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megamindsecretlair · 1 month ago

Text

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

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blitzyn · 9 months ago

Text

a different method final pt

teacher!zhongli x m!reader

request: drop by to ask will there ever be a chance for part 3 with teacher zhongli? i dont know man. him and reader are so cute together. maybe i am crazy??? wanna see reader actually tries his best and gets his reward-

part one | part two

a/n -> oh my god i need francis mosses and wriothesley to fuck me right this INSTANT

wc -> 4k

cw -> praise, anal fingering, anal sex, mating press, desk sex, semi-public sex, teacher zhongli, student reader, not beta read

You were nervous. Jitters ran along the length of your spine and pooled in your chest, leaving a deep cavity that filled with anxiety. Why were you so anxious in the first place? It’s just a test. You’ve taken plenty of them during the course of your life.

You tried to play it cool, masking your face with a facade of nonchalance, hoping no one could see how clammy your hands were getting or your heartbeat, or the sweat rolling down—oh god was someone looking at you? Could they see through you? What if they could read your mind? Did they know that you were secretly trying to get your teacher to fuck you again?

You forced to stop yourself from physically deflating in relief when they looked away. Seemed like they were just looking around the room in an attempt to search for a hint or an answer to the question they were on. Right. The test. You’d finished it not too long ago, and now you were in the overthinking stage, wondering if you could’ve worded something better or if a different answer was right, but you forced yourself to calm the fuck down. You studied for this (surprisingly) and you were sure that at least half of your answers were correct. Hopefully.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard your teacher speak, notifying the class that there was five minutes left, and you could see a few write faster as they tried to finish on time. Those five minutes felt like an eternity, watching the agonizingly slow ticking of the clock above the door leisurely make its way to four, then three, then two, one… thirty seconds, and…

Finally!

You took your time packing up, watching your classmates rush out of the door, eager to leave the boring room. It wasn’t until the last person made their way out did you walk up to your teacher’s desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“May I help you?” He questioned, offering you a brief glance as he reached over to grab the pile of test papers. It was frustrating how he could just ignore your past… ordeals like they were nothing, but you were determined to claim your keep.

“Can you, uh, grade my paper? Now, I mean,” you requested, trying to fight off your growing eagerness, but it seemed that it didn’t matter when he quirked an eyebrow. He gave you an unconvinced look, leaning back on his chair to properly look at you, searching your eyes for something. “Please,” you hastily added, hoping it’d be enough to convince him.

“Why not wait until next week?” He seemed to have found what he was looking for as he relaxed his expression, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is there something urgent?”

“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, pursing your lips. You weren’t sure how to explain without sound too eager, but you were almost ninety percent sure he knew why you wanted him to grade it now. “I wanna see how I did. ‘Cause… I studied this time. So…”

An intrigued glint shone in his golden eyes, and his head bobbed in a slow, understanding nod. He returned to the stack and scanned through the list of names until he found yours, pulling out the answer sheet to look over. It was silent for a while, save for the occasional scratch of his pen and the obnoxious tick-tock of the clock. You crossed your arms across your chest and examined the room absentmindedly, finding it too weird to watch him grade in this silence.

“You’ve done well,” he suddenly spoke, the richness of his voice gently guiding you out of your thoughts. “Congratulations.”

You saw that he rotated the paper to you, letting you look at the numbers that adorned the white page. 47/50, it read, marking this your highest grade yet.

“That’s good,” you hummed, risking a glance up at him, only to find him already watching you expectantly.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” He questioned, and you could’ve sworn that he had the faintest of smirks. It was gone as quick as you saw it, but you were sure it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you. You paused, feeling the uncomfortable weight of embarrassment creeping in your mind, stopping the words on the tip of your tongue. What were you so nervous about? You did good and everyone knew he didn’t go back on his word.

“You said you’d reward me if I did good,” you reminded, leaning forward a touch too eagerly.

“Did I?” He replied, his expression unchanging even when it was clear what you wanted. “The reward was the knowledge and understanding of this unit. Are you not satisfied?”

Fuck.

“Oh. Uh,” you were mortified—how could you not be? Technically, he didn’t specify what the prize would be. You just assumed it’d include him fucking you like the last two times. You stared at him, pursing your lips, not really bothering to hide the obvious displeasure in your face. “If I say no, will I get something else?”

The corners of his lips raised in a smug smile as he intertwined his fingers together, resting them atop the smooth wood of his desk. You noticed the familiar glint of amusement in his eyes and groaned softly. He was just messing with you.

“I suppose so,” he said, beckoning you closer to him with a refined hand. He flattened it along the curve of your hip, gently guiding you to the edge of his desk as he stood up to press himself against you. “You’ve done well today. You must’ve been very determined to get what you wanted, hm?”

You nodded slightly, almost shyly, shuddering at the feeling of his hand sliding down your pelvis to palm at your crotch. He was (not so) surprised to have felt you already hardening under his touch, but he didn’t comment on it, instead giving your cock an experimental squeeze. Your knees nearly buckled, grateful to have the desk supporting your weight as he stroked and explored your body.

“You’re more sensitive than the previous times we’ve done this,” he noted, leaning back to slot his thigh between your own and tilt your bashful head up. His grip was firm, unrelenting, raising goosebumps along your arms at his—frankly strange—strength. You hardly paid it any heed, of course. It just added to his appeal. “Have you been anticipating this moment since then?”

He refused to let you look away, tightening his grip on your chin to make you meet his golden eyes. You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard before steeling your nerves. He said you could have this, so you were going take it.

“Yeah,” you replied, rolling your hips into the palm of his hand needily. You bit your lip at the jolt of electricity that traveled up your spine, sending your senses into overdrive. You could smell his cologne—it was rich and smooth, subtle and fitting for a man like him. He was all you could feel, hear, and see as his hand made its way to the front of your pants, deftly undoing the button to tug them down.

“My, I can’t imagine how pent up you must be to be this aroused already,” he teased, his cheeks raised in a minuscule smirk. He swiftly pulled his gloves off and ran his hands ran over the curve of your thighs this time, sliding along the underside to lift you onto the desk. You tensed when the cold surface met your heated skin, but it was soon forgotten when you watched him slide your boxers off, breath hitching as he wrapped his hand around your cock.

He pressed his thumb onto the sensitive head, giving it a quick rub before lifting it, noticing the thin string of precum connecting his finger to you. He tightened his hold again to start jerking you off, listening intently to the slick noises and your breathy moans. He could feel his own dick beginning to harden, straining against the fabric of his slacks, but he ignored it for the sake of pleasuring you.

His touch was addicting. Hypnotizing. Entrancing. Anything and everything under the sun because you couldn’t get enough of how damn good he was. He knew just how tight to squeeze, the right pace, what made you shudder and squirm. The build-up was slow and delicious, clouding over your mind until your thoughts were hardly coherent enough to speak out.

“Damn—you’re… you’re good,” you shakily panted, eyes darting between his warm, strong hand and his own irises. Your cock throbbed, twitching at the sound of his low, amused chuckle. You clutched at the edge of the desk hard enough to make your hands shake, thighs flexing as you writhed. Though, you were careful enough not to accidentally kick him.

“I’m flattered you think so,” he responded, moving himself so that his hip pressed one of your thighs wider. He felt you hook your leg around his waist and tighten when he moved his hand away to prod his fingertips against your lips, wordlessly demanding entry. Eagerly, you complied, opening your mouth to let him press onto your tongue and gather your saliva.

You hummed at the feeling before closing your lips around them, gently sucking on them as you gauged his reaction. You couldn’t catch his overall expression shifting, but you did see his eyebrow raise the slightest bit and feel his cock throb against your ass. He let out a breath when he felt the suction alongside your tongue swirling around his skin, coating his fingers in your saliva. He pushed them further down, resulting in a soft gag from you. He held them there for a moment longer before pulling away, watching you break the thin trail that connected you to him with a swift swipe of your tongue over your slick lower lip.

Without missing a beat, he reached down, and you were fully expecting to feel him prod at your hole, but his hand targeted the handle of one of his drawers. You huffed impatiently and rolled your eyes when he pulled out a bottle of lube, listening to the sound of the cap being flipped open.

“Was the whole finger thing really necessary?” You grumbled, gasping slightly when he tugged your hips forward just enough so your ass hung off of the edge. You gave him a weak glare when he poured some of it on your asshole directly, tensing and shuddering at the sudden temperature drop.

“No,” he replied smoothly, easing his fingers into you. “But surely you didn’t expect to be the only one enjoying himself?” He questioned rhetorically, pumping them in and out slow enough so that the wet squelching was the only thing you could hear. “I also had no intention of using my saliva this time.”

“Could’ve started by now,” you said under your breath, mildly bitter that he had you gagging on his fingers just ‘cause he felt like it.

“Have patience,” he murmured, jabbing his slender fingers into your prostate in response to your vulgar words. He jerked you off with his free hand, paying close attention to each of your reactions, down to the minuscule twitch. “I know you can do that. If you can pass a simple test, how much more is waiting to you?”

You remained silent, swallowing the impending retort. You huffed through your nose, watching his hands expertly working your body better than you’d ever have. Your hips jerked and your cock pulsed rhythmically whenever he curled his slender fingers into that one spot that had you seeing stars. It was hard to keep quiet, and you were sure he was making this as difficult as he possibly could for you.

The heat in your belly intensified with every second—with every jab to your sensitive prostate and stroke along your painfully hard dick. Your labored breaths came out in quick pants, hitching when he teased the leaking tip. You were fully expecting him to take his time, to feel the gradual buildup, so when he suddenly speeds up, you accidentally let out a loud moan.

He gave you a sharp look, reminding you that you couldn’t afford to be loud despite not letting up. You swiftly clamped a hand over your mouth, weakly glaring at him for the sudden onslaught of stimulation, but you could hardly keep up the attitude for long. You squeezed your eyes shut and squirmed, nostrils flaring at the effort as your hips jerked every so often.

“F–Fuck, sir,” you panted, your eyebrows furrowing when you looked up at him pleadingly. “I’m gonna… m’gonna cum.”

“Go ahead,” Zhongli murmured, watching you intently. And, like his rich, smooth voice was a trigger, you did. You bit down on your lip so hard you nearly punctured it, unable to completely muffle your moans as the sounds slipped past your hand. He didn’t scold you for it, instead deciding to continue to move his hands, milking out as much cum out of your cock as he could before you started to whine at the budding overstimulation.

He let you take a moment to gather yourself, shifting to grab a tissue and wipe his fingers clean. He turned back to look at you when you sighed, leaning back to place most of your weight on your palms.

“Do you need a break?” He questioned, placing his hands back on your bare thighs. He was in no rush despite having his painfully hard dick straining against his pants, and you were internally impressed with his self control.

“No,” you replied without missing a beat, hooking your knee around his waist to tug him closer, but he hardly budged. “Fuck me. Now. I’ll be fine,” you urged. It seemed that demands were your strong suit this time around.

“Learning to have patience will benefit you greatly,” he said, and you watched the way he took a deep breath in a manner you knew meant that he was about to go on a long tangent of life lessons or something along the line. You gave him a pleading look, to which he acknowledged with yet another subtle, smug smirk. Good lord, when he wasn’t in a serious setting or teaching, he could be a pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively.

“Stop doing that,” you huffed, but you could hardly maintain that (already weak) sense of annoyance when he moved to undo his pants, eyes quickly and instinctively making their way towards his cock. You could see the tip of it beading with precum and the way it flushed an angry red.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow what you’re trying to imply,” he responded, all of his amusement fizzling away to make room for the faux ignorance. He reached over to grab the bottle of lube to pour a generous amount onto his palm and rub it along his dick, creating quiet squelching sounds that, now that you thought about it, made you cringe.

“So you just casually have lube laying around?” You questioned, looking back up at him curiously like you weren’t about to have sex. You had a strange relationship, honestly.

“I got it recently. Based on your reaction towards our last session together, it was easy to assume that you’d make a genuine effort,” he said, wiping most of the lube off his hand with a tissue before hefting your thighs up his broad shoulders. “You’re quite predictable.”

You didn’t bother to refute this time, wincing slightly at the tension to your lower back. “Ow—careful,” you hissed, shifting to get comfortable when you paused suddenly, feeling the head of his cock press against your asshole.

“You’ll be fine,” he gently assured, resting his free hand beside your head. “Bear with it.”

He pushed forward—gently this time, unlike the way he so roughly shoved himself inside you like the first time. You tensed regardless, mildly uncomfortable with the burn that came with his entry.

“Relax,” he murmured, rubbing a hand on your thigh in a comforting manner, coaxing your relaxation forth. He sank in slowly, breathing in deeply as he fought the urge to shove himself in one go. It felt better this way, he realized, taking his time instead of rushing it out of the sake of irritation. “You’re doing well. Just breathe.”

You nodded sheepishly, resting your head back against his desk. Your chest fell and rose rhythmically, making yourself relax to make things easier for both you and him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip and grunted when he finally buried himself all the way inside you, listening to him grunt in satisfaction.

“Fuck… is it me, or did you literally get bigger?” Your voice was strained, breathy and shaky. Your legs tightened slightly around his shoulders, staring at him needily.

“No, nothing about me has changed,” he chuckled softly, finding your state humorous. “But you have. You’ve improved your character within this room and proved that you’re more than capable of passing my class. You’ve made me proud, [L.Name].”

“Oh. Haha. Really?” You laughed awkwardly, turning your head to the side bashfully. Butterflies fluttered within your stomach at the praise, feeling a sudden rush of giddiness that you were hardly able to hide. “I guess I am doing better, huh?”

He nodded in response, his golden eyes softening. “I will begin now.”

You gasped, instinctively looking down to watch him pull out a bit and softly push back inside. You shuddered at the drag of his cock against your prostate, biting your lip once again to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your throat.

He moved rhythmically, his gaze locked on your blissful expression. His cock throbbed as he slid in and out, again and again, targeting your prostate with pinpoint precision. “You’re taking me so well,” he muttered, grunting softly, your soft moans mixing in with the wet, gentle slaps that filled the room.

“Shit—don’t say stuff like that,” you stubbornly said, slapping a hand over your mouth when he jabbed his dick up against your prostate with a sharp thrust.

“No? But is it—” He groaned, his eyebrows furrowing when he felt you squeeze tighter around him, letting out a strained, labored breath. He tightened his fingers into fists that had his knuckles turning white, pressing his hips against your ass firmly for a moment before resuming. “But is it not the truth?”

You rolled your eyes, using your lack of momentum to kick his back with the heel of your foot. “You talk too much…”

“Is that so?” He retorted, a faint smirk gracing his features as he bent down lower, brushing his lips against your ear, and ignored the strained grunt you let out at the added tension to your back. “Then what would you like me to do?”

You hesitated, shivering pleasantly as his breath ghosted the shell of your ear. “Harder. Go harder.” The two of you remained silent for a beat, and you quickly realized he was expecting something else. “Please.”

“Good boy. Just because I’m doing this for you doesn’t mean you simply forget your manners,” he scolded lightheartedly.

And, like clockwork, your jaw snapped open to argue, but he wouldn’t allow it this time. He rammed his cock so hard in you stars danced through your vision, your body tensing and clenching down tighter around his cock. His breaths came out shallow and labored, focused on churning your insides to mush while you tried your damn best to keep yourself from getting too loud.

“Fuck—oh my God, sir, please—” you choked out, hands scrambling for purchase. You covered your mouth with one and buried your fingers in his hair with the other, inadvertently tugging on the strands and messing up his ponytail. “Wait…!”

“Is this not what you wanted?” He rhetorically questioned, his voice low, not needing to raise his volume over your surprised and needy moans. “A shame,” he continued, finding no desire to let up any time soon. He panted harshly into your neck, letting his eyes squeeze shut as he savored the feeling of your tight hole fluttering and pulsing around him. This closeness was unwarranted and wrong, he of all people knew that. But as you whimpered and whined into his ear, he also found that he didn’t mind it.

All that could be heard were the resounding slaps and your poorly concealed noises. The desk creaked slightly, straining under your combined weight as he kept you pinned down with his body, ignoring the quiet rustle of paper as a few fluttered off the desk.

“Fuck, m’so close, sir,” came your muffled words, eyes rolling in ecstasy as you dragged your hand down to clutch tightly at his back, fingers desperately curling into his clothes. “G-Gonna cum—don’t stop!”

“Quiet,” he shushed you, giving one of your thighs a brief pinch before he grabbed hold of your weeping cock to stroke it in time with his movements. Slick sounds emanated from you as he jerked you off with dexterity, stoking the raging heat in your belly. “I know you can lower your voice. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

You meekly shook your head, letting go of his back to place both hands over your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling yourself jolt up and down as he rammed himself into your ass rhythmically. Your legs tightened slightly around his neck, searching for something to cling to. You were so close and you knew he was aware of it. He refused to let up, pushing you higher and higher, groaning when you tightened around him reflexively.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your hands hardly able to catch your voice as you came hard, body shuddering and convulsing. He squeezed your dick, slowing down considerably to help you through your orgasm, sweat rolling down his temple at the shared body heat and the effort to please you.

He pulled out with a grunt, letting one of your legs fall off his shoulder as he reached down to quickly jerk himself off, sighing in satisfaction when he finally came. You shivered, resting an arm over your eyes in exhaustion as the two of you basked in the afterglow, chest heaving up and down as you panted hard.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, cleaning his hands off with a tissue to massage your trembling thighs, giving you a moment to recompose yourself. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks…” you replied, taking your arm off your face to look at him. He was disheveled--the most unkempt you've ever seen him. You sighed gratefully when he moved your remaining leg down to grab another tissue and wipe off his and your cum that landed on your stomach.

"Here, take this." He handed you a bottle of water, fixing himself as soon as you accepted it. "It'll do you well to rehydrate yourself, especially after an intensive session such as this."

You drank a generous amount, wiping your mouth after you put the bottle down to retrieve your pants and underwear when he handed them to you. "Thanks. Again."

"Of course." He nodded, giving you more space to put your clothes back on, watching you with a soft expression. "It's getting late. Would you like me to escort you home?"

"I'm okay. I live, like, what, ten minutes away by foot?" You shook your head, wincing slightly at the ache in your back. You stood up and stretched, yawning, as you made your way away from the desk. You noticed a piece of paper on the floor and bent down to grab it, flipping it over to place atop the surface, realizing that it was your test that fell. Staring at the red numbers for a moment longer, you were overcome with a sense of embarrassment.

Man, the things you'd do for dick.

"Don't expect any leniency from me, [L.Name]," he said, walking over towards the window to open it, letting a fresh breeze carry the smell of sex outside. "My demands still remain."

"I know," you sighed, feigning dejection before you grabbed your stuff, walking towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you then."

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rafemotherfuckingcameron · 4 days ago

Note

something with rafe comforting reader after she calls him and he picks her up from work because she bad cramps

CRAMPS

Word Count: 9.0k

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe

Warnings: Cramps, Anxiety, Blood

Summary: Overwhelmed by painful cramps, you call Rafe for help

The cramps were unbearable, hitting like relentless waves. You tried to push through, focusing on your work, but the pain sharpened, and dizziness set in. Concentration was impossible.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Unsteady on your feet, you made your way to the bathroom. Each step was an effort, and the dull ache turned into something far worse. Inside, you locked the door and stumbled to the mirror. Your hands shook as you fumbled with your jeans, but the sight froze you in place. Blood—more than you’d ever expected—had soaked through your underwear, staining your clothes.

Panic surged. You hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t prepared for it to be so bad. What was happening? What were you supposed to do now? Tears welled as you stood there, helpless. Your breaths grew shallow, and your heart raced with fear. A knock on the door jolted you.

“Hey, you okay in there?” a co-worker asked, concern evident in her voice.

You wiped at your face and replied, “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

Her footsteps receded, and you exhaled shakily, sinking to the floor. Trapped in the moment, unsure of what to do, you fumbled for your phone and typed a desperate text:

“Can I call you?”

The seconds stretched endlessly as you stared at the screen. No reply. Unable to wait, you dialed Rafe. The phone rang and rang, unanswered. Frantic, you left a voicemail, your voice breaking: “Babe, I need your help. Please… I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

Hanging up, tears spilled freely as pain and fear consumed you. Each movement made the cramps worse. The more you tried to clean up, the bigger the mess became. Blood smeared everywhere, and you felt utterly defeated. When your phone finally buzzed, Rafe’s name lit up the screen.

“Rafe?” you answered, voice trembling.

“Hey, babe. I just got your voicemail. What’s wrong?” His concern was immediate.

“I’ve got cramps, and there’s… so much blood,” you stammered, choking on your sobs. “I feel sick, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way. Just stay where you are,” he said firmly. “Don’t move too much, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered. Relief mixed with anxiety as you waited for him. The pain continued, each wave worse than the last. Finally, there was a soft knock on the door.

“It’s me, babe,” Rafe called gently.

You unlocked the door, letting him in. His eyes took in the mess—the stained clothes, the bloody towels—and then he saw you. Pale and tear-streaked, you looked so small. Without hesitation, he locked the door and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, sobbing into his chest.

“Shh, don’t apologize,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

After a moment, he guided you to sit on the toilet lid and opened the bag he’d brought. From it, he pulled out fresh clothes and a damp washer. With tender care, he began cleaning you up, his movements calm and methodical. Despite the mess, he never flinched, his focus entirely on comforting you.

Once he helped you into clean clothes, he packed the soiled ones in a plastic bag. “I spoke to your boss,” he said softly. “You’re done for the day. I’m taking you home.”

Tears welled up again, this time from relief. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

At home, Rafe guided you to the lounge, covering you with a blanket and placing a hot water bottle on your stomach. “Just relax, babe. I’m going to make you some soup.”

You nodded, feeling the first bit of comfort as the warmth began easing the pain. When he returned with a bowl of lentil soup and a glass of water, he sat beside you, stroking your hair as you ate.

“I love you,” you said softly, looking at him with teary eyes.

Rafe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too, baby. More than anything.”

@ilovethekookprince @anonymouscameron @rafecameronsgirfriend

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fanfiction #OBX4 #reader x cramps x rafe

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balkanradfem · 1 year ago

Text

Anti capitalistic methods of self reliance!

Everyday items:

Plastic bags can be replaced by cloth bags you can sew, without any prior knowledge of sewing, from any old shirt you were going to throw away

Toilet paper can partly or completely be replaced by 'Family cloth', which is a series of cloth napkins cut to the size you like, which are then washed after each use! There's no risk of disease if only used for number one, for number two they need to be submerged into peroxide liquid in order to be safely cleaned. Even if you only use them for number one to stay safe, being reusable and costing nothing they will save you a lot in not having to buy toilet paper

Paper towels can be replaced by little cut-out cloths you can easily wash after use, or a simple kitchen and bathroom cloth for cleaning

Paper tissues have originally been handkerchiefs, washable and reusable, zero waste option (and they can be very pretty too!)

Laundry detergent can be replaced by horse chestnuts, or conkers! If cut open and submerged in water, they will produce soapy water, which is equally good at cleaning as your laundry detergent, completely environmentally friendly and free if you foraged the chestnuts. They can be collected and dried to use for the entire year, and you can tie them up in a sock to put in your washing machine.

Cleaning products can be replaced by vinegar, and if you hate the smell you can change it by infusing citrus peels in it! It will smell like oranges and lemons after you leave them in there for a few weeks

Cleaning products can also be self-made, by fermenting food scraps, it's called 'enzyme cleaner' and it can clean most of things in a completely environmentally friendly way!

Shampoo can be self-made, or replaced with options like herbal teas, which will also ensure that your hair no longer gets greasy, as grease is the result of using shampoo

Menstrual pads can be sown from any discarded pieces of cloth, they only need to be submerged in cold water after use in order for blood to wash out. Additionally you can make washable menstrual panties, which make sure your pads don't move in there!

Simple medicine for aches like stomach cramps, headaches, anxiety, sore throat can be found in the basic knowledge of herbalism, and simply making teas from herbs that soothe these issues. They will not be able to cure a heavy disease, but are able to provide momentary relief from annoying aches!

Immunity booster syrup can be made out of elderberries, if you're careful about not getting any seeds or stems in!

if you're growing food, you can grow your own dish sponges, and washing sponges, the plant is called 'Loofah' and you can grow a whole lot in one season then use them for years

Reuse plastic items for as long as you can, to lessen the amount being thrown into landfills, and if you need new items, aim to get a not-plastic one

If you have lots of paper trash or newspapers, you can learn to make baskets from it.

Instead of throwing away food scraps, you can try setting up a simple composting bin and also get some valuable free soil, that is great for growing little plants and herbs in it

If you're composting on a big scale, the heat compost produces can be used to heat a room

getting into hobbies like soap making, pottery, woodcarving, sewing, knitting or weaving can also save you a lot of purchasing because you realize you can simply make that thing yourself, and in better quality than it would be available at the store

Saving water and energy:

Accumulating water in a big pot while you're washing dishes, then using that water to water your houseplants is safe, especially if you're not using a lot of detergent, and it saves a lot of water

To save energy when cooking in a pot in the stove, wait until your pot starts boiling, then take it off the stove, and wrap it in a cloth, then a towel, then a blanket, and leave it wrapped up. The layers of cloth are making it difficult for the heat to escape the pot, ensuring it will keep very high temperature for half an hour, cooking as if it was on the stove. If it needs to cook longer, you can just put in on the stove for a minute to get it back to boil. You can cook pasta, rice, beans, potatoes, soups, stews, risotto, pretty much anything with long cooking time like this.

If your water boiler is big, you don't need to leave it on at all times, I've reduced my electricity bills by a lot by turning it on only when I intend to use the hot water. In the summer, if you have access to a natural body of water, use that for washing!

If you own a property, watch where the water is naturally going and accumulating; you can collec t this water and set up a system to use it for gardening/any outdoor use

if you're building a structure, making sure that the sun hits the windows in the winter, and that the place is protected from the wind by growing trees as a wind shield, will save loads of energy in heating and cooling it, as well as making sure the structure is well insulated

Heat/cool only the parts of the structure/house that you're using, making it both environmentally friendly and ensuring you don't have a too big temperature difference when you go outside, making you healthier

Try an experiment were you go a day without electricity and see what you can use as alternative in this situation; it's okay if you fail, it will provide you with knowledge of how dependant you are on the energy, and the ideas of what you can possibly do when without!

Clothing:

If sewing clothing from scratch is something that appeals to you, that is ideal for self-reliance! It is likely that after just a bit of practice, you'll be able to sew more quality items than are sold, because current fashion items are made to fall apart, and you can make your clothing strong and durable.

Sharing clothing you no longer want to wear, and letting others know they can offer their unwanted pieces to you can provide you not only with practical clothing, but you can use all fabric, buttons, zippers and other materials to sew! You can, again with minimal practice and even by hand-sewing, make your own bags, tablecloths, placemats, pillows, blankets, decorations, hats and scarfs

Visible mending, embroidering, adding details or creating your own little alterations on clothing will not only provide a sense of accomplishment, but enrich your life in the way of skill development and being able to make and mend things with little resources

Learning about history of textiles and what fast fashion is doing to the environment provides appreciation and love for sewing and creating textiles, and could inspire you to try and see how it feels to do!

Any piece of clothing that is no longer fit to be remade into something new, can still be cut into pieces and used for cleaning, as a paper towel replacement, for wiping the floor or wiping your shoes, and if it's soft, for pillow filling!

For extra clothing or furniture, you can join online groups named 'buy nothing' and 'sharing is caring', where people will often gift extra clothes and furniture for free, sometime appliances and electronics too

Food:

If any outside space is available, learning to garden is an excellent investment in food security

Seeds can be harvested from plants you already have, gifted from neighbour or friend gardeners, and some can even be taken out of store-bought produce

Soil can be taken from the forest ground which has composted leaves as topsoil, dig under a tree for best results

If no outside space is availabe, dwarf plants, herbs, and greens can be grown in containers, clean your air while they also provide food

Learning to forage for wild edible plants will provide both entertainment and free food! Any wild plant you find is likely to be more rich in nutrients than a cultivated plant, making your diet well rounded and healthy

Learning to grow trees and care for them will provide free food not only for you, but for generations to come, as well as offset the damage from the climate change. Knowing how trees work and how to prune and nourish them is powerful knowledge.

Preserving food:

Ways of preserving your food long-term are curing (for onions, potatoes, garlic, pumpkins), canning (tomatoes, peppers, fruit), fermenting (cabbage, hot peppers, turnips), dehydrating and sun-drying (tomatoes, fruit, herbs, hot peppers, mushrooms)

Growing and collecting food during warm months and then saving them for winter was done by people for centuries and it provides a safe and reliable access to food all year round

Buying cheap produce when it's in-season and preserving it can save you a lot of money and bring you far in self-reliance

Making your own recipes and then getting to eat them later in the season bring a sense of accomplishment and pride, as well as providing a zero waste food option

Cooking food from scratch is made easier by having some of your food preserved, because a lot of the time you've already prepaired most of your ingredients, and only have to place them in the pot

If you already know to make your own bread, you can also try making your own yeast, by mixing flour and water, and letting it ferment while adding more flour and water every day. It can last forever.

If you're interested in knowing more about gardening, herbalism, tree care, and foraging, check the 'Homesteading Survival Knowledge' masterlist, filled with links on these specific topics!

These are not ideas that anyone should quickly or immediately integrate in their life; instead, trying whatever seems interesting and appealing, slowly learning about it and trying one thing at the time is more encouraging and sustainable! I myself have spent years learning and integrating these, enabling me to feel happy and confident doing any and all of this. If this is overwhelming, pick whatever feels appealing and do only that! Forget the rest until it feels easy and fun thing to try out.

#anti capitalism #homesteading #self reliance #permaculture #alternatives to capitalism #growing food #environment #zero waste

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cyber-soul-smartz · 6 months ago

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Get my latest book "Empowering Journey: A Holistic Guide to Mindfulness, Resilience and Personal Growth". Grab your copy, now available in both eBook and paperback formats at Barnes & Noble.

Visit http://hafsareasoner.com

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star-whores-a-new-hoe · 8 months ago

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The Comfort of Strangers //Padawan! Obi-Wan X Fem! Reader

A/N: Well...Hi! I haven't written in two years! I'll post a little update soon but I was INCREDIBLY horny inspired after seeing the Phantom Menace in theaters! Hope you enjoy this lil smutty Padawn Obi fic!

Summary: You and all of Queen Amidala's handmaidens are stuck on Tatooine waiting for Qui Gon to get the hyperdrive parts you need. With all the stress and anxiety of escaping Naboo, the good-looking Palawan stuck on the ship with you looks like a good distraction.

Warnings VERY IMPORTANT: I know Padme and her handmaidens are pretty young, but for the purposes of this story READER IS OVER 18!!!!! That being said, this fic contains, smut, kinda a hookup, using sex with a stranger as comfort, risk of being caught, P in V action, unprotected sex, pull-out method, handy, some finger-banging action, dirty talk, some implied Qui Gon x Reader x Obi-Wan action for a minute there oop, and probably some spelling and grammar mistakes!

Word Count: 2.8 K

With the whirlwind of events that was the invasion of Naboo, one would think that boredom would bring some welcome relief. They would be sorely mistaken.

The rush of adrenaline that had flooded your veins as you and the other handmaidens frantically dressed sabé, hands, and hearts a flurry, before chasing you up the ramp of the starfighter with gunfire at your back had finally subsided. Now, with the monotonous heat of Tatooine creeping into the ship, there was nothing but dull numbness left.

Padme had left over a day ago to experience this strange outer-rim world you all had landed on. That left the rest of you with nothing to do but worry. Senator Vancil regularly sent updates urging Queen Amidala to contact him. Each of his messages was more dire than the last. News of your people in camps, starving, dying, surrounded by those damned battle droids, those disgusting Numoidions watching gleefully from the high walls of the Theed palace.

You could practically feel all of the handmaidens' hearts sink in tandem with each new update. That young Jedi, Obi-Wan, simply reminded the Queen, (or who he figured to be the queen) to send no reply. Had he no empathy?! Obviously, none of you were dumb enough to risk the safety of your mission, the safety of your people, in transmitting any kind of message but could he not for a moment let down his Jedi knight persona and give you all some grace?

Jedi learner actually, I suppose. You thought to yourself. Curled up in an out-of-the-way nook, the hood of your orange handmaiden dress hung limply down your back. Normally you were grateful for the thick velvet robes in space, but even with the ship's cooling systems still online it seemed that they were no match for Tatooine. The oppressive heat sat thickly in the stale air, leaving everyone on board anxious and irritable.

You couldn't lie to yourself. Between your fear and anxiety, the sight of that young padawan was a welcome distraction. You were positive you weren't the only one who thought so, you had definitely caught your fellow handmaiden's eyes flick over him from under their hoods. There was just something about him. Maybe it was the cocky banter he had shared with his master, even in the flurry of battle, or maybe it was the way the collar of his Jedi robes opened just enough for you to want to see more. Or perhaps it was the way you could imagine tugging on that padawan braid as-

“Oh, apologies, I didn't realize there was anyone back here.”

You start, ripped from your thoughts by the man himself. He stood, palm braced against the doorway to your little hideaway. He’d discarded his Jedi cloak, leaving him the tan robes.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly. “Just…taking a breather.” Truth be told, in a ship this size there wasn't much space for ‘breathers.’ There's a beat of awkward silence before he clears his throat.

“I assumed you would be with your queen and fellow Handmaidens in the royal quarters.” You resist the urge to scoff. Little did he know your queen was off in the deserts of Tatooine.

“I think we’re all just processing that last message from the senator. I just needed a moment to myself I guess.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He turns to walk away and you scramble for anything to keep the conversation going.

“What’s it like being a Jedi?” You cringe at the question. He looks back over his shoulder at you.

“Well, Padawan.” He corrects, sheepishly.

“Right, yes. What’s it like to be a Padawan?” He turned to face you full-on, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway.

“It’s a life of service and peace.” He says simply. “I am devoted to the service of the Republic and the force.” You hum in response.

“What’s it like being a handmaiden?” He asks, a teasing edge in his voice. From this angle, with you still curled up on the floor, he towers over you, looking down at you with a seductive smirk that makes your stomach do cartwheels.

“It’s a life of service and peace.” You repeat. “I am devoted to my queen, my people, and my planet.”

“My, my, sounds like we have quite a few similarities.” You crack a weak smile.

“Why not take a seat?” You offer, motioning towards the cramped bit of floor in front of you. “I highly doubt you have anything better to do.” He raises an eyebrow at you before obliging. “You must live in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, right?” You ask as he squeezes into the cramped space, his knees knocking against yours.

“Indeed, Coruscant has been my home for as long as I can remember.”

“I've always wanted to see Coruscant. My family went when I was very small but I don’t remember it. I always meant to visit. I just never thought it would be under such…dire circumstances.” There's another beat of silence.

“How are you and the others fairing?” You pause, debating your response. None of you had discussed it with each other. Your grief was so profound, deep, and shared in the way only sisters know. There had been no need to speak of it. But perhaps voicing it would help.

“I think this is going to be the hardest part. At least I, we, were all doing something by escaping the planet, almost getting shot down. But this, just waiting… maker it’s eating me alive.” He nodded solemnly.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” It’s not meant to be a cruel question, but definitely a pointed one. “I thought Jedi didn't do emotions?”

“Jedi don’t do attachments. We are encouraged to feel emotions, they bring us closer to the force, closer to all the living things around us.” Maker, you wanted him closer.

A part of you hated yourself for wanting distraction, for seeing the first person in front of you, and wanting to find that special kind of escape and comfort. But a bigger part of you craved the young man in front of you, the release from this monotonous boredom and anxiety.

“And what about…entanglements?” You purposefully tap your knee against his, letting a sultry gaze flood your eyes. He straightened slightly, his quizzical gaze raking you over.

“Is that really what you want?” His question wasn't accusative or disgusted but genuinely curious, soft, and gentle. The seductive fire in your eyes dies down slightly. Your eyes flick down to the floor.

“Is that so bad?” It comes out barely louder than a whisper. A gentle hand lifts your chin till your gaze meets baby blue eyes, nearly the same shade as the lightsaber you watched him wield earlier. Oh how his hands had moved with such skill and grace, you couldn't help but imagine how those calloused, practiced hands would feel running over your body. Obi-wan smiled.

“If that's what you feel, then it’s not bad at all.” Abruptly he pulled back, the sensation of him leaving your bubble had you feeling cold even in the burning ship. “Yes, Jedi are allowed to have entanglements.”

“Oh.” you flash him a sly grin, confidence slowly seeping into you. “Good to know.”

“Indeed.” His eyes bore into yours, the tension between the two of you was electric.

“Well if you ask me,” You say, placing a hand on his knee. “We have quite some time to kill before your Master gets back with the parts we need, don’t you think?” Obi-Wan’s hand came up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I’d be inclined to agree.”

“Why don't we kill some time then? Hmm?” Obi-Wan’s face lights up in a devilish smirk as his hands glide up to your waist.

“Doesn't sound like a bad idea to me.”

You lean forward, a soft smile on your lips that matches his before the young Jedi captures your mouth with his. It’s not the quick frantic touches one would expect of a hidden tryst. It’s soft and comforting like you both know you need the solace of another, the soothing touches of a lover not the hard and fast pace of a quick fuck.

You sigh against him, melting into his touch. Your hands slide over the expanse of his broad chest up to rest on his shoulders. One of Obi-Wan’s hands slides up over your spine, sending shivers through your body before he tenderly cradles your neck. His tongue teases the seal of your lips and you gladly let him in, pulling yourself closer to him as his tongue explores your mouth.

Pulling you fully into his lap, you can feel the bulge in his pants press against you. Simply the thought of it makes you wet. You grind your hips against him testingly and he hums his encouragement. One of Obi-Wan’s hands moves to your knee. Ever so delicately he slides his hand upwards over your thigh, the hem of your dress pulled ever upwards with his movements. His hand resting on the bare skin of your upper thigh, he gently moves you to grind against him again.

As you rut against him, Obi-Wan’s lips leave yours to place open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the expanse of your neck, and over the limited bit of collarbone exposed by your dress. You expose your neck to him with a sigh, letting your head fall back into the reassuring weight of his hand cradling your head.

This was it. What you so desperately needed. The reassuring touches of another that sent electric currents through your body. The safety of being held in someone's arms. Here, in this little nook with Obi-Wan, even if it was for just a moment, was paradise.

Your hands sneak their way between the two of your bodies. Reaching for his hand that gripped the pillowy flesh of your thigh, you guide him to rest it on your breast. Taking the queue, Obi-Wan gives your tit a gentle squeeze, smoothing his thumb in little circles over the fabric right where he knows your nipple is.

You practically whine at the sensation, grinding against him even harder. Your hand comes to rest on his crotch.

“Help me take these off?” Your voice comes out much more sultry than you expected. He flashes you a smile that makes your heartache.

“Why of course.” Together, you work him out of his trousers so that his erection stands tall and proud, a tiny bit of pre cum already beading at his tip. Your mouth waters at the sight. Without another thought, you spit in your hand before reaching down to grasp the base of him. He sighs at the contact and without missing a beat you begin to slowly move your hand over the length of him.

“Is that alright?” You ask, his hands slowly wandering over your thighs, ever closer to where you crave him.

“A-a little harder if you don't mind darling.” A part of you swoons at the pet name, and a bigger part of you smirks at making such a fine, confident man stutter.

You oblige, squeezing a bit tighter as you work his length and Obi-Wan throws his head back in bliss.

“Oh yes, just like that.” Seeing an opportunity in front of you, you lean forward to kiss his exposed neck, his padawan braid tickling your nose. A small blush creeps up his neck and over his cheeks as you continue to pleasure him with your hand.

Obi-Wan’s wandering hands finally reach under the skirts of your dress, his fingers dragging along the center of you, feeling the wetness that undoubtedly stains your undergarments.

“Oh my, all this for me?” He teases.

“Just shut up and touch me please.” You groan. Obi-wan places a sweet peak to your cheek.

“How could I say no to someone as lovely as you?” If you weren't flushed before that comment certainly did it. His hands push aside your drenched undergarment, letting two of his fingers leave teasing touches across you, never once letting them brush your aching clit.

“If I’d known you'd be such a tease I would have approached that master of yours.” You tease. Obi-Wan scoffs.

“I’m not a tease, you’re just impatient.” He replies slightly breathlessly. “Besides,” He adds finally drawing little circles in your clit. He leans in close to whisper in your ear. “You must be very naive to think Qui Gon Jinn wouldn't be a merciless fuck.”

For a brief moment, the thought of both of them pleasuring you enters your mind. The older Jedi taking you from behind while he instructs his learner on how to fuck your throat. You’re pulled from your thoughts by Obi-Wan capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, rougher than the last, full of need and lust.

“Obi-Wan,” You pant breathlessly, pulling away from his kiss. “Fuck me.” He groans, taking his cock in his hand to line it up against your entrance. You shimmy forward, knees on either side of him before sinking down.

You both sigh in unison, inch after glorious inch fills you up, stretching you out perfectly. He’s barely inside of you before you start moving, grasping his shoulder to help lift yourself on and off his cock. He grasps your waist, helping you move as you work yourself open on him.

the two of you build up a steady rhythm, it’s all you can do to bite your lip and keep from your moans of delight escaping the room. Obi-Wan hits a certain spot inside of you that sends a sudden gasp from your lips. His hand quickly reaches up to cover your mouth.

“Careful now, wouldn't want the other handmaidens hearing, would we?” You whine quietly in agreement. He smirks. “Think you can handle yourself without me keeping you quiet?” You nod eagerly. “That's what we like to hear.” He practically coos, his hand leaving your mouth to work at your clit, heightening your pleasure tenfold.

Every stroke of his cock inside of you leaves you a bigger mess than the last. You grind against him desperately, hungry for every touch, every current of pleasure he sends through your body, every sensation that takes you further and further from the predicament you’re currently stuck in. Everything was building up, threatening to spill over at any second.

“M-make, I won't last muc-ch longer.” Obi-Wan sighs. His movements on your clit are frantic, his thrusts sloppy like that of a man on the edge. “Please, need you to cum for me.” He practically begs. He slots his head between your neck and shoulder, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Need to feel you come around my cock.”

He hits the perfect spot inside you as he whispers his filthy words in your ear, sending you right over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body, your cunt squeezing him like a vice, his ministrations on your clit never ceasing.

“Oh yes, just like that.” He works you through your orgasm, not even ceasing as you slump against him. It’s only when you push his hand away from your overstimulated pussy that he ceases. Reluctantly, you move yourself off of his cock, taking him in your hand and watching with immense satisfaction as he falls apart, spilling his seed over your thighs.

You both sigh, sweat beading both your brows and the air between you hot and heavy with a mixture of your previous actions and the stale Tatooine air.

Swallowing dryly you break the silence. “Thank you.”

“Sincerely my lady, the pleasure was all mine.” He nods to the evidence of such on your thighs which raises a chuckle from you. You produce a handkerchief from a tucked-away pocket and start cleaning his cum from your thighs.

A content quite settles over the two of you as you tidy up, helping each other straighten your clothing. As you tuck Obi-Wan’s padawan braid behind his ear, the high-pitched beep of a comlink interprets the tender moment.

“Obi-Wan, are you there?” His Master’s voice sounds through the device on Obi-Wan’s belt. He gives your hand a slight squeeze as he picks up the com with the other.

“Yes Master, any luck acquiring the part for the hyperdrive?”

“I'm afraid the situation has grown more...complicated.” Obi-Wan sighs.

“Why do I sense that we’ve picked up yet another pathetic life form?” Obi-Wan casts you an apologetic glance as his master continues. Tucking your hair back into your hood, you give him a small smile and nod for him to go. With a soft smile of his own in return, he turns toward to cockpit, the comlink in his hand updating him on the situation.

With a sigh, you turn and walk back toward the quarters where you know the others will be. The dull ache of the tragic events around you was still present, but somewhat subdued thankfully. Who knew you could find so much comfort in strangers?

Taglist:@rentskenobi @mysteryofkokoro @highpriestessrebek @sarapixieelliott08 @princessxkenobi @dexthtoyounglings @book-hoardingdragon @cosmic-rich @laserbrains @hugmekenobi @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @profkenobi

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #obiwan #obi wan fluff #obi wan fluffy headcanons #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan star wars #obi wan x reader #smut #star wars fanfic #x reader #Star Wars x reader #Star Wars smut

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patrycarro · 2 months ago

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TS3 - LS3SR03 (No CC)

ENG:

I never say no to a good challenge, so when @joshttew challenged me to build a modern-style apartment building on a small lot, the only viable answer was YES. And, well, @joshttew, I hope the result meets your expectations.

I'm not entirely satisfied, but that's pretty typical for me. I would have liked to make a taller building, and I tried using several tutorials and tricks, but the lot kept bugging out, the game would crash, or it just didn’t feel right or fit what I had in mind. Because, even though it's possible to bypass the height limit (or at least make it look like you did), the "floors" added above that limit are really limited in too many ways. Well, EA making things tough for us... What a surprise, right?

Initially, my idea was to make a building with many floors (10-15), with the livable apartment on the top floor, and everything on the outside made of glass. Literally everything. But I ran into two problems: following this tutorial, the livable apartment couldn’t be at the very top, and this method, although it would let me do it, wouldn’t let me make it entirely glass, mainly because you can’t place windows on the levels altered this way.

So I gave up and decided to build something simpler to start with. And when I say start, I mean this isn't finished yet. I’m pretty stubborn, and I still don’t know how I’m going to make that idea a reality, but it will happen.

(If any of you know a way, I’d be very grateful if you could share it with me.)

I hope you like this build, and most of all, I hope @joshttew thinks I’ve completed the challenge. It would be a relief to know that all the rage, anxiety, and frustration I went through in the process were worth it HAHAHAHA.

Enjoy. 💙

Features:

Lot type: Residential

Lot size: 30x30

Furnished lot value: 90.885 §

Unfurnished lot value: 8.357 §

Bedrooms: 2

Bathrooms: 2

Packs used in this build: EP02, EP03, EP06, EP07, EP08, EP09, EP10, EP11

Terms and conditions:

DO NOT claim my creations as your own.

If you want to use any of my builds in your custom world, you are allowed to do so, BUT make sure to credit me as the original creator.

DO NOT re-upload my content under any circumstances; share it with your friends using my own links.

If you experience any issues, let me know and I’ll try to fix it as soon as possible.

Download it here. 🤍

SPA:

Yo nunca digo que no a un buen reto, por lo que, cuando @joshttew me desafió a construir un edificio de apartamentos de estilo moderno en un solar pequeño, la única respuesta viable era SÍ. Y, bueno, @joshttew, espero que el resultado esté a la altura de tus expectativas.

Yo no estoy del todo conforme, pero muy pocas veces lo estoy. Me habría gustado hacer un edificio más alto, y lo intenté por medio de varios tutoriales y trucos, pero se me bugueaba el solar, me crasheaba el juego, o simplemente, no me convencía o no cuadraba con lo que tenía en mente, porque aunque es posible evadir el límite de altura (o al menos que así lo parezca), la verdad es que los "pisos" que añadas sobre ese límite estarán muy limitados en demasiados aspectos. Vaya, EA poniéndonos las cosas muy difíciles... Qué sorpresa, ¿eh?

En un primer lugar, mi idea era hacer un edificio de muchas plantas (10-15), que el apartamento habitable estuviese en la planta superior, y que, además, todo su exterior fuese de vidrio. Literalmente todo. Pero me encontré con dos problemas: siguiendo este tutorial, el apartamento habitable no podría ser el de arriba del todo, y este método, aunque sí me lo permitiría, no me dejaría hacerlo enteramente de vidrio, básicamente porque no se podrían poner ventanas en los niveles que se alteraran de esa manera.

Así que me rendí y decidí construir algo más sencillo para empezar. Y digo para empezar porque esto no se ha terminado. Soy muy cabezota, y aun no sé cómo voy a conseguir que esa idea pase a ser una realidad, pero así va a ser.

(Si alguno de vosotros conoce algún modo, le estaría muy agradecida si lo comparte conmigo)

Espero que os guste esta construcción y, sobre todo, que @joshttew considere que he cumplido el reto. Sería un alivio para mí saber que toda la ira, ansiedad y frustración que me ha generado en el proceso han servido para algo JAJAJAJAJAJA.

Disfrutadlo. 💙

Características:

Tipo de solar: Residencial

Tamaño del solar: 30x30

Valor del solar amueblado: 90.885 §

Valor del solar sin amueblar: 8.357 §

Habitaciones: 2

Baños: 2

Packs utilizados en esta construcción: EP02, EP03, EP06, EP07, EP08, EP09, EP10, EP11

Términos y condiciones:

NO proclames mis creaciones como tuyas.

Si quieres usar alguna de mis construcciones en tu mundo personalizado, tienes permitido hacerlo, PERO deja claro que yo soy su creadora original.

NO resubas mi contenido bajo ninguna excepción; compártelo con tus conocidos usando mis propios enlaces.

Si experimentas algún problema, házmelo saber e intentaré solucionarlo lo antes posible.

Descárgalo aquí. 🤍

#no cc build #sims 3 build #sims 3 builds #sims 3 download #ts3 #the sims 3 #ts3 build #s3house #sims 3 #sims 3 lots #ts3 house #ts3 dl #ts3 cc #ts3 download #s3cc #apartamentos #30x30

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eowynstwin · 2 years ago

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a break in the narrative / neighbors

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?” - ao3

You learn John’s routine, at least as far as it overlaps with yours, fairly quickly.

He showers first thing in the morning, when normally you are still in bed trying to convince yourself out of it. In the limbo of fading sleep, it is a Herculean effort not to imagine it, not to picture steaming hot water flowing across broad shoulders, between and along full, plush pectorals, dripping along chiseled arms and down that narrow waist to…

You shake your head hard, and then wince when the action sends your toothbrush stabbing into the inside of your cheek. You are drowsily and unwillingly awake. The flow of water on the other side of the wall shuts off. You pretend, as you move on through your own routine, that you’re not thinking of long, strong legs, or anything else that lives below his abdomen.

It’s harder to hear the further away you get from your shared wall, but with a little time you’ve learned how to pick out the sounds of him working in his kitchen. There might be the thunk—never a harsh clang—of a pan on his stove, or the soft clicks of his fridge opening and closing. He doesn’t cook for very long, and washes his dishes in the sink rather than the washer.

You find that little detail endearing. From what little you know of him, it just seems appropriate.

There’s usually some quiet after that, and you’re pretty sure it’s because he’s eating. You picture him standing in his kitchen, leaning against the counter, plate balanced in one big hand. He hasn’t struck you yet as someone who would sit down alone to eat.

And he’s always alone. You have not heard anyone else in his flat. Not once.

You wonder at that as your own breakfast heats up. Does he have friends? Family?

A partner?

Your microwave beeps. You scowl at yourself. That’s none of your business. You don’t even know the man.

After he eats, you usually hear him step outside. You’ve peeked through your window, once, and have found him smoking a cigar, standing casually on his front doorstep. He’d been looking out into the street, his gaze moving evenly and methodically across the surrounding neighborhood, calm and attentive to the morning.

SAS. You’d known immediately what he was doing. An unexpected sense of safety had flooded you immediately, and continues to resonate in the here and now as you hear his door open and close.

Today, though, that safety is threaded with a little anxiety. You have to leave early, and it will be the first time you’ve faced him since that morning you’d spent trying to talk to him while ogling his bare chest.

He hadn’t been shirtless when you’d discovered his smoking habit. He probably is not now, either. You cannot decide if it’s a pity or a relief.

You check your hair a little nervously in the mirror hanging by your front door. Breakfast sits warm in a deep jacket pocket, a couple of English muffins wrapped in their plastic and bundled into a tea towel. Lunch is in your work bag, which sits ready and patiently waiting by your feet.

You’re just delaying. Your hair is fine. You breathe a little shakily, pick up your bag, scold yourself for a simpering idiot, and leave your flat.

“Morning, John,” you say as you step out, smiling, trying your best to sound casual.

His gaze comes to you immediately, and your knees feel very weak when those gorgeous blue eyes warm with a smile.

Goodness. Does he smile at everyone like that?

“Mornin’, love,” he replies, and you resolutely ignore how much love—which half your coworkers call you, too, stupid—makes your heart flutter. “Early start?”

“Yeah,” you say, locking your door, feeling your face already heating with a blush. “And a full day, too.”

He turns his head and exhales a puff of bluish smoke. “Wish I could say the same.”

You wrap both hands around the strap of your bag, lean against your door. You can’t help but surreptitiously look him up and down. House slippers, large. Long legs, hugged by worker’s denim, loose at the ankle and snug at the thigh and hip. A tight gray t-shirt providing an easy reminder of what you’d seen in all its glory only a few days ago. And—

“Mutton chops,” you say.

His brows raise. “Sorry?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t meant to be out loud!”

John gives a laugh that sounds like it isn’t often used. The beard you’d first met him wearing is now trimmed neatly into two even swoops of dark auburn that make his smile look even fuller than before. “I suppose you haven’t seen ‘em, have you?”

You’ve often heard the buzz of his razor going as you’ve dragged yourself out of bed. At that point, of course, his shower is done.

Does he shave shirtless, with a towel around his waist?

You blink hard and shake that traitorous thought out of your head. “Sorry, I—don’t get me wrong, I mean, it suits you!”

The bristles of his mustache sound against the palm of his hand as he rubs his face. “You think so?”

Those gorgeous blue eyes are on you again, soft and appreciative, the same as they had been the morning you’d first met him. It makes your entire body feel a little warmer than it should.

“Anyway,” you say fretfully, scratching at the strap of your work bag, “I wanted to say, I imagine it’s hard to be home sometimes, isn’t it? With nothing to do, I mean.”

He gives a huff, but this time it’s a laugh that’s only trying to be amused. He looks out into the street. “Shouldn’t be, really.”

Most days, you hear him pacing. You think you’re able now to puzzle out his moods according to the tempo he beats against the hardwood floor. Slow, even, steps seem to be days that are better—those are days you don’t have to knock on the wall after he’s turned the TV up. When he blasts some sort of audio, it’s always following a stretch of agitated, arrhythmic circuits that travel the whole length of his flat.

You’ve noticed, though, that when you knock, and after he’s turned it down, the pacing does not resume.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone starts dinging furiously. You huff, dig it out, look at the screen—and roll your eyes.

“And I’ve kept you again, haven’t I?” John says ruefully.

“No!” you exclaim, clearing the notifications and looking up at him. “No, it’s just my coworker losing his bloody mind.” You suck on your cheek. “I should probably get going, though, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, picking up an ash tray and stubbing out his cigar. The rueful quirk of his brow does not leave his face, and the smile he gives seems perfunctory. “Get there safe, will you?”

“Sure, John,” you reply. You want to say something back, tell him something that will make his day easier, but you don’t know what would help, or even be welcome. So you just say, “Thanks.”

You’ve only walked a little ways away when you look back at him, and see him standing with his hand on his open door, about to go inside.

As if he’s felt you gaze on him, he turns and looks at you. You stop in your tracks.

How are his eyes still so blue even this far away?

You lift one hand up. Wave a little hesitantly.

He waves back, easy and casual as you please.

You duck your head, and hurry away.

Your heart jumps to your throat the next morning as you hear him step outside.

You do not need to leave early today, but you’re at your mirror anyway, tidying up your bed head and frowning at yourself.

This is a terrible idea. You have no business doing what you’re about to do. You’re only opening yourself up to disappointment. He’s no one to you, why are you even thinking of doing this? So what if he’d been fucking disappointed when you’d had to leave? You’re just neighbors. It’s been what, a week since he’d come home? If he’s getting attached, it’s no responsibility of yours to deal with.

And really, had he even been disappointed? It’s not like you know him. Maybe that’s just his face. Maybe it’s just your overactive imagination.

Part of you knows you’re making excuses. You aren’t prone to that kind of stupidity. You’ve heard him pacing. You remember shouldn’t be, really.

You know what it’s like to be lonely.

So you get one big mug of coffee in hand, open your front door, and step outside.

John, as expected, is standing there with a lit cigar between his fingers. “Morning, love,” he says, brows lifted. Of course, he hasn’t expected to see you today.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling.

It’s a little colder today, and he’s in a fleece-lined jacket and dark beanie. This surprises you.

“I didn’t think you could get cold, John,” you say, indicating the gear with your mug. “Unless I really was dreaming the first time we met.”

You want to cringe at yourself immediately. Stupid. You have no intention to flirt. You're just being a good neighbor.

The mutton chops spread in a smile. “Bit different when there’s no heat at your back, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you reply. You bite the inside of your cheek. You hope you sound casual. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?”

The expression he gives is one that is going to live with you for a long, long time. He blinks at you, slowly, and fixes you with a gaze that goes from surprised to pleased. As it was before, it’s an expression that tells you that you have done something more meaningful than you can know.

“Be happy to have you,” he says, his tenor low and soft.

So, you leave your doorstep to stand with him at his own. He steps to the side, giving you space, and though there is a polite distance between you, something is humming in the empty air.

He surprises you by offering his cigar. Your brows shoot up, and you look from it up to him.

“Maduro,” he says. “Don’t worry—wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

He shrugs and takes a drag. “Just came outside to stand with me, then?”

You sip your coffee. It’s the same question you’ve been agonizing over all morning. “Maybe I’m tired of my own company.”

He huffs at that. “Think I know how that feels.”

Silence falls between you, and it is surprisingly comfortable. You think it’s because the two of you are used to not actually speaking to each other—your days occur in parallel, intersecting only with knuckles on the wall. Conversation has not been necessary to be the kind of neighbors you are.

So why are you doing this? Why are you out here, if you’re not even going to speak to him? You’ve been content with the degrees of separation that have characterized your acquaintance with John Price.

Haven’t you?

You peek at him through your lashes. He is every bit as handsome in profile as he is straight on. The mutton chops make his face look fuller, incongruously younger, despite the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Do you like to read?” you find yourself asking.

He turns back to you, brows raised. Somehow the cool morning has seeped into his eyes, sky blue tinted almost periwinkle, sharp and intense and yet still undeniably warm. “Read?”

You have to avert your gaze. Look at the pavement, a sign on the street. “I have plenty of books I wouldn’t mind loaning, is all. It would be something to do.”

His gaze is still on you. You can feel its weight, like hands on your arms, around your wrists. You bring the rim of your mug to your lips and pretend that nothing inside of you is thrumming with the awareness of it.

“Like what?” he asks.

You sip, insisting to yourself that it’s only the heat of your drink warming your ears. “Different things. A retrospective on the Battle of Actium, a Da Vinci biography, an Iranian professor’s memoirs. Those are nonfiction, but I have plenty of novels, too. Space operas. Westerns.” Romances, too, but you aren’t going to mention those.

“Sounds like you’ve got a big bookshelf,” says John, and you think he’s smiling at you.

“And too many books,” you agree. “Which you’re welcome to, if you like.”

You hear him exhale, see pale smoke bloom in front of you both. The scent is earthy and sweet, and a part of you regrets not taking his earlier offer.

The same part of you wonders if it’s what he tastes like.

You’re saved from having the throttle yourself for the thought when John replies, “Think I’ll read ‘em all.”

You blink, and look at him incredulously. “All of them?”

He grins. “You’ve offered a bored soldier on leave something to do, love. There’s a few men I know who’d propose on the spot for that.”

You go completely blank for a single heartbeat. Your brows are trying to make it into your hair. All of the blood in your body rushes to your face, and finally you sputter in protest, “That’s—I—really, now!”

John only adds fuel to that embarrassed flame when he laughs at your expression. It’s a good laugh, a real one, that comes from deep in his chest.

“That’s ridiculous, John, you’ve having me on!” you grouse, covering your mouth with your mug.

“You don’t know too many military men, then,” he chuckles. “They’d fall all over themselves for a pretty girl like you.”

You think your whole body might be hot enough to start steaming. You look at him petulantly. “It’s not nice to tease.”

He smiles and takes a drag. Paints the air translucent blue with his breath. “Haven’t been.”

It’s too much—you can’t string any sensible thoughts together to bring this conversation back under control. This is not how you’d expected the morning to go, is not what you would ever admit to having hoped for.

“I’ll just get those books, then,” you mutter, trying to ignore the smile he wears as you leave his doorstep.

You have a moment to breathe back inside your flat. You realize, as you search along one shelf, that your heart is pounding in your chest, and the scent of his cigar has trapped itself in your lungs. This not good. You should not be this easy.

John is just a bored soldier on leave. He said it himself. You have no business getting worked up over some flirting that likely, to him, means nothing.

If he was even flirting at all, you remind yourself to consider. He’d certainly been amused at your reaction. You don’t think he’d been making fun, but certainly he could’ve just been pushing your buttons.

Haven’t been rings low and purring in your ears.

You return with the three books you’d mentioned, and John takes them all into the crook of his elbow. The stack is dwarfed in his arm.

“Which one should I start with?” he asks, ashtray and cigar stub balanced in his other hand.

You give a surprised laugh. “Why should I care?”

He tilts his head, pins you with amused eyes. “‘M relyin’ on your expertise, I’m afraid. Been a while since I’ve read anything other than reports. Might not be smart enough for the real deal, anymore.”

SAS. “I doubt that.”

He shrugs, and looks at you expectantly.

“Da Vinci, then?” you suggest.

“He did that painting, didn’t he?” John asks. “Louvre. The woman. Uh…”

“Mona Lisa?” you supply, laughing and scandalized. “You have to be teasing now!”

“Well, maybe I’ll be smart enough to talk to you after I finish the book,” John says, accommodating with self-deprecation. “Da Vinci it is.”

You can’t help yourself. “Should I assign you comprehension questions, too? Name three things you remember and such?”

John smiles. “Be something else to do, anyway.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Every good sense in your head is pounding on the inside of your skull, warning you in one unified voice. Bored soldier, pretty girl, knocking on walls, books lent and borrowed. The story writes itself in your head, saccharine and heady—followed swiftly by ugly, mundane, inevitable denouement.

You are familiar now with the narrative of disappointment. You do not want John to wear its mantle.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” you say lightly, taking a swallow of your coffee as casually as you can. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Sure,” says John. He looks at you too fondly to stomach. “Appreciated the company.”

“Anytime,” your dumb, traitorous, too-honest mouth gives away.

The next morning begins as the rest do. John’s shower wakes you up. You resolutely don’t think about hot water and hotter skin as you drag yourself out from beneath the covers.

You brush your teeth. His water shuts off. A pan thunks in his kitchen while your first cup of coffee brews.

Silence. You drink. He eats.

You make your second cup. He steps out for his cigar.

A decision hangs on the knob of your front door.

This routine has been comfortable. Safe in its predictability. Measurable in its contributions to your daily life. The previous morning does not have to be anything other than an interesting deviation, a graze up against something more exciting and infinitely more fraught. You can keep the memory of John’s smile, John’s laughter, John’s kind blue eyes sweet and harmless in its ephemerality.

You can ignore the disappointment that stretches hairline cracks across that facade.

Your mug is warm in your hands as you stand in your living room, still and unmoving. From the quiet, the sound of a book falling over on your shelf, lost now of the support of its fellows, captures your attention.

You realize he is going to have to return your books at some point, and relief suddenly floods you. The decision is already made, isn’t it?

He smiles at you when you step out into the morning chill, bundled like you were the first morning into two coats. “There she is! Was hoping you’d join me again.”

Does it show on your face? The warmth that blooms inside of you at that sentiment so openly expressed?

The corner of his eyes crinkle as you stand there, transfixed and unable to hide your pleasure at his words.

“Morning, John,” you finally say. “Finish Da Vinci yet?”

As before, he steps aside, makes room for you on his doorstep. As before, you take the space next to him.

He takes a drag, eyes still on you and creased with amusement. “Not quite,” he says, exhaling. “Always was a poor student. Might take some time.”

You sip from your mug to hide your smile. “At least it’s something to do.”

The smoke from his cigar lingers in the air, mingling with the steam of your coffee.

a/n: the books I referenced here are The War That Made the Roman Empire by Barry Strauss, Leonardo Da Vinci by Walter Isaacson, and Reading Lolita in Tehran and Things I’ve Been Silent About by Azar Nafisi. I wholeheartedly recommend every single one.

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queerfanfiction · 5 days ago

Text

Love Notes (Ch. 7)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader Finally an update!

AO3 link

“Is it actually you?” Larissa’s voice sounds hoarse, her breath hitching slightly. You’re not sure if it’s due to her tears by the fountain earlier or if she is disappointed in the reveal. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers curling as if to grasp onto something solid. Her blue eyes glisten with unspoken emotions, flickering between disbelief and cautious hope. There’s a vulnerability in her posture—a slight slouch of her shoulders, as though the weight of the moment has softened her usual poise.

Braving the unknown and attempting to control your own voice, you reply, “Of course.” You pause a moment, letting the warm, nutty aroma of the Weathervane wrap around you. “I’m a little surprised you never asked me directly. There were so many times I thought you had found me out.”

Silence.

The other woman seems puzzled. It’s the closest emotion you can track from her features—slightly furrowed brows, eyes distant and focused downward, staring into space. After a long moment waiting for a response from Larissa, or even a change in her facial expression, doubt gnaws from within your chest. Nervous explanations threaten to escape your lips, each word clawing at the back of your throat, desperate to fill the heavy silence. Your fingers begin nervously tracing the rim of your mug while your mind races, replaying every interaction that could have betrayed your secret, every glance Larissa might have misread. You think back to that day in Nevermore’s library when Larissa’s gaze lingered a moment too long on the notebook you hastily shut, its pages filled with annotations about her favorite songs. Or the time in the corridor when her lips curved into a puzzled smile as she caught you humming a tune she had once mentioned in passing. Every glance, every hesitation—it all feels like a series of missed revelations.

The weight of her unspoken thoughts press down on you, and you fight the urge to blurt out all your anxieties. You feel your cheeks warm and word vomit bubbling up to shield your own potential hurt. You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions threatening to spill over.

“I know you’re probably shocked… I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you or if you’re disappointed. I promise I haven’t been preying on our closeness or friendship. I admire you so much, and I didn’t want to push you away and lose our friendship by saying anything. I understand if you feel betrayed. I guess I took the coward’s way out not confessing sooner.”

As you speak, Larissa’s confused look turns into a frown. She brings her eyes up to yours, and you try not to become shy under her gaze. Thankfully, determination wins out over worry, and you hold firm when meeting Larissa’s eyes.

“When you were poisoned, I vowed to take a chance—to finally let myself get close to you.” You let in more emotion than intended while confessing the next part. “You were almost gone, Larissa. After the nightshade incident, I saw how much it affected you. How much you carry, day in and day out, to keep Nevermore running. I just… wanted to let you know someone noticed. That someone cared."

Catching you off guard, Larissa finally utters, “What about the florist?” She needs to methodically respond or bring up each point to clear her head of the mess inside.

“What do you mean what about the florist? James?”

Now it was Larissa’s turn to question herself. “I thought you two were an item.” Larissa attempts to keep her voice from sounding accusatory or too affected.

A shocked kind of relief comes over you as you process Larissa’s worry and justification. In response, you tease, “He was helping me plan the surprise for you. Or did you think I could magically summon flowers as one of my powers?”

A blush touched Larissa’s cheeks. She wasn’t used to being wrong, and certainly not in a way where others might poke fun at the circumstance. “No… I…” Larissa hesitated, her hands twisting nervously at the fabric of her gloves. Her usual poise was nowhere to be found. “I suppose I let my imagination… run away with me.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing on your lips despite the tension. “Larissa Weems? Jealous? I didn’t think you had it in you.” A smile threatens at your lips.

The blush on Larissa’s face deepens, andshe straightens her posture, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. “I am not jealous. I simply… misinterpreted the situation.”

“If you say so,” you tease gently, though your heart is pounding.

Larissa’s eyes meet yours again, and the vulnerability in them makes your teasing fade immediately. She’s still uncertain—hesitant in a way you’ve never seen before. Her voice is quieter this time as she asks, “Why me?”

Your features soften, and you reach forward over the table to take her fidgeting hand in yours. “Why not you? You’re brilliant, headstrong, compassionate, and… gods, Larissa, you’re captivating. I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. You deserve to know how extraordinary you are.” You continue to explain, “Even though I had been wanting to, Enid is actually the one who tipped the scales in favor of me confessing. She’s quite perceptive when she wants to be. Must be the gossip blog eye.”

Larissa’s lips part slightly, but no words come out. The emotions in her eyes are too numerous to name—hope, doubt, fear, and something that looks a little like longing. She’s searching your face for something, though you’re not entirely sure what.

Before you can gain clarity on her thoughts, she asks, “How did you do it?” Larissa gestures to the wall where you appeared in the Weathervane.

You knew Larissa hadn’t known about your ability to phase. You didn’t technically disclose that in your interview process for the music professor job. “Ah, well, it’s never come up in our discussions about music. It’s matter manipulation. It’s actually why I am able to create music so easily. I’m technically manipulating the sound waves in the air.”

You pause briefly, gauging her reaction before continuing. “It’s more than sound, though. I can phase through solid objects by breaking down my molecular structure and slipping between the spaces in matter. It’s… not as simple as it sounds, unfortunately. It requires immense focus and control, and if I’m not careful, I could destabilize the matter around me.”

Larissa’s brows furrow in fascination, her earlier confusion replaced by awe. She glances between your hands and your face, a flicker of wonder breaking through her usual composure. The weight of the revelation settles in her expression, a mix of admiration and disbelief. “You’ve been living with this… and using it so effortlessly,” she finally murmurs, her voice soft, almost reverent. “That’s incredible. You’ve been using this ability all along to create those… those beautiful compositions?”

You nod, smiling warmly at Larissa’s words. “Yes. Each note, each harmony, is carefully crafted by manipulating the vibrations in the air. It’s like painting with sound.”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips. “No wonder your music feels so alive. It’s a part of you.”

The sincerity in her voice sends more warmth through you, and you lower your gaze, feeling a little shy under her praise. “It’s not always easy,” you admit, unsure of how to proceed. “Sometimes, it’s overwhelming—hearing and feeling everything at once. But when I focus, it’s like… everything falls into place. Especially when I was creating the playlists for you. I wanted them to be perfect.”

Larissa’s other hand reaches out, her fingers squeezing yours. “They are perfect. And so are you.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. The sounds of espresso shots being pulled and customers chattering fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment of understanding and connection.

You sense Larissa’s curiosity growing as you two sit together for a few moments, her focus sharpening as she begins to grasp the depth of your abilities. “How far can it go?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “Your powers, I mean. What else can you do?”

You take a moment to consider your answer, glancing at your hands as if they hold the key to what you want to say. “It’s… complicated. The more I practice, the more I understand. I can amplify soundwaves to create music that resonates on an emotional level. But I’ve also used it to calm people in panicked states—to harmonize the vibrations around them and bring peace to their bodies. It’s like tuning an instrument, but on a much larger scale for people’s limbic and nervous systems.”

Larissa’s eyes widen. “You can… calm people? Affect their emotions?”

You nod slowly. “Not in a controlling way, but more like… aligning their energy. Kind of like how humming and singing can stimulate one’s vagus nerve. It’s subtle, and I’d never use it without consent. But yes, I can help others find balance.”

Her expression shifts, a mix of admiration and intrigue. “And the phasing? Could you… could you go anywhere?”

“Not quite anywhere,” you say with a small laugh. “There are limits. It’s exhausting, and certain materials make it harder—denser metals, for example. But I’m learning. It’s as much about knowing my limits as it is about pushing them.”

Larissa’s hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you in the moment. “You’re extraordinary,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I hope you know that.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. “Coming from you, that means everything.” For the first time, you feel completely seen—not just for your powers or your music, but for everything you are. And in Larissa’s eyes, you see that same vulnerability mirrored back at you.

After a moment, Larissa exhales shakily. “This is… a lot to take in.”

You nod, not sure whether or not to remove your hand from hers. “I understand. I’m not expecting an answer or anything right now. I just… I needed you to know.”

Larissa’s leg underneath the table brushes against yours. The touch is featherlight, but it sends a jolt through you. “Thank you,” she says softly, her voice almost trembling. “For everything.”

You rub her hands gently with your thumbs and offer her a small smile. “Always.”

Looking into your eyes thoughtfully before returning to the drinks in front of you two, Larissa suggests, “Shall I get us seconds, and you can tell me all about it?”

For the first time since the conversation began, you feel hope bloom in your chest. Whatever happens next, you’ve taken the first step. And that, you think, is enough for now.

You nod, but before Larissa can move, the door to the café opens abruptly, letting in a gust of cold air. A familiar face enters—a student from Nevermore, wide-eyed and clearly distressed.

“Headmistress Weems,” the student says, their voice shaky. “We need you. Something… something strange is happening back at school.”

Larissa’s expression sharpens immediately, the warmth between you momentarily replaced by her authoritative demeanor. She glances at you, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“Let’s go,” you say, already standing. Whatever was happening at Nevermore, you had no doubt you’d face it together.

—

The drive back to the school is tense, filled with the low hum of Larissa’s thoughts as she grips the steering wheel tightly. The student sits in the back, shifting nervously. You glance at Larissa, and she’s already deep in her role as Headmistress, her jaw set and eyes focused on the road.

As you arrive at the gates, you notice an eerie glow coming from the east wing of the campus. Students are gathered outside in small clusters, whispering nervously. The air is charged, static almost crackling as you step out of the car.

“What’s going on?” Larissa asks a nearby teacher, her voice calm but commanding.

The teacher, a young man with wide eyes that you’ve seen around the corridors, stammers, “I-it’s the greenhouse. Something’s happening inside. It’s… alive.”

“Alive?” you echo, stepping closer.

The teacher nods, visibly shaken. “The plants are… growing out of control. They’ve broken through the walls and windows. I don’t know how to stop it. All I could think to do was evacuate.”

Larissa turns to you, her expression grim and serious. “We need to contain this. Can your powers help?”

You nod, adrenaline already surging. “I’ll try.”

After ensuring other faculty secures the other entrances to the area, you and Larissa head toward the greenhouse. The closer you get, the more chaotic the scene becomes. The vines thrash wildly, scraping against the greenhouse walls with a screeching sound that sets your teeth on edge. Shards of glass crunch beneath your feet, mingled with the earthy scent of disturbed soil and an unnatural, sickly-sweet aroma. You two have to take pains to not trip over bits of broken stone across the ground. The air hums with tension, punctuated by sharp cracks as the plants force their way through wooden beams. A low, guttural groan emanates from deep within, as if the greenhouse itself is alive and in pain, urging you to hurry. Vines continue to twist and writhe, stretching toward the sky as if searching for something.

“Stay behind me,” Larissa instructs, but you shake your head.

You swallow a scoff. “We’re doing this together.”

As you step inside, the air grows thick with the scent of earth and something sweet, almost cloying. The plants seem to sense your presence, their movements becoming more erratic. You close your eyes, focusing on the vibrations around you, tuning into the chaotic energy of the greenhouse.

“I’ll work on de-escalating,” you say loudly over the noise, your voice steady despite the tension. “But I’ll need your help if they fight back.”

Larissa nods, her confidence unwavering and her eyes narrowing. “Let’s do this.”

You extend your hands like a conductor, feeling the vibrations of the plants, their restless energy like a discordant symphony. Slowly, carefully, you begin to harmonize with them, sending waves of care and concern through the space. The vines hesitate, their movements slowing as if listening.

But then, a new surge of energy ripples through the greenhouse… stronger and darker than before. Something else is here, something angry.

“There’s a source,” you say urgently, your voice strained. The pulsing energy of the greenhouse thrums in your chest, a heavy, discordant beat that resonates uncomfortably. You can feel it lashing at the edges of your senses… a strange, dark rhythm that grows stronger as you focus on it. It’s as if the source itself is alive, and with each beat, it radiates anger and desperation, sending waves of hostility through the writhing plants around you. Your eyes are closed in fierce concentration, searching for the cause. “Something is controlling them.” You grimace before continuing, “It’s overwhelming,” you add while opening your eyes and glancing at Larissa, “but I can pinpoint it.”

Larissa’s eyes scan the room, and she points to a dark mass in the center of the chaos, pulsating with unnatural light. “There.”

You look to Larissa and then to the area of her gaze; you inhale a deep breath and nod—steeling yourself. Together, you and Larissa move toward the source, determined to face whatever lies ahead.

The source in the center pulses erratically, its light shifting between crimson and black while the rest of the greenhouse seems to grow darker. The ground beneath your feet trembles as the plants around it writhe with renewed aggression, as though they sense your intent. Twisted, gnarled vines guard the pulsating mass of energy, reaching out at you two with sharp thorns. The closer you get, the heavier the air becomes, thick with the tang of iron and an oppressive, unearthly heat. Larissa grips your arm briefly, her expression steely but edged with concern.

“We’re definitely close,” you murmur, the vibrations from the source nearly overwhelming your senses. You focus harder, threading calming energy into the space, though the resistance is dangerously palpable. The mass—a gnarled root-like structure entwined with glowing tendrils—reacts violently, emitting a sharp, dissonant sound that sends a jolt of pain through your temples.

“It’s protecting itself,” Larissa says urgently, stepping forward. With a swift, deliberate motion, she pulls a small silver knife from the folds of her coat, its blade etched with ancient runes. “Do you trust me?”

You peer into the piercing eyes of this woman who has slowly transfixed herself into your life, spilling into and filling all the little gaps within it. Some that you didn’t even know you wanted filled. Breathlessly, you respond, “Yes.”

Satisfied and seemingly making a mental note of something due to the expression on her face, Larissa continues, “Can you disrupt it while I try to sever the connection?”

You nod, bracing yourself as you extend your arms again. The air around the mass is chaotic, a storm of discordant vibrations that resist your attempts to harmonize them. Sweat beads on your forehead as you push harder, weaving threads of order into the cacophony. After grueling minutes that seem like hours, the vines closest to the mass begin to falter, their thrashing movements growing sluggish.

Larissa moves with precision, her knife slicing through the tendrils feeding into the core of the mass. Her jaw tightens with determination, and a flicker of something fierce glints in her eyes. Each cut seems deliberate, as though she’s channeling every ounce of her strength and focus into severing the connection. You can almost sense her resolve, a quiet intensity radiating from her. This isn’t just about the greenhouse—it’s about protecting the students, the school, and perhaps even you. She doesn’t falter, even as the mass retaliates with bursts of angry energy. Each cut elicits a shriek from the greenhouse, the sound echoing like a wounded animal. The ground shudders violently, and for a moment, you lose your balance, falling to one knee. The source’s crimson light flares, blinding and searing hot, and you feel its fury lash out at you.

“Hold on!” Larissa calls out, her voice steady despite the chaos. Her final strike severs the last connection, and the mass collapses inward with a deafening roar, its light extinguished. The vines that had crawled around you during the encounter go limp, their aggressive energy dissipating into silence.

You collapse back, breathless and trembling, as the oppressive weight in the air begins to lift. The tension that had wrapped around your chest like a vise slowly eases, leaving you lightheaded but strangely calm. Your fingers dig briefly into the cool soil beneath you, grounding yourself against the lingering tremors in your body. Each inhale feels sharper, cleaner, as though the air has been renewed. Relief washes over you in waves, mingled with an almost surreal disbelief that it’s over as quickly as it began. Larissa kneels beside you, her face a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her hand coming to lightly rest on the side of your face, brushing tenderly against your jaw.

You nod weakly, managing a small smile. “We did it.”

The two of you sit in the aftermath, the greenhouse eerily still. Outside, the muffled sounds of students and faculty stir as the danger subsides. You exchange a glance with Larissa, and for a moment, the world feels suspended once more—this time, in quiet triumph.

As the silence settles in the greenhouse, your gaze drifts back to the crumpled remains of the pulsating mass. The memory of its crimson and black glow lingers in your mind, vivid and haunting. What was it? You reach out instinctively with your senses, searching for any lingering traces of its energy, but there’s nothing—just an empty void where its chaotic presence once thrived.

“Do you think it’s truly gone?” you ask Larissa, your voice barely above a whisper.

She follows your line of sight, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice heavy with thought. “But whatever it was, it felt… deliberate. As though it had a purpose.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you recall the way the mass seemed to lash out, not just in anger, but in defiance. The way the violent energy seemed to resist every attempt to subdue it. “It wasn’t just growing wildly,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “It was looking for something.”

Larissa looks at you sharply, her brows knitting together. “Looking for what, exactly?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t know, but it didn’t feel random. That energy, it was… searching. Reaching.” You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Almost like it was trying to connect.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing in thought. For another long moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of the ruined greenhouse surrounding you, punctuated only by the occasional creak of broken glass and rubble settling. Finally, Larissa rises, brushing dirt from her coat with a slow, deliberate motion.

“If it was searching,” she says quietly, “we need to find out what it wanted—and why it was here.” Her expression is unreadable.

You nod again in agreement, though unease still coils tightly in your chest. Whatever answers the mass held, you know they won’t come easily. “Do you think it’s connected to the school? Or something outside of it?” you ask, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Larissa tilts her head slightly, considering. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. And the fact that it was here, on Nevermore grounds…” She trails off, her jaw tightening. “We can’t ignore it.”

The weight of her words settles heavily over you. The questions that the mass of tendrils leaves behind feel as tangled and complex as the vines it controlled. One thing is certain: the danger isn’t over.

—

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