#Binding patterns?? Probably | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwisoap · 3 months ago

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How to Make Your Own Binder that Fits Well and Looks Good

A while back I was in need of some new binders and thought hey, I bet I can make one way cheaper than buying it from somewhere (especially cus some of the ones I’ve bought in the past didn’t really fit right). Except when I started looking for a binder patterns online, I was very surprised that I really… couldn’t find many that looked very nice lol. Most of them had really wrinkled necklines, or didn't bind well, or just overall looked weird. A lot of the patterns also required a serger, which I don't have.

So I just said fuck it and made my own pattern! And it ended up being relatively easy! And the binders fit REALLY WELL and are comfortable to wear, even for long periods. The neckline doesn't show under shirts with loose collars, and the bottom hem doesn't gap or stick out. Here's me wearing one:

(plus I was able to make myself 5 of them for a total of like ~$50.)

So I figured I could throw together a guide to help out anyone else who wanted to make their own binder but was dissatisfied with the patterns available!

Disclaimer: This tutorial is going to assume a baseline level of sewing experience, and also will require access to a sewing machine. It is not a complicated pattern, but it will most likely require some tweaking and adjustments after you make the first one. Don’t be afraid to make alterations to make it fit better!

This tutorial is for a gc2b-style half-tank binder. It could be altered to be a full-tank binder, but all instructions will be for the half-tank design.

Materials needed:

Stretchy fabric, probably listed as 'athletic fabric' (I use this kind from Joann’s. Most athletic stretch fabrics should work, look for around 80% nylon/20% spandex blends)

Stiff fabric (I use this shirting cotton because I like how lightweight it is. If you want something a little stiffer with more structure, you can use a cotton or cotton/poly blend twill like this. gc2b binders use twill for theirs.)

Lightweight fusible interfacing (I use this kind) (get FUSIBLE not sew-in)

Fusible webbing like Pellon Wonder-Web (this is technically optional but it WILL make your life easier when you’re sewing - just make sure to get the kind with the paper backing!!!)

“But kiwisoap thats 4 whole kinds of materials, surely I don’t need that many!” Ok sure, you can probably get by without the fusible web and interfacing, but consider: they are both dirt cheap (im talking like $1-2/yard), they will make it much easier to sew the final product, and will give you an overall better-looking result. This tutorial is written with the assumption that you’ll use them.

"How much fabric will I need?" Measure the circumference of your chest below your armpits. Add 6 inches just to be safe. This is the yardage of stretch fabric you’ll need, and should give you enough material to make at least 3 binders without much excess left over. You will need around half as much stiff fabric.

Other supplies:

Big Paper (for drawing the pattern)

Flexible measuring tape

Sewing machine

Iron

Pins

Step 1: Measuring

You will need 4 main measurements for this pattern.

A) Measure the circumference of your chest just below your armpits, then divide the number in half. This will be the widest part of the pattern.

B) Measure from the top of your shoulder down to where you want the binder to end. For most folks, this will usually be around the natural waist (narrowest part of the torso), about 3-6 inches above the belly button. This will be the overall height of the pattern.

C) Measure the distance from below your armpit to where you want the binder to end. This will determine where the arm hole starts.

D) Measure the circumference of your waist where you want the binder to end, then divide the number in half.

So for example, after dividing A and D in half, my measurements are 17", 15", 7", and 14.5".

Subtract one inch from measurement A - This will help provide some compression. You might need to take it in even further depending on how it fits, but one inch is a safe starting point. I take mine in around 1.5 inches.

Subtract half an inch from measurement D. This will help prevent the bottom edge of the binder from gapping. Again, you may need to take it in more or less, depending on your own body.

Add 1.5 inches to measurement B and one inch to measurement C. This is to account for the hems and armhole placement.

This makes my final measurements

A = 16"

B = 16.5"

C = 8"

D = 13.5"

From here on out, we are only going to be working with the measurements that we have added/subtracted to, NOT the ones we initially took.

Step 2: Drawing the Pattern

You will need a piece of paper large enough to accommodate the entire pattern. This may involve taping multiple pieces together, or using a piece of newsprint, etc.

I recommend folding the paper in half to ensure that you get a symmetrical pattern. However, this means you will need to divide measurements A and D in half again, or else you’ll end up with a pattern that’s twice as wide as it should be!

Also note: the pattern is drawn with the seam allowance built in! You don’t need to add any seam allowance.

To draw the pattern:

Begin with your folded paper. Measure and mark B and C on the paper, and draw a line extending across the paper. These will be your guidelines.

Measure and mark A and D along the middle and bottom guidelines, respectively. Remember, the paper is folded, so you only use half of the measurement for A and D.

Draw a loose curve connecting the endpoints of A and D. If needed, you can also just draw a straight line between the two.

Mark the opening for the neck hole. Depending on your size, it will measure around 6-8 inches across at the top (remember to divide this in half for the folded paper) and about 5-6.5 inches deep. (mine is 6.5" across and 5.5" deep) Draw a curve to connect the two points. This part will take some tweaking and adjusting to get it to look right lol.

Measure the width of the strap - this should be somewhere between 2.5 - 4 inches wide. They will end up about 1/2” to 3/4” narrower once you sew them. Draw the line at a slight angle, as shown.

Connect the endpoint of the strap to the endpoint of line A with a curve like in the diagram.

This will be the pattern for the front piece.

To make the back piece, trace the front pattern, but make a very shallow curve for the neckline instead of a steep one, as shown:

The last piece is the stiff front panel. This is what provides the flattening effect of the binder. To make the pattern, trace the front pattern again. Trim 3/8” in on the sleeves and neckline, and 3/4” to 1” along the bottom. This gives a flatter hem. Then trim the straps shorter by a few inches. This helps the binder lay flatter along the shoulders.

When you're done, you should have 3 pattern pieces that look approximately like this (stiff panel shown overlaid on the stretch fabric to show how it fits together).

NOTE: If you want more compression or just want to make it a bit sturdier, you can add a second panel of stretch fabric to the back piece. Just use the bottom half of the back pattern (from the widest part down to the bottom hem) to cut out another piece of stretch fabric. Attach it to the back piece with a strip of fusible webbing and a zig-zag stitch along the top.

Step 3: Putting It All Together

Once you’ve made the patterns and cut out the pieces of fabric, you should have something that looks like this:

The next step is adding interfacing and fusible webbing. Use your pattern to cut out 3/8" strips to fit on the top of the straps for both pieces, and to the neckline, sleeves, and bottom hem of the back piece, as shown:

If you want to add it to the bottom hem of the front piece, it will help keep that hem flat when sewing it down later, but it's not essential.

If you choose to also use fusible webbing (WHICH I RECOMMEND), you will apply it to the stiff front panel similarly to how the interfacing was applied, ~3/8” strips along the neckline, sleeves, and top of the straps. Cut out two strips for the neckline and sleeves, because we'll use those later too.

Iron the strips onto the front panel as shown:

Once it's on, just peel off the paper, position it webbing-side down on the stretch fabric, and iron it to fuse the two pieces together so everything stays in place while you sew. THIS MAKES IT WAY EASIER TO SEW.

After the stiff front panel is fused to the stretch fabric, you’ll sew the straps of the front and back pieces together, then join the pieces along the sides. Pin the hell out of it to keep everything in place -this type of material is VERY prone to puckering.

When sewing, USE A ZIGZAG STITCH. A straight stitch will NOT WORK for stretch fabric. I adjust mine to 1.3mm long and 3.5mm wide which has worked well. If your machine doesn’t let you adjust stitch length or width, well. That sucks, I don’t really have any advice.

After you sew the front and back pieces together, you can add more fusible webbing to the front panel to help hold the hem down flat and prevent it from puckering while you sew it. Just add the strip, peel the paper off, then fold the hem over and iron it down. This part isn’t really necessary, but it does make the hems look nicer. If nothing else, I would recommend adding it to the neckline.

After that, you just fold & pin all the hems and sew them up with a zigzag stitch, then go over the raw edge at the top of the stiff panel (where we cut the straps shorter).

And that’s it! You’re done! And now you can make your own binders whenever you want!

And hey! If you used this tutorial and wanna throw me a dollar or two on ko-fi, I wouldn't complain.

#binder tutorial #ftm #transmasc #trans male #trans #tutorial #sewing #fibercraft

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in.

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night.

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations.

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold.

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused.

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone.

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter.

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled.

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white.

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here.

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress.

Wonderful.

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall.

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that.

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean.

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head.

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes.

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on.

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react?

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes.

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door.

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do.

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore.

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood.

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours. You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you.

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up.

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around.

Fuck.

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words.

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show.

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it.

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide.

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier.

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul.

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you.

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise.

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here.

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up.

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you.

And you still feel terrible.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, just as quietly.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away.

“My neighbor said he c—”

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you.

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing.

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand.

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it.

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that.

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off.

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become.

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself.

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.”

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy.

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff.

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice.

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment.

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words.

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him.

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates.

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it.

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise.

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh.

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth.

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him.

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do.

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it.

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh.

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded.

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it.

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good.

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely.

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile.

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips.

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find.

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty.

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous.

“You can come in,” you call.

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today.

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair.

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod.

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point.

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned.

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes.

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended.

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now.

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh.

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown.

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it.

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you.

He just washes your hair.

part ten

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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giuliettagaltieri · 9 months ago

Text

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly.

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean. To suffer from withdrawals. And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day. The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter. Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be. They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times. First, through your phone, but you blocked him. Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar. Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees. One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right. All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself. You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said. Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning. Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls. Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device. You answer without looking at the caller ID.

“Y/N speaking.” You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.” There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend. “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!” You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance. “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.”

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.” She whines behind the line. Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long. Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday. He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.” You tried to sound apologetic. “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh. There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.” She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues. “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.” You can hear her begging behind the phone. She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor. Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier.

“Fine, I’ll come.” You roll your eyes. “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach. “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues. In the community beach house. You dress however you like. I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips. She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her. “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “Duh. I love you too.”

“See you later.” You grin. “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!”

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit. Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them. You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly? Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods. But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work? Yeah, something casual yet put together. It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts. With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.” You call while trudging over to open the door. There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands. “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable. “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss. He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line. “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically. “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently. “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.” She mutters, amusement in her tone. “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling. “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.” You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room. “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room.

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed. Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs. It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.” You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert. “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.” He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again. “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.” You say simply. “Gotta go.” You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up. “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?” He asks hopefully.

“Yes.” You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you. “Hold on, I can drive you there.” He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him. “I can drive you to the party.” He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him. His smile grows wide. He missed having your eyes on him. You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side. He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval. You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too. Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.” You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way. He watches you walk away to greet your friends. He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him? You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to. Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party. You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours. He’ll get another chance there. He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly. Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table. You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves. The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities. You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did. You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door. You watch him struggle to keep himself up. He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk. You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs.

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall. You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-” He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?” You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins. “Y/N?” He drawls out while rubbing his eyes. “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him. “I did.” You smile when he groans out again. “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glances at you. “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?” You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch. “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.” He points a thumb behind him. “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face. “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh. “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No! No, he didn’t.” You reply right away. “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace. “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ. I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?” He touches his jaw and winces. “Ow! Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.” You finish for him and he clears his throat. “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.” You mumble before crouching down in front of him. He swallows at your close proximity. “Come on, JJ. It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.” He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!” You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away. When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare. “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.” He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him. I mean, you saw how I can be.” You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly. “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.” He says quickly. “I was just being dramatic earlier.” He rubs his nape. “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.” He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him.

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.” He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.” You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you. “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting. “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout. “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean. “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?” You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips. “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys. It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly. He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.” The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up. “I really wanted to kiss you.” Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice. “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly. “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter. “Oh, so you have feelings for me.” You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.” He says animatedly. “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!” He dodges a punch from you. “You’re like the total package. You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?” Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up. “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out. You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.” You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch. He looks at your hand and then your eyes. You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?” JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back. Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow. He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him. For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen. Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe obx

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callalillywrites · 28 days ago

Text

Allergies and Cuddles

Allergies have been kicking my butt lately. Height of that came a couple days ago when high winds really pushed around a lot of dirt and pollen. All I wanted was a nap and someone to cuddle with. Hence, the creation of this story.

Who better to cuddle up with than two super soldiers?

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky) x Female Reader

Word Count: ~1800

Summary: Steve comes home to find you curled up on the couch with Bucky, napping to reduce the affects of your allergies. Fluff and more cuddles ensue in this slice of life piece.

Warnings: Slightly worried Steve and Bucky; (over)protectiveness activated; comforting each other; teasing; established relationship; lots of fluff; Steve POV

A/N: As stated above, this story was wholly inspired and written quite quickly, so any and all mistakes are my own. Just wanted a bit of fluff to make myself feel better and this is what came out of that.

Stucky Masterlist | Main Masterlist

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

A too-quiet apartment greeted Steve when he came home that evening.

When he would've called out, his enhanced hearing picked up the faintest of hums. Following it, he soon found himself upon a scene that tugged at his heartstrings.

Bucky lounged across their over-sized sofa with you laying across him, completely dead to the world. If he squinted, Steve could almost imagine the thinnest, cutest line of drool seeping from your slightly parted lips onto Bucky's shirt. One of your arms rested somewhere between yours and Bucky's body, but the one Steve could see had sneaked its way under Bucky's shirt, caging Bucky under you. No doubt you sought the warmth of his skin, something you often did when you weren't feeling well.

While you slept, Bucky had one arm draped protectively across you while the other held one of his favorite books. The book had pages threatening to leave what little binding kept them in the right place, but that never stopped Bucky from picking it up again and again. From the looks of this one, Steve would be searching out a replacement soon enough. Bucky's gaze would drift over to you every other line or so, just because he could.

The TV played some show that you'd gotten into recently, replaying one of the older episodes. The volume turned down low so it wouldn't bother your rest. Knowing you as he did, you probably had it up while you fought to stay awake, leaving Bucky to lower it once you were completely out.

Leaning against the wide opening from the hallway, Steve crossed his arms and just enjoyed the scene before him. If he had his sketchpad, he might've taken up residence in the nearby chair and sketched until he had both of you permanently down on paper, a memory no one could take from any of you. But, he didn't so he settled for mentally drawing this moment to revisit later.

"You gonna keep staring at us, or you actually gonna say something, punk?"

"Admiring the view." Steve pushed off the wall and crept closer, taking care not to disturb your slumber. "How long has she been out?"

Bucky closed his book though his attention focused solely on you for a moment. The arm holding you drew soothing patterns on your back as he mumbled, "About an hour or so. Found her trying to fall asleep at her desk in the office."

Sinking into a squat, Steve dropped a quick kiss on Bucky's forehead before turning his full attention on you. He could make out your red, slightly swollen nose as well as the puffiness that lingered around your eyes. The softest snores left you, telling him that your allergies had truly gotten the best of you.

"Her meds not working?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't think she's been keeping up with them like she should. Her bottle's almost full, and it's almost a month old."

Steve's brows drew together. It wasn't a secret that your allergies could get bad, and you were usually on top of taking your medication to keep them from overwhelming you. Plus, you knew they worried about you whenever you weren't feeling up to your usual self.

"She took some before I made her lay down with me." Bucky's voice broke through Steve's thoughts. His own worry peeked through despite usually being the more level-headed of the group when it came to these matters. "Maybe it wouldn't be the worst to take her in and see if there's something a bit stronger out there. Nothing over the counter seems to help her anymore."

"I'll call Dr. Cho." Steve pushed to his feet, pulling his phone from his back pocket. "If she can't help, then she'll know who we can talk to."

"Tell her our girl didn't sleep well last night either. She tossed and turned pretty good. I'm that didn't help."

"Or you two can stop worrying and just let me sleep for a little longer," you groused, having been roused by your bladder to hear your boyfriends fretting. "It's the wind. Once it stops blasting away and blowing pollen around, I'll be back to normal."

"Sweetheart," Steve started.

Having had this conversation before, you lifted your head until your gaze could meet his. A steely determination stole over your features that had Steve stopping in his tracks.

"I'm going to be fine," your tone softened as you moved to capture Bucky's eye as well, "I promise."

"One week," Steve vowed.

You nodded, knowing he meant it. One week to get better, or they'd be taking you to the doctor. The last thing they wanted was to lose you when they'd worked so hard to rebuild their lives after having their old ones ripped away from them.

"Now, that's settled," you pushed up from your position against Bucky, "I'm going to the bathroom. Then, we're going to discuss dinner. I'm too gross to be touching food, so I'll let you two roshambo to see who's got kitchen duty tonight."

The bedroom door had barely closed behind you when Bucky turned towards Steve. His expression morphed into one of the softest looks he kept solely for his two loves. "Don't worry about it. It's my turn to cook anyway. Besides, you look like you could use some of her cuddles."

"You sure?" Steve couldn't help asking.

While the day hadn't been bad per se, it hadn't been a great one, either. So many reports had been perched on his desk first thing. All needed his immediate approval before missions could move forward. Sure, that was typically either Fury's or Hill's job, but they'd both gone on some mysterious vacation, leaving him to handle it.

Then, there'd been a small crisis or two where Tony's latest invention had gone a bit awry. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't set Banner off, transforming him into the Hulk. A quick call in to Nat had helped, but it'd taken some time for Hulk to fully retreat and allow Banner the chance to return.

To say Steve was a bit wired would be an understatement.

Bucky tapped his shoulder, pulling Steve from his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm sure. Let her help you."

As if summoned, you stepped out of the bedroom. Your appearance looked a bit more put-together than it had when Steve first arrived home. Hair dampened and your face scrubbed. While your eyes still retained a bit of puffiness, they remained bright and alert as you closed the distance between you and Steve.

A cheeky smile flitted over your features as you asked, "Bucky lose, or did you pull rank on him?"

"He offered actually," Steve huffed, shooting you his best glare.

It had little effect as usual, but that didn't mean he didn't try now and then.

Your fingers slid between his and gently tugged him closer.

He went willingly.

His free hand dropped to your waist when you rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Your gaze roved over his features. A soft frown formed as you murmured, "You're looking a little piqued yourself. Off day?"

"Something like that, sweetheart."

A soft noise escaped you. Your hand tightened around his as you tugged him toward the couch.

"Koala or weighted blanket?"

Steve's entire being sagged at the way you so easily read him. He honestly had no clue what he'd do without you and Bucky in his life, and he really didn't want to find out.

Bending slightly, he pulled his hand out of yours so he could grip you around the waist and lift. Your arms and legs wrapped around him without hesitation, allowing him to do what he wanted most. He dropped onto the couch, his legs stretching out on the floor. His arms snuck around you to hold you as close as he possibly get you while his head sank to your shoulder.

Your fingers inched their way up his neck until they scraped against and through his hair. Soft kisses pressed into his shoulder and neck where you could reach within the cocoon of his arms.

"I'm sorry," you whispered at some point, breaking the silence that had settled between you. "I'll do better about taking my allergy meds. It's just been a crazy week, and I hadn't meant to forget. It honestly didn't hit me that I had until the winds kicked up a few days ago. Please, don't worry about me."

Steve tightened his hold. "Always gonna worry about you, sweetheart. That's what you do when it's the people you love."

"Okay, that's a fair point, but I'm still going to do better. I don't want you to worry unnecessarily." You pulled back enough to meet his gaze. In the same cheeky tone as earlier, you added, "How's that?"

"Better," he murmured, shaking his head and huffing with pure affection.

You must've been satisfied because your cheekiness turned impish. "You are quite tense, Captain, and Bucky missed his workout because of me. It seems only fair after dinner that we have a special training session. Get all these kinks worked out and make sure you both stay in top physical form. What do you say?"

As if to further your suggestion, you wiggled in his lap until Steve moved his hands to grip your hips. A groan slipped past his lips when you managed to wriggle once more before he could fully keep you still.

Stealing a quick but searing kiss, Steve's grin grew. "I'd say I hope you've kept up your stretching routine, sweetheart, because it's going to be a long training session tonight. May even last until the early morning before I'm fully relaxed."

"Oh, my poor Captain," you crooned sweetly, pressing a kiss to his lips. "We won't stop until you and Bucky are fully satisfied."

"And what about you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," you pressed another quick kiss to his lips before trailing down his jaw towards his neck, "I know I'll be properly taken care of in more ways than one tonight. My two super soldiers never let me down."

"Damn right, we don't," Bucky said from the doorway. "Dinner's ready. Better eat up fast because that special training starts in an hour."

Steve let you scoot out of his lap after claiming one last kiss, patting your butt as you moved towards the kitchen.

You tossed Bucky a salute, saying, "Yes, sir, Sergeant."

Steve's heart had never felt so full as he watched Bucky sweep you up, your giggles spilling out as you traded kisses with him before he sat you like the precious being you were in your spot. All three places had been set while he'd held you with the small candelabra his mother had left him burned brightly with the new candles you'd chosen a few weeks ago.

Home.

He was home.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes #established relationship #fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #x female reader #female reader

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randomstupidchaos · 1 month ago

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The Postage Stamp Quilt is complete!

People who have been following me for a while, will probably remember this started out as an extremely overambitious project to use up some of my scrap fabric. The idea was to make a king-size modified postage stamp quilt - I say modified because the traditional postage stamp is a 1-inch finished square and I opted for 1.5 inch for sanity's sake. It would be 9x9 64-piece blocks, 5,184 individual squares of fabric.

Y'all. I am a fool.

I started out GREAT, knocking out 30-ish blocks in early 2023. Then it got set aside on my craft table. And sat there. And sat there. In 2024 I was like oh if I do like 2 blocks a week I can finish the blocks by summer and quilt it at my leisure! That... did not happen. 2025 rolled around and I was sick of seeing it on my side table, tormenting me, saying mean things about me. I did a few more blocks out of spite and let it sit again for a few weeks. And then I realized... I was never going to get to 81 blocks, but I had almost enough blocks for a SOLID twin quilt. So I made it to 42 blocks, sewed it 6x7, and called it a day.

This is officially my first successful failure quilt, in that I didn't achieve my initial goal but I still got a solid piece in the end.

She's a complicated beast, but I love her.

This was individually pieced in 8x8 blocks in a vague checkerboard pattern. There were designated 'light' and 'dark' fabrics, but each block was pulled somewhat at random so some of the 'light' fabrics are similar volume to the 'dark' in places. The dark fabrics were from my stash or from projects I started after the fact, but none of them were bought specifically for the project; the fabrics span over 20 years of me sewing. The light fabrics STARTED from my stash, but I have far less variety in those, so I did end up supplementing with more as I went. There is no designated 'right side up' so the fabrics go every which way. For the most part the fabrics were NOT fussy-cut so some of the patterns are a little off-center or cut off, but I think it gives it character.

The batting is 100% cotton, coverlet-weight. The backing is Moda 'Got Your Back' Gradients Aura Sunrise 108-inch cotton. The quilting was done in-the-ditch to frame the squares, and the quilt was self-bound with the backing.

I have a truly obscene number of 2-inch squares of fabric left over from giving up on this project, so I'm thinking eventually (when I can stand to look at them again) I'll make some matching pillow shams.

Oh, I almost forgot the obligatory cat-and-quilt pic:

Supervising the quilt binding. AKA pouncing on the quilt every time it moved.

#quilting #quilt #quilts #sewing #fiber arts

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presidenthades · 2 months ago

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More High Valyrian in my bind of Daemon’s Handbook, now with extra shiny!

The HV glyphs say “the blood of the dragon runs thick,” per this @dedalvs post. It seemed like a thematically appropriate quote for this fic.

I wanted the design to feel like it could’ve been a historical medievalish pattern, so I looked at a bunch of old-timey Florentine prints for inspiration. I’m gonna be honest, I’m still not sure what exactly defines a Florentine print, other than it being from Florence.

Red foil is toner reactive. Obviously the Targaryen dragon has to be red. I also made the diamond border red to evoke the sense of blood flowing around the page, as a nod to the HV quote.

My life would’ve been a lot easier if I also made the HV glyphs red, but I really wanted it to stand out in gold foil. So I made a stencil of the HV glyphs, and I hand-traced EVERY iteration of the glyphs using my foil quill. I could probably write the quote from memory now.

On an unrelated note, my hand has cramps right now.

#my writing #daemon’s handbook #bookbinding #fanbinding #endpapers #Targaryen #house targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #high valyrian #high valyrian glyphs #foil #foil art

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intergalacticfop · 2 years ago

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Minoan Kilt

The large, structural skirt worn by Minoan women in art is instantly recognizable, and when I made my own I combined current best guesses with my own personal tastes.

My kilt shape follows the hypothesis laid out by Bernice Jones in her book Ariadne's Threads: The Construction and Significance of Clothes in the Aegean Bronze Age. She describes the shape of that of a labrys, a double-headed axe with apparent ceremonial significance in Ancient Minoan culture. This garment may be depicted in Linear-B logogram *166 + we, we-being the backwards-s-shaped squiggle in the center which identifies the piece as a garment.

See pages 336 and 341 in Marie-Louise B. Nosch, The Textile Logograms in the Linear B Tablets

Actual details on construction and materials below the cut:

Construction:

The top and bottom edges of the kilt are concave, so the sides are longer than the middle. This gives the chevron-shape seen on layered kilts in art. In addition, the curved top half makes the skirt flare out, accommodating the hips and giving more freedom of movement to the legs. My kilt measured from my waist to my anklebone at the longest point, and about 1.5 times around my waist.

I chose to make a flounced kilt, with smaller strips of fabric and trim applied to a large base piece, rather than a tiered kilt, in which multiple kilt shapes of varying length are layered one on top of the other, so you end up wrangling 3 layers of fabric around the waist. The flounced kilt saves fabric and gives you a lot more freedom with whatever trim you might want. Jones' diagram for a flounced kilt is seen below:

Unlike the version in the diagram above, I chose not to attach ties to the garment itself both because the linen I used was very heavy and I was concerned about weight, and also because folding the skirt and securing it with a separate tie worked just fine for my tastes. In total I had four flounces: 2 alternating rows each of fabric and fringe.

The vertical edges of most kilts are left plain, probably representing either the selvage or an edge otherwise finished off to prevent fraying. For my kilt, however, I ended up with a couple inches of self-fringe on either side as I adjusted the fabric to the correct width. At least three examples of kilts with fringed vertical edges are known, all three from the so-called "House of the Ladies" in Akrotiri

Photos from Wikimedia Commons. Image 1. Image 2.

The vertical edges of these kilts are reinforced with a colored band or tape, probably to keep the garment from unintentional further fraying. Accordingly, I did the same on my kilt. I also like that it gave a nice vertical diagonal to counterbalance the horizontal ones.

Materials

I tried to use mainly linen and wool, the fibers most available on Ancient Crete, but some of my trim was cotton because sometimes you just have to use what's cheap and available in the today times.

The base of my kilt is a heavy, patterned linen in what's called a diaper weave, meaning that a repeating diamond pattern is woven into the pattern itself. A lot of the Minoan textiles depicted in frescoes are characterized by repeating geometric patterns, likely woven into the fabric itself, and that was something I wanted to capture in my own piece. My linen is woven with both cream and natural colored threads. The heavy weight is important to give structure to the garment--otherwise it would be kind of limp. My linen was from Burnley & Trowbridge (shameless plug), as was the plain cotton twill tape I used to bind the top and bottom edges of the kilt, and the dark red wool twill tape I used along the vertical edges.

I bought my cotton fringe from a rug supply store. I had to search a while to find a fringe that would work for me, and I ultimately chose fringes with a woven header rather than the more common knotted one, so that it would lay flat against the kilt. I hid the woven header under a layer of cotton fringed trim from Michaels (yes, Michaels) with this really great diamond and dots pattern woven in black.

The blue layers are from a bolt of vintage wool Kimono fabric. Blue appears frequently in frescoes, likely achieved with indigo or woad dye, or even murex/mollusk dye. The fabric is printed with an imitation ikat pattern of diamonds and squares that made me think "the vibes seem right!" because quite frankly, you aren't going to get "historically accurate" Minoan textiles (which there probably isn't enough archaeological evidence to definitively describe) without, like, hand-weaving it yourself or paying someone hundreds of dollars to do it for you (and that price is if the weaver really likes you). Neither of which appealed to my desire to just make a fun, low stress project. Good enough is good enough.

The narrow trim on the bottom of the blue flounces is vintage cotton/poly woven trim. This trim, while narrow, was quite thick and stiff, which was great because it added more weight and structure to the end of my flounces since the wool fabric itself was quite thin.

The top layer is a custom tablet-woven wool trim that I commissioned from MAHTAVAhandicraft on Etsy. I imagined this as the "centerpiece" of my kilt, and I'd arrange everything to complement it.

It's a kivrim pattern, which has itself only been traced to 19th-century Anatolia, but I didn't care. The way it looks like waves reminded me of how central the sea was to life in the Ancient Aegean and Mediterranean and it captured the idea and aesthetic I was pursuing. I mean, doesn't it remind you of these dolphins?

(I like the dolphins)

The whole thing was machine sewn with the exception of hemming and adding trim to the blue flounces. If you were to look at it from the back, you'd see lots of zigzag stitches, because i wanted to be fast! and have fun! not chase some unreachable ideal of "accurate."

As for wearing it, I chose to wear it with the top part folded/rolled down over a belt, so I have a thick tube of fabric around my waist. Many images, like the frescoes above of women with fringed kilts, appear to just show the kilt being tied closed. Other images are so fragmented or stylized that it's unclear what kind of skirt closure was used. Sculptures and figurines definitely show some kind of SOMETHING around the waist, whether this is folded fabric or a kind of belt is unclear. Different art could show different things!

I think I see evidence of a continuous line from the skirt to the waist-roll on the figure on the left, found in Troas, which I think indicates some kind of skirt-folding situation. The woman on the right, found in Crete, looks more like she's wearing some kind of long coiled belt, or perhaps snakes. Who knows? I don't! For my own part, I found the combination of rolled waist + tie belt the most secure for doing things like kneeling, stomping around, and wading into rivers to rescue bees. I also liked that it gave me the bulk around the hips that gives Minoan figurines such a powerful silhouette, and proportionally gives more of an hourglass shape. If you wanted to do something more firmly grounded in the sources, stick just with the waist tie or belt, wrapped around a couple times and tied in back. If you want to be like me, just say "well we don't KNOW it didn't happen" and just do whatever you want. Have fun! Whatever happens, it should be fairly easy to move around in the kilt--this is not a restrictive garment, just a heavy one.

#minoan #minoan crete #historical costuming #bronze age #reference #resources

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sashiavi · 1 year ago

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•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚆𝚊𝚜 𝙰 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝙰 𝙵𝚒𝚝 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚝𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚜𝚔 </3 | 🫶 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝙸𝚏 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙾𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞 ♡♡

•··········🍑···········• •··········🍑···········• •···········🍑··········•

𝙰𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙺𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚑

♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ You and Alhaitham Punish Kaveh

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Oh, poor little Kaveh.. He deserved it, really.

For always paddling along, voice cracking with every flourish of his arms as he complained on and on about the Nth horrendous client he'd picked up that month. For causing a scene at the front door, scowling deep and poking Alhaitham in the chest with his pointer finger, scolding the man for leaving him out without a key again. For arguing with you on the public notice board about your thesis a g a i n.

For looking so pretty all the goddamn time, leaving poor You and poorer Alhaitham to fend off the aching, pooling swamp of hot arousal. Kaveh had a grip on you, always managing to cause a fluster, a kickstart of your heart, sending the poor organ into overdrive.

It all finally boiled over.

On one seemingly lazy afternoon, there sat you, nearly dozing into the pages of a book in the warm beam of the sun through the stained glass. Nearby, Alhaitham crosses his leg over the other, reaching over and hooking his fingers around the vessel that held his tea. All was peaceful.. Until it wasn't.

The rough metallic jingle of keys scrapes against the front door before the wood scrapes open and closes with a hearty thud. The bossy footsteps of Kaveh waddle through the front room, clearly laced with irritation.

“Afternoon Kaveh-” You start before being immediately cut off.

“Take your shoes off before entering, Kaveh.” Alhaitham chastises without even lifting his eyes from his page. A scoff resounds through the room.

“Please, with the day I’ve had you ought to cut me some slack you know? I come home and you're sitting around, do you even know what I do in a day?” Here he goes.. Again.

“I get things done when I’m supposed to. Now, go entertain yourself elsewhere, we’re reading.” At this point, Alhaitham was purposely riling him up. Surely.

“You know what, you’re probably not even reading anything all that substantial.” Kaveh flicks his draping cape over his shoulder and begins marching through the hallway. Alhaitham instantly snaps his head towards you.

Welp. That was it. If Kaveh was going to act< like a Brat, then they would treat him like a Brat.

•·····················••·····················•

Almighty Archons, please just have mercy and smite him already. Kaveh couldn't even remember how he had gotten himself into this position. His knees sting and ache as they press into the scratchy Persian rug Alhaitham had ever so graciously brought into the home. The pattern clashed with everything in sight, he nearly ought to voice it. If his mouth wasn't occupied at least. His jaw aches as he engulfs the soft heat of your pussy, tongue ever so eagerly pressing past your entrance, nose digging into the swell of your clit. Kaveh itches to rake his hands over your plushy thighs, to sink his fingertips into your skin, press your pretty self into the divan below. He nearly attempts it, almost forgetting the poor state of his wrists.

Kaveh’s dainty, milky wrists scrape against whatever barbaric binding Alhaitham decided to wrap him up in. His poor joints sting in apprehension, throat nearly whining as he attempts to pull against it. He barely manages to focus on the sensation, not before a firm hand wraps its fingers through his hair. The digits wind their way through the strands of his locks, twisting dangerously close to his scalp. A pressure builds, the fingers tug hard, carding his head forward, forcing him to bury his face deeper into the sweet, wetness of your pussy. Kaveh can't help but moan out loud, keening airily into your core as Alhaitham’s firm grip tugs him hard.

“Don't get distracted now.” Alhaitham’s voice burns in his ear, ever so leveled in order and authority. A hot shiver spikes through Kaveh’s neck, tingling down his arms, barbed in an aching sting. He engulfs his mouth over the sweet bud of your clit, his neglected cock twitching hard as you moan out. His pretty face mashes into your cunt, dribbling sweet slick over his cheeks and down his chin. Poor Kaveh could barely keep his eye on you, bleary and tearful pools of carmine nearly falling cross-eyed. Your hand comes to join Alhaitham's, caressing over the strands of hair that fall over his forehead with a newfound softness, completely unlike the tight pull of the other man.

“..s’ a good boy… isn't he..?” Your soft voice breaks through the sticky sounds of Kaveh's tongue against your cunt.

“He's enjoying himself..” Alhaitham rasps back. Throaty moans dribble off of Kavehs tongue as he eagerly laps and kisses at your puffy little clit. His cock jumps and aches at every little noise you make, the squirmy crane of your hips, the hot press of your thighs against his ears. He bucks his own hips into nothing, fucking pitifully into the air, yearning for any little sense of friction - One touch and he was gone, he was sure of it.

A hand pulls him back by his hair, fingers twisted through his locks, stinging hard on his scalp. The movement is sudden, snapping his neck backwards, pulling him off of your sweet, gooey pussy. Kaveh’s achy tongue lulls out with a whining moan, a sticky dribble of slick and saliva follows him, stringing from his tongue and down his chin. His carmine eyes go into orbit, rolling prettily, barely focusing on the hot, stern scrunch of Alhaitham’s face peering down at him. Kaveh pants, licking at his slick swollen lips.

“Enjoying himself a little too much..” Alhaitham's eyes squint. His other hand comes to cup at Kaveh's chin, fingers squishing his cheeks together, nearly slipping at the wild concoction dripping from his lips. Kaveh's neck cranes in Alhaitham's firm hold, pulsing an ache through his ears and behind his eyes. He breathes hard, rivulets of his broken voice barely peeking from his throat.

“Open. Tongue out.” If poor Kaveh's head wasn't absolutely swimming he'd have a comeback for Alhaitham's tone, maybe tell him to use his manners for once. But silly Kaveh just follows, lulling his tongue out just as Alhaitham instructed.

The moan that gargles from Kaveh's mouth as Alhaitham spits a hot glob of saliva on his tongue should be embarrassing. If it weren't burning hot already, his face would flush red, perhaps he'd even cry a little. Kaveh couldn't care, not with Alhaitham's piercing gaze, gritted jaw tensing down at his pitiful self. Not with your pretty self laid out in front of him, decadent and sweet like sticky pudding, ever so tempting. Alhaitham breathes through his teeth above him.

“Gods… You're all dumb already huh? Didn't take much, Kaveh” Alhaitham's grip tightens on Kaveh's chin, stinging his cheeks, pressure ringing hard in his ears.

“Be nice to himmm~” He barely hears you whine. You shift up, fingers curling over Alhaitham's own, easing up the hot prickling tenseness tethering behind Kaveh's cheeks. His eyes barely roll in relief before your lips are on his, tongue lapping eagerly into his mouth, swirling the sticky mess of everyone between the two of you.

Kaveh’s brain swirls in a whirlwind, half delirious and barely aware, his body screams and aches but his cock just leaks, begging to be touched. Once again, he hardly recalls the exact way he ended up like this. Hands pressed hard into his lower back, steadily going numb under the pressure of his weight. His fingers tingle with spiky pins and needles, the binding on his wrist digs into the soft untouched skin of his back. His chest heaves in his peripherals, glazing into his vision as he stares up at your pretty naked form, straddling him down, pinning his hips to the divan below.

Your pretty pussy dribbles on the tip of his cock, sliding up and down over and over, catching his pudgy head against your clit. Kaveh can't help but watch on, throat never quiet, hiccuping short breaths and whines as you grind on his length. Alhaitham's footsteps trek over the hardwood floors of the house, steadily coming closer. Since when did he disappear? Gods. Kaveh was out of it.

Through his bleary vision, Kaveh watches Alhaitham hand you something, not before cupping your chin and kissing hard against your lips. Kaveh whines at the involuntary wriggle of your hips, spurred on by the searing kiss of the man above. His head tilts back, eyes shutting with a soft exhale. His chest jumps with every slow breath he attempts to make, shoulders twitching in anticipation. It goes quiet, a short scuffle of feet on the floor and then stillness, it was uneasy, a foreign calm before the storm. Gods, was there a storm.

Kaveh's head snaps upward, eyes wide, lips tensed hard under the pressure of his teeth. His pretty cock tenses and aches, drooling milky strands of pre right onto the folds of your cunt. What was this feeling? A hot buzz, pressed right into the sensitive underside of his cock, nestled sweetly against his pretty pink head. Your hand presses the device against him, rubbing it in little circles, massaging the sticky curve of his cockhead.

What even was it? Some godforsaken contraption Alhaitham had managed to procure from Fontaine? Gods.. He couldn't care - Not with how wet and sticky you feel on him, rubbing his leaking cock with your pussy. Not with the sweet, sweet buzz of the device shooting achy zaps of pleasure through his sensitive tip. Kaveh's hips squirm, both keening into your sweet wetness and away from the stinging vibrations.

There's a slap to his inner thigh, easily followed by a high yelp from poor Kaveh. Large, warm palms pin his thighs to the divan, a head of grey creeps over your shoulder. There's a glint in Alhaitham's eyes and an unamused tilt to his lips.

“Don't go running away now..” He chastises, nipping into your neck from behind, kissing into the naked skin.

“Jus' too good.. huh Kaveh..~” Your voice crumbles from your lips, soft and breakable. Your hips speed up to prove a point, sliding his length up and down your milky pussy, pressing the vibrator hard into the plushy divet of his cockhead. He watches his cock spurt thick globs of pre, mixing into the sweet mess you've already made on his lap.

“P-Please-” Kaveh manages, his tone cracked in half, barely able to formulate a proper word. His hips buck upward in little fucks, poking your clit with his length. His mouth gapes open and closed, undecided if he wants to lul his tongue out or bite through his glossy, swollen lips.

“Yeah..? Please w-what..” You speak again, head tilted down, one hand pressed to his chest, the other, circling the device up and down the pretty fold of his tip.

“Please..! S'too much.. want it in~” Kaveh lulls his head from side to side, openly moaning out, chest stuttering his breaths. A hand wraps around your own from behind. And Kaveh cries. A quick click and the device buzzes harder, pressed firmer into his gushing cock, prickling hot static right into his groin. His eyes lock on his cock, device overtaken by Alhaitham, switching between a firm press and a cheeky massage on his length. Your hips move harder, coating his tip in your sweet cream, dribbling it down his length. Kaveh nearly throws his head back, but fuck, he can't stop watching.

Kaveh's cock pulses hard, throbbing and stinging as Alhaitham bumps the buzzing vibrations up another notch. He openly cries out, eyes doughy and criss-crossed, face surely flushed red.

“Cant-! Need it in.. In! S'too much-” Poor Kaveh babbles out, shamelessly fucking his cock through the folds of your cunny, surely spreading the buzzing vibration to your clit. He somehow manages to hold in a screaming keen, his last ounce of resolve finally breaking down.

“Im- cum… in! Gonna-! Ahn~” Kaveh spreads his thighs and thrusts, leaning on his elbows, throwing his head back with a sob as he creams all over your pretty pussy. The hot press of the vibrator never lets up, rubbing up and down his spurting length, coaxing him through the hot pulse of his orgasm. His ears ring, barely making out a voice of someone, babbling sweet praises while he cums himself stupid. The God's have mercy on him for a moment, easing up the aching vibrations on his cock.

It doesn't last long. Kaveh's half hard length easily slips into the sweet hug of your pussy with a little push. His ears burn red, messy cock still spurting pretty rivulets of hot cream right into your warm cunny.

“Can't! Too much!” He's sure he'll start sobbing.

“Thought you w-wanted it in me, Kaveh~” You say with a breathy giggle, grinding your hips against his lap.

“Can’t even take what you begged for..” Alhaitham's rotten tone cuts through his brain. He watches the man start the device up again, now pressing it right into the perky nub of your clit. You keen airily, grinding down on Kaveh's sensitive cock with a newfound vigour, subjecting the poor man to a never ending sting, engulfed in achy pleasure. He moans out as well - Though he wasn't sure he ever stopped - jolting from the ever present vibrations now buzzing through the soft gushy walls of your pussy.

Kaveh's wrists ache, his stomach twinges every time he flexes his hips, his lips sting from the hard impression of his teeth. Pliant and pretty and ever so stuck in place. Pretty tears glob down his cheeks, eyes closed, rolled into the back of his skull. His throat crackles in a constant stream of whimpers and whines, battered by his voice refusing to shut off. Your hips rock on his faster, voice keening higher and higher. Kaveh can't help but crack his eyes open, watching your pretty form come undone on his pathetic spent cock and the buzzing device.

Your pretty pussy clenches on him, fluttering hard as you cream right on his length, easily coaxed by Alhaitham behind your form, twiddling and touching you in all the right places. He moans along with you, whining at the hard pulse of your walls on his leaky cock. Gods he ached, in so many places - And yet he found himself sickeningly craving more. More, more. More Alhaitham more you.

He almost protests when you jump off of him, coming to kneel by his head, wiping the sheen of sweat off of his forehead, teasingly nosing into his cheek. He graciously accepts a tender kiss, lapping into your mouth before pulling away with a start.

Large palms slide up the back of his knees, slowly bending them, pressing his thighs into his chest. Alhaitham licks his own lips, bumping the thick, pudgy head of his cock against Kaveh's pretty, slick hole. Gods, did he want more.

Helloooo~ long time no seeeee ~ ~ A little smth smth for you 😘

I'm hopefully back? Doing my best 😔😩 it's been a while sksk

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! I'll Kiss You fr *mwah*

♡ᵀᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ♡

@madsw9 @pvbbyb0y @heath-sama @shiningpaint-marbleheart @the-massive-simp @tericula @a-random-weeb

ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˡᶦˢᵗ ;; ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˡᵐᵏ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵈᵉˡᵉᵗᵉᵈᵎ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Do Not Translate Or Repost - Property Of SashiAvi ♡

#ʚ•*°SashiAvi Writes°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #genshin impact smut #kaveh x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x reader x kaveh #kavetham x reader #haikaveh x reader #haikaveh smut #kavehaitham x reader #genshin impact kaveh #kaveh x alhaitham

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mscostac · 2 months ago

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How obsessed and hyper-fixated are you with your fanfic characters?

Me:

BOOKBINDING!

Ominis and Phineas now sit on my shelf along with my other books ♡

This was my first time binding fanfic, and no better choice than my own, "Take Me To The Lakes" (AO3 / Wattpad)

update (March 30): New cover art by the amazing @rinthecap 🩵

More photos and the step-by-step after the cut! (+ the appendix with Taylor Swift songs in a stylised lyric book)

I'm all about my crafty hobbies. I've been eyeing bookbinding for a while, and the algorithm finally convinced me to dive into it so I'd have a reason to procrastinate on writing

Having written a shorter fic ("Lakes" is roughly 35k words) gave me the perfect opportunity to start with something simpler.

The main tutorial used is the one by NeatFreakGeek on Tiktok.

Step 1: The typeset

I used the base template file by NeatFreakGeek, which already had the settings for printing in formatted book signatures.

With the basic body of the document formatted and ready, I started the personalization: choosing the fonts, spacing, sizing etc.

For the quote at the beginning, I chose one of the lines I wrote for Ominis + the wisteria.

For chapter headers, I chose the Gemini constellation. (In the story, Ominis and Phineas got their middle names from the stars in the same constellation, Castor and Pollux.)

I also made the chapter titles with the HTV to give it an extra glow.

Sight is overrated. Phineas makes all my senses the very essence of life itself.

Since the story was rather "short", in order to have a thicker spine, I added an appendix with the stylised "lyric book". This was probably my favourite part of typesetting!

Step 2: The textblock

With a little lot of trial and error and more mathematics than expected, I printed each signature at a time, then folded each at a time, making sure it didn't get mixed up across the signatures. My printer does front/back automatically, but to print the commissioned arts as borderless, I gave myself a headache, printing it separately and manually. This step could have been done considerably faster with a laser printer and b&w content only :)

Next, it was sewing and glueing. I won't go into detail here because the video tutorials are way better at explaining. All in all, with the right tools, this was done rather easily and with barely any mistakes, so I didn't have to print anything again, thankfully.

Step 3: The endpapers

I got a scrapbook 12x12in block in this abstract colours. I had many different ideas on how to match the theme, but I ended up choosing these colourful patterns that align with how Ominis perceives the world. Then, I added the quotes from the story.

The endpaper of the front got this sky-like print to go with the dialogue Ominis and Phineas have when they are children.

P: How would you know what blue skies look like? O: I don't know. And I don't mind not knowing.

The endpaper of the back is in green x blue shades, colours that are also a big part of the story. For the quote, I chose one of their last lines when their relationship is established.

P: Ominis, you always care too much about the others... but who takes care of you? O: No one ever did. P: Let me care for you. Please. Let me love you, Ominis Gaunt. O: Will it make any difference if I say no? P: Absolutely not. O: Will it make any difference if I love you back? P: Fucking absolutely yes.

Step 4: The cover! (Yes, the most interesting part!)

This was the most challenging step in both the conception of the design (too many ideas to choose from) and the execution (I've never hated box cutters so much.)

With the basic cardboard casing cut and glued, I chose a faux leather material as a book cloth. This might be the choice I regret the most, because the glue it comes with is not that strong, so it would often unstick easily, and also, it's a bit too thick, leaving the corners a bit weird. But the final result was a bit worth it.

For the cover design, I printed the art with fabric HTV and ironed it on. On top of it, I threw in some wisteria petals (a reference to the song "the lakes", by Taylor Swift), and another quote of the story at the back.

I didn't have a cricut machine back then for the vynil pieces, so I ordered it online. This part was harder than I thought, once again because of the faux leather choice: as I ironed the HTV, some parts of the material melted lol.

Lastly, I decided last minute to create a clear dust jacket because the combination of the faux leather + printed HTV seemed tro fragile to be handled. I liked the final result, but ironing the HTV on the acetate was a pain lol.

In summary, this was so much fun and not as hard as I expected, craft-wise. The designing of it all took the most time just because I wanted every little detail to have a meaning :)

I made two copies to gift one to a friend, so it gave me the opportunity to make the first one and mess it up, then, for the second one, I had already learned from my mistakes.

There are many things I'd do differently for my next binds, but that's the most fun part: experimenting with materials, themes, and processes.

#I have a lot of free time #In crafts we trust #now I'm even more motivated to finish my other fics just so I can print them #my family asked for a copy now I don't know how to explain that I won't let them read my fic in a million years #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis x mmc #book binding #bookbinding #fanfic binding #gay fanfiction #gay #lgbtqia

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foxtail-1311 · 4 months ago

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Top Trans Tape Tips

Hello!!! I am a transmasc system who binds using TransTape for health reasons.

A couple reasons why I love TransTape:

Doesn’t use compression! I have chronic chest pain due to severe anxiety, so adding a binder on top of that causes Issues.

Can be worn for a while! Although previous sources suggested 2 weeks, I’ve also seen 3-4 days. Really, you can tell when the fraying gets bad

No need to take it off to sleep or exercise or swim!

Okay, with that out of the way

DISCLAIMER

I have a small chest! These tips are based on my own experience, so they might not be helpful for people trying to bind with larger chests! Also this is not an ad! Also also I’ve been binding consistently for around 2 months, which is not a ton and really only enough to kind of know what I’m doing. Also I have only used TransTape brand, but there are others out there that might work differently

So, my tips for TransTape

Find the method that works best for you. It sounds stupid and it sucks because there’s not a ton out there on different methods, but trust. I read about lying down while applying and my life literally changed. There are tons of different graphics out there for different tape patterns to maximize flatness. Do some research

Brand name oil is expensive and stupid. Baby oil, mineral oil, or any other oil works just as well. HOWEVER!!!! do NOT skip on oil use

i generally use 2 pieces, though i probably only need 1. i do one across and one vertical down my chest, so the fat is pressed out and down

TRY YOUR TAPE DIRECTIONS WITH HANDS FIRST!!!! if it hurts with your hands it will hurt with tape!!!!!!!!! you can and will get pain in the middle of your chest

once the tape is down, it is down. each time you remove it to adjust it, it sticks less well to your skin

dont stick it to your armpit hair. i do this every time and it always hurts.

Not a tip but something everybody needs to understand:

trans tape will not make you 100% flat. it just won’t. good news: even titless people aren’t 100% flat. a masc-cut shirt and some confidence will do the rest for you. it sucks sometimes but you just gotta know that.

anyway

heres a bonus spreadsheet i made. its all us-based because thats where i live and i made this for me to reference, but here yall go anyway!!! if anyone has other brands/links, feel free to send em to me!!

#foxtail posting #transgender #transmasc #chest binding #trans stuff #trans tape #trans #nonbinary

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plor-bindery · 7 months ago

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Bound: Kinkuary ‘23 by wolfpants

Next up in my tour of binds I made for wolf: Kinkuary ‘23 by @wolfpants

When I first reached out to wolf to ask permission to bind their fic, I asked if there was anything in their fic that they wished they had bound. They mentioned their Kinkuary fics but immediately said "oh but that's impractical because it's a whole collection" or something to that effect, which of course I took as a challenge. (Authors, be warned. I will almost certainly bind the thing you say I should not try to bind.)

Anyone who is wisely subscribed to wolf's works on AO3 probably had the same delightful experience as I did throughout February 2023: namely, waking daily to a little notification that there was a small kinky gem awaiting consumption at one's leisure. Wolf writes sex incredibly well: the viscerality and immediacy of it, but also the thoughts and turn-ons and how it lights up each character's brain differently. They have a gift for making me love tropes and kinks I might not ever think to read or write otherwise.

All that being said, I felt slightly weird about being like HERE IS A BOOK OF YOUR KINK THAT SAYS KINK ON THE SPINE so (as wolf has noted) I went all Victorian and made a dust jacket to cover up the bind if wolf ever wants to make it look a lot more innocent than it is.

So many firsts in this one for me: first dust jacket, first index, first collection of fics, first table of contents... It was a blast from start to finish and I learned SO MUCH.

Materials and process chat under the cut.

Materials:

Ye olde wooqu bookcloth off Amazon, HTV vinyl, 24 lb cream letter (wrong grain, forgive me) folios, machine-made endbands, black cardstock end papers.

The dust jacket is probably the only newish thing for me: I did a print using Staples' online service (which probably contributed to my choices because I also use this service for actual work things...) It was a poster print on matte paper.

Process:

This was a pretty straightforward bind but the typeset was full of learning curves. I use InDesign for typesetting and figured out how to set up a TOC and index. Wolf is a GREAT tagger so once I realized I'd either have a seven-page run of front matter listing the tags for each fic, or an index condensing them down, it was a no-brainer. And because wolf is so brilliant with tags, this led to my favorite index entries ever under Draco's listing (see photo.) I also figured out how to use styles to make every story have a header of its title, etc.

The great artwork of Eros is from rawpixel.

The other new thing for me was, of course, the dust jacket. I was disappointed to realize I'd messed up the measurements somehow once I printed, but it was close enough, so I went with it. I tried to rub some beeswax into the cover to help preserve it a bit but not sure it did much. If I were doing it again now, I'd use some Mod Podge matte aerosol fixative.

The dust jacket artwork is from the Smithsonian online collection of vintage seed catalogues. (S/O to my librarian spouse for the tip!) I created the spine matching the style as closely as I could, and then I went to town with silliness for the flaps. (This is probably a downside to having a fic writer also be a binder. I have trouble not writing something when the opportunity presents itself in the course of binding...)

The cover design is, of course, just a whole bunch of cursive X's. I'd hoped to have the title and author be a knockout from that pattern but it proved too hard to weed/read, so I ironed black HTV over the red pattern instead.

This is the only one of the set of four binds that I haven't (yet) bound for myself as a personal copy, but I think I will probably do so at some point! I was running out of black bookcloth at the time, so I prioritized wolf's copy for obvious reasons.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #case binding #wolfpants #kinkuary 23 #dust jacket #book jacket #drarry fanbinding #fanfic collection binding #stealth fanbinding

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retromotherfuckers · 1 year ago

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Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it.

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster?

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe.

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say.

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

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