She sees Kurt Hummel’s new friendship notice in the fall, and sees his engagement announcement in the summer, two years later. There’s a long road between the two, but fortunately, she’s lucky enough to be a stranger who witnessed every step.
kurt/blaine, oc narrator, klaine through s2 to s5. 6,100 words
(inspired by this gifset and vosje’s tag, ‘god their facebook-status must be a mess’)
Read on AO3
Kurt Hummel is now friends with Blaine Anderson and 2 other people.
If she’s being truly honest with herself, prior to November of 2010, Gwen has never paid much thought to one Kurt Hummel.
She’s seen him in the halls, of course, because it’s usually incredibly hard to miss him when he walks by you — and if she really thinks about it, they might share a class or two. But further than that, Kurt is about as part of her social-circle as any of his club-members are; which, truthfully, is not at all.
The only time she can recall speaking to him in person is the third day of freshman year, after he sat two chairs away from her in one of the orientation classes and she asked him if he knew the way to the history classroom. He told her that he didn’t, and she thanked him and walked away, never crossing paths with him the same way again.
But now, sitting crossed-legged on her bed with a bowl of chips by her side and her laptop perched carefully on her lap, Gwen is staring at a post on her Facebook newsfeed, and finds herself inexplicably intrigued
Any change in the course of that day could lead to none of it happening it all — but it does happen, and when Blaine is called as a paramedic to assist an injured woman and meets Kurt Hummel along the way, the effect may be different than he originally plans for.
kurt/blaine, paramedic!blaine, 3,500 words
(warnings: hospital environment; no extensive medical care or descriptions)
click here to read on AO3
It’s all about the timing, really — all about being in the right place at the right time, about the universe shifting and creating the right conditions for a meeting. Blaine doesn’t necessarily believe in fate, not always, not after the things he’s seen — but above all he believes in opportunities, in seizing the moment and not letting it slip away from your grasp, because it may never return again.
Blaine has let far too many moments slip from between his fingers to take something like opportunities lightly.
this is barely a piece of a bigger au i’ve been thinking over for months; i can’t promise any of this would make sense, mostly because it’s taken out of context and it’s missing some (many) scenes before, and during, and after, but angie asked, and I obeyed.
this is dom!kurt and sub!blaine, by the way, and i hope it’s something that can be made sense while you read it, but they’re not in a relationship.
dom!kurt/sub!blaine (ish), 3,600 words
The first time their seemingly perfect balance shakes, unsteady as if dancing on its tiptoes — uncertain of whether it’s going to crumble or not, it’s the middle of a cold January night, the white snowflakes falling outside Kurt’s bedroom’s window, covering the ground in a soft, frozen blanket.
He’s asleep in his bed, covered in two thick duvets and curled around a pillow as if it’s a loved one he’s embracing; he’s peaceful, unaware of the change looming in the air, and he only blinks himself awake as the bedroom’s door creaks open, the sound of footsteps clearly audible in the air.
The figure making its way towards Kurt’s bed is visible in the way most objects are, in a dark room the eyes have adjusted to, and even half-asleep in the middle of the night under unknown circumstances Kurt would recognize this figure — the way he walks, the way his breath sounds, the smell of his raspberry hair-gel and cinnamon-scented aftershave. He doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t need to use words — he simply shifts closer to the wall and makes room on the other side of his double-bed, throwing the pillow away and shivering when a warm back presses snugly against his chest, freezing toes nudging his calves.
It’s the beginning of his seventh year as a Slytherin, and Kurt is most definitely not prepared to the things that would soon be thrown at him; between his best friend Quinn, their status as skanks, the new teacher — a famous author who just might be Kurt’s soulmate, and his sub - and the secrets they both keep, everyone are in for a wild year.
written for the Klaine Hiatus Madness Week, day 4: The Trope Gauntlet. (tropes used include: harry potter-crossover, soulmates world, dom!kurt, sub!blaine, age difference, teacher!blaine, student!kurt, nerd!blaine, cheerio-of-a-kind!kurt, werelwolf!blaine, skank!kurt, famous!blaine, etc.)
(warnings: overuse of many tropes you know too well, absolute lack of logic, poor usage of the harry potter world, horrifying british, and, again, no logic whatsoever)
kurt/blaine, the trope gauntlet, 2,500 words
this is not supposed to be a serious, quality fic. don’t look at it as such.
The sky outside the carriage’s window is dark and starry, the air cold and the clouds gathering above them, as if preparing for an upcoming storm; inside, the carriage is dimly-lit by nothing but the single old lamp and the burning edge of Quinn’s cigarette, leaving the small space around them heavy and foggy with the smoke she creates.
“He’s a famous author in the wizarding world,” Quinn says as an explanation for the shifting picture on Kurt’s copy of the The Daily Prophet, and when he looks up at her with a pierced eyebrow raised, she blows out the smoke in her mouth and adds, “My sister’s bloody obsessed with him, buys every copy — and he’s joining the staff to teach Wizardry Literature this year.”
She falls silent after that, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette and leaning her head against the wall of the carriage, letting her eyes drop shut and her short pink hair fall onto her face; Kurt doesn’t know why she felt the need to share the information with him — knows that had she let him keep reading further than the headline, he would have found that out for himself — but he doesn’t question her. Quinn never does anything for no reason, never bothers with meaningless actions or small-talk conversations, so unless she decides to share more with him, he’d have to be kept clueless to her motives.
"She’s white as a ghost and seems almost sickened, and before he can question it she says, slowly and brokenly, “There was a shooting at McKinley this morning. No one’s hurt.”
kurt/blaine, reaction fic for 4x18 ’shooting star’, 1300 words
No one bothers telling Kurt personally; no one informs him, or calls him, or explains anything that is going on — Tina sends him an unexplained text saying i always looked up 2 u, and Artie sends him a message via Facebook saying that he always believed Kurt would make it in the world and become something bigger than all of them, but they don’t offer any other explanation.
He assumes, foolishly, that it’s a part of a Glee club assignment and sends a thanks, u 2!, back, with a smiley.
There is the world on the surface, where they can’t stand the mere look of each other’s face; and there is the world beneath the surface, where bodies are grinding everywhere and red cups form a sea the night they first hook-up. Either way, it’s clear to all they’re feuding— but there are boundaries to every game.
popular!kurt/nerd!blaine, r, 3500 words
(written for this gifset, by the flawless talented lovely angie)
Every story has a beginning and has an end — and it’s important to know that their story may begin like many others, but its start is a whole lot different.
Bodies are grinding everywhere and red cups form a sea the night they first hook-up.
There’d be more of a story to that night, if one of them could remember it — only they can’t, because along with the sea of cups there was booze flowing in veins, and all Kurt can remember is noticing a guy in skintight red jeans swaying his hips in a way that made Kurt’s blood pump faster, and all Blaine can remember are arms wrapped around his waist, a chest pressing close to his chest and hot breathe tingling the back of his neck.
What I’m getting from this is that Blaine is Tina’s shoulder angel and Kurt is her shoulder devil and they argue like crazy but then hook up all the time and Kurt RELISHES it and calls Blaine out on it because he’s supposed to be the ‘angel’ and ‘this isn’t very angelic is it Blaine?’ and someone should fic this because of reasons
“All I’m saying is that you should consider it,” Kurt smirks, squeezing the arm that is looped through his. “It’s your sister’s birthday, I bet she’d love nothing more than for you to be there, and it’s just one time, isn’t it?”
“But cheating on a test is wrong!” Blaine argues on the girl’s other side, and she turns her head to look at him, lips pursing. “Come on, Tina, don’t you want to get your high grade later and know you worked for it?”
“Missing your little sister’s birthday is wrong, too,” Kurt huffs. “And besides, birthday is a once-in-a-year thing, Margery Meanwell — the teacher is never going to know, but Anna is going to be crashed if you don’t show up.”
Tina frowns, obviously imagining the look on the little girl’s face if she doesn’t come. Blaine watches her eyes soften and narrows his eyes at Kurt over her head.
“But think of how you’ll feel after,” he counters, refusing to back down. Kurt already won the skipping class with Glee-club debate the day before, and he didn’t let Blaine forget about it since. He’s not going to let him win her over again. “When you and Melanie from third row talk about how well you did, when you get the test back, when your parents ask you how it went…”
Tina titles her head to the side, frown deepening, and Kurt almost stomps his foot on the floor like a child. This is proving to be much more difficult than usual — normally, he either won or he lost, but she didn’t take so long to decide; obviously Blaine is putting up more of a fight than usual, and Kurt can imagine why.
Tina stops at her locker to grab the textbooks for her next class, and Kurt latches on to the opportunity to raise an eyebrow at Blaine, mouthing, still not over last night?
The angel flushes and turns his head to avoid Kurt’s eyes, the tips of his ears turning red.
“Everyone cheats on tests,” Kurt says absent-mindedly, more focused on the pretty shade of Blaine’s cheeks than his goal at the moment. “Even geniuses, like Einstein or that guy who invented the scarves —“
“Not so sure it was a guy,” Blaine bites back, rolling his eyes, and dives right back into the task. “But, the bottom line is — you don’t have to. You’re smart, you understand the material, and you can study an hour and still do real well on this test. Go to Anna’s birthday, watch her blow the candles, dance a bit, and leave earlier. She’d understand, and you get to dance on both weddings at one night.”
“Not so sure that’s the expression,” Kurt mumbles, his voice pitching to match Blaine’s earlier tone, but he knows it’s a lost battle. The first to offer an acceptable compromise is the one to win, and they both know that this time, it’s Blaine.
Tina knows that too, clearly, as she smiles like she just had to most brilliant idea, (bless humans for their lack of belief of any creature other than themselves), and fishes her cell-phone out of her pocket to text her mom about her decision.
Kurt pouts, forehead wrinkling, and crosses his arms.
Blaine grins brilliantly and pats her shoulder — completely unnecessary but bound to make her feel even better, that bastrad, because that’s what angels do, don’t they?
He raises his head and locks eyes with Kurt, his grin twitching until it can almost be mistaken for a smug smirk had Kurt not known otherwise, as he says, “Frowning like that is gonna do damage to your face in twenty years.”
“Yeah?” Kurt raises an eyebrow again. “You wanna control my features now, too?”
“I’m serious. I can teach you how to meditate — it’ll help you be calmer. I can do you good.”
Kurt raises his other eyebrow as well as a knowing smirk quirks his lips upwards.
“Do me good, alright,” Kurt breathes out shakily, alternating between pushing Blaine backwards and sucking on his pulse-point until he gasped out. “I bet you can, angel, I bet you can —“
“Stop talking,” Blaine stutters, arching his back and allowing himself to be pushed down onto a soft bed. “Oh Heaven, s-stop talking!”
“Mmmm, you’re right,” Kurt whispers, raking his eyes over the sight of the white-clad angel on his black-covered bed. “I can do much, much better things with my mouth than talking.”
Blaine lets out a chocked moan, fisting Kurt’s shirt until his knuckles turn white.
And the sun will rise, and a new morning will begin, and with it another day — another day, another debate between an angel and a devil.
(But, as everyone know, the only ones being chosen for shoulder-advisors for humans and essentially being kicked out of Heaven and Hell, are those who are not black and white — those who have a tiny spot of the other kind in them.)
is this the point where i say this seems like one of those soulmates AUs to me, and kurt and blaine are soulmates, but here’s the twist: one’s soulmate’s name only appears after you first saw them, and you (or someone else, for that matter) cannot see it - only your soulmate can see it, and it’s hidden somewhere private on your body (ribs or hips or thigh, etc.) so basically only during sex with your soulmate will you know you truly are soulmates. till then, it’s all feelings.
so while jesse and kurt don’t have sex (kurt thinks he might be ready, but he doesn’t want to risk it, because something doesn’t feel right and there’s this little voice in his head saying he won’t find his name anywhere on jesse’s body), blaine and sebastian has had sex. sebastian claims to have seen his name on blaine’s body, (under the v of his hips, perhaps?) but is actually lying, since he never gave much crap about this romance thing and blaine seems to want to believe they’re meant to be. blaine, however, cannot find his name anywhere - at first he wrote it off as being somwhere really sneaky, but with every passing day, his hunch tell him that’s not the problem.
and then, one day, jesse has auditions to this new play, and sebastian’s parents are taking him out for a fancy dinner, and both kurt and blaine decide driving to the best cafe in lima, drinking hot coffee when it’s windy and raining outside, is a good decision.
but then, their eyes meet…
(and unknown to them as of yet, two names begin to form.)
angie/darren, 730 words
(goes with this drawing)
christmas present for angie \o/
She has sighed when their neighbor came knocking on the door saying Darren covered every inch of the halls in their building with colorful lights and tiny trees hanging from the ceiling, (beats her if she has any idea when he had time to do that), just about has had enough at the point where their tree was nearly set on fire (false alarm, firefighters), and considered sending the elves a belated letter asking to lock her boyfriend in a box for the holiday period when he decided dressing their cat in a Santa Claus costume is tradition, but when he spends twenty minutes blasting Christmas songs on full volume and spinning in circles around her like a sugar-hyped kid and then forcibly putting a Santa-hat on her head as she is trying to cook a Christmas dinner for the twenty people coming over in three hours (and yes, he most definitely could cook, but they decided Darren’s in charge of the dessert), Angie has reached the level in which she is no longer responsible for her actions.
Thankfully — or unfortunately, depending how you took your angle on it — Darren has a plan, and it does not involve knives nor does it involve Christmas-spirited murder.
AU! Kurt and Blaine are famous race car drivers, competing against each other in saturday’s big race
It isn’t anything personal, at first; when people ask, “Are you familiar with him?”, they answer, “Yes, but I bet I can beat him given the chance.” It’s simple, a matter of ambition – always wanting to be the winner, always wanting to be the first, never backing down from fighting for what is theirs.
They are potential competitors, after all, and by the time they finally get to the same track, both of them have ready made their fair share of noise as excellent drivers, most likely the best.
Everyone knows '27' is feisty and always under control, silent and swift as a cat – if a cat could drive, that is. '95' is forceful where '27' is sharp, just as driven - pun unintended – but a bit more instinctive. He rarely has a strategy, or a pre-prepared plan, but he’s quick-minded and apparently has really good senses, as he’s winning just as many races as '27' has.
They are twenty-five and twenty-four when they meet, and their rivalry is yet to be anything subjective; they are simply the best drivers on the road, and as such, it’s clear they aren’t going to be very fond of each other; you rarely are fond of someone who’s quite literally the only thing between you and the finish line.
It becomes very much personal when, impossible as it is appears to be, they tie.
Their tie is unsurprisingly a big thing on the news; tying while racing is a very hard thing to do, since even the tiniest of inches and shortest of seconds count. But they do, and until the judges dig out every single camera and witness they have, it isn’t clear who the winner really is.
It’s the ninth of May, 2019; the date of their first ever race against each other, and essentially, also the date of one of the only unresolved ties in the history of car-racing.
The tenth of May, 2019, is also the day their rivalry snaps and twists and becomes something no one expected, to their own surprise and the media’s delight.
It’s the beginning of what the press dubs 'Wits on Wheels'; public insults, hostility, and complete and utter lack of censorship – they may be gentlemen, but everyone has their breaking point, and they’re it for each other, it turns out.
No one lets them race against each other again, for what feels like a very long time.
(A legend is less impressive if you kick it in the guts with a tiebreaker.)
It’s not until a year and a half later that they’re allowed, (invited, is the word the race organizers use; permitted, is the word they think of) on the same racetrack again. It’s some kind of Christmas charity thing, and on another occasion they would have – each, in their separate home – be more than willing to join, simply for the holiday spirit and the giving in it.
The good-hearted intention is somewhat drowned out, however, when everything everyone talk about is the tiebreaker of the tie that will be mentioned in history books forever.
The media is all over it, obviously; it goes from tamed, PR-involved team-spirited, “May the best driver win,” and a wink, (it’s no use – it’s been a year, everyone know they’re no buddies), to the heated, “I can, and I will, take him,” (and boy, if he only knew the full meaning of taking him that will be added to the words within the next 24 hours.)
It’s the night before.
Everyone is betting, talking, gushing, buzzing.
Everyone but them.
(To prepare for the screech of tires, and the rumble of engines, and the muffled shouts of the audience, one must be in complete silence – at least, that’s what they say.)
It’s by accident – complete, total accident, and may the one responsible for room-distribution be beaten over and dumped in a river – that they find themselves in the same hallway, room across of room.
They haven’t so much as breathed the same air in over fifteen months, but the words said and the hatred spilled come rushing back.
Things are yelled, and anger is spat, and one things leads to another – he comes so close of kicking the man in the fucking balls – and things they have no control over occur – he wants to fist this guy’s head and slam it into the wall, the blows he’s said, the things he took for himself – and by the end they find themselves stumbling into a dark room, clothes torn apart and mouths hurting everywhere.
People say the line between hate and love is blurry.
People say nothing can hurt worse than love.
People say lust can pick a man apart and leave him in pieces on the ground.
(People do little else than saying, really.)
They fuck the same way they fight: biting with no mercy, growling out the things that go into a man’s soul, finding those spots that leave one with no defenses, sprawled out and ready to be struck, torn apart and smashed back together.
They never bothered piecing each other back together before; now, they do nothing else but that – they rip their very soul out of each other’s chests only to push it back inside so they can go at it again.
It’s a very long night.
Sleep only comes when the sun yawns, nearing its position in the sky again.
(In their sleep, they clutch into each other, pressed so close air itself can’t do them apart; it’s an action born out of nothing but the fear of losing, however – the fear that the other may leave and rush towards the finish line before them.)
The next morning is fateful.
Cars speed ahead.
They’re still the best.
They still can’t outgo each other.
(Two ties; that goes beyond unbelievable – that’s practically impossible.)
Next time, they’ll be prepared, each tells himself.
Next time, they’ll know their competitor better.
Next time, they’ll tear each other up better, bite harder, growl lower.
Next time, they’ll win.
(Next time, it lasts even longer, because '95''s ass is definitely a price.)
(Next time, they don’t leave.)
(Next time, there’s breakfast full of glares and snark.)
(Next time, '95' finds himself holding back laughter because '27' has a sense of humor.)
(Next time, '27' blinks when he realizes '95' has a pair of shining hazel eyes behind the helmet.)
(Next time, '95' rediscovers '27's name is Kurt Hummel, and suddenly the words mean more than just a name trying to outrun him.)
(It’s not the next time, but the time after the next time, it’s Kurt and it’s Blaine and out of nowhere biting turns into licking and growling turns into whimpering and soft spots become nothing else than a way to make the other moan wantonly.)
(It’s not even the time after the time after the next time, but some time, someday, numbers are irrelevant and the media has another thing to be delighted about.)