bananafrog01:

Blaine just really likes bow ties…and this is the real reason why Cooper is coming to the show~ to help with the intervention : (

———-

Practice doodle as warm up~

Cooper’s phone vibrated and he sighed as he pushed himself up on the couch to grab it from the coffee table. “What’s up, B?”

“Hi, is this Cooper?” a voice that was most definitely not Blaine replied.

“Yes… Who’s this?”

“It’s Kurt” - there was a pause and a indistinguishable mumble on the other end of the line - “and Rachel.”

“Oh, right.” Cooper wasn’t sure who ‘Rachel’ was, but he definitely knew about Kurt from Blaine’s never ending monologues. “What can I help you with? Has Blaine done something stupid again?”

“No… Well, not really,” Kurt said awkwardly and Cooper’s heart leapt in his throat.

“Is he okay? Has something happened?”

“No, no! He’s fine, don’t worry about that, it’s just…” he trailed off and Cooper heard him sigh. “Has he always been so… obsessed with bow ties?”

Cooper groaned and rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead. “Let me guess, he’s starting decorating his notebooks with pictures of bow ties and sparkly hearts?”

“Yeah, and he’s stuck bows onto his shoes, and yesterday he wore this orange monstrosity that looked like it was trying to eat his neck. We’re going to hold an intervention, but I thought I should call and see if you have any advice.”

Cooper glanced the calendar hanging on the wall. “Can you put off the intervention until this weekend?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Great, I’ll be back on Friday, so come over Saturday and we’ll sort this out. Until then - I would definitely try hiding some of the worst offenders.”

colferrr:

Klaine AU: The Hunger Games

Kurt is drawn as the male tribute for District 12 and Blaine volunteers to take his boyfriend’s place.

Kurt’s arms were wrapped so tight around me that it was almost painful. I didn’t mind, though; it wasn’t like I wasn’t clutching him just as tightly as I buried face in the crook of his chin and breathed deeply, trying to commit everything about him to my memory.

“Blaine,” he managed to gasp and I could feel his wet cheek against my neck.

“I love you,” I whispered, my fingers clutching into his white coat - the one I had given to him on his birthday after saving up for the year. Thick, warm; made to protect him against the cold winters.

I had to protect him.

He pulled away from me, and I whimpered as the comfort of Kurt disappeared. But he didn’t step away more than a foot, his hands still gripping my shoulders and my arms rested around his waist. His eyes were red and swollen, his whole face flushed and puffy. He always told me he wasn’t a pretty crier.

“Why did you do that?” he sniffed, tears falling freely.

“I wasn’t going to let you go.” I wasn’t going to watch you die.

Kurt drew in a shaking breath, staring at me helplessly. It’s obvious he wants to protest, he wants to scream and yell and sob at how unfair it all is, but that would waste our last minute together and the Peacekeepers would probably drag him out. Neither of us wanted that to be our last memory of each other.

So instead he pulled me close again and we drunk in each other. Everything that we planned to spend the rest of our lives memorising, we needed to learn in minutes. His scent, the tears clinging to his eyelashes, the feel of his heart against mine, the way his lips part and our shared, panted breaths.

“You have to win, Blaine,” he cried, “for me.”

“I’ll try. I’ll really, really try,” I promised.

leeminkyo:

When people miss Dalton!Klaine they draw them wearing the uniform.

When I miss it, I draw Kurt taking it off for Blaine. :3

I dare you to question my life choices. xD

Blaine’s school bag slips from his shoulder, landing on the floor with a soft thump as he stares.

Kurt tilts his head to the side, his eyes slowly travelling from Blaine to the open bedroom door.

“Are you going to shut the door?” he asks as he folds his arms on top of the backrest and leans his chin on them, staring at Blaine with a raised eyebrow.

His legs are spread, his toes just managing to reach the floor in his straddling position. Blaine’s eyes trace up the graceful arches of his feet, following the curves of his calves and the smooth expanses of his thighs before settling on the - very naked and exposed - erection. Slowly, he pushes the door shut, allowing his gaze to drift the rest of the way up, skimming over his covered chest and pausing on the visible collarbones and shoulders from where the unbuttoned-shirt is slipping down.

“What…” He licks his lips. “What’s going on?”

“I’m surprising you for your birthday, obviously,” Kurt replies coyly, straightening so only his hands remain on the chair and the rest of his body is stretched.

The blue and red silk tie is tight around his neck, the shiny fabric slipping down his chest and disappearing into the folds of the white shirt. It does look ever so pretty around his neck, but Blaine has had plenty of times at Dalton to appreciate how good Kurt looks in a tie. However, despite his curiosity, he’s never fulfilled his need to know what the red and blue looks like when it’s looped around his wrists.

And as if that fantasy wasn’t tantalising enough, Kurt is swinging a leg over the chair and standing up. The shirt is practically off now, only the sleeves bunched around his wrists keeping in place, meaning that Kurt is naked except for that tie.

“I’m yours to do what you want,” Kurt says with a smirk and Blaine groans, completely certain that it was going to be the best birthday gift ever.

kiwakostalova:

Smutty!Klaine

okay, now…i´m SO embarrassed i don´t even have words to decsribe it, so…yeah…

“Blaine,” Kurt sighs, his fingers clutching the bedsheets as he leans back and open his legs wider.

It’s a clear invitation, but Blaine seems adept at ignoring him simply for the purposes of being a tease. Kurt whimpers as his lips wrap around the red ribbon that had been used to tie Blaine to the bed just a little while ago. Oh, god, how Kurt wants those lips to be wrapped around something else.

“Blaine,” he tries again, lifting his feet from the soft carpet of his bedroom floor and curling them around Blaine, his toes just brushing the swell of his ass.

Blaine blinks up at him, his wide hazel eyes filled with a deceptive, cunning innocence. The ribbon falls from his mouth, the colour stained a darker red - almost blood-like - from the wetness of his mouth. It stays twined around his fingers, though, as Blaine’s teeth sink into his full, delicious lower lip.

Kurt wishes it was him. But they have rules to stick by: don’t touch if it’s not your turn.

“Yes, Kurt?” Blaine asks. His voice lilts at the end of the sentence and Kurt’s cock is painfully hard as Blaine’s breath hits the sensitive, over-teased skin.

Kurt’s head is thrown back, his lips parted, and he knows that his cheeks must be as red as the ribbon sliding across their skin.

“Please,” he manages to pant.

Blaine’s smiling up at him, all traces of innocence gone as the red falls from his fingers, across Kurt’s leg instead. Blaine’s mouth follows it, kissing the skin just below the line made by the ribbon.

“Soon,” is all he says as he pauses to suck another mark on Kurt’s once-flawless body. “Be patient.”

theplaylistismagic:

Little Blaine and his big brother!

(Headcanon has big brother Anderson attending Dalton)

“He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry. ‘You can kip under that,’ he said. ‘Don’ mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o’ dormice in one o’ the pockets.’” Cooper shut the bookmark between the pages and shut it with a soft thump. “End of chapter four.”

Blaine - who had been sitting still next to him for the past half an hour, leaning over his shoulder to read the words as Cooper said them - pouted and shook his head from side to side angrily. Stray black curls from his head fell messily in front of his eyes.

“Keep reading,” he demanded.

“I’ve got things to do,” Cooper protested, his sentence trailing off into a laugh as Blaine crawled on top of him, trying to pin him down as he dropped the book back on his chest.

“No,” he said firmly, “you’re my brother and you don’t do anything except what I want.”

That, coupled with the fiery determination in Blaine’s eyes to get his way, only made Cooper laugh more.

“My teachers would disagree; I have homework to do.” He pointed to the stack of books on his desk. “You’ll sympathise when you start high school.”

Blaine frowned at him uncomprehendingly before shaking his head and poking Cooper in the chest again. “Read more.”

Cooper sighed, his eyes darting between the biology project he knew he should do, and his little brother’s puppy-dog eyes as he clutched the hardback book in his little hands.

“Fine!” he gave in, tugging the book from Blaine’s hands as the boy gave an excited squeal and hugged his leg. “But only one chapter, and then you’ll go and annoy someone else, got it, rugrat?”

Blaine grinned, revealing his missing front tooth, and nodded, crossing his hand over his heart.

“Chapter five, Diagon Alley. ‘Harry woke early the next morning…’”

When the brother’s parents checked in on them a few hours later, they found the boys curled around each other on the bed, a Harry Potter book lying open at the halfway mark on Cooper’s chest as they napped. The adults shared a soft smile, flicking off the lamp before gently shutting the door.

popular!Blaine & nerd!Kurt

Kurt Hummel didn’t have a lot going for him in life.

No, that was a lie, Kurt actually had a lot of things going for him: he had a great voice, perfect fashion sense, excellent grades and a wide expanse of extracurricular clubs and activities that would guarantee him a place at pretty much every college he wanted to go to.

It was just McKinley High School didn’t appreciate those types of things. And the things it did like – good looks, athletic ability, friends – Kurt was severely lacking.

So, Kurt had to make up for this with his imagination. After four years of the same monotonous crawl through day after day, Kurt was pretty good at sinking back into the make-believe.

In his world, everything was a lot better. He would saunter down the hallways, a poster boy for Gucci and Chanel, and the crowds would part for him. He would have his hair swept up into some artful masterpiece that looked effortless. He’d have hoards of people following him at a distance, hoping to get a greeting or even a smile from the Kurt Hummel and, being the generous, kind-hearted person he is, he would give them out like candy, making girls swoon and boys blush. Not that Kurt would pay attention to any of that, because at that moment, Blaine Anderson – the only one equal in popularity to Kurt – would meet him with a kiss in the middle of the hallway because they were dating and that’s what boyfriends did.

With that constantly playing in the back of his mind, Kurt found walking down the hallways on Monday mornings bearable. As long he kept his bag clutched tightly to his side and his head on the floor, drawing minimum attention to himself.

And, really, seeing as his eyes were firmly fixated on his feet, he should have been able to notice the untied shoelace before he stood on it and flew forwards, crashing face-first into a row of lockers, his arms flying out to the side to catch his balance, throwing his books everywhere.

The muted giggles and snide comments made him flush as he rubbed his nose, wincing, and started to bend over to pick up his books. However there was already a person there, stacking the pages into a suitable pile before straightening up and placing it in Kurt’s hands.

“Thanks,” Kurt said, his blush growing because that was Blaine Anderson handing him in books with a charming smile, as if the most popular jock in school always went round helping the unfortunate.

“No problem; just helping a guy out.” Blaine grinned at Kurt as he looped his thumbs into his belt strap. “Not that I would complain about seeing you bend over,” he said before turning on his heel and strutting down the corridor with enough confidence to easily part the milling groups of students.

Kurt stared after the sole object of his fixation for four years with his mouth hanging open, because, if Kurt had just interpreted that situation correctly, Blaine Anderson was aware that he existed.

That was enough to put a smile on his face for the rest of the day.

“Puckerman if you don’t sit down and shut up then I will put you and Mr Anderson in detention for a week,” Kurt yelled, slamming the book he was holding onto his desk in frustration, glaring at the students over the rim of his glasses. Puck and Blaine paused in the middle of their conversations, the smile falling from Blaine’s face as Puck slouched back to his seat.

The rest of the class was silent as they watched the proceedings – Kurt hardly ever yelled at them, and he was definitely one of the most lenient teachers in the school when it came to talking. He cleared his throat and flipped the textbook on his desk open to the appropriate page, ignoring the stunned looks.

“Okay, so, back to the renaissance,” he began, trying to gather himself as he talked.

He was having a bad week.

No, fuck that, Kurt Hummel was having a bad year; and all because of one student.

Blaine Anderson was, by all definition, a ‘good boy’. He almost went as far as being a teacher’s pet – with his smiles and eager-to-help-out attitude. Although Kurt would usually thank the gods for being given a student like that in McKinley High, he spent more of his time silently swearing at them.

Because Blaine Anderson was gorgeous.

Not, like, high school boy cute, he was completely, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and he apparently loved to rub it in Kurt’s face by waltzing into his classroom ten minutes early and dropping his bags and books on his desk (front row centre, of course) before charmingly asking if Kurt needs any help setting up the lesson.

And take, for example, that moment right then, when Kurt was trying his best to deliver all of his knowledge on the renaissance to his students in a coherent and useful manner, like a good teacher should. Blaine was diligently taking notes, his pen scribbling across the page as he penned down the sentences Kurt was dictating in his annoyingly cute handwriting, but every time Kurt paused for breath, Blaine would look up and smile disarmingly at him as his eyelashes fluttered – fucking fluttered – at Kurt.

Really, Kurt couldn’t be blamed for completely losing his place in the dictation as he tried to hide his suddenly-pink cheeks behind the book.

“Mr Hummel, are you okay?” Blaine asked as Kurt tried to catch his breath (and desperately avoided the train of thought of what that voice would sound like begging Kurt to fuck him).

“Yes, Blaine, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that.” Kurt stared at the next sentence on the page and willed himself to read it out without his voice breaking embarrassingly. “Anyway, back on track…”

Blaine Anderson was going to be the death of him. Or, at the very least, a constant source of sexual frustration for the next year.

(there’s now a sequel here)