kurt had had the bear since he was an infant. he used to be fluffy with a red ribbon around his neck, but kurt preferred him the way he was now: cleanly matted and limbs loose and softened with time, patches and “scars” of missing fur at certain spots on his belly and back. his tail nubbin…
kurt had had the bear since he was an infant. he used to be fluffy with a red ribbon around his neck, but kurt preferred him the way he was now: cleanly matted and limbs loose and softened with time, patches and “scars” of missing fur at certain spots on his belly and back. his tail nubbin sheltered a few untouched, silky spots of fur and the four little brown toe pads on each leg remained largely untouched by time. he had a small indentation on the right side of his brown head where kurt had tucked him up under his chin every night of his life.
the bear had cooked with him and his mother, had sat in the backyard at tea parties and gone to school, had helped him and his dad at the tire shop and had come with kurt to his mother’s grave year after year, comforting him. sometimes kurt hugged him and was painfully reminded of his loneliness. he had absorbed countless numbers of kurt’s tears over the years. sometimes he wore dresses and nightgowns and sometimes kurt dressed him in t-shirts with dinosaurs on them under overalls. kurt liked to take the bear’s soft, rounded paws and run the fabric over and under and between his fingers, letting the feeling soothe him.
the few times he and blaine were able to sleep in the same bed in ohio, kurt had placed the bear gently out of the way, not ashamed but not knowing what blaine would think of him.
blaine finds the bear nudged under the side of kurt’s pillow in the loft when he moves in. kurt comes into their curtained room to find blaine sitting on the edge of the bed, holding him up and turning him over reverently and curiously in his hands. he looks up when kurt comes in the room.
”oh, um…i…” kurt trails off, embarrassed and surprised to see blaine holding such a part of him, different from the pieces of himself that blaine already holds and loves.
”who’s this kurt?” blaine asks gently.
”that’s bobby,” kurt says softly.
”we’ve never met before and i think i should know my fiance’s bobby, right?” blaine’s mouth lifts at him in sweet amusement.
that night when they go to bed in the loft together permanently, for the first time, he spoons up behind kurt and places the bear in his arms, wrapping himself around them both.
|—||Sylvia Plath (via dearscience)|
unpacking in their new apartment, kurt finds the handcrafted courage collage at the bottom of a box of photographs and cards. it’s a little frayed at the edges and the tape residue on the back makes it tacky to the touch, but it still makes kurt’s heart jolt painfully in his chest.
he remembers being bullied and broken and desperately lonely. soft faced and unsure and flushed, he had stood in a doorway in a crowd of boys and been unable to take his eyes off of blaine. blaine had sung for him, to him, and then saw right through him: he had tilted his head in subtle recognition of his pain and said his name like it was precious and urgent, like he had reached into his chest and wrapped a fist around his heart.
he had never told blaine, or his dad, or anyone, how close he had been to harming himself beyond repair, how he had been hanging on by the thinnest of threads. that beautiful boy with his brimming heart and his gentle friendship had been a gift, his love had been something kurt never thought he could have.
he takes the courage and finds his husband unpacking a box of dishes in the kitchen. blaine turns when he hears the thump of kurt’s socked feet, and kurt holds up the word at him, a little teary and shaky. blaine exhales sharply in recognition and flattens it between their bodies as he pulls kurt into his arms.
warning/notes: ftm!kurt and cis!blaine, dysphoria, anxiety attack, dissociation
kurt is on his stomach, blaine’s body bracketing his, covering him with warmth and security and pushing his hips into the mattress gently with the slow, deep grind kurt likes best. he’s bare under his soft loose t-shirt—a product of hours of comfort and kissing and foreplay—and blaine strokes hands up and down his damp back, petting and scratching and cupping his ribs. kurt feels himself throb against the base of the packer, and he looks down between his body and the bed to where it juts out from between his hipbones and the black stripes of the harness and rubs up against the sheets.
”come on sweetheart,” blaine breathes, and he snaps his hips and kurt moans, grinding down and arching his back and ass into blaine’s thrusts as he feels himself come, pulsing and jerking. he opens his eyes to the sight of the fake flesh and the swell of his chest under his shirt, and all of a sudden the emotion from his orgasm crests and breaks and he’s sweating, clenching painfully around blaine inside of him, shaking and beginning to hyperventilate.
”oh god, blaine, i can’t, i can’t,” he pants, and blaine feels the tension ripple through him, feels kurt start to tremble and sink into himself.
”kurt, baby, no it’s okay,” he soothes, panicking a little, but he hears kurt start to cry. “kurt. just breathe for me, okay? i don’t want you to pass out, baby.” he pulls out gingerly and guides kurt onto his side, stripping the condom off of himself and spooning up behind him and pulling him back snug against his body. he splays his hands across his chest and stomach, getting kurt to match the movement of his breathing.
”i’m sorry,” kurt whispers after a long time.
blaine turns him over gently and kurt feels his hands smooth down his body and slip off the harness and place it on the nightstand next to their bed. kurt closes his eyes against the sight of it.
anons from last night, and major negativity under the cut for those avoiding.as you can tell from the length, this is gonna be my last response about any of this. I gotta get back to reblogging fun stuff soon or I’m gonna melt into a farting unhappy stinkpile.