so my girl ftother requested angry!blaine and then i accidentally wrote possessive!werewolf!blaine instead. oops?
howlin’ for you
The door opens before Kurt can ring the bell. It’s strange how Blaine can loom sometimes, even though he’s undeniably smaller than Kurt, but two days before the full moon, all bets are off.
So when Kurt steps into Blaine’s foyer, he does so cautiously. He knows Blaine would never hurt him, but this close to the transformation, he has a harder time controlling the animal. On a day like today, Kurt can practically see it, pacing behind the bars of the cage Blaine carefully constructs within himself to keep the wolf at bay.
"Where were you? I expected you almost an hour ago." Blaine’s voice is soft, his breathing even. It’s his jaw, tightly clenched, that gives away his irritation. Kurt smiles softly, hoping he can soothe him.
"I was at home," he says, brushing his fingers over Blaine’s jaw, trying to relax the muscles there. "I was watching TV and I accidentally took a nap on the couch."
"And Sam was with you?"
Countdown to “100” | 9 Quotes [9/9]
Blaine doesn’t know if he loves nipples in general, or if he just loves Kurt’s nipples, but he hopes he never gets the chance to find out.
All he knows is that Kurt’s nipples are ridiculously sensitive, and when Kurt wanders into Santana’s den, graduation party in full swing and an alcohol induced flush high on his cheeks, flinging himself onto Blaine’s lap, Blaine couldn’t stop himself if he tried.
Which he doesn’t.
Autumn (Klaine) icons
I love drawing icons! :3
Every Glee song ever
Author’s Note: It’s an autumn story, so I waited until autumn to post even though it was written, quite possibly, as far back as the spring. Yes, it’s my tagline fic for IP.
But really, it’s a meet cute fic. Because while I know some are winded of them all, these two really would settle in together in just about any circumstance.
And thanks to buckeyegrrl for the read-through, as always.
Kurt Hummel needed to get out of the city.
He finally had a moment to breathe after fashion week, a quiet lull between the chaotic swirl of life preceding it and the slowly ratcheting urgency of the life that would follow. From build up to climax, the respite after the chaos was typically blissful and blessed.
But this year felt less blissful and more bleak. The chilled dankness of the subway stations permeated every layer of clothing he wore. The stench of human… humanness churned around him on the streets and down below and clung to his skin long after his nightly shower.
He had spent the last five years designing gowns for the infamous Monique Durant. Gowns that had ended up on red carpets and in weddings for the New York elite. Gowns that only days ago received accolades and praise and hopefully hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of orders to carry Ms. Durant well into her retirement.
But, if Kurt had to sweep his stylus across his tablet to trace the shape of one more mermaid skirt for the newest shapely starlet, one more Grecian gown for the most visible aging Hollywood legend, one more sheath for the latest pop princess’s image-improvement campaign, he thought he might just go mad.
"Who are you wearing, darling?"
"Oh, this is a Durant!" Spin, twist, glance over the shoulder, bat eyelashes. "Isn’t it divine?"
And Kurt would sit at home watching on television and seethe. “It’s a HUMMEL, you ungrateful cow…”