#face recognition application

[thirdeye-ai]

Embracing the Future: Facial Recognition in Corporate Offices

In today’s technologically advanced world, corporate offices are continually seeking innovative solutions to enhance efficiency, security, and employee satisfaction. Facial recognition technology has emerged as a promising tool, especially in the domains of attendance tracking, time and attendance management, and payroll processing. Here, we explore current trends, challenges, functionality, benefits, and solutions related to facial recognition systems in corporate settings.

Current Trends in Facial Recognition Technology

Contactless Solutions: With heightened awareness of hygiene, contactless systems are in demand. Facial recognition offers a hands-free method to authenticate employees, minimizing physical contact.

Improved Accuracy: Advanced machine learning algorithms are continuously enhancing the accuracy and reliability of facial recognition systems, reducing errors and increasing trust.

Mask Detection: The capability to recognize faces with masks has become crucial, especially post-pandemic. Systems are being adapted to accurately identify individuals even when partially covered.

Anti-Spoofing Measures: To counteract spoofing attempts using photos or videos, modern systems incorporate advanced anti-spoofing technologies, ensuring only live faces are recognized.

Privacy and Regulation: As privacy concerns rise, systems are being developed to comply with stringent data protection regulations like GDPR and CCPA, ensuring responsible usage of biometric data.

Integration with AI and Analytics: Facial recognition is being integrated with AI to provide insightful analytics on employee attendance, punctuality, and even mood analysis, aiding in better management decisions.

Cloud-Based Solutions: Cloud-based facial recognition systems offer scalability and remote accessibility, making it easier to manage attendance data across multiple locations.

Customization and Flexibility: Businesses are seeking customizable solutions that can be tailored to their specific needs, ensuring seamless integration with existing systems.

Challenges and Issues in Corporate Offices

Privacy Concerns: Employees may be wary of how their biometric data is used and stored, raising concerns about surveillance and misuse of personal information.

Legal and Regulatory Compliance: Navigating the complex landscape of biometric data laws and ensuring compliance can be challenging for organizations.

Accuracy in Varied Conditions: Ensuring high accuracy in different lighting conditions, angles, and when faces are partially obscured remains a significant challenge.

Security Vulnerabilities: Facial recognition systems can be susceptible to spoofing and hacking, necessitating robust security measures to protect sensitive data.

Integration Complexity: Integrating facial recognition systems with existing HR and payroll software can be complex and may require significant customization.

User Acceptance: Gaining acceptance and trust from employees regarding the use of facial recognition for attendance tracking can be difficult.

Cost of Implementation: The initial cost of deploying facial recognition systems, including hardware and software, can be prohibitive for some organizations.

How Facial Recognition Attendance Systems Work

Enrollment: Employees are enrolled by capturing their facial images, which are then converted into unique faceprints stored in a database.

Capture Attendance: As employees arrive, their faces are scanned by a camera. The system detects and aligns the face for accurate recognition.

Feature Extraction: Key facial features are extracted to create a faceprint that is compared against stored templates.

Matching: The system matches the extracted faceprint with the database to verify the identity.

Attendance Recording: Upon a successful match, the system logs the attendance with a timestamp in the centralized database.

Real-Time Feedback: Employees receive instant feedback confirming their attendance has been recorded.

Data Management: Attendance data is integrated with time and attendance management systems, providing comprehensive records for payroll processing.

Benefits of Facial Recognition Systems

Automated Attendance Tracking: Reduces administrative overhead by automating the attendance recording process.

Contactless Operation: Enhances hygiene and safety by minimizing physical contact.

Accurate Timekeeping: Ensures precise tracking of working hours, reducing errors associated with manual entry.

Elimination of Time Theft: Prevents buddy punching and other forms of attendance fraud.

Real-Time Monitoring: Provides managers with real-time data on employee attendance patterns.

Efficient Payroll Management: Integrates seamlessly with payroll systems, automating wage calculations based on accurate attendance data.

Enhanced Security: Reduces the risk of unauthorized access with high-precision facial recognition.

Employee Satisfaction: Improves overall employee experience by simplifying the attendance process and ensuring timely, accurate payroll.

Solutions for Corporate Offices

Time and Attendance Management

Comprehensive Integration: Integrate facial recognition systems with existing HR and time management software to streamline operations.

Flexible Scheduling: Accommodate various work schedules, including remote and shift-based work, with accurate time tracking.

Compliance Tracking: Ensure adherence to labor laws and company policies regarding working hours and breaks.

Payroll Management

Automated Calculations: Utilize accurate attendance data to automate payroll calculations, minimizing errors.

Timely Payments: Ensure employees are paid on time, enhancing satisfaction and reducing disputes.

Cost Efficiency: Reduce administrative costs and the risk of payroll fraud through automated processes.

Detailed Reporting: Generate comprehensive reports on payroll expenses and attendance metrics for informed decision-making.

Regulatory Compliance: Maintain compliance with tax laws and payroll regulations, reducing the risk of penalties.

By addressing these challenges and leveraging the benefits, facial recognition technology can revolutionize attendance tracking, time and attendance management, and payroll processing in corporate offices, leading to more efficient and secure workplace operations.

[jcmarchi]

Starting reading the AI Snake Oil book online today

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/starting-reading-the-ai-snake-oil-book-online-today/

Starting reading the AI Snake Oil book online today

The first chapter of the AI snake oil book is now available online. It is 30 pages long and summarizes the book’s main arguments. If you start reading now, you won’t have to wait long for the rest of the book — it will be published on the 24th of September. If you haven’t pre-ordered it yet, we hope that reading the introductory chapter will convince you to get yourself a copy.

We were fortunate to receive positive early reviews by The New Yorker, Publishers’ Weekly (featured in the Top 10 science books for Fall 2024), and many other outlets. We’re hosting virtual book events (City Lights, Princeton Public Library, Princeton alumni events), and have appeared on many podcasts to talk about the book (including Machine Learning Street Talk, 20VC, Scaling Theory).

Our book is about demystifying AI, so right out of the gate we address what we think is the single most confusing thing about it: 

AI is an umbrella term for a set of loosely related technologies

Because AI is an umbrella term, we treat each type of AI differently. We have chapters on predictive AI, generative AI, as well as AI used for social media content moderation. We also have a chapter on whether AI is an existential risk. We conclude with a discussion of why AI snake oil persists and what the future might hold. By AI snake oil we mean AI applications that do not (and perhaps cannot) work. Our book is a guide to identifying AI snake oil and AI hype. We also look at AI that is harmful even if it works well — such as face recognition used for mass surveillance. 

While the book is meant for a broad audience, it does not simply rehash the arguments we have made in our papers or on this newsletter. We make scholarly contributions and we wrote the book to be suitable for adoption in courses. We will soon release exercises and class discussion questions to accompany the book.

Chapter 1: Introduction. We begin with a summary of our main arguments in the book. We discuss the definition of AI (and more importantly, why it is hard to come up with one), how AI is an umbrella term, what we mean by AI Snake Oil, and who the book is for. 

Generative AI has made huge strides in the last decade. On the other hand, predictive AI is used for predicting outcomes to make consequential decisions in hiring, banking, insurance, education, and more. While predictive AI can find broad statistical patterns in data, it is marketed as far more than that, leading to major real-world misfires. Finally, we discuss the benefits and limitations of AI for content moderation on social media.

We also tell the story of what led the two of us to write the book. The entire first chapter is now available online.

Chapter 2: How predictive AI goes wrong. Predictive AI is used to make predictions about people—will a defendant fail to show up for trial? Is a patient at high risk of negative health outcomes? Will a student drop out of college? These predictions are then used to make consequential decisions. Developers claim predictive AI is groundbreaking, but in reality it suffers from a number of shortcomings that are hard to fix. 

We have discussed the failures of predictive AI in this blog. But in the book, we go much deeper through case studies to show how predictive AI fails to live up to the promises made by its developers.

Chapter 3: Can AI predict the future? Are the shortcomings of predictive AI inherent, or can they be resolved? In this chapter, we look at why predicting the future is hard — with or without AI. While we have made consistent progress in some domains such as weather prediction, we argue that this progress cannot translate to other settings, such as individuals’ life outcomes, the success of cultural products like books and movies, or pandemics. 

Since much of our newsletter is focused on topics of current interest, this is a topic that we have never written about here. Yet, it is foundational knowledge that can help you build intuition around when we should expect predictions to be accurate.

Chapter 4: The long road to generative AI. Recent advances in generative AI can seem sudden, but they build on a series of improvements over seven decades. In this chapter, we retrace the history of computing advances that led to generative AI. While we have written a lot about current trends in generative AI, in the book, we look at its past. This is crucial for understanding what to expect in the future. 

Chapter 5: Is advanced AI an existential threat? Claims about AI wiping out humanity are common. Here, we critically evaluate claims about AI’s existential risk and find several shortcomings and fallacies in popular discussion of x-risk. We discuss approaches to defending against AI risks that improve societal resilience regardless of the threat of advanced AI.

Chapter 6: Why can’t AI fix social media? One area where AI is heavily used is content moderation on social media platforms. We discuss the current state of AI use on social media, and highlight seven reasons why improvements in AI alone are unlikely to solve platforms’ content moderation woes. We haven’t written about content moderation in this newsletter.

Chapter 7: Why do myths about AI persist? Companies, researchers, and journalists all contribute to AI hype. We discuss how myths about AI are created and how they persist. In the process, we hope to give you the tools to read AI news with the appropriate skepticism and identify attempts to sell you snake oil.

Chapter 8: Where do we go from here? While the previous chapter focuses on the supply of snake oil, in the last chapter, we look at where the demand for AI snake oil comes from. We also look at the impact of AI on the future of work, the role and limitations of regulation, and conclude with vignettes of the many possible futures ahead of us. We have the agency to determine which path we end up on, and each of us can play a role.

We hope you will find the book useful and look forward to hearing what you think. 

The New Yorker: “In AI Snake Oil, Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor urge skepticism and argue that the blanket term AI can serve as a smokescreen for underperforming technologies.”

Kirkus: “Highly useful advice for those who work with or are affected by AI—i.e., nearly everyone.”

Publishers’ Weekly: Featured in the Fall 2024 list of top science books.

Jean Gazis: “The authors admirably differentiate fact from opinion, draw from personal experience, give sensible reasons for their views (including copious references), and don’t hesitate to call for action. . . . If you’re curious about AI or deciding how to implement it, AI Snake Oil offers clear writing and level-headed thinking.”

Elizabeth Quill: “A worthwhile read whether you make policy decisions, use AI in the workplace or just spend time searching online. It’s a powerful reminder of how AI has already infiltrated our lives — and a convincing plea to take care in how we interact with it.”

We’ve been on many other podcasts that will air around the time of the book’s release, and we will keep this list updated.

The book is available to preorder internationally on Amazon.

[mygridclub]

MyGridClub offers a Face Recognition for Events MyGridClub brings the power of face recognition for events, transforming how organizers manage attendee check-ins. This state-of-the-art technology provides a quick, secure, and contactless entry process, reducing long queues and eliminating the need for physical tickets. With MyGridClub’s face recognition for events, attendees enjoy a smoother and more personalized experience, while organizers benefit from enhanced security and streamlined event operations. Whether it’s for large conferences, festivals, or corporate events, MyGridClub ensures a flawless event experience with cutting-edge face recognition technology.

[allthegeopolitics]

The US State Department under Donald Trump has been accused of instigating what amounts to a travel ban after they suspended the processing of trans Americans’ passport applications. The suspension follows an executive order signed by President Donald Trump last week, which mandated federal recognition of only two sexes: male and female. The executive order also maintained that “these sexes are not changeable”, leading to government agencies being forced to apply the policy to all government-issued identification. As such, passport applications where the applicant’s gender is different to their biological sex at birth have not been processed, raising concerns about their access to essential services.

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[fastandcarlos]

My Little Graduate : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you're all prepared to graduate with your family by your side, and an unexpected extra sneaking into the crowd

“There she is...my little graduate!” Max cheered as he watched you walk through the crowd of people, opening his arms up and inviting you straight into the room. 

You were lifted up of your feet as soon as Max’s arms wrapped around you, your hand reaching up to keep a hold of your cap that was on the top of your head. Max pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling away, studying you closely. His hand slipped into yours as he twirled you around, his eyes drawn to the wide smile on your face. 

It was everything that Max wanted to see, after watching you stress and suffer for so many months, he was finally seeing the proper you in front of him again. 

“You’ve got no idea how proud I am of you,” Max smiled, taking both of your hands into his, “you’ve worked so hard to get that moment today.” 

He was in awe of how hard you’d worked, relentlessly researching, typing, proofreading, whatever you needed to do in order to get yourself your degree that you’d dreamed of for so long. Max was hardworking himself, but nothing could compare to how hard you’d pushed yourself. 

Little did Max know the part that he had played though. The constant late night visits, dashes to the shop to help you, offers to read over what you’d written to make sure that it made sense in your sleep state.  

“Graduation suits you too,” Max complimented, taking a closer look at you. 

The slight breeze blew your gown up slightly, showing off the dress that you wore underneath. The finishing touch for Max though was the cap that you wore on top of your head, the one thing you’d talked about wanting to wear for so long, and at last it was finally yours. 

“I can’t believe I’m dating a graduate,” Max smiled, keeping his eyes firmly on you. “How does it feel to finally receive the recognition that you deserve?” 

“This is the moment I dreamt of when I sent that application in all those years ago,” you chuckled, smoothing down your gown. “There were plenty of moments too when I was sure that I wasn’t actually going to see the end of this degree.” 

There had been many conversations between you and Max when you felt like giving up. He was there every time though, reminding you of how hard you’d worked and how rewarding it would be if you saw it through to the end. 

He wasn’t sure at the time whether you truly believed him, but now as you celebrated your moment, he was relieved that you had listened and stuck it out, no matter how many times you wanted to turn around and say no. 

“I always knew you’d get here,” Max shrugged, as if it was the easiest thing in the world that you’d achieved. “There was no doubt in my mind with that incredibly smart mind of yours.” 

Your hands rested against Max’s chest, tilting your head back to look up at him. “I don’t think I’d have got to this moment without you, you’ve always been my biggest cheerleader.” 

As your eyes met Max’s, you couldn’t help but smile, reaching up and taking your cap off. You twirled it in your hands before placing it on top of Max’s head instead, taking a step back so that you could admire how well it suited him. Although your degree was yours, Max had played a huge part in it too. His smile turned up as he positioned the cap so that it was straight, allowing you to pull your phone out and take a picture of him. 

Once he had it, Max didn’t want to take it off, finding himself quite comfortable with a graduate cap on his head. He knew it was never going to be his, but he didn’t take for granted how appreciative you were of everything that he had done for you over the past couple of years. 

“You deserve to wear that for a moment,” you told him, handing it back as Max went to take it off. “It probably doesn’t compare to all those fancy trophies that you win on a podium, but that to me is probably the biggest trophy I’ll ever earn. So, I want you to hold it, like you tell me to do with yours.” 

“This is all yours,” Max protested, taking the cap and popping it back onto the top of your head. “I’m just enjoying the fact that there’s so many graduates around here today, and yet I’m dating the best one.” 

“I’m emotional enough as it is today without you getting soppy.” 

You hit hard against Max’s chest as his arms snaked back around your frame. He pressed a kiss against the top of your head, blocking out everything that was going on around you. Despite the hundreds of names that had been read as people walked across the stage, there was only one that meant anything to him. 

A hand poked against your side, dragging you out of your daydream. “What’s the plan now that you’ve got a super official degree to your name?” 

“I guess I have to go and get a job now,” you chuckled, “I can’t study and travel the world supporting you forever, as nice as it’s been for the past couple of years.” 

“You’ll still come to some races though, won’t you? Even though you’re going to be busy?” Max nervously asked you. 

It didn’t matter how career driven you were, there was no way you were going to stop going to races completely. Depending on what direction you were about to go in, you knew every race would be impossible, but if there was any chance that you could get there, then you absolutely would. 

“Wherever you go next, I’ll be supporting you,” Max assured you, “and wherever that place is, I know you’re going to go on and do absolutely amazing things too.” 

“I should probably go and collect a few more degrees to try and match all your world championships.” 

“Yours is a lot more impressive than mine,” Max grinned. 

Your eyes narrowed back at him, “millions of people get degrees, but there’s only one champion of the world, and that just so happens to be you.” 

Although you had a point, Max was still far more impressed by what you achieved then what he had. He was at the top in his field, and he knew now that the world was your oyster that you were absolutely going to rise to the top of your field too. 

“I really am proud of you,” Max told you once again, kissing against your forehead. 

“I know you are,” you giggled, “it’s taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to this moment, but I’m so happy that we’re finally here.” 

“I’m just looking forward to having you back, without the stress, the late trips to the library,” Max couldn’t help but joke, “it’s just going to be you again, with that big, beautiful smile on your face.” 

Your eyes widened as Max spoke, “are you suggesting that I’ve been stressed and stroppy over the past few months?” You challenged. 

“Love, you’ve been an absolute nightmare.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Choso just wants to be a good TA. You just want to see how many ways you can make him stutter. One thing leads to another, and now you're straddling him in your office, all red-faced and shaking while you toy with him like he's your favorite little experiment. Maybe if he put as much effort into his work as he does into holding back whimpers, he wouldn't be in this situation.

PAIRING ᯓ PhD Student!Choso x Professor fem!reader

WARNINGS ᯓ smut MDNI, sub!choso/dom!reader, emotional manipulation?, humiliation/degrading, praise kink, power dynamics, exploitation of authority, orgasm denial, edging, LOTS of teasing, you're mean to him (sorry), he's so pathetic, PWP, he's VERY nervous, you shame him, size kink, cowgirl, oral (f. receiving), you make him beg.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 7.8k

Choso heard stories about you long before he even considered applying to be your TA. He wasn’t a stranger to the rigorous demands of academia, being a PhD student studying philosophy, but your name whispered brilliance. Your name carried a mythical weight among professionals in the field and graduate students. You were untouchable, a tenured professor who commanded respect effortlessly. Your reputation was one of absolute professionalism, unyielding precision, and a razor-sharp intellect that left even the most brilliant students in awe.

Your class on Epistemology was legendary, known not only for its rigorous readings but its ability to make students question everything they knew about truth, about reality itself. No one walked out unchanged, students feared you could see through them, dissecting their arguments with a surgical kind of precision. You set high expectations, daunting, and for a student like Choso, they were a challenge he couldn’t resist.

So when the position for a TA under you opened up for the semester, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He poured over his application, carefully crafting his cover letter that highlighted his experience as a research assistant and unwavering passion for the field. He was nervous, sure, but also excited. This was the opportunity to work directly under you, to sit under your tutelage, to absorb the wisdom you offered.

He was eager to prove himself, desperate to impress you. He imagined sitting in your classroom, assisting with discussions, offering insight that could one day make him as scholarly as you, someone he both respected and admired. Most of all, he sought your approval. The thought of working alongside you, hearing you explain the nuances of Plato’s Theory of Forms or the implications of Descartes’ Meditations, it filled him with a sense of purpose.

The day he received the email confirming his position, being selected among a pool of talented graduate students, handpicked by you, he felt an overwhelming rush of pride. The prestige of being your TA was a sign of recognition here, a chance to live up to his potential, and learn to command the same respect you did.

But the reality of working under you was much harsher than he anticipated.

The first time he entered your classroom, he wasn’t only nervous because of the work, rather your presence. A quiet storm, moving around with such command making his heart race every time you stepped toward the podium. You were perfectly poised, a figure of authority donning a sleek pencil skirt and the kind of professional elegance that made everything around you pale in comparison.

Your heels would click sharply on the floor when you walked across the room, the sound echoing through the lecture hall like a warning. But it wasn’t only your appearance, it was the way you held yourself. Radiating confidence, he couldn’t help but feel shallow, the way you owned every lecture was intoxicating, and he was nothing more than a mere shadow in your presence.

It had only been a few weeks into the semester when the first real blow came.

He was sitting beside you at the front of the lecture hall, his notebook open, eyes flicking between your slides and the notes he’s desperately trying to keep up with.

It’s cute, in theory. The way he leans forward, brows furrowed as if writing it all down will somehow prove his worth.

If only he were competent.

You click to the next slide. “Of course, for any decent researcher, attention to detail is everything.” You pause for effect, eyes sweeping across the room, watching students as they try to follow.

Then your gaze flicks to Choso. He’s scribbling frantically, you can see it. The mistakes in his notes. His rushed handwriting. The misaligned bullet points.

A sharp glance, your lips curling slightly. “Some people…” you begin, words hanging in the air as you lean forward. The class doesn’t notice, but you can see the discomfort creeping into his posture, the way his shoulders tense and the sudden stillness in the air around him when his eyes meet yours. “Some people never quite get the hang of it.”

You hold eye contact for a second, long enough for him to feel the weight of the unspoken accusation settle on his shoulders.

You move on, clicking to the next slide, tone neutral. “Now, moving on…”

The rest of the lecture proceeds, but he doesn’t write a single word more. Instead opting to stare at the blank page in front of him, fully trapped in that moment and fighting the surge of embarrassment and shame that you’ve made him feel.

And you’ve seen students come and go. Good TAs, bad TAs. They all blend together in your mind. But Choso was different. He was a student that can’t look you in the eye without flushing red, and it was more than power, it was the challenge.

You’ve been in your position long enough to know how to break people, and Choso is no different. He’s like a puppy that keeps wagging its tail at you, begging to be trained, not realizing the game you proposed. It was in the way he wanted this job so badly, the way he silently pleaded for your approval, made it so easy to exploit him. His pathetic desire to make you feel proud, his eagerness to please, it feeds into everything you do.

-----

The classroom is quiet, students were hunched over their exams, it was the last test before the final. You let them work in silence, watching from the front of the room, the soft scratching of pens and the occasional sigh the only sounds that break the stillness.

Choso sits across the room, positioned at a desk near the front and keeping an eye on the students. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his brow furrowed in concentration. The way he struggles to seem composed, even when he’s the one in control of nothing, only adds to your irritation.

A student approaches your desk, a timid look on her face as she whispers to you, “Professor, I think there’s a mistake on my last assignment.”

Without bothering to glance up, you extend your hand and she places the paper in it. The moment you catch sight of Choso’s untidy scrawl in bright red ink, your lips curl into a contemptuous smile.

His work, always a mess, full of errors. It’s a constant frustration.

You don’t give him the benefit of looking at you. Instead, your eyes flick to his figure sitting across the room, he leans back in his chair, lost in his own word with no idea that you’re about to make his day much worse.

You get up from your chair slowly, hands pushing on the arm rests, holding the sheet in one hand as you cross the room. The sound of your heels clicking against the tile sharp. Click. Click. Click.

You stop by his desk, leaning down just enough that only he can hear the words you’re about to say. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge you directly, but you see his posture stiffen as you approach.

“You’re embarrassing,” you murmur softly, voice ice-cold.

His body goes rigid, a slight tremor running through him as if he’s been struck.

Your hand slides onto his shoulder, and for a moment it looks like a friendly, casual gesture. But your fingers curl slightly, nails digging into the taut muscle under his button-up, and you feel his body jump beneath your touch.

He’s a fucking wreck.

And he doesn’t know how to respond, just frozen, staring straight ahead, struggling to keep it together. The warmth of your breath spills from glossy lips right against the shell of his ear as you lean in closer, letting the tension build.

“Maybe I should start reviewing every single thing you grade,” your hand on his shoulder shifts, thumb grazing along the seam of his shirt. “Since you clearly can’t be trusted to do it properly,” you whisper.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, fear evident in the way he clenches his jaw.

You pull away slowly, letting your hand drag across him as you stand, just long enough to see him take hard blinks and keep his gaze ahead steady. You slide the assignment on his desk, the paper crinkling slightly as it lands.

“Fix it,” you command, voice sharp, leaving no room for protest.

Without waiting for him to respond, you turn on your heel and walk away, the clicking sound filling the silent room once more as you return to the front of the classroom.

Choso’s still frozen at his desk, completely in a haze under the weight of your words and touch.

As the last of the students begin filing out, tossing their exams in a stack on your desk, Choso remains behind, paper still clutched in his hand.

You’re at the front of the room, tidying notes into a binder and purposefully avoiding his gaze, knowing that he’s still there, waiting for something. You don’t look up as he approaches.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet, hesitant, almost apologetic. “Professor… I’m sorry about earlier,” he says, eyes flickering between you and the floor. “I- I know I didn’t do a good job grading. I’ll fix it, I-I promise.” His words come out in a rush.

You take your time, still sorting through papers, continuing your task as though he doesn’t exist. But his presence makes the hairs on your neck stand up with something almost predatory.

Finally, you glance up at him, long enough to see him shift on his feet, eyes darting.

“Mm,” you hum in acknowledgment, tone dismissive. “I’m sure you will.” You swipe the paper from his hand without a second look, barely sparing it any attention.

He just nods stiffly as you walk out of the classroom, knowing better than to argue, knowing better than to ask for anything more.

Later that day, your office door clicks shut, the soft echo lingering in the corners of the room. Papers are scattered across your desk, half-completed research articles, grading rubrics, a few unremarkable notes from students, all piled in chaos. A dull light from your computer screen casting an ethereal glow, the blue light illuminating your fingertips as you twirl a pen between them.

You lean back, legs crossed, heels resting against the edge of the desk as you observe the mess around you. You let your eyes drift, momentarily unfocused and the image of Choso’s face flash in your mind. He had been so eager to fit in, to prove himself… but how could he? How could someone so utterly useless ever meet your standards?

You bite your lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The memory of him earlier lingering, his hair a mess, that poorly knotted tie hanging too loosely around his neck, the fraying button-up that clearly hadn’t seen the iron this morning. Typical.

You let the pen twirl a little faster, the repetitive motion almost hypnotic. The day’s events replay, the way his eyes flickered nervously when you’d reprimanded him. The way his body had gone stiff as if trying to shrink into himself when you walked past his desk.

How pathetic.

Just being around the boy was hard to bear. His fidgeting, the way he couldn’t even look you in the eye without stumbling over his words. So desperate to get everything right, but none of it ever worked.

You glance down at a paper sitting in the corner of the pile, one of his many grading errors. The jagged red ink lines seem to jump off the page as if to mock. You slowly trace a finger along the harsh strokes, following the trail of his mistakes and his attempt at being meticulous.

You lick your lips, fingers pausing, pressing just a little harder than necessary against the sheet. It felt like you could feel the weight of his failure through the page. You weren’t crazy, right? Not when he had spent far too much time overthinking every little assignment. Not when he couldn’t even articulate the simplest concepts, as if his brain short-circuited the moment you expected him to speak.

But he tried.

Your heart beats a little faster, a strange warmth curling at the base of your stomach, the heat settling between your thighs. God, how frustrating he was. How helpless he was. But that was part of the charm, wasn’t it?

Poor Choso. He just couldn’t stop making mistakes, could he? The harder he tried, the worse it got. You glance at the door to your office. You could already imagine his reaction: the nervous twitch in his jaw, the way he’d bite his lip and avoid your eyes.

You lean forward in your chair, eyes narrowing. The thought of him, so desperate to be competent, so hungry for your approval, and yet never quite good enough, makes your stomach flutter with anticipation.

No. He wasn’t good enough. Not by a long shot.

-----

The day of the discussion arrives, two weeks before the final. You’ve decided it’s time for Choso to take the reigns, to lead the class for once. You’re perched in his desk, legs crossed just so as he stands at the front, slightly off-center, hands moving in broad gestures as he discusses a key theory.

The topic is dense, abstract, and the kind of thing that demands complete precision. You’re leaning forward, attention fully on him. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses before launching into his explanation, voice tight.

“Right,” he begins, “Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, it’s important to understand that the synthetic a priori judgments are, uh, foundational in the way we… conceptualize knowledge.”

He gestures expressively with his hands. He knows the material, there’s no doubt about that. But you can tell he’s more worried about the eyes on him, about what you might think of him.

He continues, voice more certain now, “So, these judgments are necessary for, um, for experience, not determined by it, but-” He stops himself mid-sentence. “Wait, no. What I meant was-”

He shifts uncomfortably, the tension clear as he’s aware of his misstep.

You lean forward in his desk, eyes fixed on him. His gaze flickers to you briefly, just a quick glance. Your posture is relaxed, calm, while he’s standing in front of the lecture hall, visibly trying to regain his composure.

He shifts again on his feet, a small nervous smile pulling at his lips. “Right, so… Kant was saying that all knowledge has a, uh… a conceptual framework that is separate from experience. But the synthetic a priori judgments are, are what make those structures possible,” he finished, giving a slight nod as if to affirm that he’s back on track.

It’s a minor slip, and you know he knows the answer. Still, you make a mental note of his mistake. He wasn’t completely wrong, but there was a gap in his explanation, and you could tell he knew it.

The class remains silent, and it’s clear he’s still on edge. He huffs out a slight exhale, relief washing over him that he’s made it through.

“Choso,” you say, making it clear you caught his mistake. He immediately looks up.

“I think you meant to say something else there,” you continue, with a cool, knowing smile. “I’m sure you know the right answer.”

His eyes flick to the floor, fingers fidgeting with the end of his tie, but he nods quickly. “I… yes, sorry. I meant to say that Kant believed synthetic a priori judgments are, um, necessary for the possibility of experience itself-”

You wave a hand dismissively, cutting him off with a subtle smirk. “No need to over-explain,” you murmur. “It’s just that it’s important to be precise. Every detail matters, right?”

You slide out of the desk when class ends, Choso still standing at the front, moving his weight from one foot to the other. Your heels clack softly against the floor as you make your way toward him, eyes looking at him with mild amusement.

As you pass, you tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear with the slightest touch. It’s a soft gesture, a sweet one. His breath hitches, stiffening under the sudden contact.

“Meet me in my office,” you say, voice low, almost languid. “I’ve got a meeting, but it’ll be quick.”

You continue walking toward the door, letting the words hang before you pause, turning to look back at him. Your eyes sharp, voice carrying the weight of authority as you speak, “and don’t touch anything.”

Your tone is almost teasing, like you’re reprimanding a child, all gentle but firm. He’s left standing there, flustered, face heating up as his fingers twitch at his sides as if the small command has him wondering what exactly you meant. You don’t wait for him to respond, just leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality.

And as you walk down the corridor, you can’t help but laugh knowing he’ll be in your office, waiting.

Your office is a fortress of calm, now meticulously organized in a way that feels clinical. The large wood desk sits center, piled high with stacks of paper and worn leather-bound books. The walls are lined with shelves, some overflowing with volumes on theory and philosophy, others scattered with journals and scribbled notes from various conferences. It’s a space of sharp precision, where everything in it felt in place, except for him.

He sits across from your desk, back stiff and slumped slightly as his fingers curl lightly into his pants. His heart pounds like a drumbeat that won’t slow, the clock on the wall only ticking away in rhythm to his restless breaths. It’s as if time stretches and warps, turning each minute into an agonizing eternity. There’s nothing he can do but wait, gaze flickering over the papers on your desk, never daring to focus for too long on anything specific. Your absence only amplifying his discomfort, pulling him deeper into a thick haze of anticipation.

Finally, the door creaks open.

You walk in without a word, the sound of your heels clicking as you slip into your chair. The sound of your computer turning on and whirring to life filling the silence, fingers typing away with efficiency. He’s left there, waiting. Staring at you, helplessly, his body rigid as thoughts churn in a fog of confusion.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty.

And then, he shifts in his seat. The air hums with a quiet electricity, his throat tight with words he can’t find. He clears it, his eyes darting toward you in the hopes you’ll acknowledge him.

You don’t.

You look up slowly, gaze sharp but unhurried. “Something wrong?”

He stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “No, professor.”

You smile like a cat that’s caught its prey, but isn’t ready to devour it quite yet. “Then sit there and be quiet.”

And he does. Every breath of his a loud intrusion in the stillness, the clicking of your keyboard mocking him, rhythmic hands moving quickly over keys as his eyes wander over every detail of you. He can’t stop looking, the way your fingers move, posture effortlessly posed, the sharp curve of your legs beneath your desk, the subtle shift of your bare toes from under the heel. It feels like he’s drowning in every small, mundane action of yours, all of them a torment.

The clock ticks on, minutes stretching into infinity.

And then, you stretch your arms languidly, bones cracking as you lean back in your chair. You look at the clock across the room. “Huh. It’s late,” you muse, voice a soft note of feigned innocence. You tilt your head toward him, a delicate smile across your lips as you fix your eyes on him. “Why are you still here, Choso?”

His throat closes around the words, heart pounding in his heard. “You-” His voice faltering, mouth dry. “You wanted to meet here after lecture.”

You blink slowly, almost a mocking look crossing your face. “Oh. Did I?”

Just like that the tension breaks, leaving him searing in his own skin. He burns under the weight of your eyes, under your words that feel like an open flame. His thoughts scatter, all wild and frantic, and all he can do is stare at the way you tilt your head, lashes fluttering lazily.

You wave a hand, dismissive. “Go home.”

He watches as you turn back to the papers on your desk, as if this entire charade was just nothing to you. But your voice cuts through again, sharper. “And by the way,” you add with a smirk,” You messed up today in lecture.”

He freezes, words hitting like a punch to the gut. He scrambles for something to say, but it’s too late. His body is already moving, pushing his glasses up while grabbing his backpack with shaky hands. He stumbles as he tries to gather his things, body betraying him.

The bulge in his pants painfully hard, his frustration a deep, burning ache that follows him out the door. It’s too much. But it’s exactly what you wanted. And somehow that thought alone sends a flush of heat rushing through him as he fumbles for the door handle.

-----

The week before finals always felt like a battlefield, except instead of swords and bloodshed, it was emails marked urgent, frantic office hours, and the never-ending wail of students who suddenly cared about their grades.

Your days were a blur of coffee cups, research deadlines, and an endless cycle of meetings that ran into each other like waves against the shore. If there weren’t department heads breathing down your neck about conference presentations, it was undergraduates pleading for regrades, extensions, just a few extra points, professor, please-

God, it sucked.

But this was the job, this was what you lived for.

You liked it, this chaos, the caffeine-fueled debates, the way a classroom came alive when you unraveled theories of this theory or that philosopher, how you could see the gears turning in the minds of students who actually gave a damn. It made the exhaustion worth it, most of the time.

Right now, though, you were at your wit’s end. Sleep was a luxury, the only think keeping you from collapsing was the pulse of adrenaline that came with the end of the semester. The high stakes, high stress, high caffeine cocktail that academia thrived on. Your office drowned in papers, drafts of research articles mixed in with barely legible student essays. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed, blending with the dull roar of your headache.

It was all-consuming, and yet, beneath it all, buried under the exhaustion and the sheer weight of your workload, there was something else.

A distraction in the form a certain TA, whose name you hadn’t thought about in at least four hours.

Impressive restraint, really. Because when you weren’t fixing his mistakes, you were thinking about him.

The way his broad shoulders stretched the seam of his blazer, the nervous set of his jaw when he concentrated. The perpetual mess of his hair, like he was always running his fingers through it in frustration, tugging at the strands when he thought no one was watching. Oh, his hands. Strong, broad, fingers long and thick, the hands of a man, and yet still so pitiful when they trembled under your scrutiny.

You wanted to take his glasses off, throw them to the ground, crush them under your heel until he looked at you helplessly. Confess, you’d murmur, like a priest demanding repentance. Tell me everything you’ve done wrong.

You weren’t sure when these thoughts started. When he became the subject of your intrigue, your amusement, your cruelty. But the wet stain in your underwear at the end of every lecture didn’t lie.

You giggled at him sometimes. The way he hunched over a student’s desk, shoulders curling inward as he helped, fingers gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him steady. The way his ears flushed red when you stood too close, the sharp intake of breath when you brushed past him. Oh, how miserable he must be.

Which is why with a few effortless clicks, you composed an email.

Subject: Final Evaluation

“Come see me in my office. Let’s talk.”

No lecture today, no reason for him to see you at all. But now he would.

As you adjusted the pile of papers at your desk, a yellow sticky note peeked from the bottom of the stack, its edges curling. Graded Unit 12 Assignments – Choso. His handwriting as broody as him, all blocky, impatient strokes, like the pen itself was an afterthought. And beneath it, a thick folder of student papers.

You flipped it open, eyes already rolling before you finished the first sentence.

A student had argued that truth is always socially constructed, because human concepts shape the way we understand the world. And Choso had marked it wrong.

No explanation or red-inked feedback. But you didn’t need one.

Of course, you knew why.

It was as if his mind was wired to yours, a thread of understanding between you that no one acknowledged, but always existed. He’d thought the student ignored mathematical truths, principles that existed independent of human perception. Typical.

With a sigh, you uncapped your pen, blue slicing through his red.

A point restored, a mistake undone.

Oh, Choso. Always thinking too hard, always too critical, grading as if he was confronting the ghosts of his own academic failures. Because he knew if he marked something right that was supposed to be wrong, you would lose your mind.

“These are undergrads, for god’s sake,” you muttered, flipping to the next.

This was what exhausted you the most. The fixing, the correcting. The having to redo the work he should have done properly the first time.

But then again, you liked having reasons to reprimand him.

A sharp knock at your office door. Right on time.

You smooth down your skirt before opening it, tilting your head at the sight of him, standing so stiffly in the hallway, nervous in the same way that makes your stomach twist in satisfaction.

“Choso.” Your voice even, expectant. “Sit.”

He hesitated for half a second before obeying, lowering himself into the chair facing your desk. His hands clasp together tightly, resting on his thighs like he’s trying to keep them still. You step back, leaning against your desk with your ankles crossed, fingers interlaced.

“I was just fixing your mistakes,” you say, gesturing to the papers behind you. “Right now.”

His lip twitches, eyes dropping to the floor in quiet shame.

“So, why did I call you in?”

His breath hitches, lifting his eyes to you, lips parting. “U-um, for my, uh… final evaluation?”

You blink slowly, nodding. “That’s right.” A pause. Then, softly, “What do you think, Choso? Think you deserve a good review?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at you, big chestnut brown eyes flickering with uncertainty, high cheekbones subtly dusted pink. You could let him flounder longer, let him sweat, but you have other plans.

You push off the desk, stepping between his thighs. He tenses, back pressing into the chair, but doesn’t pull away. Good boy.

You look down at him, at the way his too-big tie, probably borrowed from someone older, sits slightly askew against the crisp white of his button-down. His blazer is fitted, stretched over broad shoulders, but it’s the dress pants that hold your attention. The way they cling to his thick, muscular thighs, the way they crease under your inspection. Fuck, you want to ruin him.

“I’m sure you remember your midterm review.”

His blush deepens, spreading down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.

You bend at the waist, placing your hands on his shoulders, meeting him at eye level. “How was your midterm review?”

He shifts, fingers twitching where they rest on his thighs. He’s trying so hard not to move.

“Uh… it wasn’t really that good.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth curling up as you slide into his lap, legs thrown over his and crossing. His breath stutters as your hand settles over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone through the fabric.

“That’s right.” You trail a single finger along his jawline, slow, deliberate. “So I’m sure you know how important your final evaluation is.”

Your touch moves, brushing the outside of his ear, featherlight. He shudders, whole body trembling beneath you, hands still clenched into fists at his sides like he’s afraid to touch you without permission.

“You need it to stay on track, don’t you?” Your thumb drags over the heat of his cheekbone, the pink burning under your touch.

His lips part, breath quick and uneven. “Y-yeah,” he stammers. “I-I need a good review.”

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding as your fingers ghost over his arm, tracing the tense muscle. “Without it… your future in academia…”

You reach up, slipping the glasses from his nose, placing them neatly on the corner of your desk. He blinks at you, all wide-eyed and exposed. So easy to break.

“...It’s all at risk.”

Your lips hover over his, barely brushing, just close enough to feel his shuddering exhale against your skin. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare.

“But if you want a good evaluation…” Your fingers skim his bicep, trailing absentminded shapes over his taut muscles. “You should earn it.”

Your breath ghosts over his throat, and he reflexively throws his head back, exposing more of his skin to you, more than he probably realizes. You let your lips part against his neck, the heat of your breath making him violently shiver. His resolve is crumbling, cracking, falling apart under the weight of your touch.

“W-what do you mean by that?” His voice is low, husky, hesitant, laced with something desperate.

You smile against his pulse, your tongue darting out to trace a slow, wet stripe up the side of his throat. His whole body jerks at the sensation, a broken sound catching in his throat before he can swallow it down.

Then his hands move, one sliding to your lower back, the other gripping your bare thigh, fingers digging into the flesh where your skirt has ridden up.

You pull back, just a little, tilting your head as you watch him.

“Choso.” Your voice dripping with amusement, with pleasure at how easy this is.

“Did you just whimper for me?”

His breath gets caught. He swallows hard. He tries to shake his head, tries to deny it, but it’s useless when you can feel him beneath you, his cock hard, straining against the fabric of his pants, twitching every time you shift your weight.

“N-No, I-” He gasps when you move again, this time straddling him fully, your legs draped over his.

“You did,” you coo, brushing a hand over his flushed cheek. “Oh, Cho… you’re already so desperate.”

His lips part, eyes glassy, unfocused. His thighs are trembling, fingers tightening their grip like he’s afraid you’ll leave him like this.

“Please,” he rasps, deep voice barely above a whisper.

You bury your head in his neck, hands trailing lower and lower down his abdomen. His scent. It’s so uniquely him, earthy, cedar, almost like a new book waiting to be cracked open, fresh off the printing press, waiting for you to read from cover to cover.

Your hands meet his tented bulge, caressing him over his pants as he whines so openly, losing his restraint completely, looking at you with shiny eyes.

“Why did I have to regrade those assignments?” You ask, deftly unzipping his pants, unbuttoning and yanking them down. His tip was gleaming under fluorescent lights, already so much precum that it was almost pathetic.

“B-Because I- ahh- I…” His voice breaks on a gasp when you use your thumb to softly rub his dribbling precum around, coating his tip entirely, all shiny and glistening under the soft touch of your finger.

He was so big, large veins running up and down his length, pink tip silently begging for attention as you withdraw.

“Go on,” you say while pushing your body further up on his lap, his erect cock sandwiched between both of your bodies as you lightly trail your nails up and down his neck, sending goosebumps to prickle his entire body.

“I- I was too rigid with my grading.”

“Mmm, close. But you didn’t just grade too harshly, did you? You graded like you were punishing yourself.” You slowly lick his bottom lip, taking it in your mouth and sucking it like a piece of candy. You can feel him twitch, his hands gripping your hips over your skirt, fingers curling in.

“Poor thing.” Your fingers trail over his throat again, pressing lightly at his pulse point. “Always so hard on yourself…” bringing your lips to his, you give a sloppy, open-mouth kiss, tongue dancing across his lips. “Maybe I should be hard on you too.”

“Look at this,” you loosen his tie, hand ghosting over his shoulders as you slip it free.

He was gasping for air, the sensation of his cock being pressed so tightly between you, your touch on him so light it felt like fire, the burn lingering.

You take him in with your eyes, face flushed with heat, ears burning a bright red, the way his skin flushes lower down his neck. He looked like a man caught in a storm of shame and arousal, each breath feeling like it might be his last. His lips were slightly parted, wet with your spit, body shifting in his seat like you wouldn’t notice.

So you start unbuttoning his top, tortuously slow, revealing more of his blushed chest each time you snap a button undone, his breaths bated from your languid pace, taking your sweet time as you only bat your lashes and look at him sweetly.

You run a slow, deliberate finger down the line of his chest, grazing over his hard muscles as if inspecting him.

“You’ve got all this muscle,” you murmur, low and sharp. “But it’s all for show, isn’t it? Strength that doesn’t actually count for much when you’re this weak.” Your finger glides over his abs, twirling around his happy trail before you stroke back up, flickering over his hardened nipple and making him flinch as you lean in.

“All this strength and yet, not a fucking ounce of control.”

You cross your arms, gripping the hem of your top before tearing it off your head and throwing it aside. You were wearing a lacy red bra, smiling as his eyes stuck to your chest like glue, mouth agape as his hands twitch at your sides.

You bring him into another kiss, hands linking behind his neck and ravishing him with your mouth. Already intoxicated with his taste, how his tongue glides along yours, the way his hands gripped tighter like he needed you closer.

Sometime between shared breaths and combined moans, you unclasp your bra, pert nipples against his bare chest that made him shiver like he was cold.

You took the blazer off his shoulders, slipping your arms through and letting it envelope your frame. He was so much bigger than you, his blazer swallowing you whole as you poked your bare breasts through it. You put on his tie, picking it up and tying it around your neck slowly, as if to teach him.

“This is how it’s supposed to look.”

His body was sweating, abs clinging to the moisture as they flexed every time you moved.

“Like what you see?” You ask, hands moving to grip your breasts, letting the tissue pillow between your fingers.

His breath catches the second you ask, and he freezes, trying to hold onto any shred of control. His eyes flicker from your face to where the tie rests between your breasts, the blazer parted enough for him to see your bare figure. The heat rises in his cheeks, spreading across his chest as he fights the surge of shame and desire that hits him all at once.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first. His pulse is racing, mind a storm of confusion and frustration.

“I… I-” he stammers, chest tightening.

There’s a brief pause before he manages to speak again, gruff voice barely above a whisper. “Y-Yes… I do.” He’s not sure if he’s admitting it out of desire or fear, gaze locked on you as you so playfully toy with yourself in front of him.

You step off his lap, heels clacking against the ground as you kick them off. You hook your thumbs under your skirt, slowly bending to peel it down your body, the fabric pooling at your feet.

“Cho, I���m so needy for you,” you’re peeling off your dampened panties, the center adorned with a wet spot clinging to you as you drag them down your legs. You step out of them, handing them over to him.

“Take them,” you command softly, voice laced with dark amusement.

His hand trembles as he hesitates, still stuck in the thought of whether or not this was real. He looks at your bare body before him, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide in disbelief. But the temptation is too much to resist. He takes them from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment.

“Y-You want me to…?” His voice cracks, words coming out quietly, he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do this, caught between the weight of his desire and fear.

You walk in closer to him, his cock still dripping globules of precum at the tip, so much that it drips down his shaft steady, falling to his base before beading more.

“Yes,” you murmur, legs standing over his and lowering yourself in his lap again. “I want you to hold onto them. Keep them. Remember this moment.”

He can’t stop the full-body shiver running through him, fingers curling around the damp fabric as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can,” he admits, voice strained.

You lean in, shifting your weight on his lap so your lips brush his ear with a whisper.

“You can. You will. Hold them and think about how you got here.”

His eyes flicker, tightening his grip around the fabric, voice cracking as he whispers, “I- I want to, but-”

You lean back meeting his face again, smiling coldly, cutting him off.

“Just take it.”

He nods shakily, body taut with tension. He looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Please,” he whispers, almost broken. “I wait any longer.”

Your lips curve into a devilish smile, and you reach down to grip the base of his cock, a raspy groan leaving his lips from the contact. You lift your hips, sliding his tip between your slick folds, a repetitive back-and-forth motion that already has him furrowing his brows, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open like he’s in a state of pure ecstasy.

You let his tip catch on your entrance, just sitting there not letting him enter you. He was using any ounce of control he could find not to rut his hips into you, not to bottom out in half a second. You grip his chin with your other hand, forcing his glassy, desperate eyes to meet yours.

“Tell me, Cho.”

His breath is ragged, chest moving unevenly, body tense like a bowstring about to snap.

“What do you think about when you thrust into your hand at night?”

He whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, thighs tensing beneath you when you barely push his tip inside.

“N-No-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your nails dig into his jaw, his pulse fluttering wildly beneath your touch. “You think I don’t know? You can’t even look me in the eye without blushing.”

His face is burning, hands that grip your sides trembling.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” you murmur, lifting your body so he didn’t get the pleasure of feeling your warmth wrapped around his engorged tip. “So fucking weak.”

He sucks in a breath, eyes pricking with tears, barely able to breathe.

“Tell me, Cho. Do you hump your pillow and pretend it’s me?”

He whines, hips jerking up helplessly, shame twisting his expression.

“I- I-”

“Or do you get on your knees and fuck your fist, pretending you’re on your knees for me?”

His body trembles, cock twitching wildly in your firm hold, certain that he’s going insane.

“S-Sometimes,” he gasps out, eyes drooping.

“Fucking filthy,” you sneer, lowering your hips and sinking down on him until he’s hitting your cervix. The picture of it is so lewd, fucking your TA wearing his tie and blazer, your panties still in his hands as they tremble.

Your body presses against him, curses spilling from his mouth as he just sits, unable to do anything, even move, as you’re stuffed completely.

You begin a slow pace, each thrust a challenge for him to endure. His face is flushed with frustration, head thrown back letting groans that sound like whimpers escape his throat.

“Look at you, Cho,” you laugh, voice dripping in disdain. “You can barely handle me, can you?”

He struggles to answer, words broken as he freely grunts into the air of your office, your arousal coating his length with each sluggish drive of your hips.

“Please… don’t… stop,” he begs, hands moving to snake under his blazer you wore, wrapping around your bare back.

“I’m not stopping,” you reply, voice low and cruel. “But you’ll wait for me, do whatever I say… or you don’t get to cum at all.”

You quicken your pace, beads of sweat forming at your hairline as you ride him, hands resting on his shoulders, breasts moving in tandem with your hips, god he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut and fight every instinct to release deep inside you.

“Mmm, you’re making me feel so full.”

You moan softly, arching your back as you press against him, making sure he feels every tight inch around him.

“You’re so big, filling me up completely.”

You tease him with a smile, fingers digging into his shoulders as your lips ghost his, feeling his bated breath on your sleek lips.

“I… I- fuck-”

His hands grip your sides tightly, whole body shaking from the effort of holding back. Hearing your velvety sighs, arching your back so perfectly in a way that pushes him deeper, your sticky walls clinging to him with each roll of your hips.

You’re whining into his mouth, pace neither fast nor slow as you let it drag out, his precum and your arousal dripping out of you, wetting his tight balls and staining the seat below him.

“Mm, you can’t cum inside, Cho,” your breath hot against his ear, he was panting, body thrumming with need, face red as his breathing grows more erratic.

“Please- fuck- please, I’ve been good,” his hands grip your hips as if he’s trying to get closer, pupils dilated, hips bucking just slightly in desperation.

He’s on the brink, and you know it. You lift your hips off of him, a trail of arousal clinging to his tip, the loud squelch of your pussy at the loss.

“I wanna watch you do it,” you smile, sitting on his lap and hands resting on his flexed forearms, unclasping his grasp on your sides.

He didn’t care about the embarrassment, the shame, the humiliation of getting off in front of you, deftly pumping his cock until he releases within seconds, low groans leaving his lips, toes curling, eyes hitting the back of his skull. It hits your stomach and his, dripping down as he spurts and spurts, milking himself dry and then some, freely panting into the air, mouth hanging open.

You smile sweetly at him, not giving him the chance to come down from his high. A smile that if anyone else saw, would think you two were just a loving couple. “Now you can show me how thankful you are for this opportunity.”

“I- I don’t-”

You lift off him completely, moving back until your knees hit your desk. You sit on it, laying down, the sweat from your back wetting the papers beneath as you spread your legs for him.

“You’ll show me how grateful you are.”

He just looks at you, all bare and spread for him, his cock hardening again at the sight alone. As stupid as you might think of him, he understands the game now. He gets up, promptly kneeling, adjusting your legs so your feet rest on his shoulders, and begins lapping at you like he fucking hates you.

It’s filthy, lewd, and oh so skilled. He uses the flat of his tongue to drag a long lick up your soaked folds, your back arching off the desk, honeyed moans spilling from your lips. And he’s moaning against you in return, sending vibrations up your spine in a way that makes your brain feel numb.

The way he worked his mouth on you, open mouth kisses as if he was making out with your cunt, swallowing pools of your arousal, fuck. It was the kind of thing where six years of graduate school paled in comparison.

“Mmh- Cho,” you whine out, hands moving to grip his oiled scalp, pulling closer to you as he brought you closer to climax.

Then he inserted two fingers, pumping in a way that felt so affectionate, thrusting in a way that felt he was worshiping you, his tongue tracing quick circles on your clit, fingers pressing against your ridged g-spot and-

Fuck, you came. And it was full of lust, of hunger, your walls gripping his digits like your life depended on it, your hands steadying his head and pulling his hair.

And he didn’t stop, not until you had to physically push him off your swollen, sleek lower lips.

You gently guide him to sit up, bringing your legs to wrap around his torso as you link your hands behind his neck. His lips are wet with your arousal, this view of him so fucked-out, so soft as sweat dampens his face, blush still spread to his neck, crossing his collarbones. You just wanted to hold him.

So you did.

“You did good,” you murmur, praise laced with satisfaction. “Better than I expected, actually.”

He shifts slightly, your fingers trace lightly down his neck. “I guess I’ll write you a good review.”

You lift from his chest, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging him in for another kiss, your lips lingering for a moment before pulling away.

“But you’ve still got work to do.”

[growth-opportunities]

"If you think about it, it was actually very feminist of me to get huge tits," her argument began.

"If you think about it, it was actually very feminist of me to get huge tits." Judging by the look on Faye's face, this was surely flawless logic.

Terry disagreed. "Faye, what are you-"

"After all, isn't feminism about a woman choosing what she wants to do with her life? Whether she wants to be a mother or a career woman or anything else she chooses?"

Shutting her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose did little to slow Terry's growing headache. "Seriously, Faye, that's not-"

"It's only in the last fifty or so years that banks were prohibited from taking a woman's marital status into consideration when considering credit applications! So, if I want to put $10,000 of saline on my credit card, really that's a celebration of-"

"Jesus fucking christ, Faye! Will you shut up for one goddamn second?"

Terry's outburst stunned Faye, blinking up at her friend. "Oh, uh, of course. What were you saying?"

"I was trying to say that, honestly, no one gives a shit about your huge fucking tits!"

"...Really?"

"God, no! Get yourself a butt to match or lips that take up half your face! Dye your hair platinum blonde and wear nothing but pink! I do not give a single flying fuck!"

As much as she could in spite of the Botox, Faye furrowed her brow. "...Wait, if you don't care about... Then why did you-?"

"I don't care about your saline stuffed balloontits, Faye. Really I don't. What I do care about is my girlfriend's cock buried between them!"

Recognition flashed across Faye's face. "Oh! Oh, I see..." Thoughts rushed in on Faye, clouding over her mind. Her eyes shifted down to the ground and Terry could almost hear the gears turning as well as the ringing of a little bell when Faye finally circled around a thought.

"I've got it! Question: do you own a strap? ...Terry? Terry, where are you going? According to feminism- Terry!"

[darkroom-fanzine]

[Applications officially open for Darkroom: an ISAT Fanzine!]

[ID: a black and white banner gif showing Siffrin from In Stars And Time as he wanders through the third floor of the House. He is posed in the center of the image, faced to his left (viewer's right) as if moving in that direction. Behind him are four trailing repetitions of his image, each one losing opacity as they get further away, with a final fifth one having its values inverted, appearing instead as Mal Du Pays. Floating around them are six polaroid photographs, the first covering up the right half of Siffrin's face, showing instead a values inversion of it within its borders, their expression blank. Beyond that in order from closest to Siffrin to farthest away, the polaroids show Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, Bonnie, and one that is indistinguishable, all members of the party with their faces distorted out, while the last one is distorted beyond a potential for recognition. On the other side of Siffrin, to his left, is a flash-like burst evocative of a camera flash or a star (much like Loop's head), partially hidden over by Siffrin's shadow. Around the brick walls in the background and partially growing over the bottom left of the foreground can be seen the King's hair, and in the bottom right is text reading: "Darkroom | an ISAT Fanzine". The entire thing has been animated to look as if the lines around Siffrin, their shadows, and all the distortions over the polaroids are boiling, while light shines off from around the flash/star. End ID.]

[It's time, stardust! It's time!!! Are you ready? Are you super ready?? Are you super duper ready???]

The application form for Darkroom: an ISAT Fanzine is officially open! This form will be available until March 22nd, giving you plenty of time but not TOO MUCH time to sign up, so do not delay for too long!!!

APPLICATION FORM HERE.

[I'll be waiting for you under the Favor Tree when you arrive, stardust! Let's hang out soon, alriiight~? ✨]

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - March 18

1. FDA to Finally Outlaw Soda Ingredient Prohibited Around The World

An ingredient once commonly used in citrus-flavored sodas to keep the tangy taste mixed thoroughly through the beverage could finally be banned for good across the US. BVO, or brominated vegetable oil, is already banned in many countries, including India, Japan, and nations of the European Union, and was outlawed in the state of California in October 2022.

2. AI makes breakthrough discovery in battle to cure prostate cancer

Scientists have used AI to reveal a new form of aggressive prostate cancer which could revolutionise how the disease is diagnosed and treated.

A Cancer Research UK-funded study found prostate cancer, which affects one in eight men in their lifetime, includes two subtypes. It is hoped the findings could save thousands of lives in future and revolutionise how the cancer is diagnosed and treated.

3. “Inverse vaccine” shows potential to treat multiple sclerosis and other autoimmune diseases

A new type of vaccine developed by researchers at the University of Chicago’s Pritzker School of Molecular Engineering (PME) has shown in the lab setting that it can completely reverse autoimmune diseases like multiple sclerosis and type 1 diabetes — all without shutting down the rest of the immune system.

4. Paris 2024 Olympics makes history with unprecedented full gender parity

In a historic move, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has distributed equal quotas for female and male athletes for the upcoming Olympic Games in Paris 2024. It is the first time The Olympics will have full gender parity and is a significant milestone in the pursuit of equal representation and opportunities for women in sports.

Biased media coverage lead girls and boys to abandon sports.

5. Restored coral reefs can grow as fast as healthy reefs in just 4 years, new research shows

Planting new coral in degraded reefs can lead to rapid recovery – with restored reefs growing as fast as healthy reefs after just four years. Researchers studied these reefs to assess whether coral restoration can bring back the important ecosystem functions of a healthy reef.

“The speed of recovery we saw is incredible,” said lead author Dr Ines Lange, from the University of Exeter.

6. EU regulators pass the planet's first sweeping AI regulations

The EU is banning practices that it believes will threaten citizens' rights. "Biometric categorization systems based on sensitive characteristics" will be outlawed, as will the "untargeted scraping" of images of faces from CCTV footage and the web to create facial recognition databases.

Other applications that will be banned include social scoring; emotion recognition in schools and workplaces; and "AI that manipulates human behavior or exploits people’s vulnerabilities."

7. Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022.

The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

---

That's it for this week :)

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Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[kleopatra45]

Asteroid Juno (3)

Asteroid Juno in astrology represents themes of commitment, partnership, and the balance of power within relationships. When Juno is placed in different houses in a birth chart, it influences how these themes manifest in various areas of life.

Juno in the Houses

Juno in the 1st House This placement suggests that relationships are a significant part of your identity and self-expression. You may strongly identify with being in a partnership, and your personal goals could be intertwined with your relationships. Juno in the 2nd House Juno here emphasizes themes of commitment and partnership in the context of material security and values. You may seek stability and security in your partnerships, and financial matters could be closely tied to your relationships. Juno in the 3rd House Communication and intellectual compatibility are highlighted with Juno in the 3rd house. You may value mental rapport and shared interests in your relationships, and partnerships may involve a lot of talking and exchanging ideas. Juno in the 4th House Family and domestic life play a significant role in your partnerships with Juno in the 4th house. There could be a strong emphasis on creating a stable and nurturing home environment together with your partner. Juno in the 5th House Romance, creativity, and children (if applicable) are emphasized in your partnerships. You may seek a partner who shares your hobbies and interests, and relationships may involve a lot of fun, playfulness, and creativity. Juno in the 6th House Service, routines, and health may be important themes in your partnerships. You may find fulfillment in partnerships where you can work together towards common goals, and there may be a focus on maintaining health and well-being together. Juno in the 7th House This is the natural house of partnerships, so Juno here is very strong. You likely place a lot of importance on committed relationships, and your personal growth may be closely tied to your experiences with others. Juno in the 8th House Intimacy, shared resources, and transformation are key themes in your partnerships with Juno in the 8th house. You may seek deep emotional and psychological connections, and your partnerships may involve facing and overcoming challenges together. Juno in the 9th House Philosophy, beliefs, and higher learning may play a significant role in your partnerships. You may seek a partner who shares your worldview or who can expand your horizons through shared experiences and adventures. Juno in the 10th House Career, public image, and ambition are important in your partnerships with Juno in the 10th house. You may seek a partner who supports your professional goals or who shares your ambition for success and recognition. Juno in the 11th House Friendships, social causes, and group activities are emphasized in your partnerships. You may seek a partner who is also your friend and who shares your ideals and aspirations for the future. Juno in the 12th House Spirituality, hidden strengths, and unconscious patterns may be important in your partnerships. You may seek a deep spiritual or karmic connection with your partner, and your relationships may involve healing and spiritual growth.

Juno in the Signs

Aries: Juno in Aries indicates a desire for independence within a relationship. There is a need for a partner who respects one's autonomy and is supportive of personal initiatives. Taurus: Juno in Taurus seeks stability and security in a partnership. This placement values loyalty, sensuality, and material comfort within relationships. Gemini: Juno in Gemini values intellectual stimulation and communication in relationships. A partner who can engage in lively conversations and share diverse interests is ideal. Cancer: Juno in Cancer desires emotional security and nurturing in a relationship. There is a strong focus on family, home, and emotional bonding. Leo: Juno in Leo seeks admiration and passion in relationships. This placement values a partner who is expressive, affectionate, and appreciates one's creative self-expression. Virgo: Juno in Virgo values practicality and service in a partnership. There is a desire for a partner who is detail-oriented, reliable, and supportive in everyday life. Libra: Juno in Libra seeks balance, harmony, and equality in relationships. This placement values fairness, mutual respect, and shared decision-making. Scorpio: Juno in Scorpio desires deep emotional and sexual intimacy in a relationship. There is a need for a partner who can handle intensity and is committed to transformative experiences. Sagittarius: Juno in Sagittarius values freedom and adventure within a relationship. A partner who is open-minded, adventurous, and shares a love for exploration is ideal. Capricorn: Juno in Capricorn seeks a partnership that is goal-oriented and provides a sense of stability and achievement. This placement values a partner who is ambitious, responsible, and supportive of one's career. Aquarius: Juno in Aquarius desires a relationship that is unconventional and based on mutual respect for individuality. A partner who shares progressive values and encourages personal freedom is ideal. Pisces: Juno in Pisces seeks a spiritual and compassionate connection in relationships. There is a need for a partner who is empathetic, understanding, and supportive of one's dreams.

Juno in Aspects

Conjunctions: A conjunction of Juno with another planet intensifies the influence of that planet on one's approach to relationships and partnerships. For example, Juno conjunct Venus emphasizes love and beauty in relationships, while Juno conjunct Mars highlights passion and drive. Sextiles and Trines: These harmonious aspects indicate ease and support in integrating the energies of Juno and the other planet involved. For example, Juno sextile Mercury suggests smooth communication in relationships, while Juno trine Jupiter indicates growth and expansion through partnerships. Squares and Oppositions: These challenging aspects can indicate tension or conflict that needs to be addressed in relationships. For example, Juno square Saturn might indicate issues with commitment or responsibility, while Juno opposition Uranus could highlight a need to balance independence with partnership.

©️kleopatra45

[babyjinsu]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ have you seen my daughter? ꒱ ˎˊ˗

what is a mother to do—when her daughter has gone missing?

any riize member x fem!reader || 1.5k

౨ৎ missing person, kidnapping implied, financial issue mentioned

“excuse me—have you seen my daughter?!” 

your mother stops and tugs at a boy’s sleeve, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric as she’s afraid that he might disregard her like the others—thinking she’s crazy, with her messed up hair, tired face, and… raggedy old-fashioned outfit.

he startles, blinking down at her, and for a moment, she thinks he might ignore her like the rest. instead, he removes his earbuds. 

the city is like that—indifferent, moving at a pace too fast for a mother’s grief. 

she fumbles in her bag when she realises that he’s staying, panicking—trying not to waste too much of the young boy’s time and attention—pulling out a creased photograph. it’s a not-so-formal picture of you. a picture you took when you had to apply for your university’s application. it’s not really recent nor is it old, maybe a year or two younger. your hair was shorter then, eyes clearer, brighter smile. excited to be studying in the city.

the way your mother’s fingers shake as she holds it up makes it seem fragile, like the image itself might go missing too if she doesn’t hold it onto her dear life. 

“please,” she says, her voice wavering. “this is my daughter—yn, she’s been missing for days and she was last seen near here,” your mother continues, pointing at the place you were last seen—a japanese restaurant just tucked between the alley. 

“she was wearing, uh—” she swallows her panic, “a white blouse, a blue skirt, and, and she has a pink scarf wrapped around her neck. she—she has a birthmark here, just under her jaw.” your mother tilts her head up and taps her finger at where you have your birthmark. she gives more major details—your hair colour, eyes colour, specific features that you have. 

“have you seen her?”

the boy looks at your picture—then at your mother. there’s something unreadable flickering across his face. a flicker of recognition? pity? amusement? but it smooths over so quickly, she thinks she must have imagined it. 

“is she around this height?” he asks, moving his hand midair, just below his shoulder. 

your mother’s eyes flicker to the gesture, her breath hitching as she nods eagerly. “yes! about that tall—maybe a little shorter if she wasn’t wearing heels!” there’s a desperation in her voice, something fragile and clinging.

the boy hums, tilting his head as if trying to recall something just out of his reach. his gaze flickers back to the photograph. then, he reaches out his hand. “can i see it?” 

your mother hesitates, her fingers tightening around the edges of the picture. 

it’s a mother’s instinct—a mother’s reluctance to let go of her daughter on a piece of paper even for a moment. but she exhales, shakily, and places it in his waiting palm. 

he takes it carefully, as if he’s handling something delicate. his thumb brushes over the image, over your cheek, your hair like he’s tucking it, pressing his thumb faintly on your lips on the creased paper before smoothing over the fine lines of your face. his eyes linger, he tugs on his bottom lip—suppressing a smile.

“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself. he glances up to your mother. “she does look familiar.”

your mother’s breath catches—she swears she could’ve passed out right there and then. “you’ve seen her?” 

he nods, slow and deliberate. his brows knitting together in careful thought. “i think so. a few nights ago. near that bus stop.” he says, pointing at a bus stop. your mother immediately follows his index, looking at the worn out, obviously unmaintained bus stop. the cctv hangs on its last wire, broken. 

his eyes remain on her.

your mother turns to look at him, gasping. “the station? was she alone? was she okay? did you talk to her?”

he hesitates, just for a second before pursing his lips and offering her a small, almost apologetic smile. “ah… i don’t really know. it was dark. but i remember the pink scarf, and blue skirt. she’s a cute girl, right…?” he asks, arching an eyebrow as he looks down to your mother. 

he studies the way her lips part slightly, her eyes widen at the mention of the odd comment. yeah, you’ve been told you’re adorable before… 

stuttering, she nods. “yes—yes… she is.” she barely hears herself over the pounding in her ears. she taps on the photograph he’s holding. “you really saw her?” 

“i did talk to her,” he hums, rubbing the back of his neck. his voice casual and effortless.“she asked to borrow my phone to call someone… then, she asked if i could drop her off somewhere,” 

your mother stills. the air around her seems to thin. “she—she asked you to drop her off? where—?” she can hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. 

he nods. “yeah… she looked so nervous. she kept looking around like someone was following her.” his lips press together for a moment, then he glances at your photograph again, feigning thoughtfulness. “but she was so polite. really soft-spoken. really soft,” 

your mother’s finger twitches, she’s about to take back the picture from his hand when he lets out a soft hum, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head like he’s recalling what happened that night. her hand falls down to her side.

“did she say where she was going?” 

the boy exhales, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “no,” he shakes his head, looking at her with pity in his eyes. “she just asked me if i could take her back to her friend’s house.” 

her throat tightens. “why didn’t you drop her off at the police station?” 

for the second time, something flickers across his face. it’s quick—almost imperceptible. a crack in the kindness, but it’s gone before she can confirm it.

he lets out a small chuckle, almost embarrassed. “i asked her the same thing,” his thumb caresses your cheek in the photograph absentmindedly. your mother doesn’t notice it. “she was in panic and said she didn’t want to go there. said she was scared.”

your mother’s stomach twists. her breathing uneven but she tries to keep it under radar. he notices. “scared? scared like what—like how?”

“mmhm,” his voice dips, quieter like he’s letting her in on something secret. “she told me she got into some trouble—financially. people were looking for her. i thought maybe it was, like a… loan shark thing.” he glances at your mother, watching, waiting. 

her breath catches, and she’s quick to deny. “no, that’s not—” she stops herself, pressing a hand to her chest. the words feel wrong, so foreign, you would have told her—you would have told her if you’re short on money. you wouldn’t—no, you really wouldn’t borrow someone else’s. 

yes, your family is poor—your siblings don’t even have the privilege to pursue education but—

the boy tilts his head slightly, humming thoughtfully. “that’s what she told me,” he murmurs, almost apologetically. “this girl… yeah—she seemed really on edge. she kept looking over at my car’s door handle and the side mirrors.”

“what?” 

he shifts his weight like he doesn’t quite know how to put it in words. “i don’t know, she acted so weird that night,” he continues, sighing. “even i was having a hard time figuring her out. her hands kept twitching and every time i slowed down at a red light, she looked like she was going to jump out of the car.” 

something cold crawls up your mother’s spine. 

“she… she wanted to get out?”

his lips press together before shrugging slightly. “ i guess so…” his lips curve into an almost regretful smile. “she asked me to drop her off by the street but there was nothing, no houses, no stations… so i insisted that i drop her off at her friend’s house.”

your mother sways slightly on her feet. her head feels light. her breathing—heavy and uneven like she’s going to hyperventilate and break down at any moment if she doesn’t know what happened to her daughter. 

“why did you…?” her voice barely makes it past her lips. 

“it didn’t feel right to leave her in the middle of nowhere,” he looks down at her. his eyes narrow, emotionless. “i told her it wasn’t safe. she cried, then went quiet for a long time after that.”

a lump forms in your mother’s throat. she thinks she’s going to puke in the middle of the street. 

you cried? oh lord, what happened to you?

he sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “then i dropped her off at her friend’s house. ‘s all.”

her hands tremble as she clutches her bag tighter. “where—? where is her friend’s house?” 

his fingers drum against his hips, licking his lips to wet them, he then gestures down the street with his index. his smile doesn’t falter, it deepens just slightly that it seems thoughtful. 

“it’s not that far,” he says, voice warm and kind. he looks down at your mother with the smile he had on when he studies your picture. “i can take you there, if you’d like.”

despite the cold sinking deep into her bones, despite the sick feeling curling in her gut, despite her mother’s instinct yelling and warning her no—she nods.

because what else can she do?

with practiced ease, he folds the photograph between his fingers, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. she doesn’t notice it.

oh, you’ll love this.

💭 sorry for not being able to be as active & post a proper fic :"( hopefully u guys enjoy these scraps for the time being.........

[carbonalchemy]

Important for the US trans people

Important to know: under EU law, individuals who face persecution based on their gender identity or sexual orientation can be eligible for asylum.

The EU Qualification Directive (2011/95/EU) says that persecution due to sexual orientation and gender identity can be grounds for refugee status. We've already received LGBTQ+ refugees from Russia for years.

So, if policy proposals such as Project 2025 come to be in the USA as they're now presented, transgender individuals from the USA could seek asylum in the EU. And I underline, not by finding a job and getting a visa first but as an asylum seeker.

The asylum process requires applicants to demonstrate a well-founded fear of persecution in their home country. Each case is assessed individually, considering the specific circumstances and evidence presented, so if anything starts happening, document everything. The more, the better.

The LGBTQ+ right recognition varies between the member states so it's the safest, if things come to this, to look for the countries that have higher established protection for LGBTQ+ people (ie. Malta, Belgium, Denmark, Spain, the Netherlands, Sweden, Finland, Ireland, Germany, France). The local LGBTQ+ organisations often have legal resources and can consult as to what is required.

I know this is a horrifying situation and no one wants to leave their country and home and start new in a country where they possibly don't speak the language or have any support network, but if things come to this, the EU should be mandated to offer asylum.

For people in the EU, remember that your vote can help people in the USA. If you vote against refugees, you're also voting against people in situations like this.

[alexisaflop]

Wait on your Song - Steve Harrington x Henderson! reader

Chapter 11: Trick or Treat, Freak!

Nancy dumps Steve and you give him a ride home.

It's Halloween morning and too early for your mother's excitement about Dustin's costume. "Look at these pearls," he says and makes some weird noise at the back of his throat. You pull a face, "oh no, don't do that." But your mother eats it up; snaps several photos of "Dusty-bun."

At high school, nobody is dressed up. This morning, Nancy is actually in homeroom, and tells you all about Barb and the private investigator and the fact that her parents are having to sell the house. You decide against explaining that Steve had come around last night and told you all of it already. Instead, you let the familiar guilt settle on you, now with the added layer of having been helping Steve last night when it really should have been her. The taste of bile rises in the back of your mouth.

The rest of the day is spent pretty much in silence. You have a shared study period later in the day and the three of you sit there 'working'. You know you've not answered a single question. Steve looks like he's thinking, but whenever you glance over at him, he is doodling in the margins. Glancing over at Nancy, you smile slightly. Tight-lipped a shadow of recognition flickers across her face. She gets the message that you're in this together - even if you're not sure what /this/ is. Her pencil snaps against the page. Wordlessly she stood up and walked away to sharpen it. "Thanks for your help last night, I wouldn't have got my application in without you." Steve can't quite look at you, his eyes shifting from your hands to your face and back down to his margin drawing that appears to be taking over his entire page. You get the feeling that he doesn't know how to act around you by yourself. Last night, he had constantly fidgeted and hadn't been able to decide how close to sit next to you. Now that Nancy was in the same room, you realise that there's a hint of guilt on his face. "You haven't told her you saw me yesterday, then?" you smirk, already knowing the answer. "I don't want to upset her, she might feel bad about not being the one to help me." Looking over at Nancy, you get the impression Steve is projecting very hopefully onto her. She has a far off look in her eyes and sincerely doubt she would remember what it was Steve asked her for help with yesterday. "She's taking a while, isn't she?" you murmur. Steve's eyes flicker between you and her before going to check on her.

They go into a study room and close the door and you fail miserably at pretending to not be watching. Things start to get heated; Nancy squares her shoulders and her eyes squint at Steve. He's trying and failing to keep her calm. Slowly, you start packing away your things, then Nancy's too. You get the feeling she'll want to leave quickly. Steve draws the blinds, obscuring your view into the room. For a second, his eyes meet yours. His expression is hard and set. But, looking at his eyes, you can see that he is fighting to stay afloat. You can see the guilt that he feels for Barb just as clearly as you can see it in Nancy's eyes.

They aren't in the room for long and when they leave, Nancy is back to not speaking. Wordlessly, you pass her her stuff but shoot Steve an inquisitory glance. His defeated face reminds you that he is just as stuck in this as you are. How do you help someone get through something that legally never happened? Nancy is shooting daggers at Steve so you leave the library without him. In effort to get her to talk, you place a protective arm around her shoulders. "He wants us to play pretend as stupid teenagers tonight." "He doesn't need to pretend; he /is/ a stupid teenager," you tease, hoping for at least a smile. Nothing. "Well you have to come, because me and Jonathan already agreed to go." "I just don't care. It's all bullshit," she says sullenly. "Okay," you're not sure what to say, but you want to get her to talk. Properly. "It's like nobody even cares about what happened to Barb." Just like that, the notion of wanting to help her disappears. You were the one who had watched Barb die. You were the one who had talked Nancy out of her guilt and forgiven her straight away for any wrong-doing she felt like she had committed that night. "Seriously?" your voice is just louder than a whisper but it trembles with rage, "you want to talk to me about caring? Where the hell have you been for the past year? You are supposed to be my friend. You've disappeared to only caring about the person you lost and not the ones who actually care about you. Barb was my friend too." "Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. It's different for you, you didn't kill her." "Have you considered it's just the same for me? That I don't hear her screaming every night? Of course you don't because you never talk about it. You're always with Steve! Which is exactly how you were when Barb was still alive. And I've accepted that your boyfriend is more important, really I have. But it sucks for him that you treat him like crap just as much as you did everyone else." She stares at you. "Why didn't you tell me?" her eyes are watering. Crap. "Because of this. I didn't want to make it worse." "Well, it's not like it's got better is it?" her eyes are still wet but her anger is back. The bell rings and you have science class. Neither of you know what to say, so you just walk away.

The rest of the day was a blur. You feel shitty for not helping Nancy more but the rest of you is angry that she can't see that everyone else is going through the same crap as her. The same guilt. The same grief. Your head is spinning as you walk to your car. And that's when you see Billy. Shit. "You'd look prettier if you were smiling." You flip him off and keep walking. Your heart rate raises as you can still feel his eyes on you. But a ginger girl coming from the direction of the middle school catches your eye. She's smiling at you. MadMax. It had to be her. Dustin hadn't shut up about how cool it is that she skates. And she smiled at you when she saw who you were swearing at. You smile back at her before collapsing into your car and going home.

At home you collapse into the sofa, close your eyes and press your hands against your forehead. "Why didn't you tell me?" Nancy's voice echoes in your head. What if you had told her sooner about the nightmares and the guilt? Would she have listened? Or would it just have made her feel more guilty for ditching you and Barb that night?

You sit like that for about ten minutes alone before the Dustin hurricane came home. You're glad for the distraction from the spiralling questions. "Max called me presumptuous today," he said proudly, chucking his bag by the door. You shake your head, "you do know what presumptuous means right?" He doesn't say anything. "What did you say before she said that?" "I was inviting her to come trick-or-treating tonight with the Party." "And you just expected her to come?" "Yeah, we know where to get all the full size candy bars." "Okay, so do you think she'll go with you?" He shrugged, "Lucas doesn't think so." It's when he's walking away to his room that he mentions the Camaro that almost ran the Party over on the way home. "I am going to kill Billy," you promise him, before heading to your room to find an outfit for Tina's stupid party.

You park a few blocks away from Tina's and walk around. If you hadn't promised Jonathan you would be here, you would be at home with a scary movie right now. But the distraction that is drunk teenagers is almost as entertaining. You we wear red trousers and a loose fitting white shirt with a bandana tied through your hair: a very low effort pirate. You didn't expect to find rum here, but then again you had driven so that's probably for the best. Billy's name is echoing around outside. Not that guy again you complain to yourself. Somehow, you manage to walk through the doors right behind them and end up following them across the party. All the way to Steve and Nancy. She gives you a half-hearted glare. Like you brought these idiots here.

"We've got ourselves a new keg king, Harrington," Tommy proclaims. Steve is dressed as Tom Cruise, although he's leaning pretty heavily on the sunglasses to make it work. His jaw is set as he stares back at Billy. Not on the offensive, but getting prepared to defend. Nancy stalks off. Which kind of proves your point from earlier that she just does not care about anyone else. Billy steps towards Steve, and you prepare to step in between them. "I was told not to expect to see you here, Y/N," Billy turns to you. He's learnt your name from somewhere. You hate the way he says it, like now he knows your name, he can get to you. You lift your chin to raise your gaze in line with his, "For someone who tried to run over my brother this afternoon you're awfully friendly." He almost looks surprised, but not as much as you do when he walks away. "He drinks like he drives," you say, turning to Steve, "like an obnoxious idiot. You good, Harrington?" His face is still clenched together. As though it might all fall apart if he dared to relax. "Yeah. Fine." "We should probably find Nancy." "Yeah, because she'll be so happy to see you," he eyes you up wearily, "why did you even come Henderson?" "Because after last time, I'm not leaving any of my friends alone at these stupid parties." His face softens minutely, "I have to take her side." "I know."

You follow him through the crowd and find Nancy near the kitchen turned bar. "Pure fuel! Pure fuel!" exclaims a kid who you were really hoping was dressed as Dionysus next to the punch bowl. You grinned and Steve couldn't help but also look amused. Nancy on the other hand looked incredibly serious as she went in for her drink. "Woah, woah, woah, Nance. Take it easy, alright?" "We're being stupid teenagers for the night, wasn't that the deal?" You couldn't help but smile. Nancy had never really got drunk before and this was certainly going to be entertaining. But Steve just looked concerned. You felt bad for him that he'd be the one who probably had to look after her when this all went wrong. You survey the punch ingredients and make yourself a red solo cup of juice; there's a very strong chance you'll be driving an incredibly drunk Nancy home. Especially seeing as Jonathan is nowhere to be seen. That's when Steve and Nancy start dancing and you groan internally. Jonathan was supposed to suffer through this nightmare with you. You find a space by the wall not too far from the two of them.

You're not sure how long after that Jonathan turns up. You're surprised to see him actually talking to someone. "I thought you ditched me," you complain once he joins you. "No I couldn't miss … this" he gestures around to the general antics of drunken teenagers. "Agreed, us drivers can all have one drink right?" Nancy joins you to the alcohol despite Steve's protestations. You cant help but agree, "Nancy at least have some water first or something." "Screw you," she glares at you with a hate so strong that you take a step back. Steve watches with interest. He doesn't look sad, just resigned to his fate. And apologetic. Meanwhile, Nancy just refills her cup. "Nancy come on put it down," Steve has his hands on her forearm. "Let go," she insists. Steve does, and surprised, Nancy tips the punch onto herself. "What the hell," she hisses as everyone else oohs and aahs. "Nothing to see here guys," you glare as you follow Nancy and Steve away. You're not sure where Jonathan went, and you end up standing outside Tina's bathroom alone. You don't hear all of their conversation, but its enough. It starts with Steve apologising and offering to take her home. "No you wanted this," Nancy insists. "No I didn't, I told you to stop drinking," Steve's voice is soft but firm. You vaguely wonder how many drunk teenagers he's dealt with over time. "Bullshit," Nancy says confidently. "It's not bullshit." "Bullshit." It's silent for a moment. To be fair you wouldn't know what to say either. "You, you're bullshit," Nancy sounds oddly calm for someone saying something seemingly so angry, so final. "What?" Steve's voice is still soft, but you can feel the defensiveness creeping back in. "Pretending everything's okay… like we didn't kill Barb," her voice breaks a little, like she's begging for someone, anyone, to understand.

Your teeth clench around nothing as the guilt from earlier in the day returns. You couldn't lie that in your darker months of the past year you hadn't blamed Nancy and Steve for Barb's fate. But you knew that really, it's not their fault. Like Steve was trying to tell Nancy, you'd all just been stupid teenagers. If Barb hadn't hurt herself, the monster would have just taken on the next bleeding person in Hawkins. But you suppose Nancy hasn't come to that conclusion. Which is fine, but you really hate she'd stop blaming Steve for it too. It's not like he'd forced you and Barb to come to the party that night. What she says next you don't hear all of because Jonathan appears beside you. But you hear Steve whisper "like we're in love?" "Bullshit." "You don't love me?" His voice wavers; all the fighting, all the uncertainty between the two of them you had been seeing all year seemed to suddenly be revealed to him. "Its bullshit," Nancy is unphased in her drunken state. Suddenly the door opens and Steve leaves. He doesn't seem surprised that you're there.

"Jonathan, make sure she gets home okay. I'll take Harrington." Jonathan nods. You knew how much he and Nancy cared about each other - enough to trust him to get her home. Hell, he'd gotten you home enough times before. After listening to the low-voiced break-up of Steve and Nancy, the booming party downstairs is deafening. Steve is easy to sport and easier to catch up with in his dazed state. "Steve, wait up," you call. He turns back to look at you. Shattered. That's how you'd describe him. Exhausted and smashed into pieces. "Leave me alone, Y/N." "No," you say simply. He doesn't say anything else as you walk with him, but he also doesn't send you away. You've reached the front door when Billy reappears. "Y/N, leaving so soon? And with your best friend's boyfriend? Something stinks," he looks at you and it rockets fear down your spine. "Yeah, I'm leaving, so let us through," you glare. "Not gonna help out your girlfriend Steve?" he says tauntingly. Steve straightens besides you, "they're not mine," he says with gritted teeth. "So you're open to offers?" smirked Billy to you. "Not from you, now move," you shove past him and drag Steve with you. You reach the front of Tina's drive, "How did you get here Steve?" "Lift from some guys on the basketball team," he turns to you as he realises his issue. Tina's house is a good half an hour walk from here, and it's pretty cold. "You don't have to help me, you only agreed to be my friend for Nancy's sake, and …" his voice breaks off but he's made his point. You shake your head, "Come on, let's get you home."

You lead him away from the noise of the party to your car. "Why do you park so far away?" "So that my car can get thrown up on? I'm good thanks." He smiles slightly and sinks into your passenger seat. You start up the car and turn on the heating before turning on the radio. Hang On To Yourself fills the car. "Of course it's Bowie." "See we really are friends," you say as you pull away. "You've been here for me more than Nancy," he says as you go back past the party. You spot Jonathan getting Nancy into his car, you give him a discrete nod. You don't think Steve notices. "I could say the same of you," you smile and glance at him. He's collapsed all the way back into his seat and is staring up to the night sky. "I thought it was temporary. I knew Nance needed time, to get over Barb, to feel better. But, I guess that wasn't the problem," he sighs. "You must have known it wasn't going well," you think of all the bickering, the fact they never went to each other for anything. "Thanks, you're really making me feel better," he laughed harshly. "Sorry." "It's fine, you had to get over her too." You aren't sure he had meant Barb until he continues, "I can't believe you bounced back so quickly from watching her die, to helping Jonathan fight me," he chuckles slightly, "I think you handled it so well Nance forgot you were in the same place she was."

You don't know what to say. The two of you sat in silence for a while, with just Bowie's voice between you: "Smiling, and waving, and looking so fine. I don't think you knew you were in the song." The silence isn't awkward, over the last year of seeing Steve at work, of communicating through eyebrow raises over Nancy's head something had changed between the two of you. It was like you'd become allies in surviving high school - something your middle school self would never understand. The song ends as you pull into the Harrington's driveway. The house is weirdly dark for 10.30 on a Saturday. "Your parents out for Halloween? Back home, no-one over the age of 11 is going out to celebrate." The corners of his mouth lift slightly, "no, business trip. If it's a long way, my mom goes with my dad." "Surely if it's a long way, that's more of a reason to stay with you," you say without thinking. "It's fine," he shrugged and it was pretty clear he was barely holding it together. "Okay," you say simply. You might be more comfortable around Steve, but there are lots of parts of him that you still don't understand. "I just, Nance," he glanced at you, almost for permission, "I can't believe after a year it's just over. I don't understand - I was there for her through everything. And now, she's just, she's just gone?" "I know the feeling," you sigh; thinking of Jonathan. At this point he's all she has left and neither of them have been exactly communicative about their issues. "I can't believe she ditched her best friend as well as her boyfriend in one day. I know I haven't been the perfect boyfriend but- but you? You've been here everyday," his voice raises, and he's beginning to sound more angry than hurt.

"Steve. Steve," you take his forearm gently, "hey, you need to calm down okay? You might be able to fix this with her you know? If you wanted." He groans, "I don't know what I want, Y/N." "And that's why," you reached across him, into the glove compartment. "What are you doing?" his eyes widen slightly. You pull out a pen, "you're going to go inside and go to sleep. But, just in case you realise being alone all the time sucks: here's my phone number." "You know, before tonight I really thought you secretly hated me." "Maybe I do, maybe it brings me great joy to watch you suffer." He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Harrington. My mom and Dustin both answer that phone, so emergencies only. Okay, no prank calls?" "Thanks, Y/N. I owe you." "You owe me twice." "I guess I do. See you around." You wait until he's safely inside until you start heading home. You turn up the radio and allow yourself to relax. You think of Nancy, and can't help but wonder if she thinks you're just /bullshit/ too. After years of friendship and suddenly your allegiance has changed to Steve Harrington? "It ain't easy, it ain't easy, it ain't easy to get to heaven when you're going down," Bowie tells you as you drive. "I must be going down if we're friends now," you mumble to yourself.

A/N Sorry this took fucking forever i'm really busy now that the sun is out and i can go out and do stuff i wouldnt say they're friends yet. they no longer enemies tho, they allies

[cellophaine]

Chapter II: Dégagé

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: One morsel of angst.

Word Count: 3.1k

Author's Note: Forgive my clumsy attempt at writing a job interview. I haven't been to one in two years. Also, you totally saw this coming. Right?

GIF Source

You unbutton the coat, letting the air inside melt away the layer of chill that clings to your clothes. The building looks decently maintained, but you can spot the paint peelings on the wall, revealing another layer of colour underneath. The stairs creak when you take them, announcing your arrival. You’re not ready yet. The following steps are more carefully placed.

Standing in front of the office door with the practice’s name on the glass pane, you feel inapposite. You’re playing dressed up in a place clearly reserved for working professionals. It's an unfamiliar setting with a different uniform. Skin-tight leotard for a simple white blouse, knitted shrug for a sweater vest, dance tights for trousers, and low-heel pumps for pointe shoes. The trade-off is expected, yet you still don't feel right. Years given to a ballet company had really spoiled you.

But you hate standing anyone up more than anything, so you knock on the door. The conversation inside halts, followed by the scraping sound of a chair, then hastened footsteps. A man opens the door, his expression is one of curiosity.

“Hi. Are you …?”

When you offer your name, a look of relief and recognition passes on his face. He checks his watch.

“Ah, yes. You’re a little early.”

“Is that okay? I thought being a little early is probably best.”

“Yes, of course. It’s good. It’s fantastic, actually. Two people canceled on us last minutes.”

He steps aside, holding the door for you.

“Come on in.”

You enter, and the door clicks shut behind you. The big window on the other side of the room lets the natural light in, exposing the overfilled cabinets along either side of the wall, casing a simple desk and a chair in between. There's hardly any free surface that isn't occupied by stacks of manila folders or paperwork resting on top. The man quickly redirects your attention.

“We’re going to be in here.”

You follow him and find a woman already standing to greet you. Her face brightens, and the body language that accompanies exudes friendliness. You feel the knot in your stomach slowly unwinding itself as she offers her hand to you with a smile.

“Hi. Welcome! I’m Karen Page. We spoke before, on the phone.”

“Nice to finally meet you.”

The man extends a hand for you to shake.

“I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Franklin Nelson, but everyone calls me Foggy.”

You reciprocate the gesture as he continues.

“We didn’t talk on the phone, but I thought your cover letter was great.”

“Thank you. I was worried about my application because it’s been a while since I last worked a job like this.”

You regret mentioning the fact the moment you stop talking. But Foggy seems pleased.

“Honesty. I can appreciate that.”

You give the two of them an overt observation.

“So that explains the Nelson and Page on the sign. Where's the Murdock?”

Karen offers an explanation.

“He’s running late. But we can get started without him.”

You drape your coat over the back of the chair before taking your seat. Just like before a performance, you steel yourself and feel the nervousness slowly seep out of your bloodstream on a soft exhale.

/

The initial awkwardness quickly dissipates after the first couple of questions. You understand the role they offer and the skills they require, and you go into detail about your relevant experience in administration. When you first came to the city, being in corps de ballet barely afforded comfort or the expensive rent in a shoebox apartment with Jo. You took on odd jobs and eventually landed a library assistant position at the New York Society Library. You loved the job, and you learned a lot from it. Karen and Foggy seem pleased as you recall what you did for the library for years before committing to Lady Liberty full-time as a soloist.

Foggy makes a note on the notepad before addressing you.

“As you already know, this job is similar to your previous job. You'd be the first point of contact for clients, and also provide us with internal support. But there are also things that we will need to teach you.”

You nodded.

“I understand. I was required to learn many things on the fly at the library, so I could support other departments or guests coming in. My old manager said I was a quick study.”

Foggy's eyes widen at the mention.

"Ms. Hogarth? She had nothing but nice things to say about you on the phone."

You smile and nod. Ms. Hogarth was very sorry to see you leave, and you still keep in touch from time to time via emails and the occasional visits. She'd seen some of your performances over the years.

Karen levels you with a careful look.

“I understand that you were with Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre for a long time until about a year ago. Why did you want to switch to a job like this?”

You've expected this question. You know it's inevitable. You have drafted several responses to explain the reasoning, yet are impersonal enough not to reveal anything damning that you don't want strangers to know.

“I took a break from dancing because of an injury. After the recovery, I just wanted a change since I'd danced for most of my life. I want to be in an environment where the demand for my physicality is not extreme like in ballet, as you may know.”

They nod thoughtfully and exchange a look. It goes on for a long moment before you tentatively interrupt.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Do you mind if we talk in the other room for a minute?”

Foggy asks.

“Oh. Not at all.”

“We’ll be right back.”

Both of them leave the room and close the door. You're unsure what to think of that, so you sweep your eyes over the room. Brightened with natural light just like the room over, but tidier. You take a closer look at the Braille display set up in the empty seat that would be presumably taken by the Murdock of the firm. You recognize the device because there were several models of the same and different at the library. You had to learn how to troubleshoot most of them for the blind guests that came in.

The door creaks open, and the pair come back with conspicuous smiles on their faces. They take their seats again, and Foggy wastes no time.

“We would like to offer you the job, if you’re interested.”

You can't come up with a response right then. Relief washes over you, and joy draws a bashful grin on your lips. A part of you is still skeptical.

“Are you sure?”

“I know that it’s quite a big surprise. And a huge commitment. You don't have to say yes right now. We will send you the offer letter today, you can read it, and if you're okay with everything, sign it and send it back to us and we'll send you the contract to make it official.”

“Wow, I … Thank you."

A thought comes into your mind.

"What about your other associate? Do you need to wait for him to decide?”

Karen assures you.

“He’s not here, so we’re calling in an executive order. Besides, you're our favourite candidate.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, offering your hand to shake theirs.

“Thank you so much for the offer.”

“Like Foggy said, no pressure. If you do decide to work for us, and if you have any concerns or disagreements about anything in the contract, just email us, and we can discuss.”

“Arguing with lawyers about a contract they draw up? I might as well quit while I'm ahead."

Foggy laughs wholeheartedly even though you don't think the joke was that funny, and clasps your hand tightly in his.

“You’ll fit it just fine here.”

/

It was only half an hour after you left the interview when the offer letter was sent to your inbox. You’re sitting by the fire escape, allowing the heat from the radiator to warm your feet as you read the file. Working overtime is expected and paid accordingly, with an hourly rate of $19, and a basic health care plan. You sign and send the document once you finish, and Karen emails you the contract in a cheery tone welcoming you to the team. All is done within the span of an afternoon. You have a few days between now and the start date, so you spend them rumbling through your closet to find office-appropriate clothes and reading the contract and practice’s policy. And inevitably, your mind drifts to the stranger from the bar at irregular intervals.

The way his hair felt through your fingers. The solid muscles under your palm. The way his weight pressed into your body. The vulnerable display of the need for you in his handsome features. The way his unseeing eyes seemed to darken when you pulled away. The shape of his lips on yours. The way he kissed you so deeply, so exhaustively exquisite that you could feel yourself unravelling to the bones. He did that to you without taking your clothes off, without putting his skilled lips on your bare skin. He was gentle, understanding, and attuned to how you were feeling, which makes you appreciate him even more the more you think about him.

He would stay firmly in the past, in a way that you think is symbolic. You spilled your heart out to a man you didn't know as if you were ridding yourself of the burden of the past so that you could step into the future. That future is so close you can taste it, a promise of something better. It's fitting. The secrets you haven't told anyone close to you, floating away and tethering to a stranger, and like you, they disappeared the next morning.

/

You arrive early for your first day. Foggy said the key to the office would be made and given to you today. So you wait in the hallway until Karen arrives. She lets you in and walks you through the basic setup. You finish signing in on the computer when Foggy comes in.

“Here’s your key, like promised.”

He places it in your hand.

“Did Karen show you the basics?”

“Yes, she did.”

"Most of it."

Karen adds.

“Any question so far?”

You give Foggy a reassuring smile.

“Not yet. But I will definitely need help figuring out all of this."

You gesture to the stacks of paper that have seemed to grow bigger since you were here last.

The door opens again, and your heart leaps at the sight. The hair, the glasses, the cane. And the face you can never forget. You can see the furrow of his brows behind the slouched glasses, painting confusion alongside his slightly parted lips. Foggy tsks, thumbing at the man who's still technically a stranger to you in most senses of the word.

“Always late to the party, this one. I’d like to introduce you to the Murdock of the firm, Matthew Michael Murdock."

It takes Matt all but a brief second to respond while you're still processing the reality of your situation.

"Easy on the introduction there, Foggy."

Foggy repeats your name, and for a moment you're worried that Matt would recognize you. You smile anyway and say.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Murdock.”

“Likewise. I've heard so many great things about you.”

He makes a few steps forward with his hand extended, and you get up off of the chair to meet him in the middle. The shake is clumsy upon the initial contact, but the nerves you felt that night come rushing back regardless. His hand lingers longer than a formal handshake.

"There's no need for formality. Call me Matt."

You realize then that Matt doesn't recognize you. Lying to a blind man makes you feel uneasy, but it’s hardly deception if the other party can’t perceive you in a way a person with functioning sight can. There's still the matter of your voice, but you quickly dismiss the notion. It's hardly distinctive amongst the city of millions.

“Alright. By the way, if you need any help with the Braille display, I can help.”

His head slightly tilts to one side in question while Karen and Foggy look at you for an explanation.

“The library had those machines, and every so often they went haywire. I learned how to fix them.”

“Thank you.”

Matt inclines his head. Foggy pats him on the back.

“See? I told you she’s great.”

Your cheeks grow warm. Matt doesn’t show any sign that he recognizes you, which is a good thing. But it also puts you in an impasse, considering everything that happened that night. You’re not sure how to approach the subject now that he's your boss.

For now, you quickly excuse yourself to get back to work, trying hard to tame the pounding in your chest.

/

The day is slow, which you're grateful for as it took you a while to figure out the general system Nelson, Murdock and Page keeps, but still busy enough to keep your mind off of the man who's sitting a few feet away from you, separated by a thin wall. In between the few phone calls and setting up appointments and meetings, you get to work sorting the files one cabinet at a time. You straighten them out in their folders and put them back in their according chronicle. When you alert them of a client's visit, Matt says thank you with a deep, gravelly voice, and you reciprocate formally. After lunch, Karen and Foggy go down to the police station to talk to a potential client, leaving you and Matt at the office.

You're drinking out of a paper cup, thinking about ways you could make the filing system more efficient when Matt joins you in the kitchen. You stiffen and clear your throat.

“Would you like me to get you something, Mr. Murdock?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. The small kitchen only has so much space, and Matt's stature alone has taken up half of the doorway. Your heart rate spikes slightly at his appraisal silence.

“It’s you. From that night.”

It can only mean one thing. Your hands turn cold and clammy. Your mind fast forwards to the made-up scenario in which you lie to him, only to arrive at the same conclusion you did that night. Even though you're a good liar to those close to you, that doesn't seem to matter to Matt. He knows how you feel. And more importantly, he knows who you are.

A deep sigh escapes your lips.

“Yes, I am. How did you recognize me?”

“Your voice.”

He doesn't hesitate, which confuses you.

“It’s … hardly distinctive.”

“It is, to me. And I recognize the perfume you use.”

He makes a gesture in the air, which you guess is for the aroma of the perfume.

“Oh. Right."

You didn't know your perfume was that strong to begin with, and it sparks a new concern.

"Is it too strong? I can stop wearing it.”

“No, don’t. I lik– … It's not strong. It also doesn't bother me.”

You make a mental note of that.

“I didn’t know you were the Murdock of the firm.”

“I didn’t know you were the great candidate Foggy was talking so much about.”

You chuckle. Tension seems to wane through the lightened mood and your relaxed body language.

“Our pay is not very competitive.”

“I know. They told me as much during the interview, but I don't mind. I've had worse."

You let out a self-deprecating laugh to mask your nervousness.

"I just– I want to get away and work a normal job for a while.”

Matt nods. He exudes neither judgement nor pity, just like that night at the bar, but you can see the gears in his head turn through his knitted brows. You add nervously.

“Are you going to tell them? That we … almost hooked up?”

Your heart pounds harder. Please, not when you finally have this job. Matt seems to sense your uneasiness and shakes his head.

“No, of course not. It stays between us.”

“Thank you.”

An innate thought compels you to continue.

“We can just forget about that night. Technically, we didn’t cross any boundaries. It was just a kiss. It doesn’t have to be anything more. It’s not like we actually hooked up. We didn’t know each other then. We just kissed. Casually. And it doesn't mean anything.”

You internally curse yourself at Matt's lack of an immediate and obvious response. He takes longer than you expected to answer.

“No, of course not.”

A sliver of disappointment touches his tone, but his features stay professional. In the moment, you're unsure how to make sense of that.

“I know I’m asking a lot, but, can you keep what I told you a secret?”

When Matt was only a stranger to you, everything you told him was inconsequential. Impermanence, like your short-lived career. No matter who he was, you'd still leave the side of his bed just like how you'd vanish from his life. You never planned to stay the night. The small circle of people you're close with aren't privy to the most dirty details. Yet, he knows many intimate details about you in more ways than one. Maybe you told him about your situation because you finally wanted someone else other than you to know and maybe understand how hard it was to fall out of love with what you’d trained to do your whole life, yet simultaneously still seeking out its approval and acceptance. Jo doesn't understand. She said you could find another company, another theatre to dance for. But you're afraid that no matter where you go, your shadows will follow. You will always be that one forgettable soloist who couldn't secure a promotion because you weren't good enough.

You regret it – telling him everything. Matt must think differently of you now. You're not the self-assured stranger who approached him at the bar, bought him a drink and asked to go home with him. You're the flawed, unwanted person, who couldn’t bring herself to have a one-night stand. A hot flash curls under your skin at the thought. It feels a lot like shame.

Matt's voice sounds so far away, but the weight of its sincerity manages to pull you away from your own thoughts.

“What happened that night will stay between us for as long as you wish.”

His promise soothes your frazzled nerves.

“Are we … okay, then?”

He nods.

“We’re okay.”

“Thank you.”

The phone on the reception desk rings blessedly, and you excuse yourself to answer it. Matt steps aside for you to go through, and when you near him, the materials of your clothes brush against each other. The scent of cedarwood and leather grasps at you as you walk past him, smouldering and lurking in the back of your mind.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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[forthelostones]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #4

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. hypotheticals by lake street drive ♫

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

I didn’t bother looking at my watch during our session and somehow I noticed the sun was nearly gone. A fist tightened in my stomach when I realized how long she had been in my presence without me being aware of the fact. I can’t remember a time when my social battery grew instead of depleting. 

Technically, I should be tired since I stayed up filtering through applications and cleaning my entire place simultaneously. But it was something about her that energized me. Even motivated me and made me excited about this project. She gave me a sense of agency, which I haven't felt in the last decade.

“You built these bookshelves, didn't you?” She snorted in disbelief as we traveled to the living room before her departure. 

“I did,” I said, in the kitchen as I fetched myself a beer, feeling proud at the recognition. 

I followed her manicured finger trace at the edge of the panels. She twisted her head sideways to read the dusty titles on the shelf. Even though I only saw her back, I knew her mouth was open in astonishment at my first edition copies of classic books, something I’ve been cultivating for twenty years. I bring the tinted bottle to my lips and stand with my free hand on my chin. 

She tucked her index into an original print of The Well of Loneliness. She looked over her shoulder quickly to check if I was watching her, which I was. I quickly diverted my gaze towards the floor and sipped. “I’ve had that book for a while,” I say. 

“Is it okay if I…” 

Her voice became silent, almost a whisper as if she’d be in trouble if she muttered a word about the novel. 

“Of course. Please.” 

I gesture towards the couch and she pulls the untouched book from the shelf as if it were delicate china and sits on my worn sofa. I bit the corner of my mouth as I saw her sit right where I lay my head and I took a seat on the farthest end away from her. She crossed her legs and brought the grey-shaded book onto her lap. The pages were stale and yellow-ish, almost crumbling under her careful touch. She followed the inside of the spine with her thumb, straightening the first page and a shiver traveled down my spine to my toes. 

“From the library of Abigail Anderson.” Her voice drops an octave, loose and saturated in a sexy chuckle. I wanted her to repeat my name just like that until her voice was hoarse.

I knew my cheeks grew bright red and I had the inclination to press the bottle to my face to cool my embarrassment. The embosser was a gift from an ex-girlfriend and she took the liberty of pressing it into every book I owned, even my most valuable ones. 

“You like that?” I smile, concealing my trembling lip with the neck of the bottle and thumb. 

“I wish I had one but my books aren’t special enough.” 

“What do you like to read?” 

“Same stuff you do.” 

That stuff is novels that exclusively includes women.

Her eyes linger with a glint that can only be described as fervor like she never met someone who read lesbian fiction. I didn’t break eye contact like I had been for the last three hours. I took another sip to hold back a large, toothy grin. Her phone vibrated with another ricochet of text messages, which she continuously ignored. But soon she broke our quiet pact by reading the messages and excusing herself to the next room. Her voice has a quiver in it although hushed. 

“Ellie. I’m sorry I just—okay. Okay. I know I am sorry. It just… Of course, I love you are you—alright. I’ll see you soon.” 

She comes back into the living room without moving back to her original spot. Her face was thick with an emotion I knew all too well. Dread. Maybe she needed an excuse to stay longer and I felt okay with that.

“I don’t know if you’re hungry or anything—” / “I’m gonna go—”. 

The jumble of words flusters us both and her grip tightens around her phone. The sight makes me think she could snap it in half right there. Ellie, her girlfriend, definitely gave her a stern talking to. The little cat-like girl I met on the street couldn't have made her feel so small. She brushes a stray hair from her face that wasn’t there. Instead of confidence, I saw her shrink down twice in size. 

“Oh, yea of course,” I rub my hot neck.

Her eyes dart towards the copy of The Well of Loneliness. 

“You can borrow it if you want to.” 

Instead of traveling around the couch, she let her body swipe past me as I rose from the couch. Our clothes mingled in a private dance just before she slipped on her shoes and fiddled with the door. With the book pressed to her chest, she turned to me, a mere two feet away, and thanked me. A silence fell between us. It wasn't awkward, but comfortable. I felt comfortable.

“Anytime, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

What I wanted to come out as a statement became a question and I resented myself for it. I wanted her to know that I was going to see her.

“Hopefully. ‘Night Ms. Anderson.” 

“Drive safe, sweetheart.” 

A soft I will left her solemn lips and I watched the twinkle of her headlights illuminate my body. I raise my hand to wave her off but she turns her head before I can. I quickly tucked it away in my back pocket. My throat hardened seeing her car drive away.

As I closed the door, the lingering silence of the house struck me strongly. The missing book from the shelf made me feel hollow in a way. I was glad that she took it but I wish... I don't know. I finish my last sip of beer and toss the bottle out. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

The water offered me a clarity the cool breeze outside could not. I was relishing in a former life that I wish I had done differently. Craving someone who truly understood me and appreciated who I was. I never got that. My heart pumped with anxiety-ridden blood. Painful memories that I shoved away threatened to —

My hands are on the sparkling tiles, spread with 2 inches in between. I press my eyes shut and try to understand where I stand. It feels like the calm beads of water transformed into pebbles. Hitting my skin with an angry vengeance I could not place. The steam inhibits me from getting a deep inhale. I can't move. I open my eyes and soften my knees. I find the strength to reach for the knob and draw my body onto the floor. My knees come to my chest and I count until the water turns cold.

I opened the windows in my bedroom and listened to the chirping of cicadas. I close my eyes and walk backward onto the perfectly made bed. Instantly, my back melted. Why was I denying myself this? I lay with my feet dangling and was disrupted from the lingering sleep by my phone in the living room.

7:30 PM: What have you gotten me into Ms. Anderson?

She sat with the book in her lap, the only blankets around being a plum-colored top sheet. Her legs held the book and a small light illuminated the first page. Her thumb held the right page and her index and middle in the crease. I could imagine how she rubbed them against the paper like earlier. I stared at the photo and fell deeper into the elements of it.

7:35 PM: 400 pages is nothing, You'll do fine.

A bubble appears and vanishes.

7:36 PM: It's actually 448 pages, thank you very much.

7:37 PM: My apologies. 48 extra pages won't kill you.

7:38 PM: You don't know that...

7:40 PM: I think I do.

7:41 PM: Well, we can discuss what you think you know tomorrow...

My fingers twitched to reply but it was clear that she desired to be left alone. I couldn't determine why these casual conversations left my face aching, but they did. I reflected on how long it's been since I went on a date. The number enters my mind and burns slowly like a forest fire. The sides of my head throb as I slip under the blankets.

to be continued...

[snaccpopstudios]

Happy Trans Day of Visibility!

Transgender Day of Visibility is recognized internationally each year on March 31st. Today, we celebrate the strength, joy, and resilience of transgender, Two-Spirit, non-binary and gender diverse people across the globe. Let’s continue to stand up, show support, and create a world of respect and equality for all– not just today, but every day!

As anti-trans legislation spreads and attacks on healthcare, sports, and basic rights increase, we must stand in solidarity with our trans siblings. If you’re itching to make a real difference for our trans community today (and honestly, every day), why not consider donating to some of these amazing organizations that are doing such vital work? Your generosity would be greatly appreciated!

Point of Pride focuses on helping vulnerable members of the queer community feel seen and have access to life-saving health and wellness programs and supports like their Annual Transgender Surgery Fund, their HRT Access Fund, Free Chest Binders + Free Femme Shapewear and more! They have awarded almost half a million dollars in direct financial assistance and donated thousands of gender-affirming garments to trans youth and adults in all 50 American states and around the world. Donate to Point of Pride here!

FOR THE GWORLS is a Black, trans-led collective that curates parties to fundraise money to help Black transgender people pay for their rent, gender affirming surgeries, smaller co-pays for medicine/doctor’s visits, and travel assistance. There’s two donation options for this collective: the rent assistance fund and the medical assistance fund. Take your pick~!

G.L.I.T.S is a Black, trans-led advocacy and direct services organization that is dedicated to fighting systemic discrimination against marginalized communities, in New York City and beyond. Founded in 2016, G.L.I.T.S addresses barriers faced by community members at the intersection of gender, race, and class through direct services, advocacy, mass mobilization, media engagement, and public education. Their initiatives include sustainable housing projects and plans for a dedicated health clinic, all documented as pilot projects for broader application– you can read all about their initiatives here and donate to them here!

El/La Para TransLatinas works towards a world where TransLatinas are protected, celebrated, and loved, where trans/intersex/gender diverse Latinx people are welcome, safe, represented and valued in all spheres of life. They envision a future in which the human rights to migration, housing, healthcare, food, and safety are respected and protected. For more than 30 years, El/La has been an advocate in the transgender community seeking justice for translatinas. They were THE first translatina HIV prevention program in Northern California. Donate to them here~!

TGEU (Trans Europe and Central Asia) is a trans-led nonprofit for the rights and wellbeing of trans people in Europe and Central Asia. TGEU was founded in 2005 under the name Transgender Europe e.V. Since then, they’ve established themselves as a legitimate voice for the trans community. In 2018, they expanded their regional scope to include Central Asia. TGEU now serves trans people in over 50 countries in Europe and Central Asia. TGEU envisions a world free from discrimination where gender diversity is celebrated, where trans people are valued, and where trans movements are self-aware, intersectional, and evolving to meet the needs of a diverse and resilient community. You can donate to them here.

Egale is a Canadian charity advocating for equal societies and systems free from homophobia, transphobia and all forms of oppression. Founded in 1986, the organization recently replaced “LGBTQ+” with the acronym “2SLGBTQI” in recognition of “Two Spirit” people. In 2023, Egale’s work included six research reports, 75 workplace inclusion trainings and 120+ resources in French and English. Egale envisions a Canada, and ultimately a world, without homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, and all other forms of oppression so that every person can achieve their full potential, free from hatred and bias. See their mission, values, history and more here and donate to Egale here!