#hr documents and forms

[docukng1]

Employee Forms Documents: Key to Effective Performance Management

Effective performance management is critical to the success of any organization. Employee forms documents are a key part of this process, providing the structure and clarity needed to manage performance effectively. They provide the structure and accountability needed to ensure that employees are performing at their best and that managers have the information they need to make informed decisions.

[praise-the-lord-im-dead]

We've been married for six years.

I have finally gotten my legal name change completed.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #19

Pepper Potts prided herself on her ability to adapt. She’d survived Tony Stark’s post-cave existentialism, Stark Expo 2010, the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, and several global cataclysms. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared her for the day she received a glowing scroll via flaming raven at 3 a.m. It exploded into glitter and legal jargon the second she touched it.

The Temporal Child Reassignment Authority—TCRA for short, like an IRS from hell with better penmanship—had declared her the legal guardian of four de-aged minors, all results of an “interdimensional ghost war and subsequent reality collapse.” The document even included a family tree, pointing out her half-sister Maddie Fenton as their maternal parent. The kicker? Three of the children were meta-class ecto-beings. And the fourth was an “anomalous prodigy with cognitive potential exceeding known human thresholds.”

Pepper blinked at the words, reread them, and poured herself the strongest wine she owned.

By the time she finished the bottle, her living room shimmered with unnatural frost, and a swirling green portal opened with the subtlety of a chainsaw. Out stumbled four children—if one could use such a soft word for what appeared to be three weapons of mass destruction and a tiny, furious psychologist in the making.

Jazz was nine years old, with blazing red hair in a ponytail so tight it looked like a weapon. Her eyes scanned the room with military precision. She was holding a notebook, already scribbling down assessments.

Dan, aged seven, had black-and-white hair that flickered between forms, red eyes glowing faintly, and a permanent scowl that screamed war criminal in a booster seat. His tiny boot crushed a Stark Industries coaster underfoot.

Danny, five, looked like an overcaffeinated sugar cube in a “Ghostbusters are Bigots” shirt. He levitated six inches off the ground, phasing through the coffee table like it offended him personally.

And Dani—dear sweet baby Dani—was three, wore a tutu over her jumpsuit, and was gnawing on a Stark tech screwdriver like a teething raptor. It sparked. She giggled.

Pepper stared.

Tony wandered in wearing Iron Man pajama pants and blinked at the chaos.

“Huh. Why do I suddenly feel like a dad?”

Pepper stood up and handed him the scroll.

Ten minutes later, Tony was grinning like a proud, chaotic uncle who just realized he’d inherited a feral army. “Oh, I love them.”

“I want to kill Maddie,” Pepper muttered. “I want to re-kill her if she’s already dead. I don’t care. I will unearth her soul and yell.”

Jazz looked up from her notes. “Statistically, yelling is ineffective when dealing with narcissistic sociopaths with academic degrees. But I can write up an interrogation protocol if you give me twenty minutes and a war room.”

Tony looked at her like she was a gift from God. “Pepper. She’s a baby you.”

“She’s a terrifying baby me.”

“I love her.”

Dan crossed his arms, floating ominously. “I’m only here because they said I can’t go back to the timeline where I killed everyone.”

Dani beamed. “I like juice!”

Danny phased up to the ceiling fan. “Does this house have ghost-repellent death lasers like the last one? I hate those.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You got hit by ghost-repellent death lasers?”

Pepper was already dialing every Avenger in existence. “Tony. Tony, their parents worked with the GIW.”

“The what?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “The Ghost Investigation Ward. They are basically interdimensional fascists who want to wipe out all ghosts and hybrid anomalies. Also, they tried to vivisect us.”

Tony blinked. “Vivisect?”

“Scalpels, restraints, anti-ecto shackles, and a man named Agent O who smells like ham and crime,” Jazz said flatly.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Pepper muttered, pacing. “I’m going to launch an HR-approved war.”

Dani blinked. “Are we allowed to bite?”

“No,” Pepper said.

“Yes,” Tony said at the same time.

Dani cheered.

By the time Natasha arrived, Dani was in the air vents, Danny had short-circuited the AI, Dan was brooding in the fireplace like a Dickensian ghost of vengeance, and Jazz was lecturing FRIDAY on ethical protocol failure.

Natasha stood in the entryway, staring, her eyes wide with either horror or admiration.

“Pepper. Did you birth little Widows?”

“No,” Pepper said tightly. “They’re Maddie’s kids. Maddie’s. As in, I share DNA with them and now legally own them. Apparently.”

Jazz tilted her head. “Ms. Romanoff. I’ve analyzed your fight patterns from Battle of New York and determined you have unresolved trauma related to institutional betrayal. Would you like to unpack that?”

Tony leaned over. “She’s nine.”

“She scares me,” Natasha whispered.

Bucky showed up next and read the full report Jazz had printed out for him, complete with footnotes, photos, and color-coded trauma timelines.

The super soldier sat down, dead-eyed. “I just had a Hydra flashback from a PowerPoint.”

Jazz gave him a lollipop. “That’s a common symptom. I recommend candy and validation.”

Dan muttered something about weak mortals and floated upside down through a wall.

“I like him,” Bucky said faintly.

Steve walked in, saw Dan breathing ectoplasmic fire at the neighbor’s cat, and noped back out.

Wanda arrived and blinked at Jazz, whose psychic aura flared like a dying star every time she got emotional.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“I sense wrath,” Wanda said.

Jazz nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

Pepper was halfway through arranging a legal drone strike on the GIW when Rhodey FaceTimed her. “Hey, uh, why is CNN reporting that four tiny gods have occupied New York and turned the Stark Tower into a haunted war bunker?”

“They’re children,” Pepper said.

Tony poked his head into frame. “Children who can melt tanks.”

Danny flew by holding the Iron Man helmet upside down like a bowl of cereal.

“Dani just set the couch on fire,” Pepper added, dead-eyed.

Rhodey blinked. “I’ll bring extinguishers.”

The thing about children, Pepper had learned, is that they operate entirely on vibes, sugar, and trauma. And these four had plenty of all three. Jazz was terrifyingly competent, and within a week had formed an inter-Avengers child committee, wrote a new AI ethics guideline, and had Bruce Banner signing waivers just to talk to her.

Dan blew up a parking meter because it “looked at him wrong.”

Danny asked Tony if they could build an ecto-bazooka together and promised not to use it on Steve “unless Steve said ghosts weren’t real again.”

Dani tried to use her powers to possess a Roomba and ride it into battle.

Pepper walked in on all four of them forming a pact to “annihilate GIW headquarters” with something called Operation Ghost Buster Buster.

Tony approved instantly.

Pepper did not.

“Pepper,” Tony said. “We have kids now.”

“We have war orphans now.”

“They’re adorable!”

“They’re armed.”

“They’re basically Avengers Junior.”

Dani crashed through the ceiling riding a ghost dragon she “found in the laundry room.”

“I changed my mind,” Pepper muttered. “They’re perfect.”

Pepper flew to Amity Park a week later, dressed in corporate armor and rage. She walked into the Fenton household with Natasha, Bucky, and a glowing legal team of literal demons (Tony’s idea) and found Maddie and Jack cheerfully explaining how ecto-dissection worked on “halflings.”

When Maddie smiled and said, “It’s science, dear,” Pepper threw her coffee in Maddie’s face.

Tony had to hold her back while Bucky dismantled the Fenton portal and Natasha found enough surveillance footage to convict them of several counts of attempted child murder.

Jazz watched the entire thing from the jet via livestream, calmly taking notes.

“Pepper’s my favorite aunt,” she said.

Dan nodded. “She has potential.”

Danny was asleep on Tony’s shoulder, clutching a ghost plushie.

Dani was drawing herself riding a unicorn with a flame thrower.

The Avengers voted unanimously to make the kids honorary members. Jazz requested clearance access to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trauma archives and got it. Dan received therapy. Danny built a ghost-safe treehouse. Dani declared herself queen of the Stark kitchen and banned kale.

Pepper watched them play in the yard one day and finally exhaled.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she whispered.

Tony grinned. “You’re doing fine.”

Jazz ran by wielding a dagger made of solidified ghost energy.

Danny chased her screaming something about shared custody of the Lunchables.

Dan floated overhead like a sullen storm cloud.

Dani cackled, flying past them on her Roomba dragon.

“I need wine,” Pepper muttered.

Tony kissed her cheek. “I’ll buy you a vineyard.”

[count-on-mi]

AU Twice IS Side Story “Interview” (Twice Mina)

‘Thank you, Miss Kwon, today’s interview is over. Thanks for coming. Honestly, you have a really high chance to be employed.’ You stand up and offer your hands for shaking.

‘Thanks, Mr. Y/N, just call me Eunbi, I am looking forward to work with you too.’ Eunbi shakes her hand with you, you can feel her finger is flirting your palm, you two just smile before you sending her out. ‘It’s going to have so much fun.’ You talk to yourself.

As your original secretary has resigned, you are now employing a new one to replace her, among all the shortlist candidates, Eunbi is the most suitable, she is experienced, have a high ability on working, of course her big tits are another bonus point for you to consider hiring her.

‘Boss, the last interviewee is here, should I invite her in?’ Your subordinate Sana calls you through the extension.

‘No, Sana, you can let her go. I think Eunbi, no, Miss Kwon would be the most suitable candidates. You can also contact HR for drafting the contract, thanks Sana.’

‘Sorry, you can’t come in…’ You hear some noise outside, You stand up to see what is happening. The door is opened, Sana and a pretty woman enters your room. ‘Sorry, boss, the interviewee desperately wants to enter your room, I can’t stop her.’

‘Please Mr. Y/N, please at least give me a chance.’ You turn around to look at the interviewee, a pretty woman, much younger than Eunbi, although her tits are much smaller, her bodies is hotter, especially her ass, it’s so big that you want to spank it hardly. The interviewee blushes when she see you are scanning her body.

‘Take a seat, madam. You have earned your chance, I will give you five minutes to convince me.; You sit down and signal Sana to leave your room.

Thank you, Sir. I am… I am Myoui Mina, you can call me Mina or Minari, I am a Japanese and a fresh graduate from University of…’ You feels so fun so you just interrupt her, ‘Sorry Miss Mina, sorry to interrupt, but isn’t the things you mentioned all included in your resume? May I see it first? Remember you only have 5 minutes, take your time.

‘Oh, yes, sorry Mr. Here’s my CV, ah… Sorry.’ Mina take the documents from her bag, but she is too nervous, and she just falls all her documents on the ground. She seems panic and immediately kneels down to pick up the document.  ‘Sorry, Mr., sorry Mr.’ Mina keep saying sorry. At your vision, you can see Mina’ ass arcs up as she is crawling on the ground. ‘Wow, such a great ass.’ You talk to yourself in mind, you can even see her pants in the dress, you feel your cock starts to erect, perhaps you just do not have sex with your girlfriend Nayeon for too long, the sight of Mina’s ass and pants make you feel horny, you start imaging how would her pussy look like.

You untied your belt and slowly started jerking yourself under the table while enjoying the view. Mina is different form all the girls you have hooked up with, She is very innocent but having a hot body. Your balance in your hearts slowly turn towards Mina. You are still masturbating while Mina is presenting herself, her innocence makes you turned on. You moan her name lightly, imaging her serving you under the table.

Mina witness your face change to red so quickly, and hear you keep saying her name. ‘Sorry, boss, did Minari doing something wrong, please give me a chance. I need this job, I don’t want to back to Japan.’ Mina is so worried and she stands up and walk towards your seat.

‘No, Mina, sit down, don’t get that close…’ You already near your orgasm, so your hands stroking faster and faster, not wanting to stop.’ Mina stands from her seat.

You heart nearly pop out of your heart when Mina is approaching you. You consider to stop but the way Mina leans over toward you make you feel like she’s the one that stroking you. You stares on her exposed cleavage as she bends down.

‘Please stop staring me so intently, Mr...’ Mina blushes and turns her head down. ‘You think I am really good looking?’

Seeing Mina has overcome her shyness, you are more excited, you want to see how the innocent girl would reacts, your hand strokes faster, your sight fallen in Mina’s cleavage, you feel your cock starts to throb, you need to release it desperately.

‘What are you hiding under the table, Mr. Is it other candidate’s resume? Mina walks towards you and grabs the handle of your chair, she wanna check what you are hiding. Mina’s breast is now right in front of you face, you can smell the scent of her perfume.

Mina finally discovered that you are masturbating to her, she wanna push your chair back, but it’s just too late, you reach your orgasm and thrust your hips, you cum waves of cum on her clothes.

You two stare at each other, don’t know what you can say.

‘What did you just do to me, Mr. It’s… It’s all over me, oy my god.’

‘Ok, Mina, let’s calm down, I should clean it up first, you can do it Mina.’ Mina cleans her finger before grabs a tissue box and kneels down in front of you. Mina starts to clean you still erected cock with the tissue, your cock twitches when she is stroking you.

‘Can you stop moving, Sir?’ Mina seems frustrated that you cock keep twitching in her hand.

‘It’s a part of test for the interview, let me see how you can do it.’ You tease her and just sit on your chair, let her clean your cock.

Mina thinks a while, them she use another hand to grab you base, squeezing it lightly, make sure it don’t move anymore. Meanwhile, Mina is still stroking your cock with tissue, wanting to clean you completely. Your cock is still sensitive from the previous orgasm, the sensation is so good, you feel another wave of pleasure is building.

You can’t hold on anymore, so you let the pleasure overtakes you and you cum in her hand again. ‘Ah, Mina, you are doing a good job.’ You thrust in her palms, aiming for extend your orgasm.

‘Again, why would you cum before I clean you properly? Is it all of them?’ Mina blushes again and stop stroking you, she cleans her fingers and then stand up, unsure what she should do.

You keep turned on by Mina’s innocence, you decide that she is the most suitable choice as your secretary, you already forgot about Eunbi’ s large breast, it is not hard to find a secretary with great body, it is much more hard to find a totally untrained young lady, it is an achievement that you can train a young lady to your plaything.

You stand up and grab her arms, ‘Mina, if you want to get the job, there is one more test for you, ready?’ You slowly guide her lay on your table. ‘A secretary need to help the boss to ease his stress away.’ You guide her hands to your still harden cock, ‘Can you feel how much stress I am having? It’s time for you to do the duty.’ You smirks and start rubbing her clit with your cock.

‘I don’t know how to do it, sir. Ah…, it feels so strange. Ah…’ Mina moans slightly and hide her head on your shoulder. You feel her pussy starts to get wet, you align your cock and ready to thrust in. “Just let me do it, relax, Mina, is it your first time?’

Mina shyly nods, ‘ Yes, sir, please be gentle… Ah’ Mina stops as your assault her, you thrust all in and your break her hymen. ‘Ah, stop, boss, pull out, it’s so pain, pull out!’ You ignores Mina and gently kissing her, you hands slightly play with her nipples, distracting her pain and allow her to adjust cock.

‘Ah, it feels so strange, I don’t know how to explain it… Ah…’ Seeing Mina is ready, you pull out and thrust in again. ‘Ah, what is this feeling.. Faster Sir, it feels so good.’ You stop again, and teasing her.

‘Why do you stop, its feeling good, please continue.’ Seeing Mina is addicted to your cock, you are satisfied. ‘Is little Mina wanting boss’s cock, does Mina wants to be Boss’s secretary.’

‘Yes, boss, please give it to me, Mina always belongs to Boss.’ Waiting for this answer for a long time, you start fucking Mina again. ‘Ah, yes, boss, Minari is so full. Minari loves your cock so much.’ Mina moans loudly as you fuck her real quick.

‘No, boss, please stop… Mina is going to pee, No, no!’ Mina soon reaches her first orgasm of her life. Her walls tightly wrapping you, you are struggle to thrust in, but you do not stop, you keep fucking her, chasing your own orgasm. You thrust all in hardly, and you feels like you have entered the entrance of her womb, the suction is much more strong compared to her pussy. You can’t hold on anymore, and cum all of your cum in her womb. ‘Mina take it all, be Mine!’ You moan loudly when you cum in her.

‘Yes, Boss, Minari will always be yours…” Mina hugs you tightly when she reaches her second orgasm. You pull out and see a mixture of white and red dripping from her pussy, you took her virginity.

‘Yes, yes, Eunbi is no longer a suitable candidate, I have decided to hire Myoui Mina. Ah… Yes, please help me for the documentation works. Thanks Sana.’ You end the call, and looks at Mina under your table who is giving you a blow job. ‘No, Mina, use your tongue, not your teeth.’

‘Sorry, boss, I will do better next time.’ Seeing Mina’s innocent face, you are turned on again, you put her on your table and start fuck her again. ‘Maybe I should train your another lips first, Mina.’

‘As your wish, boss, please use Minari as you want.’ Mina starts moaning again.

[deanstead]

Going Home

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N returns early from her time off but Derek notices something's off.

Word Count: 1.1K

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, allusions to physical violence (sorta?)

A/N: Of course, my first Derek Morgan piece has to be extremely self-indulgent. Enjoy!

Your cheek still smarted, as if it had just happened. The mark across your face had faded already, but anyone observant would be able to tell.

But of course, you had to work with the most observant people. They’d probably be able to tell what you were thinking even without such obvious signs.

The only thing you were thankful for was that they were probably not back yet. If you were quick, you could slip in, leave the signed form on Hotch’s desk and be out of there without running into Penelope.

Even with that thought, you put a mask on, just to be safe.

You’d asked for the week off for personal matters and only Hotch knew you’d been called home to check on your mother. As you'd already expected, Hotch had told you to take all the time you needed. No one know how much you dreaded going back there. Not even Derek.

You didn’t care that your parents considered you a disappointment despite the fact that you were working in the most elite team in the FBI. You didn’t even care when your father had hollered that he was cutting you off, and you didn’t care that they had never once remembered your birthday or even showed up for your graduation.

You didn’t care.

All you had wanted was to stay as far away as possible.

What you really hated was the way you caved when they called. You told yourself not to go, but the tiny voice in your gut wondered if there was something up, if there was something serious going on, and if you would regret it.

And you had. You regretted going back to that horrible house to stand in the living room as they asked you for money so they could send your brother abroad.

You opened your mouth and then closed it.

What were you supposed to say? Or ask? You were dumbfounded.

When you finally found your voice again, all your emotions flowed with it, “What am I, a cash cow?”

That had only earned you a tight slap across your face. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you didn’t remember him ever using this much force.

At least your mother and brother looked apologetic but you were no longer that teenager who had no choice but to take all this lying down. So you’d turned right back around and headed all the way back home.

Home.

You shook your head quickly. You hadn’t meant to get so lost in your thoughts. Grabbing a pen from your desk, you quickly signed the document and headed up to Hotch’s office, leaving it on his desk before hightailing it out of there.

You’d almost made it.

Until the elevator doors opened, and you were staring back at your team.

“Hey!” The chorus of smiles and greetings echoed in your ears, a treatment that was totally different from what you’d just experienced a few hours ago at what was supposed to be home, and you felt the sting of tears as you smiled.

You stepped to the side with Hotch as the rest of the team scattered.

“Y/N, we weren’t expecting you so soon. I told you to take the time you needed.” Hotch's expression was stoic as usual but his voice was filled with concern and you didn’t miss the way his eyes raked across your face even though he could only see your eyes.

You smiled and nodded. “It's handled. I just came by to hand in the HR form since I was back in town. I’ll be here tomorrow.” You paused. “If that’s okay.”

Hotch studied you for a while more before he nodded. “Tomorrow.”

You turned away to leave before you felt someone grab your hand.

“Where do you think you're going?” Derek’s warm voice filled your ears.

You hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting.

“Hey.” You smiled. “I was gonna call you when I got home.”

Even as you spoke, your eyes darted upward. You’d been dating for a while, and the team knew, but both you and Derek had kept it pretty low-key especially around here.

“Fine, come here.” Derek said quietly, almost dragging you to his office, closing the blinds and shutting the door behind the both of you.

You blinked at him, and the frown reappeared on his face now that the both of you were alone.

“Why are you wearing a mask? Did you catch something?” He asked, his voice dropping to one of concern, the gentle tone that was reserved just for you when you were alone.

Before you could say anything, he put his hand up to feel for a temperature.

Instinctively, as if you couldn’t control your own body, you flinched. It was just a little, like you were leaning your cheek away from him but this was Derek Morgan, and he caught it.

Derek’s frown deepened.

“Derek, I…”

He didn’t say anything, merely reaching behind your ears to take off your mask.

“Derek, wait…” You tried to stop him but it was too late.

The mask slid off your face. Derek slid his hand along the side of your neck, angling your face gently toward him so that he could take a look at what you’d been hiding from him. “Let me see.”

You recognized the moment his eyes registered the mark across your face. The quiet rage that flashed in his eyes as he realized you’d been hurt, the confusion about why you hadn’t come straight to him - you recognized them all.

“What happened? Who did this?” His voice was low and you could hear the concerted effort it took for him to keep his voice steady.

You looked back at him and you sighed. “It’s nothing, Derek. It’s done.”

Derek just looked back at you quietly.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like pretending that it was okay anymore. You stepped forward, melting into the safety of Derek's arms as he pulled you tightly into him, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“I got you.” He whispered. “No matter what.”

You just nodded, burying your face into his shoulder, even though you weren’t really supposed to do this in the office.

“I’ll tell you at home.” You mumbled.

Derek just nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Alright, come on. We’re going home.”

Home.

The word bounced around your skull and you smiled, knowing that this was it. You’d always told yourself that the day the words “going home” no longer made your heart sink, you’d know.

And you knew. You didn't have a single doubt in your mind.

Derek pulled away gently, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he led you back out of his office so the both of you could do exactly that.

[noorpersona]

Rivals: Kuroo Pt. 2

The office buzzed with the sounds of people wrapping up their day—chairs rolling back, papers shuffling, conversations turning light and easy as employees grabbed their things and made for the exit. The hum of voices filled the space as groups gathered near the doors, excitedly chatting about after-work drinks, dinner plans, or simply the bliss of heading home.

You forced a tight smile as you exchanged goodbyes, nodding along as a coworker clapped you on the shoulder, laughing about how you were always working too hard. If only they knew. If only they realized that, while they were off unwinding at some izakaya, you were about to be trapped in a nightmare.

The moment the last of them walked out, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind them, your smile dropped. You exhaled sharply, shutting your office door with more force than necessary before leaning against it, letting your frustration take full hold. The walls muffled the distant chatter of people heading to the elevators, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own irritation.

This is ridiculous.

This is so, so ridiculous.

You should have been out there with them. Should have been free from all this nonsense. But no—because of him, you were stuck here, hunched over a campaign that never should have made it past a brainstorming session.

There was no way in hell you were about to march down to Kuroo’s office and work beside him like some cooperative pair. If you had to see his face right now, you might actually punch him, and that would be hard to explain to HR.

So, you settled for the only tolerable option: virtual communication.

You pulled up the campaign document and began typing out edits, slashing through the legal landmines Kuroo had casually placed like a menace. Your comments were pointed, efficient, and—fine—maybe a little passive-aggressive.

“You can’t claim this product ‘enhances’ anything without direct, proven research. I assume you don’t have a scientific study hidden somewhere? No? Then take it out.”

“This violates four separate consumer protection laws. FOUR, Kuroo. Are you collecting them like trophies?”

“You know full well we can’t guarantee these results. Unless you have psychic abilities, this has to go.”

It didn’t take long before Kuroo’s own comments started popping up.

“Trophies? I was thinking of making a bingo card.”

“No psychic abilities, but I do predict you’re going to keep glaring at your screen like that for another ten minutes before you take a break.”

You clenched your jaw, fingers hovering over the keyboard as his infuriatingly smug tone bled through even in text form.

But at least this way, you didn’t have to hear his voice. Didn’t have to see that lazy grin or the way he leaned against desks like he was permanently comfortable in any given space.

The two of you went back and forth like that for a while—your frustrations fueling your edits, his infuriating commentary punctuating them like some editorial nightmare.

Then, suddenly—

He stopped responding.

You frowned, staring at the document, watching the cursor blink mockingly. Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Was he ignoring you? Giving up?

You tapped your pen against your desk, debating whether you cared enough to message him first, when—

A knock sounded at your door.

Before you could even react, it swung open, and there he was—Kuroo Tetsurou, in the flesh.

His lean frame filled the doorway, one hand resting against the frame like he owned the place. He had his signature smirk in place, but there was something else in his expression too—something entertained, something knowing.

"Miss me?" he drawled, eyes flickering over your stiff posture, your clenched jaw. "You looked like you were having so much fun talking to me virtually, I figured you’d want the full experience."

You inhaled through your nose, already feeling the blood pressure spike.

You exhaled sharply, leveling him with a flat stare. "I figured there’d be less opportunity for violence."

And honestly, that wasn’t even a joke. The amount of restraint it had taken not to march down to his office and rip that smirk off his face with sheer force was immeasurable. You had chosen the safer option—the one where you didn’t have to look at him, hear him, or risk throwing a stapler at his head. And yet, here he was, standing in your doorway like he had been summoned from hell itself to personally test your patience.

He was insufferable. Smug, self-assured, a walking headache in human form. And if there was one thing you knew about Kuroo Tetsurou, it was that he never did anything without a reason. If he was here, standing in your office when you had both agreed to keep this virtual, then that meant—

Oh god. He had something planned.

Your fingers twitched, already anticipating whatever bullshit he was about to pull.

Kuroo chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "I come in peace. And—" he paused, reaching into his bag, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes followed the movement.

Your breath caught when he pulled out an expensive-looking bottle of liquor. Not the cheap stuff you’d grab from a convenience store, but something premium, something that had been picked out with actual effort.

"—with a peace offering," he finished, his smirk tilting just enough to make your stomach twist.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion lacing your thoughts as you stared at the bottle.

Was this a trick? Some underhanded play? He was good, you had to admit that—good at worming his way under your skin, good at making you react, good at playing you like a game he had already won.

Your pride warred with your exhaustion. The righteous fury you had been carrying all day was begging you to tell him to take his bottle and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. But then reality settled in.

You were going to be here for hours.

With him.

Your head throbbed at the thought, and suddenly, the idea of a drink didn’t seem so bad.

You sighed, rubbing your temple before muttering, "Let me get glasses."

As you turned toward the office cabinet where you kept miscellaneous supplies, including the occasional emergency stash of glassware, you heard the unmistakable sound of Kuroo grinning. Smug. Bastard.

"Well, that was easy," he mused, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Didn’t think you indulged while working."

You shot him a sharp glare as you pulled out two glasses. "Well, I would've been at the bar by now, so consider yourself lucky."

Kuroo snorted, shaking his head. "Hey, blame the boss, not me."

You narrowed your eyes. "If you hadn’t pissed him off with that ridiculous campaign, he wouldn’t have cracked down on us."

Kuroo just grinned, pouring the drinks. "Technicalities, technicalities."

You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol seep into your system. "Focus, Kuroo. We actually need to get this done."

"I am focused," he said, swirling his glass with lazy amusement. "Multitasking. Drinking and working—very efficient."

Rolling your eyes, you dragged your laptop closer, forcing the conversation back on track. Despite his insufferable presence, the two of you made progress, fine-tuning the proposal, fixing the compliance issues, and actually making something presentable.

And, unfortunately, the drinks didn’t stop at just one.

At first, it was just a sip to take the edge off. Then another when Kuroo cracked a joke so unexpectedly funny that even you couldn't suppress a snort. Then another after you argued over phrasing in a particularly stubborn section of the document, only to realize you were both right in different ways. Somewhere along the way, the line between tolerating Kuroo and actually enjoying the banter blurred.

Your body felt warm, pleasantly buzzed as the stress of the day melted away. You stopped feeling the sharp edge of frustration every time he spoke, and—maybe it was the alcohol—but the way he leaned back in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, smirk easy and lazy, didn’t seem quite as aggravating as before.

Another drink. Another laugh. Another sidetracked conversation.

Until—

Darkness.

When you blinked your eyes open, you weren’t in your office.

You weren’t even in your apartment.

A sharp, groggy awareness hit you all at once as you registered the unfamiliar ceiling above you, the soft sheets against your skin, the distinct lack of a work desk or legal documents anywhere in sight. And then—

The realization slammed into you like a freight train.

You were naked.

Your body stiffened, the cool air against your bare skin making it impossible to ignore the fact that you had absolutely nothing on beneath the sheets. Panic surged through you in waves, your mind scrambling to piece together what the hell had happened last night.

Then came the real kicker—the slow, steady sound of breathing beside you.

Heart hammering, you turned your head—and there, lying next to you, Kuroo Tetsurou.

Still asleep. Still shirtless. Still in his bed.

Oh, hell no.

Your breath caught in your throat as fragmented flashes of the night before flickered through your mind—hazy, disjointed, but unmistakable.

Your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as your lips crashed against his. The low groan in his throat as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist, his touch feverish, desperate. The feeling of his fingers dragging down your spine, his mouth trailing along your neck, leaving marks you probably still had.

Your voice—breathless, needy—whispering his first name like a secret. "Tetsurou..."

The way he murmured your name against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His body pressing against yours, strong, unrelenting, claiming every inch of you. The undeniable fire between you, building, burning, until there was nothing left but the desperate need to consume each other.

Another flash—

Your head tilting back, a gasp leaving your lips as his mouth devoured the sensitive skin of your throat. The way his voice turned hoarse, possessive, when he whispered in your ear, "You drive me insane."

Your body arching into him, nails raking down his back, every touch sending electric heat through your veins. The sound of the sheets rustling, the deep gravel of his moan, the feeling of being completely, utterly unraveled beneath him.

And then—

Your legs wrapped around his waist, his gritted teeth against your shoulder, his grip bruising as he held you still, his body pressing into yours with a hunger that felt like it would break you apart. The way he cursed under his breath, muttering something too low to fully remember, but you knew it was about you—about how good you felt, how much he wanted you.

Your own voice, breaking on a whimper, a moan, pleading—

"Tetsurou—"

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes wide as your pulse pounded violently in your ears. No. No, no, no.

Your entire body tensed, your fingers gripping the sheets as if that alone could ground you. You felt too warm, too aware, heat crawling up your spine as your skin tingled with the ghosts of his touch.

What the hell had you done?

A fresh wave of panic surged through you as you peeked beneath the sheets, confirming what you already knew. Your clothes were nowhere in sight.

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, willing yourself to wake up from whatever twisted fever dream this was—but when you reopened them, Kuroo was still there, breathing evenly, looking far too comfortable in his sleep.

Your stomach twisted as your brain scrambled for something—anything—that could explain how this had happened. You had been working. You had been arguing. And then there had been drinks, and—

Your fingers pressed against your temples.

You weren’t an idiot. You knew exactly how this had happened.

You had slept with Kuroo Tetsurou.

And the worst part? The way your body still thrummed with the memory of it.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

This wasn’t just some nightmare. This was real.

And you were absolutely screwed.

Heart pounding, you slowly—carefully—peeled the sheets away, trying to move as silently as possible. You needed to find your clothes. Now. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to get out before Kuroo woke up and made this entire situation even more unbearable.

Your eyes darted around the room, scanning for any sign of your belongings. You spotted your shirt draped over the back of a chair, your underwear crumpled on the floor near the bed. No sign of your pants.

Biting your lip, you held your breath and gingerly slid out of the bed, wincing as the mattress shifted beneath you. You crept forward, grabbing your shirt first, hurriedly clutching it to your chest as you crouched down to retrieve your underwear.

Just as you were about to reach for them—

"Mornin', sunshine."

You yelped, stumbling back against the nightstand, your grip tightening around your shirt as you clutched it against your bare chest. Your wide, panicked eyes shot toward the bed where Kuroo was now very much awake, watching you with groggy amusement. His voice was still thick with sleep, deep and gravelly in a way that sent an unwanted shiver down your spine.

"God, you scared the shit out of me!" you snapped, still holding your shirt up like a makeshift shield.

Kuroo’s lips twitched, clearly enjoying this far too much. He stretched, arms reaching over his head, the sheets slipping just enough to reveal more bare skin than you needed to see this early in the morning. His messy hair somehow looked even worse than usual, and yet—

You shook your head violently, banishing whatever treacherous thought had just formed.

"Trying to sneak out?" he mused, his golden eyes glinting with amusement as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Rude."

You opened your mouth, then shut it, feeling heat creep up your neck. "I don't—I mean—did we—?"

Kuroo chuckled, the sound deep and lazy, sending a fresh wave of mortification through you. "Oh yeah. Several times." He tilted his head slightly, watching as your grip on your shirt tightened. "You were quite eager."

Your face burned, the words hitting you like a wrecking ball to the soul. "Oh my god," you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, as if that would make the entire situation disappear.

Kuroo smirked wider, clearly relishing your reaction. "I gotta say, I didn’t know you had it in you."

You snapped your eyes open, glaring daggers at him, your heart still pounding a million miles an hour. "Shut up, Kuroo. Just��shut up."

"Oh, but you weren’t saying that last night," he teased, stretching lazily, the motion making his muscles flex in an unfairly distracting way. "In fact, if I recall correctly, you were saying—"

"Don’t. You. Dare."

His grin widened. "Tetsurou—please—" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clearly enjoying this too much.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his face. "I hate you."

He caught it with ease, laughing. "Hate me? That's funny, 'cause last night, you were—"

You groaned, pressing your palm against your face, praying for the ground to swallow you whole.

"I'm leaving." You turned sharply, spotting your pants halfway across the damn room, and cursed under your breath.

Kuroo only hummed, watching you scramble with amusement. "Sure you don’t wanna stay for round…what was it? Five?"

You threw another pillow at him. "I swear to god, Kuroo—"

His laughter followed you as you yanked your pants on, still red-faced, still mortified beyond belief.

You snatched up the rest of your belongings—your shoes, your bag, even the stray hair tie that had somehow ended up on his nightstand—moving so quickly you nearly tripped in your haste. Every second in this room was a second too long, every moment spent within Kuroo’s amused, knowing gaze only fueling the burning humiliation in your chest.

As you shoved your arms through your sleeves, pulling your shirt over your head, Kuroo propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with the kind of infuriating satisfaction that made you want to launch something heavier than a pillow at him.

"See you Monday," he drawled, voice thick with teasing amusement.

You shot him a withering glare, but it only made his smirk widen. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

You could still hear his low chuckle as you slammed the door behind you.

[photomatt]

My Beliefs and Principles

A number of people are trying to brand me as transphobic, so I thought I would list out a number of my personal beliefs so folks coming across this in the future can judge for themselves.

I believe love is love, and consenting adults should be able to have whatever form of relationship they want or don't want. I believe governments should recognize all these unions with the same rights.

I believe people should be able to change their name, gender identity, and preferred pronouns whenever they want and however many times they want. I personally endeavor to follow all these preferences that are known to me.

I support adults making any modifications to their body they like.

I support people choosing to share or keep private the above.

This is not meant to be comprehensive, and in researching this post to make sure I was using the right language to express my beliefs I read through the Yogyakarta Principles and agree with everything in that document, which is much more comprehensive.

A few other points I'll include for context and history:

Both Automattic and WordPress.org, founded or co-founded by me in 2005 and 2003 respectively, have consistently supported LGBT+ organizations, contributors, and employees.

Automattic's open time off benefit includes full pay for medical time off has supported a number of people transitioning. We've invested considerable development time in updating or working around legacy HR systems to recognize the principles above, and will continue to as best practices evolve or we find mistakes.

When we remodeled Automattic's NYC office before moving in we made the bathrooms gender neutral. Same for a commercial warehouse I've recently remodeled.

I've personally donated to LGBT+ organizations as far back as 2016, and more recently have donated mid five figures to Human Rights organizations.

I have dedicated my life since the age of 19 to open source software, which I believe to be radically inclusive, and democratizing publishing, commerce, and messaging. My hope is this work contributes, even if in a small domain-specific way, to a more fair and just society.

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 1/1 of Skin Of Thunder Where Silence Blooms (next chapter) (all SOT chapters) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“Your kindness is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, like a breath that never touches the ground. It cuts through the storm in me, where the skin of thunder shivers, tearing through flesh, bringing light into the darkest parts of my heart.”

The early morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the military base, casting long shadows across the dull, utilitarian corridors. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley moved through the halls with his usual silent purpose, his presence almost unnoticed despite his size. Dressed in civilian clothes, he still commanded attention. The skull-patterned balaclava covered his face, just as it always did, leaving only his eyes visible. Hazel, but sharp, always scanning, always wary. His broad shoulders and powerful frame carried the weight of decades spent in combat, and even in this quiet corner of the base, his mere presence felt like a storm waiting to break.

He stepped into the HR office, a space that instantly felt too small for someone like him.

He needed leave forms.

Price had insisted on a few days off, pushing Ghost into a rest he neither wanted nor needed. The mere thought of rest grated on him, gnawing at his sense of purpose. Relaxation wasn’t really in his nature, it made him feel useless, stripped of the edge that kept him sharp. He was forged for motion, for the relentless grind of action, not the stillness of downtime.

The HR office was empty in the early hours, its sterile quiet amplifying Ghost's irritation. But then he saw you. The annoyance that had coiled in his chest loosened, if only for a moment. You were immersed in your work, unaware of the storm that had just stepped into the room. The morning light from the window filtered through your hair, casting a soft halo around it, as if it were aglow—almost like the ethereal shimmer of an angel's glory.

Ghost had noticed you before, though only in passing.

Your presence was a little more than a shadow at the periphery of his awareness. For now. You were new, an HR assistant with an energy that felt out of place, almost foreign in a world like his. Too bright, too unburdened by the gravity of what lay beyond these walls. He wasn’t sure if he even knew your name, but something about you lingered—an unmistakable sense of someone who still believed in the good things.

He didn’t like dealing with civilians, but his mind cataloged your features anyway.

He wasn’t likely to forget you.

As Ghost approached your desk, he felt the subtle shift, the way your posture straightened as you registered his presence. It was the reaction he was used to. The unease and the instinctive discomfort. But this time, something was different. Instead of the usual avoidance and fear, you blinked and met his gaze, offering a small, genuine smile. It caught him off guard.

“Hi, good morning,” you greeted, your voice soft but hesitant, as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say. “How can I help you today?”

Your accent carried a gentle rhythm that Ghost noted but couldn’t quite place. He could sense the undercurrent of nerves in your voice, however, you didn’t look away. His gaze bore down on you, his presence looming, heavy enough to fill the entire office. Yet, your cautious smile held steady, unshaken by the oppressive weight he carried like a second skin.

“Leave forms,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He was in no mood for conversation, the forced time off already wearing on his nerves.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his abrupt tone, but recovered quickly. “Ah, of course,” you said, your voice wavering just slightly as you stood and moved toward the filing cabinet. Your fingers fumbled briefly before finding the right document. “Here,” you offered, placing the paperwork in front of him with a shy yet sincere smile. “If you need any help, just let me know.”

Ghost’s hazel eyes tracked your movements as you placed the forms on the desk before him. He noticed the subtle way you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare, yet you stayed composed—polite, helpful.  He hated how the whole situation made him feel. Awkward and out of place. He didn’t belong in places like this, dealing with paperwork and assistants.

But something about you made him pause, a quiet pull that unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. It was like the calm before a storm. The kind of softness that slips beneath the skin, where thunder has long since settled, and stirs something fragile in the wreckage he thought was buried for good.

He sat down, the chair creaking under his weight.

His posture was stiff, his annoyance palpable. He filled out the form quickly, his handwriting harsh and deliberate, as if each letter required forced focus.The quiet stretched between them again. You busied yourself with something Ghost didn’t care about, but he could feel your occasional glances, as though you were quietly studying him, trying to size him up too. Bloody hell, how he loathed small talk and despised these kinds of interactions—and people who couldn’t sense when to leave well enough alone.

“You’re Lieutenant Simon Riley, right?”

Your tone was friendly, almost too friendly for someone talking to him. His hand paused, pen hovering just above the paper.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The admission hung in the air, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the fact that you knew of him—knew what he did, or at least, what people said about him. It wasn’t approval he sought, nor recognition.

No, in truth, it grated on him.

And yet, the sound of his name on your lips made him pause, drawing his gaze to your face. You flushed slightly under the weight of his stare, but he dismissed it, focusing instead on the strange feeling that stirred within him at the way his name sounded coming from you.

“It’s... really impressive, what you and your team do,” you said, your voice softening as a hint of awkwardness crept in. “I mean, it must be really… difficult. Dangerous, too.” Your words faltered, laced with a quiet shyness, but there was a hint of respect behind them.

“Just doin’ my job,” he muttered, his voice edged with indifference. Most people would take the hint and move on. But you didn’t. Instead, your smile grew as you kept talking.

“It’s still admirable. Not easy work, I’m sure.”

Admirable?

Ghost couldn’t help the small scoff that nearly escaped. Admirable wasn’t the word he’d use. Brutal, necessary, violent—that’s what it was. But no one ever called it what it really was, did they? No, to outsiders, it was always impressive, always dressed up as something noble. He grunted in response, the tension in his shoulders never easing, even as he filled out the forms.

And yet, something about your tone was different. It felt strange. He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he didn’t. He focused on the rest of the paperwork, quickly scribbling his name at the bottom with more force than needed.

After a long silence, one he hoped would stretch on forever, he found himself speaking before he could stop. “Why HR?”

He immediately regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. It wasn’t a question Ghost particularly cared about. He didn’t care about your life, your choices. And it wasn’t like him to make idle conversation, especially not with someone like you.

Yet, there was a pull, a curiosity he couldn’t quite place.

You glanced up, clearly caught off guard by the question. For a moment, hesitation flickered in your eyes, as though you weren’t entirely sure if you should respond. But then, a small, almost bashful smile crept across your lips as your fingers absently fidgeted with the edge of a folder on your desk, a quiet nervousness betraying your calm demeanor.

“I like helping people,” you began quietly, your voice gaining strength as you settled into the explanation. “It’s just... something I’ve always wanted to do, you know. And I suppose, even as an assistant here, it feels like I’m making a small difference, right?”

Ghost remained silent, letting your words linger in the stillness, his gaze fixed on the forms in front of him, unmoved yet listening.

Helping people. Understanding them. That was something he couldn’t wrap his head around, not in the way you meant. His job was about helping, but not in the clean and polite way you seemed to believe. He’d seen what people needed, craved even, in the worst moments of their life, and it wasn’t something you could give with kindness. Helping people, for Ghost, had always meant violence, brute force, removing threats before they removed him or the people he worked with. The concept of understanding felt foreign, almost naive to him.

He didn’t respond, simply grunted, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation. But you didn’t seem fazed by his silence. If anything, you looked more comfortable, as if his lack of words somehow reassured you. You must have thought he had agreed with you.

“Sometimes it's the small things, right? That can really make a difference.”

You continued to smile, a gesture so simple and unguarded that it almost irritated him.

Almost.

Yet there was something in the way you looked at him—not with fear or awe, but with an honest kindness—that stirred something unfamiliar within him. But he’d seen too much, lived too long in the darkness to believe in small things. They didn’t matter. They never lasted. All the smiles in the world couldn’t protect someone from the horrors he’d seen. But yours lingered, slipping through the surface, like a thread of light that dared to touch the parts of him still clawing for air.

Ghost finished signing the last line of the form and shoved the documents toward you, eager to be done with the whole thing. His mind was already shifting back to his daily duties, to the missions waiting for him, to the violence that felt like home.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You glanced down at the forms before meeting his gaze again, your expression softening with an even warmer smile. “You're welcome, Lieutenant Riley. If you ever need anything else, feel free to stop by.” Your tone was gentle and inviting, carrying a sincerity that felt unforced, almost natural in its warmth.

He gave a brief nod, his lips pressed into a tight line beneath the mask.

Anything else. Yeah, right. Ghost almost snorted at the absurdity of it. There wasn’t anything else someone like you could offer to someone like him, not in the way you meant anyway. But he nodded, knowing he would probably never take you up on that offer.

As the door closed behind him and the cold, empty corridor swallowed him up once again, Ghost’s mind churned with thoughts he didn’t want to have. Your words lingered, echoing in his mind as he tried to shake them off. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the unsettling feeling you’d left him with. He pulled the balaclava tighter against his face, his jaw set. He moved through the base with his usual silent intensity, the lingering thought of your smile following him, despite his best efforts to shake it off.

Even if the little things did matter, they definitely weren’t meant for him.

"Where silence blooms, it takes root in the cracks of all that’s unsaid. It wraps around the heart like quiet thorns, soft but aching, a stillness heavy with storms yet to come."

Skin of Thunder Chapters

[armoredisopod]

Codename: Sankta Miksaparato Race: Sankta Origin: Laterano Specialization: Operational Command, Military Training, Handling of Massive Firearms

"The glory of Laterano is like the sun, but stars cannot shine under the scorching sun."

Original Designer: Skade Illustrator: 九日九号 | Jiuri Jiuhao CN CV: 刘彬 | Liu Bin JP CV: 飞田展男 | Nobuo Tobita

Sankta Miksaparato 6★ Sentry Protector Defender

Blocks 3 enemies and attacks from long range

Talent 1 - Gun-Sweeping Welcoming Ceremony

Every time Sankta Miksaparato deals damage, DEF and ASPD increases for a few seconds, able to stack up to several times

Talent 2 - Shield-Raising Send-off Ceremony

After not attacking for several seconds, gains a Barrier equal to a certain % of Max HP, this talent's timer resets upon losing the Barrier

Skill 1 - Chief Firearms Inspector

The next attack hits 3 times in a row dealing a certain % of ATK as Physical damage and restores 1 ammo to a nearby [Laterano] operator with an ammo skill active

Skill 2 - Eight-Armed Chainsaw Man

When skill is active, ATK & DEF increases If Sankta Miksaparato were to receive lethal damage during skill duration, several rounds of ammo will be consumed to block that damage instance Skill activation grants several rounds of ammo, and the skill ends when all Ammo is used (can be manually deactivated)

Skill 3 - Pre-Retirement Evangelism

When skill is activated, immediately restores several rounds of ammo to all other [Laterano] operators; Attack Range expands, Max HP, ATK & DEF increases, Sankta Miksaparato stops actively attacking When attacked, Sankta Miksaparato will immediately counterattack and hit several enemies within Attack Range at once (the minimum Counterattack Interval is equal to a certain % of the regular Attack Interval) Skill activation grants several rounds of ammo, and the skill ends when all Ammo is used (can be manually deactivated)

"It's an honor to meet you, Doctor. I'm little Fia's grandfather. Ah, yes, Sankta Miksaparato... Ahem, if I had known, I wouldn't have asked little Fia to fill out the recommendation form for me."

____________

"Mr. Sankta Miksaparato, you are here to submit... Ah, an application to change your operator codename, right? It's no big deal, I completely understand your situation. Then I will read the documents you sent beforehand and submit a request for a new codename change for you..." "Wait, the new codename you're applying for is 'Spectral Hunter'? ...Why are there six more forms behind it???" "'Eternal Night Executioner'? 'Abyssal Morningstar'? 'Apocalypse Conductor'? 'Storm Reaper'? 'Mournful Arbitrator'? 'Cactus Gospel'... Uhm, the last one is a bit different in style..." "You mean, you want your codename to change every day, from Monday to Sunday, and Sunday must be 'Cactus Gospel'...?" "...The doctor mentioned to us that you didn't seem to be satisfied with your initial codename when you came onboard. I thought as someone much older you'd prefer a simpler codename..." "Uh, embracing the changes in life? Actually, we have no such trend on Rhodes Island... And we, mainly our HR Department, do not encourage you to start this new trend..." "Okay! Thank you very much for your understanding, Mr. Sankta Miksaparato!"

[comatosebunny09]

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is. 

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one. 

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint. 

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is. 

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.   

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears. 

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.” 

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye. 

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.” 

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.  

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window. 

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.” 

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite. 

“Says who?” 

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder. 

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship. 

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?” 

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?” 

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space. 

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell. 

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.             

<< part 1

[docukng1]

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[myfandomrealitea]

"Why don't you tell the people you know in real life what you read/write/draw and see what happens!!"

Because its the equivalent of waltzing down to the breakfast table and telling my parents what porn I watched last night. Because if I told my boss I touch myself to Captain America fingerblasting the Winter Soldier into the 22nd century he'd send me to HR regardless of the finer details. Because when you talk about filthy, dirty, messy sex at a two-seater in Olive Garden they tend to ask you to leave and never come back.

My boss doesn't need to know that I get off to thinking about a werewolf using me like a cum'n'go because that is simply not relevant to how well I can type up a draft document or operate a printer.

My parents do not need to know that I would tongue-dive Harry Styles' batootie so deep I touch teeth because. They're my parents. Frankly, no parents want to know what their child does or doesn't like in bed. Have you ever asked your parents how they fuck? What porn they get off to? Is that your sunday dinner conversational topic?

Talking about any form of sex or kink or personal habits in a place where it is not appropriate, and when the other conversational party has not consented, is not okay regardless.

So like. Yeah, I'm not gonna go tell my boss that about my fictional pornography habits and interests. But that's not because I'm ashamed of them or because they're wrong.

[leviitome]

5 — After | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | COMPLETED

Wordcount: 3.7k

cw: 18+, mature audiences only.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

The HR conference room feels sterile under the fluorescent lights, all beige walls and corporate motivational posters that ring hollow in moments like this. You sit across from Suguru at the long table, maintaining professional distance even though every instinct tells you to reach for his hand. 

Shoko Ieiri from HR adjusts her glasses, a stack of policy documents spread before her like evidence in a trial. Ijichi sits to her left, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, as always. The third person at the table is someone you don’t recognize, a stern-faced man from Legal whose presence makes your stomach clench. 

“Thank you both for coming.” Ieiri begins, her tone carefully neutral. “I’m sure you understand why we’re here.” 

Suguru speaks first, his voice steady. “We do. And we’d like to address this directly rather than dance around it.” 

“Go ahead.” 

You take a breath, finding your voice. 

“Suguru and I have developed a personal relationship outside of work hours.” A partial lie. “We understand this creates complications given our professional dynamic and we’re committed to finding a solution that works for everyone. 

The Legal representative, his nameplate reads K. Nanami–leans forward. “The concern isn’t just about complications. There are liability issues, potential claims of favoritism or a hostile work environment. When there’s a clear power imbalance–” 

“I understand,” Suguru interrupts smoothly. “Which is why we’re here to discuss alternatives, not to defend something that clearly violates policy as it currently stands.” 

Ieiri nods approvingly. “What kind of alternatives did you have in mind?” 

“Transfer one of us to a different department,” you suggest. “Remove the direct reporting relationship entirely.” 

“That’s… actually reasonable,” Ijichi admits, sounding surprised. “We do have an opening in Strategic Development. Same level, same pay grade, but different chain of command.” 

You feel something ease in your stomach, “I’d be interested in that position.” 

“It would mean working more closely with external clients,” Ieiri explains. “More travel, different responsibilities. Are you sure you’re prepared for that change?” 

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. You’ve already risked everything, what’s a little more change?

Nanami makes notes on his legal pad. “We would need to establish clear boundaries. No interaction beyond what’s professionally necessary during work hours. Separate projects, separate meetings when possible, and certainly separate elevators.” He eyes you both sternly. A familiar knot forms in your stomach, forcing you to look down in shame. Suguru takes notice and his jaw clenches. 

“And outside of work?” Suguru asks. 

“Outside of work, you’re both adults,” Ieiri says carefully. “But any hint that your personal relationship is affecting workplace dynamics, client relationships, or team morale, we will have to revisit this conversation.” 

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, covering documentation, transition timelines, and the kind of corporate liability language that makes your head spin and your eyes glaze over. But the core message is clear: they’re willing to make this work. And you couldn’t be more relieved. 

As you all stand to leave, Nanami adds one final comment. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you came forward proactively rather than making us discover this through complaints or incidents… or even denying it simply, it speaks well for both of your characters.” 

-

Three weeks later, you’re settling into your new office in the Strategic Development wing. It’s smaller than your previous space, but the work is engaging—more creative, more client-facing, more aligned with where you’d eventually wanted your career to go anyway. 

The transition hasn’t been seamless. There were awkward moments the first week when you’d instinctively head toward the fourth elevator, muscle memory from months of routine. Colleagues asking casual questions about the sudden change in department. Learning new systems, new team dynamics, new responsibilities. 

But there are unexpected benefits too. Your new supervisor is brilliant and supportive in ways that feel refreshing after navigating the politics of the executive floor. The work challenges you differently, stretches skills you’d forgotten you had. 

And the best part? No one here knows a damn thing about you and Suguru. No whispers, no knowing looks, no weight of shared secrets. You’re just the new Strategic Development specialist who’s surprisingly good at client presentations. 

The hardest part is the distance. Suguru is only three floors up, but it might as well be three cities. Your text conversations are limited to logistics–when to meet, where to go, careful not to leave digital trails that could be misinterpreted if anyone ever cared to look. Everything about you two when it comes to the workplace has been all about strategic, and stolen moments feel more precious now. You share brief encounters in the lobby when your schedules align. Careful smiles across crowded conference rooms during company-wide meetings. The thrill of secrecy has been replaced by something deeper and connected–the satisfaction of choosing something real over something easy. 

There’s no guilt anymore. 

-

It’s already been six months since the transfer when Suguru texts you on a Thursday evening: Free tonight? Want to cook for you. 

You’re at your desk, finishing up a client proposal that’s due tomorrow, but the message makes you smile. Your place or mine? 

Mine. I’ll pick you up at 7. 

I can drive myself. 

I know. I want to pick you up. 

The distinction matters now in ways it didn’t before. Every gesture feels more chosen and intentional. You’re not just fucking your boss in secret, you’re building something that exists outside the building entirely. 

Suguru’s apartment is a sleek high-rise downtown, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that probably costs more than your monthly rent. You’ve been here a handful of times now, but it still feels surreal, like playing house in someone else’s life. 

“How was your day?” he asks, taking your jacket and hanging it in the closet. The gesture makes your chest feel all warm and you smile at him appreciatively. 

“Good. Challenging. Gojo has me leading the Henderson account presentation next week.” 

“That’s huge.” His pride is genuine, uncomplicated by the workplace politics that used to color everything. “Henderson’s a major client.” 

“I know. I’m scared.” 

“You’ll do great.” He guides you to the kitchen, something that smells incredible is simmering on the stove. 

You settle onto one of the bar stools, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising competence. This domestic side of Suguru still catches you off guard, the man who commands boardrooms and has his own elevator, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, not looking up from the cutting board. 

“About?” 

“About us, and how well this is working. The separation, I mean. It’s been good for us.” 

You shift in your seat to make yourself comfortable. “You sound surprised.” 

“I am, a little. I thought it would be harder. Not seeing you every day, not being able to…” He glances up, something heated flickering in your eyes. You nod and laugh. 

“The elevator sessions?” 

“Among other things.” His smile is soft, fond. “But this feels more real. We’re not sneaking around anymore.” 

You nod, listening to him. 

Suguru sets down the knife, giving you his full attention. “When we were sneaking around at work, there was always this element of inevitably. Like we were caught in something we couldn’t control. But this, choosing to be together when we don’t have to be, when there’s no forbidden thrill driving it, it feels different, a good different.” 

You know what he means. The urgency has been replaced by something steadier, more sustainable. The hunger is still there, but it’s something accompanied by genuine affection, by the kind of comfort that comes from actually knowing someone beyond the confines of stolen moments. 

The timer goes off, and he turns back to the stove, but not before catching your hand before bringing it to his lips. The gesture is casual, easy, the kind of unconscious intimacy that speaks to how naturally you’ve settled into this. 

Dinner is excellent, some kind of pasta with homemade sauce that makes you think he stole the recipe from his mother. You eat at his dining table, city lights flickering beyond the windows, conversation flowing easily between work stories and weekend plans and the kind of mundane details that somehow feel significant when shared with the right person. 

“I have something to tell you,” Suguru says as you’re clearing the dishes. He leans against the doorframe at the end of the kitchen as he watches you. 

Something in his tone makes you pause. “Good something or bad something?” 

“Good something. I think.” He walks near you and leans against the counter now, suddenly looking less certain. “I got offered a position. Different company, but a really big step up. Senior VP of Operations.” 

Your heart does something complicated. “That’s… wow. That’s incredible, Suguru. When?” 

“The offer came in yesterday. I haven’t responded yet.” 

“Why not?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, studying your face. “Because it would mean relocating to Tokyo. And because I wanted to talk to you about it first.” 

The words hang between you, loaded with implication. You set down the plates you’re holding, needing something to do with your hands. 

“Tokyo,” you repeat. 

“I know it’s complicated. Your career is here, your life is here. I’m not asking you to drop everything and follow me. But I also can’t make this decision without knowing where you stand.” 

The honesty in his voice makes your chest tight. A little over a year ago, you were two people sneaking around in elevators. Now he’s considering job offers based on your opinion. The growth feels dizzying. 

“How long do you have to decide?” 

“Two weeks.” 

You nod, processing. “It’s a good opportunity.” 

“The best I’ve been offered. Complete operational oversight for a company twice the size of our current one. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.” 

“Then you should take it.”

The words surprise you just as much as they seem to surprise him. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” You move closer, reaching up to touch his face. “Suguru, this is your career. Your future. I won’t be the reason you turn down such a great opportunity.” 

“And what about us?” 

The question you’ve been avoiding since he started talking. You take a breath, finding courage you're not sure you even possess. 

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can find something in Tokyo. Maybe we do long-distance for a while. Maybe this is exactly the kind of challenge we need to figure out how serious this really is.” 

His expression shifts, something like wonder replacing the uncertainty. “You’d consider moving?”

“I consider a lot of things.” You smile, “If it means Tokyo, then we figure out Tokyo.” 

The words are out before you can second-guess them, hanging in the air between you like a bridge you can’t uncross. You’ve never said something without carefully thinking about it before, it feels strange. 

Suguru’s response is immediate and wordless, his mouth on yours in a split second. He cups your face like you’re something precious. The kiss is soft and reverent. 

You laugh, surprising yourself. The sound is bright and genuine. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He rests his forehead against yours. 

You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of possibility lingering in his mouth. When you break apart, the future feels less daunting. 

“So,” you say, straightening his collar in a habitual gesture. “Tell me about Tokyo,” 

-

The conversation about Tokyo continues over the next hour, sprawled across his couch with the city painting patterns on the window. You talk about logistics and timelines, career opportunities and cost of living. But underneath the practical considerations is something else, the giddy excitement of planning something together, of choosing each other completely. 

You settle against him, head on his chest, breathing in his scent that’s become your sense of comfort. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

He nods. 

“That first day, in the elevator. Was it planned? the stopping, the—” 

“No.” You can feel his laugh vibrating through his chest. “God, no. I was genuinely just going to the ground floor. But then you walked in looking like you were about to fall apart from stress, and something about the way you held yourself together, I knew I had to do something instead of just admiring you from afar.” 

You think about yourself in that elevator months ago, frazzled, insecure, desperate to prove herself. You feels like a different person now, someone you remember fondly but have outgrown. 

“I should probably head home soon,” you say, though you make no move to get up. “Early meeting tomorrow.” 

“Stay,” Suguru says quietly. “Stay tonight.” 

The invitation isn’t new, you’ve spent the night here before, and he’s stayed at your place plenty of times. But something about tonight feels different, it felt more significant. 

“Are you sure?” 

Instead of answering, he shifts beneath you, guiding you to straddle his lap. The movement is fluid and natural, your body already knowing how to fit against his. His hand settles on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your work dress. 

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to you,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “All of it.” 

The certainty in his voice makes something flutter in your chest. You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. His response is immediate, hands sliding up to your back to tangle in your hair. 

The kissing builds gradually, heat simmering between you like it has all evening. There’s no urgency now, no risk of being caught or interrupted. Just the two of you and all the time in the world. 

Suguru’s mouth trails down on your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hands find the zipper at the back of your dress, he slides it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, making you shiver. 

You help him slide the dress off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist. The air conditioning makes your nipples firm, but it’s the heat in Suguru’s eyes that makes your breath catch.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the lace of your bra. The touch is gentle, exploratory, like he’s rediscovering familiar territory. 

“Tell me what you want,” Suguru whispers in your ear, voice low. 

“You,” you answer without hesitation.

The honesty seems to break something loose in him. His hands become more urgent, more possessive, pulling you closer until there’s no space between the both of you. You can feel him hard beneath you, pressing against your core through layers of fabric that suddenly feel like too much. 

You grind down against him, relishing the sharp intake of your breath it draws from his lips. His grip on your hips tightens, guiding your movements, creating friction that makes you both groan. 

“Bedroom,” he manages, the word more growl than speech. 

“Here’s good,” you counter, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

“Bedroom,” he insists, but his action contradicts his words as his mouth finds your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple through the lace. “I want to spread you out properly. Want to see every inch.” 

The promise in his voice makes you weak. You let him carry you to his bedroom, his mouth focusing all of his attention on your tits. 

The space is dimly lit by the windows, casting everything in soft silver. Suguru turns to face you beside the bed, hands framing your face as he catches your lips again. This time there’s nothing gentle about it, it’s hungry and desperate. 

Your hands work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling with urgency. He helps you, shrugging out the fabric and tossing it aside. In the dim light, you can see a landscape of shadow and muscle, and you take a moment to simply appreciate the view. You’re not even bashful about it anymore. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, mouth quirking upward at the sight of you admiring him. 

His hands find the clasp of your bra. Letting it falter down to the side before his mouth is on you once more. You find yourself pinned beneath him, your back pressed into the soft mattress of his bed. His hips nestle between your parted thighs, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your core through the thin fabric. You can feel the heat of his skin radiating on you, the weight of him bringing you into a haze. 

Suguru’s hands roam your curves possessively. His tongue delving past your lips to claim you thoroughly. You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair that he managed to tie up into a small bun during work hours. You hold him close as you lose yourself in the taste of him. 

The rest of your clothes disappear in a tangle of eager hands and whispers of sweet nothings. When you’re finally bare before him, Suguru takes a step back, eyes drinking in every inch of you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. 

The reverence in his voice makes you bold. You reach for his belt, fingers working the leather until you can push his pants down his hips. He kicks them aside, and then you’re both exposed, bathed in the small light of the windows. 

Suguru reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already wet and wanting, body responding to his touch like it was made for this. 

“Suguru,” you gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling with just the right pressure. “Please.” 

“I know, baby,” he cooes, lips brushing your ears. 

He works you with patient skill, fingers and mouth and whispered words of love until you’re writing with pleasure under him, balanced on just the end of release. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and desperate. 

This is one of the most frustrating things he does, and now you’re annoyed. You glare up at him, making him smile in a way that makes you know he does this for pure joy and amusement. 

“Not yet,” he says, ignoring your cussing complaints. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re so ready for him that he slides in easily, both of you groaning at the feeling. 

“God,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. “Every time. Every fucking time,” 

You understand exactly what he means. You make your way towards his shoulders as he begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust delicate and measured. You make eye contact with each other the entirety of the time, never looking away once. 

Suguru’s pace increases, movements becoming more urgent as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, everything else fading away until there’s nothing but this. The sound of skin against skin, the whispered endearments, the building pleasure that threatens to consume you both. 

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s with Surugu's name on your lips and his body pressed tight against yours. He follows you over the edge moments later, face buried in your neck as he shudders through his own release. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together in the aftermath, breathing slowly returning to normal. Suguru’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath your cheek. 

“So,” you say eventually, voice soft in the darkness. “Tokyo?” 

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Tokyo,” he confirms. “If you’re serious about considering it.” 

“I’m serious about a lot of things.” You say. Smiling sheepishly against his chest. 

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You close your eyes, already half-asleep, and you let yourself imagine Tokyo. It feels less like an ending, it feels good and legitimate. You’re not running away from anything anymore, you’re chasing life as is. 

-

One year later. 

The Shibuya building is all glass and steel, reaching toward a sky that’s perpetually and devastatingly grey. You’re early today, a luxury you’ve learned to afford yourself since moving to Tokyo a year ago. You decided to live separately from Suguru for now, learning how to adjust to life in a new city without any of his help. It’s good. It builds character. But you don’t let your individuality get in the way of the both of you, so you make efforts to see each other often.

The marble lobby echoes with the click of your heels and the low murmur of conversations in what sounds like three different languages. 

You adjust your blazer, navy this time, paired with a soft silk blouse that actually fits perfectly. 

Your phone buzzes. A text from your colleague. Onecorp team arrived 10 minutes early. Conference room B will be ready in 15. 

Onecorp. Even seeing the company he works for in professional correspondence makes something flutter in your chest, though it’s anticipation now rather than anxiety. 

The elevator bank is busy with the morning rush, but you spot an opening in the fourth elevator just as the doors begin to close. Old habits. You almost feel nostalgic. 

You slip inside and freeze. 

Suguru stands against the back wall, exactly where he always used to position himself. Nothing about him has changed, but you act like you didn’t just eat dinner at his apartment yesterday. He takes note of the bit.

“You’re early,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“I’ve been practicing," you reply, the doors slide shut behind you. 

The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Charged with history rather than uncertainty. You’re both aware of other people in the elevator, the cameras, the professional distance you meet to maintain. But underneath it all is the electric current of everything you’ve built together. 

The elevator dings on the 58th floor. But as soon as you step towards the doors, his hand catches yours briefly. The touch is quick. Professional to any observer, but his thumbs brushes across your knuckles in a gesture that’s entirely personal. 

You smile, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “See you in the conference room, Mr. Geto.” 

The doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway. But this time, you glance back, just once, to catch him watching you go with something that looks like tenderness. 

As the elevator doors close, you realize you’re not burdened with secrecy anymore. You’re walking confidently toward a future you’ve chosen. 

The receptionist greets you with genuine warmth, and you have ten minutes to spare before the meeting starts and you get to see him again.

That’s ten minutes to remember how far you’ve both come since that first morning when you almost didn’t make it. 

[viridianriver]

WHAT IS ELON MUSK DOING IN OUR GOVERNMENT?

Ok, so I think we all know the ‘government efficiency’ line is bullshit, right? I’m trying to dig into what he’s really doing, by focusing on the agencies that DOGE initially targeted. And I’m noticing a trend, he’s going after agencies which support something called ‘Continuity of Government” or in other words; our ability to maintain democratic governance after a catastrophe or attack. (see: FEMA - 302-094-1, or PPD-40)

Here are the first few agencies i read about Elon targeting:

Office of Personnel Management (OPM): This is like the government’s HR, responsible for hiring and staffing. This was Elon’s initial target. It has an important role in the case of a ‘continuity event’ - aka a disaster or attack that risks the US’s ability to have enduring democracy. It is responsible for making sure that our form of governance lives on, when it is under attack.

Critical Infrastructure Security and Resilience (CISA) : This is the government’s cybersecurity team, managing national cybersecurity, infrastructure security, and emergency communications. It was another early (and underreported) target of Elon’s.

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) : This is the government’s disaster recovery team. It was created in 1979, to deal with the nuclear threat from Russia, and ensure constitutional governance could continue after a nuclear attack. In 2003, it was integrated into the DHS (Dept of Homeland Security), and while its national-security operations are kept tightly under wraps in comparison to it’s national-disaster response operations, it is responsible for both. This has been a major target of Elon’s.

NARA, the National Archives and Records Administration, is also responsible for responding if a national disaster or attack were to occur. They are responsible for maintaining paper copies of government documents, and records essential for enduring constitutional government. This documentation would help rebuild our government, after disaster. (Funny coincidence, Elon apparently HATES paper records)

GSA, the General Services Administration, is responsible for acquiring office space and technology for the government. It also has an important role in disaster recovery; in fact, the OPM, FEMA, NARA, and GSA together make up an interagency cell responsible for reconstituting constitutional governance after an attack. Together, they coordinate staffing, office space, tech support, and disaster response coordination.

Overall, I believe his behavior is consistent with that of a threat actor which wishes to destroy the US’s ability to maintain enduring democracy. I believe he is deliberately weakening the country to enemy attack, especially in conjunction with the recent news that the US is stopping all cyber defensive operations against Russia.

I hope I’m wrong, but I’m expecting to see an attack on our country’s infrastructure, communications, and government, coordinated by a combination of domestic and foreign actors.

Because, hell, Elon sure seems to have opened the door wide open for an attack and laid out a metaphorical red carpet to invite it in.

Legal under the cut because I hear this bitch likes to sue people and use his wealth to drag people through the courts till they’re bankrupt and unemployable. Allegedly :)

The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the text belong solely to the author, and not necessarily to the author's employer, organization, committee or other group or individual. This text is for entertainment purposes only, and is not meant to be referenced for legal, business, or investment purposes. This text is based on publicly available information. Sources may contain factual errors. The analysis provided in this text may contain factual errors, miscalculations, or misunderstandings.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Alopecia on the Rise After COVID, Study Suggests - Published Jan 10, 2024

by Shannon Firth

The incidence of alopecia areata significantly increased after COVID-19, a nationwide study involving more than half a million South Koreans found.

In a propensity score-matched analysis, incidence of the autoimmune form of hair loss was 82% higher for individuals with versus those without a prior COVID infection (43.19 vs 23.61 per 10,000 person-years; adjusted HR 1.82, 95% CI 1.60-2.07), reported Jin Park, MD, PhD, of Jeonbuk National University Medical School in Jeonju, South Korea, and colleagues.

Higher incidence was seen in all groups older than 20 years, with a greater risk observed both in women and men, they detailed in a JAMA Dermatologyopens in a new tab or window research letter.

The study also revealed an increased incidence of telogen effluvium -- rapid hair loss triggered by stress or other changes to the body -- among the cohort with COVID compared with the control group (adjusted HR 6.40, 95% CI 4.92-8.33).

"These findings support the possible role of COVID-19 in AA [alopecia areata] occurrence and exacerbation, although other environmental factors, such as psychological stress, may have also contributed to AA development during the pandemic," Park and co-authors added. "Plausible mechanismsopens in a new tab or window of AA following COVID-19 include antigenic molecular mimicry between SARS-CoV-2 and hair follicle autoantigens, cytokine shifting, and bystander activation."

Alopecia areata "occurs in susceptible individuals by environmental triggers, such as viruses, vaccinations, and psychological stress," the researchers said, adding that while reports ofopens in a new tab or window documented new onset, exacerbation, and recurrence of alopecia areata after COVID have been increasing, evidence linking alopecia areata to COVID has been limited. Danilo Del Campo, MD, a dermatologist with the Chicago Skin Clinic, described the study findings as "more confirmatory" than "surprising."

"Anything that can stimulate the immune system can trigger other problems, and alopecia areata, in particular, stems from a strong immune reaction," he told MedPage Today.

He likened the immune system to a web of "secret spies," constantly "on the hunt" for infiltrators. Sometimes it simply has the wrong target -- in this case hair stem cells instead of virus cells -- which is known as antigenic molecular mimicry.

Another explanation is that COVID infection leads to a "huge influx of cytokines," which has other downstream effects. Alternatively, it may be that hair stem cells are too close to infected cells or to "helper cells" trying to clean the infected cells, and are inadvertently targeted, known as bystander activation.

Shoshana Marmon, MD, PhD, of New York Medical College in New York City, told MedPage Today in an email that while the "plausible mechanisms" described by Park and his team are "theoretically sound, their specific roles in the context of COVID-19 and alopecia areata require further empirical validation through research and clinical studies."

For their propensity score-matched study, the authors used data from the Korea Disease Control and Prevention Agency-COVID-19-National Health Insurance Service cohort from October 2020 through September 2021. The cohort included 259,369 patients with COVID and 259,369 patients without COVID. Patients were matched along demographic characteristics and comorbidities.

Looking at clinical subtypes, incidence of patchy alopecia areata or alopecia totalis and alopecia universalis (AT/AU) were higher in patients with COVID, at 35.94 and 7.24 per 10,000 person-years, respectively, as compared with 19.43 and 4.18 per 10,000 person-years among controls. Meanwhile, the prevalence of alopecia areata and AT/AU was 70.53 and 12.39 per 10,000 person-years in the COVID group versus 52.37 and 8.97 per 10,000 person-years in controls.

"During the study period, the age- and sex-adjusted incidence and prevalence of AA [alopecia areata] and AT/AU in COVID-19-infected patients were considerably higher than in the prepandemic period in Korea, in which incidence and prevalence of AA and AT/AU remained constant from 2006 to 2015," they wrote.

Park and team acknowledged "potential detection or misclassification bias" in their study, despite using validated sensitivity analyses with several matching variables. They said that "further studies are necessary to validate the association between different populations and elucidate the causal relationship between the two conditions."

Study Link: jamanetwork.com/journals/jamadermatology/article-abstract/2813824 (PAYWALLED)

[embarrassedanon]

FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY

TO: All Staff, Whispering Winds Resort & Spa

FROM: Human Resources

SUBJECT: Emergency New Management Strategy to Overcome Revealing Yourself (ENM STORY)

As I'm sure you know, at Whispering Winds Resort our clientele includes businessmen, politicians, philanthropists, and celebrities, some of the most elite men in the world. As such, we take their feedback very seriously.

There's no easy way to say this, but many guests have reported enduring seriously embarrassing ordeals while staying on our properties. Thankfully no women have reported such incidents, we could only imagine the lawsuits that would entail. But for the men, not a week goes by that we don't get a complaint from a seriously disgruntled, usually naked, guest.

In preparation for our busy summer season, we are introducing the Emergency New Management Strategy to Overcome Revealing Yourself or ENM STORY for short. This new policy starts with some immediate changes and a new protocol to assist guests experiencing an embarrassing nude moment.

IMMEDIATE CHANGES Discontinuing Locker Room Laundry: We will no longer be collecting guests clothes from their lockers for dry cleaning during spa appointments. So rarely were clothes finished on time, leaving guests trapped naked in the locker room until dry cleaning was complete. Zip Line Improvements: We've invested in a harness for the zip line over the pool deck. Given repeated incidents we will no longer attach guests to the line by the drawstring of their swim trunks or their belt loops. Honestly not sure what we were doing there. Dismissal of in-house tailoring staff: Once one of our marquee offerings, we'll no longer provide complimentary tailoring for clothes purchased at our boutique. We received many reports of what some men described as "deliberately weakened rear seams" and "faulty rear pockets" causing disastrous wardrobe malfunctions.

Adjusting the salinity of the pools: We found the that the level of salt in our pools had a tendency to weigh down bathing suits, causing some rather revealing pool exits. We're working to develop a new salt to water ratio to prevent that going forward.

Changes to Mini Golf Course: After several complaints of guests clothes literally blowing off, we have reduced the speed of the windmill on our putt putt course.

**Our ENM STORY Protocol consists of five easy steps Signal, Huddle, Assuage, Migrate, and Evaluate or SHAME for easy recall. Signal: When a guest suffers an embarrassing moment, it is your job to signal other staff in the immediate area. "Code Blush" is the signal for staff communication. Respond to a Code Blush ASAP when called.

Huddle: Once other staff is in place, form a huddle around the affected guest. All staff should be facing outward, giving the guest a modicum of privacy in the middle of the huddle. As a group, conceal their exposure from potential onlookers. Assuage: Time to manage the guest's emotions. Our high class clientele are not used to being humiliated like this in their everyday lives. Expect a strong emotional response. Take it upon yourself to explain how you minimized their exposure and assure them not many people saw and it wasn't that bad, even if it was. Migrate: Once the guest's emotions are in check, it is time for the huddle to move as a single unit to a more secure location so the guest can redress and reclaim his dignity. Movement should be swift and deliberate. Sloppy migration can result in broken huddles and re-exposed guests.

Evaluate: We need to evaluate each embarrassing nude moment on our properties to identify patterns and implement solutions. Implementation of the ENM STORY protocol must be thoroughly documented and submitted to HR within two weeks of the incident to ensure the efficacy of the program. We understand there may be an inclination to soften details of the story to protect the dignity of our valued guests. Omitting any details will only make it harder for us to put a good system in place. Trust us, there's no detail too embarrassing or too small to be included in your reports.

Finally, please note that nowhere does the SHAME protocol encourage giving the guest something to cover themselves with. Our legal team has advised us that offering a modesty material is viewed in some jurisdictions as an admission of fault and opens us up to potential liability.