anonymous prompted: So you should like write a fic in which blaine and rachel are freshman nyada students and after their first show rachel asks blaine to join her and her dad, Kurt, to dinner, but then rachel has to run away and they’re left alone..aaand love happens:)
Rachel’s already in the hallway by the time Blaine rushes out there, still sweaty and breathless and grinning broad enough that it begins to hurt his cheeks. She envelops him in a hug that he returns, squeezing her back and laughing when she squeals and jumps up and down.
“You were amazing!” she gushes, bright-eyed and gleaming slightly with sweat.
“Not as amazing as you, Miss Berry,” Blaine teases, flicking Rachel’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you nailed that note! I told you.”
Kurt and Blaine argue over who does more work during sex, because of course they would.
It starts with Blaine complaining of a sore back.
Well it’s not so much as him complaining as it is Rachel noticing when they’re out getting lunch together—she catches the way that he winces when he slides into the booth of the tiny café, looks at him with concern bright in her big eyes as she accepts the menu their young waitress gives her.
“Blaine, are you okay?” she asks as she flips through the laminated pages, looking up a few times with her head tilted as she waits for his answer.
based off of this imagine your otp post: Imagine Person A shampooing and rinsing Person B’s hair in the shower - whilst Person B gives Person A oral sex.
Kurt is bleary-eyed and half-asleep when he stumbles into the bathroom. He squints at the explosion of bright light as he flips the switch, avoids looking in the mirror and at the mess of a bedhead that he knows he’ll find, the heavy hang of bags and the pale tautness to his skin.
He’s usually never up this early, but he has a meeting this morning, one that he’s been dreading for the last week or so. Meetings at Vogue are always stressful and his coworkers can be such idiots sometimes that most of Kurt’s energy goes into gritting his teeth and not calling Sandra a colorblind infant or Robbie a pompous asshole.
like scarecrows that fuel this flame we’re burning—based off of this: Kurt Hummel escapes from prison and goes to find his boyfriend, Blaine Anderson.~3,500k
The first thing Kurt does when he escapes is Tweet.
@khummel: Quite lovely weather today. Glad I’m outside to enjoy it.
He hits send and adjusts his sunglasses, leaning against the building he’s standing in front of and watching the people hurry by, the yellow whir of taxis in the street. The air is cleaner than he remembers it, if the smell of smog and sewer can be considered clean. It is home, though, and Kurt’s missed that, was keeping tabs of the days with tallies on his cell wall since he’d been sentenced over a year ago.
It’s amazing how easy it is to forget what freedom looks like, what it means to look around and not see towering fences topped with barbed wire overhead on all sides.
hold the weight of the world on my back—Kurt finds out that Blaine likes to be praised in bed, and he’s more than okay helping with that.
Kurt discovers it, surprisingly, nearly six months into them having sex. It’s by accident, after they’ve both already come and are breathing heavily, Kurt’s heart racing and his blood rushing in his ears. Underneath him Blaine’s eyes are closed, lips parted and shining in the late-afternoon sunlight. The sheets are twisted around his body, evidence of where he’d grabbed and squirmed and writhed. Kurt’s cooling skin flushes again at the thought.
They have the house to themselves for the night, Blaine’s parents gone to a wedding a city over. It’s the first time in weeks that they’d got to have proper sex, but also the first time ever that they’d really slowed things down, took the time to memorize, to learn what might have been overlooked before.
anonymous prompted: okay, no smut, BUT, I want to prompt Klaine going on a date, like whatever you want them to do, Klaine going on a date in NY
“That’s the last of them.” Blaine stands up with a deep sigh, wincing as he straightens his back.
Kurt steps back, surveys the box-strewn loft. It still seems hardly real that this is happening, that Blaine is moving in with them after a too-long, stress-filled year that Kurt would rather just forget about completely. They still have a lot to do, and it’s going to be well past dinnertime before they’re done, but Kurt is sweating and Blaine is sweating and Blaine is here, and that’s what matters.
He takes a moment, thinks back to everything that’s led up to this point. He’s nineteen, he’s going to his dream school in his dream city, he’s engaged to the most amazing boy on the planet, and they’re finally going to be living together. A few extra roommates notwithstanding, of course. It’s what he’s been dreaming of since middle school, though with a decidedly less sitcom feel to it as his twelve-year-old self had envisioned.
anonymous prompted: i don’t know if you’re taking prompts but i’d really really reallllllllllly love if you wrote a little something including cheerio!blaine and skank!kurt you’re so amazing and i know you’d do it such justice (✿◠‿◠)(also heed the warnings for drug use [it’s only pot])
It’s a warm day for March, which is nice—it means that Kurt doesn’t have to freeze his ass off just to blaze up before going back home. Quinn was supposed to join him but ditched, and normally Kurt would be bothered, would call her a piece of shit and get a glare in return, but he’s feeling solitary today and it rolls easily off his back.
Cheerios practice is going on as he ducks behind the bleachers, pulls the joint and his lighter from his pocket. Today probably wasn’t a good idea, since anyone could see him, but Kurt doubts that any of these prissy cheerleaders would dare to tell on him.
anonymous prompted: please /please/ write a sub!blaine fic based on the finale. and not just sex, I mean the sweet, innocent aspects of d/s, like blaine feeling so protected and at home with kurt. thank you xx
The sweat is still cooling on their bodies, making Kurt shiver, when Blaine presses close, pushes his face into the crook of Kurt’s neck. He gets impossibly closer to Kurt’s side, slinging an arm across his chest and a leg across his thigh. His breath, when he exhales, is shuddery.
Kurt doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Blaine is speaking.
“I’m so sorry, Sir.” It’s soft, muffled. Kurt can feel every puff of breath against his skin, feels the way the gooseflesh pimples and spreads, fast. “I promise to be good for you, Sir. It won’t happen again.”
anonymous prompted: I seriously hope you will write a fic after they drop off Rachel at the airport and they come back home and they both just look at each in silence and just pounce at each other and Blaine not holding back on his begging and screaming while Kurt is fucking harder then he has ever done before
They’re finally alone.
Kurt doesn’t realize it right away, steps into the silence of the loft with sadness still heavy in his belly, Rachel’s smile as she’d disappeared into the airport still fresh in his mind. He’s glad for her, truly, even though there is still a part of him bitter for not having the success she and Mercedes and Blaine are having.
The room seems bigger than before, less like the home Kurt’s carefully crafted it into over the last two years; he can hardly imagine doing all of this without Rachel at his side, petty fights notwithstanding. The idea of New York has come more or less fused with the idea of her. But now, at least, Kurt has Blaine.
anonymous prompted: the first time bp!blaine rides kurt and goes absolutely crazy because it just hits the spot /no matter/ how he moves and ended up squirting all over Kurt’s chest and stomach
Blaine’s trying to focus on the slick slip-slide of Kurt’s tongue over him, the way it makes his hips cant up and his breath shorten, but all he can think about is how…boring their sex life seems. It’s been months since they’d started, but it’s been nearly the same routine every time: they go down on each other, they fuck, maybe they finger each other if they don’t have time for the latter. And while Blaine loves it, loves basically anything involving him and Kurt and no clothes, he can’t help but feel an itch for more.
“Kurt,” he says. It comes out as more of a whine when Kurt spreads Blaine’s lips, licks harder, faster, flicking over the rim of Blaine’s entrance. Blaine arches up, gasping, grabs Kurt’s hair and lifts his head up to stare at the deep furrow of Kurt’s brow between his thighs. “Oh, shit—Kurt.”