A story of four seasons, two boys, and one love to bind them together.
kurt/blaine, 2,000 words
(read on AO3)
Blaine is autumn in the way he behaves and the way he talks, the things he likes and the time he was born. Blaine is the cooling after a period of heat, the one to calm down and explain — and Blaine, he can be cold, cool and collected and knowing what to do, offering advice and a helping hand from an emotional distance almost impossible to see; but Blaine, he’s also flaming-hot, because when he snaps he does so all the way, the atoms of his body seemingly breaking away and letting him yell and punch and fume.
But Blaine is mostly comfortable, level-headed; he’s unpredictable at times, but not overly so — he’s a guy of thick scarves looped tight around necks, a guy of frost biting red at high cheeks, a guy to sit for hours by the big window in the living-room in soft pajamas, watching the falling leaves painting the ground in the colors of fire with his palm pressing into his face.
(i fucking love you babe)
Kurt meets Blaine Anderson on a rainy October day, the air freezing-cold and the raindrops falling from the leaves of the trees onto the asphalt.
On days like this, most people don’t stop to listen, rushing on with their umbrellas as shields and their boots splashing water everywhere when they step into puddles. On days like this, Kurt mostly plays for himself, notes fading into the air around him as he flows from one piece to another — but Blaine, he’s not everyone, and so he stops.
His nose is red from the cold, cheeks frostbitten — he has a ridiculously charming reindeer hat covering his head and forehead and a seemingly handmade thick scarf, covering the skin from his neck to his mouth — but the first thing Kurt notices when Blaine stops short in front of him are his eyes, wide and hazel and bright between the two articles of clothing. They stare at Kurt as he plays, not with confused wonder or curiosity Kurt’s grown so used to — but with admiration, as if he understands everything Kurt’s trying to convey through the music, and relates to every word.
Graduation is a collection of fake smiles and red gowns and stolen cigarettes behind the gym, hiding from no one and everyone at the same time.
They never show up for the ceremony. In a hidden room in the back of his heart, Kurt feels guilty about it – can see his dad sitting next to Carole in his mind, can see him watching her wipe the tears away while Finn receives the diploma and wondering where his own son is, if he’s even coming at all.
He ignores the guilt the way he taught himself to, kicks off his shoes and lays back on the dusty couch under the bleachers, listens to the springs crick beneath him and knows the couch won’t collapse, because it’s been dying for so long and it’d be far too poetic for it to break on the day they finally leave.
They don’t talk. Quinn leans her head against his thigh and he threads his fingers in her hair and they breathe together, watch the smoke fade from the air slowly as the minutes tick by. Kurt thinks there’s something metaphoric about it, the smoke that is heavy and unmistakable but ephemeral, there for a while but then gone with no one noticing it after. He doesn’t voice it, though – he likes the silence and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he thinks, it’s the last day, why share meaningful thoughts when nothing means anything anymore?
“I just wish I had someone to love, you know?”
And Kurt — he wants to scream, I do know, wants to shake Blaine by his shoulders and make him see, wants to smash their mouths together and breath each other rather than air; he wants, wants so badly, but the baby on the woman’s lap in the next table starts crying, and the manager is scolding the waitress in the back, and it can’t be the right time, can it? Not when Kurt’s been waiting so long, not when it’s hardly the romantic climax he’s been expecting.
And so Kurt takes a deep breath, and bites down his words.
Blaine smiles. Kurt nods.
And the moment, once again, is gone.
(It’s a story of maybe — and also, a story of the way maybe is a static state, a state that is easy to go into and very difficult to get out of).
“That’s… great,” he answers slowly, uncertain, and he knows it’s obvious and he knows he’s doing an awful job hiding it, but it’s mostly because he’s not trying — Kurt is his other half, can read him better than he can read books and knows him better than he knows the look of his own face; hiding a truth, lying to him, has never been much of an option.
Kurt nods, after a short pause. Purses his lips and says nothing, so Blaine says nothing in return.
The afternoon passes by quickly and the sun begins to set when Kurt rises up from the stair he was sitting on, offering Blaine a hand.
They walk back to Blaine’s house with their hands laced together and Blaine knows he didn’t ask if Kurt loves Felix, didn’t ask if Kurt is happy about it, didn’t even ask if Kurt is going to Hawaii.
But for the first time in his life Blaine can see that there is an opportunity standing on the doorstep, a chance that could make Kurt happy, and Blaine isn’t happy to see it; and for the first time in his life Blaine acknowledges the fact that not everything that can make Kurt happy is going to make him happy, and it feels like he’s been hit when he realizes he’s not sure how he feels about it.
So he says nothing, only squeezes Kurt’s fingers tighter when the dream seems to fade between the cracks of reality.
“Whoa —“ Kurt blurts, darts forward to grip Blaine’s shoulders, and Blaine does the same, fingers fisting around the blue fabric of Kurt’s shirt. “Easy there, Anderson. Pretty sure that if I get you killed I’d have a mob hit on my head.”
“How rich do you think I am?” Blaine grumbles, but says no more, focusing on pulling back from Kurt as slowly as he can, fingers still holding on to Kurt’s shoulders as a safety-blanket.
They’re close now, Blaine notices in a split of second where his attention slips, and for a moment he forgets to breath because Kurt smells like the ground and sun-washed asphalt and a hint of cologne, because his eyes are staring right at Blaine in a blue like the sky in its clearest day, because his shoulders are strong beneath Blaine’s hands and his muscles shift as he helps Blaine back onto a somewhat stable standing position on top of the board — because for a moment Blaine forgets that it can never be like that between them and sinks into a world where the color of everything is Kurt’s pale blue eyes and the smell of everything is his earthy scent.
“You okay, Anderson?” Kurt asks slowly, forehead furrowed, and Blaine snaps right into reality with a startle, eyes widening.
“I’m — fine,” he manages to piece together, and Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs.
(composer!kurt/lyricist!blaine, skank!kurt/badboy!blaine, unrequited love!kurt, dom!kurt/sub!blaine bffs [this verse], skater!kurt)
applesarehappy prompted fantasy, roommates, camping in the woods
It’s nearing midnight when Kurt finally drops the last armful of woods onto the pile, sweat and body-heat making his shirt stick to his back uncomfortably. It’s the middle of summer and he’s not even sure where they are, but the night isn’t much cooler than the day and he’s really beginning to grow tired of sun and heat and sweat, of the constant presence of people around him and the knowledge that there’s no way out whatsoever.
“It’s not so bad,” Blaine argues lightheartedly when Kurt voices his complains out loud, and he drops his own armful down before he straightens up and looks at Kurt with bright eyes and an easy smile. “I mean, I don’t really like the sweat part of the deal, either, but I kind of like the whole sleeping in the wild idea. I think it’s nice.”
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.)