#[So i wrote 400 words and didn’t even get to that part] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

islandpcosjourney · 1 year ago

Text

Excitement? Or exactly the opposite……

29th May 2023

I indicated in my previous blog that “People should know what a rollercoaster ride it is because until you ride it, you almost think it’s the most exciting news to hear that we’re starting IVF”. When people hear that we’re starting IVF they comment “Oh that’s exciting” and I have never reacted very well or how I’d expect to react to this, which got me to start thinking of why? Why couldn’t I share in their excitement? Why was my first thought mostly, “You have no idea how much I am not looking forward to this”. Everyone else can only think of the end result. I know there’s a whole host of bumps in the road to get there.

There’s one aspect certainly that is exciting – things are progressing forward. Of course that’s exciting. We have been working towards this ultimate goal for the past year as we could accept that naturally, our chances were diminishing, and we had to get the ball rolling if we were to have a chance of being parents before we were 40. Having to jump through many hoops such as agreeing to go on Ovulation stimulation drugs first, having to lose a lot more weight and having laparoscopic surgery was enough of a hurdle and that is a journey most people will struggle to endure as it is. I knew that my body was working correctly again, I knew I was ovulating naturally, I knew I didn’t have to take drugs to make me ovulate and I knew that in doing so, I was overstimulating my ovaries unnecessarily – not that my doctor would listen to me 🤷🏻‍♀️ I knew we still had a chance of conceiving naturally, I still believe it to this day, but as the years, not just the months, go on, there comes a point when you have to make that decision to relinquish your hope in the long-term path you’ve been on (naturally TTC) and put your hope in another branch of the tree (assisted conception). So, exciting is not the word that springs to mind. I saw it as giving in and I still see it as a failure on my part. I find myself thinking “I should’ve sorted myself sooner” and “I shouldn’t have agreed to the meds all these years ago (which messed up my hormones completely)”. I don’t usually regret things in life but there are odd occasions when these negative thoughts run through my mind, and I try not to let them stop for a rest. I tell them to keep running.

We were waiting on blood results for me and Kevin the last time I wrote. My AMH levels were tested (egg reserve levels) to decide on what hormone protocol I’d be put on. Basically, a woman is born with a set number of eggs for her lifetime. As a foetus, we have around 6 million eggs, but by birth we only have 1 million. By the time we get our period, we only have 300,000. By 30, it might be 100,000 and by 35 it might be 80,000, diminishing rapidly to as little as 10,000 by the time we’re 40. Menopause kicks in when around 1,000 immature eggs are left in the ovaries. Only 400-450 eggs out of the original pool of millions get to ovulate during a woman’s reproductive life. The rest die off. The better-quality eggs are usually released when a woman is younger, and this is why it is easier to get pregnant. As women get older, the quantity and quality of eggs reduces, which explains why it takes longer to get pregnant and the reason miscarriage rates increase due to chromosomally abnormal embryos. The rate of chromosomal abnormalities such as Down’s syndrome also increases.

As I spent many years without a period and without ovulating even when I did have one, I predicted my egg reserves would be high rather than low. My AMH level came out as 27.6 which is classed as HIGH. A normal reading for my age would be up to 10.07. In this case I have been identified as being “at risk” for Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome. This would happen by over-responding to the stimulation drug injections (stims) I’d be taking. Symptoms could be anything from mild abdominal swelling/bloating, discomfort & nausea to experiencing difficulty breathing due to an increase of fluid on your lungs and possible blood clots too. The more severe cases land you in hospital with serious health implications. Considering how I have previously responded to Clomid (the far milder ovarian stimulation drug taken orally) with bad bloating, pelvic pain, indigestion/heartburn, UTIs, thrush & discomfort for weeks, I am in no doubt that this was my body “over-reacting” to the drugs and therefore experiencing OHSS, so I am slightly more prepared for this happening on a larger scale. Kevin claims I over-react to many aspects of life which I firmly deny but now there’s proof of me actually “ovary-reacting” 😁

So when people say, “that’s exciting”, do those possible symptoms sound exciting? Far from it.

Kevin’s results were all clear for the standard infections and general screening they do but we’re still waiting for the chromosome test results which is checking for any genetic abnormalities which might be affecting his swimmers. Chromosomal abnormalities can prevent fertilisation (& therefore failed IVF) and early miscarriages so this needs to be cleared before we start. However, nothing in the follow-up letter mentioned anything about further tests for him, which we were hoping for as our consultant had seemed interested in his childhood testicular surgery. The blood tests had nothing to do with this. I have asked the secretaries to chase this up but nothing as of yet has happened. I will be chasing this up.

Then when I tried to get more of an answer about start dates etc from the secretaries, it turned out we shouldn’t have been told a June start month. Kevin will be expected to freeze his swimmers once he’s home again and then the BUSINESS MANAGER will decide on a start month for us, we’ll be sent more consent forms and further instructions on when I would be getting in touch with the nurses about my period dates. It’s all so complex and it was frustrating finding out that one thing we were told turned out to be incorrect. I geared myself up for starting in June, worried about my period having started EARLY at the end of April (first time ever!) and that it would be pulling my June period forward to starting before June and I wondered if that meant that we’d have to wait until July to start. Turns out all of that was overthinking it and actually, what I’ve learnt on this journey, is just to relax and allow the waiting. It's completely out-with our control and there’s no point in trying to think ahead because ANYTHING can happen 🤷🏻‍♀️ I am more at peace about the waiting now, purely as I’ve accepted it and I’m just enjoying the time between now and then to focus on me and ultimately us. There’s an odd relief about all of that - no pressure. The only downside is having to wait and pretty much put our lives on hold as we can’t plan anything concrete over the summer months. That in itself is frustrating because I have 6wks off from teaching where I would’ve been free to travel up and down the road and devote myself physically and mentally to the process. That’s unlikely to happen now so there’s no point in dwelling over it – we can’t control it!

In terms of the process ahead, trying to be realistic is the best way forward. We have a 25% chance: a 1 in 4 chance and that’s it. Many have said to me “This time next year you’ll have a little one!” and that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, at this point, it would be impossible. Aside from the fact that we haven’t started treatment yet, as I’ve mentioned I’m also at risk of OHSS. This means that I’m unlikely to be offered a fresh transfer (when after collection, a fertilised egg which turns into a successful blastocyst would be transferred back into my womb a few days later), which means that a normal 6wk treatment schedule might end up being 2-3 months for us. The hormone injections building up to egg collection could push my body over the edge so the standard form of protocol for someone in my position would be to allow my body to recover for a couple months after egg collection. This could differ from person to person so really, how short/long is a piece of string? Once we have a start month, all we can know for certain is the length of the process from starting treatment to egg collection. After that we have to take it as it comes.

The one thing that could bring me hope in this entire journey is also what I fear the most - pregnancy announcements! It’s the ones that hit me out of the blue that hit me the hardest - the couple you didn’t know were trying; the couple who weren’t actively “trying” (as in tracking) but weren’t “preventing” either (the most natural way most of us dream of!); the couple who had an “accident”; the couple who were trying hard not to get pregnant but still did 🤷🏻‍♀️

The point is, in the IUI/IVF/ICSI WhatsApp group I’m in, specifically for the north of Scotland, we have to obey certain rules. We are allowed to talk of our treatment, loss, our diminishing hope, trying to encourage each other on and on etc. We are not allowed to spread joy of a successful transfer i.e.. the positive pregnancy test. Once that happens, you’re taken out of the group & placed into a separate pregnancy group. So through all of the process, the disappointment & pain, you never get a glimpse into who’s finally won against the odds. It’s probably the only place where I’d relish the chance to hear a pregnancy announcement, to give me hope that the process can work for some, because otherwise It does make you feel like the whole thing is just one big failure. A 25% chance at our age, that means only 1 out of 4 leave with a baby after their treatment. 3 out of 4 get nothing - that’s a huge percentage! It means that not only does every part of the process carry that same rate of failure (so you’re constantly thinking it might not work at every turn) but that the end result, even if you get passed every part of the process, will in 75% of cases still be nothing.

This is not exciting. This is TERRIFYING!

But in all of this, God is with me 100%. He comforts me when I’m terrified, he encourages me to keep going, he tells me to keep believing in his ways even when I can’t see why he’s doing it. He tells me that there is a reason for the hurt, the pain, the loss, the frustration, the anger; the joy, the peace, the cuddles, the smiles 😊 In all of this, as long as I am doing this in His name, as long as I am doing this with the man he created me for by my side, I can find eternal happiness in that. I have been praised for being brave, for having been through chronic trauma and still putting myself & ourselves through it but it isn’t bravery – this is just life with its ups and downs. Many go through a tough time, and you don’t know it. I’m just telling you all of my woes, laying my heart on my sleeve for you all to have a peak at it. Be kind & gentle to each other. Who knows what the person sitting next to you is going through at the moment or the person who just shouted at you for no reason or the person who nearly hit you with their car or the person who is shy and doesn’t talk. Their trauma-brain might be working overtime and they just don’t know how to fix it. Compassion is key ❤️

0 notes

shamelesslymkp · 2 years ago

Text

update: so I re-added the deleted part and have added an additional 400 words and just need another 500ish maybe to stitch it back in with the ending I wrote

(and yes this is why I was trying to remember douchebag atheist's name)

A little shakily, he reached over to the bedside table, blindly rummaging around in the top drawer until he found the lube. He couldn’t look away, not when Blaine looked like this, hazy and helpless and hurting, hurting for Kurt –

“Just a little bit longer, baby,” Kurt got out, mouth dry as a desert again. “You be good for Daddy just a little bit longer and Daddy’s going to give you everything his good boy deserves.”

His urgency and distraction trying to get the lube bottle open without actually looking at it backfired somewhat spectacularly when the lid snapped all the way off and he ended up squeezing the bottle hard on reflex, causing lube to spurt everywhere in a way that was going to be a bitch to clean up but fuck it, no, Kurt wasn’t stopping now.

“Da-Kurt, the bed –” Blaine said, voice suddenly clearer and more focused. “We have to – the lube’ll –” He started to sit up. Kurt put one lube slick hand on his chest and slammed him right back down.

“You stay where Daddy puts you,” he hissed out. “Right where Daddy puts you. Don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy,” Kurt praised, voice high and sugar sweet, crooning like you might to a dog, slipping the first wet finger into his boyfriend’s hole. “Such a good, good boy.” It sucked it in like it had been made for it, almost no resistance at all. All their practice means that Blaine rarely needs more than minimal prep, but Kurt likes giving it anyways, likes to drag it on and on and on… “With such a greedy little hole.” Another finger, two now, with a vicious twist of his wrist driving them forward sharply.

Blaine shook under the assault, tossing his head back and forth wildly as he dug his fingers into his legs so hard Kurt could see the knuckles turning white, so utterly determined to be good even when his body seemed so bent on betraying him. “D-daddy, pl-please!” The plea was practically a wail.

That was enough prep, right? It had to be enough prep. Kurt didn’t think either of them could stand much more of this.

He was somehow still hard – or perhaps had hardened again? He hadn’t really been paying all that much attention until now, focused too hard on Blaine’s reactions, but praise Madona and Richard

Klaine Untitled Daddy!Kink Fic, Finally Complete After 2014 Hiatus

prompt: @likearumchocolatesouffle replied to your post:

The first time Kurt realizes he finds [kink of your choice] extremely hot and erotic.

Content Warnings: daddy!kink, hints of ageplay, soft humiliation; unnegotiated kink

"I just feel like I'm not pulling my weight." Blaine shut the door behind them.

Kurt rolled his eyes and started putting away the groceries. "Honey, you're still paying half the rent -"

"My parents are paying half the rent - "

" - and it's your final year. You're overloaded on credits. I'm out of school. I'm working. We've got savings. You not killing yourself again trying to work and study is not going to hurt us financially, okay?"

Kurt turned from the cupboards to look at Blaine more closely. He was drawn in on himself, eyes downcast, rubbing one of his wrists slowly.

"This is really bothering you."

Blaine gave a shrug.

"You know, two years ago when my dad got sick again, you were the one insisting that what's mine is yours and that I absolutely should take the time off work."

"Yeah, but that was different."

Kurt stayed silent, waiting for Blaine's eyes to glance up and meet his before arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Blaine flushed a little. "Okay, maybe not that different."

"See?" Kurt dropped a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. "Besides," he tossed over his shoulder as he turned back to the business of putting away the canned goods in just the right order, "I just got that raise. I'm practically rolling in riches. I'd be remiss in my duties as a loving boyfriend to not take care of my honey in any way that I can."

Kurt heard a snort from behind him as warm arms wound around his middle and Blaine's chin peeked over his shoulder. "So you're going to take care of me, huh? Be my sugar daddy?"

Kurt bit back a smile. "Only if you're very, very good."

Blaine was nuzzling into his neck now in a way that Kurt knew meant he was about to say something teasing. "But I'm always good, Daddy." His voice had gone high and sweet, somehow conveying the overdone pout Kurt just knew was on Blaine's face, and this was when Kurt should be saying something back, some clever response or affectionate nonsense, but instead he was just clutching at the box of wheatabix in his hands desperately locking his knees against the flood of heat that'd ran through him at the sound of Blaine calling him -

Oh god. He was even more of a pervert than he'd thought.

Kurt could feel the warmth of Blaine's body receding as Blaine pulled back in concern. "Kurt, what - "

Blaine's voice suddenly broke off, and Kurt knew it was because he could see it in the lines of Kurt's body, how fucking turned on he was, and god, this was humiliating. He was a pervert, and now his boyfriend knew it, and if he could just think up an excuse maybe Blaine would let him use it, take the plausible deniability and forget this ever happened, but he couldn't think of a thing to say because jesus, that sweet little voice was still echoing in his ears, mutating into dirtier things and he could practically hear Blaine asking in a high tentative voice if he was doing this right, Daddy, saying that he wanted to be good and --

"Daddy?"

Kurt dropped the box of crackers. That questioning voice wasn't in his head, that was real, was Blaine, and Blaine was tugging on his sleeve now, looking up at him through his fucking gorgeous eyelashes in an entirely unfair kind of way.

"I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of me, Daddy. Can I?"

Blaine didn't wait for an answer, though, dropping to his knees and gazing up at Kurt in such innocent awe that Kurt couldn't help the thought of god i am definitely going to hell that flashed across his staunchly atheist brain, because Blaine like this would inspire a fucking priest to sin and Blaine was reaching forward now, fumbling with Kurt's fly in his eagerness and oh, this was going to a blowjob place and Kurt was definitely down with that, so very down with that, Blaine's blowjobs deserved symphonies composed in their honor and wait why was Blaine stopping -

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I know I'm 'sposed to ask."

Blaine was twisting his fingers in his shirt, looking down at the ground guiltily and only shooting Kurt the occasional nervous glance asking for forgiveness and approval and how had Kurt ever gotten this lucky, seriously.

"That's right," he managed to choke out, and probably they should stop and talk about this or something, but blowjob. "You're supposed to ask for things you want. How is - " Kurt swallowed hard, light headed, "How is Daddy supposed to know if you don't ask, huh?"

"D'know," Blaine muttered shamefully.

"You want to suck D-Daddy's cock for him,” Kurt asked, blindly undoing his pants and pulling his erection out himself. “That what you want, baby?"

Blaine nodded, eyes huge in his face, and the next thing Kurt knew a warm wet tongue was lapping eagerly at his cock and fingers both, his boyfriend almost falling over in his rush for his treat, a look of such excited satisfaction on his face that Kurt almost felt bad denying him, but - "Ah ah, greedy," he scolded, tangling a hand in Blaine’s curls and yanking him back in admonishment.

He had to pause for a moment, his grip on Blaine’s hair tightening involuntarily at the disconsolate noise Blaine had made at being pulled away. And the way he was straining against Kurt’s hold, desperate for Kurt’s - no, for his Daddy’s cock - Jesus.

Kurt swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “What did we just talk about, baby?”

“Sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry - “

“That’s not an answer, baby,” Kurt said disapprovingly. “What did we just talk about?”

Blaine slumped down where he knelt, the very picture of guilty dejection. “Asking.”

“that’s right,” Kurt agreed. Pulling back on Blaine’s hair, he forced his boyfriend to look him in the eye. “And did what you just did involve asking in any way?”

Blaine fidgeted in clear reluctance, trying to look away despite the fierce grip Kurt had on him. “No,” he finally admitted.

Kurt nodded. “No,” he repeated, releasing Blaine’s hair to cross his arms in what was hopefully a stern and foreboding fashion.

Blaine was biting his lip again now, and god, how was that innocently nervous action so fucking hot? He was doing it on purpose, too; had to be, the little minx.

"Please may I suck your cock, Daddy? Please? M’sorry I didn’t ask, really I am, I'll never forget again, I promise, I just wanna make you feel good, wanna thank you for taking such good care of me, please Daddy please -"

Kurt hummed consideringly, letting one of his hands drop to lazily stroke his cock - it was torture, going so teasingly slow, pretending he was completely unaffected, but it was worth it for the desperate little whine of need Blaine hadn’t even seem to have noticed he had made. “I’m not sure that’s true, though.”

“It is, I promise it is - “

Kurt shook his head, deliberately pursing his lips in disappointment. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you want to suck Daddy’s cock as a thank-you at all. You just want to suck cock, don’t you, baby?”

Kurt could see a flicker of hesitation cross his boyfriend’s face, and worried he’d gone too far.

“I -” Blaine started then stopped, conflict in his eyes, and Kurt was about to apologize when Blaine gave a minute nod of permission, tongue flickering out to wet his lips. There was still hesitance visible on his face, but it was overshadowed by the aroused dilation of his pupils and the way his eyes were boring into Kurt’s now, silently urging him on.

God.

“Yeah,” Kurt repeated, exhaling shakily as he used his thumb to idly trace over the head of his leaking erection. “This is what you want, isn’t it, baby? What you always want, you greedy thing.”

The words fell from his lips without any real conscious thought, and off in one corner of his mind Kurt hoped anxiously he hadn’t crossed any lines with that last bit.

Blaine’s immediate response quickly calmed those worries, though.

“Don’t mean to be, Daddy, really I don’t -”

Kurt shushed Blaine’s protestations soothingly. “I know, baby. You can’t help yourself.”

Letting go of his erection for a moment, Kurt reached out, offering his fingers sticky with precum to Blaine who automatically leaned forward, mouth open and eager -

but then pulled himself back, looking for permission.

Kurt smiled in approval. “There’s my good baby,” he said, slipping his fingers into Blaine’s open mouth and letting him suckle at them. “See what happens when you’re patient? Daddy takes care of you.”

Blaine’s grateful whimpers and the slick slurping sound of his mouth working were strangely loud, echoing in Kurt’s ears along with the harsh thump-thump-thump of his own heartbeat.

“That’s better, isn’t it, baby?” Kurt’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, far off, but it didn’t matter because he had this beautiful, beautiful boy at his feet, looking up at him in innocent adoration and god, Kurt wanted to make a complete mess of him, see those big eyes blinking up at him from a face streaked with come and tears. Blaine was nodding frantically now, still sucking away at Kurt’s fingers but also reaching forward and tangling his fingers desperately in Kurt’s clothes, as though he thought Kurt might somehow be taken away. He looked like he was about to cry when Kurt started gently pulling his fingers back, and Kurt quickly crouched down to give him an apologetic kiss. “I know, baby, I know - but you can’t suck Daddy’s cock with his fingers still in your mouth, now can you?”

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide.

“No,” Kurt agreed. “And that’s what you really want, isn’t it? What you need?”

“Please, Daddy - “

Kurt ran an affectionate hand through his boyfriend’s curls. “Okay, baby. It’s okay. Daddy’s going to take care of you.” Standing back up, he went ahead and shimmied out of his pants before extending a hand downward. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you a little more comfortable.”

Blaine pliantly let himself be pulled to his feet and led to the bedroom, but objected a little when Kurt started undressing him. “I can do it myself, Daddy, I can.”

“Maybe so,” Kurt said with calm equanimity. The walk to the bedroom, short as it had been, had allowed him to pull himself a little more together, so he no longer felt in danger of either passing out or losing the thread of - of - whatever it was they were doing and just fucking the living daylights out of his perfect, amazing, sexy boyfriend. “But Daddy wants to do it.”

Blaine let out a huffy sigh of what must be meant to be annoyance, but Kurt could see the shyly pleased look on his face and filed that bit of knowledge away for later, when he could thoroughly examine it and all it might mean. Having crouched down to help his boyfriend out of his jeans, Kurt gave into a sudden whimsical urge on the way back up to drop a smackingly wet kiss on the soft slight curve of Blaine’s belly, making him laugh in surprise and try to squirm away. “Kurt, what -”

Kurt grabbed his hips to hold him still and blew an experimental raspberry before pulling back to look up at his boyfriend. “Daddy,” he reminded Blaine, blowing another raspberry and smiling against the shaking skin as Blaine laughed again and wiggled in protest.

“Daddy,” he complained, voice going high and almost scandalized.

“Blai-aine,” Kurt mimicked back up at him, barely able to keep from laughing himself. Blaine looked so - so childishly affronted, like Kurt had broken the unspoken rules of the universe.

“You said I was going to get to suck your cock, Daddy. This is not cock sucking!”

The words should’ve been ridiculous, bizarre, but Blaine’s pouting indignation was so adorable Kurt had to bite his lip to keep an almost uncontrollable grin from spreading all over his face. He wanted to kiss that pout away, but really, Blaine was just making this game far too easy.

“I thought you were being my good patient baby?” Kurt arched an eyebrow.

Blaine’s face froze in wide-eyed dread. “I am, I promise!”

Kurt shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, baby, that didn’t sound very patient to me.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’ll do better, I promise promise --”

Kurt leaned back on his heels, pursing his lips in deliberation. “You said that already, baby, and look what happened. Maybe Daddy’s been spoiling you too much, hmm? Letting you suck his cock all the time, fucking that pretty little hole of yours whenever you want.”

“No, Daddy, M’not spoiled, M’not, I’m your good boy, I am, I’m sorry I wasn’t patient, it’s just so hard, Daddy, but I’m trying, I really am - “

Blaine sounded close to tears now, and that hadn’t been Kurt’s intention at all.

“I know, baby,” he hurriedly shushed his boyfriend, standing up and gently prodding Blaine backward to sit on the bed, pressing him back down into the mattress. “I know, Daddy knows how hard it is for you, how hard you try. You’re such a good boy for Daddy. Daddy doesn’t expect you to be perfect, he knows you’re just a baby. Wouldn’t be fair to expect a baby to be perfectly patient all the time, would it? Especially not a slutty baby like you. Just a baby cockslut, aren’t you?”

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat and he froze, trying to gauge Blaine’s reaction. He hadn’t meant to say that. They’d played around with dirty talk before, but Kurt had never let himself bring up how desperate Blaine could get, had never let himself even whisper the sweetly degrading words that wanted so desperately to tumble from his lips every time they fucked, no matter how greedily Blaine swallowed his come or how quickly he spread his legs and prettily he begged for Kurt’s cock. They were words straight out of porn, like cockslut and comeslut and you greedy, greedy thing, and Kurt didn’t know where they were coming from or why the thought of crooning them into Blaine’s ear made liquid heat rush down his spine, just that they did, even though they were dirty and cruel and the complete opposite of loving. They were dismissive, humiliating, and somehow they felt as precious as any of the endearments he did use - more so, even - sweeter in their cruelty.

Kurt had never let himself use them before, but Blaine was there calling him Daddy and looking at him with those wide, teary eyes, so desperate and needy and his, and they’d just slipped out, rolled as easily off his tongue as baby and sweetheart and his heart was beating so loudly now with nervous adrenaline as he anxiously waited for Blaine to suddenly decide that he’d had enough, that this was too weird, too messed up --

Underneath him Blaine made a choked little whimper but didn’t object, wrapping his hands in Kurt’s shirt again in a death grip - and Kurt really should take that off at some point, shouldn’t he - and looking up at him in a sort of disbelieving and worshipful desperation, like Kurt had offered him the world but at any moment might take it back.

Kurt released his caught breath shakily in a rush of relief. “Just a baby cockslut,” he repeated, voice going soft and sing-song. “That’s right, isn’t it, baby?”

Blaine’s eyes were huge in his face as he nodded his head with a quiet sob, turning his head to the side in embarrassed misery.

Kurt shushed him, making little sympathetic noises. “It’s okay, baby; nothing Daddy didn’t already know.” He patted the pillow up above Blaine’s head, encouraging him to scoot up a little. “That’s my good baby.”

As Blaine resettled himself further up on the bed, Kurt took the opportunity to quickly strip of what was left of his clothes before clambering up on the bed to straddle his boyfriend’s chest.

"Okay, baby,” Kurt said, trying to keep his voice steady, calm and indulgent. This was a reward, after all. “Open up for Daddy.”

With a whimper, Blaine did. “That’s perfect,” Kurt praised his boyfriend, slowly feeding Blaine his cock. “Yeah, keep your mouth open, baby. Just like that.” Blaine was eagerly slurping at Kurt’s cock now, eyelashes fluttering in the dirtiest kind of contentment. Kurt braced himself against the headboard, straining to control himself. He was going to let Blaine suck his cock. He was. He could fuck Blaine’s mouth properly later. This was Blaine’s reward, and Kurt was going to let him take his time for once. “Show Daddy what a good cocksucker his baby can be,” he crooned, “Maybe Daddy’ll even come in your mouth, if you’re very good. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? You’re almost as much of a comeslut as you are a cockslut.”

Blaine made a sharp little sound at that, whimpering around the cock so perfectly filling his mouth and sucking harder, jerking suddenly upward to take more in and choking himself in his eagerness.

“Jesus, Blaine -”

Kurt quickly pulled back to let his boyfriend breathe, biting back a moan at the chill air when his cock slipped out of that wet warmth. Blaine was coughing wetly but still straining forward, blindly chasing after him. “Hey, stop a minute. Breathe for me, honey. Come on, sit up.” Kurt moved to the side, ignoring the way his erection slapped against his stomach.

“Breathe,” Kurt said again, more sharply, pulling Blaine back by the hair when he rolled over, seemingly intent on swallowing Kurt down again, oxygen or no. “Blaine, I’m not kidding. I need you to sit up for me.” Blaine was shaking, and not just from the hiccupping cough. He looked absolutely wrecked, overcome.

It was really fucking hot.

It was also concerning. Kurt had never seen Blaine like this before.

Without even meaning to, he slid back into the soothing patter of before, pulling Blaine up against him. “Come on, baby, big breaths. You can do it.” He exaggerated his own breaths, trying to encourage Blaine to follow suit. It seemed to work - the stuttering rise and fall of Blaine’s breaths slowly steadied into the same pattern.

“Hey, you. Feeling better?”

Blaine didn’t reply, but Kurt could feel a shy nod against his neck.

“What was all that about?” Kurt asked gently. His voice was still higher, soothing, and he wasn’t quite sure why, just that it felt right - like anything more like his usual tone of voice would be some sort of weird intrusion.

Blaine shrugged.

“Baby, Daddy needs you to use your words,” Kurt scolded, then froze. What was he doing? “I’m sorry, Blaine, I guess I got carried away with - “ Kurt didn’t even know what to call what they’d been doing.

Blaine’s voice interrupted him, small and ashamed. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Kurt paused, unsure of what to do next. Did this mean Blaine wanted to keep doing -

“I just wanted more, Daddy. I couldn’t help it.”

There was a pause.

“I know I was being greedy. I didn’t mean to be!” Blaine’s voice got higher in his hurry to assure Kurt of this. “I - I couldn’t help it,” he repeated, voice tiny and tentative. “‘Cause - ‘cause I’m a - I’m a -”

well, that was a pretty clear answer.

Blaine was still stumbling over the last part of his sentence.

Kurt decided to help him. “Because you’re a cockslut, baby? Is that what you mean?”

Blaine nodded, face flushed and hot against Kurt’s skin.

“Use your words, baby.”

It was cruel, but Kurt wanted to hear Blaine say the words himself. All of a sudden, it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

“Tell Daddy why you’re so greedy.”

Blaine made a small wounded sound. “Be-because I’m a - I’m a - Daddy, please -”

Kurt tugged Blaine’s hair cruelly, making him lean back and look Kurt in the eyes.

“Say it.”

Blaine shut his eyes in despair, visibly swallowing. Then his lashes fluttered open and he looked Kurt straight in the eye.

“because I’m a cockslut.”

Jesus. Kurt barely managed to bite back the groan that threatened to escape. He’d never even allowed himself to imagine Blaine actually saying those words, not that anything he could have imagined could have possibly compared to the reality of that tiny yet assured voice, the pink blush high in Blaine’s cheeks, a feverish flush of humiliated arousal, his eyes blown-black but still desperately seeking approval -

Yeah, no. Kurt might have an excellent imagination and a knack for visualization, for seeing not just what is but what could be, but there are limits to what the human brain is capable of, okay.

Blaine was drawing in on himself now, biting his lip and hugging himself, pulling away from Kurt’s grip, and crap, Kurt sucked so much sometimes, he really did.

“Hey, no, sweetheart,” Kurt hurriedly said, cajoling Blaine into looking back up at him. “No being shy, baby. You were so good for Daddy, admitting what a slut you are. That was hard, I know.”

Blaine gave a little nod of agreement, shooting Kurt a hesitantly listening look up through his eyelashes, then letting out a surprised giggle at the impulsive kiss Kurt gave to the tip of his nose.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart - Daddy’s so proud of you, being so brave, and he should have said so. Daddy got distracted by how beautiful his baby is, that’s all, but he is very-”

Kurt kissed one flushed cheek.

“- very -”

The other.

“ -very-”

Blaine’s nose again.

“-proud,” Kurt finished, pulling back amid further giggles. “What do you think, baby? Do you think you deserve a reward for being so brave?”

Blaine started to nod eagerly, then stopped, slumped, shook his head.

“No?” Kurt was surprised. He hadn’t expected that.

Blaine shook his head again, looking intently at the absent designs he was tracing on Kurt’s chest. “Was greedy.”

Kurt had to pause, try to regroup. How should he play this?

“That’s true,” he said after a minute, stalling for time. “You were very greedy.”

Blaine gave a small, miserable nod of his head.

“What do you think Daddy should do with his greedy baby?” Kurt asked, hoping for a little bit of guidance.

Blaine didn’t answer, so Kurt prompted him further: “Should Daddy -- should Daddy punish his baby for being so greedy?”

Kurt really kind of hoped the answer was no, because he really had no idea of how to go from there. Spanking was like, traditional, he was pretty sure, but he’d never spanked anyone before, and what if he like, hurt Blaine? What if he couldn’t even manage to bring himself to do it at all, and the entire strange thing they’d been building together collapsed in on itself like a house of cards? What if--

Blaine’s eyes flashed up to meet his, shaking his head slightly, and Kurt breathed a small sigh of relief.

“No, that wouldn’t be fair of Daddy, would it?”

Blaine’s minute nod was enough to reassure Kurt that he was on the right track this time. “No, not fair at all,” Kurt repeated, mind working frantically as he considered and discarded various tacts, finally hitting on one he thought would work.

“Daddy hasn’t been doing his job, has he, baby?”

Blaine opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, and Kurt hurried on: “Daddy’s been so busy lately, he hasn’t been giving his baby cockslut what he needs.”

Blaine closed his mouth again, a considering look on his face.

“Of course you’re being a greedy baby, going so long without sucking any cock. You haven’t gotten fucked at all this week, have you, baby?”

That wasn’t even a lie, really. They hadn’t had a chance for sex yet this week. So what if it was only Tuesday?

Blaine shook his head shyly, making Kurt hum in agreement.

“That’s practically forever for a baby cockslut,” he commiserated. “Daddy should just be glad his baby wasn’t dropping to his knees for every cock he could find.”

“I wouldn’t, Daddy, I wouldn’t -”

Kurt shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, baby; Daddy thinks maybe you would.”

Blaine miserably shook his head in protest, promising over and over that he wouldn’t, that he would never, and the sheer intensity of his protest worried Kurt for a moment, but Blaine was still rock hard against him, voice high and sweet as ever, and Kurt couldn’t help but press a little harder.

“Don’t lie to Daddy, baby,” he chided, disentangling Blaine’s arms from around his neck and pushing him back a little.

“Not lying, Daddy, I’m not -”

Kurt sighed in exaggerated disapproval. “I’m disappointed in you, baby, lying like this. And you were being so good for me.”

“But I’m not, I promise -”

“Baby,” Kurt said sharply, crossing his arms now. “Tell me again what you are.”

“I -”

“Now, baby. Daddy wants to hear you say it.”

“Daddy, please, not again, I already said”

“Tell me what you are, baby.”

Blaine was teary-eyed again, flushed and fidgeting, and Kurt waited for him to tap out, to call the whole thing off, but Blaine still didn’t.

“A - a - cockslut, Daddy.”

The words were accompanied by an almost sob of humiliation, and Kurt distantly felt guilty for the no longer unexpected rush of heat he felt at the sound.

“That’s right,” Kurt agreed. “Just a baby cockslut. You really expect Daddy to believe his baby cockslut wouldn’t slut his way around New York if Daddy wasn’t there to take care of him?”

“Wouldn’t,” Blaine insisted. “Daddy, I wouldn’t.”

He sounded on the verge of tears, and Kurt relented a little. “Okay, baby,” He said soothingly. “It’s okay. Daddy knows you wouldn’t. Not just anybody’s cockslut, are you, baby?”

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide. “No, Daddy, just yours, I promise -”

Kurt cut Blaine off with a kiss, humming into his mouth with approval and hand coming up to cup his cheek. He could feel the sticky dried tearstains trailing down his boyfriend’s face, and it was slightly sickening, how even that served to turn him on.

“Baby’s only a cockslut for his daddy, isn’t he?” Kurt asked softly, pulling back from the kiss.

Blaine nodded, and Kurt kissed him again, quickly, chastely.

“Baby’s been so good for Daddy,” he praised Blaine. “He did get a little greedy, but he’s just a baby. Daddy hadn’t been taking proper care of him. Of course his baby got greedy.” Kurt gently wiped at the damp corners of Blaine’s eyes. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here now. What do you want, baby? You want to suck Daddy’s cock?”

Kurt couldn’t help but grin at how eagerly Blaine nodded his head in response.

“You sure, baby?” He teased. “Don’t want Daddy to fuck you instead?”

He carefully bit back a laugh at the distressed look that flashed across Blaine’s face. His boyfriend was clearly torn.

“Both, Daddy? Please?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Both? Baby’s still feeling a little greedy, huh?”

“Please, Daddy,” Blaine begged. “I can’t pick, I can’t. S’too hard.”

Kurt nodded in sympathy. “You want Daddy to decide, baby?”

Blaine nodded mutely.

“Okay, baby,” Kurt said fondly, pressing down firmly on one of Blaine’s shoulders. “Go ahead and suck Daddy’s cock for a while. Slow, though, baby. No hurting yourself.”

Blaine resisted the push downward for a moment. “But Daddy, I wanna do it prop’ly.” His voice was higher again, the phrasing childish, and fuck, it was disconcertingly hot.

“What do you mean, properly, baby? You mean you want to take Daddy all the way down your throat? Is that it?”

Blaine nodded. “Please, Daddy. I know I can do it, I know I can.” His voice was earnest and determined.

Kurt smiled affectionately, caressing his boyfriend’s face gently. “I’m sure you can, baby,” he assured him. “Daddy knows his baby can do anything he puts his mind to.”

This time, Blaine pliantly followed Kurt’s nudge downward, sliding back on the bed with his knees tucked under him, arms braced against Kurt’s thighs for balance.

“How about you let Daddy help you this time?” Kurt suggested somewhat breathlessly. He didn’t want Blaine to choke again, but, God, just the thought of actually fucking Blaine’s throat, of seeing that gorgeously sinful mouth take all of him --

Jesus. How was Kurt supposed to resist that?

“Okay, Daddy,” Blaine agreed eagerly, looking up with wide, trusting eyes from where he hovered, inches above Kurt’s cock.

Kurt swallowed hard, trying to control himself. “Go ahead and take Daddy in your mouth, baby,” he instructed. “Just the head for right now. Use your tongue - yeah, like that, baby,” Kurt interrupted himself to praise the way Blaine had immediately started lapping at Kurt’s cock, drawing tortuously sweet circles on the sensitive underside and sucking lusciously wet kisses to the head. “Just like that,” he repeated, trying not to moan. “You’re being so good for Daddy.”

Blaine didn’t stop in his endeavors, but Kurt could feel him trying not to beam proudly around the cock in his mouth.

Kurt tipped his head back to lean against the headboard, absently tangling fingers in Blaine’s hair, petting at his curls with lazy approval as he let himself relax into the sharp, almost-too-much pleasure building from the concentrated attention of Blaine’s hot, sucking mouth. “Baby’s got such a sweet slut mouth,” he gasped out, barely paying attention to the dirty words of praise falling from his lips. “Sucks his daddy’s cock so well.”

Blaine whimpered and seemed to double his efforts, if that was even possible, mouth sloppy wet and desperately trying to swallow down more despite Kurt’s quickly restraining grip on his hair.

“Ah ah, baby,” Kurt scolded breathlessly. “Not till Daddy says you can.”

The muffled sound of frustrated desperation that came from Blaine at this admonishment gave Kurt a ridiculously vindictive sense of pleasure.

The fact that Blaine had paused in his ministrations, on the other hand, did not, and Kurt tugged at Blaine’s curls sharply in reproval. “Did Daddy say to stop?” He asked, voice dangerous.

There was a quick intake of breath around his cock before Blaine went back to work with a guiltily apologetic air.

“That’s better,” Kurt said, loosening his grip and relaxing again. “Just like that, baby. Daddy loves his baby’s slut mouth, so sweet around him, so eager.” Sinking back into the pillows, he gave himself over to the warm wet mouth working so steadily on him. “That’s it,” he breathed out with a sigh, “Just like that. You can take a little more now, baby, you’re being so good.”

Kurt gently pressed Blaine a bit further down, making him take just a bit more in, but not letting him move any farther. “Go slow for Daddy, baby.” The movement of Blaine’s tongue obediently slowed, and Kurt couldn’t help himself, he made Blaine go just a bit further, let himself just the slightest bit deeper into that lovely mouth. “Just suck for a bit now, baby,” he murmured. “Let Daddy enjoy it.”

The light rhythmic suction Blaine settled into was soothing and sent gentle waves of warm pleasure through Kurt’s body. The crackling need of earlier was receding now, turning to the glowing embers of a banked fire, and Kurt half-wished it would never end, that they could just stay like this forever. “That’s my good baby. You’re doing so well, doing just what Daddy wants,” he praised Blaine, petting his hair again. “His baby’s mouth is so sweet; he wants to take his time.”

Part of him expected Blaine to protest any minute now, to try and drive things further, drive them faster. He’d been so desperate for it before.

But Blaine’s eyelashes had fluttered shut and he had curled himself up in the cradle of Kurt’s legs, clinging and slowly, steadily, sweetly sucking away. He looked peaceful and content and Kurt didn’t really understand what was happening but Blaine’s mouth was wet and warm around him and every so often Blaine would absently hum in pleasure, vibrating around him and --

God.

“You ready to take a bit more now, baby?”

Kurt was almost sorry to disturb Blaine, he looked so sweetly happy, but that mouth of his, jesus, Kurt had wanted to take his time, yeah, but he needed more, needed to be further in that fucking gorgeous mouth, needed to see what it felt like, being buried in the soft depths of Blaine’s fucking throat.

Blaine’s eyelids flickered open and he hummed in affirmation.

Kurt swallowed hard. “Going to make you take it all, baby. Think you can do that?”

Blaine looked unsure.

“It’s okay, baby,” Kurt assured him. “Daddy’s going to help you. It might be kind of scary at first, but you’re going to be brave for Daddy, aren’t you?”

Blaine nodded, as best he could while still providing a warm wet haven for Kurt’s cock.

“That’s my good baby,” Kurt said, shakily exhaling. He felt kind of light headded; couldn’t believe they were actually doing this. He paused, then pitched his voice lower into a stage whisper. “Pinch me if you need me to let go, okay?”

Blaine nodded again, and Kurt took a deep breath. Tangling his hand in Blaine’s hair again, he urged his boyfriend down further. Blaine jerked back reflexively when he started to gag, but Kurt firmly held him in place. “I know, I know,” he soothed with a gasp. “Just take it, baby. Relax.”

Kurt somehow managed to wait long enough for the involuntary flutters of Blaine’s throat to stop, poised just barely pressing into its warm depths, the contractions a soft slick tease that just made the heat in Kurt’s body burn hotter and hotter, higher and higher.

“That’s it,” he praised breathlessly. “See, baby? Not so hard, is it?”

Blaine made a small, broken sound, the vibrations making Kurt bite back a curse as he gritted his teeth and tried desperately not to just fuck forward and take all of what Blaine was so eagerly giving.

“Little more now,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and pressing Blaine inexorably down further. “Just like that, baby. Relax. Open up for me.”

Blaine choked again, and again Kurt paused, holding Blaine in place as he murmured soothing reassurances until his boyfriend managed to get his gag reflex under control.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised again. “Look at you, you’re almost all the way there. Just a little bit more,” Kurt said coaxingly, grip too tight in Blaine’s hair but he unable to make his fingers unclench because he was more than halfway down Blaine’s throat and the fucking feel of it --

And then all of a sudden he wasn’t guiding Blaine downward any more, didn’t need to, he was fucking buried all the way in the soft hot tissue of Blaine’s throat, Blaine gagging again but taking it and Kurt couldn’t help but grind forward for a moment, a sharp sound escaping his throat at the feel of Blaine’s throat contracting around him, milking him, and Kurt wanted to stay in that moment forever, jesus fucking christ, but Blaine was struggling against his restraining hand again (though not tapping out, Kurt was relieved to note) and so with a bitten back cry of frustrated need, Kurt let go, regretfully letting his cock slip entirely out of that heavenly mouth.

Hegave Blaine a few minutes to breathe - the wet coughs subsided after a moment or two, but Blaine was still gasping wildly, as if his lungs hadn’t quite gotten the memo yet. “Easy, baby,” Kurt soothed, rubbing the back of Blaine’s neck. “Slow, deep breaths.”

Blaine’s breath stuttered for a moment, then gentled into a slower, more deliberate pattern.

“That’s my good baby,” Kurt praised. “You’re being so good for Daddy, such a good baby.”

Tilting Blaine’s face upward, he rewarded his boyfriend with a sweetly chaste kiss that by all rights should have felt out of place. “You did so well, taking all of Daddy’s cock like that.

Daddy shouldn’t have worried at all, huh? Of course his baby cockslut would be able to take it.”

“More, Daddy?” Blaine’s voice rasped, shyly entreating.

“More, huh?” Kurt shook his head in a show of ruefulness. “That’s my cockslut of a baby for you. Can’t wait for Daddy to fuck your throat again, can you?”

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide and framed with the still visible traces of tears.

Kurt rubbed the back of his boyfriend’s neck again, fondly. “This time Daddy’s not going to stop,” he warned. “He’s just going to make his baby take it. You ready for that, baby? Think you can take Daddy really fucking your throat?”

Blaine’s whine of need was affirmation enough, and Kurt took a few deep breaths trying to get himself under control because just the thought of fucking Blaine’s throat again, all the way down that wet heat, was overwhelming, and imagining the feel of that silken tissue contracting and flexing around him as he just fucked forward and through any resistance - jesus.

“You know what to do if you really need me to stop?” Kurt checked.

Blaine’s nod (along with accompanying eyeroll) was fairly reassuring, but Kurt didn’t want to chance causing any actual damage. “Show me,” he ordered.

Blaine rolled his eyes again, clearly unimpressed with Kurt’s concern, but obediently pinched Kurt’s thigh, albeit a good deal harder than was really necessary. Blaine’s eyes were clearer now, some of the strange haze faded away, and for a moment Kurt felt like they were just themselves, like they always were, and then the mood shifted and Blaine’s lips parted in innocent eagerness as Kurt pulled him forward, one hand shifting downward to press against Blaine’s jaw, made him open wide.

He teased Blaine for a moment, rubbing the head of his cock against Blaine’s spit-slick lips, just barely dipping into the wet warmth of his mouth - again and again till Blaine was squirming against Kurt’s grip, slurping desperately at as much of Kurt’s cock as he could reach and making pleading little whines around it, wanting more -

“Greedy,” Kurt mock-scolded, making as if to pull him away entirely.

Blaine’s whines hitched into a wretched sob, eyes wide and distraught, and a dark, cruel part of Kurt almost wanted to go through with it, to pull back completely and leave Blaine hanging on that desperate edge; wanted to see that beautiful face covered again in tears and twisted in need as he begged to be allowed to suck Kurt’s cock; wanted to see the way he’d break even further when Kurt laughed at the idea and refused; wanted -

Kurt fucked forward, cutting Blaine off mid-sob. He gagged again, tears threatening to fall,

but this time Kurt didn’t stop, forcing his way past the shuddering contractions until he was entirely buried. He held Blaine down for several long moments, grinding in deep and hissing in a sharp breath himself as Blaine’s throat convulsed helplessly around him. God, why had they never done this before?

Kurt pulled Blaine back, all the way up, cock slipping out of his mouth with strings of saliva following. He let Blaine gasp in a few wet breaths, then he tightened his grip on Blaine’s hair and pulled him down to fuck in again, harder this time, and faster, but no less deliberate, burying himself completely and holding again - grinding forward once, twice, three times before relenting and pulling Blaine back, again leaving his mouth almost entirely -

the brief loss of the heat of that soft wet mouth around him would have been worth it for the gulping sound of Blaine’s breaths alone, and the way it made him whine and strain forward, heedless of the sharp pull to his scalp -

Kurt did it again, and then again, and again after that, as slow and deliberately as he could bear, aroused as he was. Each time he fucked in and through the protest of Blaine’s throat and kept him there, choking, for several long moments. Each time he dragged Blaine back up and off his cock entirely, a dark, heady satisfaction burning hotter and hotter within him every time he got to see Blaine’s wrecked face, wet with tears and saliva and even snot.

He managed to keep the same slow and steady pace for a while longer. Surprisingly, Blaine fought less and less, desperation melting away into a sort of serene acceptance that was just as hot as the wild-eyed neediness had been, albeit in a different way.

Blaine didn’t strain against Kurt’s pull anymore, just waited for Kurt’s next direction, sweetly compliant. He was choking less, too - throat relaxing and letting Kurt in even as the rest of Blaine grew lax and heavy. It was as if all the fight had gone out of him in favor of trusting whatever Kurt wanted.

The next time Kurt was all the way down Blaine’s throat, he paused longer than he ever had before, holding and holding and holding till he knew Blaine must be completely out of breath, and then holding for just a few seconds more, almost light-headed from the way Blaine still wasn’t fighting him at all.

Then he pulled Blaine off and up so Blaine was gasping and shaking against his neck, wrapped close in Kurt’s arms as Kurt praised him again and again, breathless himself from the high of it all.

“Such a good baby, sucked his daddy’s cock so well.”

“That’s what my greedy baby wanted, wasn’t it? What he needed.”

“You were so good for Daddy, so patient, just taking what daddy gave you.”

“Daddy’s so proud of his baby, letting Daddy fuck his throat like that.”

“Daddy knew you could do it, a baby cockslut like you.”

Kurt’s cock was hard, aching - slick with spit and slip-sliding between their bellies. The rising heat inside him was almost unbearable, burning in its intensity, and Blaine was there, close and shaking, face wet with tears and Kurt didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, just breathed in need and desperation and the salty taste of tears and breathed out sweetly cruel words that just made Blaine shudder further and now Blaine was begging again, asking Daddy, please and Kurt couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t, and all of a sudden he was coming, sticky-wet all over them both, cutting off his crooned compliments with a startled gasp.

Blaine’s voice got higher and more desperate, if that was even possible, words turning to just keening whines, and oh, that was hot, that was really really hot.

Kurt struggled to catch his breath. He’d come, but he still felt like he was teetering on a knife’s edge of need - was light-headed with it and aching.

“It’s okay, baby,” he managed to get out, voice sounding small and far away. “Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

Carefully, he rolled them over, one hand sliding down in between them to stroke Blaine and oh god, Blaine was slick with his come and sobbing in need and - [MP1]

“Come,” Kurt managed to gasp out. “Come for me, Blaine, come for me right fucking now--”

- Blaine seized under him, choking on his own saliva with the sheer violence of his orgasm, come spurting, eyes rolling, it should look ridiculous, look faked, like the worst kinds of porn, but no, this was real, this was Blaine, this was his boyfriend, and he’d done that, he’d made him look like that -

Kurt stared at him, at his red, tearstained face, sticky and gross and beautiful, utterly entranced, his entire body shaking in a way he’d previously only associated with the most grueling of dance practices, and then suddenly he was laughing, light-headed and giddy -

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “Holy fucking shit.” He leaned over, pressing his forehead down against Blaine’s, trying to find something steady to hold onto. “Holy shit,” he repeated, quieter now, his panting breath mingling with Blaine’s, both their heartbeats gradually slowing as they slowly came back to themselves and the banal reality of their bedroom, of the mess of covers beneath them and the rattling whir of the shabby ac window unit.

Blaine’s arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him down to fully rest his weight on Blaine’s chest. “Holy shit,” he agreed, in a voice so raw and rough that it barely qualified as a croak.

“Are you -” Kurt couldn’t figure out how to finish that question, but Blaine seemed to understand.

“Amazing. That was.” Blaine didn’t seem to have words either, lapsing back into his own rueful, semi-hysterical laughter. “Holy shit.”

That set Kurt off again, laughter rolling through him and rattling his very bones. Gradually, he got a hold of himself, and pulled back enough that he could look Blaine square in the face without them both going cross-eyed. Blaine was settled now, too, breathing steady if still slightly labored, and his eyes full of that familiar calm adoration. Red blotches were slowly fading back into smoother brown, and Kurt could still see where tears had streaked down his face, where saliva had pooled and dried and started to flake.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, as steadily and seriously as he could. “I think. I think we might be perverts.”

Blaine started laughing again himself, pushing himself up enough to give Kurt kiss after laughing kiss. “I think you might be right,” he managed to get out between kisses and laughter. “Daddy.”

14 notes · View notes

buckybarnesowl · 3 years ago

Text

Friends, for now

Pairings: Bucky x fem!reader (Quentin Beck x fem!reader to start)

Summary: Steve, your brother from another mother, is the captain of the college soccer team. His best friend Bucky and your boyfriend Quentin Beck are on the team too. Beck’s bullshit goes too far and Bucky and Steve have had enough, pushing you to your breaking point. Seeking comfort from Steve, you find Bucky instead.

The order:

Entrée (Appetizer): “Just let it go, alright” and “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Plat Principal (Main): “Les étudiants” - College AU

Garniture (Side): Enemies to lovers (with a pinch of caretaking from the anon request)

Déssert (dessert): “Sucré/Piquante” - Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 3.6k (they just keep getting longer)

Warnings: verbally abusive boyfriend; misogyny; unhappy childhood with divorce and alcoholism referenced

A/n: *updated: this is now a three-part mini sesries!* This was the second to last “drabble” I wrote for my 400 follower celebration. The request came in from the ever sweet and supportive @blessedwedgie (sorry it took so long, bb!) and I combined it with a request from an anon (since it was so similar).

Part II // Part III // Masterlist

“No rush, but I’ll bring your bills around so I can cash out, alright boys?” the waitress said as she placed the last of the drinks down from the team’s last call order.

“Oh c’mon, babe, you’ve always got time for one more order from us,” Quentin persisted smoothly as he placed his hand on her hip.

She grabbed it as quick as he had placed it there with a firm grip, flinging it off of herself without so much as a blink before heading back to behind the bar.

“Someone’s touchy tonight,” Quentin scoffed.

“Yeah, it’s you,” Bucky muttered under his breath from across the table.

“What was that, Barnes?” Quentin growled.

“Guys, cool it. Both of you,” Steve spoke up, stretching his arms out with his hands open wide to stop his teammates from escalating.

“Bucky, leave it alone—”

“Yeah, Barnes, leave it—” Quentin was about to fully mimic his captain’s words before the blonde cut him off.

“—and you,” he turned to Quentin, lowering his voice so as not to single him out, “I know you’re high off of tonight’s win, but I don’t need to remind you that that kind of behaviour goes against team conduct. You owe the waitress, and Y/n, an apology.”

Steve had been like a brother to you, especially when your family situation became unstable and your parents were less than present. Him and his mother, Sarah, took you in whenever things got too tense at home. After school snacks and sitcoms would turn into dinner. You would sleep over more nights than not, especially when your mom started working evening shifts after your dad eventually left.

Steve was fiercely protective of you. Which is why he hated that you ended up with Quentin Beck. Deep down in your subconscious, you knew you didn’t really love him. But after your dad walked out of your life, you developed a habit of going after anyone that showed you tough love. It was as if you believed you deserved it somehow, the familiar hurt was the only thing that made sense. So you took everything Quentin gave you like a champ. The insults, the mocking, the jokes, the extra firm grips.

Steve watched it all, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He learned early on the only person that was going to change your mind was you. The harder someone pushed you, the harder you dug your heels in.

He stopped sharing his disapproval with you early on. Though that didn’t stop him from venting to his best friend. Which is exactly why Bucky not only continued his disdain for Quentin Beck, he developed an aversion to you as well. How could someone like you—intelligent, witty, drop-dead gorgeous—think so low of themselves to put up with a guy like Beck?

Steve never shared your family’s situation with Bucky. It wasn’t his story to tell. So Bucky had no idea what you had been through as a kid. He couldn’t understand that you had never felt loved enough to believe you deserved more. That you would accept any form of affection that anyone threw at you, just to make up for what you had lost. All Bucky knew was that his best friend’s heart broke watching you suffer next to their misogynistic dickhead of a teammate and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stevie, thanks but that’s not necessary,” your voice trembled as you looked between your boyfriend and the man you had grown up with.

“Yeah, Stevie. Y/n here doesn’t mind when I flirt a little, do ya, hun?” Quentin said, wrapping his arm around you tighter, too drunk to notice you wince and tighten up. He always got a bit animated on victory nights, but tonight he was taking it to another level.

Leaning towards Steve, tugging you forward with him, he attempted to whisper, “A tip for ya, cap, a little jealousy makes them go crazy in bed. This one practically begs for it the second she thinks I might wander.”

Steve was about to unleash every word he had pushed down over the past year watching Quentin manipulate you when the crashing sound of one of the heavy wooden bar chairs hitting the floor made everyone turn around.

Bucky’s chest was heaving as he grabbed his stuff before making his way to the other side of the table where Quentin still had you in a near choke hold at this point.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he seethed, pointed a finger at your boyfriend. Then turning to Steve, “I refuse to play with him. Either bench me or bench him, but I won’t go on the pitch if he’s on.” Then turning back he squinted at you, “I thought you were smarter.”

He whipped out a few bills from his pocket and threw them on the table for his share of the bill before exiting the bar.

You would have to unpack the reason later, but out of everything that had happened up to then, Bucky’s words cut the deepest.

“The fuck is his problem?” Quentin slurred out, taking another swig from his pint glass. His focus on his beer gave you the out to wriggle free from under his heavy arm.

“You are, you dick!” Steve slammed his hand down on the table. “I’m sorry, Y/n, I think you need to take him home. Let us know if you want some help.”

Steve motioned at the rest of the team, most of which were trying to act like they hadn’t been watching the entire incident. Though Peter looked away in embarrassment, Sam and Tony gave you sympathetic eyes, while Thor looked like he was ready to unleash the rage of the gods above on your obnoxious boyfriend.

“We don’t need any help, do we babe?” Quentin mumbled. “Let’s get going, daddy wants to fuck.”

He was always over the top, but even this was a new level.

“Quentin, please stop it,” you pleaded. Your stomach was in knots. If only PIM particles were a real thing, you would shrink away from this waking nightmare.

“C’mon, no kink shaming here, babe,” Quentin slurred after turning to you, an attempt to be sultry as he sloppily stroked your cheek. “Thought you loved that daddy shit. Satisfies those annoying daddy issues you’re always going on—”

You heard the crack the instant Steve’s fist connected with Quentin’s jaw.

A gasp escaped your lips as you blinked repeatedly, your mouth opening and closing, unable to find words. You looked towards Steve, his eyes lit with a fire you had never seen before.

“I swear to god, Beck, if you don’t stop right now I’m going to make you.” Steve ordered, shaking out his fist and looking over his shoulder at the approaching bouncer. “Again, Y/n, I’m so sorry. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”The flame in his eyes had softened to embers as he continued his directives. “Thor, Sam, Tony, Peter: can you handle this asshat and make sure Y/n gets home safe? I need to sort this mess out.”

His teammates nodded, all standing up immediately. Thor called dibs on dragging Quentin home, something about wanting to pick up where Steve left off. Sam and Tony took either side of you, and Peter grabbed your things.

“Babe, why’ren’t you comin’ this way,” Quentin mumbled once you were all outside of the bar.

“Because it’s over, Quentin. I should have gone my own way a long time ago. Don’t you ever come near me again.”

Him using your past against you was the push you needed. You felt the snap inside you at the same instant you heard Steve’s fist make contact. You hadn’t wanted to be with him for a long time now. And you would never go back. It was that easy for you once your mind was made up.

“You fucking slut bitch, I wasted a whole fucking year on your whore mouth—,” Quentin was cut off again, this time by Thor.

“Alright, man, that is quite enough out of you for one day. It is time you and I had a little chat. And I will be the one talking…” Thor practically dragged Quentin away, gripping him far tighter than was needed.

“Are you ok?” Sam turned to you once they were gone, his eyebrows pinched together.

Tony went to put a comforting arm around you but you flinched and stepped back.

“Y-yeah, I’m... I just really want to go home. I can make it from here, thanks.”

“Y/n, we can’t let you do that,” Sam stated with warm concern.

“Captain’s orders,” Tony added.

“Fuuuuuck,” you breathed out, brining your palms to your face.

The teammates all exchanged glances trying to figure out their next move. Tony waved his hand in an I got this motion.

“You should hear about the shit I got into when I was a teenager. Makes this fiasco look like a Mr. Roger’s episode,” he said coolly.

The guys help their breath waiting for your reaction. A sudden laugh escaped your lungs, and you dropped your hands with a sigh.

“I guess a group escort across campus wouldn’t be the worst thing that happened to me tonight. Go on then,” you said to Tony with a smile, “tell me a story.”

—

Bucky was still on the couch, mind racing from the night’s events, when he heard the soft knocking on his and Steve’s shared dorm room’s door.

“I, uh, sorry I thought Stevie would still be up.” You fidgeted with the hem of the oversized hoodie you had thrown on when you decided to go to the one place you always went to when you couldn’t sleep.

“Nah, he crashed out an hour ago.”

“Oh, okay, uh, nevermind then.”

You turned to head back to the stairwell.

“Wait—”

Something in Bucky’s voice seemed softer. You stopped to hear what he had to say.

“I was about to make some tea. Want some?”

You thought about it. You and Bucky might not like each other, but you were both like family to Steve. He couldn’t be that bad. And at least he was always easy on the eyes.

You nodded your head and walked through the door Bucky was holding open without making eye contact. Bucky rolled his eyes at your antics as he locked the door.

“Chamomile or peppermint.”

“Peppermint. Please.” You added the nicety as an afterthought before you took your seat at the kitchen table.

A muted chuckle left Bucky’s lips at your attempt at being polite. He moved slowly but with calculation as he prepped your two mugs.

“I broke up with him,” you said quietly after a few minutes of silence.

“Finally.”

You scoffed at his tactless reply. “What’s your problem with me, James?”

“Nothin’. Forget I said anything.”

Another scoff. You couldn’t believe Bucky. Though of course all the hot ones had to be assholes.

“I heard your ex made quite the scene after I left,” Bucky continued following another beat of silence.

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

“He must’ve done somethin’ pretty over the top for Steve to lose his cool. His knuckles looked like shit when he got home.”

“Just let it go, alright?” you shot out firmly, looking him square in the eye for the first time since he opened the door to you. “I already know you think I’m an idiot, I don’t need your fucking I told you so speech right now.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, followed by a sigh of relief: saved by the whistle of the stovetop kettle. He filled the two mugs then placed them on the kitchen table where you were still sitting.

You watched as the steam curled up then dissipated like the memories that were replaying over and over in your mind. Tendrils of mint pulled you back to the present as tears began to streak down your cheeks.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered under his breath. “Y/n, I’m sorry.”

“‘S fine,” you sniffed, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

“Nah, it’s not fine, sweetheart. You’re clearly the victim here, and I’m just being a dick.”

“I’m not a victim,” you spat out, rage laced your tone.

“Right, totally wrong choice of words,” Bucky put his hands up in defence. “Fuck, I just hate Beck so much. Always have. He used to tease my sister in elementary school. He’s always been a fucking bully. So I just figured—”

“Figured what? That I’m some poor defenceless female? An idiot who doesn’t know any better? Another stupid woman who doesn’t know her worth?” Your words came out in a whispered fury so as not to wake Steve.

“No, doll, that’s not what I meant to—”

“Well what did you mean, James?”

“I… I don’t know,” he sighed in honesty.

More silence filled the small kitchen. What am I doing here? was simultaneously running through both of your minds.

“My dad left when I was eight years old.”

You weren’t sure why you were opening up, but the sudden urge to explain yourself took over any hesitancy you felt about sharing your life story with Bucky. He nodded for you to continue.

“My mom and him always fought leading up to it. He was too drunk to take care of me for years after that so we didn’t really start speaking again until I was nearly done high school. I met Quentin the year after my dad and I reconnected. I don’t know what happened after that…” you trailed off, lost in your own stream of consciousness for a minute.

Bucky just waited for you to find your way back.

“I guess I’m more fucked up than I thought,” you chuckled softly to yourself after rejoining the present.

“Hey, you know it wasn’t your fault.”

Your gaze shot up to meet Bucky’s, twilight blue with a twinkle at the edges like when the first stars come out.

“You don’t know anything about—”

“You’re right, I don’t know exactly what happened in your life. But I do know that your dad? Quentin? That wasn’t your fault.”

Your breath caught in your chest and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“And I’m sorry for what I said tonight at the bar. I was so wrong. I just, I couldn’t fucking stand to see you with him anymore. You’re my best friend’s basically sister. And all I know is how much it killed him to see you with that dick. So I got a little protective of my pal. But I was protecting the wrong person—”

“I don’t need anyone’s protection,” you amended swiftly.

“Right, again, that’s not what I meant,” Bucky’s hands raised again as he corrected himself. “I just meant I was on the wrong side, is all.”

Then he lowered his hands to cover yours that was resting beside your tea as he said those last words. Your breath hitched at the sudden touch, though you found solace in it just as quickly. You uncupped your other hand from your mug and placed it over his.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” The lump was getting bigger.

“You don’t have to say nothin’. I’m just so, so sorry, Y/n. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

Your chin started quivering as your eyes brimmed with tears for a second time. Suddenly a sob broke free from your chest, and just as quick, Bucky was next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/n,” he whispered again, rubbing your back as you let go of years of pent up emotions.

After nearly ten minutes, your breath had calmed. You pulled away from Bucky’s warmth, wincing at the wet marks you had left on his shirt.

“Ugh, I’m sorry about that,” you groaned, pointing at his shirt as you grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table.

“‘S nothin,” Bucky chuckled.

“It’s gross is what it is,” you huffed, blowing your nose one last time. Then after letting out an enormous sigh, you leaned back into your chair.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” You weren’t sure who you were asking.

“I don’t know, doll. All I know is you're one of the strongest women I’ve met. And my ma and sis are hard competition.”

You laughed at Bucky’s passion for his family. It was endearing and something warmed in your chest at this softer side he was showing you.

“Thanks, James.” You cleared your throat before continuing. “I mean it. Thanks for everything tonight. You losing your cool at the bar was the catalyst for the whole thing to come crashing down. I know it would’ve happened eventually. But you nudged it along. So thank you.”

With that you leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. You heard his sharp intake of breath that made you pull away.

“Sorry, was that—”

“No, no. I let you cry on me, I think we’re past that.” He offered you a half smile as he started rubbing his neck with his hand. You noticed a soft blush form on his cheeks. “Just caught me off guard,” he continued, looking down at the table.

“Fuck, sorry, I always do this. I’m a mess. I should go.”

“No, Y/n, wait,” he grabbed your wrist gently as you got up from your chair.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, sweetheart. You just surprised me, ‘s all.”

He was grinning fully now, beaming up at you and setting your cheeks ablaze. His Brooklyn drawl was pouring out like velvet, making you wonder how you wasted so long with an asshole like Quentin Beck when James Buchanan Barnes was in front of you all along.

“James, I… I’m all mixed up right now. I need time to sort through everything.” You’re heart felt like it might beat out of your chest.

“I know, and no one’s saying you gotta do anything. Just… don’t leave on my account. I invited you in because I wanted to. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But friends are allowed to comfort each other.”

“Is that what we are now? Friends?” you asked coyly, allowing yourself to sit back down beside him.

“I’d like to be, that is, if you’re up for it,” he said softly, cupping the side of your face as he rubbed his thumb across your cheek.

You leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I don’t understand it, but you’re doing things to me right now, James.”

“I know. I feel the same about you. It’s fucking weird,” he chuckled. “Is that a bad thing?” his voice continued, low and hesitant.

“I don’t know. I’m…” you took a deep breath before opening your eyes again. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt safe.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered as he pulled you into his arms again. “This is as far as we’re going to go right now, okay? I won’t press you or let anything happen.”

He felt your head nod against his chest as your shoulders released the tension they’d been holding for who knows how long.

“Can I, I mean, would you be ok if I stayed over?”

Your words came out soft, muffled by his shirt. It was the first time Bucky heard your voice sound so fragile and it made his heart ache.

“Of course… could… could I hold you if you do? I mean you don’t have to, I can sleep on the couch. Fuck, I’m sorry—”

You giggled at his sudden nervousness, pulling out of his warmth again so he could see you weren’t offended. “James, that’s kind of why I was asking. Friends can cuddle, you know,” you added with a smirk.

“Right, friends can cuddle,” he repeated, a smile forming across his lips. “C’mon then, sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”

After changing into a spare t-shirt and pair of shorts Bucky lent you, you climbed into bed where he was already laying on his back.

“Shirtless already, eh, Barnes?”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t even think—”

“Just teasing,” you laughed. “Besides, it’s a nice distraction from my current rat's nest of a brain,” you admitted playfully.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, is it now?”

“It is,” you confirmed, nestling into his chest. “Mmmm you smell good,” you added.

“Jesus, Y/n, you sweet talk all your friends this way?”

“Only the hot ones,” you flirted.

“Doll,” Bucky groaned.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’re right,” you sighed. You tried turning away from him, embarrassed at your sudden inability to control yourself around Bucky. His arms stopped you and tugged you back into him.

“‘S not that I don’t like it. It’s just…”

“I know… friends,” you emphasized, with a sigh. “For now.”

“For now,” he repeated, pressing his lips into the top of your head. He slowly began traipsing his fingers over your shoulder as he pulled you closer with his other arm.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n.” He whispered after a few moments had passed. “I’ll be here in whatever way you need. For as long as you need it.”

You hugged him tighter, hoping to convey your gratitude in the action. Simultaneously feeling the sincerity of his words in his hold around you.

“Sweet dreams, James,” you whispered, pressing a kiss into his chest.

“Sleep well, Y/n,” he whispered back.

—

Steve shook his head as he silently closed Bucky’s door the next morning.

“Took them long enough,” he chuckled.

Part II

273 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Summary: Y/N never expected to see him again. He tore her heart out and left her in the dusty heat of a Las Vegas diner. She never wanted to see him again, but sometimes the heart wants what heart wants.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's Note: This is the first prompt that I wrote for 400 followers and it is based on Right Where You Left Me. Some background info: Spencer and Reader (Female pronouns) were lovers when they were 23, Spencer left to join the FBI and Y/N never recovered.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Content Warning: Angst till the very end, one use of f--k, reader cuts her hand on glass so blood is mentioned.

Right Where You Left Me

2009, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

The bell above the door always sounds the same, no matter who walks into the little diner. Whether it’s exhausted truckers looking for a cheap cup of coffee or lonely souls looking to be a little less lonely for even an hour, the bell’s chime is always the same.

From the first time she met Spencer Reid, Y/N knew that boy was destined for greatness. His greatness is exceptionally painful when it juxtaposes her intense ordinariness. Part of her always dreams of the bell ringing and telling her that he’s back. He’s back and would no longer just haunting her dreams. But he isn’t back. He isn’t back and she’s right where he left her.

Y/N wipes the counter with a worn napkin, noticing how her skin is cracked from her fingertips to the butt of her palms. The bell rings and Y/N picks up her head. An elderly couple walks in holding hands. It’s amazing to her, to be that old and that in love. She wonders what it would be like to have the kind of love that you’ll never run out of things to say. If her past has taught her anything, Y/N tells herself she’s not the kind of girl that gets a lifelong romance. She’s not the kind of girl that gets someone who gets her.

She’s the kind of girl that’s frozen in the place right where he left her.

September 2012, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

“One of these is not like the other,” Sabrina says in a singsong kind of voice. She walks out from behind the counter, finished with her shift. She wishes Y/N good night before she leaves the diner, telling her to lock up and handle the clean up. The busboy makes his way to the table of men with two kinds of coffee, decaf and regular, in her hands. Y/N follows, rolling her eyes, behind with three coffee mugs.

Apparently, there is a missing child case and the FBI has gotten involved. The two men, dressed intimidatingly in black suits and gray ties, looked very different from the younger man who sat across from them. It only took her a second to recognize that face. It’s the face of all her dreams that at one point was just out of reach. But now it’s just the face of rejection and hurt.

Before she even realizes it, the coffee mug that Y/N holds in her hand drops and shatters on the floor. The men, even vigilant, turn towards the noise. Y/N wanting to disappear into the night, drops to the floor to clean up the glass. She hears a shuffle from the booth and in comes a pair of well-worn converse into her field of vision.

“Here,” he says, his voice just soft and steady as ever, “let me, Y/N,”

Y/N drops the glass like it burns her. But in reality, she’s trying to get as far away as possible from Spencer, because she knows if she touches him again, she’ll never be able to survive letting go.

Spencer.

Spencer Reid crouches down before her just inches from her face all these years later. It seems unbelievable to see him in the flesh, but it’s him, even if he looks a little older and a little sadder.

“Thank you. I’m going to get you a new cup. I remember how much you love coffee,” Y/N whispers, wishing again that she could turn into the wind and disappear.

Y/N tries to ignore the way Spencer’s co-workers eye him when he returns to the seat. Clutching the pieces of glass, Y/N cuts her thumb. The dark red blood rushes out and she can feel her pulse rise. She wraps a white cloth over the cut. By the time she gets to Spencer’s table, the blood has pooled to the surface. She places the cups on the table, turning to leave, but a strong, yet gentle hand grasps her elbow.

“You’re bleeding?” Spencer says, his voice ends on a high note like he’s asking her more than telling her.

“Yeah, it’s fine Spencer. I’ll take care of it later, it’s just-”

“Let me help you,” he says, the two men, his co-workers, share a thoughtful glance. Y/N has the sneaking suspicion that they can read her mind or very much close to it.

She narrows her eyes at Spencer as her thumb pulsates and the blood soaked napkin grows even more red.

“Last time I checked you’re not a real doctor,” Y/N says, the venom in her voice all too apparent. The man sitting across from Spencer with the kinder eyes puts his hands up in defeat.

“What the hell is going on here? Do you know her or something, Spencer?” he says, his confusion about who Y/N is growing into frustration by the second. The man sitting next to the man with the kind eyes doesn’t say much. Y/N expects that he’s soaking in the entire interaction or is too tired to care about his co-worker’s personal drama.

“Huh, you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell you FBI friends about me, Spencer? Huh, can I say that I’m not surprised by that at all,” Y/N responds, fumbling with managing to pour the coffee and covering her cut with the napkin.

“Please, Y/N you’re being ridiculous, let me help you,” Spencer asks or rather, begs Y/N. Y/N tries to not let him know how much it affects her when he rubs his thumb on the crook of her elbow.

“Fine, make it quick Spencer, I’m closing up tonight and I want to get home soon,” Y/N says, walking away from the table before Spencer can even get the chance to get up from the booth.

Y/N is too far past the booth to hear Spencer whisper to his co-workers that he’ll find his own way back to the hotel. She runs her thumb under the running water, watching as the blood clears up, revealing her clean finger. Y/N can feel Spencer’s looming presence behind her. She can smell his cologne and thinks if he cans any closer she’d be able to feel his body heat.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Spencer,” Y/N says, she knows she’s being short and clippy with Spencer, but she supposes that should be expected, considering how he left her all those years ago.

“That never stopped me, or you for that matter before,” Spencer says, taking a step forward. His hand comes up to gently hold Y/N’s. She can feel his fingertips on her skin for the first time in years. Y/N has to close her eyes to focus on anything but how close Spencer’s body is to her’s. It’s restraint in it’s finest.

“Things have changed, Spencer. People have changed,” Y/N says, she doesn’t make a move that tells Spencer she doesn’t like him touching her. Spencer, whose hands have a slight tremor as they hold Y/N’s, practices an equal amount of restraint as Y/N does. He has to stop the thoughts of what it would be like to feel his hand against her hand again or how she’d sound if he could muster up the courage to kiss her again. He can’t even think of the first place he’d want to kiss her if he had the chance again.

“I’ve changed, Y/N, I’ve changed,” Spencer says, knowing fully that he’s pleading with the girl whose heart he broke 7 years ago.

“I have a hard time believing that one, Spencer. You were always the exception to the rule, whether you liked it or not,” she tells him. Her voice has lost all venom. It’s bare to the world without any weapons to wield.

“Let me fix you up and I’ll be out of your life again,” He says, still holding on to her wrist, still holding on to hope.

Y/N nods and tells him where he can find the first aid kit. She watches as he reaches up to the top shelf and carefully places the kit on the counter. Y/N holds out her hand as Spencer takes an alcohol wipe to her wound. He grimaces more than she does, afraid that somehow, all these years later, he’s still causing her pain. What he doesn’t know is that his touch stings more than the strongest rubbing alcohol in existence.

“So,” Spencer starts, hating that there’s silence between the two of them, when a decade ago that would have been impossible, “how’ve you been?”

“I’m good, Spence, I’ve been good. All I ever wanted was a quiet life, and I guess that’s what I got,” Y/N says, Spencer knows her answer is cordial. It's an answer that you give when you really don’t want to give an answer.

“That’s good, Y/N. I’m happy for you,” Spencer says, he doesn’t realize that he’s been rubbing his thumb against Y/N palm until she reaches into the first aid kit and tosses a band-aid at him. Spencer blushes slightly, but thinks that he’s not offending her too much since he’s still at the diner.

“What about you, Spence? Did you ever find uh….someone that could…” Y/N says, her voice trailing off, too afraid to finish the sentence herself, but aware that Spencer is probably the only person on Earth that could fill in the blanks. He was always good like that, he could always fill in her blanks and make sense of her senseless.

“Find someone, like a wife?” Spencer asks, the blush returning to his cheeks, “no, Y/N I’m not married. Are..are you? Do you have, um, a husband?” Spencer asks, hating the way that he stumbles over the word “husband” like it’s a dirty word. Though he supposes that it is a dirty word when Y/N’s husband is not synonymous with Spencer Reid.

“God no, Spence. I couldn’t not after, you know,” Y/N says, again letting Spencer fill in the blanks and hoping beyond belief that he’d pick up the pieces too. Spencer looks over at where his co-workers sat when they were working, he can't say he’s disappointed to see that they are gone.

“I never really apologized for what I said to you, Y/N. I know that I’ll never make it up to you, but..”

“It’s okay, Spencer. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I’m just a waitress. And you, god. You are you. How could I ever think that I’d get a happily ever after with someone like you,” Y/N says, brushing past Spencer to collect the coffee mugs from the table.

“Please Y/N don’t believe that for a second,” Spencer says, his voice full of pain and regret.

Y/N thinks about the times that she would dream of seeing him again. She can’t remember if she’d rather him to be sorry or if she'd rather him rush back to her and sweep her off her feet again with a love confession that rivals the greatest stories ever told. But then again, waitresses don’t get knights in shining armor. Especially when those knights wear sweater vests, despite being in law enforcement. Spencer always loved facts, and he told it to her in a few more words than necessary, people like Spencer Reid don’t end up with people like Y/N Y/LN.

“You still think too highly of me, even after I hurt you, I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you,” Spencer says, hanging his head low. His hair, that’s grown much longer, falls into place over his eyes, as if it’s shielding Spencer from Y/N.

“Did you come here tonight thinking I’d be here? Did a part of you still want to see me?” Y/N asks, she wants to reach out and touch Spencer’s hand, she wants to reach out and feel that his hand is still the same hand that would caress her face and make all her worries vanish. But it’s hard when that hand is attached to the man who destroyed you.

“I didn’t think you’d still work here, Y/N. You always hated living in the desert. Remember how we talked of getting a place somewhere cold where you can see the snow, but still be warm-”

“And safe inside? Yeah, Spencer, I remember that. But that was our dream, how can I still want that when it’s tainted by you,” Y/N spits, walking towards the last booth in the row. She plops down, sinking into the plastic covered cushion. Spencer, nervously, sits down next to her. He doesn’t say anything, knowing how Y/N’s bated breath and tapping foot tell him she’s going to unleash 7 years of pent of hatred and frustration. And somehow, 7 years of desire and want and love.

“I lied Spencer,” Y/N says, looking down at the table. “I lied. I hate it here, you’re right. God, why are you always right?” She smiles wickedly and Spencer has to tell himself to not give way to his emotions. He needs to let Y/N finally release her justified anger onto him.

“You moved on, Spencer. You moved on and I’m right where you left me,” Y/N’s strained voice is perhaps noise that Spencer knows will haunt his nightmares, “It’s like I’m a ghost of that girl I was when I was 23, waiting for someone who’s moved on. Waiting for you, but god, no one wants to love someone so fucking pathetic,”

Spencer wants to react, he wants to reach out a kiss away Y/N tears that fall down her cheeks. He wants to make her pain go away, but how can he when he’s her pain. Spencer knew he never wanted to end up like his father, yet sitting in that corner booth watching Y/N cry, Spencer realizes he’s his father’s son. Spencer realizes that he ran away from the best thing that ever happened to him, when thought he got a better opportunity.

“I never moved on Y/N,” Spencer says, reaching down inside himself for the courage to tenderly hold Y/N’s hands in his own. Even all these years later, her hand still feels the same inside his.

“I’ve thought about you every single day of my life. It’s a curse, Y/N, not being able to forget how much I hurt you. As much as I try, I’ll never be able to erase the look on your face when I told you--”

“When you told me I wasn’t good enough,” Y/N finished for him. It looks like she can fill in his blanks as well as he can fill in her’s.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I didn’t mean it and I know that you’ll never look at me the same way, but I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/N. I’ll never stop loving you,” Spencer says, he’s sobbing at this point. The tears trail down his face and his skin in blotchy red.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly, like she’s trying to control the mix of passion and fury that threatens to take control of her, “I need to get this out without interruptions, so just please listen to me,”

Spencer nods and tries his best to not react when Y/N reaches down to his lap and takes her hands into his. He tries to hold in the emotions that split seems in his not-so tough exterior.

“I created a fantasy for you Spencer. I gave you the life that I could never give you. In my head you had kids because I needed you to be deliriously happy. I gave you a wife and I hated her because I love you too much to hate you. I needed you to have the life that I couldn’t give you, because it beats thinking you’re a mess. It beats thinking you ended up like me,” Y/N professes.

Spencer brings his hands up to her cheeks wiping away the tears that fall rapidly. Even the time he was kidnapped, the countless of times he was beaten or held hostage, his heart never ached quite like this. His heart never yearned to soothe someone’s pain as it did when Spencer watched Y/N come to terms with the years and years of heartbreak Spencer left her in.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Spencer says, his fingers lacing through Y/N’s pinned up hair, “I hated myself for years for doing what I did to you. I knew that there was no one else, there’s no one else for me, Y/N,”

Y/N’s cheek presses up against Spencer’s chest, his warm body is home and is spicy, yet sweet cologne the closest thing to paradise. She tries to get control over her breathing, trying to steady it and not slobber too much over Spencer’s soft shirt. His hands anchor her to him. They latch on to her elbows, begging her silently to not shove him off and kick him to the curb, even though it’s what he deserves.

“Oh god Spencer. You really still are my Spencer, aren’t you?” Y/N asks, her voice slightly muffled by Spencer’s chest. She can hear his heart beat, even now, it’s still in sync with her heart beat. After all these years, between all these miles, throughout all this pain, Y/N’s heart still beats for Spencer’s.

“I don’t wanna lose you again, Y/N,” Spencer says, the tears back on his face, some have dried slightly and new ones make their way down and pool onto the back of Y/N’s head. Spencer brushes his fingers against Y/N, making sure that he’s actually holding her in his arms in this little diner he thought he’d left in the past.

“Please don’t hurt me again, Spencer. I love you too much to lose you again, but I can’t get hurt like that. I can’t bear to do that again,” Y/N says, raising her head to look at Spencer in the eyes.

She can see the glistening tears that fall down his face and the way his gaze softens when his eyes latch on to her. They could spend hours drinking each other in, making up for the lost years. She searches his face, finding new age lines and wrinkles, and maybe even a gray hair or two. But underneath all that, he’s still Spencer.

“I though our love was dead, Spencer. I thought I had my chance real young and the rest of my life was going to be spent haunting this booth, waiting for a man that in my delusions was married to a wife that wasn’t me and with kids that aren’t mine. But good God, Spencer, you really are too much sometimes?” Y/N says, her voice breathy and exasperated as she leans in close to Spencer.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Spencer says, terrified for her answer, even though he knew it already, based on how deeply Y/N looks into his eyes.

Y/N is quiet, and even though it’s just a moment it feels like forever. They are so quiet that all they can hear is their heartbeats. The little diner where their fateful love story took flight is never quiet, yet in that moment you can hear a hair pin drop. Spencer counts the seconds that pass, reading Y/N’s eyes, reading her emotion, and praying to a God he’s not sure is real that she’s not going to leave him this time.

“Yes, Spencer. I love you too much to let you walk out here again,” Y/N says, leaning into Spencer’s face.

She bridges the gap that they’ve both been ignoring since they realized they were in each other’s company again. Spencer is still when she leans in, he doesn’t realize until her soft lips kiss him how much he’s missed her. Before his mind is able to run off the far away places called doubt and denial, Y/N wraps her arms around Spencer’s neck, hooking him in closer. Having each other so close has never made them feel so utterly helpless and giddy. Spencer feels like he needs to tether himself to Y/N’s because he still feels like she’s going to float away. The world was dizzying and Spencer was the only solid, strong thing, holding her to Earth. Y/N always knew he was her anchor, it was just a matter of time before Spencer realized it too. Spencer’s quiet whimpers and shaky tremors spurred her on, kissing up and down the openness of his face until she felt the need for air.

“You’ve been practicing? You’re better at this than when you were 23,” Y/N says, not wanting to let go of Spencer’s neck.

“No, God no, Y/N. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” Spencer says, slightly ashamed to be reminded of his deepest mistake.

“Spencer, baby, you know I forgive you, right? And considering you kiss like that now, I know how you can make it up to me,” Y/N says, planting a couple light, feathery kisses up Spencer’s neck and to the corners of his mouth. Her lips are like a paintbrush on his, turning the grimace he holds into a winning smile. He remembers that it’s near impossible for him to not be flustered near Y/N. He’s glad, even now, that still rings true.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer says, he leans his forehead against Y/N’s and lifts her hands to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers as he says “you are enough, and I’ll hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you,”

Y/N kisses Spencer on the nose as he scrunches it, causing her to laugh. She slips out of the booth and holds a hand out for Spencer to grasp. He takes it without hesitation and pulls her in closer. She supposes that after being apart for so long, it would take some time to get back into their rhythm. Y/N knows that it will never be the same; they aren’t 23 years old anymore. They’re scared and wounded, but together, Y/N thinks that they’ll never run out of things to talk about even if they are old and gray and wrinkled.

THANK-YOU FOR READING :) <3 <3

I really appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. It helps me know what people like about my writing things I should work on.

TAGLIST

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

@spideygenius

@measure-in-pain

@nomajdetective

@spencerreid9

@saspencereid

@laurakirsten0502

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

468 notes · View notes

kkusuka · 4 years ago

Note

omg can you do pt.2 for “little toxic things </3” where the reader gets tired of there actions and tries to break up with them?? or something along the lines where they simply just ignore them. thank you!!! whenever you can!! <33

pt.1 <3

TW: atsumu’s talks about having an eating disorder for a bit, it also talks about growing out of an eating disorder!!!!

a similar asks : Can you make part 2, where they regret it and s/o and dead or like something really angsty? Btw. I really like your writing style.

I love your writing and I hope you are doing well! No rush or pressure or anything whatsoever, but maybe a pt. 2 to the toxic hc (the one with sakusa, suna, oikawa and atsumu) where the reader breaks up with them or something and how they react. Honestly it’s up to you what the ending is but I just wonder how they would react lol. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

i know this was supposed to be headcannons but something came over me and i just wrote mini fics for it.

oikawa

why did this get kinda long?

sometimes time gets away from him. the moment he woke up he knew how important this day was, and as much as he liked to pretend he wasn’t, he knew he was on very thin ice with you. he was going to make it better. hw had the perfect plan, al he had to do was get through practice on time and he’d be set! but, sometimes time gets away from him, and he’s too busy to check his phone when his serve is getting shaky.

you believed him when he said he’d be there, but deep down you somehow knew that it was going to be like every other time. after thirty minutes you gave him a call, people started to look at you. at one hour you ordered the most expensive bottle of wine, and shot him more than a few texts. at two hours you ordered food and gave up on trying to contact him, the point was lost. when you finished your meal at 2 1/2 hours you came to the conclusion he wasn’t coming and he had failed to prove that he could keep a promise.

it was 9:45 when he finally checked his phone. teo hours and thirty minutes after he was supposed to meet you at the restaurant. he wasted no time, not even for a shower, and made it to the restaurant in record time. as he was walking in you were walking out.

“y/n please listn! i’m-”

“i’m over it Tooru, i love you, i really do but i can’t keep going through this. i’ll be cheering for you even if you can’t see me.”

“please, please we-we can fix this-”

“there’s nothing to fix, i’ll get my stuff and be out by tomorrow.”

everything was numb now, when had you become so important to him? you were his entire life and he took complete advantage of all that you did for him. he was so blinded by his ambition that he had forgotten about the person who helped him get where he was. and deep in his heart he knew that there wouldn’t be anyone else, and some how he was going to get you back. hopefully you still loved him enough to et him try.

sakusa

it was simple, he no longer had feelings for you. and he’d rather not go through the hassle of sitting down and talking it through with you. if you loved home so much than you would understand that he had to leave. but now as he sits in his half empty apartment that the two of you once shared, he isn’t to sure he made the right decision.

he sees you everywhere now, it drives him insane. when he walks around the grocery store he sees the snacks you would always beg him to buy. or when he was getting a new cologne and the first smell that hit him was the perfume you would always wear. and on the plane back to Tokyo that only thing that calmed him was the photo of the two of you that he just happens to “forget” to take out of his wallet.

maybe he should call you, and hopefully you would give him a chance to make it right.

atsumu

103 lb. that wasn’t good enough, the girl on the poster that Suna gave Atsumu for his birthday was 98 lb. why wasn’t it working? you worked out everyday, ate 400 calories at best, what was going so wrong? Atsumu didn’t seem to even notice what you were doing and that hurt just a bit more than an aching stomach. what he did notice was the way your hair matted down and got thinner. and the way your skin lost it’s glow. and how the bags under your eyes never seemed to go away.

and he didn't spare you these observations, or how all he girls you saw at that mall didn’t look like that.

after five month you were diagnosed with an eating disorder, and that was the final straw to your relationship. it was like the skies had parted and you had truly seen what was going on. two hours later you had your best friend pack all of your stuff and you left the apartment. you could no longer kill yourself for this relationship, if atsumu wanted all the the girls in the Ads, than he can have them.

9 months and two relapses later you were finally free form the plague Atsumu had induced on you. you had gotten rid of anything that reminded you of the boy. you went as far as getting a new phone number. you had finally found peace with yourself and your body and no one was going to take that away from you. but clearly getting rid of photo’s of the man wont get rid of the real one. and you’re faced with the harsh reality when you run into him at an engagement party.

he had a year and a half you realize what he had done. and he had, Atsumu was disgusted with how he acted, but never tried to contact you. he knew you didn't want to talk to him and i would just make it worse if he tried. he never truly realized what his words had done to you.

“y/n-”

“i’m sorry Miya, i-i can’t talk right now”

he understood, he did. but that didn't make it hurt any less. watching you walk out of his life for the second time hurt even more than the first. at east he didn't see you leave the first time. maybe one day you wont hate him enough so he can tell you how sorry he was.

suna

two weeks of complete silence was the last straw of your already rocky relationship with the middle blocker. sending him one more useless text you decided you had, had enough. you weren’t going to fight for this relationship if wasn't going to meet you in the middle. it took you about 30 minutes to get all of the clothes that you had borrowed from him, and put them in a bag. it took you another ten minutes to make it to his house. and one minute to get to his door.

when he opened the door to you, he isn’t going to lie he was annoyed and didn't want to see you. wasn’t the unanswered messages enough? couldn’t you take a hint.

“y/n im not in the mood-”

“you don’t need to be in the mood, here’s your shit. you can go ignore someone else for two weeks.

in some sick way suna missed all of your messages, he knew he had no right to be thinking of them. but its 3:26 am and al he can think about is you. some of the sweatshirts still smelled like you but by now the perfume had dissipated. no matter how many photos of you he had, they didn't do how beautiful you were justice. if he was just a bit less prideful he would be at your door, sleep forgotten, and beg for you back. but for no he’ll just have to deal with the void of emotions lingering in his chest.

491 notes · View notes

quirklessidiot · 4 years ago

Text

Title: filthy rich [1/3] Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: romance, major angst ahead ,fluff, yandere!au-ish

Synopsis: Your luck had just run out when you realized that you flirted with danger. [400 followers special]

Warnings: language and none...yet….[although i will put a trigger warning that is a controlling, abusive, and kind of a yandere relationship] Notes:

Happy 460 followers i- look, i know i promised a long kita fanfic but i got more inspired to finish this and write this one because djjdjdjd ,,, anyways this was originally a kpop fanfic i wrote years ago and i switched it up to an omi fanfic. I don’t condone this type of relationship, if ya see this shit on your partner, please run (i beg of you)

also eheh the remaining two requests will be posted soon so uwu

next || series masterlist || taglist

“Hey Y/N.”

You look up from your medical textbook to find your aunt standing there with an expensive freshly pressed suit on her hand wrapped in plastic, you had been living with her along with her two younger kids in Tokyo after your parents decided to become humanitarian doctors. Wanting to explore and get out of your comfort zone, you ended up living in the big city along with your mother’s closest friend.

“Oh, hey obaasan.” you greeted, “What’s up?”

“Ah, you see, Shoyo is out now and no one will be able to deliver the suit to Sakusa-san, would you mind doing me a favor and delivering it for me?”

You shut your textbook and stood up from your chair, “Sure, uh- could I have his address?” you ask as you took the suit in plastic carefully from her hands, not wanting to damage something that cost as expensive as your tuition in med school. After saying goodbye to your aunt and carefully placing the suit at the back of your car, you drove your way to the upstate part of the city.

Your second hand car stood out like a sore thumb in the lane of expensive and flashy cars, you wanted to waltz in and out of here quickly. Following your aunt’s instruction’s, you march up to the front desk to hand the suit over to the receptionist, “I’m here to drop the laundry for Sakusa-sa-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she snatched it away from your grasp. You narrow your eyes at her rather uncouth attitude, “Oh, cool...thanks…” you murmur, not wanting to cause a scene or pick a fight with the rude woman, you made a b-line towards the exit. Away from the judging and prying eyes of the people who were very much above you in terms of class and wealth.

The moment you step out though, you watch in horror as your car is being towed away, “Hey!” you exclaimed, hurriedly going to the worker who was writing something down on his clipboard, “Hey, wait! Please, excuse me?”

The worker turned to you with a questioning gaze as you immediately started to explain that you were in and out of the place and that you were just delivering some laundry but all you got was a shake in the head and the words, “It’s not up to me, that guy called us in.” He points his ballpen towards the man in a suit and paired with a surgical white mask on the phone, “...The parking here is for residents only and clearly you’re not one of them.”

Your eyes almost widened at his explanation, just what was wrong with people who lived here?

You fumingly grab the piece of paper he hands to you and stuff it in your pocket as you march up to the stranger on the phone, “Hey, excuse me!” you proclaimed, there were a few on-lookers but you ignored them, you were seeing red with the treatment you’ve been receiving here. The raven-haired stranger ignores you, still on his phone so you call him out again and when you do, the darkest pair of obsidian eyes are on you.

You clenched your fists tightly as the quote ‘eat the rich’ comes into your head.

“There must be some mistake.” You began slowly, trying to put your anger at bay because you didn’t want the whole thing to escalate in public, “I’m in and out here, all i did was deliver and I didn't know-”

“Your ignorance doesn’t excuse you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignorance of the law excuses no one.” He simply states, “Also the car was on the way in my space and not even a parking spot.”

You let out a loud, sardonic laugh, “I’d be gone in two minutes if you waited.”

“You would’ve wasted my two minutes.”

You clenched your fist tightly and as you were about to bite back on his snide remark, the receptionist from before intervenes, “Excuse me, he’s right. You aren’t allowed to park here.” she tries to look professional but you know she’s just siding with this idiot since he had the money.

“Right.” you nod, “You know what, fuck it, this blows. All I did was my job and I have to be shitted on because I don’t have money like Mr.fancy-pants over here.” You bellowed,your glare was intense as you turned around, stomping away before you would do anything you’d regret.

The stranger’s eyes towards you do not waver though, how interesting, he thought.

You never wanted to return to that place again, not only did you lose a lot of money to pay your toll fee for your car but you needed to buy a bunch of new books for the new semester. You groan out loud as you also realize that you needed to do a grocery run since all you had were empty packets of instant Ramen and water in your apartment.

Chunking the cue cards to the side, you made your way to the convenience store, the city was definitely alive tonight and amidst that, you look absolutely dead tired. Your eye bags were getting thicker, a few zits had popped out, and you had grown thin in an unhealthy way because of your food consumption.

Man, being in med school and being dumb wasn’t a very good combination.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your aunt calls you again and says you have to do deliveries tonight, “You remember Sakusa-san?” your aunt says on the other line.

You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of the man and the memories of where he lived.

Man, did this Sakusa-san needed new neighbors.

“What does he need a suit for in this unholy hour?” You mentally groaned.

“He needs it for laundry, you can have the money when you pick it up.”

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of cash, you decided to take public transportation since you didn’t want to risk getting your car toll away by that Sakusa guy’s wretched fancy-pants neighbor. Grocery shopping could wait another time, “Stupid rich people.” You muttered under your breath as you pushed open the entrance to find the same man who you despised, sitting there with a laundry basket next to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumbled, sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Sakusa-san?”

“So I was right.” he says, pulling down his mask to reveal his sharp features, “You were the one who delivered my suit that day. It’s usually a young boy with a bike.”

Boy, this man was definitely at his prime, he was probably a good few years older than you and you bet he had the ladies swinging left and right with that face. Too bad he had a shitty attitude though.

“Well, that doesn’t give you an excuse to tow my car away.” you deadpan.

“How much do I owe you for the unfortunate accident then?” his tone was rich and low but you detected no remorse in it, it was as if waving huge chunks of money would help tremendously. The asshole couldn’t even properly say sorry to you because of the hard time you had to go through that time.

“None,” you scoffed, “Just hand me your laundry and pay the fee, we’ll call it even.”

The raven-haired man tilts his head and carefully hands you the laundry bag along with a wad of cash, your eyes immediately widen out of character, “Woah, wait-”

“For the troubles.” He simply replies, “Goodnight.”

You later found out that his full name was Sakusa Kiyoomi and not only was he rich, he was filthy rich. The man used to be a big volleyball player back or something when he was in high school and college but instead of becoming a pro player, he had inherited the family business.

“Huh, so he was a capitalist.” You stare at his picture at the morning paper which was coincidentally an article about him. You decided to forget about it, expecting to not see him after that night since Hinata had no classes or practices these upcoming weeks yet weirdly enough, he started to ask for you to pick up his laundry instead.

So you both fell into a strange routine, you’d pick up his laundry and return it the next day. He was also there to pick up his things and you no longer needed to talk to the rude receptionist. You were suspicious of him yet you decided to just overlook it, he gave good tips and he wasn’t as rude as the first time you met him, in fact, he made small conversations now and you sort of got to know the man.

You had a weird dynamic but strangely enough, it worked.

“L/N-san.”

“Good evening,” You greeted per usual, holding out your hand yet his eyes squinted at the bandage on your hand.

“What happened.” the raven-haired man asked, his gaze zeroing on the wound that you got in one of your classes.

“I’m a med student...I cut myself instead of the cadaver in class.” you shrug nonchalantly as you wiggle your fingers, “It’s alright though, I’m not going to stain your suit that you keep putting back to the laundry for some odd reason.”

“You got hurt.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Sakusa mutters something incoherent under his breath before saying, “I’ll take you to your car.”

“Woah there-”

The man ignores you as he walks ahead of you, this was certainly getting out of character, even for him who always asked for you, “Open it.” He orders as he points to the car door, you begrudgingly obliged and did as he said. He places the laundry inside and turns to you to give you his usual pay, “Take care of yourself next time, L/N-san.”

The very next day, your aunt hands you an expensive package of ointments on your doorstep. Your brows are furrowed together in confusion as she says that they’re from the millionaire himself. You pointedly look at the package in front of you, completely lost as to why someone like him would send something like this to the person who he wasn’t exactly close with.

“Y/N-saaaaan…” Hinata drowns, you snap your gaze from your notes to the young orange-haired boy, “I’ve got news!”

You had stopped working for your aunt since you found a job at your university’s library, not only were the hours more lax but they even minus some of the tuition as long as you worked there. It was definitely a win-win situation for you.

“What’s up, orange?” You asked.

“Remember Sakusa-san?”

You hum a reply, “What about him?”

“I think he likes you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when you heard that, this little brat, why you ought to-

“He looked really disappointed when I said that you didn’t work for us anymore.” Hinata explains, cutting your thoughts short,

“Right.” You drawl, shaking your head, “Maybe you were just hard to look at, that’s why.”

“Hey!” He clenched his fists together and pouted at your tone, “I don’t even know why he likes you!”

You feel a vein pop in his forehead as you hear his insult, you proceeded to chunk a pillow to his direction in which he successfully dodged, “Get your facts straight and I assure you, he doesn’t like me.” you grumbled, returning to your books.

Ultimately, you thought that you’d never see Sakusa Kiyoomi ever again. It was fairly obvious that outside your job, someone of high caliber as him was someone you’d never see again yet you're immediately thrown off guard when you find him standing there around your campus.

Your eyes widen in surprise, well what do you know? it was the devil himself.

“Sakusa-san.”

“L/N-san.”

Man, you may not have seen him for a month or two but despite wearing the mask, you could tell that e still sported the same blank and basic bitch face behind it. Hinata was wrong in all ways, this guy wouldn’t like you, he’d probably deem you too low class for him, “What a surprise, it’s been a while.” You stiffly bowed down.

“You’re acting weird.”

You raise your gaze to meet his and you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re most likely a guest in the university.” You mumbled, scratching your head, “People might come at me if I treated you as casually as before.”

Sakusa raises his brow, “That’s funny coming from someone who was this close to punching me during our first meeting.”

“You were being a dick that time.”

“How you have guts to say that to my face amazes me every time.”

“Oh yeah?” You chortled, amused by his statement, “I’m starting to think you’ve taken a liking on me.”

“Was it not obvious when I kept asking for you from Hinata-san?”

You immediately choke on the coffee you were sipping, burning your tongue in the process, “Okay what the hell, sakusa-san-” you said in between coughs.

Your freeze up when you look at him dead in the eye, his eyes crinkling, was he smiling behind the mask? No way, the Sakusa Kiyoomi was smiling at you? He pulls down his mask and bends down, making you retract your steps and your cheeks flush to a brightly red color, “You’re turning red.” he points out loud and that makes you turn even redder.

“You’re acting weird.”

“You were getting dense.”

“How was I supposed to know...to know that…” You try to stutter out, completely embarrassed.

“To know what?”

“You know what.” You grumbled, standing up a bit straighter and ignoring his teasing tone, “I’m not interested in you.”

“Your red cheeks say otherwise.”

“It’s the cold weather.” You harshly replied, looking away again, trying to avoid his gaze, “I’m not interested in a boyfriend, a flirting partner, or whatever that is. So good day!”

You immediately stomp away, leaving Sakusa Kiyoomi with an amused smirk. How entertaining and adorable, you looked like a bunny. His cute bunny.

A few days had passed from that little interaction and you wanted to hurl yourself out the window whenever you thought about it. Sakusa Kiyoomi? The filthy rich capitalist Sakusa Kiyoomi? Interested in you? What kind of k-drama was this?

You tried to avoid going out much in the campus, Apparently he was around after he donated half a million to the medicine department.

You immediately groaned out loud at the thought, there was in no way that all this was possible!

“L/N-san.”

You immediately jump on the spot and drop your keys, “Holy fucking-” You pause, biting back your tongue, there he stood sporting a casual attire instead of a business suit and his usual face mask, “Sakusa-san?”

“Kiyoomi.” He smoothly corrects.

“Nice. Very nice.” You dryly replied, “Heard you donated half a million and some new equipment to our department. Sweet.”

“You don’t look that happy.”

“I mean you basically confessed that you were interested then decided to donate to my department only.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “You remind me of a sugar daddy.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “You didn’t exactly deny that you wanted one.”

Your brain immediately short-circuits as you try to stutter out a reply, Sakusa looked like he’d been having a field day. Gone was the fiery girl he met a few months ago, he really knew what to say to reduce you to a stuttering mess.

“I’m kidding, L/N-san.” he deadpanned when he realized that you weren’t giving him a straight answer since your mind was jumbled up, “It was purely coincidental, we’ve been eyeing certain medicine departments and yours was performing top-notch. It doesn’t mean that I’m any less interested in taking you out.”

“You do know I’m poor right…” You sweatdrop, “I could easily take advantage of you-”

“One date, L/N-san…” he says, ignoring your very weak argument, “Just one then I’ll let you go.”

You don’t know why but you ended up saying yes that day.

You didn’t know what to expect on your first date and you had your fingers cross the whole time that he wouldn’t take you to an expensive michelin star restaurant since you didn’t have the clothes for the place.

Thankfully, the date was more casual than you expected, it was in his home and he had cooked the meal himself.

“You’re looking oddly relieved.”

“I can’t function well in expensive restaurants.” You sweatdrop, covering your awkwardness with a laugh. You’ve never gone on dates before, the idea of being intimate with someone had made you feel awkward and bothered.

“I’m not a big fan of public areas so I assure you we're not going on those anytime soon.”

“Well aren’t you getting confident.” You raise a brow, teasing him a bit as you start to pick on the beef with your chopsticks.

“Call it a gut feeling, L/N-san.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You asked me to call you Kiyoomi and well,” you turn red once again, “Well it would be awkward if you were all formal with me.”

You saw the small twinkle in his eyes, “Y/N.” your name rolls out of his tongue smoothly and you feel your heart hammering on your chest, “I like that, Y/N…”

It was in that little moment that you realized that you liked it when he called your name.

The dinner went by without a hitch, Sakusa Kiyoomi was not the same arrogant man that the media portrayed him to be. He was quiet, understanding, and soft. Completely the opposite of the first day you met him. He urged you to talk more about yourself, saying how boring and open his life was since the media tailed him a lot.

“Why Tokyo?”

“Why not?” You shrug, swishing the wine before taking a small sip, “It’s a great place, it’s new, and I had someone I knew here. My mom and Obaasan were good friends so I was allowed to move here on my own.”

“Are you coming back to your country if you’re done with your studies?”

You were silent for a moment, “I don’t think so. I wanna be like my parents.”

“A humanitarian doctor, huh?”

“Yeah.” You smile, “A humanitarian doctor. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing interesting.” He glazed, “I’m an open book, Y/N.”

“Open book?” You tilt your head to the side, “You’re usually painted as an asshole by the media…”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“You kinda were when we first met.”

For the first time, you hear his soft chuckle and your heart starts beating fast. You liked that sound, you wanted to hear something like that again, “You always know how to amuse me, Y/N.” he shakes his head, “And for the record, just because I’m not comfortable with touches, public places and whatnot does not make me an asshole...I just am a very private person with interests…”

“What’s your interest now?”

“You.” He replied nonchalantly, making you look away..

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me with a straight face like you mean it!” You choke out, turning red.

“Because I do mean it, Y/N.” He shrugs. “I am interested in you.”

It seemed like that little date you had turned out more successful than you thought, one date led to another and another. This went on for a few months until he asked you to be his partner one night at a very random place, you usually pictured Sakusa Kiyoomi to be the smooth type you were, after all, always the stuttering mess between you two but when he asks you to be his officially, outside the public restroom of all places with his ear tips turning red, your reduced to a heaping pile of giggles.

With men like him, you didn’t exactly expect anything more than the dates.

You should’ve known better that he was too good to be true.

general taglist for the next part is open aye

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa angst #sakusa kiyoomi angst #haikyuu yandere #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #yandere!sakusa #yandere warning!!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #📝📝.Filthy rich series #hostclub.adulting

1K notes · View notes

junhuiste · 3 years ago

Text

twice twice baby (preview)

pairing: jake x gn reader x sunghoon

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, slight angst, college!au, hockey player!jake, ice skater!sunghoon, sports med assistant!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, cursing, slightly suggestive scenes

a/n: this is just a preview of the bigger piece i plan to publish much later, so it pretty much only has jake, sorry hoonists! also gonna address it here while we’re at it, but i wanna apologize to everyone who sent requests in! i have them all plotted, most drafted and written, but i didn’t realize when i moved back home how busy i would be with work, summer classes, and looking for an apartment! i will have them published before the end of summer though! this piece is coming out before only because i wrote it well before finals week lol

taglist: please let me know if you wanna be part of the taglist!

Being in a parallelogram (or was it a dodecagon? A triangle? whatever) with the two notorious ‘Ice Hotties’ at your college, Jake Sim, the captain of the hockey team, and Park Sunghoon, the world class figure skater, is easy. Geometry isn’t that complicated...right?

As you entered into the arena, a cold blast of air struck, prompting you to jump slightly in your tracks, cursing that it was men’s hockey season and not basketball anymore. Albeit arms shivering, knees wobbling, and barely being able to make any strides at all, you weren’t distraught and to some extent trembling because of the ice rink or the ice packs inside the pouch seemingly glued to your waist, or hell, even the unnecessary air conditioner giving its all. Really, did they need to keep that fucking thing on when it was already polar-arctic-adjacent inside the arena? Probably to keep the rink from oozing into water and having Atlantis actually come to fruition...whatever, fuck the cold!

“Y/N, let’s get on it. We’re a bit late.” The head athletic trainer indicated, speed-walking a little too quickly for your liking, but what were you to do when your chest was heaving upon arrival at the ice center? Suck it up? Collapse and crawl into a ball?

Nodding, even though she was practically scurrying and leaving your curtailing ass in the dust, you heightened your pace despite the fact that your legs were about to give out at any second. Weren’t cold spaces supposed to make a solid more rigid, not turn your legs to jelly?

The both of you finally reached the area where the players were situated to greet the head and assistant hockey coaches.

“This is Y/N,” your trainer (whom insisted you just skip the formalities and call her Mina) motioned to you, slightly yet noticeably panting, “a first year, but they’ve done men’s basketball, women’s soccer and some gymnastics last semester. They know their stuff!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” The head coach reaches out to grip your hand firmly.

“Pleasure to meet y—“ once more today you jump, this time not shaken by the frozen tundra or by the vehemently boisterous buzzer, though it was much more thundering than the buzzer at the basketball court for some reason, but by the announcers cheering, “first year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim!”

And the crowd? They didn’t just go wild, no, they were literally cacophonous, the ground beneath and the arena stands rumbling, practically rivaling the San Andreas fault. Craning your neck to look around the oval shaped space and just how many students from your school, clad in university regalia, were present to see guys battle it out with plastic sticks on frozen water, even that, the entire scene wasn’t what had your heart nearly palpitating out of your chest.

First year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim. Now that was enough to warrant a blood pressure monitor...and possibly a defibrillator.

Almost giving yourself whiplash from turning around too quickly, it was hard not to gape at the boy coasting across the ice, waving at the all too excited crowd. And even through his helmet and from across the rink, you could make out his dark, glimmering irises, like how the sun’s edges would peak through from behind during an eclipse. It was kind of charmingly sickening actually, that someone could be as radiant as he was, under all the bulky gear, even despite the temperature. It wasn’t convenient actually that it had to be men’s hockey this time, that you, as the athletic trainer’s sports medicine intern had to attend the games for. Yeah, it was for credits. Sure, it was for intern experience...but what was the point if you only expected to make a fool out of yourself trying to tend to Jake and his teammates’ possible injuries?  It wasn’t fair, actually, that you were hopelessly in like with Jake Sim and that he didn’t even know your name when you were in the same physics class. To be fair though, it was a class of about 400, an infamous weeder course that crushed the poor souls of innocent underclassmen, so to have him direct any sort of attention your way, even a mere glimpse, would be laughable. That was what happened when you sat in the back, though.

Of course it just had to be Jake Sim that completely bewitched you, and he didn’t have to twirl any fingers or fixate any potions to have you just so damn spellbound. All he had to do was show up to freshman orientation with that stupid inviting grin of his, and that dumb glint in his eye that no one else seemed to possess. No, of course he just had to show up and be almost too cordial to everyone in your orientation group, even though all the other students, including you, could not give a single damn about the campus tour. And yes, of course, he just had to have the masses absolutely enamored with him, both upper and underclassmen alike.

Consider all of that, with Jake’s insane schedule, not that you knew anything specific, just that he had games on Tuesdays and Thursdays, coupled with daily practices, but you were only privy to that information because Mina always gave you the athletic teams’ agendas for the month. So yes, trying to garner any attention from Jake was like floating right smack in the middle of the Pacific, sending some sort of signal through a marine radio, and getting no response back. Not a hint that anyone was coming. No helicopters whirring above, no boats sent out ashore. What would he want to do with the first-aid kid, the person that sat in the back, the person that was paying attention to something else at the moment, and not the fact that they had to observe players carefully for potential injuries?

Well, sorry to Jake’s teammates and Mina, but you just couldn’t pry your eyes off of number three. How he skated in such an agile manner while simultaneously defending assertively was certainly an image now seared into your mind. The way he commanded the court was just so—“You paying attention? Are you okay today?” Mina snapped you out of your nonsensical trance.

“Yeah, yeah of course! Always on my toes like you said...” your eyes told a different story, and deceived you at that.

“And there’s number three, Sim, with the first goal!”

Jake skated backwards to high five his teammates and to prepare to defend, and it was definitely a sight to see him so animated, feeling right where he should be in his domain.

“Ah, I see. Number three is it? I heard he’s a beast on the ice,” Mina nudged and winked slyly at you, “anyway, pay attention ‘cause if your little ice boy gets hurt you know we gotta move quickly.”

It was already enough to have your friends taunt you about your silly adolescent infatuation with Jake, now to have your mentor in on it too? Mina was right though, you were here to wrap ankles and tend to bruised hips, not ogle at the team captain.

“Gotcha. On my toes!” you winked back at her, semi-ready to do your job. If you could predict injuries before they even happened during the basketball and soccer games you should be more than capable of caring for the hockey players. Whipping your head around to finally and legitimately focus on the members, you really wished you hadn’t.

There he was, number three, adept and dodging the defensive players, with the puck sliding in tandem with his stick. Then, it happened all too quickly, in a tenth of a second, too much for everyone spectating to comprehend.

BAM.

Suddenly, Jake was on his back after he and the opposing player too combatively collided into each other. You blinked once and now he was supine on ice, clutching a leg to his chest. His teammates and the referees hastily surrounded him, but you could not watch anymore, you had to do what you were here for.

Running past both the coaches, lamenting what the hells and go go go! at Mina, you dashed to the edge of the rink, about to enter and slip on the ice, but stopped yourself, because you didn’t have skates on. Fuck. Mina and you always ran to the scene of the injury, and you’d only dealt with hardwood floors and grass fields, but never ice. There was no reason for you to just stand around though, as Jake was being lifted by the referees. As much as you wanted to glue your eyes to the catastrophe, you sprinted to the locker room to fetch the cooler.

“Everyone, move!” You shouted at the towering players standing in your way. Setting the cooler on the floor, you directed some of them to assemble a few of the chairs they were sitting on for a makeshift cot for Jake to rest his leg on. Nervously yet rapidly, you dug into your backpack for a splint, pre-wrap, and medical tape.

When you stood back up, Jake and the referees were at the rink’s entrance, with Mina extending her arms to steady him once he transitioned from ice to linoleum. And through all this he maintained the same tender-hearted curve on his face, beaming at Mina and thanking the referees.

One of Jake’s coaches and Mina propped Jake around their shoulders as he hopped on one foot to your nearby station. Assisting them in getting Jake to sit down, you were shaking slightly out of feverishness and hormones, even though it was the perfect temperature for snowfall, but forming a resistance to doing that was almost impossible.

Christ, you weren’t like this when Taehyun tore his ligament last semester at the basketball semi-finals, or when Yuna sprained her toe out on the field, yet it was due to that certain someone that you just could not find it within you to operate as you usually did. It was imperative that you got out of your own head; Jake was merely another athlete you had to tend to and someone you, quite frankly, had to get over, like now.

Once Jake was seated with his right leg propped up on the opposite chair, he took his helmet off and handed it to his coach standing guard next to him.

“Mina, you guys got this?” The coach hesitantly asked your trainer.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about, Coach Kim! We’ve seen worse than this; we’re good, right Y/N?”

You gave Coach Kim a measly thumbs up and he rushed to get back to the rest of the team to continue with the game, deliberating who would substitute in now that their best player was on the sidelines.

While Mina undid Jake’s skates and kneepads, you assessed him before you could get started, asking him what kind of pain he had in his leg, how much it hurt on a scale of 1-10, and if he could wiggle his toes.

Sharp and kind of aching, I think. 8.5-ish, actually maybe just 8. Toes wiggling.

“Um, okay. Good that your toes are still intact, which means you’re gonna be okay, but is there any other part of your body that hurts?” You tried not to sound like a complete buffoon, trying to enunciate your words properly like you did with several other injured athletes; Jake shouldn’t have been any different. He was, though.

“Yeah, I feel like there’s a bruise on the right side of my body somewhere,” he said, motioning to his abdomen.

“Okay...I’m gonna take your shoulder pads off and you have to take your jersey off so we can ice it, is that cool with you?” Your brain was bouncing off the walls at the mention of “take” and “off”. Come on, this wasn’t fucking NASA, although it might as well have been, as he was a universe and a half to you (in a melodramatic way of sorts).

“Yeah, yeah—for sure. Thanks.” Jake flashed an acknowledging smile, to which your cheeks heated up at. There was an injured boy in front of you—no time for shits and giggles and teenage elation.

As you aided Jake in removing his shoulder pads and jersey, he winced a bit, while trying to hide it at the same time.   “Are you good? I’ll get some ice on that soon, I promise.” You gradually eased into your ‘medic’ mode, trying to expel as much of your nerves as humanly possible.

“Yeah I’m okay, just hurts a bit. Thanks again,” he could not stop giving you that demure yet brazen demeanor, and to be around a smiling Jake meant a tense you, regardless if your subconscious plan to initiate Nerves Exodus was kind of working.

When Mina stood up, all finished with undoing his skates and knee pads, she asked Jake to repeat what he stated about his pain earlier to you back to her. Before walking to where the coaches and other players were, she chaffed at you, with a mischievous lilt to her words, “you can handle it from here right? The star player’s in your hands.”

Audibly, you ‘mhmmed’ her, and when you were out of Jake’s sight, rolled your eyes, making sure she noticed that. You were glad though, that Mina was your trainer and not some old, stern fart like she had when she interned in your same position; it made for much more “effective” mentoring and communication, especially because she left you alone with the athletes, so you were able to think of what to do next for yourself, and if there were ever any mistakes—which there were none of to date—she would help you work through them.

Holy shit, Mina left. It was just you and Jake.

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen imagine #jake imagines #sunghoon imagines #jake scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon #jake

94 notes · View notes

cappsikle · 4 years ago

Text

backfired // fred weasley

Pairing: fred weasley x reader

Summary: after a prank gone wrong, fred seeks warmth within your arms

Warnings: not that I can think of! - except that the ending is trash I’m so sorry. Also I can’t tell if I accidentally wrote Fred ooc so I apologise if I did.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: this piece is for @weasleysflowr‘s follower celebration!! thank you so much for letting me participating! This is actually my first time joining a celebration or writing event, so I was so stoked to do this! Congratilations on getting 300 followers, you deserve it <3

This took so long that Ayli is actually now at 400 followers!! So another celebration is in order! Congratulations 🥳

Prompts: “i’m not moving, your lap is comfortable” and “is that my sweater (jumper) you’re wearing?”

tags: @ryeryemilani @a-little-too-much just ask to be added!

Please reblog and comment!

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

If there was one thing that could put a dampen on Fred’s day, it would be a prank gone wrong, and that’s exactly what happened. It was quite a shame, really, as both Fred and George had worked really hard on this particular prank. Everything was set perfectly, all the ingredients had been gathered, and everyone was in their proper place. That was, until Snape came looking for Filch claiming there to be an emergency. By the time the twins realised that Snape was in the place the prank was set to place, it was too late, leaving the seething professor covered in a sticky green goo, smelling like a dung bomb. They would’ve laughed, as the sight was quite humorous, but that victory was very short lived when Snape caught sight of them, immediately appointing them two months of detention.

Usually, the twins weren’t ones to care if they got detentions, but they had received two months, with Snape, no less. Yeah, Fred was in a foul mood. That's how he found himself trudging his way back the common room with hunched shoulders, a frown set deep on his face. George broken off the path to go find Lee to explain how badly the prank backfired. Fred was ready to just collapse on the couch and sulk for the rest of the day, not having any energy to keep up with the evening activities. That was his plan, but all thoughts of brooding left his mind when he walked through the portrait hole and saw you there, sitting curled up on the couch with a book in your hands.

Fred stopped at the entrance and took a moment to admire you, and the way the fire reflected off your face to the point where you looked like you were glowing. He took notice of the way your eyes skimmed across the pages, practically being able to see as the words you were so invested in sunk into your brain. He watched as you bit your plump lips in anticipation at a particularly exciting part of the story. And lastly, he took notice of the knitted jumper sat upon your shoulders, his knitted jumper. Suddenly, all feelings of frustration and defeat left his body, replaced with a more happier and lighter feeling. His heart thudded against his chest as butterflies swarmed in his stomach. Fred loved seeing you wearing his clothing.

You still hadn’t noticed Fred watching from the side, too engrossed in the story playing out in your mind. You were just getting up to the climax of the story, your heart racing as you impatiently read over the words. But you were interrupted when you heard someone clear their throat, followed by, “is that my jumper you’re wearing?” your head snapped up in alert at the source of the voice, your heart chattering for a different reason. Your cheeks filled with warmth at Fred’s words, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in embarrassment.

Fred smirked at your flustered state watching your movements closely as you close your book and smile sheepishly at him. “Uhm... no...?”

“Are you lying to me?”

You hesitated for a second, finally coming clean with a sigh, “...yes”. you looked down at your lap sheepishly. In all honesty, you knew he wouldn’t mind, claiming on various occasions that he preferred to see you in his clothing. However, you took it upon yourself to sneak into his dormitory and steal this jumper right from his trunk.

Fred smiled to himself at your confession, opting to tease you more because, well, that’s who he is. But before he could get another word in, you perked up again, a glint of mischief present in your eyes as you asked, “So? How did the prank on Filch go?” And just like that, his sour mood had returned at the remembrance of the failed prank. Fred’s smile dropped from his face, carrying himself to the couch and practically flinging himself to sit.

He glanced at your lap, moving his arm to take one of your hands in his, just wanting to feel the comfort he usually felt when holding your hand. He took a moment to just admire how small and soft your hand was compared to his. You linked your fingers together, sensing that something wasn’t quite right. A look of concern passed your features briefly as Fred let out a groan, whining in frustration. “It didn’t go well. Snape came out of nowhere and told Filch he was needed elsewhere, which ended up in the prank going off on him. We’ve got two months detention now!”

You nod in understanding, lifting your free arm to run your fingers through his soft hair. In front of the fire, it was almost like his red locks had lit aflame. “I’m sorry your plan backfired, love. But two months detention isn’t that bad compared to what it could’ve been!” You tried to sound hopeful, wondering if your words had any effect on his mood, but you realised that probably wasn’t the best thing to say as Fred gave you an incredulous look.

“Please, enlighten me! How could have this ended any worse?”

You sat and pondered for a moment, not actually being able to come up with another option. “Ok, you’re right. It couldn’t have.”

“Seriously?!” you giggled at Fred as he bent down to lean his head on your lap, pressing his face into your knees. “You’re no help, you know that?”

You knew he was joking, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his behaviour. “Just think, both you and George will come up with an equally as good prank, one that won’t fail on you, and you’ll be out of detention in no time.” you brought your hand down to his head again, raking your fingers through his locks, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails as you do so.

Fred sighed deeply at the sensation, your fingers causing delightful shivers to run down his body. His favourite thing ever was when you played with his hair, and while he’s never admitted that he gathered you already knew. He didn’t respond to your last statement, preferring to just sit in silence, the only sound that could be heard was the cackling of the fire and each of your slow and steady breaths. After a moment or two of Fred laying in your lap and you opening your book again, he broke the silence, “oh, and by the way, I’m not moving, your lap is comfortable.”

You smiled to yourself as you turned a page, returning your hand to his head, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Fred shifted his body, so the back of his head was against your legs, and his face was facing towards the ceiling. He brought the hand in his hair to his lips, kissing your knuckles as you put your book down. “You know I love you, right, love?”

You smiled again and leaned down to connect your lips with his before mumbling against them, “and I love you too.”

——————

I hope you all enjoyed this! Don’t forget to like, reblog and comment!

- Mills <3

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #soft fred #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #weasley twins #weasleysflowr300wc #writing challenge #weasleysflowr

580 notes · View notes

lucyintheskywithxanax · 4 years ago

Text

Red Roses

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: I wrote this a few weeks ago and gave up on it because I thought it was too messy and too repetitive. But I re-read it yesterday and was surprisingly pleased with it and with its messiness. So here you go.

Credits to Stevie Nicks for some of the words in one paragraph at the end.

Summary: this is my take on the “reader introduces new gf to her family” story, except I decided it should not be cute but angsty

Warnings: homophobia, internalised homophobia, racism

Word count: ~ 5 400

“Are you ready ?” Wilhemina asked.

You made a face and gave her hand a squeeze. “No? But I don’t think I’ll ever be so let’s just do this.”

“Permission to cane them if they get mean?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Mina, no.”

She gave you a small wicked smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Too bad,” she said in that deep voice that meant someone was in trouble.

“They’re old,” you smiled. “You would break their bones.”

She hummed thoughtfully. You stared down at your linked hands on your lap as you absentmindedly stroked her knuckles. Wilhemina waited a few more seconds, then opened the door of the car and got out.

Well, here goes. You followed her immediately, as she knew you would.

Outside the air was cold and crisp and smelt of the ocean. Every year your family would gather at your grandparents’ house to celebrate Christmas. It was a tradition you dared not break, no matter the toll it took on you. This year, it would just be you, your parents and grandparents.

You stepped closer to Wilhemina as your grandparents appeared at the front door and waved. “Come on in, come on in, it’s so cold!”

“I can smell the ocean from here,” you smiled.

“Yes, but come on in!”

When they closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had just been thrown in jail. They beamed at you, happy and content, as they helped you and Wilhemina take off your coats.

“Welcome! How was the drive? We’re so glad to see you, it’s been too long!”

“I made your favorite cake,” your grandma said with a wink.

“And welcome to you, Y/N’s friend!” your granddad said, opening his arms to Wilhemina.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice was cold, but not cold enough to set off their reproaches.

Your grandparents gave her polite smiles as they ran their eyes up and down her body, gazes lingering on her cane for a second too long. Automatically you reached out and brushed her wrist, a small gesture of comfort just in case she needed it.

“Are mum and dad here?” you asked, taking a peek inside the living-room.

“Not yet.”

Your parents had always supported you and knew you and Wilhemina were a couple. They had met her three or four times already, had offered her kind smiles that had grown kinder when they’d noticed the fond look that would soften her eyes every time she’d look at you. But your grandparents – that was quite a different story.

You loved them. You really did. They were kind and affectionate and generous. You hated them. They made you feel so small and dirty.

Here was the thing. Your grandparents had their own definition of what was right and what was wrong, and nothing would change their minds. Their convictions were engraved in marble. They pointed a finger at everyone who dared put a toe out of the norms, and laughed at them and jeered and hated. How they hated. It was a terrible monster, that hatred of them. It was too big and too strong and too dark. It stifled you, clawed at your skin, bullied your heart. And how they adored you. You were the perfect grandchild, polite and kind, educated, always respectful, always so proper. If only they knew – they didn’t know you. They only saw what you had allowed them to see, a masquerade, a very pretty picture in a golden frame.

You had wanted to keep Wilhemina safe from your grandparents’ toxicity, but the alternative was her spending Christmas on her own. Again. While all around her the world celebrated. You wouldn’t have that – it wasn’t even an option. She had been so alone for so long, and it had hurt her so deeply, so viciously, until loneliness had become so familiar she had mistaken it for home. You had been trying to teach her, one gentle touch at a time, what home really felt like. So this Christmas, she would be loved and cherished.

You carried your and Wilhemina’s bags upstairs to the spare room you would sleep in. Wilhemina rolled her eyes at the twin beds. You shot her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

“We can put the beds closer after I tell them about us.”

You wouldn’t get to sleep in that room, part of you knew that. Your grandparents would kick you out like the reminder of a shameful memory as soon as they learnt about Wilhemina and you.

You picked up one of the pillows, so soft and comfortable, expensive pillows that had been carefully chosen for the comfort of loved ones, and stroked it absentmindedly. Your eyes veiled over.

You had been so happy in this house. There had been so much love and joy, so much sunshine. But you had never really been yourself in this house.

Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and pressed your back against her chest. A soft kiss on the nape of your neck. You leaned back into her, eyes fluttering closed, gathering strength from her warmth. She gave you so much of it, every day.

“Are you okay, little one?”

You hummed, turned in her arms to look at her. You poked her cheek. “Never better.”

Your parents arrived half an hour later, and your grandma immediately ushered you all in the kitchen for lunch. Cooking was how she expressed her affection. Her meals were always abundant and delicious. Because she loved you all, so dearly.

“Your house is very lovely,” Wilhemina said as your dad poured the wine.

Your granddad flashed her a smile. “We fled big cities two years ago. Too many freaks, too much filth. We couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your grandma piled food on your plate, her eyes soft and kind, for she loved you so dearly. Your hands were shaking.

“We are being invaded,” your granddad was saying. “In two years my neighbours will be a couple of fags or a family of black people. And the government is doing nothing to stop it. When I look around, I cannot recognize my own country.”

You fidgeted with your fork, unable to eat, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Several times before, you had heard Wilhemina complain about how “worthless” part of the world population was. You had seen her look down on people and snarl at them for merely existing.

You stole a glance at her. And what – your throat closed up – what if she took your grandparents’ side? What if she agreed with them? What if she pulled her chair closer to them, and nodded to what they said, and shared a few laughs with them, and when next she would look at you it would be with scorn and disdain? What if, listening to what they had to say, her eyes finally opened, and she saw you the way you sometimes saw yourself? Freakish, unlovable.

What then?

You shook your head, suddenly angry with yourself. You knew her. You trusted her. She would never think of you like that.

But what if she did?

Your dad laughed loudly, startling you from your thoughts. You met your granddad’s eyes – kind, soft – and offered him a weak smile.

“And how’s your love life, Y/N?” he asked.

Tell them. You had promised it to yourself. You had promised it to Mina. But what if – Lord – what if they were right? What if they had been right all along? What if Wilhemina finally opened her eyes –

“Did you see how the neighbours pruned their apple tree?” your grandma was saying. “It looks hideous now.”

You cleared your throat.

“Uh, guys, I have something to tell you.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were pretty sure it was going to burst any minute now. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. You had never been more aware of her presence ever since you had met her, her body radiating burning heat that almost threatened to destroy you.

Your grandparents looked up at you expectantly.

Who’s the lucky man? your granddad’s happy eyes asked. Great-grandchildren! your grandmother’s smile beamed. So proud, so satisfied.

You had become ice. Ice that was melting in the fire that was Wilhemina. Your hands were shaking. You wanted to run away so badly.

“Um, so, Wilhemina and I are dating,” you heard yourself say – from very, very far away. The voice wasn’t yours. It echoed in your ears.

Your grandparents didn’t understand.

“We’re dating,” the voice said, “as in we’re together. We’re in love. I love her.” The voice was almost proud. It surprised you.

Your grandparents understood.

This was terrible. This was the worst. The disappointment on their faces, as if you had failed them, as if you had failed to honour your side of the contract. What would they say to their neighbours and friends now? How would they boast about you? When would they get to greet your nice, respectful husband? When would they bounce their great-grandchildren on their knees? Where were the respectability and the pride and the freaking normal?

You lowered your eyes so you didn’t have to watch as disappointment and pain settled on their faces. You were vaguely aware of the stinging in your eyes and the trembling of your chin. This would not do. You were freezing, ice crystallizing around your heart, to choke it or to protect it you didn’t know. You would break under your grandparents’ gazes and nothing would be left of you. You had failed them.

Warmth. Wilhemina’s hand found yours under the table. She gave it a gentle squeeze, laced her fingers with yours. Warmth, and softness and love.

Your parents weren’t saying a thing. Your dad was staring at his plate, your mum at the ceiling. It broke your heart, their silence. It was like an agreement with what your grandparents’ faces were expressing.

You couldn’t talk either, so you waited, for Wilhemina’s hand to let go of yours as she realized just how pathetic you were, how disgusting, you were disgusting and your love was disgusting and –

“Why are you doing this to us?” your granddad asked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wilhemina wince. “Uh? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?”

How sad he looked. How so terribly broken.

There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, and then Wilhemina stood up, slowly and threateningly, eyes half-closed, teeth half-bared. You looked up at her, saw the anger on her face, and mechanically you reached out to stop her. She shouldn’t snap at them. They were right. Couldn’t she see that, see how sad they were, how badly you had hurt them?

Wilhemina looked down at you in surprise. For a second she seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Her mouth opened, but you shook your head, jumped on your feet, and flew out of the room.

It was so very cold outside. You had left without your coat. But the cold felt good. You dived into it.

You couldn’t see very well because of the tears in your eyes, but the sky was white, the earth was wet, and the sand was a faded yellow that was almost grey when your feet sank into it. You hadn’t even realized you had run to the beach.

The tide was low, the ocean quiet, barely any waves, which was funny really because your heart was a storm. You had expected the ocean to be raging.

You sat down on the sand and wrapped your arms around your knees. The chilly wind bit your cheeks. You let the cold sweep through you, let it slip its fingers under your clothes. You took a few deep breaths of the salty air.

Warmth. A gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You left without your coat, little one,” said Wilhemina, her voice firm but laced with tenderness. “It’s too cold. Here, put it on.”

You didn’t move, so Wilhemina draped your coat over your shoulders. She sat down beside you and you hated the tenderness and the love that clutched your heart for it felt wrong – her love felt wrong. You deserved a slap in the face and a few bitter insults.

You sank into her nonetheless. You couldn’t help it. You had always been drawn to her like a magnet, and she was always craving your touch.

She wrapped one arm around your shoulders to press you close against her. She was staring fiercely at the ocean, eyes black and angry. You saw her blink several times, her jaw working as if she were gritting her teeth to hold back words. She wasn’t good with words. Communication had always been her weak point. But she always tried, for you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you heard yourself whisper after a while – or maybe it was just the wind, carrying the words from your heart to her ears. “Maybe I am a freak. Maybe I am disgusting and there’s something wrong with me.”

Wilhemina’s face hardened. She held you tighter. “Well then,” she said, very low and very slow, “we are meant to be together. I’m a freak, too.”

“You’re not!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a freak, Mina!”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “Funny you should say that. It’s what I think of you, too. See, maybe we can help each other.”

She turned her head to look at you. Her eyes were big and so painfully honest and loving you felt like dissolving into tears. You bit the inside of your cheek as your face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wilhemina cooed. Her brow pushed up in concern, her hand coming up to hold your chin. She gazed at you, searching your eyes, then leaned in to kiss you.

You couldn’t kiss her right now. It didn’t feel proper – if your lips met, the gods in the sky would roar in wrath and smite you. And what if one of your grandparents’ neighbours or friends saw you? Your family would be so ashamed. You had already hurt them so badly. So you put a hand on Wilhemina’s chest to hold her back, and you saw the pain and the fear flash in her eyes before she blinked them away.

“No, Mina, I –“

She leaned slightly away, blinking, nodding. You told yourself it was the cold wind that made the tears pool in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Wilhemina. You watched her out of the corner of your eye and reached for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she nodded, smiling through her fear.

You gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you,” you whispered, low and anxious, as if it were a shameful secret. As if it should never be uttered loudly. But the ocean captured the words and sent them back to you and her with a loud groan and spray as a wave almost lapped up your feet.

“I love you,” you repeated, louder. You leaned in and planted a peck on her cheek. Nuzzled her skin, breathed her in. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love. I understand.”

Of course she did. You had seen the harshness in her gaze when she inspected herself in the mirror in the morning. There were days she would not even dare meet her own eyes.

But she was right. You could help each other. For you both knew what the other was worth, and you both were willing to apply love like a balm on the other’s wounds.

It seemed to you the ocean was whispering. What was it? A secret. Come closer. Don’t be afraid. Closer still.

You sagged against Wilhemina. I’d rather stay here on the beach with her, you told the ocean. Where it’s warm and dry and safe. Keep your secret. I don’t want it.

Tentatively, Wilhemina dropped a kiss on your temple. You hummed, to let her know it was okay. You felt her relax slightly against you, and then she whispered in your ear the secret you had refused to hear from the ocean. You didn’t fail them. They failed you.

Without warning you put one hand on the small of her back and your other hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed her so that she was lying on the sand. She met your eyes in surprise, mouth opening in protest but you kissed her silent. You felt her smile into the kiss.

Her lips were cold, but her mouth was warm and so very sweet. One of her hands tangled in your hair and gently stroke the nape of your neck. Your whole body was tingling. There was no way, you thought, no way this could be wrong.

When you pulled away, Wilhemina’s eyes were shining, and she bit down on a smile. “You’re getting sand in my hair,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough shit,” you teased. You brushed your mouth against hers, marveling at the warmth and softness of her; your tongue darted out to taste her lower lip, then plunged into her mouth and gently licked her teeth.

Wilhemina held your hand all the way back to your grandparents’ house. You mother was waiting for you by the door. She gave Wilhemina a grateful smile when she saw you were safe and sound.

“Y/N that was quite an over-reaction,” your mum gently scolded.

“Thank you for your input,” Wilhemina snapped. With a hand on your back she guided you inside. “And thank you for speaking up for your daughter earlier,” she spat over her shoulder. You couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Y/N?” came your granddad’s voice from the living-room.

He appeared in the doorway.

And just like that you were freezing again. For he looked so sad, so very broken – his anger would’ve been alright, you could stand up to anger, but this look, this terrible look on his face that suggested his whole world had just come apart – you froze. Instinctively you leaned away from Wilhemina, hating yourself for doing so.

Your granddad took a tentative step towards you. “Can we talk this over? Surely if we talk this over, you’ll change your mind.”

Wilhemina’s hand on your back felt like molten metal. You had to force yourself not to squirm away from her touch. It wasn’t right, your granddad’s expression told you. It wasn’t natural for her to love you like that.

Your body leaned towards him and further away from Wilhemina. Did she notice? Please don’t let her notice. But she did, and you saw her square her shoulders to look taller like an animal sensing a threat.

“Come on, love,” she said, giving your back a gentle push.

Your granddad’s eyes fell on her. “Where are you going?”

“We’re leaving,” Wilhemina answered in a cold but calm voice. “Our destination is none of your business.”

“And you think Y/N’s gonna come with you?” A laugh, of genuine surprise.”We’ve spent every Christmas since she was born together. We’re family.”

Wilhemina’s fingers on your back stuttered. Her eyes widened, oh, just a bit, just the slightest bit, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know her as well as you did.

“Christmas,” your granddad went on, his face growing more and more animated, “is for family and love. What do you have to offer her, apart from depravity and deceit? Did you really think,” here he laughed again – genuine surprise again, so much worse than hatred, “that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?”, with a glance at her cane, incredulous, pitifying, almost amused.

He was good, you had to give him that. He knew exactly where to scratch so it would hurt the most. But he had also made a mistake. He could abuse you all he wanted, but Wilhemina was off limits. She was sacred ground, never to be sullied by anyone.

“She’s family,” you groaned, raising your chin defiantly, “and I love her.”

Your granddad scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Please, you’ve seen her – or maybe you haven’t, and that’d explain why you agreed to date her. Come on, come sit with us, let us talk, let us help you –“

“Just, stop talking.” You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth, trying to curb the anger that was rising inside you – hot, red, like lava. “Stop talking, and leave me alone.”

Only now did you realize that Wilhemina hadn’t said a word for too long. No snide comebacks, no insults. You glanced at her. Her face was hard and blank, but her eyes were veiled, and you knew that look. There was the glaze she always hid herself behind when she was afraid and hurting. Like that Sunday morning at the farmer’s market, when she and you had been browsing a flower stall, bright pink orchids, red and yellow tulips, green buds, and that old woman behind you in the line had made a disparaging remark about “cripples”, loud enough for Wilhemina to hear.

You reached for her hand on your back and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Mina, let’s go.”

Your granddad called after you as you stomped up the stairs, Wilhemina’s hand still in yours, but you ignored him. Your body was tingling with a strange mix of anger, fear and relief. You walked into the spare room, picked up your bag and Wilhemina’s – there had been no time to unpack – and turned towards the door. Wilhemina was staring at you, her left arm crossed over her stomach in a hug, her brow slightly pulled down in thought.

“If you’d rather stay here with them –“she started.

“I don’t,” you cut her off firmly.

“I don’t want to get between you and the people you love.”

You heard the pain in her voice, so you dropped your bag on the floor, walked up to her and cupped her face. “Don’t let his words get to you,” you said, tilting her head to make her meet your eyes.”They were lies. You know that. I love you.”

Her eyes locked with yours, wide and begging for reassurance.

Please, you know better than that. You’re so smart, did you really think that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?

Footsteps on the stairs, your grandma’s voice – how much she loved you. How very much she wanted to be proud of you.

Wilhemina’s eyes reflected the hesitation she saw in yours, and it spread and spread and spread until it threatened to darken the whole room like the falling of night.

“I love you,” you repeated, voice strangled, fingers trembling on her skin.

Oh please – they’re family.

And it was the same fear, the very same fear that was pulsing in both your veins – freakish, unlovable. Your lips curled in a soft smile at the exact moment your grandma entered the room.

With your free hand in Wilhemina’s, her pulse and your pulse drumming between your palms, you walked past your grandma, down the stairs and down the hall, towards the front door, and when you opened it you could have sworn you heard the call of the ocean, singing “come away”.

Wilhemina was half crying, half laughing nervously as she fumbled in her bag for the car keys, hands shaking, so you cupped her face again, kissed her, her mouth, her cheeks, kissed her tears until she could breathe easier. And you heard someone behind you gasp, and someone else curse in the same voice the old woman had used that day at the farmer’s market, when Wilhemina’s fingers had stuttered over the flowers.

A sob pushed out of her throat, a jingle of keys as they fell to the floor; Wilhemina bent down to pick them up, but she couldn’t see well enough through her tears. You picked up the keys for her and opened the car.

Before you got in, you turned and faced your family. When you spoke your voice was firm and hard, a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. “I will sit with you, and we will talk, when you’re ready to apologise,” you growled, staring into your granddad’s eyes, then your grandma’s. You slammed the door of the car, just to make a point.

You drove. A little bit above the speed limit, on winding narrow roads that crossed small, sleepy villages. You had driven almost twenty miles when you realized you had no idea where you were going.

You glanced at Wilhemina. She was staring out the window, her face blank, but at least that veil had lifted from her eyes. When you focused on the road again, you spotted a sign that read a familiar name.

“Let’s go there,” you said. Wilhemina didn’t react. “You’ll like the place.”

The place in question was a small fishermen village surrounded by fields, with a narrow pier and a wide beach that stretched for more than half a mile before it abruptly ended on an expanse of rocks covered with seaweeds. You had come here countless times with your family as a child, to sit on the pier with your feet dangling above the water and ice cream dripping between your fingers.

Today the water was as grey as the sky. You reached for Wilhemina’s hand and led her down the coastal path that weaved among the dunes.

“I have so many happy memories linked to this place,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind. “Now I want to make one with you.”

Wilhemina let out a small, pejorative laugh.

You shot her a sideways look. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then straightened your shoulders and pointed at something in front of you. “Look.”

There, half-hidden behind a swell of the dunes, rose the ruins of what must have been a manor house, but was now a clustered mess of broken walls from which four seagulls flew out with angry cries. A small stream spurted out from between two stones and flowed lazily across the beach to be soaked up by the sand right before it met the ocean.

Wilhemina stopped in her tracks and let out a surprised puff of air.

“I told you you’d like it,” you smiled. “Doesn’t it look so very Victorian?”

With a clumsy curtsey you extended one arm towards the ruins. “Would Miss Wilhemina accompany me on a tour of Netherfield Hall?”

Wilhemina’s face lit up with a smirk.

The place was rather tricky for her to navigate with her cane, but she didn’t complain. You and her stepped over the bits of wood and the stones that littered the sand, falling into a comfortable and slightly awed silence. There was something so solemn, and a bit impressive, about those ruins, like walking in a silent church.

Wilhemina stopped in a doorway that led into a small, square room. “What is this room?” she asked in a haughty voice.

You assumed a proud expression. “The library. See all my books? Folks come from all across the country to admire them. I have the largest collection.”

“All I can see is you have very bad taste,” Wilhemina quipped as she turned on her heel and walked away. You laughed and followed her into the next room, of which only one wall remained. It opened on the ocean.

“Careful!” you screamed, pointing at a brown seaweed on the sand. “There’s a banana skin on the mahogany floor!”

Wilhemina snorted, then assumed a scornful expression. “Call a servant. Somebody get us rid of it. I will not tolerate the state of this kitchen.”

With a grin you pulled her to you and kissed her, slow and sweet. She hummed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, fingers barely brushing your skin as if it were made of something indescribably precious. When you pulled away, her smile was genuinely happy.

“Hello,” you giggled, giddy and fond.

She bit her lip, ran her thumb over your mouth.

“Hi.”

You took her hand again, and together you made your way through an archway into yet another room.

“This, I believe, must be the master bedroom,” you sang. You shot Wilhemina a suggestive look, which she pretended not to notice.

“I see a bed, but where is your husband?” Wilhemina asked.

A sad smile. When you spoke, your voice had a quaver to it. “Alas, Miss Wilhemina, there is no husband.”

She hummed. Pressed her cane against her stomach. “So who’s to share this big bed with you?” she asked after a while. She was avoiding your gaze, her eyes fixed on a tuft of grass that had managed to grow in the sand. “It must get so cold in the winter. Any suitor waiting by the door?”

She was no longer teasing you. Her voice was serious, her face had become unreadable again. You looked at her, and felt that familiar pain that wasn’t just pain but also sadness, and yearning for an easier, kinder life, clutch at your heart.

“A hundred, probably,” you whispered. You stroked your thumb over one of her knuckles, back and forth. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I keep the doors closed.” You tugged her arm to make her turn and face you. Gave her a soft, sad smile, cupped her cheek with your free hand and caught the lonely tear that dropped from her eye. “I already have my sweetheart here with me inside,” you murmured, gazing into her eyes.

There was so much fear in your heart. So much fear you could have thrown up on the sand in the middle of those ruins that had once been a manor house, where people dressed in pretty clothes had met to share an evening of dancing and revelries. Love had bloomed among those walls before, love that had been so bright it had lit up the whole room and love that had been kept secret behind closed doors. The walls and the ocean were still singing the long-dead lovers’ songs.

You would sing it, too, grab the hand of the nearest dancer and join the farandole.

So you gave Wilhemina’s hand a squeeze that was almost too tight, just like that day at the farmer’s market when, with rage thundering in your chest and your eyes shooting daggers, you had towered over the old woman and shouted profanities at her until all the colour had drained from her face. And you had bought Wilhemina a ridiculously big bouquet of roses she had carried down the aisle, her cheeks flushed with gratitude and happiness and almost as bright and red as the flowers, for the whole world to see how beloved she was.

You pulled her close and smirked when her eyes flicked hungrily to your lips.

“What is that sweetheart of yours like?” she whispered.

“Most of the time she’s an ass.” Wilhemina gave you a look that made you laugh. “But when I do this – “you leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, “I find my home and family.”

Wilhemina’s eyes had fluttered closed; she didn’t open them for a long moment after you pulled away. That was new: she always made sure her eyes were opened when somebody stood that close to her, so that she would see danger come, so that she would not be taken by surprise when her lover suddenly sneered and mocked and laughed. But today she let herself sink into intimacy and trusted it would not hurt her, and you felt yourself melt with gratitude and love.

When she eventually opened her eyes again, she gazed at you with wonderment, as if she were seeing you for the very first time and you were the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on; and then she blinked, and wonderment gave way to adoration and something that was so pure and so genuinely happy.

#ahs #ahs imagine #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #fics

207 notes · View notes