#Payroll Guide

[information-message]

Calculating payroll hours is an important task to ensure employees are paid correctly and on time. Many managers and business owners find it tricky to track work hours and handle payroll without errors. In this article, readers explore a simple step-by-step guide to calculate payroll hours accurately and efficiently. The guide breaks down the process in easy terms to help avoid mistakes and save time. It is a helpful resource for anyone managing employee work hours and payroll responsibilities.

[ahalts]

A Guide to Choosing the Right Payroll Software for Your Business

Choosing the right payroll software is essential for businesses seeking efficiency, accuracy, and compliance in their payroll processing. With a wide range of solutions available, it’s crucial to find a platform that meets your company’s specific needs, from managing employee payments and tax calculations to handling benefits and deductions. Modern payroll software should integrate seamlessly with other HR systems, provide user-friendly reporting tools, and support compliance with local and federal regulations. This guide covers key factors to consider—such as scalability, ease of use, and security—helping businesses select a payroll solution that enhances productivity and simplifies payroll management.

More info: https://ahalts.com/products/hr-management/payroll

[blog-eatos12]

Labor Analytics & Report: View & Print

[nitinsharmas-blog]

Unlock the secrets of Payroll Compliance with our E-books

Dive into the world of payroll compliance with our extensive collection of meticulously designed e-books, tailored specifically for payroll executives and professionals seeking to elevate their expertise. At our site, we understand the complexities of payroll compliance and strive to simplify them for you. Our e-books cover a vast array of topics, ensuring you're well-equipped to tackle any challenge.

[formulafanfics13]

Feral & Factory-Tuned - Mercedes

Masterlist

summary: You’re not on the payroll, not in the paddock guide, not technically on the team. But somehow, you’re always in Mercedes hospitality — eating crisps, stealing hoodies, and driving Toto Wolff to the brink of insanity. They should kick you out. Instead, they feed you cut fruit and call you family.

warnings: fluff, chaotic humour, found family dynamics, unhinged energy, upside-down lounging, light emotional softness, implied long-term friendship with the team, Toto being an exhausted father figure, George and Lewis being your favourite menaces

You're in Lewis's driver room, lying upside down on his sofa with your legs hanging over the backrest and your head almost on the floor. There's an ice cube melting in your mouth and someone's hoodie wrapped around your waist like a blanket. You're not entirely sure if it's George's or Lewis's, or maybe it's Toto's, because it smells expensive and stressful.

George is in the corner FaceTiming his mum. You keep hearing snippets like "Yes, she's still here, Mum," and "No, she hasn't been a nuisance," and "Honestly, I think Toto likes her more than me at this point."

You flash him a peace sign and stick your tongue out. He flips you off. With love.

Lewis walks in a minute later, towel around his neck, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from a quick post-race rinse. He freezes in the doorway when he sees your position. "You good?"

"Peachy."

"You're upside down."

"I'm rebirthing."

George snorts from the corner.

Lewis drops the towel on your stomach like he's throwing a blanket over a stray cat. "You're unhinged."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately," he says, and ruffles your hair. "You want anything from catering?"

"I want your entire career earnings in cash, a pet goat, and some nuggets."

"I'll see what I can do."

George clicks his phone off. "Mate, she's been like this all day."

"She needs a nap."

"I need a raise," you mutter.

Lewis leans down and kisses your forehead. "You need therapy."

"I have Toto."

That's when Toto himself walks in. On the phone. In a black Mercedes tee, sleeves rolled up, face stormy like always, except the second he sees you, upside down and wrapped in God-knows-who's hoodie, he reaches over and flips your legs down so you're sitting normal again.

He doesn't say a word about it. Just pats your head like you're a feral pet he's begrudgingly come to love.

"Yes, I'll call you later," he says into the phone, and hangs up. Then to you, "Did you eat lunch?"

"Yes, Dad."

He narrows his eyes. "Real lunch?"

"Define real."

Lewis raises a hand. "She stole my protein bar. That count?"

Toto sighs like you're the reason his blood pressure is high. "She's more work than the car."

George grins. "But she's faster in the simulator."

You gasp. "George."

"Lies," Lewis says. "You barely use the brake pedal."

"That's because braking is for cowards."

Susie walks in right then, perfect timing as always, holding a glass container full of cut fruit and a bottle of water. "I brought you something," she says, pressing it into your hands. "Because I know you've eaten nothing but crisps and vibes today."

You blink up at her. "Mum?"

"Don't call me that," she warns, but she's smiling.

Toto looks at her like he's been proven right. "See?"

"She's sweet," Susie defends. "She's just... feral."

"I'm a Mercedes puppy," you say proudly.

"You're a tax write-off," George mutters.

Lewis pulls you up off the couch, drags you into a side hug, and says into your hair, "We love you, you little disaster. Just don't break anything, yeah?"

You eat your fruit in Lewis's room, curled between him and George like some weird, chaotic sibling sandwich. Susie sits in the corner with her iPad. Toto's on the phone again, pacing. Someone starts throwing grapes at you and you don't even notice who, because this is just normal.

You don't work for Mercedes. But Mercedes works around you. And that's enough.

[defmaybe]

Clandestine (Deluxe Expanded Edition)

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.5k words

Base album

To perform an act so forbidden and so illicit sure gives you an adrenaline rush.

The shirt is torn, stray threads hanging off the tear, giving you a window to suck on those nipples. Yuna moans and writhes in the tiny space between you and the dressing room mirror—a melody to your ears, so pliant. Your hands knead her breasts gently—so malleable between your fingers. Her hands ruffle your hair; trying to make sense of the risque situation that she finds herself in, all while saying your name like a goddamn prayer.

“Babe, I haven’t paid for the shirt yet.”

And you pause.

Fuck.

You flip the tag hanging off the back of the shirt. The number thirty-nine and ninety-nine are printed on it—definitely too expensive for a rag. Your payrolls won’t be out until the end of the month. Is it four days?

“Uniqlo won’t let us hide it, right?”

Yuna nods, biting her finger with a rotation on her wrists. Her eyes avoid yours. “They’ll make us return it at the counter before we leave the section.”

It’s a sunk-cost fallacy should you decide to continue fucking her senseless in this dressing room. You can just put her clothes back on and leave the store immediately, but her pussy is definitely making you act unwise.

“Fuck it.”

You flip her body around, as she lands on the mirror with her hands. Yuna gasps softly at your strength despite you being the shorter one. Her plump ass is sitting just in front of your cock. Her back arches slightly, pushing her cheeks into your bulge. You’ve always loved this part of her—when she’s so pliable, so accommodating like this.

“Naughty girl.”

“Just for you,” and a giddy giggle escapes Yuna’s lips.

You push yourself into Yuna further, squeezing her in the tight space between you and the mirror. Yuna moans softly at the act, hands moving down to undo her tight jeans. Your bulge is raging inside your pants as you fumble with your leather belt.

“Struggling with your pants?” Yuna quips, wiggling her ass against your crotch. A shock shoots through you.

“Fucking hell, Yuna,” you growl quietly in the confines of the dressing room, consciously trying to keep the volume low. Your belt comes off, eventually, as her pants fall down to the floor, revealing that curvy, juicy ass you’ve buried your face into countless times. She has no fucking reason to be this hot, really.

You hastily unzip your pants before freeing your cock from the fabric cage of your boxers. You’re already hard, so fucking hard. She shimmies her panties down her slender legs, and her pussy is freed. She’s already wet, so fucking wet.

Just for you.

“Put it in my pussy already,” Yuna rasps, hands finding your cock sitting just behind her. She fails, though, and you have to guide them to it.

Yuna pulls you by your cock towards her wet, glistening cunt. It’s always heavenly, really, to enter her body with your hardness like this. She’s unbelievably tight. It’s as if she’s constantly trying to drain the soul out of your body, and you can’t help but to moan softly as the pleasure shoots through you.

“Fuck, it’s so big, baby,” Yuna whines, letting go of your cock for your hips to do the work. “Always stretching me out so well.”

You push into her until you’re at the hilt, her ass pressed against your thighs. Her cheek is pressed against the mirror. The surface becomes foggy with her hot breaths every time she exhales.

“Can’t believe you’re this tight too, baby.” Your hands interlock with hers on the mirror as you pull your hips back, ready to ram yourself back into her again.

“You look pretty like this—so pliable,” you say, before you thrust your cock back into her again. You two moan in tandem. Her body trembles at the sheer force of your penetration, sucking in the air through her teeth as she tries to adjust herself to the state of being fucked, as if it has never been a daily routine for you two.

“Mmm!” Yuna groans.

Her walls heave and clench around your cock as you settle yourself inside her, trying to milk you out for all you’re worth. She feels so warm around you like this.

“Are we going to just stand like this or are you going to fuck my brains out, huh?”

You pull out, and you push back into her. She whines softly.

Pull.

Push.

She moans.

Pull.

Push.

She whimpers.

Eventually, you find rhythm in fucking Yuna’s cunt against the dressing room mirror. Your hips clash with her ass each time you fuck her. Current shoots through you at every thrust, and she’s the cause of it. It becomes a routine, a chore you can never get tired of.

Your lips settle themselves on the back of her neck, conveniently gliding past the shaking price tag. Her mouth opens wide, moaning out silent pleas onto the mirror. Her eyes are closed as she takes in the pleasure of being rutted by your cock and your lips on her neck. She looks so gorgeous like this, like a whimpering mess under your fucking.

You quicken your pace, rutting her cunt with your cock faster and faster. Her slick juice coats your cock, some even drips onto the floor. It’s a ritual. It’s a habit of you two to clash your bodies with each other like this—on the bed, on the couch, in public places like this. Your lips trail down her neck, pulling the shirt down to reveal the smoothness of her upper back. She smells like daisies, and you are so fucking hungry for more.

“Babe,” Yuna whispers, and there’s a stutter in her voice. She’s shaking.

You pull back from planting kisses on her neck. “Yes?”

“Do you remember that time we did it in the handicap bathroom and I came all over the floor?”

Oh, yes, that time. Yuna was in a suit. You remember that she looked so hot that day, so you just fucked her with her necktie dangling off her neck, slacks pooling at you two’s ankles. Her pants were all wet with her squirt by the time you were done with her. The person waiting in a wheelchair was fuming when the two of you came out, and you could only take their insults in front of the bathroom, stealing knowing glances with each other occasionally.

“Cumming like that again?”

“Yep.”

The image of her squirting uncontrollably fills your filthy mind. She squirms and whines against you as you watch her climaxing face in the mirror. You unload yourself into her womb, breeding her in the way she has always loved. “I love having your cum inside me, baby, makes me feel warm,” she once said.

Her tells become more and more prominent with each thrust into her. Her soft moans grow louder and shorter with each passing second. Somebody’s probably going to hear that, but that’s the least of your concern. You need her. You need to fuck her. You need to breed Shin fucking Yuna with your white, hot cum.

The familiar feeling starts to take over you—the knot in your loins, the quickening of your moans. It’s coming. You’re close. Your nails dig into her hands, making her whine in pain and pleasure. Your legs shake, barely holding yourself up.

You two are cumming together.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!”

“Me too, me too, fuck!”

Everybody is going to hear that fucking screech. Yuna’s mouth opens wide as she cums on your cock mindlessly, brain gets disproportionately blown out of her head. And so are you. You let out a loud, guttural moan as you cum deep inside her cunt. Your cock unloads white, hot nectar into Shin Yuna’s womb, twitching deep inside her cunt that gushes out torrents of clear liquid onto the wooden floor. You two moan in tandem, voices echoing all over the dressing rooms section.

“Fuck! Shit!” Yuna rasps, barely holding herself together with the orgasm that crashes through her. Her body squirms in the tight space between you and the wet mirror. Her walls clench around your cock, trying to coax every single droplet of cum out of your balls. Your cock shoots out spurts and spurts into her womb, spent, dried, emptied.

“Oh, my, fucking, god,” you groan, body still shaking from the force of your orgasm. Your eyes rest on the reflection of her face in the mirror. She looks so ethereal.

A soft, tired smile escapes Yuna’s lips. “You’re a good fuck as always, babe.”

“Thanks,” you reply.

You grab her chin gently to share one last torrid kiss, tongues twirling in each other’s mouth, hands locking on the mirror. Your cock is still buried deep inside her, feeling her warmth.

Until your eyes lay on someone standing behind you.

An employee.

No.

Fuck. 

The store’s manager appears in the mirror.

“Sir, Ma’am, I’d have to ask you to return our shirt and leave the store immediately.”

You and Yuna laugh, with your cock still sitting inside her cunt, cum dripping off onto the floor. “Guess we’ll be visiting H&M then.”

—

[burger-goblin]

this is all very good information!! but would like to add that completing Hall of the Novice rewards you with a ring that gives you a 30% exp gain for jobs under level 30, which can be really helpful if you intend on leveling more than one job

also, to unlock Glamours, you need to be level 15 and need to speak with the NPC named Swyrgeim in Vesper Bay (Thanalan) (X:12.6, Y:14.3). you can also unlock the Aesthetician at level 15 to change your hair/make-up. you'll speak with S'dhodjbi in Limsa Lominsa's Upper Decks (X:11.1, Y:11.0)

hey, any advice for ppl just getting into ffxiv? there's so much happening I'm a Little intimidated lmao

yes! actually! ok ok

Slow down. Don’t worry too much about terms and mechanics. The very beginning of FFXIV is very good at teaching you how to fight and how to do things, so long as you pay attention (and read your tooltips! Hover over your skills to read what they do)

if you’re getting lost in the lore, Jesse Cox has a very in depth and spoiler free video on Hydealyn’s history. I would argue you don’t need it, because you can coast by and learn everything you need by osmosis, but if you’re one of those ppl who wants a solid background before going forward it’s a great video!

The very beginning is a little overwhelming because you’re doing job AND main story quests at the same time right off the bat. You can do them at the same time and you’ll be fine, but the stories can get tangled, so you can choose to do blue job quests (they will teach you moves and buttons and stuff!! And unlock moves and buttons!) until you can’t do them anymore then use MSQ to get the experience in between. After you’re around 25-35 you can get a hang of spacing those out and just go ham on MSQ

you’re also learning the map which I can’t help you with i got lost in the shroud and ul’dah so often. click the blue text under the quest name to bring up where it is on the map

and it’s throwing new terms at you a lot. If you need them, it’ll come up again. If they’re not 100% necessary, like crafting and materia melding and stuff, it’ll be there for you to figure out whenever you want to.

If you miss a line of dialogue in a cutscene, which I did sometimes because I was speeding and then something important happened, hit / and then click “event” in your chat log. A log of dialogue will appear!

if you miss a cutscene entirely, go into any inn and click on the unending journey book.

when doing your outfits, go into character and then click the button near the top of your outfit display that says recommended gear. Always wear that. You can glamor over pretty looking outfits later

if you go into system -> HUD layout, you can move hud items around. It’s a little complicated, but I had to move a bunch of stuff to get comfortable!

spending your Gil is fine. you’ll earn it back, just save some for aetheryte teleporting fees for now

i swear you can ignore leves. you can. you can

and fates

you can sell any items (like beastkin blood or animal leather) you get from combat at any vendor by dragging it from your inventory into theirs. Keep food (to eat!), and clothes until they’re far too low level. animal parts you are not going to need ever unless you’re into crafting

hall of the novice is good for getting your grips but dungeons at level 15 are way more effective for learning how to play your class in the actual game

don’t be afraid of being a beginner in the beginning dungeons!!! You are either queuing with other beginners or people who know they’re going to be in an arr dungeon with new players. You have a sprout you’re safe people will 90% of the time be super nice. Let people know you’re new and they’ll help! You got this!!!!!!

once you get your chocobo go find “my feisty little chocobo” it will let the bird fight with you AND OR HEAL YOU (HELPFUL <-BLACK MAGE)

say hi to merlwyb for me-

[moonsglare]

imagine r preens kjsr's wings while kjsr preens the kids wing. the wings are probably a lot more small and delicate so she is def scared at first. her men just seeing the so-called cold hearted general hold a small baby while giving orders, and the kid just running around while they are training. feel like she might be the best parent to open up to? maybe im wrong but like kjsr would love her kid as easy as breathing. she can be strict though esp with training, her kid thinking she will go easy on her but no she went to general mode!!! she'd be so #proud going for if her kid won any compeitions. she'd be a huge worry wart during r's pregnancy and the few months after birth, always worring over the newborn baby and r. im a firm believer that she loves to spoil her kid cuz she got the crow brain wired in her. she'd have a whole self dedicating to parenting and pregnancy books since she starts to panic of how theres even a slight chance of being uneducated on anything. also imagine the kid wants to connect to their tengu side and i think it might even compell to make kksr connect with her tengu side also, them both going to mountains so they can learn to fly together.

"love her kid as easy as breathing" absolutelyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy like at first she's definitely terrified out of her mind but when her kid is actually in her arms she learns loving isn't that hard, you just gotta let it happen. even the idea of being anything other than loving to her kid physically repulses her. it'd be such a huge wake up call to just how badly she was treated herself as a kid :((( anyway, not to dwell on angst but the preening chain is real !!! it's convenient that r is human and doesn't have wings in need of preening so they can sit furthest at the back and care for sara's wings. it's a very intimate bonding activity for sara's little family; it's probably how her kid learns to read, sat on sara's lap as her fingers parse through soft, downy feathers as she gently corrects her kid's intonations and reading. and if the kid gets sleepy they can just lean back and doze off in sara's arms, the safest place in the world for them.

i don't think sara would bring her kid to training, especially as a baby, since it's so loud and she doesn't really want her kid to hear her with her voice raised. but once they're older, if they show interest in swordsmanship or archery, sara would definitely be quite excited to teach them. she won't take it easy on them or let them take shortcuts; it'll be hard work from the ground up. as long as they put in the effort and the hours, sara will always support them, guiding them whenever they need it. i think she very much values her kid figuring out what they want to do in this world and letting them choose that if they want, yk? she wants the kid to have the opportunities to discover who they are; the opportunities she never got. her kid having an identity they're sure in, that gives them true joy, would be so important to her.

she's definitely a worrier during r's pregnancy. unlike arle or mavu i think she'd be very noticeably worried, wings fluttering nervously whenever r exerts themself even just a little bit. she gets as many housekeepers as she can on payroll, the best dietitian in inazuma, and in the final weeks she has a midwife stay on the estate. when r's water breaks she probably very nearly passes out. one of the nurses supposed to take care of r has to help her lie down and do breathing exercises, all while r is there kinda just cruising through the contractions. sara, who should be used to blood, completely passes out when the baby is finally born in all their slimy, bloody preciousness. r and the baby are completely fine but this poor general is just absolutely out cold, it's embarrassing. and when she wakes up and gets to hold her baby she cries immediately. r definitely teases sara about it in the years to come and even though it still embarrasses her to remember how much of a wreck she was when it wasn't even her giving birth, she still doesn't regret a moment of it. she doesn't regret feeling that love so strongly in her heart it brought her to true tears.

learning to fly together would be so sweet............... heading to mt. yougou or chinju forest to practice, and she brings lavender melons and other assorted snacks both for her kid and for the demanding tanuki in the forest. sara gets a little protective if miko shows up, wings fluffed up a little reflexively. for all that she knows miko wouldn't do anything to her child, miko is still a fox and her baby is still a hatchling. her instincts are a little strong at the moment. miko finds it all very amusing and teases her relentlessly about it.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Coffee, Chutiyas, & a Very Violent Parking Lot

Summary: It’s like Gangs of Wasseypur & Succession got drunk at a Hauz Khas bar, snorted a line of coffee powder, & decided to start a Delhi startup staffed entirely by war criminals, gym bros, & HR violations. Mainly Slice of life, but aggressive. (Startup AU x Gangs of Wasseypur x Lobotomy Kaisen.) Can also be read as an AU to "Third Wheeling your own Marriage." A/N: This fic is sponsored by Delhi traffic, Red Bull, & my spiritual guide: HR-less Gojo Satoru. If you've ever rage-quit Slack, threatened a coworker over cold coffee, or thought Sukuna should be banned from payroll & Uber Eats, this one's for you. Canon-typical behaviour? Yes. Therapy? No. Welcome to the startup where you are the alpha, & everyone's a walking OSHA violation. It's my first time writing something that includes Hindi, so I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism, but please keep in mind you'll learn soon why she hates them. Also, let me know if anything feels cringeworthy or incorrect.

You’re not aggressive.

You’re just chronically surrounded by people who should’ve been drowned at birth.

You didn't even choose violence. Delhi traffic did. The rest just... followed naturally.

Your Aston Martin Vantage scraped very intentionally against an imported Lamborghini Revuelto as you swung into the parking spot its owner had been eyeing like it was his baap ki jageer.

"Abe, andha hai kya?" You barked out the window, deadpan, clutching your sacred paper cup of coffee—the only reason half the idiots in this building hadn’t died of caffeine withdrawal and stupidity.

Gojo stuck his head out of his car, sunglasses on (of course), grinning like a bastard who didn’t know you were one unpaid electricity bill away from going full Chernobyl. “You’re glowing today, boss lady.”

You took a sip and stared at him. "Suck my glow, Gojo. And fix your side mirror. It looks like your personality—cracked and barely hanging on."

Your startup wasn’t built on dreams. It was built on resentment, filter coffee, and other people’s incompetence.

Then you pulled further into the office parking lot, hair tied in a no-nonsense bun, eyes bloodshot from 3 hours of sleep and 9 hours of rage.

Gojo tried to slide next to you. Again.

So naturally, you clipped his Lambo. Again.

Just enough to hurt.

"Chutiya," you muttered as you got out, locked your car and walked past. “Didn’t your daddy buy you eyesight with that car?”

He rolled down his window, still smiling like a child with a head injury. “You’re so tense, boss. You want me to—”

“Die. I want you to die.”

You were 31, CEO of Delhi’s fastest-growing AI coffee tech startup—something buzzwordy enough that investors threw money at it while knowing f*ck all.

You didn’t blame them.

Hell. You wouldn’t invest in a company where Gojo Satoru was head of partnerships and spent most of his time making Instagram reels with your espresso machine.

Inside, your office looked like a crime scene if the crime was startup dysfunction.

Nanami was already in his cabin, stiff as a stick and just as exciting. Dressed in that same shirt you’d seen on him Monday.

It was Friday.

"Morning," he said, calm. Which pissed you off more.

"Kento," you said, arms crossed. "Why do I have an 11-slide deck on bean origin analytics and not one signed vendor deal?"

He didn’t look up. “You said you wanted more thorough research—”

“I said sign the f*cking deal, not send me a college thesis. Christ, were you doing sudoku in college or just staying a virgin by choice?”

He said nothing. Just opened Excel. You hated how smug his silence felt.

Then he finally answered when you kept staring at him and making things awkward. “Both.”

“Explains why you file expense reports like it’s tantric foreplay.”

He adjusted his glasses. "Your coffee tastes burnt."

"It tastes like my soul, loser. Burnt but efficient."

Ino walked in, stupidly smiling, which immediately earned your wrath.

"Wow, look at you. Diljit Dosanjh starter pack,” you muttered, sipping your coffee. “Tell me, Ino, how’s it feel being the dumbest person in a building that includes Gojo and Sukuna?"

He blinked. “I—uh—”

“Say ‘I’m a bimbo’ and I’ll let you have a sip.”

Then you heard thump thump from the hallway.

Of course. Sukuna.

You didn’t even look up as he passed you. "Oye, tattoo. We haven’t fought in two days. You're overdue."

He stopped. Looked at you with his usual I'm-an-absentee-brother stare.

"Bring it, BC," you said. “Parking lot, lunch break. And no brass knuckles this time. Coward.”

Suguru strolled in next, calm as ever, hair tied like a villain from a mid-budget Netflix adaptation of Ramayan.

You gave him a once-over, “How’s the serial killing going, Suguru? Any dismemberment plans for the weekend?”

He smirked, too used to your mouth by now. “No, but I am free Saturday. Dinner?”

You fake-gagged. “I’d rather eat from a U.P. railway station bathroom.”

Toji came in half an hour late. No explanation. No guilt.

You watched him open a packet of peanuts like he hadn’t slept with three HR interns and two accounts managers since Monday.

“What happened, Shaktimaan? Your gym ran out of steroids?”

He grunted.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re gonna get hemorrhoids from all that squatting with no brains.”

He looked at you. “Still got better ass than yours.”

You threw Nanami’s stapler at him.

Gojo slinked back in with a Red Bull. You snatched it from his hand and took a sip.

"You're fired," you said.

"You can't fire me; I'm your co-founder."

"Then kill yourself. That works too."

Nanami sighed from the corner. “I’m emailing HR.”

“Do it,” you snapped. “Tell them to add a line in my bio—Delhi girl, startup CEO, drinks god-level coffee and fights men for fun.”

At lunch, you walked to the parking lot with your sleeves rolled and a band tied around your hair like a 90s villain’s muse. Sukuna was already there, rolling his neck.

"You ready, madam?" he grinned.

You cracked your knuckles. “Always. Just know, if you break my nail, I’m breaking your neck.”

Gojo started live-streaming it for team morale.

Rules:

No hair-pulling (you)

No cheap shots (him)

No crying (Ino, who already was)

By round three, your knuckles were bloody (his nose), Nanami’s coffee was spilled (a crime), and Gojo’s Lamborghini had a new dent (accidental collateral).

By 4 PM, your shirt had coffee stains, there was blood on your knuckles (not yours), and Ino had accidentally called you “didi”, which made everyone ten times more uncomfortable than necessary.

You slumped into your chair, finally opening the next funding proposal.

Nanami brought you a fresh cup of coffee. No words. Just resignation.

You sipped it with judgement, then muttered, “...This is actually decent.”

He sat down across from you.

You glared at him.

“Still a virgin, though.”

By 5 PM, Toji was in the break room. Shirtless. Again.

“Put a f*cking shirt on, you gym-bro NPC,” you snapped.

He didn’t move. Just peeled a boiled egg with one hand.

You stared. “Toji, what is your job? Genuinely. I forget sometimes.”

“I’m... head of logistics & inventory infrastructure?”

“You broke the coffee grinder last week because you wanted to see ‘if it could handle protein powder.’ I should break your jaw and see if it can handle HR.”

Ino walked in carrying a box labelled “marketing assets.”

He tripped.

Dropped the whole thing.

“Beta,” you sighed. “Are you okay? Or just terminally stupid?”

“It’s my first startup,” he mumbled.

You smiled, full shark. “No worries. It’ll be your last too.”

Suguru strolled back in like a man who’s never opened Slack.

“Sup, boss."

“You were supposed to schedule that investor call.”

“I... decided it would be more effective to wait for them to reach out—”

“I swear to God, Suguru. You’re not manifesting money. This isn’t Baba Ramdev’s MLM.”

Then came Sukuna. His fourth warning letter in hand.

“You punched the intern.”

“He looked at me funny.”

“You’re head of product, not Thanos.”

He crossed his arms. “Then maybe people shouldn’t look weak.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be on the company payroll when all you do is threaten delivery guys and fight me in the parking lot.”

“You keep showing up.”

“You keep being punchable.”

By 7 PM, you were the only one who’d actually done any fucking work.

Investors called you directly. Clients asked for you only. Every system, every bug, every metric—you were the one catching it. While Nanami copy-edited reports, Gojo flirted with PR, Suguru ghosted meetings, Ino cried in the toilet, Toji did pushups, and Sukuna got banned from Uber Eats.

You locked yourself in the meeting room. Sat down with your feet up. Shut your eyes.

You deserved better.

But no. You were here. Babysitting grown men. Giving India its first AI-driven, temperature-controlled coffee machine. While these assholes ruined your life one budget leak and logistics error at a time.

Nanami knocked.

"Yes?" you said without opening your eyes.

He slid a cup of your own coffee toward you. “Here. You forgot lunch.”

You sighed.

"...Thanks, loser."

HR filed another complaint. You threatened to uninstall Slack. The company grew 8% that quarter.

Everyone knows you’re the soul of the startup. They’re just scared to say it out loud.

---

A/N: Next Chapter - Why we can't fire Nanami Kento. Please comment your thoughts below, I'm very nervous.

Next Chapter - Calendar, Conflicts & Corporate Cowards - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

[pxnsneverland]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 10)

(gif source: feralgodmothers)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 3365

warnings/notes: Writing this chapter made me break my OWN heart!! TW: drugs, overdose

Chapter 10: Held Hostage

A week later, Angel stood in the wings of the showroom, watching Elvis perform his second show of the night. The audience was enthralled, but Angel could see the slight tremor in his hands when he wasn't gripping the microphone or the occasional moment when his eyes lost focus before snapping back to the present.

"He's pushing through on sheer willpower," Jerry murmured beside her.

“And those shots The Colonel’s doctor friend gives him,” she almost hissed, “Plus the pills.”

Jerry's expression darkened. "Dr. Nichols isn't even a real doctor. He's some quack the Colonel keeps on payroll. Those shots he gives Elvis... nobody knows what's in them."

Angel's stomach churned as she watched Elvis stumble slightly during "Love Me Tender," catching himself just in time to make it look like part of the choreography. She hadn't told Elvis about her confrontation with the Colonel. How could she? The knowledge would only add to his burden or it might push him to do something reckless.

"We have to do something," she whispered.

"Like what?" Jerry asked helplessly. "The Colonel's got him locked up tighter than Fort Knox. And after what happened to Scotty..."

Angel turned sharply. "What happened to Scotty?"

Jerry's face went pale. "I thought you knew. Scotty Moore—Elvis's old guitar player from the Sun Records days. He tried to convince Elvis to leave the Colonel a few years back, said he'd help him break free." Jerry's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "They found him beaten half to death in a Memphis alley. Doctors said he'd never play guitar the same way again."

The blood drained from Angel's face. “The Colonel.”

Jerry nodded. “Can’t prove it, but I know he paid someone to do it. Scotty never said anything. He just up and disappeared from Elvis’s life completely. It really hurt him.”

On stage, Elvis was transitioning into "Can't Help Falling in Love," his voice breaking slightly on the high notes. Angel watched him scan the audience, and when his eyes found hers in the wings, he smiled. It was broken and tired. Yet he still looked at her like she was his entire world even if only for a brief moment before he looked back at the audience. Angel felt her heart shatter at that tender look. He was killing himself for her, and she had to find a way to save him. As Elvis finished his final number, the crowd roared to their feet, but Angel could see the way he swayed slightly, how his smile became fixed and mechanical as he took his bows.

When he finally staggered off stage, she was there to catch him, slipping her arm around his waist. "I've got you," she whispered, helping him navigate the backstage hallways.

"Just need to sit down a minute," Elvis mumbled, his speech slightly slurred. "Then we can meet those casino folks the Colonel wants us to schmooze."

"No more meetings tonight," Angel said firmly, guiding him toward their suite. "You're done."

Elvis started to protest but seemed to lack the energy. By the time they reached the elevator, he was leaning heavily against her, his breathing labored. Jerry followed close behind.

Once inside their suite, Angel helped Elvis to the bed. His hands trembled as she removed his sweat-soaked jumpsuit, replacing it with soft pajamas. "I'm sorry, darlin'," he murmured, his eyes struggling to focus on her face. "Don't know what's wrong with me lately."

Angel bit back tears as she stroked his damp hair. "It's not your fault, baby. You just need rest."

"Colonel won't like it," Elvis said, his voice taking on a childlike worry that broke her heart. "Said I gotta meet those people. Important for business."

"I'll handle the Colonel," Angel promised, though she had no idea how. "You just sleep now."

Elvis's eyes were already closing, exhaustion claiming him before he could respond. Angel waited until his breathing evened out before slipping from the bedroom. Jerry waited in the living room, pacing anxiously.

"He's getting worse," Angel said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “That man is killing him and he doesn’t even care.”

Angel stood in the dimly lit living room, watching Elvis's chest rise and fall in the bedroom beyond. His breathing was labored even in sleep, and she could see the faint tremor that never quite left his hands anymore.

Jerry poured himself a whiskey from the bar, his movements sharp with frustration. "We can't keep pretending this is sustainable, Angel. He's always five minutes away from collapsing. And the Colonel just has his pet doctor pump him full of that stuff and pushes him back on stage."

"I know," Angel whispered, her voice breaking. She moved to the window, staring out at the neon wasteland of the Strip. "Jerry, I need to tell you something. About my meeting with the Colonel."

Jerry set down his glass. "What meeting?"

Angel turned to face him. "Last week, when I went to confront him about the schedule. He threatened me."

Jerry's face went pale. "What kind of threat?"

"The permanent kind," Angel said grimly. "He has a bodyguard—Andrews. Made it very clear that I could disappear into the desert if I didn't stay in line." She rubbed her throat unconsciously, remembering the pressure of the man's grip. "That's why Elvis is pushing himself so hard. The Colonel told him that as long as he performs exactly as demanded, I'll be safe."

Jerry sank into a chair, running his hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not just controlling Elvis’s career anymore. He’s holding him hostage. Maybe me too,” Angel continued, “And Elvis doesn't even know I found out. He's killing himself trying to protect me.”

"We have to tell him," Jerry said immediately.

Angel shook her head. “We can’t, Jerry. In his current state, he can’t handle it. It would break what little control he still has over himself and push him to do something that may get us both killed. The Colonel is just crazy enough to do it. Elvis Presley is probably worth more dead than alive.”

Jerry stared at her, the implication sinking in. "You think the Colonel would actually—"

"I think he's a desperate man watching his golden goose slip away," Angel interrupted. "And desperate men do desperate things. The Colonel has all these gambling debts he thinks no one knows about. Odds are he was threatened with the same plan he has for me. As long as Elvis keeps making money, Colonel Parker doesn’t end up ‘disappearing’ in the desert himself.” She moved to the bar, pouring herself a small whiskey with shaking hands.

Jerry's eyes lit up with understanding. "We could get the real authorities involved. Medical board, maybe even the FBI if we can prove everything the Colonel is doing.”

“Medical board,” Angel said slowly, her mind working, “If we could prove Elvis’s health is in danger and get him to a real doctor for evaluation, they would put him in rehab. It would keep Elvis away from The Colonel long enough for us to dig up the proof we need for the authorities.” Angel set down her glass, feeling the first spark of hope she'd had in weeks. “With all that evidence, the judge will have no choice but to rule in favor of Elvis. He would get his estate, all his own assets and The Colonel would be left with no control over anything having to do with Elvis Presley. And he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

"That's not going to be easy. The Colonel keeps that stuff locked up tighter than—"

A soft groan from the bedroom interrupted him. Angel hurried to Elvis's side, finding him thrashing restlessly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool room.

"Mama," he mumbled, his voice filled with distress. "Don't let them take her away."

"Shh," Angel soothed, stroking his hair. "I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

Elvis's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. "Angel? That really you?"

"Yes, it's me." She leaned down to kiss his forehead, tasting salt. "You were having a bad dream."

"Felt so real," he whispered, his hand searching for hers. "The Colonel... he said he was gonna hurt you if I didn't..." His voice trailed off as confusion clouded his features.

Angel's heart clenched. Even in his drugged state, the fear was eating at him. "Nobody's going to hurt me, Elvis. I promise."

"Can't let anything happen to you," he said, gripping her hand with surprising strength. "You're all I got left that's real."

"I'm not going anywhere," Angel repeated, but she could see he was already drifting back into sleep.

When Elvis's breathing evened out again, Angel returned to Jerry in the living room. "We need to move fast," she said quietly. "Tomorrow, while Elvis is sleeping off tonight's show, I want you to call Dr. Preston in Memphis. The one who treated Elvis before the Colonel brought in his pet quack."

Jerry nodded. "Dr. Preston's a good man. He'll tell us the truth about what those shots are doing to him."

Jerry hesitated, his expression troubled. "What if the Colonel finds out?"

"He won't," Angel said with determination. "We'll be careful. This might be our only chance to save Elvis."

***

Three days later, Angel sat in a small diner off the Strip, far from the International Hotel's watchful eyes. She'd chosen this location carefully. Somewhere the Colonel or his network of informants would be unlikely to spot her. The vinyl booth squeaked as she shifted nervously, checking her watch for the third time in five minutes.

The bell above the door jingled, and Dr. George Preston entered. He was a distinguished man in his early sixties, with silver hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Angel recognized him immediately from the photos Elvis had shown her from his early career.

"Mrs. Presley," he said quietly, sliding into the booth across from her. "I came as soon as I could."

"Thank you for meeting me," Angel replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who else to turn to."

The waitress approached, and they ordered coffee, waiting until she was out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

"Jerry explained the situation," Dr. Preston said, his expression grave. "Based on what you've described, I'm deeply concerned about Elvis's condition."

Angel leaned forward, her hands wrapped tightly around her coffee cup. “This Dr. Nichols that the Colonel brought in—Elvis trusts him because the Colonel says he’s helping. But he shoots Elvis up with this special cocktail of drugs just so he can function during the day and gives him pills so he can sleep at night. It happens so often Elvis has become dependent on them now—addicted.”

Dr. Preston's jaw tightened. "I've heard of Nichols. He lost his license in California three years ago for over-prescribing controlled substances. The fact that he's treating Elvis..." He shook his head grimly.

"What can we do?" Angel asked desperately. "Elvis is deteriorating right before my eyes, and the Colonel has him so terrified of what might happen to me that he won't even consider getting help."

Dr. Preston leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "There's a procedure called an involuntary psychiatric hold. If I can examine Elvis and determine that he's a danger to himself due to substance abuse, I can have him committed to a treatment facility for seventy-two hours minimum."

Angel's eyes widened. "But Elvis would never agree to be examined. The Colonel would never allow it."

"He doesn't have to agree," Dr. Preston said quietly. "If I witness his condition firsthand and can document the severity of his impairment, I can petition the court for an emergency intervention. The key is getting me close enough to observe him during one of his episodes."

Angel's mind raced. "Tonight. He has two shows tonight, and by the second one..." She trailed off, the reality of what she was suggesting hitting her. "But if the Colonel finds out I brought you there..."

"Mrs. Presley," Dr. Preston said gently, "from what you've told me, your husband is dying. Slowly, perhaps, but dying nonetheless. Sometimes we have to take risks to save the people we love."

Angel nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"Get me backstage during his second show. I need to see him when he's at his worst, document his condition, maybe get a blood sample if possible." Dr. Preston's expression was grave. "And Angel... once I start this process, there's no going back. The Colonel will know you were involved."

Angel thought of Elvis's trembling hands, his glazed eyes, the way he could barely stand after performances. "I don't care what happens to me. I just want my husband back."

Dr. Preston reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Then we do this tonight."

***

The showroom was packed as usual for Elvis's 11 PM show. Angel stood in her customary spot in the wings. Elvis was struggling. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his banter between songs rambling and occasionally incoherent. Halfway through "Suspicious Minds," he forgot the lyrics, covering by turning the microphone to the audience. Angel put a hand over her mouth trying to remain patient. Jerry was working on getting Dr. Preston backstage this very moment. All she had to do was hold out until the end of the show. Once the show ended, Dr. Preston would see Elvis, would see how terrible he looked, and everything would be fine. She just had to be patient.

As Elvis launched into his final number, Angel noticed the Colonel watching from the opposite wing, his expression impassive as he observed his star's struggle. When their eyes met across the stage, Angel felt a chill run down her spine. The moment Elvis finished his closing bow, Angel moved quickly through the backstage corridors toward his dressing room. She had to reach him before Dr. Nichols arrived and she only had about 15 minutes.

Angel pushed through the crowd of stagehands and musicians, her heart pounding in her chest. When she finally walked into the dressing room, she found Elvis slumped in a chair before the mirror, his jumpsuit soaked with sweat, makeup running down his face.

"Elvis," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

He turned to her with unfocused eyes. "Angel... that you, baby?"

"It's me." She knelt before him, taking his trembling hands in hers. Up close, his condition was even worse than she'd feared. His pupils were pinpoints, his breathing shallow and irregular. "Elvis, I need to talk to you about something important."

"Gotta... gotta rest first," he slurred, reaching for a small silver pill box on the dressing table. "Just need somethin' to take the edge off."

Angel caught his wrist. "No more pills, Elvis. Please."

"Don't understand," he muttered, pulling away from her grip with surprising strength. "Need 'em to keep goin'. For you."

"For me?" Angel's voice broke. "Elvis, you're killing yourself."

"Doesn't matter." He fumbled with the pill box, spilling several white tablets onto the table. "Colonel says... says I gotta keep performin' or..." His words trailed off as he scooped up the pills with shaking hands.

"Elvis, listen to me," Angel pleaded, trying again to take the pills from his hand. "You don't need these. You need real help."

"Can't stop now," Elvis mumbled, jerking his hand away. Before she could stop him, he tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. "Colonel's waitin'.”

Elvis pushed himself up from the chair, his eyes suddenly wide and unfocused. "I just need to—" His words cut off as his legs buckled beneath him. He crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, his body going rigid before beginning to convulse violently.

"Elvis!" Angel screamed, crawling over to him. His eyes had rolled back in his head, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as his limbs jerked uncontrollably. “No! Elvis! Help! Somebody help us!"

The door burst open as Jerry rushed in, followed closely by Dr. Preston. The doctor immediately knelt beside Elvis, placing his medical bag on the floor.

"What happened?" Dr. Preston demanded, checking Elvis's pulse.

"He took pills—I don't know how many," Angel sobbed, clutching Elvis's hand. "He was already drugged from something Dr. Nichols gave him before the show."

Dr. Preston worked with practiced efficiency, rolling Elvis onto his side to prevent him from choking. "His pulse is erratic, breathing shallow. Classic signs of an overdose." He reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe. "This is naloxone. It might counteract whatever opioids are in his system, but we need to get him to a hospital immediately."

"What the hell is going on here?" the Colonel bellowed from the open door. Andrews’s massive form was looming behind him like a shadow.

"He's overdosing," Dr. Preston said without looking up, his focus entirely on his patient. "We need to get him to a hospital immediately."

The Colonel stepped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. "That won't be necessary. Dr. Nichols is on his way."

"This man needs emergency medical attention," Dr. Preston insisted, checking Elvis's pulse again. "Whatever cocktail of drugs he's been given has pushed his system to the breaking point."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed as he studied Dr. Preston. "And who might you be?"

"This is Dr. George Preston," Angel said, rising to her feet to face the Colonel. Her voice shook but her stance was firm. "Elvis's doctor from Memphis. A real doctor."

Understanding dawned on the Colonel's face, followed by cold fury. "I see," he said softly, his quiet tone more terrifying than his earlier shout. "Mrs. Presley, it seems you've made a very serious mistake."

"The only mistake I made was letting you continue killing my husband!"

"Security!" the Colonel barked, his face reddening. "Get this man out of here!"

Andrews stepped forward, reaching for Dr. Preston, but the doctor held his ground. "Touch me, and I'll have you arrested for interfering with emergency medical care," he warned, "This man is experiencing a life-threatening overdose."

The sound of Elvis's labored breathing filled the momentary silence. His convulsions had subsided, but his skin had taken on a bluish tinge that made Angel's heart stutter with fear. She grabbed scissors off of Elvis’s vanity table holding tight and pointing them at Andrews who continued to inch closer. “Don’t you come near my husband.”

For a brief moment, something like uncertainty flickered across Andrews's face. The Colonel caught it and turned on him with a snarl. "I said get him out!"

Before Andrews could move, the door burst open again. Jerry entered, followed by two uniformed paramedics wheeling a stretcher.

"Thank God," Dr. Preston breathed, immediately directing the paramedics. "Suspected polydrug overdose. I've administered naloxone but his response is minimal. Respiration is shallow, pulse irregular."

The Colonel stepped between the paramedics and Elvis. "This is a private matter. Elvis Presley is under contract to perform tomorrow night, and I cannot allow—"

“I’m his wife. I have the power to make his medical decisions. Take him now.” Angel kept her eyes on the Colonel dropping the scissors from her hand.

"Out of my way," the first paramedic said, his voice firm as he pushed past the Colonel.

Andrews moved forward, but the Colonel held up his hand, stopping him. A cold calculation had replaced the fury in his eyes.

"Very well," he said, his voice suddenly reasonable. "Elvis's health must come first, of course."

Angel didn't trust the abrupt change, but she had no time to dwell on it as the paramedics worked quickly to stabilize Elvis and transfer him to the stretcher. His body looked unnaturally still now, the vibrant performer reduced to a pale, unconscious shell.

"I'm coming with him," she insisted.

Dr. Preston nodded. "I'll follow in my car."

As they wheeled Elvis from the dressing room, the Colonel stepped close to Angel, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.

"You've made your move, Mrs. Presley. Now I'll make mine."

Angel felt ice spread through her veins, but she refused to show fear. "Do your worst," she whispered back. "But you won't hurt him anymore."

Stay tuned for part 11!! Click HERE to view!

[oopsallgoalies]

False Confidence: Chapter 7

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, mentions of death, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This one’s kind of quick but it is what it is

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

When you wake up on Wednesday, the shame and anxiety that clawed your heart to sleep last night have melted into simmering anger that licks into white-hot fury as the day goes on. Last night when you’d left the bar, you’d felt so stupid. Stupid for believing that Javy respected you enough to be loyal to your agreement even if he didn’t have to be loyal to you. That’s the thing, the women didn’t bother you. You’d known what you were getting into the second Javy shoved his tongue down your throat the day you met. That and when you’d made it clear that you had no intention of warming his bed, you’d acknowledged that someone else probably would be. You’d just hoped he would respect you enough to have a little discretion. Zam was right, the bar was full of people with phones, cameras, and social media that would have eaten photos of Javy and those girls right up.

This time when you pull into the parking garage at Hard Deck Arena, your hands don’t shake as you hold back the urge to slam your car door as your flats slap against the concrete floors and the sound echoes through the space. You wrench the door to the arena open and trust your feet as they guide you to the door marked with the pink plaque. You knock on the door and thankfully a voice from inside calls out for you to enter. You barely wait for the door to shut before the words are out of your mouth. “I want out.” Zam looks up from her computer, pink lips parting slightly in surprise, though whether that’s due to your unexpected visit or what you’ve just said, you’re unsure. When she doesn’t answer, you enunciate the words again. “I. Want. Out. I’m done with the contract.” That seems to burst whatever bubble she’s trapped in.

“Roadie…” She says and you shake your head.

“No Zam, I’m done. I mean it.” Her lips purse into a thin line and she nods slowly. “Is there something I need to sign or anything? I can’t exactly afford a lawyer right now but I can try and figure out something if I have to.” You’re running out of steam now that Zam’s confirmed that you can get out of the contract. Relief washes cool through your veins, soothing the anger that’s been powering you all day.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s not like you’re on our payroll or anything. The contract was more of a formality for the legal team in case things went sideways for any particular reason. “Consider it done unless you want to rip the physical copy up for closure.”

You’re surprised when you nod. “Yeah, I think I would actually,” she smiles faintly at that as she nods and gets up to root around in a file cabinet. She pulls a familiar sheet of paper out of a pink manila folder before she hands it over to you. You take a long look at the contract, unable to stop your eyes from wandering to the bottom of the page and tracing your and Javy’s signatures. This is for the best. You grip the top of the paper and rip. The sound seems to echo in the quiet of the room. That is, until the door swings open without warning and Javy walks into Zam’s office unannounced.

“Zam have you heard from-“ he blinks, surprised, as he takes in the sight of you, blinking back at him wide-eyed. “…Roadie.” You’ve moved to tear the contract smaller and you break the silence with the sound before you’re attempting to make it past Javy to the door of Zam’s office. Javy sticks an arm out to grab the door that’s still in the process of swinging closed behind him, effectively barring your path. “Hey Roadie, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” You blocked his number last night once you got home. Originally you’d planned for it to be temporary while you gathered your thoughts. Now you doubt it’s a decision that will ever be undone.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and school your features, pressing the torn pieces of the contract into his chest which he has the sense to grab with his free hand while you duck under his arm, making your escape. You don’t look back as you call out to him. “Goodbye, Javy.”

***

Javy leans on the doorbell with a force that he should be concerned about, but he can’t find himself to care. The sound of a chorus of barks makes him slump with relief until the door swings open and it’s not who he’s looking for. Bugs is standing in the doorway, arms crossed across her chest as Pudding and Taz squirm from where they're sitting behind her legs, no doubt commanded to remain there by their mother. Her brow is furrowed and she’s glaring at him. While Javy’s been on the other side of Zam’s wrath, he’s had yet to cross his best friend’s girlfriend and somehow her wrath is scarier than his PR rep’s. He swallows, hard.

“Bugs,” he acknowledges and her brow furrows deeper but she doesn’t say a word. “Listen, is Jake here?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck, the tension making him uncomfortable. She hums in a way that gives him nothing before stepping back from the doorway and jerking her chin towards the living room, a silent invitation for him to come in.

He steps into the house and Bugs directs the dogs to move for him before she leads them off to where he assumes she’s planning to keep them while he and Jake talk. Javy’s surprised to find the living room is empty when he gets there, however, and just as he’s about to turn around and search for either of the house’s inhabitants, Bug’s voice startles him. “Sit down, Javy.” The firmness of her tone doesn’t leave room for argument so he sits down on the couch, awkwardly. She stands across from him. “Javy, four months ago you were asking me not to hurt Jake and now I feel like we’ve reversed roles here.” Her anger melts and Javy gets a look at the tired woman behind her anger. “What you did was cruel, Javy. I don’t know why you did it, and maybe I don’t deserve to know, but she does, Javy. She deserves closure even if she can’t have your respect.”

The sound of the front door breaks the silence followed by the sound of Jake’s voice. “Bunny, I’m home, are you here?”

“In the living room, babe, we’ve got company.”

Jake appears in the living room a few moments later, hair pushed back and damp with sweat. He looks like he’s just gotten back from a run. “Javy,” he says and Javy nods to acknowledge his best friend. Jake looks between Javy and Bugs before he tilts his head towards the back door. “Come for a walk with me?” He asks and Javy nods again, wordlessly before he stands and leads the way to the back door.

Jake doesn’t say anything until they’ve made it halfway down the beach behind the house. “So, Javy what are you doing here?” He asks like he doesn’t already know.

“Look, man, I…” Javy trails off, letting his eyes follow the water as it laps up against their bare feet. “I fucked up. I know that.” Jake shakes his head.

“You didn’t just fuck up, Javy,” Jake says, and Javy flinches at the bitterness in Jake’s voice. “You made a promise to Roadie. You signed a damn contract, and then not only did you embarrass her, but you did it at an event YOU invited her to. What the actual FUCK, man? What did that sweet girl ever do to deserve that?” He shakes his head. “Hell, Javy I signed off on this, I let this happen, and you went and did something not only extremely rude but it was cruel. And I know no matter what happened between the two of you, she didn’t deserve that, Javy. Not from anyone, and certainly not from you.”

“I know I just…”

“You just WHAT, Javy?!” Jake snaps finally and Javy looks up, surprised. Jake’s genuinely upset with him. “I’ve kept my mouth shut for years man, because no matter what you were doing at least it was mutually understood between you and whatever girl you were fooling around with that it wasn’t serious. No one was getting hurt so I kept my damn mouth shut and let it happen. I thought one day you’d wake up from whatever daydream it is you’re stuck in and decide to grow up even if you didn’t want to settle down because I respect that if that’s not something you want. And then Roadie got involved and I thought maybe it was the start of something new and maybe she’d be the catalyst that got you to change and not only did you not change but someone actually got hurt this time, Javy.”

“Don’t pretend that you understand,” Javy grits out, fists tightening next to him.

“Understand what, Javy? What is there to understand? I’ve been begging you to explain it for years and you refuse to-”

“Because you wouldn’t get it!” Javy snaps, turning on Jake. “And don’t you dare pretend to understand because you don’t!”

“Why, why wouldn’t I-”

“BECAUSE YOU LEFT!” Javy snaps and Jake has the good sense to look surprised. “You left Arizona and you never once thought about how that affected everyone else, about how that affected me!” His chest is heaving as the anvil that’s been sitting on it for years lifts. “And I didn’t hate you for it, I really tried not to. You had a chance to be close to home and you took it and I couldn’t be mad, I really couldn’t. You were amazing and you were destined for greatness and maybe it was childish of me, but I always thought we’d be great together.” He shakes his head, trying to ignore the sting of tears threatening to push their way to the surface. “And then, after I’d finally made peace with it, you got hurt, left Dallas, and came to San Diego, knowing I would be there, and you didn’t even bother to give me a heads up. You were my brother, Jake, I always considered you one. But somewhere along the way, you reminded me that I’m not, not really.”

Jake has the good sense to look embarrassed. “Okay, Javy, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t realize me going to Dallas meant so much to you. And I know I’ve already apologized for what happened when I came here and I know I can’t do anything to make up for what I did, but I’m going to work every single day to try and make up for that.” He shakes his head. “But why does Roadie have to pay for my mistakes?” He asks and Javy feels his chest squeeze uncomfortably.

“I never knew my dad,” Javy whispers and he hates how quiet his voice sounds. “You know that.” He swallows, hard. “And my uncle passed when we were in college. The two most important men in my life were gone before I even turned 20. And then you left too. Everyone was leaving and I didn’t know how to cope with it. I didn’t want to be alone. I hated the way it made me feel and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t ever want to be the reason someone felt the way I did.” He shrugs, lightly. “So I made sure that couldn’t happen.”

“By keeping things casual.” Jake finishes and Javy nods. “The problem is, someone actually got hurt this time.” Javy sighs deeply.

“Yeah, someone actually got hurt this time.”

“If you don’t want to hurt anyone, why did you do it?” Jake asks, but all the malicious ferocity from earlier has left his voice.

Javy shakes his head. “It was supposed to be fake, you know? It wasn’t supposed to be real, but damn it, it started feeling real. Or at least as real as I can remember anything feeling. I didn’t think, I invited her to karaoke without really thinking about it, and then the moment I had a moment to actually think about it, I panicked. Then those girls were there and it was just so easy to slip into old patterns so I did it without thinking.” He takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He hates how weak his voice sounds. “And I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, finally looking at Javy and Javy forces himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

“More than anything.” He pauses for a long moment. “She told Zam she wanted out of the contract. She ripped it up and threw it in my face.”

Jake lets out a chuckle, “good for her.” Javy finds himself matching the smile.

“Honestly, yeah,” he lets his mind drift for a second before his smile widens. “You know, she threw Josie Fitch’s expensive-ass shoes off the edge of the freeway?” Jake barks out a laugh and Javy chuckles in response.

“Did she really?” Javy nods.

“I think that’s the moment I fell in love with her,” Jake’s mouth drops open slightly before he attempts to school his features but Javy catches it. “If you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll use your spare key and murder you in the dead of night.” Jake mimes zipping his lips before throwing the invisible key into the ocean.

“So what are you going to do to get her back?” Jake asks and Javy smiles to himself.

“I think I have a plan.”

***

It’s been two weeks since you ended the contract. Two weeks since you’ve been to Hard Deck Arena, and two weeks since you last saw Javy. For the most part, your life has gone back to the way it was. Well, except that everyone still thinks you’re dating Javy, not that you’ve done anything to correct them. In your defense, the conversations have never been directed to you so much as at you as you walk into the teachers’ lounge too quickly for the conversation to die before your arrival, or some people simply feeling shameless enough to quiet their voices in your presence.

Today, however, you don’t have time to worry about the whispers as you struggle to accommodate the horde of adults crowding into your classroom that’s never felt small until this exact moment. You try to push down the feeling of embarrassment that’s been plaguing you all morning. In your rush this morning, you’d opted for a cheerful top and jeans for comfort and ease but now, surrounded by suits and smart-looking dresses that make your classroom smell faintly of starch, you feel severely under-dressed. Both students and parents alike are buzzing with excitement as you try and finalize a lineup that allows for the busier parents to get back to their jobs as soon as possible when a knock at your door makes you look up.

Your heart stops in surprise as you see the faces on the other side of the glass. You wave the unexpected visitors in before you can stop yourself and suddenly your room is even more full as two hockey players make their way into the room. Javy gives you a rueful smile while Jake is full-on grinning as he waves at the kids who are gaping at the players. Jake’s simply dressed in his jersey over jeans but Javy’s fully suited up except for his skates that he’s holding in one hand while the other is carrying an equipment bag.

“Mr. Machado!” One of the kids calls out and you push past a group of parents currently snapping photos of the players.

“Jake, Javy,” you shake your head as you try to wrap your head around the situation. “What are you doing here?”

Javy shrugs. “You asked if I would come to Career Day. I know you the deal is over but since I got dinner and lunch, I thought I owed you at least this. And if not for you, then for the kids.” He adds on quickly and you nod before you can stop yourself. Just because you’ve gotten a little braver in the last month doesn’t mean you’re ready to have a fight with your ex-fake-boyfriend in front of your entire class and their parents.

“Okay, okay. Um, just have a seat over there,” you motion over to where the other parents are gathered. “Oh!” You remember as they’re walking past you. Both boys turn to you. “Are you good with going last or do you need to get back to work?” Your brain is screaming at the idea of having to reorder the schedule, especially when a mom in a pantsuit who’s scheduled to go first is currently glaring daggers at the back of your head for the holdup. Jake shakes his head.

“We’ll go whenever you’re ready for us.” You give him an appreciative look and mouth a thank you at them as you head back to the front of the room.

***

An hour later, the last busy parent has just escaped your classroom after waving hurriedly back at their kid and you let your shoulders slump slightly in relief. Of course, there are a few parents remaining that have taken the day off to be here and they’re chatting amongst themselves. You motion over to Jake and Javy who’ve honestly been holding the attention of your class the entire time. As much as the other parents had tried to sway them, their tiny minds were in awe of the bright jerseys and Javy’s equipment.

The boys make their way to the front of the classroom and the class cheers. “Hey guys, it’s nice to see you all again!” Javy greets them and a chorus rises across the classroom.

“Hi, Mr. Machado!” Jake mimes grabbing his chest in response and they all giggle as he introduces himself and enjoys his own hello. You watch on fondly as the boys explain what they do for a living, Jake using Javy as a mannequin to explain the different parts of hockey gear.

Then they move on to the bag Javy brought and then the boys are handing around hockey pucks, one for each one of your students. They’re emblazoned with the Dogfighters’ logo and you watch as your students turn them over in their tiny hands, eyes wide in awe. Your heart aches at the kindness and thoughtfulness of the gift. These kids will remember this moment forever. Javy and Jake are holding up hockey sticks and showing off how to hit a puck with the stick.

Once the demonstration is over, Javy and Jake patiently field questions from the kids and while Jake’s explaining why they can’t wear their skates in the classroom, Javy turns to look at you and you feel your face heat as you’re caught staring. You give him a tiny wave and the corner of his mouth quirks upward and he gives you a tiny wave back. He turns back in time to answer a question from another one of your students.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, your students are still on a roll peppering the boys with questions and you have to corral them into a line and out the door. When you get back from dropping them off, you thank the parents that are left and see them out before you turn to your surprise visitors, crossing your arms across your chest as you regard them warily, the unease creeping into your mind now that you’re alone with them. “Thanks for having us today, Roadie!” Jake says goodnaturedly, as he collects the equipment they brought with them. He turns to Javy, “You should get changed.” Javy nods and gives you a nod before he heads towards the door.

“Oh! If you want, the staff bathrooms are a lot more private. Here I’ll get you my key-” You reach for your neck, rummaging through the keys on your lanyard as a knock sounds and you turn to see Josie leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey boys, I thought I heard familiar voices in here.” She says as she takes in Jake and Javy. You continue to fumble with your keys as speak up. “They came by for career day.”

“Did they now?” Josie says, a thoughtful look in her eye as she regards you a little too cooly and you abandon your key struggle.

“Actually, I should probably walk you down there myself.” You gesture for Javy to follow you, and you try to ignore the knowing look that Josie gives you as you pass her and she steps into your classroom. Once you’re out of earshot you turn to Javy to kill the silence of the hallway. “Thanks for coming today, I can tell it meant a lot to the kids. They’re going to remember today for the rest of their lives, and the pucks were such thoughtful gifts.”

“We actually wanted to bring shirts, but I wasn’t sure what everyone’s sizes were and Josie could only really just get us a head count.” Your heart squeezes slightly at the thought that Javy had reached out to Josie to ask for her help. “I was thinking, and Jake said we could talk to the front office about it, but maybe we could arrange for the kids to come to the arena for a field trip? They could hit some pucks and maybe watch practice? It could be fun.” Your heart squeezes tighter.

“I think they’d like that a lot. I can talk to our front office too and see what I can do on my end.” You say, giving him a tight smile as you reach the staff bathroom. You unlock the door and hold it open for him and you have a sudden thought. “Are you going to need any help with… any of it?” Javy chuckles and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, Meep, I do this every day, I’ve got it, but thanks for asking.” You take your lanyard off and hand it to him, trying to ignore the fact that he’s still using that name.

“Here, so you don’t have to worry about rushing because I’m waiting. Just lock up when you’re done.” You show him which key as you place the lanyard in his outstretched hand.

“Hey, Meep?” He calls out as you turn to go and you look back at him. “Do you always worry about other people like that?” You tilt your head to the side slightly, surprised by his question.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and then he pauses before he speaks up again as you’re about to walk away again. “Isn’t it hard? Worrying about everyone all the time?” You feel your cheeks heat as you shrug in a way that probably looks more like a grimace.

“I’m used to it.” You say simply before you walk back to your classroom.

A/N: I know that this one leaves off on a bit of a cliff hanger but it was a lot to try to jam into one chapter.

[nitinsharmas-blog]

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[mariacallous]

When President Donald Trump’s aides and advisers relay concerns about Elon Musk's takeover of the federal government, they're often given what's intended to be a reassuring answer: Don't worry, Stephen and Katie Miller will take care of it.

As Musk and his so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) task force dismantle key parts of the government and plan to cut the workforce at federal agencies by half or more, the Millers have become pivotal figures in Musk’s orbit, multiple sources tell WIRED. The couple has been tasked as intermediaries, bringing news about Musk’s latest targets and communications strategies to the rest of the White House, say members of Trump’s inner circle and people outside the administration who know them personally. Just over a month into the new administration, they have been privately projecting themselves as two pairs of steady hands at the till.

Stephen Miller is the White House deputy chief of staff for policy and homeland security adviser; two sources described his current role as that of a prime minister. His wife, Katie Miller, is a special government employee who functions as the top communications official at DOGE. She is also on the payroll of the firm P2 Public Affairs, The Wall Street Journal reported, which has ties to Musk and several alumni of Florida governor Ron DeSantis’ 2024 presidential campaign.

Stephen was a senior adviser in Trump’s first term, and an architect of the administration’s anti-immigration platform, including advocating for the policy of separating migrant children from their families. Katie served in the first Trump administration as deputy press secretary at the Department of Homeland Security during Kirstjen Nielsen’s tenure before ascending to the role of press secretary in 2019 and communications director in 2020 for then-vice president Mike Pence. The Millers were married in 2020.

Katie Miller, like many people associated with DOGE, is, as a special government employee, limited to working in the federal government for no more than 130 days in any given 365-day period and subject to less stringent ethics requirements than permanent employees. She was assigned to run communications for Musk prior to the transition, a White House official tells WIRED, beginning her journey with Musk as a “comms sherpa.” Now she has become the richest man in the world’s guide to life in Washington and integral to the high-velocity, high-volume barrage of cuts to the government’s workforce and spending—many of them being questioned in the courts as to their legality—that have come to dominate Trump’s first month back in office.

Her relationship with Musk, the White House official says, is central to DOGE’s interactions with the rest of the White House. She’s the key intermediary, delivering the DOGE message of the day to the rest of the administration. She’s also the one to deliver any sensitive or bad news to Musk, says the official.

The Republicans who spoke to WIRED for this story all requested anonymity to discuss sensitive matters. They are all generally supportive of the DOGE initiatives but share varying degrees of concern about Musk harming Trump’s image and felt compelled to speak up out of an urge to protect the boss. (Trump, meanwhile, has continued to back Musk publicly with enthusiastic praise for DOGE’s cuts, most recently with a flattering introduction before Musk held court at Wednesday’s cabinet meeting.)

Meanwhile, Stephen Miller has, along with Project 2025 coauthor and Office of Management and Budget director Russell Vought, became one of Musk’s closest allies in the administration, The New York Times reported earlier this month. WIRED has learned that the relationship is far closer, and more complicated, than has been previously known publicly.

In many ways, Musk’s targeting of federal agencies is perfectly in sync with the aims of Miller, who has championed DOGE’s work internally and even helped in making a lot of it possible. (In public, Miller has equated federal workers with “radical left Communists” and “criminal cartels.”) Still, sources tell WIRED that Trumpworld is more comfortable with Musk taking the heat for the recent federal cuts rather than the less famous—and, in their view, far less telegenic—Miller.

Yet through their actions so far, the Millers and Musk have developed a MAGA version of the Pet Shop Boys adage from the song “Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money)”: You’ve got the brawn / I’ve got the brains. Stephen Miller’s knowledge of the federal apparatus, Katie Miller’s contacts on Capitol Hill, and the couple’s good standing among Trump loyalists, coupled with Musk’s relentless ambition and effectively infinite resources, made the scale of the DOGE government takeover possible. Musk is not the independent actor he’s often portrayed as and taken to be, in other words, but is rather carrying out actions essentially in concert with the man to whom the president has delegated much of the day-to-day work of governance.

“Stephen is kind of the prime minister,” one of three Republicans close to Trump and familiar with the situation tells WIRED. Another Republican familiar with the dynamic also used the term “PM” to describe Miller, short for prime minister. The implication is that Miller is carrying out the daily work of governance while Trump serves as head of state, focusing on the fun parts of being president.

The White House did not answer questions about who reports to or outranks whom.

The Millers are seen inside Trumpworld as glorified babysitters for Musk, tasked with ensuring he stays within bounds, insofar as that’s possible. “He gets a lot of grace,” the first Republican said of Musk. “Many people aren’t nervous, because Stephen Miller is deeply involved. And Katie.” This Republican compared Musk to a preteen child.

The involvement of the Millers is also one of the many reasons why Trumpworld sources say they now don’t currently see an implosion between Trump and Musk happening anytime soon even though, as WIRED previously reported, rifts have already emerged within the president’s inner circle over the centibillionaire’s level of power.

Still, Musk’s relationship with the Millers has become a subject of great intrigue in Washington as DOGE continues to wreak havoc on the federal government. Little is known about how often they interact outside of work and how the relationship grew over the late stages of the campaign into the transition.

“If you can find out anything about Stephen Miller’s social life, I don’t wanna know the answer,” says a longtime Republican operative who knows the couple personally.

“Stephen and Katie are very attentive to [Musk],” the Republican who referred to Stephen as “prime minister” tells WIRED. There’s also only one audience which truly matters, they say: “He’s got a forgiving audience: the audience of one, and all of us around him.”