#i will write a thesis in one sentence and you will read it

[the-sea-anemone]

on the one hand, i am very much a proponent of the "first draft doesn't have to be good, it just has to exist" strategy for writing but on the other hand i'm working on the second draft now and i am Suffering

[deathsweetblossoms]

I feel dizzy and a little sick when the poison hits my blood, but I would be sicker still if I skipped a dose. My body has acclimated and now it craves would it should revile.

An apt metaphor for other things.

I crawl to the couch and lie there. As I do, Baekin’s words wash over me: I have heard that for mortals the feeling of falling in love is very like the feeling of fear. Your heart beats fast. Your senses are heightened. You grow light-headed, maybe even dizzy. Is that right?

I am not sure I sleep, but I do dream.

[linguenuvolose]

I love not being Italian <3 like sorry if I there will be grammar mistakes or unacademic language in my thesis but that’s not my fault 😌 you the institution should’ve taught me better 🤷🏼‍♀️

[unrelatedwaffle]

I'm still thinking about hbomberguy's Plagiarism video and I think there's still going to be a lot of student plagiarism because...writing based on synthesizing info from multiple sources is tough, and rephrasing someone's entire sentence structure FEELS like "writing in your own words" enough that it's not obvious to beginners how blatant it is.

if you struggle with writing research papers, often procrastinate and then scramble to assemble a paper from a single source, you are setting yourself up for likely plagiarism. here are some real tips for avoiding this and getting better at academic writing. these are a short version of sonke ahrens's great book on the Zettelkasten method, How to Take Smart Notes (which i recommend reading, but it is one of those Books That Could Have Been a Blog Post, as If Books Could Kill would say, and the full Zettelkasten method is probably overkill for most people).

1. Take notes on what the texts make you think while you read, with a pen and paper, in your own words. These are not summary notes, but "this section reminds me of that one episode of the simpsons" or "i don't think it's true that willpower is finite..." these are your own thoughts and feelings

2. When you're completely done with an article or book chapter, start a note file on the computer with the proper citation at the top and write a 1-2 sentence summary of the content of what you just read. Without looking at the text. Yes, this is hard!!

3. Go through your personal notes from step 1 and see if anything there is a Big General Idea or theme. It may take reading a few articles or stepping away/thinking in the shower before these emerge. "Hmm I'm noticing that a lot of societies have similar rituals about food and gratefulness, I wonder if it's a superstitious way to ensure future abundance?" Elaborate on that in a separate note.

4. You can weave the notes from Step 3 into a thesis statement with supporting arguments properly summarized and supported with info from Step 1.

[festive]

✿ - bad habit

I know I’ll be in your heart til the end.

✿ - your boyfriend agrees to letting you cockwarm while you work on your research papers, unbeknownst to you —- you’re driving him insane.

✿ - cw: cynoxfem!reader, cockwarming, vaginal penetration, cervix fucking, breeding, biting, size kink.

✿ - a/n: still trying to figure out how I wanna write him, but anyways thank you to my beta readers @bubble4u @rczc & @kazuwhora

Cyno's will is strong, stronger than any impregnable defense — damn near unbreakable even, although.. with each clench of your cunt, Cyno can feel his resolve slowly starting to deteriorate.

He closes his eyes tightly, brows furrowing in annoyance. He's thanking the gods that luck is on his side today — it's almost unbearable how good you feel around him, your welcoming heat squeezing around his cock involuntarily as you continue jotting down your thesis statement for your research, the sounds of your pen dragging across the papers was causing him to lose more of his sanity.

He mumbles a curse in his native tongue underneath his breath. What makes this worse is that every time you scoot your body closer to the desk, you unintentionally grind yourself against his lap, causing more of him to sink inside you.

He grunts, hands registering on your hips as his fingers dig into the softness of your flesh, holding you firmly in place. His action nearly startles you — causing you to look up from work to stare at him. "Is there a problem?"

".. no," he mumbles, crimson eyes meeting your gaze. To most, the young, general mahamatra was hard to read, although, to be fair —- it's hard to read someone when they have a scepter pointed at your neck ready to strike you down at any given moment. But, thankfully, you're not most, having gotten past his more rigid exterior and becoming his lover.

You decide to humor him, cocking your head to the side in a cute display, a teasing smile tugging at your lips when you hear him groan. "Oh, is that true?"

He doesn't reply; instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, deciding not to fall victim to another one of your baits. You sigh, looking back at your papers. "I'm almost done. Give me a few more minutes,"

Time felt like it was dragging on forever. Occasionally, cyno would look over your shoulder, carefully reading over your sentences to catch any mistake you might've made while you effortlessly wrote away. As bright as you were, it wasn't uncommon for you to make minor mistakes, and you were silently grateful that you had a lover that cared so much for you that he was willing to help.

"You misspelled that," Cyno gestures towards the sentence with his finger.

"Oh, yeah, I did. Thanks!"

Cyno hums in response as you give him a quick kiss on his cheek. "Almost done,"

If it weren't for the warmth and the occasional feeling of your walls clenching around him. Cyno might've even forgotten the predicament he was in. He inhaled, taking in your scent — the smell of the rainforest wafting from your body, the scent of sumeru roses and padisarah's were overpowering but pleasant. (although, he preferred when you smelled of red crests and ajilenakh nut. The scent is reminiscent of the sands you grew up in.)

His ears perk up when he hears the sound of you slamming down your pencil. "I'm finally done," you muse, almost excusing yourself from your lover's lap. Until you have the wind knocked out of you when he stands up and knocks you over —- cock sliding out of you in the process.

Strong arms wasted no time bending you over your desk — your pencils and papers falling onto the ground carelessly as Cyno pins your body beneath his. You can feel his lean muscles flex against your back while his hands rest on either side of your waist.

"Cyno," You gasp, squirming underneath him, although to no avail. The hold he has on you makes it hard to move too much.

"Can I," he asks through gritted teeth and you nod as his cock rubs against your ass. He presses a quick kiss against your temple, and although fleeting — you could still feel his warm lips lingering on your skin.

Moving his hand, he gives himself a few strokes — your essence from earlier still coating his shaft, causing a Schlick sound to be heard with each pump. He uses his free hand to spread the globes of your ass to get a better view of your cunt — the sight of your drippy pussy causes his cock to throb in his palm.

Finally, he aligns himself with your awaiting hole, forcing apart your walls as he sheathes himself inside.

"F—fuck," you hiss, the burning sensation from the stretch felt amazing — wriggling your hips a little, you try to get whatever friction you can, that is, until you're stopped in your tracks, Cyno's hands gripping onto you as he forces your body into the desk, rutting into at an insatiable pace.

"S—so good, please," You cry out, nearly screaming as he thrusts into that particular spot that has you seeing white, your hands clawing at the surface beneath you — trying to steady yourself.

Cyno lowers his head into the crook of your neck — sharp fangs nipping at your flesh, causing you to shriek before placing his lips flat against you. You groan, feeling him smirk against your neck. "Please what," he asks — and you know all too well what games he's playing.

"I asked you something," He whispers into your ear — his warm breath ghosting over the shell. You refuse to make eye contact. However, he brings a hand around to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. Carnal desire was ever so apparent in his red eyes — looking at you as if you were prey, you almost felt small underneath his gaze. "Answer me, my dove,"

Like an arrow to the heart — that nickname gets you every time. You sigh, caving in and feeding Cyno ego even more. "Please, more," your voice is small. However, he doesn't push you to be any louder. "As you wish,"

You nearly choke on a sob as Cyno maneuvers your body. Finally, he repositions you enough for him to angle his hips. Ramming into you with better precision — the tip of his cock bullying your poor cervix with each thrust almost unbearably. Though the pleasure of being fucked thoroughly was enough to override your pain, causing your walls to tighten around him, making it harder for him to drag his cock through. "Sh—-shit," he hisses, his voice cracking as he hunches over you.

"Lighten up," He pants, his balls slapping against you with each thrust. He snakes an arm around you, pressing it flat against your lower belly before inching its way closer to your swollen clit that ached for attention. You could no longer contain your moans — feeling him thumb at your bundle of nerves.

"Cyno, Cyno," you moan, his name falling off your lips like a prayer — filling his chest with pride. "Mm s'close," you slur, and honestly, you didn't even need to say anything for your lover to know, considering how your body spasmed around his cock.

You close your eyes, biting at your lips as you focus on the coil in your tummy that's growing tighter and tighter. "So, so… so close," all it took was one final thrust that had you seeing stars and nearly falling onto the desk — although, Cyno was fast to catch you. Supporting your body as he rocks into you, chasing his own end.

You can feel his cock twitch and pulsate inside of you as thick ribbons of cum paint your insides white. You're exhausted, and you're struggling to catch your breath.

You let out a breathless laugh, making a joke about how much of a mess you must look. Cyno doesn't laugh — eyes scanning over your form, even with your hair disheveled and sweat coating your skin, he could never deny how beautiful you were.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Was all he said before gathering your limp body in his arms and carrying you across the room. You laugh, and he looks at you curiously while you struggle to contain yourself. "What,"

"You look worse than I do," A smile spread across your face as you pointed out his messy white locks and the hood that was falling off his head. A soft laugh escapes Cyno's lips.

"Shut up,"

[charmerchannie]

Tuesday: Christopher

Head is spinnin' masterlist

Bang Chan/Christopher x reader

Warnings: public naughtiness, fingering. This is not bang chan, this is Christopher

Intro: you often help the students at your art school by modeling for their projects. But your services aren't free. You always get something in return.

Christopher was a graduate student. He was a TA for one of your art history classes last year. You didn’t sleep with him at the time—you have some principles—but the two of you eye fucked each other all semester long. You hooked up a few times in the spring when he wasn’t in charge of your grades anymore, and twice over the summer, too. You aren't surprised to find him in the library on a Tuesday night. Well, it would be more accurate to say he finds you. He came looking for a book for his thesis when he saw you typing away on your laptop. There were rarely people in this section of the stacks because there weren’t many art majors who spent a whole lot of time in the library, and it was a pretty remote corner. Christopher continues on his way to find his book after he sees you, but he circles back around after, like it’s a coincidence.

“Hey, Y/n,” you hear muffled over the sound of the instrumental music coming from your ear buds. He’s standing in front of you, across the table, and your eyes follow all the way up from his broad hips over his toned chest (evident even through his shirt) up to his handsome face. You pull one earbud out.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” you smile.

"Did that kid Seungmin get in touch with you?" he asks, standing with the book he picked up in one hand and his other hand in his pocket.

"Yeah," you say with a laugh.

He catches the look in your eye when you think about Seungmin on your couch. "Oh, no, you didn't ruin him did you?" he asks, his head turning to the side.

"No! I didn't. We just...made out a little bit," you admit.

"Y/n!" he says loudly in mock indignation.

"Shh! Christopher!” you hiss, wanting him to not yell your name in the library. “It was just a little bit." You blush.

"You're such a whore for artists." He shakes his head at you.

“Oh, please. Centuries of male artists having their way with as many women as they wanted, but I’m not allowed to love men. To admire and appreciate their bodies?” you scoff, but your indignant expression evaporates as you give his own body a flirtatious once over.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You mind if I sit?"

"Sure,” you shrug.

There’s plenty of room at this table for both of you, but you’re surprised when, of the three empty chairs, he chooses to sit in the one to your left. You slide some of your stuff over a few inches to give him some space. He settles and opens his book like he’s going to read it, but he has no such intention. He pretends for long enough for you to go back to writing your paper. It takes you a minute to get your train of thought back and refocus on impressionism, but you get there.

After you’ve written a couple of sentences, you feel Christopher’s warm hand on your thigh just above your knee. You look down at it, his broad hand sitting in stark contrast to the thin black leggings you’re wearing under a red cotton dress. You’re not quite sure what you should do. Christopher likes to play. It’s like that game you used to play in high school where someone would put their hand on your thigh and slowly inched upward to test you until you said it was too much. That’s exactly what Christopher is doing now. He wants to see if you’ll tell him to stop and when. You should definitely tell him to stop, but you don’t want to. You want to see just how far he’ll take it. Is he bluffing? Would he really try to touch you in the library? Will you let him?

He hasn’t moved his hand yet, not up, down, or away. It’s just sitting there, and after looking at his thick fingers for a second, you look back up at your computer screen without looking in his direction, playing along with his little sexual game of chicken. You hear him huff a laugh through the smile that must be plastered across his face, and now you’re pretending to read, too. He slides his hand a couple of inches up your leg, and your eyes involuntarily flick downward before coming up again without acknowledging him in any other way, but you know he’s looking at your face. Since he hasn’t been able to get to you yet, he continues his journey toward the top of your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up. He’s moving very slowly and gives your flesh a squeeze when he reaches your thickest part. His strong fingers knead into you, causing your heat to clench around nothing.

You clear your throat and look at him finally. “Can I help you?” you snark.

“I’m just wondering if I can help you,” he responds.

“How would you help me?” You’re dying to know.

“Well, you said you and Seungmin only made out last night. Knowing you, I’d guess that got you all high and tense. I bet you could use a little release.” His eyes have grown dark, and his fingers have slipped from your inner thigh to your core, giving you just enough pressure to let you know he’s there.

“What makes you think I can’t take care of myself?” you smirk.

He shrugs. “I was just checking,” he says, pulling his hand away.

You grab his wrist and look him in the eyes. “Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish, Bang.”

His eyebrow twitches as his smile grows. He leans closer to you and returns his hand to cup your mound. “Get back to work,” Christopher says, jerking his chin toward your laptop. You twist your face up in a smile as you turn your face forward again, returning your hands to a typing position. He places his fingers flat over your covered opening, having to make some space for his hand between your closed thighs. You hear him gasp quietly when he bends his middle finger to graze your slit. “You aren’t wearing underwear, are you?” he asks in a quiet, sultry voice.

You giggle. “Nope.” You desperately need to do laundry, but you’ve been too lazy and not had the time.

“You slut,” he teases.

You turn to him seriously. “Don’t call me a slut.”

“Oh, honey. I love it,” he assures you, but you’re not kidding. You can’t stand that word. You stare him down. “Fine, got it. You are a very naughty girl, though. Coming to the library with no panties,” he tisks. “It’s like you wanted me to touch you.”

You turn back to your screen, as if you’re no longer interested in the firm strokes he’s giving you, but you’re not telling him to stop, and you both know you don’t want him to. He can feel your heat and as he works over you, he can feel your slick leaking out to wet your crotch.

“Oh, honey. I am going to ruin these leggings,” Chris mutters. You say nothing as he rubs circles around your most sensitive part. You’d been doing a pretty good job acting unbothered up until that point, swallowing down your moans, but now your hips jump in your seat. He feels the pulse of your clenching and drives his fingers down again, pushing your leggings into your folds as he goes. He’s enjoying the way you’re drenching your pants for him, and he pushes harder, pressing into your yearning entrance. Your mouth falls open. Your tongue sneaks out to wet your lips. Your leggings are old, getting threadbare, and Christopher has just discovered the beginning of a hole in your crotch. He can feel your juice on his fingertips, and he stops his movement for a moment before he digs his finger into the small hole, widening it.

“Oh my god,” he breaths, and you’re both a little lost in the headiness of this sudden turn. Christopher’s finger is against your swollen flesh, and all you can think of is having more. He seems to be thinking the same thing as he scoots his chair an inch or two closer to you. He pushes his finger deeper inside the hole, feeling your folds now. He dips his finger into your essence and sighs. Christopher remembers loving the taste of you, and he’s wishing you weren’t in the library anymore. He’s considering throwing you on the table in front of him and making a meal of you.

“I’ll buy you new leggings,” he says just before he tears the hole wider, making your mouth drop open. He probes his finger inside of you but can’t get very far with the angle you're sitting at. Without a word, you slump in your chair a little, push your hips forward, and spread your knees apart so he can squeeze his finger inside of you, both of you sighing. “Fuck. Have I ever told you how much I like your pussy?” he breathes in your ear, causing you to throw your head back. He has actually, every time you two are together like this, but you’re not tired of hearing it. “So fucking tight and wet,” he moans softly as he pushes another finger inside of you all the way up to your sweet spot and dragging the pads of his fingers back down against your gummy wall. There are no words in your head to respond. You’re trying so hard not to make any sound at all as you grip your chair. He pulls his fingers back out to rub firm circles over your clit.

“Fuck, Christopher,” you hiss, surprised how fast you’re rocketing toward your peak.

“You’re loving this aren’t you?” he chuckles softly, as if he’s not. “You love me getting you off in the library, you dirty girl,” he breathes.

You bite your lips between your teeth trying desperately to hold in your cries of pleasure as the tension builds in your stomach. You hear the ding of the elevator behind you and freeze, but he doesn’t stop.

Christopher’s lips are against your ear. “You better come before they do,” he commands while he moves his fingers harder and faster against you. You hear footsteps coming in your direction and close your eyes tight.

“Fuck,” you gasp when you hit your climax, fingers gripping the edge of the table for dear life.

Normally, Christopher would tease you through your shudders, driving you crazy, but he doesn’t wait to withdraw his fingers. You fall forward, burying your head in your arms on the table while he licks you off his fingers. He wipes his saliva on your leggings with a grin, and you can only laugh because he already promised to replace them. The person who got off the elevator walks by you none the wiser.

“Oh my god,” you sigh happily, leaning back in your chair. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead for the thin layer of sweat.

Christopher laughs, too. “Can I drive you home?” he offers.

“Can you? You’d better. I’m not walking across campus to my apartment with my leggings ripped open,” you tell him quietly.

He shrugs. “The breeze might be refreshing.” You both laugh again. You gather your things and wait impatiently, squeezing your legs together, while he checks out his book at the circulation desk. Your dress is definitely covering you, but you still feel exposed.

He walks you out to his car and opens the door for you, which would seem gentlemanly if you didn’t know that it was because the automatic locks on his old beat up car don’t work, and if he hadn’t just fingered you in public.

“Your place or mine?” he asks as he starts the car.

You scoff. “Oh, so you think you should get off now, too?” you say in a tone that makes it clear he won’t.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he laughs. He navigates easily to your apartment from memory. “Well, that was fun,” he says as he parks in front of your building.

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime,” you grin and wink, knowing you will. You open the door and step out, holding down the back of your dress with your hand. “Oh, and don’t forget you owe me leggings!” you turn back to say before closing the door on his laughter.

Main Masterlist

Taglist: @rylea08

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, my love!

I, unfortunately, missed your requests being open (six pages of a thesis is kicking my ass right now) but when they’re open again, is there a chance you could write another Dad!Price fic?

Since the last one felt so personal to me, would it be possible to have Price helping his daughter through Uni stress? Maybe she asks him to help her on her thesis? Lord knows I could use some inspo/assistance on mine!

Of course, if this is too late then feel free to delete it! I just wanted to pop in and drop a request off before I either, A: forgot about it, or B: missed your requests being open the next time :(

Sending so much love and hugs <3

Late Night Cookies

PAIRING: John Price x Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Stressed and still awake, you go to grab food from the kitchen before you get right back into your work. Your father talks some sense into you over a nostalgic recipe.

WORDCOUNT: 1.5k

WARNINGS: Stress around school, grades, papers, etc. but 90% fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm so glad you sent something in, Love! So good to hear from you again!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes were blurry and your hands were shaking, the table light shining too brightly in the stillness of your bedroom as a cold breeze wafts through the cracked window. 

The words swirled on your computer screen, sitting in front of you as your head slipped forward. Letters bleed into nonsense sentences that even a genius couldn’t make sense out of. There were weights on your fingers—keeping them stuck to the keys. 

“And, thus,” your garbled speech slips out, reading the line you’d just written; eyes squinting as your headache flares. “A-and…thus…” 

Shaking your head, you pull back and press your palms into your eyesockets, your spine flopping back with an audible crack as it straightens from hours of hunched torture. A groan slips out of your lips. 

“Shit,” you growl, sighing harshly. 

University, while necessary, was really your worst enemy right now—you’re constantly stressed and getting little sleep; when was the last time you’d eaten? Pages upon pages of typed research seer your eyes while closed. Only in this tight silence of your room were you able to hear the small sounds of the TV on in the house as it wafts in from under the line of your door. 

Your hands slip down your face as you stare blankly at your ceiling, eyes burning with fatigue. The muffled shouts from football games play in your ears. 

Humming, you push back from your desk and stand, stumbling for a second as your numb legs get prickles of electricity shooting through them. You needed food, water, even. Then you can get back into it. On the way out you snatch a blanket from the frame of your bed, wrapping it over your shoulders to preserve heat. 

Like a snail, you shuffle over the hardwood before finally pushing out into the hallway with only a small bump into the door frame. Hissing, the darkness of the house was good, and before long you’d grumbled past the large form laying on the living room couch in need of any form of sustenance. So brain-fried, you end up completely missing the small questioning ask of your name as Liverpool fights off another rival on-screen. Slashing colors dance across the darkness. 

The hand on your shoulder, though, you can’t miss.

“Sweetheart?” Your father’s voice brings you back from blankly nodding off into his chest as he turns you around. You jerk back with a rapid fluttering of your eyelashes. 

“Yeah?” Your voice slurs, croaky, and you rub again at your cheeks with the corner of your blanket. “What’s up?”

Blue eyes blink down at you in shock at your state, small noise made in the back of the large man’s throat. “Hell’s this, then? Thought you were sleeping already.”

“Sleeping?” The tone is incredulous, a bit of sanity leaking back into your speech. You look up into your dad’s face and his tight beard; his eyebrows are curled in. “I’m not even close to being done. I can’t sleep yet.” 

John blinks slowly, gaze darting from the sizable bags under your eyes to the redness of your sclera—the veins that reach for your irises like infectious fingers. His grip on you tightens. 

“When’s the last time you took a break, Love?” He asks slowly, taking you by the shoulders and bending down a little. He looks concerned. “It’s bloody dark out.”

You stare and huff a sheepish, tired, smile while your dad’s expression tightens with exasperation. He blinks in disbelief at your non-answer, answer. 

“Fuckin’ hell…c’mon, Sunshine, off to bed.” Your head is already shaking.

“I’m hungry.” John sighs, and the air ruffles your hair. But he relents and before you know it there’s a hand on the back of your shoulders corralling you into the kitchen. You lean heavily into your father’s side, and his fingers curl over your opposite arm. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your head. 

“How long have you been up, eh?” You yawn and lick your lips. Flinching when John flicks the kitchen light on. Burrowing down into your blanket, you seep in his heat like a greedy lizard. “Sweetheart?”

“Dunno,” you’re guided over to the island and plopped down into a chair. “I need to finish my work.” 

He chuckles and you slouch over to fold your arms, resting your chin on them. “Well, I suppose you plan on finishing it half-asleep?” 

John opens the fridge, looking over the small remnants of supper. He frowns and turns to look at you as your face lays sideways on your limbs. You blink slowly at him.

“...Maybe,” you grumble, face hot. 

Your father grunts and closes the fridge, turning back around and crossing his arms. 

“No more of this, eh?” He begins, glaring and infecting his words with that infectious authority. “After we get you fed, you’re off to bed. That’s that.” 

You’re about to protest before your dad interrupts with a stern growl of your name. You grit your teeth and shamefully dip your head. There’s a moment of silence where the outside sounds of wind and creaking can be heard—the entire world asleep beside the father and daughter in the dim kitchen.  

John tilts his head and softens his face; feet carrying him over. Stopping beside you, he places his hand on your scalp and pats you gently, rubbing his thumb into your hair. Lashes flutter, and your body sags into the counter even more. Your father kisses your head and whispers, “You need your sleep, Sweetheart. This’ll do you no good. Pace yourself, you’ll get it done—I promise, yeah?”

“How do you know?” Your voice mutters, hesitation finally showing itself. Eyes stare at the table, red and dry. 

Your father chuckles and you glance back. He’s smiling in his own way, wrinkles showing and eyes crinkling with amusement.

“You’ve gotten this far. My girl’s not one to give it up. And even if you do,” he stands and pats your shoulder before he heads to the pantry. Your expression leaks slight confusion as he opens the door. “We can figure it out together. It’s not the bloody end of the world. It’ll pass.” 

Your internal anxiety eases at your parent's reassurance, his casual surety more of a blanket than the one you already swaddle yourself with. The subtle anxious shaking of your fingers stills after a moment of cognition. Stuffing down another yawn, you feel a warmth burn in your heart at the words and you smile. 

“When did you get all wise?” You tease, seeing John take out various ingredients as you watch. He scoffs.

“The second I got the call I was needed in hospital and had a damn daughter.” You laugh. 

“Alright, then,” your sarcastic reply slips out, and John chuckles lowly. After a moment you can’t stop your curiosity, no matter how much your limbs stay heavy. “What are you doing?”

A large bowl had been placed on the counter with a dull thunk. Blue eyes darted at you before measuring cups were spawned next to the previous object. 

“What’s it look like, then?” John’s finger casually points to a recipe that had been set up on the wall, a thin and damaged piece of paper with chicken scratch; stains, and crumpled corners. You blink at it in recognition.

“...Cookies?”

“You want chips or cinnamon?” 

Watching with wide eyes, you clear your throat and utter, “Uh, c-chips, I guess?” John grunts and focuses with a calm face. The recipe had been a sort of inside joke between the two of you. 

When your dad was off on assignment for long periods, you’d always make him a batch when he was set to leave and when he came back—a kind of soothing gesture to ease the uncertainty. To let him know you’d be alright without him here. 

He made them for you when you were sick or feeling bad. You blink quickly to dispel the sudden wetness of your eyes. 

“You helping?” John asks, not turning to you, as he dumps flour into the bowl. “Won’t taste right if you don’t.” A cheeky tone hits your ears. 

Standing, you shuffle over and grab at the chocolate bag, digging inside and stealing a few before your dad can stop you. He gives you a fake glare, huffing under his breath before smirking to himself.

Your body leans into his side and you giggle as he rubs his beard into your head. 

—

Hours later, you rest limply against your dad’s shoulder on the living room couch, empty plate on the coffee table and the TV low. You breathe softly and get the sleep you both deserve and need—of course, the work would start back up tomorrow, but it always would. Having your dad in your corner was the thing to keep you upright; your rock. 

John looks down and watches you with a deep well of affection and ease. He kisses your head before his arms reach around you, lifting with no problem. 

He carries his little girl, because that was what you would always be, off to bed and tucks you in. Snapping off your desk lamp with a small sigh of contentment and a low hum.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[simplymarr]

Chapter five.

warnings: +18 smut; fingering, penetration, kinda praise kink?

notes: FINALLY i was so nervous but excited to write this. i know some of you were waiting for this so this chapter is long af. enjoy.

Head buzzing. Cheeks still warm. Heart racing.

As i went to bed that night i couldn't stop thinking about it. That kiss. My skin still shivered just thinking about his touch. His hands cupping my cheeks, his warm lips against mine.

He'd be the death of me.

One side of me was completely mad about him, and the other side was just as concerned.

What would we do now? What if someone found out? My heart almost hammering in my chest as i thought of my classmates' faces if they found out. I didn't want them to think i was trying to seduce him to get my thesis done, i didn't need to do that. I wasn't that kind of person, and he knew it. Or i least that was what i expected.

Thursday morning was already slamming at my door. All my thoughts still rambling through my head as i entered the classroom, and then there he was.

Formal but simple clothes as always, his hair always in-between of being put together and decontracted, his characteristic front strands fell on his forehead.

He looked at me stealthily among all the people during all class, and i could sense that he was thinking about it too.

As the bell rang, always at 10 am, i hessitated. Should i go and talk to him? should i go? All my doubts vanished as i saw him slowly walking towards me, as he was doing time while all those people left the place. Hands in his pants pockets and a side smile. Oh my fucking god.

"Hey".

"Hey".

Silence; the tension almost intoxicating the two of us. He broke it first:

"Listen, i was thinking about last tuesday and-"

"You don't have to worry about it, you know?" I said, stopping him mid-sentence. "You're my professor, i'm your student, it's all clear". My tone trying to sound convincing as if we didn't just made out in his car two days ago. Obviously, it wasn't that clear.

He smirked confidently, looking at me. "I know that".

I looked at him quite confused; Was he the same man that acted all nervous an hessitant last week? Didn't he care at all?

"Well, okay then".

"I've read your progress on the thesis, it's going very well" he continued like nothing happened, though i sensed some tension in his tone. "Though I have made some corrections starting from page fifteen that i would like you to look at".

"Oh, okay." I didn't even know what to say. "I will look at it when i get home then".

I looked at him, batting my eyelashes nervously as he kept watching me stoic, almost analyzing my movements.

Then, all of the suden, he grabbed me from behind my neck with both hands and pushed me against a near wall where nobody that would enter the room could see us. He kissed me hungrily, breathing heavily due to the fast movement that he had recently made. I responded quickly, closing my eyes and grabbing him from behind his neck as his hands traveled from my own neck to my waist, bringing me closer to him. Our mouths devoured each other, this kiss was not like the previous one. This was a hungry, sinful one, as if neither him or i could wait any longer. As if we both knew that all this could only bring trouble.

Heat starting to fill my body and his when suddenly a loud noise echoed the space, like a door slamming in the distance, not the one in this room but it felt like it.

We both broke the kiss in a heartbeat as a instinct reaction. Chests coming up and down quickly, eyes filled with unsatisfied hunger.

"I want to see you again". I whispered to him. If it was still a bit of shame left in me, it was already gone.

"Would you like to come home? you could bring all your drafts"

I laughed at his innocent proposition, given to what just had happened.

"I would love to" I said, smiling at him.

"8 pm is alright? I could pick you up if you want"

I looked at him, smiling nervously.

"What? it's not like you haven't been in my car before" He said, with a smirk.

I laughed and gave him a playful hit on his arm. "8 pm is just fine".

He smiled, quite hessitant. I could sense that he was just as nervous as me.

I mean, the damage was already done, right?

-------------------

Nighttime had already come beneath us as he parked outside his house. A big, but modest one. Light grey walls and big windows, now covered by dark blue curtains.

The inside felt very cozy; warm lights, a round, wooden table at one side with a brownish sofa and big book shelfs.

A few wall paintings and a wine cellar from where he picked a bottle and two wine glasses. I looked at him almost blushing at the whole situation.

He was wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans, a bit more casual than what he'd wear at class. Silver hair perfect as always, the lines forming in his mouth as he smiled and handed me the filled glass.

"Thank you". Our fingers touching so slightly as i took the glass. He sat besides me at the sofa.

"Well, how did you do?. He said as he pointed at the drafts and papers on my hands.

"Pretty well, i would say. What do you think?" I handed him the papers as he put his glasses on.

He observed them in silence with a hand in his chin as i looked him with doubt. He chuckled to himself as he read them.

"What?" I said, opening my eyes to him.

"You are very incisive" He said in a playful tone, french accent dripping deliciously onto each word.

"I thought you already knew that".

He smirked as i continued: "Takes one to know one, right?"

The warm, subtle lights carressing his features as he drank the red wine.

"What makes you think that?"

"It just seems that you always know what you want".

He stayed in silence and sat closer to me. One hand on the sofa backreast, behind me. I continued:

"Do you?". Maybe it was the wine, already starting to hit on my words, or the way his eyes looked darker in the night. He smiled softly at me.

"I don't always know, no" I looked at him over my eyelashes, silence echoed the room as he continued. "But i think i know what i want just now".

He carressed my cheek with his fingers, the touch so tender but intoxicating. I needed his touch, his mouth on me again. I couldn't wait any longer.

"Vincent" His name coming out of my mouth as a pathetic moan as i begged to him. "Please, kiss me"

"How could i ever refuse?"

He then broke any remaining tension grabbing gently my cheeks and kissing me deeply. Slowly this time, as we had the night to ourselfs. He tasted like the sweet red wine we just drank and so was i. His perfume smelled, in fact, like a classic one. Wooden but not too harsh, just perfect on his skin My fingers ran into his silver hair as we kept deepening the kiss, both now lying down the sofa.His warm tongue intertwined with mine as his hands ran through my waist and i could feel the heat coming down my body.

He broke the kiss, heavy breathing as he whispered near my mouth.

"Are you okay with this?"

I nodded at him and attempted to kiss him again but he insisted:

"I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, baby"

My entire body shivered just hearing the petname coming out of his mouth and his tenderness at each moment made me feel secure.

"I need you, Vincent. Please" My words coming out as weak whispers as my head buzzed, i needed his touch more than anything in that moment. His eyes getting darker as he was hearing me beg. He lifted me up softly in his arms and carried me into his bedroom.

The room was dark as only the weak, pale moonlight entered through a window besides de big kingsize bed. We were standing at the edge of the bed as i could feel my cheeks getting warmer and warmer under his touch. His hands slowly taking up my shirt as he stared with devotion at my body. His eyes wandered at each mole and each mark. Then he slowly kneeled in front of me, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down my stomach. He looked at me from below with greedy eyes.

"Can i?" He whispered to me, touching the button of my jeans. I nodded slowly as he began undoing them. My body now covered only by black lace underwear and bra.

"Mon Dieu" He whispered, still on his knees. "You're beautiful".

I carresed his chin with my hand as he stoop up slowly, without breaking eye contact.

"Now it's my turn" I said, as i took his sweater and the rest of his clothes off.

His skin soft and warm as we kept kissing deeply on his bed, the air so intoxicating as his touch. Wet kisses on my neck and collarbones. His hand slowly playing with the hem of my panties as i cursed under my breath.

"What's the problem, dear?" He whispered in my ear with a cheeky tone.

"Vincent, please"

"Give me words and i'll give you what you want" His fingers almost touching my aching flesh.

"Touch me, please" My words almost tripping.

He smiled and ran his fingers into me, playing with my clit as i left out a pathetic whimper.

"Merde, you're so fucking wet" He whispered to my ear as he kept touching every fold. He then slid two fingers into me, almost making me lose all reason.

"Oh, Vincent" I kept moaning his name, my core aching under his touch as i could feel his bulge growing against my leg.

"Yes, chérie?

"Please, fuck me." I begged to him, leaving all sense of shame behind. I needed him so badly, like i never needed anybody.

"I love it when you say my name like that" He said as he slid my panties down my legs and freed himself from his own underwear, his big length against my stomach as he pumped himself a few times.

He then stretched out an arm to reach the drawer of the nightstand from where he picked a condom. His firm body glistening as he put it on and then positioned himself between my legs, grabbing them firmly.

He sank into me slowly and i could feel every inch inside me, his head resting on the crook of my neck. He stayed still for a moment, feeling me warm against him.

" Putain. You feel so fucking good" He said as he began thrusting me, slowly picking up a pace.

My nails against his back as i could feel him so big inside me, my head buzzing as i heard the sinful sounds of his thrusts getting more wet and more sloppy.

"Fuck, Vincent" my moans getting more and more out of control. "Keep going, please".

He smiled and then bit my lower lip. "You're taking me so fucking well, baby"

Then he rolled me over the bed. My face now against the pillow as he began thrusting me from behind, hands grabbing my waist as he fucked me deeper and faster.

"You're being such a good girl. Just look at you"

I turned my face so i could see him while he kept fucking me, his silver strands of hair falling into his glistening forehead and his eyes dark and seductive. I started feeling pleasure waves getting bigger and bigger, my core aching for a release.

"Fuck, i really want to ride you" I whispered to him as i could, with half my face still resting on the pillow.

He smiled at me and slid himself out. I whimpered instinctively at sudden lack of contact.

"Go on, then. Show me how good you can fuck me" He said as he lied on the bed.

I climbed on top and sank into his length slowly, almost painfully slowly. My eyes pierced at his as i did it.

"Putain, tu vas me faire jouir" He moaned, almost cursing, under his breath.

My movements took a faster and faster pace as i felt closer to my orgasm. He grabbed firmly my breasts as i went up and down, playing with my sensitive nipples.

"Oh, God. Vincent, i'm gonna cum"

"Go on, chérie. Go on and cum all over me".

My body trembled as i felt closer and closer, i tried to close my eyes but he stopped me.

"No, no. Don't do that. Look at me, i want to see your pretty eyes"

Those words sending me even closer as i felt my orgasm reaching every part of my body, trying to keep my eyes opened. His eyes filled with magnetic lust.

"Fuck, Vincent" I moaned with the little energy i had left as he pushed himself one last time, cumming inside me.

"C'était tellement bon, chérie" He whispered into my ear as i lied on the bed besides him, totally surrendered by his words. I loved it when he'd speak to me in french.

He gently kissed me on the forehead as he put his arms around me. My head resting on his chest as we instantly fell asleep in the still warm bed.

next chapter soon

[gothhabiba]

ooh could you elaborate on how the academic approach to social science topics varies across countries? and how different essay structures reflect those different approaches? what you said sounded interesting and i think it aligns with my experiences but im curious what exactly you had in mind

Not just the social sciences in particular but essay-writing in general is different from country to country, in terms of how essays are divided into different main “types” (e.g. summary, critical lens, argumentative, &c.); in terms of which tone is thought to be appropriate for which type of essay—how much you should argue forcibly and how much you should speculate or leave up to the reader; in terms of how much the language of an essay should mimick the language of speech (from “a subset of a spoken language that is considered formal” to “entire grammatical structures and verb tenses that don’t exist in spoken language” to “literally a completely different language"); in terms of what is an appropriate choice of subject for an essay of which type; in terms of how you should treat other writers whom your essay cites; &c. &c.

In the USA you tend to see, at least at the high school and lower collegiate levels, essays divided into an introduction that does specific things (introduces a wider topic, "narrows down" into the particular text or part of that topic being discussed, ends with a multi-part thesis statement explaining what you will argue); three or so body paragraphs that also do very specific things (argue one sub-point of the thesis statement, in order; begin with a topic sentence; continue with examples and arguments in support of the topic sentence, incorporating quotes to support your argument in one of a few specific ways and then analysing those quotes one by one; end with a sentence transitioning to the next paragraph); and then a concluding paragraph (opens with a restatement of the thesis; continues to summarise what has been argued; concludes with a statement of the broader relevance or importance of what the essay has argued). This will be called the "argumentative essay structure" or "hourglass essay" or "5-paragraph essay."

The tone should be forcefully argumentative, should not include statements such as "I think," "I believe," or anything else that seems too speculative (or indeed any first-person reference to the author at all); should not include any appeal to the reader to make up their own mind; &c. At a higher level, research essays should include sources, not so that these sources can be used to support the main point, but so that the essay's author can disagree with these sources in order to indicate that they are sufficiently "critical" and are contributing to their field (this is also true in the UK). Professors will probably want you to evaluate the assumptions that other writers are making, measure the merits of one writer's position against another, and argue for your own interpretation strongly and clearly in such a way that you don't seem to believe it to be an interpretation but rather demonstrably true. They may expect you to anticipate and 'disprove' counter-arguments that could potentially be levelled against your argument. The point is to 'convince' the reader of something. You'll often hear things like "you can argue whatever you want, as long as you can support it"; you are meant to chuse the topic and argument of a paper yourself, and a teacher or professor is not strictly meant to grade a well-structured essay poorly just because they disagree with you.

In terms of style, a sufficiently formal register (which excludes certain expressions and words used in everyday speech and in other kinds of writing, and includes others not used in speech) is expected; varied sentence structure is valued. At a lower level, you are expected to summarise enough background information to allow someone who has not read e.g. the novel you're talking about to understand your essay; at a graduate level, you may assume familiarity with the plot points of canonical texts.

These are all really particular ideas that go along with a specific philosophy about the purpose of writing in general, or in the social sciences and humanities in particular. They're not inherent to what "an essay" is (much less to what "writing" or "good writing" is).

French essay-writing is similarly extremely specific, but is completely different in structure. A successful French 'dissertation' (not 'dissertation' as in 'thesis'; basically an argumentative essay) needs to demonstrate strict adherence to a certain organisational structure. It should open with a 'problématique,' or central question / idea, which the entire essay will be conceptually and structurally centred around. Rather than arguing sub-points of a larger thesis one at a time, the essay's three body paragraphs are linked to each other with a dialectical, interrogative logic wherein the first paragraph will evaluate one side of a question (thesis), the second another side of the question or the opposite argument (anithesis), and the third will argumentatively compare these arguments (synthesis). Each segment of the essay should be more or less exactly the same length. These dissertations are further divided into 'thematic,' 'interrogative,' and 'implicit' essays, which each have their own expectations and guiding principles.

The first parts of the essay should not contain the author's own opinion or argument; this should be reserved for the concluding section, in which the student may relate their opinion to the arguments that they have discussed earlier. The introduction should include an overview of the structure of the essay. You are not asked to argue resoundingly for one point of view over another, but to examine a question from all sides, to evaluate it dialectically in its full complexity, and to evaluate different arguments with respect to the central question or idea against each other. Influential ideas about the topic are not cited just so that they can be argued against.

The style is expected to be, in my opinion, more clearly delineated from French as it is spoken than is the case for English-language essays; variation in sentence length or structure is not thought to be of importance; sentences of much greater length (as compared to standards for contemporary English-language writing) are considered acceptable. You should not introduce background information about the author, plot elements, publication date &c., which is considered extraneous to the essay's structure.

I know less about essay-writing in other academic cultures, but I'm sure information about this can easily be found. On a quick search, Japanese essays seem to be structured and styled quite differently from English-language ones, being more open to speculative statements such as "I think," and less insistent on front-loading a clearly delineated thesis statement.

In the Arabic-speaking world, memorisation, repetition, and recitation are highly valued in lower education. "Literacy" may look very different than a conception of "literacy" in the USA, where recitation of the Qu'ran with special attention given to its spelling and pronunciation (remember that this pronunciation will sometimes differ wildly from that of any language that students speak in their daily lives) may supercede analysis or interpretation of what is being read. Higher education tends to take place in Standard Arabic, a language in which correct expression is of religious importance. An abstract on Arabic-language essay-writing in Malaysian secondary school summarises the qualities of a successful essay-writer:

Students obviously have wide vocabulary; who able to create simple sentences; able to attach the Quranic verses, hadiths and virtuous phrase in their essay; know and able to make use of dictionary; master the techniques of memorizing main ideas of an essay and have group discussions and love writing. [...] They use various Arabic vocabulary and master in grammar. They are also skillful in using Arabic language to form correct sentences and also know how to utilize paragraphs for each content of the essay. Moreover they know when to use punctuations correctly.

Of course there are exceptions within any given country, university, or department, and essay-writing expectations differ by field and by level. I invite the reader to speculate about the potential ideological drivers of what is considered 'acceptable,' 'good,' or 'correct' versus 'undesirable,' 'inappropriate,' or 'unorganised' writing in different academic cultures.

[study-for-hogwarts]

Since I just finished my bachelor thesis and have all this -for now- unnecessary knowledge swirling around in my head, I let it out here, in case anyone can find it useful.

I present: the biggest (formating & general) rules in thesis writing (as proposed by my German professor):

1. Per page: at least 2 maximum 4 paragraphs. Professors don't like to have one huge block of text for more than half a page. They will be less likely to want to read your paper.

2. Figures and Images: put them in the text where they are spoken about, don't just refer to them being in the appendix. It disrupts the reading flow and no professor likes to shuffle back and forth in a paper multiple times. Also, images and figures should be centralised on a page, seem coherent with each other in their entirety (especially if you created them yourself, use one colour and design pallette if possible) and be named correctly. Additionally, ich you use more than 3 or 4 images/figures, have a table of tables/figures in the front of your paper after table of contents.

3. Use figures and Images - be visual, make your thesis as easy as possible to understand. No one likes to read something and have his brain in knots the whole time.

4. Use times new Roman (or Arial) in size 12, 1.5

5. Recap: If your paper is really long, we're talking about 45 pages plus and you are talking about something from chapter 2 in chapter 7, briefly (!) recap it for ease of understanding and to reinforce your red string (roter Faden).

6. Subtitles: rather have too many than too few subtitles, they make it easier to navigate the paper and help you keep track of the smaller sections (they can also help in the writing process as too not lose focus of what you are doing).

7. Limitations and future research: at the end of your paper, after the discussion and before the conclusion, you have to name limitations. If you think you had none, look again. NO paper, none at all has no limitations. If you can think only of a few, you can also add them in one or two sentences to the conclusion, but it's better to have a separate part. For theses or papers in general, common limitations are time constraint, limited access to data, limited know-how, etc. After limitations, you can have another small chapter called "future research", here you can put all the ideas that you had during writing, which are in relation to your main topics. Maybe you would have liked to research more into a specific area, or you were missing key information somewhere. In future research you can put all the ideas you would like to see researched in the future.

8. Page numbers: i hope you were clever and formatted your document with page numbers, titles and subtitles before even starting to write (if you weren't, like me), it's not horrible, but it can be slightly annoying. Don't try to do it by yourself if your not sure. Just don't. You will probably get frustrated and your stress levels will rise even more. Just Google "how to multiple kinds of page numbers Microsoft word" and follow the instructions exactly. This saves you time and nerves. Usually in theses, you use Greek page numbers (I,II,III,IV,V,VI,...) For table of contents until the introduction, and then continue with them as soon as your bibliography starts. For the part in between (introduction until conclusion) you use Roman (?) numbers (1,2,3,...).

9. Titles: if you use 1. 1.2 1.2.1 etc., make sure that it is necessary to use things like 4.5.5.1.1. A rule of thumb is, if you can't say 2 (i.e. 4.5.5.1.1 but not 4.5.5.1.2) than you don't need to say 4.5.5.1.1 at all but put that part unter 4.5.5.1. Of course, this rule does not work all the time, but I like to check the necessity of my structure in this way.

10. Plan more days: When you are nearly done with your writing process, many of us estimate 1 day for formatting and 1 for proof reading. This is, was and never will be enough. Especially not if you are a perfectionist. Plan at least 1 week for formatting and proofreading. Honestly I would recommend 10 days. Because after writing a huge paper like this you are bound to be exhausted and will crash some days. Also, it is good to take 1-2 days of distance from your work to have a fresh point of view. If I would write a bachelor thesis again, I honestly would calculate 2 weeks for formatting and proofreading. If you have to "fix" your sources, definitely take 10 days. You will take 2 days for sources, if you have to find additional ones, or check them.

11. Last but not least: if possible, register your bachelor thesis (i.e. in Germany that is the point when you officially start your writing period (usually around 9-12 weeks) as late as possible. Do as much research, etc. before this time starts. I won't say write at least half of your thesis before you start this period and have all your questionnaires/interviews/or whatever research type you use ready to go. I won't say that, but well... Just, 9 weeks is nothing. Honestly, think about the 2 weeks towards proofreading, sources and formatting (+trying to get calm after being stressed continuously for 7 weeks (I was)). Just, if you think now is the time to register, wait another two weeks.

That's all for now, I know I will use this again for my master thesis, so I will leave this here for now. I hope it helps some of you too.🤗

[mcufan72]

Sugar and Cinnamon

Loki x female reader (AU)/ 18+

Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Warnings: contains fluff, smut, unprotected sex, alcohol and cigarette consumption, angst, soft!dom/sub vibes, angry-fucking (consensual), stubborn reader

I played a little bit 'what if...' and no, I'm not retelling MCU stuff, I always create my own

It took you some hours to find sleep last night. You didn't even remember when and how you returned from the library back home. You were kind of paralyzed after you had found out the truth about Luke… no, Loki was his name. It wasn't the fact that you had fallen in love with an alien or that he was maybe the demi-god from the myths. It was the fact that the newspaper articles, which you didn't even read completely, were saying that he was a bad guy, an invader, evil, destructive and a ‘war criminal’. Maybe he had been all of this but you weren't in a position to judge him for that and also you'd never do that. What confused you was that it absolutely didn't fit the impression you had gotten of him in all the time you've spent together. Loki was the most attentive, caring, loveable and sweetest man you've ever met. There must be more to it, something like a change of mind on his part.

You wished you could talk to him just one more time to ask him all the questions you had. But you had destroyed this path and the possibility of him finding you was low. Besides, you were sure he'd stopped looking for you. You were sure with him paying you for fourteen days and nights, which was a hella lot of money, and your refusal to take it, he was done with you once and for all. Understandable because in the end you'd just offered him a service and your body and your kisses might never have meant anything to him.

The next morning a knock at your door ripped you out of your work. You were already sitting in front of your laptop again writing your thesis, a mug of freshly brewed coffee next to you and several textbooks and already printed pages of your thesis lying spread on the table. And not to speak about the clothes which were spread around your apartment, on the floor and the sofa or the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and the several empty packages from the Indian and Chinese takeaway or the pizza and pasta boxes. Your nutrition was a catastrophe these days but you hadn't any time for doing groceries and cooking some fresh and healthy food. Living in the chaos, too much coffee and junk food wasn't the best thing but the easiest until your exams were done and tidy-up you could do later.

“Coming!” You answered the knocking and stood up from the chair. You didn't expect a visitor at this time but you guessed it could be one of your neighbors.

“Hi, y/n I'm so sorry for disturbing you,” your lovely neighbour Karen greeted you after you had opened the door. She was still in her pyjamas like you. It was still early in the morning.

“Hey, Karen, no issues, you're not disturbing me. What can I do for you?” You asked her.

“I don't wanna be annoying, dear but could you lend me some flour and sugar? I want to make some blinis before I leave for work and I don't have enough flour and forgot to buy sugar…”

“No problem, of course I can lend you flour and sugar…wait, I'm back in a minute,” you laughed and vanished into your kitchen. You came back with a bag of sugar and a bag of flour and passed both to Karen.

“You can keep it and bring me some new flour and sugar in the next few days, there's no hurry,” you said and smiled brightly at her.

“Oh dearest you're a lifesaver,” she answered thankfully. “I'll bring you some blinis tomorrow when I'm back from my night shift,” and she waved you goodbye.

“It's alright, dear, thank you,” and you waved her goodbye, too. You closed the door and went back to your laptop, sat down again and continued writing. You had just finished a couple of sentences and drunk your coffee when it knocked at your door again. You looked up from the screen towards the door and a smile curved your lips.

“Coming,” you called towards the door and opened it with a bright smile on your face. “Have you forgotten something,” you asked while opening the door because you assumed it would be Karen again but when you had opened the door completely your smile died immediately and your face froze. After a second of realization, you slammed the door shut and leaned with your back against it. That couldn't be. How the hell did he find you?

Walker had told Loki in which apartment he would find you before he got out of the car. Loki didn't know which doorbell he should ring. Walker hadn't told him your real name because he thought it wasn't his job to do so. You had to tell Loki your name yourself. He already brought him here, to your house and it was more than he was allowed to do. It would cost him his job if Rhea found out about this and he considered himself as already sacked. But he wanted to help you both because he thought you two were a wonderful couple and that Loki and you had great chemistry. He also had the impression that Loki was the right man for you to help get you out of danger and out of the escort business. He still was convinced you didn't belong there and he was also convinced that Loki's obvious feelings for you were genuine.

Before Loki could think about which doorbell to ring first, someone left the building and he could get into the hallway. He used the stairway to get to your apartment and took some deep breaths, adjusted his jacket and raked his hands through his hair before he knocked at your entrance door. He was nervous. Would you open the door and let him in? Possibly not and he wasn't really prepared for your possible rejection. He yearned for you and he just wanted you back.

“Coming,” he heard you happily calling. When you opened the door it seemed you were awaiting someone else who had maybe forgotten something and instead of greeting him, your beautiful smile vanished immediately, your face froze and you slammed the door shut right into his face. Damn, that was rude but relatable. He came unannounced and maybe much too early in the morning so he should've expected this reaction of yours. And no, he wasn't prepared for your rejection. Absolutely not.

“Sugar…please open the door. I just want to talk to you. But not through a closed door. Sugar…let me in, sweets…please,” he begged you, sadness in his soothing voice. How much you had missed his voice, talking calmingly to you. How much you had missed him.

“I've searched for you everywhere and for so long… Sugar, I need you back, please… sweets, open the door. Please!”

Should you open the door? He sounded so sad and desperate.

You turned around and slowly, very slowly you opened the door just a crack and lurked through it at him. He looked so unbelievably beautiful in his dark trousers, the dark-grey t-shirt with a V-neck and his black pea coat. It was the first time that you saw him in casual clothes and you were well aware that you were still in your white loose-fitting sleep shirt and your pink pyjama bottoms with the butterfly pattern, your face undone and your hair untamed and tousled. The real you, at least in the morning. He hadn't seen you like this either. And you looked anything but sexy.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him shyly, some wariness in your gaze.

“I wanted to see you,” Loki answered whispering, utterly delighted that you had opened your door for him. “And I need to talk to you, sweets.”

You slowly opened the door completely and stepped aside so he could walk past you and come in. Loki followed your wordless invitation and entered your apartment. You closed the door and turned around towards him, looking at his broad back and strong shoulders which radiated so much safety, watching him take off his pea coat and hang it up in your wardrobe next to your jackets and bags. You already knew that your jackets would later smell like him and that was a comforting thought. Loki looked lovingly at you and a slight smile appeared on his pretty face, studying your loveable appearance.

“They're very tousled…they always are, except when I'm Sugar,” you said quietly when you saw him staring at you and twirled a strand of your hair around one finger, looking at him embarrassed.

“You always look adorable, sweets and I like your hair when you wear it open. I always wished to see you like this,” Loki said, smiling lovingly at you.

“Take a seat, please…oh, wait…,” you offered him after some moments of awkward silence and you hurriedly took several clothes off the sofa to make room for him to sit down.

“I'm so sorry for the untidiness, I'm in final preparations for my exams and I barely have time to clean up… and I didn't expect any visitors,” you apologetically explained the mess of your apartment.

“Don't worry about it, sweets. I'm not here to judge about the condition of your apartment,” and he took a seat on the couch.

“Fancy a tea or a coffee?” You asked, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. You were curious about how he found out where you live. Someone must've helped him.

“Some coffee would be great,” Loki answered, leaning back against the sofa's backrest and spreading his legs. Him sitting like this and his amazing thighs would always do things to you. Memories of what he had made you do on his thighs flashed back into your mind and made your mouth watery and your cheeks blush. You would never get over him. A shiver ran down your spine and made your core tingle and your nipples tighten. You quickly went over to the kitchen to pour some coffee for him in a mug and you felt his gaze following you.

While you were walking toward your small open kitchen to get him a coffee, Loki let his gaze follow you. You looked adorable in your comfy sleeping clothes. He loved to see your face without any make-up and your hair open and undone. Probably he wouldn't have recognised you in the streets because you looked different like this, and you were more beautiful than he could've ever imagined. Your casual clothing makes you look so comfortable. He could sense your slightly peaked nipples under your t-shirt and he felt waves of arousal running through his body. But he wasn't here to get horny, he was here to talk and get you back.

He let his gaze wander further through your small apartment. It was truly a mess right now. On your desk, a chaos of textbooks and printed pages of your thesis around your laptop and an empty coffee mug next to it, clothes everywhere, empty food packages and pizza boxes. It wasn't to miss that you were focused on your studies only. But he also saw the order in your chaos and he could relate to it. Being the god of mischief also meant that chaos was a great part of his business as well, among other things.

The only tidy thing was the evening gown he had given to you, neatly on a hanger hanging on the open door of your bedroom, right next to your dresser. On your dresser, he saw some photos in a frame. In the pictures were you as a child in the arms of a woman who he assumed was your mum, both laughing and presenting self-made cinnamon rolls to the camera and in another one where you stood with your mum on a beach with the sea and an old castle on a hill in the sea in the background, you both brightly smiling into the camera again. Your childhood must've been a wonderful one. You looked so happy in the pictures.

Next to the photos he discovered the small bouquet of his self-picked wildflowers, well-done dried and nicely decorated on the top of your dresser. A slight smile curved his lips because it touched his heart that you had kept his little gift and that you'd decorated it so lovingly. Next to your dresser, he saw your shoes, relatively neatly placed. The black high heels, the golden high heel sandals, the knee-high leather boots… and a pair of dark-green trainers. He frowned and raised his eyebrows. He was sure he had seen them before somewhere and more than once.

“Here, your coffee. Black and pure, the way you like it, I assume,” you passed him the mug, ripping him out of his thoughts. You sat down next to him and let your gaze wander from the patch of his chest hair up to his pretty face with this chiselled jaw and cheekbones, framed by those incredible black curls, his gaze piercing but heartwarming as always. There was so much longing in it. Nonetheless, you felt stripped by his staring. Maybe it was because he saw the real you for the very first time. You were in your comfy clothes, undone and vulnerable and you couldn't hide behind the pretty mask named Sugar. You felt so fragile and you were at the brink of crying. On the other hand, how dare he come here? You had forbidden him to search you and suddenly you felt angry too.

“How did you find me,” you asked him sternly. Loki sipped his coffee and placed the mug on a free space on the coffee table.

“I looked everywhere for you, sweets and there isn't a place I haven't been to find you and I didn't want to wait until our next appointment to see you again,” Loki answered genuinely and calmly.

“This is not what I meant. Who told you where to find me? Was it Rhea? You don't know my name, you didn't even know how I look when I'm not Sugar, so who told you?” Your anger and anxiety grew, your voice got louder and tears welled up in your eyes. This always happens when you are angry or scared.

“Rhea didn't tell me anything about you or where you live. Walker brought me here. I asked him for help. I knew no other way anymore and he's the only person who knows where you live. I've been to Vivian's Velvet more than once but nobody there knows Sugar… They know just Candy. I don't know what to think about it…”

“There's no relevance to it and should be none of your concerns. And Walker…it'll cost him his job and Rhea… didn't she tell you to stay away from me, that I don't want to see you again? Didn't she send you the money back? I also told you in my letter that I don't want you to be involved in my shit. Why don't you just leave me alone?” you continued ranting.

“Did you really think I wouldn't look for you after that incredible night we spent together and the letter you left behind, telling me that someone is blackmailing you? And please don't be mad at Walker. He's concerned about you too. He wanted to help and I had to convince him that I need to find you, that I have my reasons for it and that my intentions are good. He didn't do it lightly. Rhea didn't tell me anything, she just sent my money back to my bank account with that note ‘acceptance denied’. I don't understand…”

“Oh yes, talking about that… who do you think you are? Did you want to buy me? Seriously? Giving me all your money to ‘save’ me so you can own me and tell me what to do or not to do? Forbid me to escort other men? Because I owe you then?” You got off the sofa and walked some steps away from him. You needed some distance. You turned around to face him and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I might be a whore and you can buy my services but you cannot buy me, loverboy and I'll never take any money from anyone without working for it. It's the last bit of pride I have left and you…,” you pointed with a finger at him, “...won't take this from me. I'm not your property. I won't depend on your mercy, I don't need this ever again,” you yelled at him and some tears ran down your cheeks. You didn't want to yell at him or push him away like that but your anxieties and your saved emotions took the better of you. Also, you feared the consequences it could have when you asked him for help. Consequences not only for you but for him.

“And I'm not mad at Walker, I'm mad at you. Mad at you because you didn't stop looking for me, mad at you because you forced him to bring you here and risk his job, mad at you that you tried to force me to take your money without consideration.” You knew you were overreacting and you shouldn't treat him like that, he didn't deserve to be treated like that. He had always been kind and loving with you but you became more and more overwhelmed by everything that was threatening you for months now.

“Are you done now?” He asked resentfully.

“I didn't want to buy you. I just paid for the time you may have spent with me and escorting me if you would have been bookable. I don't demand anything from you, you owe me nothing, sweets,” he vehemently explained but you shook your head in disbelief.

“Everything in life has its price, ‘Luke’. Life gives you nothing!” You spat.

“Why are you implying I did something bad? I did it because I care about you, because… I don't want you to meet other men, because I can't stand the fact that other men look at you, touch you, desire you,” Loki stated. Why were you so angry and stubborn? And why have you emphasized his name like that?

“And why is that? I'm an escort, it's my job to meet men and you're a client like them. Why can't you stand it?” You wanted to know but maybe you already knew the answer, and he was definitely more to you than just a client.

“Because… because I fell in love with you and I want you all for myself. I know it wasn't supposed to happen…but it happened nonetheless. And I was jealous, so damn jealous of your other clients, all the other men who were horny for you. Now it's out, now you know why!” He just hoped you would finally give in now and let him help you.

“No, you don't love me. You don't know me. You love my fake identity, the carefree, tempting little shit named Sugar, who escorts other men and who escorts you and also fucked with you for a living. That's not love, Luke. That's just lust and passion…” Angry tears ran down your cheeks and you ran your fingers through your hair. You wished you could give in and tell him everything. In the end, you just wanted to be with him.

“Just lust and passion you say? What were your kisses then? Were they just fake too?” Loki's heart sank. This conversation didn't go as he expected and escalated quickly.

“They were just…kisses and without any meaning...probably,” you stammered. It was a lie but you couldn't admit the true feelings you had for him. He still didn't know everything about you and at least he wouldn't stay. So why give in to the feeling of love when he would leave you anyway? “I told you right from the beginning that you mustn't fall in love with me!”

“I never wanted to fall in love with you, yet I did,” he whispered under his breath.

“Why didn't you listen to me?” His answer to that was just a huff and a headshake.

“Ah, and about your kisses, Sugar … so they were kisses without meaning, you say. Didn't you tell me you only ever kiss a man when you're in love with him? So that was a lie then?… Well, interesting because I know whenever you're lying and it didn't feel like a lie when we kissed. But it's okay, I'll accept that you don't want me and that your kisses were fake.” It broke your heart further when you heard him saying that because contrary to what he said you wanted him and your kisses had been genuine but this pain now in your heart was the price you had to pay for all the fucked up shit.

“Nonetheless you can accept my help and my money. Consider it a gift. Nothing can change my ambition to keep you away from other men.” His anger grew and he just wanted to grab you and shake the stubbornness out of you so you would finally let him be there for you. “The worst thing is you're still convinced you can solve your problem alone. Girl, someone is blackmailing you and this piece of shit who does this to you with whatever it is wants a lot of money you don't have and will never get on an honestly or legally way. How many men do you want to fuck to earn all that money, hm? Ten, fifty, hundred?” He angrily questioned, waiting for your answer.

“I'd sleep with every filthy rich guy in Manhattan if necessary, my only issue is that I don't have enough time anymore for that,” you said desperately and sternly, more tears slowly running down your cheeks. The truth was you only wanted him to grab you, fuck you properly and wished immediately afterwards everything would be alright again.

“Are you kidding me? You're never going to do that. You aren't a whore, you've never been. And even if you were, according to your letter you're just my whore, aren't you? So who are you kidding?” He asked you too loudly and he was really sorry for that.

“Do I have to fuck some mind into you first so you finally take my money and let me help you?” In one quick move he stood up from the sofa and with two big strides he stood in front of you. “Come here, then work for it, you sweet stubborn whore! Be a good girl for me!” He growled angrily and darkly, grabbed you by your upper arms and walked you backwards towards your kitchen. His sudden action took you off guard but actually it was exactly what you wanted him to do. All of the pent-up frustration, anxieties and longing for each other needed to be released. Words couldn't do it for you two right now so you two had to act.

“You know what? I've had enough of your stubbornness!”

He quickly turned you around and bent you over the kitchen counter tugging your pyjama bottoms hastily down and your linen panty quickly aside. He then pushed two of his fingers purposefully into your cunt, pumping them in and out a few times before he rubbed them, slick with your juices, back and forth through your folds and over your clit, making you moan lasciviously. He wanted to make sure that you were ready for him, to hurt you would never be his intention. He wanted nothing else than you listening to him and making you happy again. He would make you listen to him, he would make you believe that he wanted to help you, that he loved you and that he would never leave you alone. But he was so angry and worried and he wanted you to feel it physically because his words didn't reach you. And besides all that he just needed you, now.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, still angry and panting heavily. His dominant behaviour turned you incredibly on.

“I do just what you need right now and the only thing you'll understand because you don't hear what I'm trying to tell you, you stubborn girl,” he growled into your ear and he continued pumping his fingers deeply in and out of you.

“Look at you, my little brat, so wet already, you're so shameless and horny, eager to get fucked, aren't you? Want me to have my way with you? Want me to make you work for me, hm? So you can take my money with a clear conscience? Does this make you so wet or is it just because of me and the knowledge that I'll fuck you properly and relentlessly into oblivion? Tell me, sweet thing, want me to take you?” His arousal got bigger with every second he had you under his tight grip and he just waited for your consent. He wouldn't continue without that.

“Yes, oh god, yes, fuck me, that's what I want. Make me listen… make me believe,” you whimpered with genuine longing, trying to get a grip on the kitchen counter. You wanted him to make you forget about everything even if it were just for a short moment.

“Oh yes, your god will take you, never doubt me, sweet thing.” Loki snarled lustfully and tugged your panties finally down. He unfastened his belt quickly, opened the zipper and freed his manhood. He stroked himself a few times, kicked your legs further apart and shoved his steel-hard, pre-cum dripping cock straight into your wet cunt. He fucked you hard and deeply but carefully to not hurt you. He was so deep yet not deep enough, his swollen balls were slapping against your clit and his cock slid powerfully over your special spot inside of you. It wouldn't take you long to reach your climax and your obscene moans were witness to it.

Loki grabbed you firmly by your hips and penetrated you faster and faster until one of his hands slid quickly up at your flank and over your shoulder. He grabbed the front of your throat and closed his big hand around it. He pulled your upper body backward against his chest, still holding firmly onto your hip and your throat, slamming his needy cock into your silken heat as violently and deeply as possible, almost breaking you in half. Your one hand clasped his nape, your other hand his forearm and you couldn't do anything else than let him fuck you pretty hard. His dominance and his deep demanding thrusts let you spiral deeper into arousal and lust.

“You better arch that back if you want to cum, sweet thing,” he commanded seductively and you just obeyed and confirmed your will to come by arching your back and letting out a long moan.

“You feel so good, make me cum, please make me cum, I need you,” you begged him breathlessly. His hand around your throat and his merciless thrusts brought you quickly to the brink of climaxing. The violence and impetuosity of his love-making surprised you and you already knew you wanted more of it, more of him. You wanted him to play with you, to punish you, punish you for running away, for refusing his help, for being a brat and arguing with him.

You knew he was desperate for you as much as you were desperate for him and you also knew that he would never hurt you. Angry-fucking was your secret kink you never dared talk about to your ex and you were glad that Loki was the one who fulfilled your dream. You would feel so much better afterwards, you just knew it. Once he promised you pleasure and didn't disappoint you, he never did and as soon as you were together with him you felt safe. He released your throat and his hand wandered down to one of your breasts, firmly cupping and kneading it and pinching and playing with your nipple.

“I'll fuck the stubbornness out of you, girl and when you're about to cum you'll say my name … did you hear me?” He commanded.

“Yesss, yes I heard you,” you moaned breathlessly.

He felt your cunt massaging his cock and he knew he wasn't going to last long and your permanent moans and whimpers nearly sent him straight over the edge.

“Oh god, I'm about to cum,” you squeaked and you couldn't hold it back anymore. He felt so good and you felt so heavenly full of him.

He fucked you like an animal and a wolfish grin curved his lips. “Then say my name… say it,” and he tried to get deeper while his thrusts became sloppier.

“I'm coming, Loki… please don't stop…”

“Say my name…” and you felt him heavily panting against the sweaty skin of your neck.

“Loki…,” and with an obscene scream you came hard around his throbbing cock.

He gritted his teeth and threw his head back when he came undone with an animalistic groan. He filled you to the brim and enjoyed the silky grip of your cunt milking him. His knees were buckling and he collapsed against your back, carefully guiding your upper bodies towards the countertop so you could both rest there for a moment and catch your breaths.

“Fuck, that felt so good,” Loki groaned and pressed a kiss to your sweaty neck and heard your quiet sigh.

He slowly pulled out of you and watched his cum dripping out of your well-fucked pussy. He was more than pleased. He cleaned himself with a sheet of paper towel which he grabbed from the kitchen counter and put his cock back in his briefs and trousers.

You were still dizzy and bathed in the aftermath of your orgasm and his domination and you still craved for his touch. You felt his cum running down your legs. You raised your torso from the kitchen counter and reached for a sheet of paper towel to dry your inner thighs. Loki looked satisfied at you and smirked.

“Can we talk like adults now?” He asked you teasingly, his cheeks rosy and the blue shimmer under his skin was gone. You both felt much better now and that's what you radiated. Sometimes a good fuck was all you needed.

“Yes,...yes, we can. I just want to clean myself quickly, please excuse me for a moment,” you said quietly, turning around to face him. He looked exhausted but satisfied and you were sure you didn't look any different.

“No,” he answered softly and shook his head.

“No?”

“No, my cum stays inside of you,” he smirked and he helped you into your panties and your pyjama bottoms and pulled both up and over your butt.

“I want you to feel how seriously I want to help you and how much you mean to me.”

He pulled you gently against his chest and wrapped his arms around you, cradling you carefully. You reciprocated his embrace and buried your face in his chest. You breathed in his familiar scent you had missed so much. Not only the scent of his skin or his cologne, or the musky after-sex scent. It was the scent of love, comfort and safety.

He dipped his head to kiss you and latched his lips onto yours and when you opened your lips, his tongue slid into your mouth exploring your warmth and your softness. Your heart felt like it had to explode and you reciprocated his loving kiss with utter passion.

To have you back in his arms, feeling your softness, inhaling your sweet scent and kissing you passionately again was the greatest feeling of all and the only thing he ever wanted. This ugly feeling of anger and tension was gone and you were closer to each other again. There was a lot you had to talk about and it seemed that the time had come now.

“My kisses were and are genuine, please believe me,” you whispered after that amazing kiss and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“I know and I do believe you. Are you okay, sweets? I hope I didn't hurt you,” he asked you softly and concernedly.

“No, you didn't. I feel good. Maybe it's what I needed and was necessary to get my conscious mind back,” you answered soothingly.

“I didn't want to go too rough on you, I'm so sorry, sweet thing …,” he murmured.

“It felt good and I liked it. I know I call myself sugar but I'm not made of it,” you told him softly and you raised your head to look smilingly at him. You kissed him on his soft lips and raked one hand through his soft curls.

“I'm sorry that I yelled at you, it wasn't fair,” you said apologetically. “I didn't intend to rail you up.”

“It's alright, sweets I get that, I was angry, too,” and he gave you an extraordinarily soft and long kiss on your lips. But there was something he was wondering about so he let go of your mouth and looked quizzically at you.

“I told you to say my name when you were about to cum and you did but… did I… did I hear you right or did I just imagine it in my incredible excitement?”

Instead of an answer you freed yourself from his embrace and went past him to your dresser. You opened the drawer and took his scarf out of it, gently touching it. You weren't ready to give it back to him but it was his and you had no right to keep it. You turned around to face him and closed the distance between you two. When you stood closely opposite of him, you took your gaze from his scarf and looked him into his puppy eyes. You could barely stand the way he was looking at you.

“I'm so sorry that I lied and told you I hadn't found it. I should've given it back to you much earlier but I couldn't. I loved the feeling of having a piece of you in my home,” you said quietly, your voice trembling.

“I knew you had it, I told you that I know. I knew that you lied,” and you both smiled at each other, unsure what to do now. You showed him the embroidered initials, your smile slowly fading. You were afraid to tell him that you knew who he was, how you found it out and that he could be very mad at you because you had browsed through his past.

“These initials don't stand for ‘Luke Larsson’, they stand for Loki Laufeyson and no, you didn't imagine it, in my ecstasy I screamed your real name,” you explained, your voice merely audible.

Loki swallowed thickly. You had found out who he was and he was sure that now the time had come to say goodbye to you because you would never want someone like him by your side. He lowered his head and took a deep breath before going on.

“How did you find out?”

“I did some research in a library. I told my best friend about you and she was sure she had seen you somewhere many years ago but couldn't remember any details concerning the Avengers. Just that you had something to do with them.”

“You talked with your friend about me?”

“Yes, because you became more to me than a client and I needed someone to talk about it. She's the only person who knows mostly everything about me and what I'm doing for a living. And so I told her about us. And through old newspaper articles, I found out that you are Loki and not Luke.”

“Yes, you're right. I'm Loki Laufeyson. An invader, a war criminal, a sinner and definitely not worthy of you. Want me to go?” He asked quietly and sadly, and raised his head again, looking at you with teary eyes. It broke your heart to see him like that.

“No, I want you to stay. And I ask you to help me. Not with money or anything like that. I need your words, your support and your soothing hugs and touches and yeah, I need your kisses, too,” you stated genuinely. “I can't anymore, Loki, I'm so tired,” and you felt him pulling you into his arms again. You hugged him back, desperately clutching his t-shirt, your face buried in his chest, his scarf still in your hand. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you on your forehead before he loosened his grip on you again.

“You know I'll never give up on you. Otherwise I won't be here,” he murmured with his deep velvety voice.

“I think, the time of revelation and truth has come,” you noticed and looked deep into his bright blue eyes.

“I think so too,” he answered, nodding approvingly.

You took him by his hand and led him back to the sofa to sit down again.

“Wait, let me clean you first and get you some fresh underwear. I want you to feel comfortable when we talk because I'm sure it's going to be a long conversation. And I know how much you like to be cleaned after having sex with me. And I think I stayed long enough in that pretty pussy,” he smiled and kissed you tenderly. You could just smile too and you adored him for his care. His kind of aftercare always surprised you anew and you truly enjoyed it. To make it more comfortable for both of you, you decided to take a shower together and you cleaned each other silently and with utter tenderness.

Refreshed, with still damp hair and Loki just dressed in his trousers and you in just a t-shirt and panties, you sat down on the sofa and looked intensely at each other. Now it was the time to tell each other's truths and you offered Loki your hand for a handshake.

“Hey, I'm y/n y/l/n. Nice to meet you,” and you gave him the loveliest and most genuine smile you could give.

“Hey, y/n. What a beautiful name you have. I'm Loki Laufeyson and it's a pleasure to meet you.” He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He loved your real name and it suited you so well. You answered with a cute smile and reddened cheeks. This man would never fail to make your skin tingle and your heartbeat quicken.

“Tell me your story, Loki. Tell me who you are,” you asked him, holding his hand in yours and waiting for him to begin.

He told you everything, about his heritage, about his raising in Asgard and how it all led to the invasion of New York City until the point where only two options were left to decide the fate of Earth and his life.

“I had a fight with my brother on the outside of Stark Tower and he asked me to stop and to fight with him and the Avengers together. And I did. I don't know why I listened to him, but I did and I made this decision within seconds. And instead of stabbing him and continuing the destruction and trying to get power over your world, I helped them to fight against the invasion and at least against Thanos. It cost me all of my mental and physical strength and skills but somehow I made it. It didn't prevent me from ending up in the dungeons of Asgard but it avoided lots of more death and destruction. And then I got a further chance of redemption. I got the chance to get out of the dungeons of Asgard to become a negotiator and an ambassador for international and intergalactical security because they all thought my silver tongue would be good for something.”

“Oh, your tongue is very good at French kissing,” you teased him and you both laughed lightly.

“Yeah, you might be right, sweets and not only French kissing but this is reserved for later and for you only,” he said softly, winked at you and squeezed your hand.

“The only condition was to live and work under the eyes of my brother and the Avengers with Tony Stark as my ‘parole officer’,” Loki continued. “I agreed and lived here under the radar and with a fake name for many many years and people forgot about me or left New York and new people settled down here. And after some years when other duties were waiting for my colleagues, they left NYC except for Tony and my brother. He had a love interest here, you know. I have to stay here until my debts are paid and that will be in three years. Then I'll be free to go wherever I want.

My brother or Tony just comes sporadically to see me and it's more like a visit then. I earned their trust so I was allowed to live in my own penthouse and in solitude, just as I wanted it…until I met you. Now I don't want to be alone anymore. I wished I could have you around me all the time.”

“Wow, that's quite a lot… it'll take me some time to process everything you just told me,” you said and sighed smilingly and deeply. “You made yourself the most hated man in your and my world but you took the chance of redemption. Be proud of yourself, Loki, this is a great achievement,” you praised him.

“Maybe it is,” he confirmed.

“You're wonderful, Loki. I got to know you a little bit and I can tell you, you're a good man and you deserve all the love someone can give to you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, sweets.”

“You said the Avengers all left the city but I had dates with three of them. Did you send them to meet me because you knew they're nice so I don't have to meet strangers?” You questioned curiously. Loki shifted on his seat and swallowed dryly.

“You… you never met them, sweets.”

“Of course, I did,” you answered unbelievingly and chuckled.

“No, sweets you didn't… it was me you met.” Loki's gaze settled on your face. How would you react now?

“I think I don't quite understand. What do you mean by that?”

“One of my magical abilities is shape-shifting. I can change into the appearance of another person,” he explained carefully. You could just frown because you didn't understand anything of what he said.

“Please explain… Why were you doing this? Did you want to control me or test me?” If that was his intention it would be creepy.

“I did it because I wanted to see you and be together with you. It also was a possibility to protect you from other men.”

“Why didn't you meet me as yourself?”

“Honestly, I don't know. Maybe because I didn't have many events to attend and didn't require an escort, maybe because I didn't want to make it obvious how much I like you… the first time we met I told you I'm not interested in a relationship with you or anything else. I didn't know how to get out of that. I think I was afraid of losing face or scaring you off. You might have thought that I was stalking you,” he explained genuinely and you nodded understandingly.

“Were you also responsible for my cancelled appointments?” You weren't dumb, it fit into the whole thing and so it was an obvious question.

“Yes, guilty,” he admitted.

“How?” you wanted to know.

“I gave Rhea calls with a different voice and told her, the client which I imitated, wanted to meet an escort with a specific hair colour that was completely different to yours so she sent someone else instead of you...”

“ …and gave me a call that my appointment got cancelled,” you added.

“Yes, and two times it was too late and you had already sat at the bar at Vivian's. I intercepted your clients and told them you couldn't come for whatever reason, paid them and sent them away. I always made sure that you would get your money and I knew if a cancelled appointment isn't your fault, you still get your money. I'm sorry for that, sweets. Maybe it was selfish what I did but I just wanted to protect you and have you all for myself,”

Loki felt guilty and he knew he shouldn't have done this. It was stalker-y but he couldn't help himself, he was head over heels for you from the first time he met you at Vivian's Velvet. There were still some questions you needed answers to so you kept consulting him.

“When I met Steve and danced with him, I danced with you? Because it felt familiar somehow. It reminded me of our first dance at the business dinner.”

“You did.”

“When I had that fantastic conversation with Bruce and was invited to that extraordinary delicious dessert, it was you I talked to and it was you who spoiled me so wonderfully?“

“Yes. I know about your weakness for desserts so I couldn't resist ordering you one of the best desserts in Manhattan.” The gaze of his puppy eyes was killing you. He was adorable and you just wanted to straddle his lap and kiss the heck out of him again. But it had to wait.

“When I laughed with Scott the whole evening when I had so much fun and wondered over the magic tricks he showed me, it was you I laughed with. And Scott aka you asked me for a kiss… why? Was it a test because you knew I'd just kiss a man when I'm in love with him?”

“It wasn't a test…or maybe it was. I wanted so desperately to be kissed by you and at the same time, I was afraid you could fall in love with someone else. I just gave it a try. And then I had the confirmation that you definitely had not fallen in love with ‘Scott’ because you denied the kiss.” Loki's heart sank and pondered achingly in his chest. You would never forgive him for all his tricks and lies. He never wanted to lie to you or play games with you but for you and for love he'd do anything.

“So when we met the real Scott at the nightclub, he didn't pretend to not know me, he really didn't know me,” you concluded.

“Yes, that's right,” Loki answered, nodding approvingly. “I was just glad he stayed with the use of my fake name.”

“I think I should be extremely mad about you and all that… but I'm not. Somehow I feel flattered. Nobody else ever did something like this for me. You really just always wanted to protect me, didn't you?” Loki nodded sadly. He was so afraid that he would finally lose you though he had just found you.

“Are you still desperate for a kiss from me,” you asked him softly and leaned in to kiss him. You were just a few inches away from his tender lips.

“You still want to kiss me? You still want me after all of that? I'm a liar and a sinner, sweets. And I'm not sure if this will ever change,” he asked, unsure what you were going to answer now.

“It doesn't bother me what you did in the past and I'd never judge you. I always wanted a dark prince on his black war horse and it seems that wish might come true. You always tried to be there for me and you treated me with such care, attention, and tenderness and that's more than I deserve. If you're a sinner, I'm a sinner too. You know that I'm not a decent girl, and when you learn about my past you might not want me anymore,” you whispered, your lips almost brushing his.

“You're an angel, Sugar and you treated me so well, too. You're my purpose, my obsession and I want you, decent or not,” he mumbled and you pressed your lips gently on his, your hands trailing over his bare shoulders and chest, making him tremble. Your touches would never fail to make him shiver or to make him feel good and safe. He pulled you closer, caressing your head and your soft hair and kissed you so deeply that you nearly began to cry. When he broke the kiss, he looked quizzically at you again and ran his thumb over your cheek.

“You really took me off guard when I took you home with me and you wanted me to read to you from the book of Norse Myths and chose the part about me,” he laughed and you tilted your head to smile at him as well.

“Who could've known that I had been so close to the truth,” and you gave him a peck on the cheek.

“May I ask you something too?”

“Sure!” you said encouragingly.

“When you met Steve, Scott, Bruce aka me, Matt and the real Scott you told them your name is ‘Candy’. Even your coworkers didn't know who ‘Sugar’ is when I asked at Vivian's Velvet for you. What does it mean, sweets?” You took a deep breath and smiled slightly at him.

“When I met you for the first time at Vivian's, when we negotiated the conditions of our deal, I felt that you were special, different. And I liked you very much. Sympathy at first sight so to say. And after our conversation I decided to choose a name only for you, and only you call me like this.” Loki's eyes teared up. “You're incredible, sweets,” and he pulled you in for a further soft kiss.

“You're the only one I ever slept with, Loki. No other client ever touched me intimately. If I would've done it, it would've felt like I'd cheat on you,” you stated sincerely and tears were shimmering in your eyes. “Since I know you I only have eyes for you,” you murmured.

“I know. I feel the same way.” Loki answered with his soothing bassy tone, holding your hands in his and his thumbs grazed tenderly over the back of your hands. His eyes were looking directly into yours and you were locked in his gorgeous blue gaze.

“Tell me your story, y/n. Tell me who has hurt you so much, who's threatening and blackmailing you. Tell me the reason why you were forced to become an escort lady and have to earn that much money,” Loki asked you. You felt his sincere desire to get to know your truth.

You looked at him, swallowed, took a deep breath and then you began to tell him how it all started nearly six months ago.

🌹🥂🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂❤️‍🩹🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂🌃

Taglist:

@lokisprettygirl @faesimps @gruftiela @anukulee @fandxmslxt69 @foxherder @depressedpolishgirl @buttercupcookies-blog @chantsdemarins @fictive-sl0th @justjoanne242 @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lovingchoices14 @wheredafandomat @lokixryss @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger

[cowgurrrl]

OKAY WAIT

late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉

thank you harry styles <3

I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea

UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT

She’s got a book for every situation

Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader

Summary: this ask

Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??

Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.

“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.

“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”

“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.

“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.

“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”

“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.

“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.

“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.

“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.

You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.

“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.

“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.

“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”

“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.

“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.

“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.

“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”

“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”

“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.

“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”

“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”

“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”

“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”

“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody’s publishing me.”

“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”

“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.

“Do what?” You ask.

“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.

“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”

“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.

“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.

“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.

“You won’t fail.”

“But what if I do?”

“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”

“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”

“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”

“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.

“One thing at a time, lover boy.”

Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.

“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”

“Oh, yeah? What was that?”

“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.

“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.

“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.

Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.

[ms-demeanor]

Any tips or hacks on how to go about writing the introduction and the conclusion of an academic text? I have finished the body of the text but introductions and conclusions always stump me. The deadline isn't until october but I worry I will piss away the entire summer agonising over how to do this last damn thing.

The simplest advice is "tell 'em what you're gonna tell 'em, tell 'em, tell 'em what you told 'em."

I like to start from an extremely straightforward position on writing introductions and conclusions. I'm writing a paper now about the US healthcare system and my placeholder introduction paragraph is "The US Healthcare system is bad for X, Y, and Z reasons and should be changed." My placeholder conclusion is "Now that I have illustrated that the US Healthcare system is bad in X, Y, and Z, ways, I hope we have all learned something and take A, B, and C steps to change it."

Basically I write out the most basic thing I want to say in each paragraph and then embellish it. Sometimes this will actually lead to restructuring the paper a bit as I organize paragraphs to make sure that X, Y, and Z are in the proper order.

I have more trouble with conclusions than I do with almost any part of a project, but one of the things that has helped me with more academic-y texts is recognizing that if you've done your job properly the reader should know why you're making the argument you're making so you don't have to have a rabble-rousing, inspiring conclusion, you can functionally just say "Hope that clears things up! Here are the implications I want you to leave this paper with and my policy suggestions for the future."

Intros are a little easier for me because I just see them as scene setting. Treat it almost like an abstract, if that helps. "This paper is about this subject, here is my opinion on this subject, here is a brief summary of the evidence that supports my opinion on this subject. Here are some considerations to keep in mind, and here is why I think you should agree with my opinion."

Depending on the norms for the subject your intro can also include a brief history of the scholarship around that subject, biographical matter about a person under discussion, or a short explication of theory. I personally love multi-paragraph intros that spend a while getting me up to speed, but I also read literary criticism recreationally so I may be a bit biased. I would definitely say to find some field-specific papers that you liked and found useful to read and see how they constructed their introductions and conclusions and take some cues on structure from them. You can even go sentence-by-sentence and break down what each sentence is saying in the conclusion of a paper you liked ("As you can see from the previous paragraphs on SUBJECT, there is ample evidence of THESIS. We have responded to counter-arguments by addressing ISSUE and OTHER ISSUE. Our findings support THESIS, and you should agree for REASONS.")

Actually you know what that's my advice to everyone having trouble with intros and conclusions: find some intros and conclusions that you like and turn them into mad libs because that's basically what they are. That's a really good way to practice seeing what parts of your paper are unique (to fit into the blanks) and to figure out the structure of an academic intro or conclusion (the frustrating bit that is difficult to write).

[gimmethatagustd]

Congratulations on your milestone, Jai! 🥰

I would like to request a drabble with this prompt,

“I want to watch you take off your clothes.”

And the first member that popped into my head when I read it, Jimin 😮‍💨😅

Ahh, I’m so excited!!!

YOU MAKE ME NERVOUS | PJM

Your classmate’s way of helping you with stress is a bit... unexpected. 

» pairing: jimin x reader

» genre: BTS | 18+ | friends-ish to lovers | grad school au | smut

» wc/date: 2.3k | July 2022

» warnings: fingering | voyeurism | use of “good girl” | jimin is a lil mean and manipulative | i got a lot of secondhand embarrassment writing this hkdjsk

» notes: this was highly entertaining to write 😂 i hope you enjoy my classic jai ridiculousness 

» masterlist

» what was jai listening to? naked - doja cat

You weren’t sure if you could call Jimin your friend. He was one of the few people you talked to in your graduate program, but he was impossible to pin down. Even meeting up to practice your thesis presentations had been an incredible feat. After he canceled plans so many times you started to wonder if he even wanted to be your friend. 

“Run-on sentence.” Jimin reached over your shoulder to point at a spot on your laptop screen. He stood behind you, hunched over your small frame where you sat at the table in one of the university library’s study rooms.

After muttering a breathy “thanks”, you quickly edited your script. You told yourself you shivered from the AC blasting through the university’s vents, but deep down you knew Jimin’s proximity was putting your nerves into overdrive. You were already regretting inviting the hottest guy in your program to help you practice and you hadn’t even gotten to the practicing part yet. 

Jimin wasn’t doing you any favors, either. He placed his hands on your shoulders, gently kneading them. The heat of his hands warmed you through the thin material of your t-shirt, coaxing goosebumps to appear down your arms. You leaned into his touch and let out a quiet hum of satisfaction before you could control yourself. 

“You’re so tight,” he murmured. 

You couldn’t stop your eyes from fluttering closed as you attempted to chase away the dirty thoughts that immediately crept into your mind at his innocent statement. What was wrong with you? 

“Yeah… I carry stress in my shoulders,” you said with a controlled exhale. Turning in your seat, you disconnected yourself from Jimin to look at him face-to-face. “I think I should get started now.” 

“Probably.” The friendly smile he wore didn’t quite fit the heavy, lidded expression of his eyes. You told yourself not to make anything of it as you walked past him to the front of the room, even when you had to brush against his chest as you got up because he didn’t give you enough space to move. 

Jimin sat on top of the table, his legs hanging off the edge. You tried to present using the script, but you found that reading while still trying to make eye contact was too hard. You kept getting thrown off by the way Jimin was swinging his legs. 

Shit. You’d completely stopped talking. How many tries had it been? At least two? 

“Can I restart?” You rubbed your clammy palms against your shorts and looked over at your laptop sitting on the podium. 

“Again? Shouldn’t you just try to power all the way through at least once?” Jimin leaned forward. “How are you going to do this in front of, what, at least a hundred people? When you can’t even do it in front of me?” 

His harsh words felt like a slap to the face. “If that was supposed to be a pep talk, I do not respond well to meanness.” 

Jimin leaned back on his palms, head cocked to the side as he looked you over. The feeling of being some type of specimen on display burned into your cheeks hotter than it had before; he wasn’t looking at you the way an audience looked at a presenter. “You should take your pants off.” 

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?” 

“Think about it.” Jimin hopped down from the table. “If you do something to make yourself even more nervous while you practice, the real thing is going to feel even easier.” 

Nothing coming out of his mouth made any sense, but that was the thing with Jimin. He was the king of bullshit. He could talk himself into and out of anything he wanted. He circled you like a shark, sharp eyes roaming your rigid body. He paused behind you and you felt the heat of his chest against your back. 

“Just trust me,” he whispered in your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You let out a shaky breath as you felt his hands move towards your front. He unbuttoned your shorts and the sound of your zipper coming undone was almost louder than your heartbeat flooding your ears. Jimin pushed your shorts down, his palms gliding over your bare thighs. The only thing hotter than your cheeks was the fire burning between your thighs as you watched Jimin watch you from the table again. At the corner of his mouth his tongue poked out to run along his bottom lip and he quirked his eyebrows at you, gesturing for you to continue. 

“Now try it without stopping.” 

You were standing in your fucking underwear. Sure, the t-shirt you wore was long enough to cover you, but still. 

Maybe it would actually work. Jimin was so good at everything; he had to have good tricks for success, right? Hesitantly, you restarted your presentation, the ceiling suddenly becoming very interesting to look at. Jimin wasn’t entertained. 

“No, no, you still haven’t relaxed. I guess you have to take off your shirt now.” He was fucking ridiculous.

“T-This is making me more nervous.” 

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

You opened your mouth, but air, rather than any sound, puffed out. Jimin reached out to grab the hem of your t-shirt, pulling you to where he sat on the table so you stood in between his legs. He twisted the fabric between his fingers and gave you the same friendly smile as before. 

“Can I tell you a little secret, Y/N?” Jimin cooed. Using his free hand, he hooked his finger into the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulled it away from you until he couldn’t any longer. You winched as the band snapped back to place against your skin, but the damp feeling between your thighs overpowered the sting. “I don’t really feel like watching you stutter through your presentation a hundred times. I want to watch you take off your clothes.” 

“Oh,” you gasped stupidly. You were being attacked at both ends; arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach while your heart was clambering out of your chest.

“Can you give me what I want?” His smile fell into a pout and he let go of you. 

“Y-yes,” you whispered, your desperation for his approval now extending beyond wanting to impress him with your research. Your fingers trembled as you lifted your t-shirt over your head; you tossed it down with your pants, goosebumps prickling across your skin. 

“Good girl,” Jimin said with a sweet smile and you felt like your legs were going to give out. “I hope you locked the door.” 

He leaned back on one of his hands; the other found its way into his lap. He gripped his cock through his pants, giving it a squeeze. You followed his fingers path down his erection, the outline growing more prominent as he stroked it. When had he gotten like that? The realization that you were having this effect on him made you shake even more. 

“I want you to touch yourself.” 

“Standing here?”

“Would you prefer to go into the hallway?” 

Your breath got caught in your throat as you slowly stepped out of your underwear, dropping it to the floor. You now stood in front of him in only a black lace bralette. Your hands immediately moved to shield yourself, but Jimin tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. 

“Now, you can’t do a presentation with such a lack of confidence, can you? Stand up straight.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jimin shook his head. The stern look he gave you was enough to shut you up without him having to say anything at all. He watched you dip your middle finger into your folds, gathering up your arousal before you lightly pressed your fingertip against your clit. You rubbed it in a slow, tight circle. The humiliation of doing this in front of your classmate should have stopped you from following through, but you were too far gone under his spell. 

“Eye contact, Y/N. They’re going to evaluate your eye contact.” 

When you looked up you were met with those dark, lidded eyes once again. Holding his gaze only made your pussy throb more, and you found yourself quickening the pace until you moved down to slide a finger inside yourself. 

“Good girl.” 

Your breathing came out hard and deep, mouth hanging open as your thigh muscles began to clench. In that moment, you realized you’d never had an orgasm standing up, and you were pretty sure you were going to fall over as your abdomen twisted with pleasure. 

“What’s scarier? Standing in front of a hundred people to give a presentation or standing in front of one person to finger yourself?” 

“They’re… they’re both,” you took a shaky breath, “they’re both scary.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jimin let go of himself and beckoned to you. “Come here.” 

Your legs felt wobbly as you hesitantly stepped forward. Jimin hooked his finger underneath the band of your bralette in between your cleavage and used it to drag you forward so you stood between his legs once more. You tried not to look down at his lap or touch him, too nervous to actually acknowledge what was happening. 

“As smart as you are, you’re a slow learner, aren’t you?” 

You winced at his words. “I already told you, I-” Jimin grabbed both your wrists and rested your hands on his shoulders. Then he brought his hand down to cup your pussy, wiggling and pressing his thumb against your clit with enough pressure that your body jolted at the unexpected stimulation. “Jimin,” you gasped, gripping onto his shoulders as he rubbed you with even more pressure. 

With his free hand he took a hard grip of your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” 

You shook your head too fast, more embarrassment washing over your body, only for Jimin’s finger plunging inside of you to distract you once again. The fact that he so easily slid inside of you made that sweet smile bloom across his face, though his lips morphed into a sharp smirk that narrowed his eyes. 

“Use your words,” he commanded, his finger curling and searching for the spot to make you shatter in his hand. Before you could speak, he’d found what he was looking for, and a loud moan took the place of whatever words you wanted to say. You had to lean against the edge of the table to hold yourself up the faster Jimin pumped into you.

“N-no. I don’t w-want you to stop.”   

“Of course not.” 

The arrogant chuckle that followed made you dig your nails into his shirt. You couldn’t even be mad about it; at this point, you were barely making one coherent thought in your head. He focused his movements on hitting that sweet spot again and again until you were a shaking, moaning mess between his legs. You’d completely forgotten about whatever lesson he was trying to teach you, if that’s what he was doing at all. Instead you spent your energy on not biting your tongue off as you felt your climax build inside you, the pressure of pleasure stacking on top of you and weighing you down so deeply you felt you were going to catch fire. 

“Jimin,” you whimpered. He’d let your chin go by now and you found yourself leaneding your forehead against his collarbone as he rocked you into him. Feeling you clench around him, Jimin slipped another finger inside of you. The stretch sent hot ripples down your legs. 

“Are you going to cum for me like a good girl?” he murmured in your ear. 

He adjusted how he sat and inadvertently pressed his now fully hard cock against your thigh. You were already tilting on the edge, and his question and the feel of his warmth against you was enough to completely tip you over. It was searing, white hot, almost painful, the way your entire body locked up on you. You could barely breathe as he guided you through your explosion of pleasure, only removing his hand from you once you’d started to squirm in his embrace. 

“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” Jimin’s voice lured your hazy gaze up to look at him, stars still spotting your vision. You still weren’t sure you’d be able to handle giving your thesis presentation, especially since Jimin would be there. You might have actually made things worse for yourself. 

“I think I need to sit down,” you confessed, coaxing another laugh from Jimin. He hopped down from the table and held your hand to steady you as you sat down. While you recovered yourself, he scooped up your clothing. Squatting down, he gently lifted your leg with a grip on your calf, easing you into your underwear and helping you slide it up your thighs. Then he did the same with your shorts, and eventually pulled your t-shirt on, as well. You blinked repeatedly as you watched him help you into your clothes, allowing him to take control of your limbs. Once his work was done, he stood up. That was when you noticed the bulge still prominent in his sweatpants, and his eyes followed your gaze to his crotch. 

“Y’know, we still haven’t gone over my presentation yet,” Jimin mused, tapping his chin in mock thought. “I’m feeling pretty nervous, actually. I wonder what we could do to help me with that?” You bit your lip as Jimin reached behind his head to pull his t-shirt off, tossing it where your clothes had been. “Maybe this is a good start?” 

And who were you to deny him the opportunity to practice, too?

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & ao3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[zeenimf]

Phei of the Wind | Beta Call

Hiya! I'm looking for some beta readers who like the idea of reading through the draft of gust and poking at it a little bit. I'm not gonna describe the whole story and stuff, you all know what it's about, but I will list some practical things:

The draft is 110000 words, divided among 29 chapters. I will use Google Docs for the betaing (since it's small scale) and will probably make a document for each quarter of the book. This makes sense both from the plot as well as the word limit. Google Docs can get a bit funky sometimes

What am I looking for | Feedback on characters, plot, themes, general pacing. Basically: the big stuff. Inline comments about things you like / are confused about are welcome, but not stuff like 'This sentence ruined the paragraph flow.'

What am I not looking for | Inline feedback, paragraph edits, spelling/grammar check etc.

What do I offer in return | My eternal gratitude. I also want to try to return the favour and beta one of your projects in the future. I'll of course add a cute thank you at the end of the book and if I decide to publish the story at some point I will do whatever it takes to get a physical copy into your hands

Timeframe | I am currently doing some last revisions to incorporate the notes I wrote down during the writing process of draft 3. The starting date I am planning is March 16th. I would like to start working on the pre-ultimate draft after I'm done writing my thesis, so at the latest I would prefer it if you could have read it by September 1st.

Disclaimer | And last, please only sign up if you like my writing style. If you like the idea of Gust but not the way I write you're not going to have a good time and I don't want that! I want it to be fun.

If you'd like to sign up please do so here. I will probably pick around three people, and will try to message you asap!

xx

@ink-fireplace-coffee | @write-the-stars-and-shadows | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes | @ladywithalamp | @chazzawrites | @writingonesdreams | @generalblizzarddreamer | @peepos-prose | @writing-is-a-martial-art | @dahliaornelas​​ | @ofbloodandflowers | @magic-is-something-we-create | @ettawritesnstudies | @47crayons | @inkflight | @thelaughingstag | @writing-with-l | @immunetoliteraryanalysis​ | @strangerays​ | @luerange​  | @snowinks​ | @the-orangeauthor​ | @waysofink​ | @fablewritten​ | @houndmouthed​ | @midnights-call​ | @phantomnations​ | @teriwrites​

[thelawsofdaylight]

There’s so much to enjoy about 1.1.2 but here are some of my favourite things:

The immediate contrast we get between the lavish, detail-ridden, paragraphs-long description of the palace versus barely even a sentence about the hospital. I know we mock Hugo a lot for his digressions but the man DOES know how to be concise! He uses short sentences for effect all the time and this is one of my fave examples because it’s also just very funny in its bluntness.

The Bishop questioning the director of the hospital and saying some variation of ‘I know’ after every response. We saw it in the last chapter as well with how he addresses Napoleon but again, the sheer confidence!! The boldness!! Bishop M does not fuck around!!

“There is some mistake, I tell you; you have my house, and I have yours. Give me back my house” ICONIC ENERGY, ABSOLUTELY UNMATCHED

The Bishop filing absolutely everything under household expenses to the chagrin of Mme Magloire. On that note, the extent to which that house would fall apart without her and Mlle Baptistine because the Bishop is determined to give absolutely everything away (’and still I am cramped with it all!’)

’Expenses of carriage and circuit’ *goes on to list things that have nothing to do with carriage and circuit to the value of 3000 livres* this part always cracks me up there’s just something about the way Hugo writes which is almost tongue-in-cheek during these chapters, especially with the set up beforehand where the rich senator rants about how Bishop M is swindling money he doesn’t need for his own selfish gain. Once again, Les Mis is a comedy!!!!!!

“As there is always more wretchedness below than there is brotherhood above” what a raw line. And we’re only in the second chapter!

Also, whilst we’re here: this is the point!!!! I know we all joke about the ‘the following has no direct bearing on the story’ thing but these first few chapters do such a good job establishing the thesis of the novel. Bishop M is literally the most altruistic guy ever to the point where it borders on parody and there is still more ‘wretchedness’ than he can ever possibly solve as an individual, even just in the small town of Digne, even with donating the majority of his income to the poor and taking the principle of abnegation to the extreme. It feels like Hugo is anticipating criticism to the tune of ‘we don’t need structural change we just need more charity/inidividual change/philanthropy/etc!’ and immediately rejecting that as a solution before the novel even gets properly underway by showing how no amount of selflessness will ever overcome the power of systemic violence. (Also for more on this here is a really good post by @secretmellowblog​ about Bishop M but do be aware it has small spoilers for future chapters if you’re doing a first-time read and want to avoid those!)

In summary: