just a twenty-year-old small-town girl who wishes that it was 1912 and she was on the Titanic. or that it was 1976 and she was in San Francisco rallying alongside Harvey Milk. obsessed with art, film, and great literature.
the fruit of my labors | answered queries | i am jack's creative ideas | scars & stories | bite your lip, pull me in
Passenger(s) on the RMS Titanic
at the end of the world—an alternate version of the shooting. the shooter, a man, gets into the choir room and singles out Blaine. with the threat of a gun, the club is forced to do nothing but watch helplessly.
part one | part two | part three | part four
(please heed: tw for mentions of rape)
~2,800k
By five, Burt Hummel usually likes to be home. It gives him some time before Carole gets off work (if she’s not working nights) to unwind with a cold beer. He’d tried cooking for her a few times, back when they’d first gotten married, but it had all been just as disastrous as it had been right after Elizabeth died. Unless it’s grilling season, without Kurt here to boss him around Burt is helpless.
Today, though, he’s running late. The paperwork has been piling up, and he’s been trying to diminish to all day to no avail. At quarter after, he rubs his eyes, sighs, and calls it a day, shutting off the light to his office and stepping out into the main garage to let the rest of the guys working to know that he’s going home.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna get tatted up!” Sam says excitedly as he gets out of Blaine’s car. “Ah, man, it’s gonna be so awesome. You’re gonna look like a total badass.”
Blaine flushes, ducking his head as he locks the car and steps onto the sidewalk. Sam’s praise still manages to make him feel fuzzy, even though he’s been trying in vain to tamp down his crush for months now. Sam is straight and his best friend—though he’s completely okay with Blaine being gay and talking about boys, Blaine’s afraid that if Sam knew the thoughts that sometimes crept up into the back of Blaine’s mind he’d run the other direction.
“I will not,” he says, pushing up his glasses and stopping just outside the door. “It’s just something small. And no one will even see it but me.”
your naked magic, oh dear lord—Kurt and Blaine jerk off to their own sex tape (as prompted here).
~4,200k
“Let’s make a sex tape.”
It’s the last thing Kurt would have expected Blaine to say while Kurt’s pants and underwear are down around his thighs and Blaine’s palm is broad over his straining cock. He sits up with a “What?” that sounds a lot less incredulous than he feels, and he struggles to catch his breath as Blaine looks at him with wide, earnest eyes, the pupils dilated and dark.
“Let’s make a sex tape.” Blaine says it again, lips curling around the words like they’re a particular delicacy. He squeezes Kurt’s cock and Kurt can’t help but groan and arch into it. “No one’s going to be home for hours.” He leans in, trails his tongue along the shell of Kurt’s ear, and Kurt shivers, swallowing audibly as Blaine whispers, “And I really, really want to see what I look like with your cock buried in my ass.”
anonymous prompted: Blaine has a sex dream about Sam and Sam’s blowing him and all of a sudden Kurt appears behind Blaine, touching him everywhere and telling him to tell Sam what a good boy he is and idk Kurt and Sam make-out because Blaine totally would dream that and more boy-on-boy-on-boy times and Blaine wakes up hot and sticky and incredibly frustrated
There’s a mouth around his dick, tight and wonderful, and everything fuzzes for a second before Blaine blinks and it comes into focus. He looks down, hand automatically following to tangle in Kurt’s hair, but it’s not Kurt, and Blaine startles, sucks in a breath when it’s brown eyes that are staring back up at him, not blue; it’s blonde hair falling around a perfectly pale forehead, not brown.
It’s Sam, not Kurt, and all Blaine can do is moan.
The faint strains of everybody celebrating in the choir room barely register in Blaine’s ears; all he can hear is the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood, the sound of his lips against Kurt’s as Kurt pushes him up against the wall after tugging on Blaine’s elbow in the choir room, rose petals around them, and Blaine had hurriedly tucked the box back into his pocket and had blindly followed Kurt out and away, their hands tangled together in a way that brings back large, ornate halls and gilded trim.
He doesn’t ask what, knows already from the mischievous glint in Kurt’s eyes, his soft, “You get more handsome every time I see you,” as his hands go around Blaine’s waist, and doesn’t bother trying to say we shouldn’t do this because he knows that, though they shouldn’t, they still will.
i wanna see the dirt under your skin—Kurt’s curious to know if Blaine squirts. Blaine assures him that he can—a lot.
~2,500k
The question has been on Kurt’s mind all day, and even when he tries not to think about it he still thinks about it. He’s been staring at Blaine’s lap for the better part of the last half-hour, and he’s sure that Blaine has to have noticed by now, especially since Kurt’s been on the same page in his history textbook for longer than that.
He just can’t help but wonder. They’ve had sex more than a few times by now, but it’s been routine stuff, usual stuff. Neither has tried to go out of their way to experiment, and Kurt’s almost kind of glad, because despite how comfortable he’s gotten with sex since he and Blaine had started discussing it and then having it, it’s still kind of terrifying for those first few minutes every time. But they both fumble; they’ve both had awkward moments, and it brings them closer together every time.
at the end of the world—an alternate version of the shooting. the shooter, a man, gets into the choir room and singles out Blaine. with the threat of a gun, the club is forced to do nothing but watch helplessly.
part one | part two | part three
(please heed: tw for mentions of rape)
~2,000k
Blaine stares at the sterile, white-tiled floor of the examining room. The nurse busies herself shuffling papers and grabbing a pen from her mint-green smock pocket. It still hurts too much to sit like this, but Blaine doesn’t want to say anything. He doesn’t even want to be here right now. He rubs his palms over the bright red polyester of his pants instead, to distract himself from the intermittent stabs of pain, the harsh echo of his own breaths.
He’s facing the door; that’s a good thing. His mind is still foggy from the sedative, but cognizant enough for him to know that there is danger lurking in every corner, that what seems safe now could cease to be so in the span of only a few minutes.
He wants his mom here, and he doesn’t at the same time. He doesn’t want her to know more than she needs to. He doesn’t want to worry her. Who he really wants, he doesn’t deserve.
your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flames—the absolutely love Sara commissioned me to write her Daddy!Kurt and baby!Blaine having sex for the first time after getting back together and has been gracious enough to give me permission to post it here for everyone else to enjoy uwu warnings for: daddy!kink and spanking.
~4,300k
Kurt detests the hesitancy that taints his and Blaine’s relationship; though they’re back together after months of chasing and denying, cat-and-mouse that had flipped sides more than once, neither of them can deny that one last huge thing: that this isn’t the same. There’s something missing, something that needs to be said or done, but Kurt has no idea what it could be.
Their relationship has always been easy, because first and foremost they’re always going to be friends. But knowing what Blaine’s done, though long forgiven, has built up a barrier Kurt hasn’t had around his heart in years, not since he met that special boy at the bottom of the stairs and learned that hope wasn’t so hopeless anymore.
at the end of the world—an alternate version of the shooting. the shooter, a man, gets into the choir room and singles out Blaine. with the threat of a gun, the club is forced to do nothing but watch helplessly.
(please heed: tw for mentions of rape)
~2,400k
Kurt’s phone begins buzzing while he’s in his evening History of Theatre class; he gives an apologetic look to the professor before ducking out of the room, phone clutched in his fist. Leaning against the wall just outside the classroom he looks at the caller ID, eyebrows rising when he sees that it’s Sam. Though they’d lived together briefly, he and Kurt had never really sparked up anything other than a general friendship, and Kurt’s sure he can tick off the amount of times they’ve talked on the phone on one hand.
He leans against the wall and accepts the call, bringing his phone to his ear. “You called in the middle of class. This better be important.”
“It is.” Kurt immediately becomes alert at the tenseness of Sam’s voice and he straightens up.
“Sam?” Kurt asks, clutching his phone a little harder. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
because bros helping bros had to start somewhere.
When Blaine’s phone buzzes on his bed he’s halfway under the pillows at his headboard, his body curled in tight to itself. His nose is still stuffy from crying earlier, and he wonders if he could just lay here until he dies. He thinks he could get away with it if his mom wasn’t checking in on him every half-hour.
“Leave me alone,” he groans, clenching his hand around a pillow. His phone still keeps vibrating, though, and the side of him still ingrained with always pick up your call, no matter what finally wins and he’s groping on the bed for his phone, finding it and answering it as he pushes his pillows away and props himself up on one hand.
“What?” he asks, blinking against the light in his room. It’d gotten darker since he stuck his head under the pillows, and he feels oddly like a groundhog reappearing.
