So, I wrote a few stories for Kurtofsky week, and they all were meant to fall in the same universe. They focus on fluff and a slowly developing relationship between the two, with small amounts of crack to keep things interesting.
Here they are in chronological order!
Hooray for shameless self promotion!
… In which Kurt has a Red Riding Hood themed dream the night after he leaves Scandals, starring Blaine as the Big Bad Wolf and Dave as the Woodcutter…
As he climbed into bed, his thoughts once more drifted back to Blaine pulling and pushing him in the back of the car; he shuddered, trying to return to the more pleasant thought of Dave.
… In which Kurt and Dave reunite at a costume party after Kurt and Blaine have broken up…
Dave Karofsky stood smiling at him, holding a drink out to him, which Kurt took, returning the smiling wholeheartedly.
“Not fooled by this costume like everyone else? I’m especially impressed that you could do it with that eye patch on.” Kurt said playfully, taking a sip of what he now realized was champagne, appraising Dave’s pirate costume (and deciding that he looked really handsome).
… In which Dave discovers that Kurt is not always perfect, but that probably just makes him more perfect, really…
“SURPRIIiii – uhhhh –” Dave Karofsky was standing in the doorway with a bouquet of flowers. Correction, his boyfriend of two weeks, was standing in the doorway, looking at Kurt with wide eyes.
Kurt stared back with even wider eyes, leaning against the door for support. He looked at Dave and then down at himself, then back to Dave. A blush grew from the collar of the hideous shirt to the tips of his ears that were holding back the ridiculous hairband.
4. Day 3: Kids
… In which Kurt gives Dave homemade butterscotch candies, and Dave remembers why they look so familiar…
Dave was feeling really sorry for himself by the time Kurt came back with a little plastic bag in his hand. He pulled out an uneven, shiny, golden piece of candy.
“It’s butterscotch! My mommy made them for me. They’re my favorites.” He looked at the piece of candy with worshipping eyes, then he looked back to Dave with a blinding smile. “Say ‘Aaahhh.’” He commanded.
… In which Kurt and Dave are happy together with their son, and Kurt decides it is about time they take a family portrait…
“Dave, we’re a happy family right?” Kurt cuddled into Dave’s side, glad that the party had tired Oliver out so they could have some privacy.
“Do you even need to ask?” Dave wrapped an arm around Kurt. “This seems pretty perfect to me.”
Kurt snuggled closer, but didn’t answer, looking at their picture-less walls.
I’m sure everyone is just think to themselves, “Look at this crazy chick on tumblr spamming us with fanfictions.”
But for the few that actually read any of these
Also, I happily accept prompts.
Kurt is enjoying his summer vacation in slouchy clothes and watching a marathon of the anime xxxHolic. Needless to say, he was surprised when Dave came knocking at his door. Embarrassment and fluff galore as Dave learns about the nerdy, less-than-perfect side of Kurt.
I’ll love you forever if you read it!
“Dave looked from Kurt to the candy, thinking back on the last time he had seen this familiar candy.”
And my heart ached ;;;;
He manages to convince himself that it’s the right thing to do.
Three years to the day since the death of London’s greatest mind, since the death of the world’s only consulting detective, since the death of the great Sherlock Holmes.
Three years to the day since the death of John Watson’s best friend, and the pain of it has not been dulled by a single passing moment. He is tired. So, so tired.
He looks out over the rooftops, out over London. Below him, the world moves on, takes no notice the small figure standing on the ledge of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.
Three years, to the day. It’s oddly poetic, if he were inclined to such sentiments. He tells himself that he’s doing what’s best – he hasn’t been the same since Sherlock died, hasn’t laughed and hardly ever smiles. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson tried, at first. He’d invite John out for a pint, she’d bring him tea in the mornings.
Nothing helped. Eventually they got the message.
John moved out of Baker Street two months later. Found himself a small flat he was able to afford on his army pension and whatever money he managed to make at the surgery, on the days he decided to show up.
Sarah was understanding. She put up with him longer than he could have asked for.
Now he’s jobless. Nearly homeless. Living off of tea and crap telly to numb his mind. No one to miss him because he’s pushed everyone away and the only person who really mattered, John buried three years before.
He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted him to, but Sherlock’s not there to tell him so. That’s the problem.
On the street below, no one takes notice of the man on the roof who spreads his arms wide, feeling the breeze telling of distant rain whisper against his exposed skin. He looks down – it doesn’t seem so far, I wonder if this is what he felt like, maybe I can ask him soon – takes a deep breath.
John Watson closes his eyes. Leans forward. Feels himself begin to fall-
-is violently snatched from behind, strong arms curling around his chest, yanking him back.
His savior doesn’t let go when they tumble backwards, landing hard on the building below them. John breathes deeply, evenly through his nose, does not open his eyes. The feel of those arms around his chest is oddly comforting, the scratch of wool on his cheek distracting, the scent of tea and unidentifiable chemicals familiar…
John opens his eyes, sees nothing but the sky thinly veiled by clouds. The arms around him remove themselves. His savior shifts.
Suddenly the sky is replaced by two pale eyes, half-lidded and grieving.
“You were going to jump after me,” Sherlock says. It’s the first time John can remember hearing the great detective say something so obvious.