell. He's remarkably good at selling newspapers, but he's also easily distracted and seems to have far too much time to plan stupid office pranks.

"I don't trust Jack. Salesmen... they're too charming. You never know what they're up to."

Okay, so Wiesel is batshit fucking insane. This is, unfortunately, par for the course that is trying to hold any kind of conversation with him.

"What is it you need me to do, sir?" Davey is beyond exasperated. Why he of all people had to become Wiesel's favourite employee, he'll never understand. "Again, I'm already very busy."

"It won't take long, don't worry." Wiesel smiles wide. "I want you to be our official welcoming committee. We're getting a new employee."

Davey can't physically stop his eyebrows from shooting up, practically to his hairline. What?

"Look, boss, the audit isn't finished yet, but I can tell you that it makes absolutely no financial sense to hire someone new right now." He knows he's talking to a stubborn brick wall, but he continues anyways. "We're barely turning a profit, and some of our numbers don't make any sense. Why do we have two janitors?"

"I wanted to give my nephews a head start in the industry!"

"The... custodian industry?"

"Morris and Oscar are smart boys, they'll make something out of it." Wiesel shakes his head. "Anyways, we're just getting a transfer from the Brooklyn office. He won't even be on our payroll. Corporate is sending him in because they think our office is... unproductive."

It's like it physically pains him to say that last word, though Davey knows it to be true. He wouldn't be surprised if they get downsized in the near future.

"Okay..." Davey sighs. "You just want me to say hi to him, then?"

"More than that, David. Show him around. Give him the good ol' World Welcome."

"Is that a thing? Am I hazing him?"

"Oh my god, yeah—"

"No." Davey cuts him off before that idea can escalate, regretting that he even brought it up. "Okay, I'm going back to work. I'll say hi to him when he gets here."

-

Rather than go back to his own corner of the office, Davey makes a beeline for Race's desk.

"Did you know we're getting a new guy?"

Race, being the receptionist and all, generally keeps track of anyone who comes and goes from the office. However, he's either hungover or high a good fifty percent of the time, so he's not the most reliable source.

"I think I was probably supposed to know that," Race says, frowning at his computer. "I skip the emails that don't look important. Lemme go check."

"A new guy, huh?" Jack asks, sauntering over from his desk, which is only like ten feet away. "I need to start planning a welcome prank."

"No, you absolutely do not."

Before Jack can go off on some prank-related tangent, Race interrupts.

"Found it! Weasel emailed me this morning. He said: New guy is called Sean Conlon. Transferring in from Brooklyn for a week. I heard a rumour that he doesn't have legs."

The three of them share a moment of confused silence.

"Maybe he'll get along with Crutchie," Jack offers. "You know... since he only has one leg, and this guy has no legs. They could, like, bond."

Davey chokes on a laugh— he definitely feels like he shouldn't be laughing, but he can never help it when Jack says shit like that.

"Okay, I'm glad you got that out now. You know how badly Weasel handles sensitivity training, so let's avoid it if we can."

Their last round of sensitivity training was due to Wiesel's running gag of only speaking to Jack in broken Spanish. Jack is originally from New Mexico, he's Navajo, and he doesn't even speak Spanish. Jack thought it was hilarious (while ridiculously offensive), but it was making the entire office uncomfortable, so someone must have anonymously called it in to corporate.

"You mean we can spend a whole day listening to Weasel tell us he's not racist again? Sounds like a party." Jack laughs. "But yeah, I'm not stupid. I'm not gonna make fun of a guy with no legs."

"We don't even know that he doesn't have legs," Race interjects. "At this point I don't believe anything Weasel says, especially if he's willing to admit it's a rumour. Where did he even hear that?"

Davey shrugs.

"Who knows. Legs or not, we're gonna be nice to the new guy. Weasel made me the designated welcoming committee, so I'm officially adding you two to my team."

"Extra work?" asks Race. "Not happening."

"You've been playing the Sims all morning. You haven't been doing any work," Jack points out. "Can we go on a donut run at lunch and have a staff party for him?"

Davey can do nothing more than sigh. There's no reasoning with Jack when it comes to his obsession with throwing pointless staff parties.

"Sure. Whatever. No balloons, though."

And that's that— they head back to their own desks and wait for the new guy to show up.

-

The elevator dings about twenty minutes later.

The guy does, in fact, have legs— though he's using a wheelchair, so they must not work very well. That's probably where Wiesel got the rumour from. He's got a grumpy look on his face, like he's not particularly thrilled to be here, and a messenger bag on his lap. Above all, Davey notices, the new guy is really fucking hot.

He makes his way over to Race's desk to check in, and Davey decides to wait a moment before going over to introduce himself, so as to seem like he hasn't been obsessively watching the elevator for his arrival. He needs to compose himself— his tie is feeling a little too tight. Holy shit, that man is so beautiful.

Race, ever the professional, pulls out one AirPod to greet the new guy, and they have a short conversation that Davey can't quite overhear. It ends with Race shouting Davey, come here! because apparently no one in this office knows how to use the paging system built into the phones on everyone's desks.

"You called?" Davey sighs, as he approaches the reception desk. "I don't sit that far away, you really don't need to yell."

"Yelling gets things done," says Race with a shrug. He gestures to the new guy. "This is Sean, he's the assistant manager from the Brooklyn branch. Sean, this is Davey. He's the manager's assistant at our branch."

"I'm not Weasel's assistant," hisses Davey, glaring at Race. "I'm just bad at saying no to him." He turns to Sean and extends a hand to shake. "David Jacobs, head of accounting. Sorry about Anthony— I swear we're not all like this."

Race scoffs.

"Please, I'm hilarious and everyone loves me."

Davey and Sean both pointedly ignore him.

"It's nice to meet you," Sean says, with a handshake so firm that Davey nearly goes weak in the knees. "I'm looking forward to getting to know this location."

God, he's a sucker for a professional. This is either going to be the best or the worst week ever, and Davey has no clue which way it'll go.

-

He shows Sean to his desk, manages to stop Jack and Crutchie from setting off a party popper behind his head as a welcome prank, and then finally tries to get back to what's he's actually supposed to be doing.

It doesn't last long— he gets a text from Race just a few minutes after sitting down.

Racer: new guy is fiiiiine as hell ain't he Racer: i mean just look at that smoulder while he works

Davey: he's too old for you, don't even think about it.

Racer: heyyy i'm 19 now >:(

Davey: and he's gotta be at least 25 Davey: not happening, kiddo

Racer: look at me

Davey looks up from his phone, only to see Race flipping him off. Okay then.

Race somehow got hired here straight out of high school, while everyone else in the office has at least some college education— making him the baby of the bunch. While hilariously incompetent at his job, he is fun to be around, so Wiesel has kept him on. He's become Davey and Jack's pseudo-little-brother, much to his annoyance.

Anyways... back to the audit. Davey can hardly focus. Sean is sitting right across from him, and he feels like a stupid teenager with a crush on someone in his class because he just can't draw his eyes away. The morning goes smoothly, though, apart from Davey's heart fluttering a little every time he looks at Sean. In fact, it almost feels too good to be true... until Wiesel finally emerges from his office.

"A wheelchair!" is the first thing he shouts, which makes Davey want to smash his head through his computer screen and then throw himself out the window. So much for his hopes of avoiding sensitivity training. "Isn't that neat! You must be our new friend from Brooklyn."

Sean looks almost stunned, which is the most emotion he's shown since he got here.

"Sean Conlon," he says, slowly and confused, definitely offended, but still sticking out a hand to shake. "Um... I take it you're the branch manager. Is the wheelchair going to be a problem?"

"Oh, god no!" Wiesel replies, shaking Sean's hand far too enthusiastically. "We love disabled people here. I mean, hell, David over here is gay!"

Davey very nearly spontaneously combusts with the heat that immediately rises to his cheeks. He ducks his head a little to hide the blush and avoid eye contact with anyone. He's certainly not the only queer in the office, but he's somehow the only one Wiesel has picked up on, and he loves to make stupid comments about it. Davey is simply far too awkward to stand up for himself when it happens.

"That's... not a disability." When Davey looks up, Sean is staring Wiesel down with a look that screams you're getting fired if there's anything I can do about it. "Frankly, that's incredibly rude to both David and myself. Is this the standard of conduct you set for your employees?"

"Woah," Wiesel immediately starts to backpedal. "Calm down Mr. Professional! It's just a joke between friends."

Sean's expression doesn't change.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny."

From a few desks away, Jack and Crutchie burst into silent, muffled laughter, while Davey shoots them a desperate look. What the fuck does he say? The entire office has gone quiet, watching the standoff go down.

"Davey!" Wiesel says, frantically. "You thought it was funny, right?"

Davey swallows nervously.

"Actually, it's really hurtful when you say stuff like that." He's shaking a little— standing up for himself is not something he typically does. "My identity isn't a joke. It's part of who I am."

Wiesel doesn't seem to know what to say, and Davey can do nothing but wait for some kind of response. His face is burning and his palms are sweaty— it's humiliating.

"Period! You tell him, Davey!" Jack shouts, from his desk, which instantly breaks some of the tension. "Get his ass!"

"I think I'll be taking this up with HR," Sean says, once Wiesel has been quiet a little too long. He's so smooth with it that Davey's heart flutters a little. "I'm getting a sense that this is a running issue— I'd like them to have a look into your position here at the company. It was nice to meet you, though."

And then he turns back to his computer to work on whatever he was doing. Holy shit. There's a general rustling of papers and clicking of mouses around the room as everyone follows his lead, and Davey has to bite back a smile. It felt kind of good to stick it to Weasel.

-

The work day is pretty much over, Davey is packing up, and he really wants to figure out a way to make conversation with Sean.

He's so cool. He's so damn cool, and he's hot, and he's well-spoken and professional... Davey is desperate to at least be his friend. It's a Monday, not typically a night he'd go out for happy hour after work, but he's considering making plans anyways. He is the welcoming committee after all.

He shoots off a group text to Race, Jack and Crutchie, suggesting a little welcoming party at their usual bar down the block, and everyone drops a like on it within moments. Perfect.

"Hey," he leans over the little gap between their desks and can't stop himself from smiling. "A few of us are gonna go for drinks once we clock out, and you're more than welcome to join us."

Sean finally cracks a real smile, and Davey nearly passes out. He's gorgeous.

"Really?" He looks so happy just to be included. "That sounds fun, I'd love to."

-

"I'm really sorry about earlier."

Davey and Sean sit at a table, while Jack and Race play pool, and Crutchie tries his best to make a move on the bartender that he's been crushing on for ages. It never quite goes his way, but his commitment to the cause is admirable.

"What?" Davey asks. "Why? It was so nice of you to stick up for me!"

"I just feel bad that you got dragged into it," Sean sighs. "I mean, um... I'm gay too. So I kinda know how it feels when people say stuff like that, and sometimes it really is easier to brush it off. I didn't mean for you to get put on the spot like that."

Davey shrugs, trying to play off the way his heart has begun to flutter with the knowledge that he might have a chance— Sean is gay! This is too good to be true.

"It felt good to finally say something," Davey chuckles. "It was about time someone put him in his place. He's old and out-of-touch."

"And an asshole."

Davey laughs, loud and abruptly.

"Yeah, you're right. He's an asshole." He pauses, unable to stop smiling. "I'm gonna go grab another beer, can I buy you one?"

Sean, once again, looks surprised that Davey is being so nice to him, and his face breaks into that incredible grin from before.

"Sure, yeah! That'd be nice! Thank you so much."

And if the evening ends with a folded up napkin with a messily scribbled phone number and a note about the stupid nickname all my friends usually call me being casually slipped into Davey's back pocket... well, that's no one's business but Davey and Spot's.