#there's no covering up the fact that i wrote this at nearly 4am

[wulfshe]

it was early, early enough that ingrid still felt dreamy. washed, dressed, and fed, by all semblances awake, but there was still a large part of her left unhardened by duties of the day. early, yes it was early. past sunrise, but not yet the hour of waking for all. there was something nice in being outside at such an early hour, soothing. her eyes were fixed overheard on birds flying, watching them as they soared so gracefully. what was it like to be so free? she sighed. “do you ever think what it would be like to fly?”

[twelfth-harbinger]

Hello, I hope you're doing great! ^^ Could I request a Kaeya x male Reader, where the reader is a thief and Kaeya cathes him and teaches him a lesson (nsfw)

A/n: I live for this shit. This is...kind of kinky so.. & I wrote this at 4am. Listening to: Throat babyyyyyy

Mentions: Blowjobs, Denial, Teasing... blowjobs.

Warnings: Nsfw Face fucking at its finest, A very dominant Kaeya.

The King of Thieves

Kaeya left Angel’s Share for the night. Dark cheeks tinted a dusty deep red from a night of indulgence. Diluc was there, tending the bar coincidentally.

“There have been a plethora of incidents revolving around thieves as of late. I suggest you be mindful when leaving for the night Kaeya.”

His younger brother’s light warning drifted back into the depths of his mind as he strolled the nearly vacant streets of Monstadt’s city. Of course, on his way back to headquarters; the Knight took the long way around. Cutting through a specific alleyway that lead to a patch of grassy plains above a stone stair case. Out the corner of his eye he saw a shadow zip by and over the short roof top of someone’s home. As he moved to take a precautionary step backwards the shadow figure landed behind him. Assuming Kaeya was drunk enough to one up, the figure moved in to grab Kaeya’s shoulder in efforts to flip him onto his back and steal his vision. Kaeya, in a rebuttal too quick for this thief’s skill set. Side stepped and ducked, only to elbow his assailant in the chest cavity and then reappear behind them with his sword drawn.

“Why is Diluc always right?” Kaeya sighed, a frown on his face as he stared at the person in front of him, whom he had knocked the wind right out of. He wasn’t sure who the person was, given they were covered from head fo toe in all black. When Kaeya saw that they were recovering he twirled his sword, knocking them unconscious with the hilt of his blade. When the thief dropped, Kaeya looked down at them. He moved to uncover their face and saw a young man. He saw, you? His eye went wide, you were not much older than Diluc. The young Knight couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see such wasted potential resort to something of a scoundrel at best. He threw your arm over his shoulder, picking you up with a deep exhale. Effortlessly carrying you off back to one of the empty confinement cells within the knights headquarters. The one he picked out had been out of use for quite some time, given Klee had blown it up rendering the cell unlivable (for her). — It was a perfect place for a thief, especially one that tried to steal his vision.

Kaeya sat on the edge of a small table in the corner of the room, arms crossed and a light frown on his face. He waited until you had come through and regained consciousness. In a panic, your dark eyes darted across the room. Something Kaeya found quite amusing.

“Where..am I?” You huffed out, there was a draft in the room and you visibly shivered. Kaeya stayed seated looking at you.

“In the Knights of Favonius’ HQ, a confinement cell to be more precise.” He replied nonchalantly and as you tried to move, chains rattled against your wrists and ankles.

“Let me out of here, else you’ll be sorry—“

You were cut off by Kaeya’s abrupt laugh, it made you frown and your brow crease. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” Kaeya’s chuckle faded into a sigh, his finger tapping idly on the bicep of his crossed arms.

“Nothing, it’s just you are in no position to talk. In fact, I bet if I did away with you right here I could get away with it.” His smile may have been playful but his eye hinted at something much darker.

“You.. can’t do that, you’re an honor bound knight it would be a disgrace—“ Kaeya smiled, this time it wasn’t playful but it still held amusement.

“Relax I’m not a barbarian. Why don’t you tell me why you tried to rob me in the middle of an alleyway and most interestingly... try to take my vision.” After Kaeya stated his questions there was a stagnant silence that sat in the stale air of the confinement cell. Kaeya looked down at you, who shifted uncomfortably. “Oh? No answer? Are you sure that’s what you wish to do?” Your eyes drifted over to look up at Kaeya. Who moved from his spot on the table to walk towards you. In the dim light of the cell his features illuminated, it may have been the full moon that peeked through the barred window that made him look so appealing. The sound of his boots tapping down on the stone floors of the cell sent a slight chill down your spine. He towered over you as you sat on the floor. A light smirk threatened the corner of his lips, as he stared down at you with a quizzical eye. The air around him was cool and it seemed to get even colder as he knelt down to eye level. “I think I’ll give you until the count of say- three.” He held up three fingers before putting them down.

“What?”

“One.” He moved his hand behind your head almost as if he was cradling you. Unbeknownst to you his sword appeared in his palm. Your side profile reflected off the blade as it drew near your head. “Two.” His voice was deep and melodic and his tone evermore serious as he counted down. He wasn’t smiling anymore, seeing him this serious started giving you second thoughts about keeping your mouth shut. He was so close you could smell him, eye half lidded as he stared down at you and a crease in his brow. Against the back of your neck your hair brushed against the blade that dangerously kissed the skin of the nape of your neck. He leaned in and as he drew near, a light grin forming at his lips. Was he enjoying the reaction he was getting out of you? Or the interrogation process? Your hand pressed against his chest to try and move him back you couldn’t stand to have him that close. He paused for a split second, his eye dropping down to your hand, it was warm. “Thre-“

“Wait!” You say, your dark eyes shifting up to peer into his. Staring at him this closely, being able to smell him. It was hard not to think about the things you wanted him to do to you while sitting helpless on the cell floor. He was ridiculously attractive and equally as intimidating when he wished to be.

“Hm? Did you change your mind?” He asked, flashing a cold smile. Your cheeks flushed, he smelled like the first snow fall of winter, shamelessly it made blood rush to where you didn’t need it to. His eyes drifted down briefly before he looked at you more closely. “Or maybe you didn’t?” He purred lightly and a smile crossed his face again.

“I-I..I was just.. curious as to what it’s like to have a vision I don’t have one.” You spoke out, Kaeya didn’t sense a lie from you. Even as you continued to try and make him feel sorry for you. “I haven’t been blessed by the Archons. I’m poor and I...I can’t do much of anything let alone use a vision. Being a thief is all I’ve ever known. The only way I know to survive. I wasn’t going to hurt you.” His brow creased as you babbled that last part, you caught yourself and spoke sheepishly. “Not..that I could’ve anyway—“ Kaeya laughed again, he moved back but not very far. His sword disappeared in one swift movement and he took a minute to look at you. Your hands moved over to your lap, you didn’t think he noticed.

“What am I going to do with you hm?” He pondered aloud as he stood up, a hand resting on his hip. He stared down at you, “You assaulted me in an alleyway, tried to rob me and now..” You couldn’t help but think it wasn’t much of an assault, you were the one who got hit square in the chest and knocked unconscious after all.

“Kaeya-“

“And you know who I am? You’re quite the bold thief. Tell me if I let you go, how do I know you won’t do it again?” You shifted uncomfortably, nothing he was saying was arousing but, truthfully you fell victim to his charm the moment he began questioning you, not to mention the count down and intimidation attempt. Kaeya noticed, he was quite observant but he was doing his job- for the most part.

“I won’t.” You lied, he saw right through it. Kaeya crossed his arms again, if he felt any remorse for you before it was gone now. You avoided eye contact with him even as he stared down at you.

“Do you like being chained up in a cell, you’re excited.” He asked genuinely, his voice was soft and curious. It made you twitch uncomfortably. You shook your head and Kaeya tilted his. “Really? Your as hard as this stone floor, I wasn’t going to tease you about it but it only...fed into every words I’ve said to you thus far.” You could hear him smile, you made the mistake of looking up at him. He was gorgeous and the blush that crossed your face made his smile widen.

“I..can’t help how you’re making me feel. You’re just-“

“I’m just what?” He cut you off, moving his hand to rest on the top of your head. He gently ran his fingers through your hair with his gloved palm. Idly moving his hand down to the back of your head before gripping the ends of your hair between his fingers. “Were you going to say charming? Sexy, hot?” He asked, his grip on your hair wasn’t that tight or painful it aroused a light whimper to fall from your lips. Kaeya noticed your hand palming your growing erection — your pants were growing tighter you couldn’t help it. With his boot he kicked your hand away and stepped on the back of your hand, causing the restraints he had you in to rattle against the stone floor. “You did something bad why should you gain pleasure after committing a crime? As I see it I’m the victim here. You assaulted me in an alleyway.” His grin was wide and with his free hand he moved to unzip his pants. Immediately your mouth began to water as he slipped his hand inside to touch himself right before your very eyes.

“I-I won’t do it again..” You lied once again and he saw through it yet again. His grin only widened, he was going to enjoy this.

“I don’t believe you, therefore...” His grip tightened in your hair and he pulled your head back. “I think I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” The weight he had on your hand increased when he saw you try to move your other hand to slip inside your own pants, it was a warning not to try and relieve yourself. You moved your hand away with a whine as Kaeya freed himself from the tight confines of his trousers. His thick member prodded against your cheek before he let it rest on your lips. He let out a light and playful hum as he stared down at you, almost as if he was beckoning you to open your mouth.

“Kaeya I-“ As soon as you opened your mouth he pushed himself inside, the taste of his pre made you shudder and your eyes flutter. He held your hair and head firmly in place as he thrusted deeper into your mouth. He was genuinely surprised that you were able to take him all the way to the back of your throat.

“It’s not polite to speak with your mouth full.” He teased. “Go on, keep stuffing your face thief.” As you struggled to swallow his cock, you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching down to palm the hard tent in your pants. Kaeya caught wind of your actions and knocked your forearm to the side with his other boot. The deep groan you let out reverberated against his shaft, Kaeya had to bite back his own moan as he pulled your hair again which inevitably moved your head back so your lips wrapped around his tip. “If you do it again you’ll regret it.” He wasn’t smiling when he spoke, it was a threat you weren’t going to see through to the end. Kaeya chuckled lightly and moved his free hand down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing sweetly against your cheekbone. “You’re so obedient...”

He mumbled, his touch was gentle as he moved his hands up to tangle in your hair. It was almost too gentle and had you questioning his motives. You made eye contact with him and a sly grin spread across his face like wildfire. Without warning his grip tightened to hold your head in place. He slammed hips against your face, bottoming out completely in the back of your tight throat. He groaned out quietly and under his breath, as the ridges of your throat and mouth constricted against his thick shaft. Your soft lips tickled the underside of the base of his cock. His pants sagged and his balls pressed against the stubble of your chin, which only edged him on and reflexively urged his hips to thrust against your face. He exhaled with a light chuckle that sifted through the quiet air of the confinement cell.

You whimpered, drooling all over his cock as you squeezed your eyes shut, it took everything in you not to milk and pump your shaft. Your balls were heavy and full and you ached for a release that you didn’t think you’d get. Kaeya looked down on you to subconsciously check to see if you were okay and to see the sight of his dick disappearing down your throat. He pulled back by a few centimeters and you successfully breathed in through your nose. The taste of his pre on your tongue reminded you of a fermented apple wine. None too surprising to say the least and all the more enjoyable.

Kaeya rutted into your mouth again, you choked and he chuckled. He felt your tongue swirl around his shaft against a prominent vein that curved up from the base of his cock. Your leg twitched in need as he moved, beginning a rough and steady rhythm. He noticed the bulge in your throat, it only made him move faster. Kaeya let out deep exhale and a light moan that was simply music to your ears. His head tilted back as you took him, he glanced down at you for a moment and his lips curled into a smile seeing you hard at work.

“If your mouth is this tight, I wonder how your ass must feel.” He teased you, moving one hand down to wipe away that inevitable tears that formed in your eyes. His other hand loosened in your hair but still rested in place idly. He pulled back completely, giving you a chance to breathe. As you caught your breath Kaeya looked down at you, the blush that stained your cheeks inflated his ego a bit. He arched a brow, waiting for you to keep going.

You gave into that cute, suggestive stare and moved your hand up to stroke him; something you wanted to do for yourself since he started fucking talking. You dragged your tongue along the thick length of his member before taking him into your mouth. What you didn’t choke down, you pumped with your hand. Kaeya finally let out a proper moan it was deep and breathy, he started throbbing in your mouth and palm; biting down on his lower lip in ecstasy. In the midst of milking him dry he took hold of your hair again, only to push himself right back down your throat, he needed that tight fit to finish him off. You were going to swallow it all, not that you minded; he was as inebriating as Everclear. As he filled your throat and mouth, he pulled back his warm cum dripping down your chin. He watched you reach up to wipe it away and lick the back of your hand.

His eye drifted down to your continually throbbing erection, he noticed a dark spot where your own pre had ruined your trousers. He stepped back and moved his hand away from your hair, shifting as he pulled his pants up only to zip them up. Your expression was absolutely priceless in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak to find that your jaw was already sore from his earlier actions. Kaeya moved to sit on the edge of the table again with a light smile on his face.

“What?” He says like he didn’t just pump his seed down your throat. He made an ‘O’ with his mouth as he looked at your disheveled and needy appearance as if he had forgotten. He didn’t. He moved to toss you a key to the restraints you were in. “You’re free to go and...do something about that.” He smiled with a teasing glint in his eye, you looked at the key in front of you. Picking it up with a frown on your face as your freed yourself. “I told you I’d teach you lesson you wouldn’t forget.” He chuckled moving to cross his arms over his chest. You looked at him and he smirked.

“Asshole.” You mumbled, moving to stand up, Kaeya looked your way not feeling remorseful in the slightest.

“You do realize you tried to assault me and steal my vision. I think I let you off rather easy if you ask me. Going straight to Jean just didn’t feel right.” He quipped, and stood to walk over to the door opening it up for you to go. “I don’t want to see you here again, I’d rather the Cat’s Tail or Angel share preferably. Maybe then you’d get a proper..reward and the aftercare I so graciously give to those who listen.” He said, completely insinuating he wanted to see you again under the right circumstances. With a pout you exited the cell, there wasn’t really much you could say to that. You were indeed happy you didn’t have to spend the night in a dingy unlivable cell. Kaeya leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “Till we meet again King of Thieves.”

Bonus

A week went by, you were at Sara’s sitting down to a late night meal before heading off to Springvale for a few days to visit family. You poked at the fisherman’s toast you ordered, thinking about the Knight who left you thoroughly frustrated. You wanted to beat his ass in all honesty but, apart of you just wanted to—

“Well if it isn’t The King of Thieves.”

[barryallenis]

The Other Side (Westallen fic)

AN: So I may have mentioned this before in passing. But I just posted chapter 4 so I thought maybe I’d actually post it here now! This all stems from my need for westallen to have their psychological torment addressed in season 7 ... and since it know it wont be like this I wrote it myself

SUMMARY: Following her escape from the Mirrorverse, Iris is confronted with a realization that the world she's returned to is not the same. Or perhaps, that she herself if not the same. With the help of her husband Barry, and those she trusts, she works to find a way back to a sense of normalcy. Which may mean facing some of the dark demons she thought she'd left on the other side. ~(S7 hopes) (Chap 2 is iris centric)

It didn't take much to wake Barry Allen these days. In fact, his restlessness the past few weeks hadn't been this bad since he was eleven years old. Back then, it was the image of his mother, reaching out for him as red and yellow lights swirled around her that he knew he would see when he closed his eyes that kept him up. And while the last few years had created countless horrific scenes to relive in nightmares, nothing had fostered the level of unease he now felt surrounding him with every breath.

Now, it wasn't fear of sleep that kept him up, but of everything around him in waking, and of the flashing watch on his wrist that reminded him he didn't have the power to fight them.

A few nights ago specifically, his restlessness couldn't even confine him to his bed. Instead, it drew him into a late night purge. It was well past 2am by the time he returned home to a space full of shattered mirrors. Between the energy used for speed healing and his late night rendezvous several county's over, everything in his body told him to sleep, to rest, to fight this battle tomorrow. But with every step he took deeper into the home he hadn't lived in for a week, so much felt foreign to him.

This is where we ate together. This is where we binged that new crappy reality show on Netflix. This is where we laughed, this is where we kissed, this is where she crumbled to pieces in his arms ...

Every space felt tainted with falsehoods. Moments he thought were something else entirely being rewritten with every glance around the loft.

It wasn't her. All that time it was someone … something else.

But as every place in the apartment felt damaged, each was equally matched with some of the very moments that were driving him forward.

This is where he and Iris held their first Thanksgiving. This is where they played scrabble with their daughter. This is where she fell asleep in the first movie of the Star Wars marathon. This is where she spilt an entire glass of red wine across all 3 rugs. This is where he told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Twice. This is where she said yes. Twice. This is where they lived.

Though now, of course, it was only he who lived there.

With his mind more alert than ever, he shoved his tired body into motion. Not with speed, but with determination.

This was going to be their home again. And when it is, it will be theirs and only theirs.

He swept up all the glass shards he could find. He then carried the bagged up remains and all but one of the recently added mirrors down to the curb outside the apartment. He questioned throwing them all away, wondering what Eva could still do to them, with them, in such a close proximity to him. But she was not the only one connected to that mirror. He saw Eva step right through it. From the “world she left behind.” The world Iris was still in.

If there was even the slightest chance that Iris do the same. Or even if it had the unique ability that allowed her to hear him, see him, sense him in any way through it, he would string it across his back to keep it with him at all times if he could.

The 4am frenzy that followed was not planned or calculated. But as simply as Barry had put the piece of their apartment together 3 years ago, he found himself doing it again.

What if he moved the couch under the window? What if he changed the direction of the dinning table? What if he moved this art piece, this vase, this book, this glass, this -

It was nearly daybreak by the time Barry realized there was one room, one big room, he had missed.

As he crept up the stairs he found it harder than he had anticipated to enter the most intimate place in his home.

This was the only bed that had ever been theirs. From the moment it was delivered to the center of their cold cement floor living room to nearly every night since. That was the last place he had been with her. The last place he has seen her, through slits in his eyes as he drifted to sleep. Before she left to follow her lead. Before she got trapped in that place.

Before he knew it, he was stripping the bed clean. First sheet, then comforters, pillows, all haphazardly thrown to the floor. He caught a glimpse of the towels in the bathroom and threw them into the pile as well. Then he began pulling at the bare mattress and bed frame, turning them around in the opposite direction. This resulted in the movement of side tables, dressers, chairs, everything.

Everything needed a new place.

By full fledged morning nearly every moveable piece of furniture in the loft has been adjusted. Bed covering sat shoved into trash bags by the front door, the bed they had once covered still bare and unoccupied. The current sole resident of this loft had instead finally found slumber across the slim window seat that spanned the length of the apartment, the sparsely drawn curtains behind him pulled to hide the now bright morning sun.

While the following night he did get replacements for all his discarded linens, he did not use them for the next several days. Instead, he slept on the just-too-short couch he had just moved from the center of the apartment and tried his hardest not to think of all the nights Iris did the exact same thing when he was in the unknown …

Tonight, however, was different. Tonight he sunk deeply into his mattress as if it were the most comfortable place in the world. And to him, in fact, it was, leading to the soundest sleep he had since his all began.

And that was entirely because he had fallen asleep with his wife safely and tightly enveloped in his arms.

-> CHAPTER 2-4 ON AO3 <-

[stomachflu]

hey, remember like a year ago when i was like “maybe i’ll write a second part to the story of how lynn and reed met if i feel like it?” well i’ve been struggling with

and i thought that i’d write something Just For Me to get me back in the swing of things. 

VERY long stomach flu-oriented fic (planning for another few parts! this isn’t the last one!!), very self indulgent. warnings for mentions of scat, but nothing explicit. hope yall enjoy!

---

Lynn groaned as she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, every muscle in her body aching as she twisted to grab it. It was nearly too much effort to switch the too-bright screen on, let alone read the message with watery eyes. The first one was, apparently, from an hour ago.

>Reed: hey did u make it back home ok

>Reed: lynn

>Reed: are you ok

Lynn closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool metal side of the bathroom stall. She’d traded numbers with Reed after they’d walked her to the clinic before heading to class, where she’d promised to text them that she was okay prior to receiving an official diagnosis of “godawful stomach flu” with the proposed cure of “wait it out, if you can’t keep water down after a few hours then come back for an IV“.

>Lynn: not rly

Her head swam and her hands were shaking, making it hard to compose a message. Reed was already typing a response to her last text.

>Lynn: my roommate’s apparently a germophobe? and she wont let me into the room unless I’m not gonna puke

>Lynn: so ive just been like camping out in the lounge & now I'm like chilling in the bathroom

>Lynn: not great but

She leaned back, exhaling shakily as the stall swam around her. Fuck. She was pretty sure that her fever was increasing as she leaned back over the toilet seat, holding her hair back with both hands as she gagged softly, opaque saliva falling from her lips. She couldn’t bring anything up still, despite the constant sloshing of her stomach being an ever-present reminder of how much there still was in there. When the wave of nausea finally passed, she had two new texts.

>Reed: >:o!

>Reed: youre in the new dorm right

>Lynn: whats up

>Reed: ok I know i’m just some rando you met today but if you wanna crash on my couch or smth its gotta be more comfy than the lounge at 4am

>Reed: i promise i’m not a serial killer tho

Lynn groaned as she stood up, limping out of the bathroom and ignoring the disgusted looks of girls at the sinks -- she’d been gagging in that stall for at least  twenty minutes -- only to find that some other couple had sat down on the couch she’d planned to sleep on. There were a few chairs, all hard wood, and she sat down in one of them as she wrote a response, trying hard to control her tears. She was just overemotional from fever, that was all. She hugged her stomach, rocking back and forth as she typed.

>Lynn: actually that would be great if that's ok w you

>Reed: great! ill be at yr dorm in like 15min, where should I meet you?

Lynn’s stomach lurched, and she ran out of the lounge again, falling to her knees for the fourth time that day. Just like every other time, she retched wetly, gagging and spitting wads of cloudy bile into the toilet, unable to bring up anything significant.

She managed to type out the word bathroom in-between heaves, and it seemed like no time had passed at all before there was a sharp knock on the door, then the creak of hinges opening.

“Lynn? You in there?” 

She could only groan, but managed to unlock the stall door and stumble towards Reed, who grabbed her arm immediately, supporting her. “Woah, you’re not lookin’ so hot.”

The two of them were getting some very dirty looks from the other occupants of the bathroom, so Lynn tried to stumble towards the door, unable to get very far without leaning on Reed. “Not... Not feeling so hot either,” she said, pressing her free hand to her stomach.

“No shit, you’re burning up.” Reed pressed a hand to Lynn’s forehead, pulling it back in mock shock. “My car’s just in the parking lot, do you think you can walk there?”

Lynn hummed, trying not to open her mouth. Reed let her lean against them as she stumbled down the hall. She braced herself for the chill of the cold November air as they walked outside, but with Reed’s arm around her, she barely felt the cold.

“I’m just down the street,” Reed said, guiding her to what was apparently their car, “but I figured you wouldn’t wanna walk.”

Lynn swallowed back bile. “At this point, I don’t even... I don’t even care if you’re a serial killer, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we can make that work.” 

Holy shit, Reed was strong as hell, Lynn mused feverishly, leaning nearly all her weight on them as they transitioned her into the car with one fluid motion. They even buckled her seat belt for her, making some soft noise when she moaned in pain as the strap touched her stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna head to urgent care?” Reed asked. “They might be better than the student health center, and you’re really not looking good.”

Lynn shook her head, a dizzying motion that took more energy than she had. “Nah... I just wanna rest.”

“If you say so.” There was that worried note in their voice again, and Lynn leaned her head against the seat as the car lurched into motion, and so did her stomach. “I think there’s some trash bags in the glove compartment if you need ‘em. I’ll try to drive safe, but this thing? Is kind of a beater. You should see what it’s like on ice, though.”

Lynn made a small noise of acknowledgment, wincing as they bumped over mounds of slush. Saliva pooled under her tongue, and she swallowed hard. Not here, she thought. God, please not in front of Reed. Her throat burned with acid, and she gripped her stomach tightly, one hand covering her mouth. Just as her tongue lifted with a strong gag, a plastic bag was shoved into her lap. Gratefully, she buried her head in it.

“You’re okay, just get it up,” she heard Reed say, and then, “Oh, god,” as hot, foamy bile splashed into the bag, followed by a series of gurgling burps. “You’re really not feeling well, huh?”

She shook her head miserably, spitting into the bag and eventually wiping away a thick strand of mucus on the edge of the plastic before twisting it shut in disgust. “God. No. My stomach hurts so bad.”

“Do you need to get out for a sec? Being in the car probably can’t help.”

“Maybe.” Her throat still felt tight, and she tried to force a burp as she fumbled with the car door, only to end up barely scrambling to undo her seatbelt in time as she retched again and again, mucus falling in a steaming pile in the snow. Stomach finally empty for now, she belched emptily, a cloud of condensation forming as she did so.

Lynn vaguely became aware that someone was rubbing her back, and when she turned, Reed was holding her steady. “Ready to go?” they asked.

Lynn scrubbed at her watering eyes. “Yeah, she said weakly as they helped her back into the car. “God, this must be so gross for you.”

Reed shrugged as they put the key in the ignition. “Eh. I’ve got a strong stomach. Not really easily grossed out, you know? Besides, you're sick, so it’s not like it’s your fault. Someone’s gotta help you”

---

She managed to make it to Reed’s apartment without vomiting, though they did have to pull over several times so that she could take deep breaths out of the open window. Their apartment was several flights up, and they’d grimaced before slinging an arm around her shoulders, supporting most of her weight without even asking. Lynn didn’t even bother to protest -- they practically carried her up the stairs, but all she could care about was the fact that they were warm against her freezing skin.

“Okay!” Reed said, fumbling with the keys. “It’s not much, but at least I have a couch.”

Their apartment was small and cramped. The door opened onto a living room of sorts, with two faded couches forming a L-shape across from a TV. A slightly torn rug sat underneath a coffee table piled high with books and takeout boxes, and Reed rushed to clear it off, leaving Lynn standing by the front door, weaving back and forth.

There was a wall with an entryway seperating what Lynn assumed to the the kitchen area to her right, with another door closer to the entryway. On the left wall, close to where the couch sat, was a second door that was partially open. From the mess inside, she could guess it was Reed’s bedroom.

“C’mon in,” Reed said, gesturing to the couch. “Um, sit down, maybe? You look like you’re gonna die. Do you have any -- God, your roommate really kicked you out with nothing, huh? I was gonna ask if you wanted to change into, like, pajamas or anything, but you don’t even have a coat on.”

“Um,” Lynn said, still hovering awkwardly. “Yeah. She really didn’t want me to infect her.”

“Cool, cool. She’s an asshole.”

“Um --”

“No worries, I probably have something that’ll fit you.” Lynn very much doubted that, given that Reed had a good foot on her. “Do you need anything else? Like, food, we should probably make sure that you eat at some point? And I think that I might have some fever reducers somewhere around here --”

Lynn’s stomach cramped harshly. “Um,” she interrupted them, a note of urgency in her voice. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“’Course! It’s that door--” Reed pointed to the closed door near the entrance Lynn had noticed earlier. “-- right there. Um, do you need help?”

Her guts churned again, and she managed a wan grimace. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Much to Lynn’s relief, their bathroom was almost shockingly clean. Her stomach still felt sore and achy after she’d finished expelling its contents from the other end; her nausea was fading for now, but the tightness in her throat and gnawing feeling in her stomach told her that she was far from done with this illness. She stumbled out of the bathroom, rubbing her aching stomach and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor.

“Those are for you,” Reed called from somewhere in the depths of the apartment. “Try ‘em on!”

Lynn retreated back into the bathroom, yanking her shirt off. The sweatpants Reed had provided just fit if the drawstring was pulled all the way, and their hoodie was a very loose fit, but the fuzzy inside felt wonderful against her sore stomach.

She sank down onto the larger of the two couches, which Reed had lined with sheets and stacked blankets on while she was gone. She pulled one up to her shoulders as Reed emerged from the kitchen area, carrying a mug of something steaming in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

“Hey,” they said. “Do me a favor and open wide, ‘kay? You’re not looking too hot, and I wanna know how worried I should be.”

“’s just the flu,” Lynn said weakly, but allowed Reed to slip the thermometer under her tongue. It beeped an agonizing minute later, and Reed winced at the number.

“102.3. That’s... not good,” they said. “I think that you should really rethink urgent care.”

Lynn groaned. “’M fine, really. Just need to rest.”

“Okay,” Reed said. “That’s fine, but I’m gonna need you to drink something first, okay? We’re gonna need you to keep some fluids down if you don’t wanna land in the emergency room.”

“‘Kay.” Lynn accepted a sip of the mug that Reed pressed into her hands. It was some kind of green tea, and it actually tasted... pretty good? “Thanks,” she whispered, her throat sore from fever and vomiting.

“No prob, dude,” Reed said, taking the mug from her hands. “Get some rest, okay?”

Lynn nodded, already drifting off into sleep.

---

She was vaguely aware of being woken on and off through the next few hours, Reed coaxing her to sip ice water or take her temperature before letting her slip back into feverish dreams. When she finally fought her way back to consciousness, the room was dark. The digital clock glowing on the coffee table read 8pm. She’d texted Reed to get her at... what was it, 2?

Groggy, head spinning, Lynn sat up. She felt awful, overheated and sweaty. She could just make out the shape of Reed’s body around the corner at the kitchen table, the glow of their phone illuminating the outline of their face. As if on instinct, they turned to face her.

“Hey,” they said, scooting their chair back. “You okay if I turn some lights on?”

Lynn nodded, then, remembering that it was dark as shit, said, “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Cool.” They turned on a lamp beside the couch, sitting at the end, near her feet. “How’re ya feeling? Your fever is still pretty high, d’ya think you could keep down some soup?”

Food? Ugh. Lynn made a face, but Reed pressed on. “C’mon, you need something in your stomach. Like, not just water, but actual nutrition, or you’ll just get sicker.”

Her stomach felt vaguely queasy, but Lynn shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Great! I’ll warm some up for you.”

She dozed as the microwave ran and then beeped, and then Reed helped her sit up against the pillows with the bowl of soup in her lap. Her stomach gurgled as she ate, but seemed to accept the first swallow, so she did her best. She’d managed about three-quarters of the bowl when her stomach gurgled ominously, and she set it down. 

“I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, no problem,” Reed said. “Mind if I take your temperature again?”

Lynn shrugged noncommittally, and they whipped out the thermometer. She was glad when it beeped -- the whole time she was sitting up she’d been shaking with chills, and she quickly buried herself back under the blankets, swallowing a queasy burp.

They didn’t read out the temperature this time, just sighed. “If I leave you with some water, will you drink it? The most important thing right now is to keep hydrated.”

“Um. Sure.” Reed pushed forward a glass of water, and Lynn smiled shakily, but didn’t drink it. “I just don’t wanna puke again, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. You must feel awful,” Reed said, and Lynn laughed hoarsely.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I get it. But you gotta drink something. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

Lynn hesitantly picked up the glass -- it felt too heavy in her shaking hand -- and cautiously took a small sip, and then another. To distract herself from the uneasy feeling in her belly, she asked, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“That depends... how personal are we talking? ‘Cause if we’re gonna get in there with the questions, you gotta buy me dinner first.” Reed wiggled their eyebrows, and Lynn felt a warmth that had nothing to do with fever run down her spine.

“Um. Why are you doing this?”

“What, talking to you? ‘Cause I’m bored, and there’s nothing on TV. I mean, if you want me to shut up, I can?”

“No! Like, taking care of a sick stranger you’ve never met. Like, gross sick.”

“Eh.” Reed shoved their hands in their pockets, looking away. “It’s what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me.”

There might have been a story there, but Reed looked a little down, so Lynn decided not to press. “Well. In that case, thank you. It’s appreciated.” Her stomach gurgled again, going from uneasy to actively nauseous in half a second. “Shit -” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and throwing off the blankets.

Reed jumped up, maybe to help her, but she was already unsteadily standing, the cold air a shock to her system after staying under the blankets for so long. “Hmmmk!” she gagged, saliva flooding her mouth as she wobbled towards the bathroom as fast as her weak body would let her.

She didn’t make it.

Lynn was just in the threshold of the bathroom when her stomach lurched, squeezing as she heaved again, and she lost it, vomiting into her palm and all over the floor. The sink was closer than the toilet, so she lurched over to it, barely making it over the counter before undigested soup came flooding up her throat, forming a foaming mess in the basin. She heaved again, drawing in a ragged breath before she felt a large, calming hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, tears running down her face. “I didn’t mean to -- I didn’t know I was gonna be sick, and I tried to get to the bathroom, I really tried --” 

“Hey,” Reed said. “Hey. Lynn. Dude. It’s okay. That was kind of my fault anyways.”

“It’s not! I puked all over your floor, and in your sink --” The liquid was slowly draining now, but chunks of undigested noodles and chicken and vegetables were clogging the drain. God, what had she done? "I’ll clean it up, I promise!”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I got it,” they said softly. “Don’t make yourself more upset, you’ll get --” They sighed a little as she burped over the basin again, bringing up a torrent of chunky liquid. “--Sick.”

“Sorry,” Lynn managed when she was done dry-heaving. All that would come up was airy burps.

“Again,” Reed said, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat or drink when you weren’t ready for it, and I definitely should’ve given you a trash can or something.” They shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned, so. Lesson learned.”

Reed guided Lynn over to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Sit here for me while I clean this up, okay? Just let me know if you start feeling bad again.”

Lynn took in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Her stomach was cramping hard again, and she wrapped both arms around it, hunched over. Through a haze of fever, she watched as Reed, wearing a pair of dish gloves, scrubbed the sink and mopped the floor. Then, once the bathroom smelled of soap and disinfectant, they wet a washcloth with warm water and crouched down so they were eye level with her.

“Hey. I’m gonna clean you up a bit, okay?” Lynn nodded miserably, sweaty hair sticking to her face. She felt awful, shaking with chills and fever alternately, head swimming.

Reed gently wiped her face with the cloth, then her arms and hands. They re-folded it and rinsed it again, wringing it out and draping it against the back of her neck. She nearly gasped when it touched her skin. They’d used cool water this time, and it felt wonderful. 

“There we go,” they said. “I bet you’re probably wanting a toothbrush or some mouthwash.” 

God, she did feel gross. “Yeah,” Lynn croaked. “That’d be nice.”

“Cool, okay, good. Just stay here for a sec while I go grab some from the closet, okay?”

“Where else would I go?” Lynn’s eyes grew heavy. Sure, she had other places to go, but for now, she was glad to be right here.

[courageforbeginners]

New Year January 14th, 2019 (February 4th, 2019)

As the years grow older, so do I. The new year rolls over and so does my age, as I was just seven days shy of being born on the new year. As I begin this new year, I have a few self goals in mind that I would love to achieve this year. I refuse to call these resolutions, because I never achieve those.

This year I want to improve, empower, and grow. Those are the three general areas in my life that need a lot of touching up.

More specifically, though, I want to:

Reclaim my Self Control- lately I’ve been very out of control lately. Not doing my work when I need to. Staying up late and sleeping in late. Eating all the time. Exercising rarely. Letting things pile up in life and claiming that I’ll get to them later.

Get on a Stricter Sleep Schedule- As I mentioned, I have a horrible sleep schedule. I’m never in bed before 3 am, and rarely awake before noon. This only works because I do college online and work in the evening, but I’m tired of it. I’m more tired on this crazy schedule than I ever was on my strict high school sleep schedule. It’s annoying, but I have no self control to put my phone down and get off that Instagram explore page.

Exercise More- I was going to say “lose weight” but I think that is a very sad and negative way to look at exercising. I want to exercise more so I can feel better physically and mentally, the losing weight part is just an added bonus. If I was focused on weight, then I would be focused on a number, and I would never be happy.

Become more Independent- I’m about moderately independent, but nowhere near what I want to be. Doing things on my own is still scary to me. A big part of this stems from the simple fact that I don’t have a drivers license yet. I’m almost ready and could probably take it anytime now, but I’m just really nervous. But I want to become more independent, because I’m still at home and still leaning on other people to help me do things (not nearly as bad as I was a few years ago, but I just have a super involved mother who always wants to help). Going places alone is still a mystery (since I can’t drive). I just want a chance to finally do things on my own.

Read more- This is a big one for me. Two years ago, my New Years Resolution was to read 50 books in one year. Quite ridiculous, as I’d have to roughly read one a week. But I did it (well I roughly read 46 books, but also read a few college textbooks cover to cover, so I let myself have the win). Last year, I had a similar goal, but only 40 books. I literally only read 15, and a majority of those were audiobooks. It not what I wanted, but I lost my self control after I graduated high school. This year, I’m not putting a number. I just want to read more.

Write more- I have a passion for writing short fictions stories. However, I rarely prioritize it, which means I never sit down and spend my time writing. I want to change this. Speaking of writing, I also want to utilize this blog more, whether it is just little journal posts like this, or posting my stories. I would love to post at least once a week, but during college I don’t want to commit to that. I will commit to at least two times a month.

February 4th,

Alright.....Alright...joke’s on me. “Want to post at least twice a month.” “Want to get on a better sleep schedule.”

Literally all of these I have not stuck to yet, but there is still time to. I’m trying but I just had to convince myself at 4am last night that I should not drop out of college, even though I want to. If you can’t tell this post is quite late. I wrote it, didn’t finish it, and never edited it. Oh, and never got around to posting it. 

However, I will, because I truly want to commit to all of these things. I just need to put in the effort and motivate myself more. 

Good job, Macin. 

(12:30 am)

Macin

[adamprrishcycle]

Prompt: Gansey leading Kavinsky's pack of dogs and Kavinsky leading the gangsey. Gansey having his boys search for his lost king while Kavinsky is helping Blue sneak out of the house in the dead of night to go do something wild with Lynch, throwing Molotov cocktails at cars and setting off fireworks in crowded places.

I’m aware that this isn’t exactly what you asked for but you should know I wrote the first paragraph at 4am so that’s a preview of how this is about to go down. I think I just inceptioned the raven cycle.

He’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming because as he wakes up lying on his stomach across a wood-panelled floor, his head turned to one side and his arm stretched out beside him, he can see three freckles. They follow the straight line of his bone and are spaced so perfectly apart that if you saw them you wouldn’t be able to deny the existence of a God.

In reality, one of the freckles on Joseph Kavinsky’s arm is marred from a car accident he can hardly remember.

He wonders about his outstretched arm. Why had he fallen asleep in the first place? It looks as though he were reaching out to take something, but there’s nothing there in the deep quiet of the room.

He sits up.

He’s in a bedroom. A small space filled with erratic mess. There’s a bed that’s covered by a floral print quilt and underneath the quilt, someone is sleeping.

There’s a faint smell of incense that reminds him of being in a church, but there’s another smell too; home. It smells like home. But he’s never lived in a place like this before.

He’s on his feet as the person in the bed rolls over with a faint, sleepy sound as they stretch and then big brown eyes are on him.

“What are you doing?” she asks. Kavinsky watches her and waits for an explanation. “I thought you left.”

“I only just woke up,” Kavinsky tells her and he clears his throat because his voice is croaky as though he’s really been asleep.

“You know I get grumpy if I don’t get enough sleep,” she says but she’s smiling and her hair is like a halo around her head. Kavinsky has the strangest feeling that he knows how it would feel if he touched it, like he’s touched it so many times that he could never forget it. “What?” She adds, “like you’re not planning on sneaking out.”

Kavinsky frowns at her. “I’m not- what?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Dude, come on.” She’s out of bed now and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt with nothing on her feet. She crosses to the window, snorts and waves.

She turns back to look at him. “As if,” she says and then she crosses to her dresser and pulls on a pair of jeans. She gets to the door. “You coming or what, loser?”

She disappears and Kavinsky follows her. The house he walks through is like nothing he’s seen before. It’s made up of tiny corridors and a rickety staircase. He follows the sound that Blue Sargent leaves behind her and then they’re out on the street. He tells himself to look back up at the house, he tells himself to mark where he is so he can remember when he wakes up, but then he’s there and Kavinsky forgets everything else. Ronan Lynch.

He climbs out of his black car and he grins at the girl and she jogs to get to him faster. Kavinsky wishes he had the same confidence. He approaches them both slowly, silently assessing the situation and then they’re looking at him and he can feel this cold weight between his shoulder blades.

“You wanna drive?“ Lynch asks him and his smile isn’t threatening, only a little mischievous.

“Drive that?” Kavinsky asks, looking pointedly at Lynch’s car.

“Fine,” Lynch snaps, playful, “Sargent, you’re up.”

She barely reaches the middle of his chest but she smiles at him like she’s got something on him. She has. In fact, she’s got something on both of them and it makes Kavinsky want to smile too.

“Hey, wait, hold on,” he protests, “I’ll drive.”

He stalls Lynch’s BMW. If there was any doubt before, this is definitely a dream now.

“Fuck,” Lynch mutters and Kavinsky tells him to shut up as he pulls off so fast it has him falling back from where he leans between the front seats. Sargent says something about wearing a seatbelt but she’s laughing her guts up.

Driving feels peaceful tonight. The dial reads 90 but Kavinsky feels so light that he considers letting go of the steering wheel to see if they would simply float away. He doesn’t though, doesn’t even loosen his grip because Sargent has put on some music where all that can be heard is harp strings and drum beats and Lynch is there; inches away, so close that if time stood still for a moment and Kavinsky turned his head, he was sure Lynch would lean in and kiss him.

But time is racing alongside the car like a greyhound after a mechanical rabbit and Kavinsky can feel the stop.

He doesn’t see him in the road until it’s too late and then glass is flying like raindrops and all Kavinsky can feel is burning up and down his body. Lynch still isn’t wearing a fucking seatbelt.

Kavinsky jerks awake and he can taste bile but he hasn’t been sick yet. The room is dark and he can feel the grooves on his arm as his drunk fingers clutch at the reality. He looks to the left and he wonders why he’s alone when he fell asleep surrounded by so many people.

Across town in an old factory building, Gansey jerks awake. He’s covered in sweat and he feels like his entire body is on fire. He nearly hides his face when he notices the figure standing in the centre of the room.

“You okay?”

But it’s only Ronan.

“Just a dream,” he replies quickly, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He can taste sweat on his top lip.

Ronan stoops by his mattress.

“Oh yeah?”

“Kavinsky’s pack,” Gansey tries to explain, “I was one of them, only there was no Kavinsky and I was the leader.”

“Gansey’s pack of dogs,” Ronan says, joking, mocking, comforting.

“Yeah,” Gansey nods, “only they tried to kill me.”

Ronan sits back and he’s wearing this strange smile like he knows something. “You know dreams aren’t real, right?”

Gansey stares at him. He thinks about saying something else, but the feeling of hands on his skin becomes less and less by the minute and he’s not about to lose his mind, not tonight at least.

He smiles, just a small smile, just what Ronan is asking him for and then he nods.

“Right.”

He’s aware that he hasn’t woken up yet.

[hypnoobiwan]

Necro-smut:  Final Exam

While searching for something else, I discovered this old story that I wrote for an MC Forum event back in 2009 and never published anywhere else.

This is fantasy and contains examples of egregiously poor consent practices.  Doing this sort of thing in real life, without advance consent, would be at best sleazy, at worst criminal.  It’s also very hetero-centric, which is a function of the characters and the original intended audience.  (And 8 years ago, that was what I knew best.)

Final Exam

© Copyright 2009 by Wiseguy

Tracy kept looking at the slip of paper, the final assignment from her Advanced Hypnotic Writing class:

This exam has only one requirement: write a paper that influences the reader to give you the best possible grade for this class.  Demonstrate creativity as well as mastery of the concepts.

It couldn't really be this easy, could it?  No, Tracy smelled a rat. Surely Professor Hartman wouldn't subject himself to twenty attempts at manipulating his mind, even knowing what they were and what their goal was.  The whole purpose of the class, after all, was to teach people to bend minds through writing.  

Then she grinned.  No, of course he wouldn't put his own mind at risk. He'd do what every college professor with tenure does:  leave the grunt work to his aide.  And that gave Tracy her big idea.

“Creativity,” Tracy wrote, “is vital to all forms of persuasion.  Professor Hartman himself promotes creativity through his use of metaphor in his lectures and in his writings, which helps to explain why his class attendance attendance rate, like his salary, is the highest in the University.  

“Professor Hartman might well liken crafting a persuasive essay to spinning a clear, sparkling, crystal top.  It's easy to imagine that top, rotating smoothly on its point as its facets catch the light and throw it back in every direction.  How much prettier would it be, even, if one were to shine a light into it, producing an inner glow that shifts and jitters as the top slows and wobbles a bit?  And so the writer must invoke the reader's imagination, so that as you read these words you also think about that top and imagine it glowing, sparkling, and gradually slowing, weakening, wobbling.  And the vividness of that image might even cause the reader's mind to slow, to wander, as the top slows and wobbles, and that is perfectly okay because the mind is made to wander – it's in each person's nature to allow the mind to drift even as the eyes continue to read, to absorb the thoughts and ideas from the text directly into the mind, unfiltered, so easily and naturally.

Tracy felt her grin widen as she continued writing, embedding more and more suggestions designed to relax and disarm the reader's mind.  In her own mind she imagined Scott, that cute grad student who seemed to be Hartman's favorite flunky, reading her worlds and becoming glassy-eyed and still.  He will be mine, she promised herself.

“And even as you continue to relax your mind, to absorb and retain all of the thoughts and ideas I'm sharing with you now, you may not even consciously realize how the more you relax your mind the more easily you can understand and accept the nature of persuasion and the ability of mere written words to program the reader's thoughts and behaviors.

“Truly persuasive writing such as this taps into the strongest drives inherent in all readers, as noted by Hogan in The Art of Persuasion.  There is the drive for survival, for food and shelter, for security, and the reader can easily associate the fulfillment of these drives with taking the actions suggested in this text, but of course the strongest, the most easily invoked and the most powerfully persuasive of the basic drives is the sex drive.

“Even now, you can perhaps imagine a time when you were extremely satisfied sexually; when you felt secure and virile and desired, fulfilled completely.  And as you recall that feeling now, allowing it to grow and intensify, you may wonder exactly how or when you can have that feeling again.  And you may even imagine taking proactive steps to make that happen ...”

Tracy wrote and edited and polished her piece until nearly 4am.  Her pussy ached from the desire it induced in her just reading it; it had to work.  But just to be sure, she opened her email client.

Roger,

I need a second opinion on this and you're the best writer I know.  Would you give this a quick read-through?  I'm not worried about details yet; just give me your gut reaction to the piece as a whole.

I owe you one!

-T

She'd fibbed a bit:  Roger wasn't really that great a writer.  But he was one of those guys who was always willing to help, and he didn't have a girlfriend to object if the test worked.  Close enough.

Tracy flopped onto the bed and slept.

A few hours later, Roger White read Tracy's email and sighed.  He had his own last-minute work to do without also being Tracy's proofreader; this was his morning to spend studying.  Still, he figured a couple of minutes wouldn't put him too far off schedule.

He began reading, but his heart wasn't in it.  All this oblique persuasion stuff was hard to get a grip on and before long his mind was wandering all over the place, like a top winding down.  Down ... down ...

Tracy woke to a loud knocking.  “Trace?  Wake up, Trace!”

It took a moment for the cobwebs to clear.  Recognizing the voice helped.  “Just a minute, Roger.  I'm not decent.”

She grabbed an oversize V-neck shirt from the bottom drawer and pulled it on, making sure the hem came down far enough to cover the essentials, and opened the door.  “Hi, Rog.  C'mon in.”

He's here, she told herself, and he looks a little fidgety.  So far, so good.  She waved him toward the study chair and climbed back onto the bed, deliberately moving slowly enough for him to get an eyeful of her legs and backside before settling into a cross-legged position.  

Roger's eyes took in every crease and fold in the white shirt and delivered the message to his brain that Tracy was naked underneath it.  Was it his imagination, or had he caught a micro-glimpse of pussy before she had a chance to smooth out the shirt to cover herself?  No matter; in his mind he was picturing her naked, legs open as they were now but with his face buried between them.  Weird, a little piece of his mind thought, since I don't really like her that much.  Still the image persisted.

“You want me?”

“Yeah,” he answered automatically.  Then he realized what he'd just said and how it sounded.  “I mean, to see you.  About your paper.”

Tracy glanced at her alarm clock and saw it was only a little after 8am. “You read it already?”

“Uh huh.  A quick read, like you asked.  Actually, I might have read it more than once.  It was a little hard to follow in places.”

“A little hard, eh?  Did it get harder as you read?”

Something got hard, all right, he thought, and felt the stirrings again as he noticed her leaning forward, which improved the already hot view of her cleavage.  “Hard in parts, easier in others.”  He had to work not to stare.

She slid forward and let her legs unfold so that her feet touched the floor.  The shirt rode up underneath her, of course, and Roger found himself imagining her bare ass and getting hard again in spite of himself.  Then Tracy leaned forward and put a hand on his knee.  “Was there a part that affected you more than the rest, that made you want to take action?”

The blood was rapidly abandoning his brain, but Roger forced himself to focus.  “There was a place near the end where you talked about assertiveness,” he said.  “Knowing what you want and daring to take it.”

“Oh, yes.”  Her voice became almost a purr.  “It feels so good to be powerful, to take control, doesn't it?  Seeing what you want, Roger, knowing it's right there, exposed, available, and wanting so much. And then letting your mind relax, and give your body permission to feel good, to take what you want.  You know how much you want it right now, Roger, don't you?  How long will it be before you act on your desire?  Will you do it now, or will you let the desire keep building inside you until it overcomes every last bit of hesitation? How much do you want it?”

Roger's cock throbbed and his mouth went dry.  He lurched out of the chair toward Tracy, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her hard on the lips.  His tongue pushed into her mouth and found hers and he knew that his desire would be satisfied.  Barely aware of his own actions he yanked the shirt up and over her head and pushed Tracy down onto the bed.  He held her down and kissed his way down her body from the neck to the crotch, pausing only briefly to suck on each nipple.

In moments Roger was where he'd imagined himself just a few minutes before, with his face planted firmly between Tracy's legs licking her with enthusiasm.  He felt his way around, vaguely in his mind trying to identify the different parts, and slowly worked out which ones would make Tracy squeal and squeeze her legs around him when he licked them just so.  His tongue found the button and Tracy came hard, groaning and clamping his head between her thighs.  He held his spot and kept working it until her legs went floppy and loose.

While Tracy lay panting Roger drank in the sight of her naked body.  I should fuck her now, he thought, but for some reason the idea of putting his cock inside her didn't seem anywhere near as compelling as the urge to go down on her had been.  In fact, the longer he looked at her the more remembered that he wasn't really into her and the more awkward he felt about what he'd just done.

Finally Tracy recovered enough to look up at him and sigh happily.  “You do know a thing or two about taking what you want,” she said, sitting up slowly.  “Why don't you let me take care of you now?”  

Her hands moved forward toward his zipper but Roger retreated.  “That's okay, thanks,” he stammered.  “I, uh, really need to get to the library.  I'm supposed to be meeting Wendy Cho there at 8:45.”

She glanced at the clock.  “You're already late, then.  So I guess I owe you two.”

“Yeah, okay,” he fumbled.  “Glad I could help.  Ummm ... later, Trace.”

She let him get to the door and pulled the sheet over just enough to cover herself.  “Oh, Roger?”

“What?”

“Before you meet up with Wendy, you might want to wash your face.”

He touched his chin and felt the residue of her juices.  “Oh ... yeah. Thanks.”

She waited until the door closed before laughing to herself.  Oh, yes, this was going to be good.

Changing the test paper she'd sent Roger to reflect her ultimate goal was easy.  Attaching it to an innocent cover email, addressed to Hartman but copied to Scott per usual practice, was also easy.  

It was the waiting that drove Tracy up the wall.

She'd submitted a full day ahead of deadline in hopes of landing on top of the pile.  Still, she waited four agonizing days for the call she'd been hoping for.

Pausing only long enough for a quick gleeful squeal, she flipped open her phone.  “This is Tracy.”

“Hi, Tracy,” came the voice on the other end.  “This is Scott, Professor Hartman's TA.  I've been reading your final exam paper, and ... well, I have some feedback for you.  Can you meet with me?”

“You want me right now?” she asked, grinning.  

His voice was hesitant.  “If that's okay.  I ... umm ... think it would be best while it's fresh in my mind.  Do you know where Mesirow Hall is?”

“Mesirow ... isn't that one of the older dorms?”

“That's right.  Behind the Sciences building.  My roommate's away, so it's easier to focus here.  Is that okay?”

“Give me twenty minutes?”

The relief in his voice was so cute.  “Yes, of course.  Great.  I'll, uh, see you then.  Room A10.”

Mesirow Hall was, as Tracy suspected, one of the older dorm buildings.  It had a stately look to it, with ivy growing up the brick sides and black ironwork around the stairs and front door.  A10 turned out to be in a far corner of the ground floor.  Tracy noted the cinder block interior walls and approved.  Yes, she thought, it would be nice and quiet here.  Which was fine for her purposes.

She knocked on the door and it opened almost immediately.  “Hi,” Scott said, unconsciously running a hand over his unruly hair. “Please, come in.”

The room was bigger than hers, she noted.  The furniture was older, too, but in good shape.  And most importantly, the bed looked solid.  'You want me?”

Just like Roger, Scott fell into the trap.  “Yeah.  I mean, to talk to you.  About your paper.”  He stopped and made a visible effort to compose himself.  “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Tracy sat down on his bed and allowed her right hand to come to rest in a way that invited him to join her.  Sure enough, he moved quickly from the wooden chair he'd been heading for to sit at her side.  Like taking candy from a baby, she thought, and for just a moment allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like when he went down on her.  She turned her body toward his, letting a hand come to rest on his thigh.  “What do you think?”

Scott went into a mental vapor-lock that showed in his face.  Tracy smiled and added, “About my paper.  You want to give me feedback, you said?”

He cleared his head.  “Oh, right.  I'm sorry.  A little scatterbrained today.  You know how it is sometimes, when your mind just starts to wander off on its own.  Sometimes you just find yourself getting distant and dreamy.  You can remember a time when you felt that, can't you?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, feeling a touch of that dreamy feeling herself. “It can be a pleasure to let go to that sometimes, can't it?  So tempting and so easy.”

“But not very productive,” he pointed out.  “So please do excuse me. I'll do my best to stay focused because I know how easy it is, when someone just starts droning on, to sort of tune out and let your thoughts take their own path.  And sometimes it's a very pleasurable path, that you can let your mind take, even as you do your best to look as though you're consciously listening to me and agreeing with what I say.”

Tracy nodded quietly, waiting for the chance to make her move.

“I love your imagery in this piece,” he continued.  “That description of the crystal top, spinning and reflecting the light, capturing the mind as it slows and wanders, winds down ... that's a powerful bit of writing, Tracy, and you must be very pleased that it's so wonderfully effective.  It feels good to imagine the reader, Tracy, imagining that top and feeling that open, compliant state quietly creeping over the mind.  You can do that, of course, I know you can, and that's perfectly okay.”

Tracy smiled again, watching Scott's eyes as he described her imaginary top.  She could see them growing fuzzy and soft so she focused on his voice, listening to the signs of his increasing arousal and desire. Her pussy quivered lightly in anticipation and she allowed herself to idly stroke his thigh.

“... and I know that Professor Hartman will be impressed with the creative way that you invoke the sex drive,” Scott was saying.  “We both know that deep down, Tracy, everyone craves sex.  A woman like you wants to have her pussy filled with a hot, hard cock, thrusting into her.  You know how good that feels, don't you, Tracy? Having a cock inside you, riding it, enveloping it, feeling it grinding and thrusting and stroking you from the inside?  How hot and wet does it make you to think about that right now, to think about riding a cock, pinning a man down and taking him inside you until you feel him come?”

Tracy's mind went straight to her groin, recalling the exquisite pleasure of being filled with a stiff, thick, skillful cock.  A cock like ... Scott's.  Yeah, Scott's.  But wait a minute, that's not what I --

Scott saw the disorientation and pressed his advantage.  “Some women can find that just thinking it, Tracy, just imagining what it would feel like to be riding a hard cock can make you want it, don't you agree? When do you suppose that urge first took hold, that quiet desire and arousal that made you want to seduce me?  How many nights did you lay in your bed, touching yourself, maybe stroking your breasts the way you are now, imagining what it will feel like when you ride my cock? Did you fantasize about persuading me to go down on you, making you come and come and come, and then sliding my cock inside you and fucking your brains out?  How hot does that make you right now, Tracy?  How wet is your pussy right now?”

Tracy squirmed.  Damned wet, she answered.  Aw, fuck, I can't concentrate!  Her mind filled with images of herself seizing what she wanted, reaching out and taking it.  And what she wanted was right there, just a foot away at most.  

Scott was still talking but Tracy had heard enough.  She bowled him over onto his back and yanked at the closure on his jeans.  He lifted his hips and helped her slide them down along with his boxers, and Tracy moaned in anticipation as she saw that he was already mostly erect. She bent down and took him into her mouth, sucking steadily as she worked his hard cock in and out of her mouth, deeper and longer, getting him so nice and hard, so ready.  

Her pussy begged her to hurry up, so she reached down with one hand to undo her own jeans and reached inside to frig herself.  She was already soaking wet, and that was good because Scott's cock felt completely ready.

She stood up long enough to shove her jeans and panties down to her ankles and then pounced on Scott before he could begin to sit up. His mouth opened and she clamped a hand over it.  “Enough talk,” she told him as she rose up into position.  “I'm taking what I want now!”  

Scott felt her envelope his cock and groaned at the pleasure of it.  His hips moved with hers, finding a rhythm and then increasing the tempo. “That's it,” Tracy said.  “Just let your body take over, doing what it knows it craves.”  His eyes focused beyond her on something on the ceiling, so she stripped off her shirt and then her bra for good measure.  “If you want to stare at something,” she told him, “stare at me.  See how horny you made me and know that you're going to get the fucking of your life right now.”

Their eyes met and locked together.  Scott reached up with his hands and squeezed her breasts and she knew she had him at last.  Tracy rode him harder, faster, deeper, until his eyes rolled back and she felt the hot gush of his seed inside her.  “That's it!  Yes!  Yes!”

She felt him slow and twisted his nipple.  Scott yelped and looked at her again.  “You're not done yet,” she said.  “Not by a longshot. I'm gonna ride you until you beg me to stop.  I'll keep you hard for an hour if I have to and there's nothing you can do to stop it.” She reached back with a hand and found his balls, then stroked her finger along the sensitive area just beyond.  Scott groaned and his cock, which had started to soften, swelled back to full attention. “That's it, Scott.  Your body wants me and your mind wants me. Your only hope is to make me come so hard that I forget what I'm here for.”

He renewed his thrusts, this time putting a little side swivel into his hips to change the sensation.  Tracy's eyes widened and then closed and her head rolled back.  Her words slurred into unintelligible, almost animal sounds and for a few moments Scott was in complete control.

Then his body betrayed him.  His cock tingled and his balls filled and that sensation of pressure, building pressure that had to be released, took over again.  He groaned and sped up, and Tracy felt the change.  She bore down on him with her pelvic muscles, making every thrust a sweet agony.  “You want to come,” she said.  “You need to come.  But first you have to please me, Scott.  Please me and come for me NOW!”

He grabbed for her nipples and tweaked them hard.  Tracy shrieked, threw her head back, and couldn't hold back any longer.  Her body clenched and her chest heaved and her gasping cries tested the cinder blocks. Scott watched her in the throes and let go, letting his body come again and straining to hold her in position until the end.

Tracy flopped on top of Scott, both of them panting and sweating and too exhausted to speak.  After several long minutes her mind cleared and she realized she was naked, sweating, and had just willingly fucked a teacher's aide.  She quickly slid off the still-blissed Scott and slapped him across the face.

“Hey!” he complained.  “What was that for?”

“You duped me!  You used embedded suggestions to get me all hot and horny and then made me jump your fucking bones, you creep!”

His eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead.  “So?  Isn't that more or less what your paper was supposed to do to me?”

“No, of course not!  I was just going to make you ... want me ... “  She realized how feeble it sounded but just didn't have anything better. “So you'd give me an A after you went down on me.”

“So I'm a creep?”

Tracy heaved a heavy sigh.  “Okay, so you're not the only creep in the room.  How did you turn that around on me, anyway?”

His answer came with a chuckle.  “How do you think I met Hartman?  By taking his class, of course!  And I got an A on the final, thank you very much.”

Well, duh! Tracy chided herself.  She flopped back onto the bed and took his hand.  “And what grade will you give me?”

His eyes met hers and there was a tiny glint in them.  “You did make a compelling case.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in intense negotiations.

-wg 6/10/09

[empireintheair]

-By Sam@Empire-

Last month I took on a The Speed Project. I wrote about the race a year ago, observing from the outside, but this year I got to live it myself.

The Speed Project is an ultra relay. 344-something miles from Santa Monica Pier to the “Fabulous” Las Vegas sign. Crazy right? Crazy enough for almost 40 teams, and some hundred runners to fly from 20 different countries to participate. There’s no monetary win. Just, a pool party, a cool vintage medal and of course bragging rights.

What started as a dream project turned into this ridiculous challenge to be apart of a TSP legacy.

This year I got to join the Mission I’m Possible family. Unlike most teams that stuck to 6 runners, we had about 12 runners + crew. Being the third year participating in this race, we had a few seasoned runners who knew what to expect out of this race and call the shots on segments.

What made this race different from others was that being nearly 40 teams, this race was going to become more competitive.

Thursday March 29th, 2018

Teams gathered at TSP HQ for briefing, packet pickup and to kindly meet the competition. I was getting goosebumps seeing all the RVs and chaser vans lined up in the tight parking lot and seeing the excitement in all the runners. Kraft Runners one of the anticipated leaders of the race, get awarded most low key RV by hiring an artist to tape up their vehicle (and lost their $1000 deposit as well… lol)

During the meeting Nils, founder of TSP had to be stern about listening to cops and not ending up arrested. Unlike other countries, we gotta take our authority more seriously.

“There are no rules, but there are laws”

Being at the briefing, we realized how small the running community was, and saw some familiar faces from the Bay Area including @concreterunners and female team @dthxsqd. Our friend Jenny @sherunsf, who we haven’t seen all year even stated “Is this what it takes to see each other? TSP just to run with each other again?!” I guess so.

Friday March 30th, 2018

It was about 3:30am as we were pulling up to the Santa Monica Pier sign. From what it looked like, some teams had been there for some time, maybe even slept at the start.

The starting line looked eerie. The plan was to start an hour earlier than previous years to get out of LA sooner and avoid traffic. There was still some fog rolling in from the beach but it just made the whole atmosphere look THAT more epic. The TSP media team was giving their final speeches, and this was probably the last time we would see all runners together until we got to the Vegas.

At 4am the race began! I was nervous, jittery, anxious but also excited. MIP decided we wanted to start with sisterhood so Jenay and I would be starting off the first leg. Although I wasn’t the very first runner, I would be meeting Jenay 3miles in to finish up the first segment. Our strategy was to keep each leg mileage short so that we could recover quicker.

Half our team went ahead where we would meet later that morning. Throughout TSP, we had two vehicles: a chaser van support vehicle to hold runners on deck and an RV for food and sleeping when you weren’t running.

Around 9 am, we linked up with the RV and switched runners from the RV and the chaser van. Sophia mentioned that we were already so much ahead of our time the previous year, but also, the race being an hour earlier than last year made a huge difference and allowed us to get out of LA traffic much sooner.

When in the RV, one of the most important things to focus on is recovery. With the sun being up and the energy still giving you that runner’s high high, you want to be awake (because FOMO) and recover your calories. However, you don’t want to eat too much so you don’t have to take poops in the wilderness. Rule #1: no pooping in the RV.  Tuna Cracker Snacks, and Smucker’s Uncrustables were my food of choice for majority of the trip. (I’m pretty sure I ate most of them… sorry team)

As we were waiting for another switch, we parked in this vacant lot somewhere in Palmdale where we were caught up with Concrete, Death Squad, and I think AM:PM(Australia). In the middle of our break, the homeowner of the property came out and initially we thought he was going to kick us out of the lot. Rather than scolding at all these runners, he basically, opened up his home to us offering water, food, (but most importantly, a toilet) after a little curious questioning of what the hell we were doing causing traffic in their quiet town. He also had the cutest puppers that just wanted to play with some humans. Turns out, his kind soul was just home cooking for his friends that are at work all day so that they don’t have to worry about it when they come home. That’s friendship.

By 2pm, MIP was reeling in to the RV again. I myself wasn’t going to run in this next segment so I got to relax for another 5-6 hours. We drove ahead and made our way to the next rest stop before entering the Airplane grave yard.

This area was one that were highly briefed about at the meeting. It was known for stray dogs, rattlesnakes and also meth heads. In the handbook, it pointed out specific directions to stay close to the runner, just in case something/someone starts attacking. Just to be safe.

It was roughly 7pm, but it was light enough that we were still able to see the graveyard of huge airplanes and broken down cars. We were also running along another team, and we were trying our best to stay close by. As if playing catch up with Vans and RVs. Again, we were way ahead of MIP’s time last year that we got to see the TSP course in a different but also competitive light- literally. Throughout the night we continued being neck and neck with these other teams.

Due to a high volume of complaints leaving Palmdale, support vehicles were asked to drive ahead and not follow too close behind runners when we got back to the paved paths. If you thought you were afraid of the dark, try running a mile in it by yourself with no support. Although I had the full moon and a headlamp to light the way, it was so spooky just being alone on the road, when all you can hear is the water in your hand held bottle swooshing back and fourth and your feet hitting the pavement. It was meditative, but still spooky-A…F.

Once we got to the next transfer location close to midnight I was so happy to hear that the rest stop had showers. I wasn’t a fan of the idea of having to shower in dinky RV shower (shout out to Body Wipes) , but had to balance with the fact that the showers would only have ice cold water to bathe in. Good for recovery, I guess. I then treated myself to a strawberry shortcake ice cream because day one was over and yea, I damn well deserved it.

 Saturday March 31st

Overnight, the majority of brothers of MIP covered trail portions in the dark.

Simeon Ran this same unsupported 9 mile leg 2 years ago and had to have a support vehicle come find him- he didn’t complete his leg that time. This year, he needed and wanted to redeem himself.

During that same leg, our van found another runner going the wrong way. In true MIP spirit, we picked him up, and dropped him off with our runner. We had them stick together for the rest of segment since it honestly didn’t matter at this point who was ahead or not. Coincidentally, Sim was wearing his volt Nike Pacer shirt not only for visibility, but acting upon that life role for the other runner. Their team was so thankful for us saving their mate.

I tried to get a good sleep, but was restless. You kinda stress about about having to get up to run your next segment. It was still pitch black outside, close to 4am. At the rest stop, we were waiting on Bryan, who was in the middle of a tough trail portion. Yea, I’m the dark. He described this portion like he was running but not going anywhere- as he compared it to running in quicksand. But like him, still had a smile on his face the entire time. We saw nothing but little flashlights in the distance so Julian went out and met him a few meters in for the exchange. Next was Ozzie and DZ.

By 6am we were heading into an even tougher trail portion. There was this one specific hill during the entire race that we have been warned about. No support unless you have a 4Runner.

In the chaser van, we were strategizing that I would take on the beginning half, have the van meet on the other side of the hill and Sophia run the second. Just before my portion, we stopped by a gas station as DZ was running his portion. Everyone needed this rest stop to restock on water, ice, and snacks and the toilet.

As we were driving back, we see some runners hopping over the hill thinking “DAMN, they got here quick!” Knowing DZ, we figured he would make it to our checkpoint fast, but for some reason, waiting, he was no where in sight. we then realized… what if he was one of those runners we saw over the hill?

We drove ahead on the highway, looking out for our runner in his gray shirt and there he was! Thankfully this portion was in viewing distance of the highway. Jupiter, our driver, was contemplating if we should drive ahead and meet him where we had originally planned to exchange Sophia, but next thing you know he makes a U-Turn along the dirt median, cuts traffic and pulls over. I then had to hop out of the Van with little to no thought, jump under barbed wire slide down a rocky path and meet up with DZ on the trail. All he said was “WE’RE AHEAD!!” as he was trailing another runner.

That runner happened to be Sandra Villines, of Firepower -Ultra Marathoner and Bad Water 2017 Winner, an ultra race through Death Valley… no big deal. For a team of Top females and 6 ultra runners, this group was hanging on to our team of 12+. I think at the moment I passed her on this trail portion-(hell yea i passed a champion), things began to get more competitive en route to Vegas.

In the light of things, DZ and I found a slab of wood on the ground that was an accurate shape of the state of Nevada, so of course we took it home with us.

During Jr’s portion, a 6-mile unsupported trail just before Baker, he called me saying his back was killing him, and I can tell he was in pain. Being the worried girlfriend that I am, I asked if anyone from the team could rescue andtake over the last portion of his leg for integrity purposes . Bryan, still tired from almost 10 hours of back to back segments still hadn’t recovered but knew he had to help Jr out. He described running to him as running into nothing but salt flats. It was tough running 2 miles out and back.

When we got to Baker to fill up on gas, SammyJo, Alexa, and Tony from MIP LV met up with us and something about their high energy gave us our second wind. Aka “fresh legs.”

It was about 11am, and Bryan said it was getting real, we were now entering the “Gates of Death Valley.” For the next 6 hours or so, the brothers would be running the desert through the hottest portion of the day. It was a segment that would take all heart. Thankfully, both SammyJo and Mia are trainers so they were able to help our runners recover in between legs.

We heard stories of the guys turning 2 mile segments into 1/2 mile segments since it was getting so hot and unbearable throughout the day. Everyone was out of it but they knew they shouldn’t even think about the mileage they had to cover and just run to get it over with.

Tony who was water boy even got in a mile to help the team recover just that much longer, however being water boy, the team forgot to get him water… lol.

The RV was parked at the end of the segment and we really used this time sleep and finish up RV decals. Crazy, but we saw Coach Raul of Nike Run Club LA, but also a TSP veteran just running on his own as he was training for Boston Marathon. WHO DOES THAT?

By 6pm, the Death Valley Squad was coming in for the exchange. While we went ahead, they said @wmnruntsp team met them on top of our RV without invitation. But rather than a hostile environment, it was a moment of peace and camaraderie. With the race being so competitive and nearly two days in, it was nice to just sit and enjoy each other’s company.

While running through Tecopa, the latter half of Death Valley, we were reaching higher elevation and got to enjoy a beautiful golden hour. Sammy Jo who only ran 2 miles said she was having trouble breathing! I even ended up getting a bloody nose due to the altitude during my segment and could tell my quads were giving out. Probably the slowest I ran the entire race at this point. Everyone was reaching their peak and exhausted, but knew we just about 6 miles each to run until the next exchange. I was also getting hangry.

More than 40 hours had passed by and closer to midnight, Jupiter was the last to exchange with those who were not even rested in the RV. This was the 30-something miles before the Las Vegas sign. I don’t know why we were stalling, but Simeon took off before we knew it. We had to catch up to Firepower who was just a couple miles ahead.

It was a continuous uphill segment, and Bryan said it felt like he was just walking(which Im sure was still probably 8min/mile pace) but once we got over the hill you could see the lights of the Vegas Strip. HOME STRETCH!

During that uphill, we took a lead on Firepower, but they were still on our tail.

With less than 20 miles left in the race, the guys were doing mile segments to quicken the pace. By the time Bryan was even able to get his things together in the Van, you hear DZ slamming on the van for the next runner to go!

“She’s right there!”

Adrenaline was pumping!  Once we caught up to this team, there was nothing holding the guys back. Roy even texted us in the RV “if anyone can put in a 7-8 minute mile it would help us rest our legs” — but yea, at this point, us slower runners wouldn’t really contribute.

Not that we didn’t want to help the team, but we couldn’t maintain the pace they were already going. Eventually Jenay and Laila joined van to get in their last miles.

5:03am

The Finish Line. It was a close race. We met up with the MIP 400 meters out to run them into the Fabulous Las Vegas sign. Compared to the year prior, we had a 12 hr PR! It was early in the morning, and although we didn’t have Vegas family and friends waiting for us like previous years, there was something about the intimacy of just have the team and a few spectators that made this moment so special.

They say there may not be a Speed Project next year, but we’ve heard that before. Until we meet again on the RUNway…

Sam@Empire.

The Speed Project 4.0 -By Sam@Empire- Last month I took on a The Speed Project. I wrote about the race a year ago, observing from the outside, but this year I got to live it myself.