anonymous prompted: blaine asking kurt to eat his ass out
anonymous prompted: you should write a fic where kurts rimming blaine and they get walked in on by santana or something. like blaines on his back with his legs in the air and kurts just going to town and when they notice santana they arnt even phased
anonymous prompted: can you write a fic where kurt or blaine blows/rims the other and like reaaaaaally gets into it?
anonymous prompted: Oh god, I just love love love love your writing so so much. Can I ask for Klaine rimming? I just adore your smuttiness when you write!!! X
“Hey,” Blaine murmurs, draping himself over Kurt’s side, “there’s no one here. We’re alone.”
Any attention that Kurt had been paying to whatever show is on TV is gone the moment Blaine’s lips brush over the exposed skin of his neck and make him start and shiver. They haven’t had a lot of time the past few weeks to fool around, and most nights end up with them falling into bed together, too exhausted to do anything other than sleep. The slight, feathery brush of Blaine’s lips has Kurt groaning, lower lip between his teeth as he tilts his head to the side. He closes his eyes and says, “Oh—yes, and?”
klaineers prompted: prompting kurt and blaine having a fight in front of their kids and afterwards blaine feels really awful and like a bad dad because his parents used to fight in front of him all the time bye
Blaine can tell before Kurt’s even fully through the door that he’s had a bad day: it’s in the set of his jaw, the hard flatness to his eyes, the slightly stooped way that he carries himself, not like the normal Kurt Hummel who is as tall as a mountain and nearly as strong, as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door.
“Hey, sweetie,” Blaine calls from the kitchen, craning his neck as he puts the last finishing touches on the casserole he’s making. Their six-year-old daughter Dahlia and their seven-year-old son Tanner are at the breakfast bar busying themselves with setting the places for dinner. They’re doing it all wrong, horribly wrong, but Blaine had given up correcting them ten minutes ago; at least this way when they think that they’re helping it keeps them out of Blaine’s hair.
based off of this ask
Kurt’s beginning to wonder when and how all of his and Blaine’s study sessions have turned into “study sessions.” At the beginning of the night they’re both prepared with algebra, English, bio, Spanish, French, and history, and they always get in a good hour or two of honest studying. But eventually it all comes back around to the same thing: making out.
The ceaseless need to touch probably comes with the whole new boyfriend package, but it always catches Kurt off-guard. He’s not used to this want, this simmering under the surface of skin when he looks over and finds Blaine supine on the bed on his belly, legs kicked up in the air and brow furrowed as he stares down at his textbook. Kurt’s not used to the way that his eyes will stray to the curve of Blaine’s ass and the shape of his lips.
It’s terrifying wanting someone as much as Kurt wants Blaine. They don’t fool around much, have never really discussed the idea of clothes actually coming off. Kurt’s secretly glad—as comfortable as he’s gotten, he’s still hesitant to cross that line.
i can’t begin to let you know just what i’m feeling—based off of this prompt: Blaine is bipolar, and it’s the first time Kurt’s seen him in a manic phase.
Kurt’s woken, strangely, by the sound of a pencil scratching against paper. At first he burrows into the sheets with a groan, drawing them up over his shoulders as he tries to drown the noise out. When that doesn’t work he sits up instead, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he forces them to focus.
The windows are still dark, and when Kurt looks down at his nightstand the numbers on his clock read 3:07. So it must be 3:07 in the morning. But why—?
The sheets rustle as Kurt turns, sees the stooped outline of a dark head of messy curls at the foot of the bed illuminated by the blue-white glow of an LED flashlight, probably the one that Blaine keeps in his nightstand drawer. Something in Kurt loosens, then, something like relief; he hadn’t even been aware that he’d been tense and on edge until he’d discovered the source of the noise.
Summer is sticky-hot oppressive, the air stagnant and still like a swamp. The wind, when it blows, is hot, gritty, smoggy. Inside it’s even hotter, windows creaked and cracked on their crumbling, splintered frames, but no one in the Milkovich household can be fucked to fix the ancient air conditioner that had finally spluttered out last summer.
The sunlight coming in through the window shines red through Mickey’s eyelids. Ian is a hot presence next to him, stupidly long limbs stretched and sweaty and invasive, and Mickey would tell him to move the fuck out of his space if he wasn’t still sated and thrumming from orgasm, and if some girly part of him didn’t love the feeling of Ian’s body pressed against his own.
anonymous prompted: ok, I really didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been having this idea in my mind and you are really one of my favorite writers, I’d really like to see one where kurt actually asked Blaine to use one of his shirts cause it’s like, I don’t know.. a fantasy of his or something?
They’re both panting, sweaty messes when they fall back against the sheets and Kurt laughs in that sated, fucked-out way that only comes from really good sex, like the kind he’d just had that’s left his fingers and toes still tingling.
“God, I’d forgotten how good you are at that,” Kurt says, sucking in lungfuls of air as he stares at the ceiling, tries to get his breath back. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushes it off his forehead, and stretches his limbs out languorously, pushing the sheets down the bed with his toes.
anonymous prompted: bashfully prompting a fic where kurt and and blaine give rachel a cake that says ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’. /)~(\
Rachel asks them to housesit for her when she heads back to Ohio for a weekend to visit her dads.
“I just want to make sure that nothing gets stolen,” she says to Kurt over coffee, like there isn’t a doorman that knows the faces of all of Rachel’s probable visitors, knows that she’s going to be gone and would more than likely alert the police if someone shady strolled in looking for her.
Kurt hasn’t been over to her new place much in the year since she’d came back from LA and bought it, but it’s nice, much nicer than the loft he and Blaine are still living in. and Rachel has an espresso maker given to her by one of her producers that Kurt’s been dying to use since she won’t let anyone else touch it.
anonymous prompted: The first time Blaine goes into subspace
“God—that’s it,” Blaine gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into Kurt’s slick shoulders. He tightens his legs around Kurt’s waist, hitches them higher and squeezes his thighs against Kurt’s hips as he begs, “Harder, c’mon, harder.”
It’s almost too hot to be doing this; the A/C in the loft is broken and can’t be fixed until tomorrow. But it’s a rare moment where they’re both home and have a free afternoon together, and Blaine’s never really been proud of his lack of self-control when it comes to Kurt. Especially when Kurt walks around the loft shirtless and sweating and looking, already, like sex.
Kurt’s breath is hot and humid against Blaine’s slick skin as he drops his head down and laughs, slides his hands up under Blaine’s back to draw him closer, their nipples catching and making them both draw in sharp breaths. The noise their skin makes where it meets is slick, sharp, and Blaine drags his nails down Kurt’s back with a low groan.
anonymous prompted: i need a fic where they wake up on father’s day and blaine whispers “happy father’s day, daddy” into kurt’s ear and then proceeds to give him the hottest blowjob ever
Kurt isn’t sure, at first, what wakes him, isn’t sure if it’s the thin, watery light wavering into the bedroom from underneath their curtains, or if it’s just his internal parental clock telling him that despite it being a Sunday it’s time to get up.
He comes to slowly, in stages, first blinking open bleary eyes and letting them adjust, then stretching slightly with a faint groan, feeling his joints creak and pop. There’s a heavy leaden tiredness to his body that drags him deep into the sheets, lets him know that he’d slept in this position all night.
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.”