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oftenwantedafton · 1 month ago

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personal space | steve raglan x f!reader

The new hire is delivered right to the door of Steve Raglan’s office one rainy Monday morning. He can feel the nervous energy wafting from you. But he’s good at this. Used to dealing with anxious job applicants from less than ideal backgrounds.

He can handle some new college grad.

Explicit, 2.8k words, ongoing revision started 3/27/25

ao3 link

The problem with being good at one’s job is that everyone relies on that person. Got a question? Just ask Steve Raglan. He’ll tell you what form to use or find the phone number needed. A long term resident of the Hurricane area, he’s virtually a walking guidebook for directions. He knows all the roads. The best shortcuts. What stores to shop at. What establishments to avoid. Hell, he even has some great recipes. A throwback to when he’d been employed in some capacity in the food industry or something. It’s never been explicitly stated just what that former career had entailed, only vaguely rumored and politely deflected whenever he’s questioned about it a little too directly. Nevertheless, he is the go-to man. Everyone in the career guidance office at the Department of Social Services knows it.

So of course the new hire is delivered right to the door of his office one rare rainy Monday morning, looking like a drowned rat, carrying what has obviously been your school backpack for many years, a worn looking specimen with a chipped zipper and a blotchy ink stain marring the nylon material. You’re clad in cheap polyester office attire, a gray skirt and blazer that are off the rack, not quite fitting you properly. The hem of the skirt hits your legs at an awkward level. The sleeves of the jacket are too short. Your pinned hair is already falling out of place. He can feel the nervous energy wafting from you. But he’s good at these types of situations, accustomed to dealing with anxious job applicants from less than ideal backgrounds. He can handle some new college grad.

He’d rather not, of course; he prefers working alone. It’s more efficient. Faster. You’re going to make the day difficult, he can already tell. Still he plasters on a fake smile and drags one of the chairs intended for clients around his desk, still leaving room between his own leather specimen and the mustard yellow vinyl padded hardback that’s a relic from the 1970’s.

“Welcome. I’m Steve Raglan.” His hand shake is firm, confident. Your own is tentative, weak. You’re going to have to work on that. “You can put your things down over there.” He gestures towards a small table in the corner next to a spare ream of copy paper. Down goes the backpack and out comes a spiral bound notebook and a pink pen that looks to be decorated in rainbows and is that glitter? You sit stiffly in the chair and fold back the cover of the notebook, then lay the writing utensil on top of it. After an awkward pause you clear your throat, swiping at one of the stray damp hairs trailing across your cheek. The silence lengthens. Steve’s chair creaks as he leans forward. “Where did you study?”

“University of Utah.”

“You from that area?” You nod. “First time away from home?” Another nod. He suppresses the urge to sigh. Great. He was going to have to deal with you being homesick at some point, too. Salt Lake City was at the opposite end of Utah. A good four hour drive north, minimum. “What made you end up here?”

“I went online to see other social workers in the state. You have a great reputation. A lot of awards.” You nod in the direction of the framed papers on the walls. “So I thought: why not learn from the best?”

Raglan grunts. The praise means nothing to him. The job doesn’t either, if he’s being perfectly honest. It’s his former profession that’s his true passion. This is just…well, it’s just something to do for the time being, a reliable source of income with the added bonus of sometimes providing ideal recruits for work relating to said former profession. So yes, he’s good at it. But it doesn’t mean he likes it. “You might as well put that away. It’s not a lecture hall. You’re not going to be taking notes. You’re just here to observe. Pay attention to verbal cues. Learn the vernacular. Become accustomed to interacting with people.”

Your cheeks flush. You close the notebook and tuck it inside your backpack but leave the pen out, your fingers fussing anxiously with the rainbow and yes, that is indeed glitter encrusting the clip on the cap. He notices you staring at the things on his desk: the white rabbit’s foot keychain on the ring of keys set next to his eyeglass case; the powder coated rabbit shaped wire frame for sorting mail; the coffee stained coaster with the logo for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza sitting on the desk blotter, a yellow bear and yellow rabbit standing side by side waving jovially, mouths stretched in toothy grins. “You like rabbits, huh?”

Another dismissive sound escapes the experienced career counselor. He’s not about to explain his fondness, that stubborn nostalgia, to someone like you. Silence descends on the pair once more, heavy and uncomfortable. The burden of conversation seems to have fallen upon his shoulders. “Do you drink coffee?”

You shake your head. “I try to avoid caffeine.”

The bearded man pushes back from the desk, walking over to the small coffee bar lining the wall beneath the solitary window in his office. He leaves the room long enough to fill the pot from the sink in the break room across the hall. Once he returns he fills the reservoir and presses the filter into place, then spoons out coffee grounds, the measurement imprecise, eyeballed from years and years of practice. Finally he flips the orange switch at the base of the machine and his gaze wanders to the window. His office faces the rear of the building. There’s a small pond out back. Trees. Benches. Even a little bit of grass, kind of a rarity in this traditionally arid, desert-like climate. Overall a nice place to have lunch when the weather is good. Not today, obviously. The surface of the pond ripples as each drop of rain strikes it. Everything looks very green. The coffee machine begins to chortle, coughing up angry sounding hisses and spits. Dark liquid emerges in a steady hot trickle. He fills a mug and settles back behind the desk, then takes a sip. Your attention seems to be focused on the awards covering the walls, or perhaps the framed district map nearby. The older man sighs and glances at the clock. It’s five past eight. Another twenty five minutes to go before his first appointment.

It’s going to be a long day.

***

The morning passes relatively uneventfully.

None of the first few clients are particularly problematic. It becomes an automatic reflex to introduce you, the same spiel given each time. You are a new employee, there to observe. Then Steve simply ignores you, pretending you aren’t there and conducting the discussion as he normally would. Mid morning he announces it’s time for a break. You remain sitting. He stands and stretches. He’s six foot four and being seated doesn’t do his body any favors. The crack of the synovial fluid being pushed between the spaces of his joints is loud. The joys of aging, he thinks bitterly. His eyes flick to your seated form. “Get up. Go somewhere.” The sharp tone clearly indicates this is not a suggestion. You jerk to your feet, stepping out into the hallway, and he sighs with relief. Alone at last. He makes his way back to the coffee pot, a little huff of disappointment escaping when he realizes he’s already nearly emptied it. Usually it lasts longer than this. It’s that new employee, setting his nerves on edge a bit, he decides. Perhaps he should wait on brewing another batch.

The voice of the orientee behind him interrupts his thoughts. “I…I don’t really know my way around. I don’t know where to go.”

Steve sets the glass pot back onto the burner and thumbs off the machine. So much for a respite. Now he’s to be a tour guide, too. He knows he’s being a little unfair. Unreasonable. Of course you can’t be expected to know the layout. The routine. It’s only your first day. But it doesn’t rankle any less. So inconvenient. Bothersome. Another sigh rushes from his lips. He doesn’t think he’s ever heaved so many regretful sounds in one day before. “Follow me.” He brushes past you without waiting to see if you’re trailing behind, beginning to point things out. “Restroom, copy room, break room. Emergency exit. The rest of the offices are down this hallway. Another restroom.” He turns and almost stumbles into you. You’re like a shadow, close and clingy. He really doesn’t care for it. “Personal space is something that people tend to respect in this profession.” Another flush. You take a step back. “Further.” Another. “A little more.” Still another. “Better.” You pass the break room again and he gestures towards it. “Why don’t you go spend some time there. Introduce yourself. Think of it as practicing your social skills. Come back in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t have a watch,” you murmur.

He clucks his tongue. “You need to get one, then. Time is important. Yours. The clients’. You can hardly expect to keep appointments without it. There’s a clock on the wall in there.” The career counselor escapes back to his office. Honestly. They are really testing his patience with this one. He jerks the coffee pot free, his earlier resolve to wait shattering beneath his exasperation. He’s definitely going to need more caffeine to get through the rest of his shift.

***

The real trouble begins in the afternoon.

Steve can smell the alcohol long before the man ever finds his way into the seat across from his desk. His body automatically leans back, away from the applicant, the folder containing the man’s resume and background information clutched in his hands. He does his best to remain professional, keeping his expression neutral while focusing right on the heart of the matter: four terminated positions in as many weeks.

“‘S’not my fault. If my bitch wife hadn’t left—”

“—I’d prefer you not use that language, sir.” Steve interrupts firmly. “And your ex’s affairs are her own. We’re here to discuss you. Your employers state that you’ve been coming into work late, if at all. Poor attendance. Multiple complaints of being rude to customers. The most recent one says that you actually assaulted someone.”

“That’s a fu— a lie,” he corrects.

“Be that as it may. You’re going to need to complete a drug test and enter a rehabilitation program before you’ll even be considered for another position.”

“I don’t have a drinking problem,” he mutters. “You don’t even know me. Just because a few people lied…”

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m simply stating the facts. Our goals are the same. We want to see you employed successfully.”

The drunken man’s eyes shift to you, lingering a little too long on places that clearly aren’t your face. Steve wheels forward again, positioning himself a little in front of his companion as if to shield you from the client’s unsavory gaze.

“I can recommend an excellent local program.” Raglan pulls a drawer open and sets a pamphlet on the desk. “Give them a call. That’s the first step towards getting you back to work and getting your life back in order.”

The applicant makes no move to pick up the offering. “I’m not going.”

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“You’re supposed to be getting me a job.”

“You are supposed to be getting yourself a job. I can’t assist you in this current condition.”

“What about her? Maybe she can help me.” Another leer in your direction. You begin to stammer a response.

Steve rises to his feet and the words die in your throat. His fingers are curled tightly against his palms as he glares over the edge of his glasses. “I think you had better leave.”

“Or what?” The job hopeful lurches to his feet and you gasp. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Security will escort you out. Or I will. I really don’t think you want me to be the one to do it.” His voice is cold as he lifts the phone, waiting to see what choice will be made. The client hesitates, the bravado swiftly evaporating. Something terrifying lights the career counselor’s eyes. It’s not an idle threat.

His shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll leave.”

Steve dials an extension. “Yes. Can you make sure the gentleman leaving my office makes it outside? And he’s not to return. Yes. Thank you.” He drops the phone back down and glances at you. Your eyes are wide, and he can see you shaking. “You alright?” You swallow and nod. “Not every aspect of this job is going to be pleasant. It’s just as well you get a lesson in that now. The key is to maintain control and de-escalate the situation.”

He settles back into his seat, smoothing his tie before shutting the folder and placing the pamphlet back in the drawer.

“What would you have done? If you went outside with him, I mean.”

Raglan flashes a grin that looks anything but friendly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You remain quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

***

The shift finally, mercifully draws to a close.

Steve unhooks the umbrella from the coat rack tucked in the corner, shaking it to dislodge any dust that might have accumulated. It’s unusual for Hurricane to have wet weather, especially prolonged dampness like this. The accessory doesn’t typically see much use, left there for rare occasions such as this one.

You, of course, haven’t brought one. You haven’t even brought a proper jacket, unless you count that ill fitting blazer as protection from the elements. He’s going to have to be a gentleman and walk beside you, shielding you from the inclement weeping of the heavens. Forced to be positioned closer to you than he’d like. The physical contact makes him uncomfortable. He’s used to keeping himself distant. It’s been years since he’s experienced any intimacy. And yet here you are, the imposing dictates of social politeness demanding his body brush against yours, walking you to your car which is quite far from his own. “You need to get here before seven if you want a decent parking spot.” The rain patters on the purple fabric tented above. You nod absently, digging in your backpack for your car keys. “Don’t you have a purse or something?”

“I do, I just didn’t bring it, I thought…”

“Bring it. You don’t need that bag. You’re not in school anymore. It’s not some clunky thing, is it?”

“I mean, it’s a mini backpack.” He glowers disapprovingly. “They’re in fashion right now,” you protest.

“You should have a wallet and car keys. That’s all you need.”

“What if it’s that time of the month?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Fine. Just…bring whatever you have tomorrow.”

“Found them!” You withdraw your key ring, giving it a little shake. The disapproving stare hasn’t wavered. “Thanks for putting up with me today.” Your voice is quiet, barely audible in the downpour.

“It’s my job.” He shrugs, swapping the hand holding the umbrella.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waits until you’ve unlocked the car before stepping aside, keeping you covered for as long as possible. He doesn’t know why he’s making such an effort. Just the polite thing to do, he supposes. The interior of your car is alarmingly pink and bedazzled. Pink material lines the cup holders and covers the steering wheel and the seats. Little jeweled cat faces are clipped to the air vents and one larger specimen dangles from the rearview mirror. You notice him staring. “It’s Hello Kitty.”

”I’m aware.” His daughter had gone through that phase, though at a much younger age. He scowls but says nothing.

”Some people like bunnies. I like cats,” you offer a bit smugly.

You did kind of have a point. “It’s fine,” he says grudgingly. As if you needed his permission to like something. Of course you don’t. And he hardly needs to defend his own attachments. “To each their own. Until tomorrow.” He begins making the trek back across the parking lot to his own vehicle, a dark vintage sedan. He struggles to close the umbrella before settling behind the wheel of the Ford Fairmont. His Aviators are foggy and smeared with moisture. He lets the engine run for a few minutes, waiting for the windshield to clear while trying to find a dry surface to clear his lenses with.

A car horn startles him. He glances in the rearview mirror and recognizes your automobile behind his. You emerge hurriedly from the car and dive back into the deluge, that ridiculous book bag clutched above your head as an insufficient impromptu umbrella to shield you from the torrent. He groans, rapidly cranking his window down. No power controls here; everything was manual. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I forgot which way I’m going when I get out of here. My mind is totally drawing a blank. My apartment’s downtown, off of Main Street…”

Steve sighs. You really are testing the limits of his patience.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #divider @saradika graphics

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merakiui · 1 year ago

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simply business.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight nsfw, misogyny, power imbalance, workplace misconduct, abuse of authority, ceo azul, secretary jade note - you'll do anything for this job. mr. ashengrotto wonders if there are limits to your anything.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ashengrotto. Thank you for making time for me today. I can’t begin to imagine how packed your schedule is,” you admit with a gentle laugh.

Just as you practiced with Trey and Riddle, you shake his hand firmly and confidently. Even if most of your poise is feigned to hide a mountain of anxieties, it manages to fool the CEO of Mostro, for he mirrors your amiable greeting with one of his own. Or maybe he sees right through your act and is choosing to remain quiet. You’re not going to think too deeply about that.

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have no idea how startled I was when your application found its way on my desk. Why, I thought I was dreaming.”

If he brings up childhood memories, talk about it. Why not? Trey advised hours earlier, serving you and Riddle individual slices of strawberry tart. Friendship is just as good a connection as the one made through sweets.

Which is very solid guidance coming from a baker.

Even so, she shouldn’t rely solely on past connections. In business, that means nothing if the connection itself isn’t stable and worthwhile enough, Riddle, ever the realist, added with a grimace. We should know. We went to school with him.

Hey, don’t sweat it. You’ll do great, Trey added when he noticed the despairing look you’d given your tart. I’ll bake you something to celebrate, so do your best, be yourself, and bring home good news.

With his and Riddle’s encouragement, you had been so certain of your abilities before, in which you proudly proclaimed you’d get the job and charm Azul in the process, but now you’re not sure. Standing here in his office, thirty-something stories in the clouds, you can’t escape the suffocating fear as it saps the oxygen from the room and renders your lungs vacant.

“I aim to surprise.”

“And surprise you have. Pleasantly, might I add.” He motions for you to sit, to which you comply and lower into the seat across from him. A mahogany desk separates you from a sparkling future. Your gaze pans from him to the man standing a few inches behind, a clipboard and pen held in both hands. Standing isn’t the right word, actually. With his height, all lithe limbs dressed darkly, he looks like a bodyguard ready to escort you to your execution should you make the wrong move. You can handle one pressed suit, but another is too much. And this one looks even more intimidating than Azul with his sharp, stoic stare. “Pay him no mind. Jade’s merely here to make note of our discussion.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jade.”

He nods his silent acknowledgement, two-toned eyes filling with light.

“Shall we begin?” Azul gathers a few documents, straightens them, and then dives right into the rigmarole. “I must preface this by stating our past friendship has no influence on my decision or the outcome of this interview.”

“Completely understandable,” you blurt, trigger-happy with agreement.

Don’t be a yes-man, Riddle’s words from before float through your head, stern like a parent. You’re human, not some gear meant to strengthen their corporate machine. If they can’t see that, then that’s no environment for you.

“I… Actually, it feels a little awkward talking like this,” you add with a nervous sigh. “With the stakes being so high and everything… It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m happy you’re doing well for yourself. Oh! I’m not saying that to butter you up or anything! That’s my honest opinion.”

He chuckles. “I’m also pleased to see you again. Although going forward I would like to keep this matter separate from the task at hand.”

“Right. Sorry. We got off topic.”

He flips through the papers—likely your resume and application and any other information he has on file—and hums. “It says here that you have experience managing an online platform. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Oh, that. It was for my friend’s family business. He’s a baker. The shop has a nice reputation in the neighborhood, but they don’t really have any social media presence. My friend and I thought his family could benefit from a website and a Magicam account, so we put both together. I was in charge of creating and managing the website.”

“I see.”

You notice Jade scribbling something and your heart drops into your stomach. “S-So I have experience in design and…stuff.”

Relax. Don’t pay attention to him.

“Then may I assume you’re passionate about photography and graphic design?”

“Very.”

“It’s good to have an eye for aesthetics. I can clearly see that from the samples you submitted. Your portfolio is impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashengrotto. I take pride in all of my work.”

“In that case, would you mind walking me through your portfolio?”

“I’d be happy to.” You scoot closer to his desk without thinking, gesturing to the prints he’s laid out for you. “That’s the website I designed for my friend. He wanted something simple, family-friendly, and easy to navigate. I had to appeal to both customers from the neighborhood and customers who might be visiting for the first time. Finding a balance was a little difficult, but I made it work after lots of dedicated effort.”

He gestures to another sample and you delve into the lore behind it. This carries on twice more before he indicates his satisfaction with a beaming smile.

“Aren’t you diligent?”

The delivery is more backhanded than you’d care to hear, but you choose to brush it aside. “Thank you.”

“Your baker friend… Are you employed?”

“Oh, not currently! It was just a side gig. A one-time thing.”

“Is that all?”

You open your mouth to reply and then stop. Did you hear him correctly? “Is… Is what all?”

“You may not work for him in that capacity, but you might in another capacity. ‘One-time things’ could snowball into—”

“It didn’t and it never will,” you interrupt. You realize your error seconds later and smooth out the abrasiveness in your tone. “My apologies. I meant to say that I’m not affiliated with him in any of those ways. I’m merely a friend who helped out where she could. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Azul hums flatly, as if disappointed. Jade scribbles. You swallow mounting dread.

What was that about?

“Very well. Moving swiftly on… Can you tell me about yourself? What drew you to this job?”

“I’ve always wanted to manage a social media account for a business like yours. There are so many branches. I think it’d be a very fulfilling experience.”

“Is there a particular branch you’re interested in?”

“Definitely one of your restaurants. I’ve worked with food websites and accounts before, so I have the necessary qualifications you might be seeking.”

“Social media is no easy task. It can be stressful to manage any platform in which you have a following. With that in mind, may I ask how you normally handle stressful or challenging situations?”

“I don’t get stressed very easily. I’m normally very level-headed.”

Liar. I’m so stressed right now. Sweating like crazy and everything!

As if listening in on your thoughts, Jade drags his pen across paper.

“But in the event that you might face such a situation?”

“If such a thing were to occur, I’d take a step back, analyze everything objectively, and see what I can do to mitigate the stress or difficulty that’s cropped up. If it’s a team effort, I’d gather everyone involved for a meeting so that we could discuss together.”

“And if it was an individual effort?”

“It depends on the severity of the stress. If it comes down to it, I’d have no problem notifying my supervisor or manager of the issue firsthand. The sooner you’re made aware of something, the easier it is to draw up a plan of action, right?”

“That can be true, yes.” Azul shuffles his files. “How would others describe you? From the perspective of a friend, perhaps? Or a spouse? Are you married?”

That’s…way too personal. Is that even an interview question? So far he’s asked everything Riddle went over in our mock interview. What’s up with this sudden shift?

You force a stiff laugh. “Not married yet, no…”

“Do you plan to be?”

“Um… I…don’t know. I’m focused on my career right now.”

“Ah, a career woman. Most women your age often settle down. Not you, though. Ambitious thing, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitch into the beginning of a scandalized grimace, but before you can allow your tactful façade to slip you hurry to paste an unruffled grin on your countenance. “I’m passionate,” you smoothly correct. You don’t miss the way Jade’s pen halts before he continues his duty as scribe. “If I may, Mr. Ashengrotto, did you not say you wanted to keep work and personal matters separate?”

“Forgive me. I was only testing you.”

Just what kind of test is that?

“O-Oh. Well, I hope I passed.”

“With flying colors.” He clears his throat. “Now then, what motivates you, Miss (Name)?”

“My friends and family. Myself. The food waiting for me at home.” He quirks a slight smile at that. “I always strive to do my best.”

“A fine attitude to have.”

“Mhm! I like what I do. Every day’s exciting and I love a good challenge.”

No, I don’t. I almost cried on the way here. This is too much of a challenge for me. I didn’t even think I’d get an email back from you…

“You seem like quite the optimist.” He straightens the papers once more and then clips them together. “I appreciate your insightful, honest answers.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, right! Of course! Thank you for your time.” You practically jump out of your seat to shake his hand.

That was good, right? It felt so fast, but I did well. Right?

“If I may ask one final question…”

“Sure thing!”

Azul smiles. “Just how badly do you want this job?”

More than anything. I need this job. I’m unemployed and desperate. Please, Azul. You have to help me out.

Obviously you can’t phrase it like that, even though the spineless side of you wants to.

“I…would benefit greatly if I was hired. Working for you and your successful company would be an amazing honor.”

“Is that right?” He releases your hand. “All right. The job is yours.”

You blink at him, shocked. “Wait. It is?”

“On one condition.” Azul sits back in his plush office chair. It’s the expensive type. The one with cushions and reclining abilities. “Strip for me.”

Your blood crystallizes in your veins; your heart almost stops. “Excuse me?”

Surely he didn’t just say that. Surely he meant to say something else. Something like…strip all of your worries and accept this position? Your eyes drift over to Jade. He blinks back at you, a razored smile hidden behind his clipboard.

“If you’re willing to go to extremes for this job, prove it.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto… I…” You laugh, but nothing about this is funny. Bile rises in your throat, scalding with sickening acid. “I…”

“Go on then.” Azul waves his hand impatiently, deceptively youthful features twisting with annoyance. “I haven’t got all day.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you dig your nails into your palms so roughly that you break skin. He can’t be serious. He really can’t.

And yet he’s watching you like he expects it.

Again, you look to Jade for help. He lowers his clipboard. “It’s not polite to make one wait, Miss (Name). We pride ourselves on timely efficiency here.”

“But…” You swallow thickly, your hope slowly waning. “But this… This is absurd! I… You must be joking. I can’t possibly—”

“You can,” Azul interjects. “If you want this job, you will do just as I’ve said. Well? The choice is yours. I’ve played my hand.”

Warmth drains from your person until all that’s left is creeping cold.

Oh, you think with devastating resignation, it’s this kind of management. So this is how everyone survives here.

Inhaling through your nose, you steel yourself. Your fingers twitch towards the buttons on your blazer.

“Will I truly get the job?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“On how far you’re willing to go.”

“C-Can he leave?”

Azul glances at Jade, a sticky smile spreading his lips wide. “Oh, you’ll hurt his feelings with that. How cruel. I can already see the tears brimming in Jade’s eyes.”

“Heartless,” Jade echoes with a sniffle.

You school your scowl into something friendly. “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with him here…”

“And you do with me? I’m flattered, but our past has nothing to do with this. I’m grateful you bothered to give me a Valentine every school year, but those days are behind us. So stop wasting my time. It’s money, and every second you spend stalling is a Madol lost.”

Your lip trembles, but you don’t cry. You won’t give either of these rotten monsters the satisfaction.

“H-How much do I have to undress to get the job?” You toy with a button, regret pooling in your stomach.

It’s not worth it. I should leave.

You should, but can you?

“We’ll see. I’m feeling generous today, so your fortune may just be favorable.”

Hopeless, you shut your eyes, exhale a defeated breath, and harden your features into something unshakeable.

I’m sorry, Riddle. I’m not a gear here. I’m not even human.

Slowly, while holding unbreakable eye contact, you undo each button on your blazer. You shrug out of it seconds later, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Azul and Jade follow your movements like expert predators ensorcelled by prey.

Here, in this hellish bathyal zone, I’m just a whale fall.

From there, you move to your blouse next. You untuck it from your pencil skirt, allowing the fabric to fall freely. Deft fingers work at the buttons, traveling further down until there’s nothing left of the garment protecting your nudity. That, too, joins the slowly forming heap on the floor. The action leaves both men transfixed, and they eye your lacy white bralette as if attempting to sear the sight into their retinas. At one point, Jade decides to write something down. You fondly contemplate all the ways in which he should die.

“Will that be all?”

“Keep going.”

“Haven’t I done enough?”

“If you have room in that mouth to voice complaints, you can stuff it with my—”

You yank your pencil skirt down, silencing the sin that was ready to spill from Azul’s lips. Jade doesn’t muffle his snicker. Again, you fantasize about pushing him out the window.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

With trembling hands, you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s peeled from your chest then, exposing your tits for their ravenous leering. Their silence says enough. After what feels like an eternity, Azul stops you when you start to slide your panties down.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“On the contrary, I’ve yet to have my fill.” Jade smiles at you, hiding behind his clipboard like the coy bastard he is.

You stand there, clutching your bra so tightly your knuckles ache. “Is… Is it over?”

“For now.”

At that, you fall to your knees, wrap your arms around your chest, and suck in great gulps of air. Fixing your stare on the floor, you find yourself unable to meet his azure hues. If you do, you may just vomit. Footsteps click their way over to you. He pauses; you can feel his gaze burning through you. And then his fingers ghost over your bare shoulder, dancing like playful puppets.

“You start Monday. Bright and early,” Azul says. There’s a detached, clinical edge to the fluff. “I expect wonderful things from you, Miss Marketing Manager.”

As if his words have materialized to topple you—to shatter what’s left of your dignity—you almost collapse. Your arms shoot out to catch you; your palms press against the icy tiles. Still, you don’t cry. Jade’s leather shoes enter your line of sight, which immediately dries your ducts. You don’t have to look to see the satisfied smirk sharpening on his lips because you hear it.

“I must thank you for the entertaining show. Perhaps you should have considered a career in acting.” He drapes your blazer over your shoulders for added effect.

It’s the loudest fuck you in the quietest sentence.

I hope you die a million painful deaths, you despotic, disgusting dickhead.

When you finally stagger out of the building—fully clothed and gutted—dropping thirty-something floors from heaven to the sensible earth below in a compact lift, you fish your phone out of your bag. You’re moving on autopilot when you press his contact. Trey answers on the third ring.

“I was waiting for this call. So what’s the news? Am I baking a celebration cake or a consolation cake? I’m ready for either one. Just say the word.”

The tears are already streaming down your face. You wipe them away, smudging your makeup in the process. “No consolation needed. I… I got the job…”

“See? I knew you’d get it. This’ll be the best celebration cake you’ve ever tasted. Just you wait and—hey, you okay? You don’t sound good.”

You open and close your mouth, unable to pull a reply from the dry depths of your throat. For one minute, Trey listens to your soft, hiccuping sobs. “I’m just—” you sniffle— “I’m so happy… I can’t wait to eat cake.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw

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busdinessblogger · 2 years ago

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Jobpassin - Silver

Your Gateway to Global Opportunities! Are you dreaming of a fulfilling career in the United States or Canada? Look no further than Jobpassin, your trusted partner in realizing your overseas employment aspirations. With a commitment to excellence, Jobpassin has earned its reputation as a leading facilitator of work and immigration solutions for individuals across Ghana, Uganda, and the Philippines. At Jobpassin, we understand that embarking on a journey to work in the USA or Canada can be a life-changing experience. That's why we've made it our mission to simplify the process, making it accessible and achievable for you. As a well-established trademark, our name is synonymous with reliability, trust, and professionalism. Immigration & Sponsorship: Jobpassin specializes in assisting you with all aspects of immigration and sponsorship, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free transition to your dream destination. Accommodation and Fly Ticket Support: We go the extra mile to provide comprehensive support, including accommodation assistance and help with securing flight tickets, so you can focus on your new job and life ahead. Job Contracts: We connect you with reputable employers, offering genuine job contracts that protect your rights and interests, ensuring a secure and stable employment experience. Visa Services: Whether you're looking to apply for a work visa in the USA or Canada, Jobpassin offers expert guidance and assistance to help you navigate the intricate visa application processes. Preliminary Employment Assessment: Our thorough assessment helps you understand your eligibility for working in Canada and the USA. While we proudly serve individuals from around the world, our primary focus lies in assisting residents of Ghana, Uganda, and the Philippines. Jobpassin has deep-rooted connections in these regions, allowing us to tailor our services to the unique needs of our clients. At Jobpassin, we're not just about finding you a job; we're about opening doors to endless opportunities. Trust us to be your partner in realizing your dreams of working in the USA or Canada. Join the countless individuals who have embarked on successful journeys with us work visa and experience the Jobpassin advantage today! Your path to a brighter future begins with Jobpassin. Apply for your work permit visa, secure your job in the USA or Canada, and unlock the life you've always envisioned. Contact us today to take the first step towards your international career. See live videos and comments: https://jobpassin.com/complete

#us work visa

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abbysimsfun · 6 months ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 80 (Conrad and His Father)

cw: coarse language, tense family dynamic, follows the events of this post

Life after Helena Gordon's death was difficult for the men she left behind. Years later, Conrad and his father still struggled with her loss. The apartment furnishings were unchanged, and no photos to remember her hung on the walls.

Another call from his son's high school guidance counselor left Stephen Gordon at a loss. He feared their connection was slipping away.

"Another fist fight? What was it this time?"

"It was nothing. They were just assholes."

"If you keep this up, you might not graduate."

"Who cares what I do? We all just die anyway."

"Son, I know you're better than this. You want more than this; I know you do. You know your mother would want more for you, too."

"Oh, now you want to talk about her? You only bring her up when you want to tell me what a loser I am!"

"I never said anything like..." He stopped himself. All Conrad ever wanted to do was argue, and Stephen was running out of patience. "What is it that you need, son? You won't talk to any counselors, you won't talk to me..."

"I don't want to talk about your bullshit opinions, Dad!"

"Well, what do you want to talk about? How are your college applications coming along?"

Conrad grunted. "Fine."

"What major are you-"

"I don't know! Fuck! Are you that excited to get me out of this place?"

"You have to get this anger under control, son. I don't know how you're going to do it, but think about the kind of father you'll want to be someday. You can't scream at-"

"I'm never having kids. Ever."

Stephen threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine. Don't have kids! Don't finish high school without getting yourself expelled, and don't amount to a goddamned thing! Maybe you need to channel this anger into working out or something."

"We can't afford a gym membership," Conrad scoffed. "The Landgraabs pay you shit money and you're still working off all Mom's medical bills."

"You're smart and you're resourceful. Figure it out! But you're not moping around here, and the next time you get in a fight at school, I'll pull you out and force you to work Landgraab security with me for the rest of your miserable existence."

In a huff, Conrad locked himself in his room. Despite his nihilistic outburst, he pulled out his math homework and focused on the equations to calm his mind.

His mother would never approve of his grades slipping, especially now that he was less than a year from his high school graduation. She'd left them, but her ambitious spirit still flickered quietly in her grief-stricken son. He was only doing these stupid equations for her. "I hope you're happy," he muttered under his breath.

He hated how close she felt - like she was always just a phone call away - even though she was gone. It was so unfair.

After an hour, his father knocked on the door. With a roll of his eyes, Conrad stood to let him in. Right away, Stephen sat on the bed. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said. "I've just tried so hard to reach you and I'm at my wit's end."

"It's fine. I thought I might head down to the gym tomorrow and see if they're hiring. I'm pretty sure employees get free memberships."

Stephen Gordon grinned proudly. "I said you were resourceful, son. I think that's a great idea."

So Conrad got a part-time job at the local gym, scrubbing the toilets and changing rooms in exchange for free use of the machines. His embrace of physical activity helped get him through his senior year.

His grades got him into Foxbury Institute for Computer Science, and he even started looking to his future with a renewed sense of excitement.

On his graduation day, the smiles he shared with his father were genuine, even if both could feel Helena's absence as strong as ever.

"She's so proud of you, son. I know she is."

He nodded, careful not to get wrapped up in referring to his mother in the present tense. "She would be."

Off on his own in Britechester, Conrad took his new independence seriously. He and his father had nowhere near enough money for him to blow off his education and waste the tuition.

He spent long hours studying in the old library, and it wasn't long before he found a local gym to help manage his emotions.

Pappy Murphy had been a boxer, and Conrad was drawn to the punching bags. Treadmills and weight machines couldn't match the pummeling he could give his own emotional baggage with a set of gloves and a bag.

The gym soon became his home away from home, and he spent time there as often as he could... ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

WCIF Boxing Gym? Pappy Murphy's Boxing Gym by SimDoughnut in the Sims 4 Gallery. I didn't realize until after I placed the lot in game, but it comes with a secret underground Fight Club-esque fight room and creepy scientific lair, too (with a weather machine in it!) and this place is screaming for some storyline but (for now!) it's only in my flashback save.

Fun discovery, because I was literally just looking for a gym in the gallery with boxing equipment so I could try to isolate whatever mod script was preventing me from placing punching bags in any gym after the last patch (it was Mercuryfoam's Martial Arts mod, and that's a bummer because I want this skill back from Sims 3 very much and I believe the mod is no longer being updated!)

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #flashback #san myshuno #britechester

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