cracktastic:

I wonder how the conversation went when Kurt and Blaine finally decided to be “official”. I mean, after that kiss, I think it was as official as it needed to be for both of them. They were both all in. But I’m sure Kurt wondered for a while if he could call Blaine his boyfriend, if he should tell his dad, what he should tell his dad. I’m sure Blaine was still nervous the first time he asked Kurt to go out on a real date with him. I wonder who brought it up. I imagine some sort of adorabley awkward phone conversation…

“-and you should’ve heard Mercedes when I told her I had to miss shopping this weekend, she wouldn’t shut up, calling me twitter-pated and saying I’m always deserting her for my- my…… For you.”

“For your what?”

“Nothing, nothing, she was joking.”

“Kuuuuurt. Cmon. What did she call me? It’s gotta be good.”

“….fine. She called you my ‘pint-sized prep school boyfriend’. But I told her that she was outta line and that the stage just makes you look smaller, I mean, you’re basically my height, and she has no room to talk really-“

“Kurt! Kurt, its okay! Trust me, I’m no stranger to height jokes. I woulda never survived growing up with Cooper if I couldn’t take it. It’s fine.”

“Okay. Just, she really does like you, you know that, right?”

“Yes I do.”

“Good.”

“So….”

“So….what?”

“So am I?”

“Are you what?”

“Am I… your… you know… am I…….your boyfriend?”

“Oh.”

“If not I mean that’s totally okay, I don’t want to rush into things and. Nevermind. Sorry. I wasjustwondering-“

“Blaine.”

“Y-yes?”

“Breathe.”

“….k.”

“I….have a confession.”

“Oh god.”

“No, no, it’s not bad. Well, I don’t think, at least. It’s just…. I may have already told my dad that….you are.”

“That I am….”

“My boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Is… Is that oka-“

“Yes! Ohmygod yes! I mean…..okay. Yes. Kurt, I would be…. honored to be your boyfriend.”

“Well….good, Mr. Formal Gentleman. … You’re blushing aren’t you?”

“How can you always tell?”

“Magic. Hey…..Blaine? I’m blushing too.”

“….well at least we’re in this embarrassment together. Huh.”

“We are. In this together, I mean.”

“….Good.”

“I…have to go to bed now, probably… Classes tomorrow.”

“Okay. Hey kurt?”

“What?”

“Call me your boyfriend again.”

“….you are such a dork ohmygod. Okay. You’re… my boyfriend. Oh, wow. You’re my boyfriend.”

“….that sounds so good you have no idea. Okay, my turn. You’re….my boyfriend.”

“I am.”

I have a boyfriend and you are him.

“Oh good grief. Goodnight Blaine, you adorable pint sized schoolboy.”

“Goodnight. ….Boyfriend.”

“Oh my god.”

THIS IS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL CAN THIS BE CANON I DON’T CARE IF IT ISN’T IT’S CANON FOR ME THIS WILL ALWAYS BE CANON FOR ME

cryblainecry:

Blaine turns three the first time he really gets in trouble.

His parents get him a giant cake, complete with an edible Power Rangers decoration. Cooper helps pick it out, helps Blaine sign the invitations and put up the decorations.

When the cake comes out, Blaine’s face lights up, and he’s all but bouncing with his excitement. Cooper laughs, tries to hold onto Blaine’s shoulders, but Blaine’s tiny (even for his age), and wriggles free, darting towards the cake.

It happens quickly.

Blaine launches himself face first at his cake, lands in the icing. Dad starts yelling. Mom’s laughing.

Blaine starts crying when he realizes Dad’s yelling at him.

Cooper pulls Blaine out of the cake (trying not to laugh because Blaine’s covered in vanilla icing), and sets him on his feet, trying to dry his tears.

Dad’s yelling about the cake, about Blaine needing to calm down, about the mess. Mom takes into another room, calms him down.

Cooper cleans Blaine’s face off, dries his tears. Blaine’s sniffling quietly, clinging to Cooper’s shirt sleeves.

He’s too young to really understand what’s going on.

Cooper smiles at him, scoops up a glob of icing, smears it across Blaine’s nose with a laugh.

Blaine starts giggling, trying to lick the icing off, his eyes crossing with the effort. Cooper keeps that picture of Blaine in his wallet for a long time afterwards.

(Source: drcryblainecry)

WIP - Stripper!Kurt fic (teaser)

aubreyli:

So, a while ago, miryak drew this incredible stripper!Kurt picture that pretty much sent the entire fandom into a frenzy of lust.  This is my contribution to that frenzy.  I wasn’t going to post it until I had more written, but Alexa had a bad day, and I’m hoping this might make her feel a bit better.

Major thank-yous go to devonwood, for cheerleading (and if you haven’t read her stripper!Kurt fic yet, GO READ IT NOW), antifairytale, for taking good care of my initial plot bunny, and oddwritesstuff and aspiringtoeloquence for helping me work out the plot over skype.  I’m probably forgetting people, so please remind me so that I can amend my notes.

Summary: It’s the night before Blaine’s wedding, and because his friends aren’t as awesome as Kurt’s friends, he’s stuck going to a strip club while Kurt gets to enjoy facials and massages.

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HOLY SHIT THIS IS AMAZING A;HTOAIWHEOTIHAT

chatterboxrose:

—-after the kiss—-
Kurt was left breathless from the kisses. His head was spinning and he couldn’t exactly believe that this was happening. But it had, and now Blaine and him were walking out of the commons and to their next class.
They were holding hands. 
Kurt wondering if his hand was too sweaty, and if he was really holding it right. He’d only ever held the girls’ hands, like Mercedes or Rachel, and that wasn’t a big deal. But this was, because he had just finished kissing this boy. 
“I wish we didn’t have to go to class,” said Blaine as they started walking down the stairs. His voice we lower as another boy passed them. “I just want to kiss you. Like, forever.” Blaine’s face turned red and it was…endearing, to see him so flustered. 
“Same here,” admitted Kurt, his voice probably too high. 
Blaine sighed and turned to face Kurt as they reached the bottom of the staircase. He still held Kurt’s hand, and suddenly Kurt was reminded of something -
“This is where we met,” said Blaine with a goofy grin. “I was just on my way to another Warbler performance and then I heard this voice and…there you were.”
“You held my hand then, too,” said Kurt, realizing what this remind him of. 
“I did. But…I have to say, it means more now.” Blaine squeezed his hand. “God, I’m glad I met you. I’m glad that the timing on that day was perfect. You could have met anyone here that day. Then we would have never…” Blaine frowned. 
“Thankfully, I met the boy that gave me a shortcut and then serenaded me,” teased Kurt. 
Blaine grinned. “I did, didn’t I?” He laughed. 
The bell rang, signaling that they had five minutes to get to class. Blaine and Kurt were in different classes this hour, sadly. 
“I have to go,” Blaine said. He stepped up three steps, to stand on the step above the one Kurt was at, laughing. Blaine’s shortness wasn’t something he was uncomfortable with, really, but to do this, he might have to be a bit taller. 
He pressed a kiss to Kurt’s forehead, then leaned down and kissed his lips quickly, pulling away before they could have a repeat performance (though neither would have minded) of their other kisses. 
“I’ll see you later,” breathed Kurt. 
“Meet here?” asked Blaine. 
“Always.” 

chatterboxrose:

—-after the kiss—-

Kurt was left breathless from the kisses. His head was spinning and he couldn’t exactly believe that this was happening. But it had, and now Blaine and him were walking out of the commons and to their next class.

They were holding hands. 

Kurt wondering if his hand was too sweaty, and if he was really holding it right. He’d only ever held the girls’ hands, like Mercedes or Rachel, and that wasn’t a big deal. But this was, because he had just finished kissing this boy. 

“I wish we didn’t have to go to class,” said Blaine as they started walking down the stairs. His voice we lower as another boy passed them. “I just want to kiss you. Like, forever.” Blaine’s face turned red and it was…endearing, to see him so flustered. 

“Same here,” admitted Kurt, his voice probably too high. 

Blaine sighed and turned to face Kurt as they reached the bottom of the staircase. He still held Kurt’s hand, and suddenly Kurt was reminded of something -

“This is where we met,” said Blaine with a goofy grin. “I was just on my way to another Warbler performance and then I heard this voice and…there you were.”

“You held my hand then, too,” said Kurt, realizing what this remind him of. 

“I did. But…I have to say, it means more now.” Blaine squeezed his hand. “God, I’m glad I met you. I’m glad that the timing on that day was perfect. You could have met anyone here that day. Then we would have never…” Blaine frowned. 

“Thankfully, I met the boy that gave me a shortcut and then serenaded me,” teased Kurt. 

Blaine grinned. “I did, didn’t I?” He laughed. 

The bell rang, signaling that they had five minutes to get to class. Blaine and Kurt were in different classes this hour, sadly. 

“I have to go,” Blaine said. He stepped up three steps, to stand on the step above the one Kurt was at, laughing. Blaine’s shortness wasn’t something he was uncomfortable with, really, but to do this, he might have to be a bit taller. 

He pressed a kiss to Kurt’s forehead, then leaned down and kissed his lips quickly, pulling away before they could have a repeat performance (though neither would have minded) of their other kisses. 

“I’ll see you later,” breathed Kurt. 

“Meet here?” asked Blaine. 

“Always.” 

lianastarkidriddle:

chatterboxrose:

stellapupa:

Dad’s shadow.
Blaine, I think you need to run :D

Kurt and Blaine sat close together on the couch in the Hummel living room studying. Kurt was snugly wrapped in one of Blaine’s old Dalton sweatshirts, which he couldn’t bare to part with even after he transferred to McKinley this year. 
Kurt stared down at his history notes, tapping his pen on his chin absently. He jumped in surprise when suddenly an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him even closer to Blaine. Blaine, who had his history book firmly shut on his lap, kissed Kurt’s cheek multiple times.
“Blaine!” Kurt said in what he hoped was a firm tone, but came out with only giggles.
“Kurt,” said Blaine in the same tone. Kurt reached up to push Blaine away as he said something about needing to study for the exam tomorrow, but Blaine grabbed his hand and linked their fingers together. “I want to study you,” protested Blaine, pressing a gentle kiss on the side of Kurt’s mouth. 
“Stop, Blaine -” laughed Kurt as Blaine’s right hand tickled his waist.
“How’s studying going, boys?” asked Burt’s gruff voice. Immediately Blaine’s hands left his waist and he had jumped back to his side of the couch. Kurt fell back on the couch without Blaine’s arm propping him up, which made him laugh more. He looked over to find Blaine’s face completely red and his history book open - but in his haste it was upside down. 
“Very well, Mr. Hummel,” said Blaine quickly.
“Huh. Book’s upside down, kid,” said Burt with a raised eyebrow. Blaine noticed and flushed more. Kurt laughed and Blaine shot him a glare.
“Look boys, I don’t mind you being…well boyfriends and doing what people in relationships do,” said Burt, grabbing his newspaper from the coffee table. “But save it until after some studying has been done, ok?” And paused for a moment and then added: “And keep it PG. In fact, let’s keep it a Disney movie relationship.” 
Blaine smiled at Burt a nodded, though he was still red in the face. Kurt resumed his reading of his history notes as he rolled his eyes at his dad, but said nothing. 
When Burt had left the room after a few minutes, Kurt once again felt a hand around his waist. Blaine rested his chin on Kurt’s shoulder and kissed his cheek once. “I think I’ll read over your notes,” he said, peering over Kurt’s shoulder and down at his notebook. 
“If you say so,” Kurt laughed, leaning up to kiss Blaine’s lips. 

<3

AHHHH THE PICTURE AND THE DRABBLE ARE BOTH SO FREAKING ADORABLE

lianastarkidriddle:

chatterboxrose:

stellapupa:

Dad’s shadow.

Blaine, I think you need to run :D

Kurt and Blaine sat close together on the couch in the Hummel living room studying. Kurt was snugly wrapped in one of Blaine’s old Dalton sweatshirts, which he couldn’t bare to part with even after he transferred to McKinley this year. 

Kurt stared down at his history notes, tapping his pen on his chin absently. He jumped in surprise when suddenly an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him even closer to Blaine. Blaine, who had his history book firmly shut on his lap, kissed Kurt’s cheek multiple times.

“Blaine!” Kurt said in what he hoped was a firm tone, but came out with only giggles.

“Kurt,” said Blaine in the same tone. Kurt reached up to push Blaine away as he said something about needing to study for the exam tomorrow, but Blaine grabbed his hand and linked their fingers together. “I want to study you,” protested Blaine, pressing a gentle kiss on the side of Kurt’s mouth. 

“Stop, Blaine -” laughed Kurt as Blaine’s right hand tickled his waist.

“How’s studying going, boys?” asked Burt’s gruff voice. Immediately Blaine’s hands left his waist and he had jumped back to his side of the couch. Kurt fell back on the couch without Blaine’s arm propping him up, which made him laugh more. He looked over to find Blaine’s face completely red and his history book open - but in his haste it was upside down. 

“Very well, Mr. Hummel,” said Blaine quickly.

“Huh. Book’s upside down, kid,” said Burt with a raised eyebrow. Blaine noticed and flushed more. Kurt laughed and Blaine shot him a glare.

“Look boys, I don’t mind you being…well boyfriends and doing what people in relationships do,” said Burt, grabbing his newspaper from the coffee table. “But save it until after some studying has been done, ok?” And paused for a moment and then added: “And keep it PG. In fact, let’s keep it a Disney movie relationship.” 

Blaine smiled at Burt a nodded, though he was still red in the face. Kurt resumed his reading of his history notes as he rolled his eyes at his dad, but said nothing. 

When Burt had left the room after a few minutes, Kurt once again felt a hand around his waist. Blaine rested his chin on Kurt’s shoulder and kissed his cheek once. “I think I’ll read over your notes,” he said, peering over Kurt’s shoulder and down at his notebook. 

“If you say so,” Kurt laughed, leaning up to kiss Blaine’s lips. 

<3

AHHHH THE PICTURE AND THE DRABBLE ARE BOTH SO FREAKING ADORABLE

meeting at a coffee shop [blaine’s pov].

blaineeeeee:

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AHHH THIS IS FREAKING AMAZING I NEED MORE. AHHHH.

SOMEONE WITH WRITING SKILLS WRITE A FIC ABOUT AARON CHRISTOPHERSON

rachellephant:

acciocupcakes:

I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HE DID AT THAT PARTY

“Oi, Christopherson—hand me a beer, will you?”

Aaron dips his hand into the cooler again and yanks out one from the bottom. For a split second he watches the melting bits of ice slip down the sides coolly, running over the curves of the beer bottle—then he tosses it back to his mate Connor. Connor breaks it open and hand it to a pretty brunette who’s wearing a sweater with what looks like a carousel horse on it rolled up above her midsection. He looks away from them pointedly, letting his friend do his thing, and sips a bit of his own beer. A short distance away from him, there’s a dance riot going on, and—did they just pull out silly string?

Aaron laughs as someone yanks his hand and drags him into the group. He just manages to set his beer back down on a table somewhere when he gets a face full of silly string and, wiping it off, he sees it was sprayed by a young blonde with cropped hair and a wide smile. She gets up close to him at the same time the music starts to get really loud, and their bodies are pressed together for a delicious moment before another boy yanks her away by the wrist.

“Boyfriend and designated driver,” he says as introduction, and Aaron can tell he’s trying not to be angry with his girlfriend. “Sorry, she gets crazy when she’s drunk.”

“No problem, man,” Aaron says, shaking himself free of the rest of the silly string and shrugging as the two slip back into the mesh of bodies and neon clothing. Aaron shimmies his way back to the wall again, unsurprised that the brief affection was so short-lived—he’s never had much success with girls, although they’re supposed to dig artistic guys. He finds his beer again (well, at least, he hopes it’s his beer) and takes another swig. To his left, a girl’s got her shirt off and is sprawled over the couch. The streamers on the ceiling have now sunk so low that they’re almost touching her belly, but another girl is bending over her and licking something off her stomach. Aaron watches them for a moment, immersed in the desire to draw them if he only had a sketch pad, but suddenly someone has been thrown into him, knocking the wind out of him and slamming him back against the wall. His beer falls out of his hand and breaks on the carpet, and he catches the someone by the hips as she—he—it, whatever it is, yelps and curls into a ball against his chest.

“DON’T YOU DARE,” it screeches, and by the tone of the voice Aaron determines it’s male. “Get that silly string away from me, I will not be washing it out of my hair—”

“Hold still, hold still!” Aaron yelps, trying to get the boy to stop writhing in his arms. Someone’s approaching them with a silly string can at the ready, and when Aaron looks up, he sees that it’s a young man with a mohawk he recognizes from the record shop across from his apartment—he thinks his name might be Marvin. Marv for short.

“GOT YOUUUUU,” he yells as he flings out the silly string can and sprays the boy Aaron’s holding and—by association—Aaron. They curl into each other under the pressure, and Aaron feels the boy’s hand grip his lapel as he lets out a coarse “God fucking dammit” into Aaron’s collar bone. Aaron splutters, the silly string getting into his mouth, and Marv laughs with glee at the pair of them.

“Thanks for holding him still, mate, I’ve been trying to get him all night,” Marv says delightedly.

“No problem,” Aaron says wearily, mopping his eyes free of the silly string and panting from the excitement. The boy in front of him seems to only then realize how close they are, and he peels himself away from Aaron, yanking off great chunks of silly string from his sleeves as he goes.

“Oh god, it’s in my hair, isn’t it?” he says angrily, touching his auburn locks carefully, Aaron has long since stopped trying to rid his entire body of the foul substance, so he leans back against the table and watches the other boy gingerly strip ribbons of silly string off his head.

“You look great, Colgrove,” Marv says genuinely, laughing and taking a beer from a girl to his left. He takes a massive gulp and winks. “Off to find my next victim. The two of you play nice now.” He and the girl disappear into the crowd.

“Need help?” Aaron offers after a moment of watching the boy struggle.

The boy’s head snaps up. “No, I do not need help from you,” he snaps, his eyes flashing wildly. “I was just trying to find my sister—I think she might have wandered in here, I live just down the street and—for fuck’s sake, why do they even make silly string—?”

Aaron lets out a giggle and moves closer to him. “I’m Aaron Christopherson,” he says genially, picking a few strings off of the boy’s shoulder, “And I’m the boy you used as a cushion two seconds ago to stop yourself from slamming into the wall.”

The boy looks at him, pausing from ridding himself of the silly string. “Kristopher Colgrove,” he says breathlessly, his eyes a little wider than usual, and not so angry anymore as they actually make eye contact for the first time. Aaron can see that they’re a charming greenish color—a color that would be beautiful to paint, he thinks.

“Kristopher,” Aaron repeats. “Nice name, good name, may I call you Kris?”

Kris is about to say something that may have been in protest, but the music vanishes for a second and then is replaced at a louder volume. The crowd jumping up and down in the room screams with delight, and Aaron takes this opportunity to grab Kris’s hand and yank him with him onto the dance floor. If he can’t get a girl to dance with him, he might as well get this boy to do it instead. He’s cute, anyway, with a lanky frame and an angular jaw, albeit brownish hair a mess with silly string.

“No, I don’t think—”

“Shut up, this way you don’t have to pay me back for the damage you did running into me,” Aaron says playfully, and then he begins to dance to the music, squashed in between bodies and screams and the loud beat of the music drumming in his ears. Kris stands there stiffly for a second before Aaron takes both of his hands and moves them to the beat with him. Kris’s slight smile is embarrassed and beautiful and Aaron thinks that maybe it’s the alcohol getting to him. No matter—he puts both his hands on Kris’s hip, shouts, “Like this,” and they move together, close for two people who have never met, and sway and bob to the beat as it surrounds them.

Kris is pressed very closely to Aaron now, his arms around his neck, actually getting into the music, and it thrills Aaron to see him let loose a little even though they’re both still webbed with silly string. Aaron presses their foreheads together after a moment, feeling his hips move under his fingers, but that’s when Kris seems to come to his senses. Those eyes snap open and Aaron catches them again, but then Kris backs up and starts squeezing out of the crowd. His fingers link themselves with Aaron’s, who follows him willingly out of the mesh of bodies and sweat and screams and into the kitchen.

Kris is trembling slightly as he finds a beer in the fridge. He opens it and takes a swig, swallows, and takes a deep breath, as if he’d just run miles. He offers the bottle to Aaron, who sips a bit of it gratefully and hands it back. The kitchen isn’t empty, but it’s less crowded than the previous room. Even so, Aaron stands right next to Kris as he leans against the counter, their shoulders pressing together and their hips almost touching.

“I don’t usually do this,” Kris says after a moment of listening to the echoes of screaming and drunken laughing coming from the other room. “I don’t usually drink or party or anything. I’m barely twenty-one.” He laughs shakily and brings the beer to his lips again, just holding it there. Aaron watches his lips touch the droplets of alcohol left on the rim of the bottle, and there it is, that familiar urge to draw something so… oh, beautiful, that would probably be the word. It’s the artist in him wanting to capture beauty, rising in him like an animal.

“Me either,” he says honestly, “And I’m certainly not used to partying and sharing drinks with such handsome fellas as yourself.”

He grabs the beer again, takes another gulp, and puts it back in Kris’s hands. Kris is staring at him unblinkingly, curiosity swirling in his eyes. After a moment he gives a nervous laugh, flushing around the ears with pleasure. Aaron grins at him and says, “Alright, Kris, let’s get the rest of that silly string out of your hair.”

Kris gulps down the rest of his beer and the two of them fight their way back through the crowd and up the stairs, and all Aaron can feel is Kris’s hand in his and the music pumping through him as he searches for the bathroom he knows to be up here.

They go inside, and two people are lying with each other in the bathtub—Aaron recognizes it as Connor and the brunette he was with earlier. Her carousel sweater is now lying at his feet and she’s in her bra and skirt when Connor peeks from around her, sees Kris and Aaron hovering hand in hand at the door, and says, “Leanne, I think we need to go. Everywhere else taken, boys?”

“We’re just—” Kris sputters. “We’re just washing the silly string out of my hair.”

“Mmmm,” Leanne mutters, stumbling out of the bathtub and scooping up her sweater, putting it on inside out accidentally. Connor catches her before she falls.

“We’ll see you later, Aaron, don’t get him pregnant,” he says, grinning at Kris, who sputters incoherently again in response. Aaron laughs as they leave and shuts the door, flipping a light on and moving towards the sink. Kris takes a deep breath as he turns on the water, apparently embarrassed, but Aaron tries not to notice that so much as he just watches him take handfuls of water through his hair and try to comb the remainder of the silly string out.

“You’re getting it stuck,” he observes.

“Shut up,” says Kris, but he’s smiling. “I wouldn’t even have to be here if you hadn’t held me still for Marv.”

“In my defense, you were very nice to hold.”

“What’d you say you were doing here again?”

“I didn’t. I just go to school with Kathy. She was in one of my GE classes a while ago and we’ve kept in touch.”

“What are you studying for?” Kris asks, lifting his head from the sink and catching Aaron’s eyes in the mirror. Kris’s eyes glint in the semi-darkness, catching off of reflections from the sink and the mirror; Aaron wants to capture him on paper again, to make this sort of beauty blossom in the eternal form of artwork.

“I’m an artist,” he says.

“Oh.” Kris blinks. “That’s cool.” He runs his hand through his hair again, and Aaron sees one strand of silly string bury itself beneath a lock of hair.

“Hey hold still,” he says moving rapidly closer, and Kris freezes, sucking in a breath. The music is now very audible in the silence, pumping through the floor, diluted into a muted muddle via the feet of wood separating them from the stereo as Aaron moves Kris’s hand from his hair and puts his own fingers in there instead, feeling for the bit of silly string. He extracts it carefully and, holding it up between two fingers, nods at Kris.

“You missed this,” he says, shaking it off his hand and onto the floor.

When he looks back up at him, Kris is blinking. “Thanks,” he says quietly, and they’re both silent for a moment, letting the music from downstairs fill the bathroom. Aaron can see beads of water from the sink hovering on Kris’s lips, and Aaron becomes so incomparably filled with that artist’s urge again, a deep desire to make something so incredibly small and simple and yet beautiful his own.

And then suddenly they’re kissing. Aaron isn’t sure if he initiated it or Kris did, but suddenly their lips are pressed together, lightly at first, and then fiercer as Kris takes Aaron’s hips in his hands and pulls him closer. Aaron’s hands find Kris’s feathery hair again, this time taking hold at the back of the neck, and they move against each other feverishly for a moment, suddenly possessed by a whirlwind of passion that Aaron can feel rolling off of Kris in waves. He tastes like beer and sweat and flavored chapstic and for a moment Aaron thinks he hears Kris whimper in the back of his throat and he almost looses it right there, pressing him into the sink and propping his hand up against the mirror to steady them both.

Then, as if suddenly coming to their senses, they break apart. They’re still very, very close, hovering within inches of each other, each boy’s gaze flitting between the other’s eyes and lips, half in the mindset of going at one another again.

“Fuck,” Aaron whispers breathlessly after a moment, trying to rationalize what just happened.

That’s when Kris says softly, his grin an inch from Aaron’s lips, “If you insist.”

Nobody comes into the bathroom for the rest of the night, and it is with complete honesty when, the next morning, Aaron finds Kathy in her bedroom and tells her imploringly,

“Best. Party. Ever.”

THIS IS BRILLIANT.

to be honest [fanfic].

rachellephant:

Characters/Pairings: Blainecentric. Implied Klaine.
Warnings:
Allusions to self-harm and language.
Words:
5,167.
Song That I Listened to While Writing:
All You Wanted; Sounds Under Radio. Seriously. It works.
Request from:
mylifeasaprofessionalfangirl

To be honest, Blaine’s a little fucked up.

As the sky darkens behind him, he rips up Dalton’s main walk, through the front doors, and then through the hall, like a wounded animal trying to find shelter. It hurts. A fucking lot. And Blaine doesn’t know how he’s going to do this anymore, how he’s going to survive another night of this, another weekend, another year. He’s so used to the good days at Dalton during the week, feeling okay with himself, and then, for what? For fucking what? For tearing like he does now into the Warbler’s practice room, slamming the door shut, and collapsing in a fit of terrible gasping sobs against the red couch, clutching himself like he’s trying to hold all of his guts in, that’s what; if his arms weren’t wrapped so tightly around his middle he’s almost positive he would promptly fall apart.

Because, to be honest, Blaine’s fucked up. He’s fucked up bad. And all of the scars aren’t usually visible—that is to say, he does a pretty good job of covering them up, on normal days. But this one is, and it’s so visible it’s a red streak across the sky, flagging down every eye in the immediate vicinity. They snap to him like snakes to their prey and there it is, bloody and smeared across clouds and landscapes and fields and his wrists.

And he’s fucked up. More than a little. He’s fucked up a lot.

And the worst part is now everyone can see it.

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Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. OH. MY. GOD.

Rachelle, I’ve read a lot, lot, LOT of Klaine fics. TONS. And I’ve read a countless amount of amazing ones.

But I’m pretty sure this is the best one I’ve ever read. EVER.

It was realistic, it was moving, it was heartbreaking, it got me emotional and teary (and I rarely ever cry when I read these, no matter how sad they are), it was beautiful. I know I keep saying this, but you have such a gorgeous writing style, such a beautiful way with words. Your descriptions and language and wording are all so pretty, so beautiful. I keep repeating beautiful because any other word wouldn’t grasp the full truth. The characterization was perfect, the pain in the story was so great that I felt pain as I read it. Everything about it was so real. The dialogue was so realistic, and so was the fight Blaine had with his parents—everything about it was so freaking realistic.

I love how Blaine kept flashing back to the argument, I love how you managed to capture Blaine’s fragility so well, I love how when he saw Kurt it didn’t instantly make everything right, how even after he was at Kurt’s house it didn’t fix things and he was still in pain. I love the ending, about family; it made my chest burst. I love how you wrote Blaine’s thought process. It really felt like I was in his head, and it read the way someone really thinks: all jumbled up and run-on sentences and repetition. And his trauma from his parents’ behavior was so real; it’s always hard to write those type of reactions, but you did it perfectly, so realistically.

I just can’t get over how amazing this is. It moved me, Rachelle.

Congratulations on being one of the best freaking writers I’ve ever seen.

chatterboxrose:

Hi, my name is Rose and I’m trying to be artistic. 
Drabble to go with this. 

Kurt and Blaine’s joint hands hung in the air between them, swinging slightly. While Kurt was still nervous about PDA, especially in Ohio, he had to admit that in the Lima Bean, that fear didn’t exist as much. He was safe, here. A little hand holding wouldn’t hurt. 
“So we’re meeting your family at Breadstix at 6?” asked Blaine as they took a step forward in line. 
“Yes. If we’re not there by then, Finn is likely to eat all our breadsticks, so we can’t be late,” said Kurt with an eye roll. 
They both stepped up and Kurt opened his mouth to order when the Batista, a short girl that was probably college aged and usually working when they were here, smiled and help up a hand to stop him. “It’s alright, Kurt, I know what you a Blaine get. Blaine, do you want to add a cookie? They’re fresh.”
“Yes, please,” said Blaine with excitement akin to a five year old who was…well, just offered a cookie. 
“Oh,” said Kurt. 
“Sorry,” said the girl, pausing in ringing up the drinks and cookie. “I didn’t mean to freak you out…it’s just, I’ve been taking your orders for months now…”
“Oh no, it’s fine. Saves time, obviously,” said Kurt, a shaky smile. 
The girl handed Blaine the cookie on a napkin. “Here you go. My name is Katie, by the way. And I have to say, I’m so glad you guys finally got together.” Her eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands. “You guys are so cute together.”
Kurt was speechless; Blaine took the cookie and nodded with a smile. “Thank you. I finally opened my eyes - took me long enough.” He and Katie shared a laugh. 
“Your coffee should be right now; see you both soon,” she said in a cheerful tone. When Kurt and Blaine moved to the table to pick up their order, she started taking the next order of the people behind them in line. 
Their names were called out a minute later. Kurt grabbed them and glanced at the label briefly to see which was his - and did a double take. Next to their names “Kurt” and “Blaine”, in what Kurt could only assume was Katie’s handwriting (he had been seeing it for months now, his name written in the familiar scrawl) were little red hearts. 
“Look at that!” said Kurt, pointing to the hearts. 
“Adorable,” cooed Blaine. “She’s so nice,” said Blaine, looking over at Katie, who was busy with a costumer. 
“Very,” said Kurt absently, as they walked out of the coffee shop, still holding hands. 
Again, Kurt’s Safe Place once again surprised him. 

chatterboxrose:

Hi, my name is Rose and I’m trying to be artistic. 

Drabble to go with this. 

Kurt and Blaine’s joint hands hung in the air between them, swinging slightly. While Kurt was still nervous about PDA, especially in Ohio, he had to admit that in the Lima Bean, that fear didn’t exist as much. He was safe, here. A little hand holding wouldn’t hurt. 

“So we’re meeting your family at Breadstix at 6?” asked Blaine as they took a step forward in line. 

“Yes. If we’re not there by then, Finn is likely to eat all our breadsticks, so we can’t be late,” said Kurt with an eye roll. 

They both stepped up and Kurt opened his mouth to order when the Batista, a short girl that was probably college aged and usually working when they were here, smiled and help up a hand to stop him. “It’s alright, Kurt, I know what you a Blaine get. Blaine, do you want to add a cookie? They’re fresh.”

“Yes, please,” said Blaine with excitement akin to a five year old who was…well, just offered a cookie. 

“Oh,” said Kurt. 

“Sorry,” said the girl, pausing in ringing up the drinks and cookie. “I didn’t mean to freak you out…it’s just, I’ve been taking your orders for months now…”

“Oh no, it’s fine. Saves time, obviously,” said Kurt, a shaky smile. 

The girl handed Blaine the cookie on a napkin. “Here you go. My name is Katie, by the way. And I have to say, I’m so glad you guys finally got together.” Her eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands. “You guys are so cute together.”

Kurt was speechless; Blaine took the cookie and nodded with a smile. “Thank you. I finally opened my eyes - took me long enough.” He and Katie shared a laugh. 

“Your coffee should be right now; see you both soon,” she said in a cheerful tone. When Kurt and Blaine moved to the table to pick up their order, she started taking the next order of the people behind them in line. 

Their names were called out a minute later. Kurt grabbed them and glanced at the label briefly to see which was his - and did a double take. Next to their names “Kurt” and “Blaine”, in what Kurt could only assume was Katie’s handwriting (he had been seeing it for months now, his name written in the familiar scrawl) were little red hearts. 

“Look at that!” said Kurt, pointing to the hearts. 

“Adorable,” cooed Blaine. “She’s so nice,” said Blaine, looking over at Katie, who was busy with a costumer. 

“Very,” said Kurt absently, as they walked out of the coffee shop, still holding hands. 

Again, Kurt’s Safe Place once again surprised him. 

Operation: Summer Lovin Preview - Prologue: Everything Sucks

operationsummerlovin:

“That one’s totally a turtle,” Blaine said, raising their joined hands and pointing at a cloud drifting rapidly across the darkening sky. This was his favorite part about summer, how it stayed light for so long before the blue was suddenly replaced by purple, and even then the day seemed to be holding on with all its might, trying in vain to avoid the inevitable bloom of night.

I don’t see it,” Kurt murmured, and even though Blaine couldn’t see his face he could hear the way Kurt squinted, feel the brush of his hair as he tilted his head against Blaine’s bare ankle, looking for a better angle.

“I think it’s gone now. But trust me,” Blaine smiled, turning to press a quick kiss into Kurt’s own ankle, where the leg of his jeans was pushed up. “It was a turtle.” He let his gaze drift back to the sky, singing quietly under his breath.

Summer lovin, had me a blaaaast…

“Don’t sing that song,” Kurt said quickly.

“Why not?” Blaine asked.

“Just don’t.”

“But it’s stuck in my head,” Blaine whined, poking at Kurt’s side. “Probably forever. It’s your fault, ya know - Grease was your idea. Besides, you didn’t mind when I sang Rent songs all week after we saw it.”

“Yeah, well, I had a giant crush on you back then,” Kurt said dryly. “You could do no wrong in my eyes. Everything was charming.”

“And now?”

“The magic’s gone, Blaine.” Blaine could feel Kurt’s body vibrate with silent laughter and nudged a knee into his ribs, eyes darting as the first fireflies of the evening made themselves known.

Met a boy, cute as can be…

“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was suddenly harsh, and it made Blaine sit up.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice, staring down at Kurt, who was very decidedly avoiding his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t like that song,” Kurt said absently, huffing out a breath when Blaine used their joined hands to pull him up. “What?”

“What’s. Wrong?” Blaine repeated, letting go of Kurt’s hand to run a thumb over his cheekbone, coaxing him to meet his eyes.

“I just,” Kurt started, leaning into the touch for a moment before he pulled back, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. Not if it’s bothering you,” Blaine shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile that never failed to make Kurt feel a little dizzy. He still wasn’t quite used to having someone look at him like that, care about him like that, and the words were tumbling out before he’d made the conscious decision to speak.

“I’m just annoyed. We don’t get to have that summer,” Kurt sighed. “Spending day after day together, wandering around town, going to the beach…”

“Making out in the sand?” Blaine asked in a low voice, laughing when Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking of the tide pools actually, but good to see where your head’s at,” Kurt smirked. “Just…you know what I mean…between my stupid male bonding family camping trip and your music camp, we’re hardly going to see each other this summer, and I’ve only had you back for two days.” Kurt fell sideways a little, resting his forehead against Blaine’s knee. “Everything sucks.

“Everything does not suck,” Blaine smiled, tracing his fingers over the top of Kurt’s spine, up through his hair and back down in what he assumed was a soothing pattern, if Kurt’s slowing breaths were any indication. “We have a week before you go. And a week when you get home before I leave. And then two whole weeks before school starts. That’s a month. A month of awesome togetherness waiting for us.”

“And two months of completely terrible separation,” Kurt muttered.

“Always the optimist,” Blaine chuckled, scooting around until they were facing the same direction and laying back on the grass again, pulling Kurt with him until he settled his head on his shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out. I promise,” he murmured, repeating the phrase and carding his fingers lightly through Kurt’s hair before he pointed up again at the sudden lights swarming against the night sky. “Let’s just watch the fireflies.”

THIS IS SO ADORABLE AND SO WELL-WRITTEN AND THE ARTWORK IS BEAUTIFUL. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. I’M SO EXCITED FOR MORE OF THIS TO COME. THIS IS GOING TO BE FREAKING AMAZING.

questionable-morals:

People really like the other drabble I wrote. So, this is part of the Coffeeshop Interludes series, in which Blaine is a barista.

“I am going to kill you,” said Blaine into his phone.
Becky’s voice rang through his ear. “No, you’re not. Besides, I was tired of you mooning after the Gap guy.”
Blaine turned away from where Kurt was standing. “Becks, you can’t just…”
“Switch shifts so that you bump into my other gorgeous gay friend? Pretty sure I can,” said Becky, amusement clear in her voice. “Is he there right now?”
Blaine turned and looked at where Kurt was standing, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“Let me guess. You’re hiding in the bathroom.”
Blaine cursed. “Um…maybe.”
“Blaine, you need to get out there and at least do your job. And, if you happen to gaze into Kurt’s eyes—”
“Bye, Becks.” Blaine ended the call. He took a deep breath and walked out. Kurt was staring at the ground, as Jake took the order of the girl in front of him.
“Let me guess,” he said. Kurt’s eyes darted up. “Grande nonfat mocha?” Kurt grinned.
“You know my coffee order?” he asked quietly.
Blaine grinned. “Of course I do.”


AWWW. And it continues to be adorable. I&#8217;m really in love with these coffeeshop-meeting scenes. You should make moooreeee.

questionable-morals:

People really like the other drabble I wrote. So, this is part of the Coffeeshop Interludes series, in which Blaine is a barista.

“I am going to kill you,” said Blaine into his phone.

Becky’s voice rang through his ear. “No, you’re not. Besides, I was tired of you mooning after the Gap guy.”

Blaine turned away from where Kurt was standing. “Becks, you can’t just…”

“Switch shifts so that you bump into my other gorgeous gay friend? Pretty sure I can,” said Becky, amusement clear in her voice. “Is he there right now?”

Blaine turned and looked at where Kurt was standing, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“Let me guess. You’re hiding in the bathroom.”

Blaine cursed. “Um…maybe.”

“Blaine, you need to get out there and at least do your job. And, if you happen to gaze into Kurt’s eyes—”

“Bye, Becks.” Blaine ended the call. He took a deep breath and walked out. Kurt was staring at the ground, as Jake took the order of the girl in front of him.

“Let me guess,” he said. Kurt’s eyes darted up. “Grande nonfat mocha?” Kurt grinned.

“You know my coffee order?” he asked quietly.

Blaine grinned. “Of course I do.”

AWWW. And it continues to be adorable. I’m really in love with these coffeeshop-meeting scenes. You should make moooreeee.

questionable-morals:

Five Ways Blaine and Kurt Didn’t Meet (But Totally Could Have) • the one where Blaine and Kurt are college students

“I was going to ask you to dance, but I don’t think I could keep up,” said Blaine, more than a little inebriated. The boy with the combat boots looked at him warily, as if trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Finally, his face broke into a smile, and Blaine inwardly cheered.
“We can’t all be as graceful as I am,” said Combat Boots.
Blaine cocked his head. “And you would be…”
“Kurt,” said Combat Boots.
Blaine grinned. “I’m Blaine.”
“Do you wanna get out of here?” Blaine heard himself ask.
Kurt stopped dancing. “That depends. How much have you had to drink?”
Blaine shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure I know where my dorm is.”
Kurt sighed, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Blaine winced, opening his eyes. So that is how he’d gotten back to the dorm. Which means he’d totally blown it with Combat Boots. He tried to move, but found himself pinned down by someone lying next to him on the bed.
Oh.
Oh.
He checked quickly, and was somewhat relieved to find that he still had some clothes on, but that didn’t change the fact that Com—no, Kurt—was in his bed.
“What the hell?” Well, apparently he wasn’t the only one who was waking up.
“Before this gets really awkward can we just, like…start over?” Blaine shuddered. “Um. I’m Blaine. I’m a music major.”
Kurt smiled sleepily. “You’re cute.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kurt.”


okay that&#8217;s it
i just can&#8217;t
i can&#8217;t handle the adorableness anymore it&#8217;s killing me
dear person who writes these five-ways-blaine-and-kurt-didn&#8217;t-meet drabbles
stop doing what you are doing because it&#8217;s not fair okay
okay.

questionable-morals:

Five Ways Blaine and Kurt Didn’t Meet (But Totally Could Have)the one where Blaine and Kurt are college students

“I was going to ask you to dance, but I don’t think I could keep up,” said Blaine, more than a little inebriated. The boy with the combat boots looked at him warily, as if trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Finally, his face broke into a smile, and Blaine inwardly cheered.

“We can’t all be as graceful as I am,” said Combat Boots.

Blaine cocked his head. “And you would be…”

“Kurt,” said Combat Boots.

Blaine grinned. “I’m Blaine.”

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Blaine heard himself ask.

Kurt stopped dancing. “That depends. How much have you had to drink?”

Blaine shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure I know where my dorm is.”

Kurt sighed, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Blaine winced, opening his eyes. So that is how he’d gotten back to the dorm. Which means he’d totally blown it with Combat Boots. He tried to move, but found himself pinned down by someone lying next to him on the bed.

Oh.

Oh.

He checked quickly, and was somewhat relieved to find that he still had some clothes on, but that didn’t change the fact that Com—no, Kurt—was in his bed.

“What the hell?” Well, apparently he wasn’t the only one who was waking up.

“Before this gets really awkward can we just, like…start over?” Blaine shuddered. “Um. I’m Blaine. I’m a music major.”

Kurt smiled sleepily. “You’re cute.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kurt.”

okay that’s it

i just can’t

i can’t handle the adorableness anymore it’s killing me

dear person who writes these five-ways-blaine-and-kurt-didn’t-meet drabbles

stop doing what you are doing because it’s not fair okay

okay.

nic&#8212;nac:

Santana was skipping Spanish. It might have been a stupid idea considering Mr. Shuester knew that was in school that day but whatever, she already knew how to speak Spanish. She just wasn’t in the mood for school today.
She sat in the auditorium alone. Or so she thought. Hearing a noise she looked up and saw Brad carrying an amp across the stage.
“Hey!” She sat up and walked closer to the stage. “Do you need help?”
He looked up. “You should be in class.” He definitely wasn’t a big conversationalist.
She shrugged. “I know all I need to know.” Jumping on the stage she picked up the other amp. “So where are we taking this shit?”
Brad motioned towards the piano and Santana carried the amp over, placing it on the ground next to it.
“How are things going with Brittany?”
Santana widened her eyes and looked at him. “What? How do you know anything about that?”
Brad smiled warmly. “You forget that I was in the room when you sang Landslide with her. That was very nice, by the way.”
Santana ducked her head, embarrassed. “Thanks.” She sighed. “Things are… slow. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Brad was silent for a moment. “Sing to her.”
“What?”
“You kids always sing to each other when you want to get your feelings out. Even when it’s not exactly the best time. Sing a song to her.”
“But what?”
Brad grinned. “Mr. Shuester gave you guys an assignment. Fleetwood Mac, right? I know the perfect song.”
“Well spit it out!” Santana laughed.
“You have to figure it out on your own, Santana.” Brad went over to the piano and played a few notes then looked over at her. “Just a hint to get you started.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Brad.” He nodded at her and started to walk away. “Hey!” He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you put up with all of our crap? You could quit and find a job playing piano somewhere else.”
He shrugged. “My DVR broke and it doesn’t record my soap operas anymore. You guys are the next best thing.” He winked at her before walking backstage.

BAHAHA
THIS IS BRILLIANT
SERIOUSLY ALL YOU PEOPLE ON TUMBLR WHO DO THESE ONE-SHOT FICS ARE SO AMAZING

nic—nac:

Santana was skipping Spanish. It might have been a stupid idea considering Mr. Shuester knew that was in school that day but whatever, she already knew how to speak Spanish. She just wasn’t in the mood for school today.

She sat in the auditorium alone. Or so she thought. Hearing a noise she looked up and saw Brad carrying an amp across the stage.

“Hey!” She sat up and walked closer to the stage. “Do you need help?”

He looked up. “You should be in class.” He definitely wasn’t a big conversationalist.

She shrugged. “I know all I need to know.” Jumping on the stage she picked up the other amp. “So where are we taking this shit?”

Brad motioned towards the piano and Santana carried the amp over, placing it on the ground next to it.

“How are things going with Brittany?”

Santana widened her eyes and looked at him. “What? How do you know anything about that?”

Brad smiled warmly. “You forget that I was in the room when you sang Landslide with her. That was very nice, by the way.”

Santana ducked her head, embarrassed. “Thanks.” She sighed. “Things are… slow. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Brad was silent for a moment. “Sing to her.”

“What?”

“You kids always sing to each other when you want to get your feelings out. Even when it’s not exactly the best time. Sing a song to her.”

“But what?”

Brad grinned. “Mr. Shuester gave you guys an assignment. Fleetwood Mac, right? I know the perfect song.”

“Well spit it out!” Santana laughed.

“You have to figure it out on your own, Santana.” Brad went over to the piano and played a few notes then looked over at her. “Just a hint to get you started.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Brad.” He nodded at her and started to walk away. “Hey!” He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you put up with all of our crap? You could quit and find a job playing piano somewhere else.”

He shrugged. “My DVR broke and it doesn’t record my soap operas anymore. You guys are the next best thing.” He winked at her before walking backstage.

BAHAHA

THIS IS BRILLIANT

SERIOUSLY ALL YOU PEOPLE ON TUMBLR WHO DO THESE ONE-SHOT FICS ARE SO AMAZING

questionable-morals:

Five Ways Blaine and Kurt Didn’t Meet (But Totally Could Have) • the one where Blaine is a barista and Kurt is…well, Kurt
Kurt searched through his bag for his wallet, stepping up to the counter of the coffeeshop. “Becky, you are not going to believe what frankenteen did today, can I just tell you—”
“That might be easier if Becky was actually here, but by all means, continue,” said a deep, male voice, chuckling.
Kurt’s head snapped up. Oh. That wasn’t Becky. That was…new guy. New guy with nice eyes and a gorgeous smile.
“You’re not Becky,” he blurted out. Smooth, Kurt. Way to go.
Nice Eyes grinned. “You’re not Tom Felton. Unfortunately for both of us, we’ll have to find a way to carry on.” He winked, and Kurt could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. “You can pretend I’m her and tell me about…erm, frankenteen, while I make your coffee, if you want.”
Kurt shook his head. “Not possible, you look much better in the uniform.” He wanted to physically slap himself after that particular gem slipped out, but Nice Eyes just grinned wider. “Um, grande nonfat mocha?”
“Coming right up,” said Nice Eyes.
“Is Becky okay?” asked Kurt.
“Yeah, she just forced me to switch with her because she says there’s this g—” Nice Eyes’ eyes widened, and he stopped mid-sentence, regarding Kurt warily. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your name?”
“Kurt.”
Nice Eyes turned around, banging his head against the coffeemaker, repeating “I’m either going to kill her or hug her” over and over.
“I’m not sure you’re supposed to do that,” ventured Kurt.
Nice Eyes turned back to Kurt, smiling pleasantly. “Well, Kurt, it was nice to meet you.” He handed him a cup. “Here’s your drink.”
Kurt pulled out his wallet, which Nice Eyes waved away. “It’s on me.” He smiled. “I’m Blaine, by the way.”

OHMYGOD THIS IS ADORABLE
I WANT MORE
GIVE ME MORE

questionable-morals:

Five Ways Blaine and Kurt Didn’t Meet (But Totally Could Have)the one where Blaine is a barista and Kurt is…well, Kurt

Kurt searched through his bag for his wallet, stepping up to the counter of the coffeeshop. “Becky, you are not going to believe what frankenteen did today, can I just tell you—”

“That might be easier if Becky was actually here, but by all means, continue,” said a deep, male voice, chuckling.

Kurt’s head snapped up. Oh. That wasn’t Becky. That was…new guy. New guy with nice eyes and a gorgeous smile.

“You’re not Becky,” he blurted out. Smooth, Kurt. Way to go.

Nice Eyes grinned. “You’re not Tom Felton. Unfortunately for both of us, we’ll have to find a way to carry on.” He winked, and Kurt could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. “You can pretend I’m her and tell me about…erm, frankenteen, while I make your coffee, if you want.”

Kurt shook his head. “Not possible, you look much better in the uniform.” He wanted to physically slap himself after that particular gem slipped out, but Nice Eyes just grinned wider. “Um, grande nonfat mocha?”

“Coming right up,” said Nice Eyes.

“Is Becky okay?” asked Kurt.

“Yeah, she just forced me to switch with her because she says there’s this g—” Nice Eyes’ eyes widened, and he stopped mid-sentence, regarding Kurt warily. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your name?”

“Kurt.”

Nice Eyes turned around, banging his head against the coffeemaker, repeating “I’m either going to kill her or hug her” over and over.

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to do that,” ventured Kurt.

Nice Eyes turned back to Kurt, smiling pleasantly. “Well, Kurt, it was nice to meet you.” He handed him a cup. “Here’s your drink.”

Kurt pulled out his wallet, which Nice Eyes waved away. “It’s on me.” He smiled. “I’m Blaine, by the way.”

OHMYGOD THIS IS ADORABLE

I WANT MORE

GIVE ME MORE

rachellephant:

warblerinfections:

moonshoespotterstarkid:

Kurt totally practiced this position with Blaine. Calling it. Headcanon. Done.

Fic. Now. Okay. Thanks. Bai.

“…Okay.”
Kurt’s standing, exhausted and vocally spent on stage, his shoulders heaving to catch his breath after all of that running around. Blaine’s perched upon the edge of one of the auditorium seats, just staring at him, looking vaguely astonished.
“…Okay?” Kurt demands. “That’s all you have to say? I have to beat Rachel, Blaine. Dig deep inside you and find every single miniscule ounce of malicious tactic you possess and help me. I have to impress Jesse.”
“If you ever tell me you need to impress another boy again I will cry,” says Blaine promptly, but he hops off the back of the stadium chair and walks toward the stage. Kurt sits on the edge, his feet dangling over as he kicks his feet together, and Blaine puts a hand on his knee tenderly. Kurt absently covers it with his own.
“Your vocals are good, Kurt. The best. And I loved seeing you move around on stage.”
“You like seeing me move around regardless of setting,” Kurt mutters, rolling his eyes. Blaine gives a funny giggle.
“Well, uh, yes,” he laughs, “But what if you, y’know, finished with a big closing finishing move as well as that vocal move?”
Kurt looks at him flatly, unamused. The flattering stage lighting makes it hard to glare at Blaine’s stupidly attractive face, though.
“You’re telling me to do a big finishing closing move. You. Blaine Warbler. Who stands in front of a stool choir as they sing backup. Am I laying on the irony too thick?”
Blaine laughs again like Kurt’s just the most charming thing in the world, and he hops up on stage with him, kneeling beside him. They’re very close; Kurt feels himself staring at Blaine’s lips like he always does when they get within this proximity of each other. A little bit of smugness overcomes him when he sees Blaine’s amber eyes flit to his lips, too. But a second later they’re back to Kurt’s brown ones as he says, “Why don’t you try a slide?”
“A slide.”
“Yes. Go on, get up—go back there to the back of the stage and slide towards me. On your knees.”
“Wouldn’t you like me on my knees,” Kurt mutters again, and he leaves Blaine there sputtering and makes his way to the back of the stage. The musicians have mostly gone now, since Kurt told them they could go after the one run through, but he sees Brad swing his bag over his shoulder at the piano and waves to him on his way out. Then Kurt looks back to Blaine, who has calmed himself down enough to nod slightly, a grin curling the corner of his mouth.
“Go on.”
Kurt takes a deep breath, mumbles, “You’re lucky I’m not wearing designer pants,” and then runs. Well, to be more precise, he leaps. He takes two or three gazelle-esque steps and then goes down… hard. It stings a little, but the fabric of his pants mercifully allow him to slide about a yard and a half and he ends up about a foot behind where he was sitting before. Blaine grins at him from a foot away as Kurt tries to lean back and throw his arms up in a flair, but he loses his balance; with one final attempt at elegance, he tosses his head back and promptly topples backwards.
As Blaine breaks into laughter and crawls toward him, Kurt massages the lump on the back of his head and unfurls his legs from beneath him, letting his now stretched quads spring back into their normal position.
“Ow,” he says plainly. “That was bad.”
“It was fabulous,” Blaine replies sweetly. “You’re fabulous.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“No,” Blaine says, softer this time, as he looks down—Kurt is very sure he’s looking it his lips this time. Blaine touches Kurt’s hands, and before Kurt know what’s happening Blaine has taken one of them and pushes it above Kurt’s head, lying it down on the cold stage floor. Blaine hovers over him, poignant, on the edge of something, the lights dramatizing the already distinct shadows on his face.
“Maybe you could try doing this falling back move. Just as the music ends. Throw one arm back. Dramatic.”
The tension of the moment dissipates quickly. Kurt breathes out and rolls his eyes, smiling as he clasps Blaine’s hand, which is still in his. “That’ll take at least three more renditions to work into my routine.”
Then, Blaine kisses him. And Kurt gives, because he always gives when Blaine kisses him, because it’s soft and smooth and genuine and a refreshing break from the rest of the world, which is so not. Blaine’s other hand finds the same reassuring spot on Kurt’s cheek that it always finds, and they breathe together for a moment, one pair of lungs and one escalating heart rate, before Blaine pulls back, brushes Kurt’s nose gently, and says,
“We can practice it as many times as you need to.”

holy crap that is amazing who wrote that who is the wonderful author of that fic if you&#8217;re reading this than you get all the awards
all of them

rachellephant:

warblerinfections:

moonshoespotterstarkid:

Kurt totally practiced this position with Blaine. Calling it. Headcanon. Done.

Fic. Now. Okay. Thanks. Bai.

“…Okay.”

Kurt’s standing, exhausted and vocally spent on stage, his shoulders heaving to catch his breath after all of that running around. Blaine’s perched upon the edge of one of the auditorium seats, just staring at him, looking vaguely astonished.

“…Okay?” Kurt demands. “That’s all you have to say? I have to beat Rachel, Blaine. Dig deep inside you and find every single miniscule ounce of malicious tactic you possess and help me. I have to impress Jesse.”

“If you ever tell me you need to impress another boy again I will cry,” says Blaine promptly, but he hops off the back of the stadium chair and walks toward the stage. Kurt sits on the edge, his feet dangling over as he kicks his feet together, and Blaine puts a hand on his knee tenderly. Kurt absently covers it with his own.

“Your vocals are good, Kurt. The best. And I loved seeing you move around on stage.”

“You like seeing me move around regardless of setting,” Kurt mutters, rolling his eyes. Blaine gives a funny giggle.

“Well, uh, yes,” he laughs, “But what if you, y’know, finished with a big closing finishing move as well as that vocal move?”

Kurt looks at him flatly, unamused. The flattering stage lighting makes it hard to glare at Blaine’s stupidly attractive face, though.

You’re telling me to do a big finishing closing move. You. Blaine Warbler. Who stands in front of a stool choir as they sing backup. Am I laying on the irony too thick?”

Blaine laughs again like Kurt’s just the most charming thing in the world, and he hops up on stage with him, kneeling beside him. They’re very close; Kurt feels himself staring at Blaine’s lips like he always does when they get within this proximity of each other. A little bit of smugness overcomes him when he sees Blaine’s amber eyes flit to his lips, too. But a second later they’re back to Kurt’s brown ones as he says, “Why don’t you try a slide?”

“A slide.”

“Yes. Go on, get up—go back there to the back of the stage and slide towards me. On your knees.”

“Wouldn’t you like me on my knees,” Kurt mutters again, and he leaves Blaine there sputtering and makes his way to the back of the stage. The musicians have mostly gone now, since Kurt told them they could go after the one run through, but he sees Brad swing his bag over his shoulder at the piano and waves to him on his way out. Then Kurt looks back to Blaine, who has calmed himself down enough to nod slightly, a grin curling the corner of his mouth.

“Go on.”

Kurt takes a deep breath, mumbles, “You’re lucky I’m not wearing designer pants,” and then runs. Well, to be more precise, he leaps. He takes two or three gazelle-esque steps and then goes down… hard. It stings a little, but the fabric of his pants mercifully allow him to slide about a yard and a half and he ends up about a foot behind where he was sitting before. Blaine grins at him from a foot away as Kurt tries to lean back and throw his arms up in a flair, but he loses his balance; with one final attempt at elegance, he tosses his head back and promptly topples backwards.

As Blaine breaks into laughter and crawls toward him, Kurt massages the lump on the back of his head and unfurls his legs from beneath him, letting his now stretched quads spring back into their normal position.

“Ow,” he says plainly. “That was bad.”

“It was fabulous,” Blaine replies sweetly. “You’re fabulous.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“No,” Blaine says, softer this time, as he looks down—Kurt is very sure he’s looking it his lips this time. Blaine touches Kurt’s hands, and before Kurt know what’s happening Blaine has taken one of them and pushes it above Kurt’s head, lying it down on the cold stage floor. Blaine hovers over him, poignant, on the edge of something, the lights dramatizing the already distinct shadows on his face.

“Maybe you could try doing this falling back move. Just as the music ends. Throw one arm back. Dramatic.”

The tension of the moment dissipates quickly. Kurt breathes out and rolls his eyes, smiling as he clasps Blaine’s hand, which is still in his. “That’ll take at least three more renditions to work into my routine.”

Then, Blaine kisses him. And Kurt gives, because he always gives when Blaine kisses him, because it’s soft and smooth and genuine and a refreshing break from the rest of the world, which is so not. Blaine’s other hand finds the same reassuring spot on Kurt’s cheek that it always finds, and they breathe together for a moment, one pair of lungs and one escalating heart rate, before Blaine pulls back, brushes Kurt’s nose gently, and says,

“We can practice it as many times as you need to.”

holy crap that is amazing who wrote that who is the wonderful author of that fic if you’re reading this than you get all the awards

all of them