( Sons&Loverse!verse )
( Multi Chapter )
( Drabbles and One-Shots )
( theunholytriad )
All fic is for Glee, the majority of which is Klaine-centric, although there is a bit of Hudmel in there as well. I love prompts, so feel free to drop me one if you have the urge! I'm on tumblr as well, often drabbles make it over there first.
Pairing: Blaine/Finn (reference to past Blaine/Kurt)
Rating- R overall for now
Warnings: Contains reference to character death off screen. Lots of grief.
Spoilers: None this is AU.
AN: So this is a masterpost of my little drabble verse (telling this story in drabble installments of 500 words or less). The drabbles are appearing here in chronological order (in regards to the story), rather than in the order they were written. The last drabble is new. I love prompts, so prompt away. Originally prompted by
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7){kind=small}
epanaphoric( Anniversary (January 23rd 2016) )
( Breath In (January 24th, 2016) )
( Once Shared (January 23rd, 2017) )
( Morning After, Redux (September 5th, 2018) )
( Sure (September 5th, 2018) )
( Dirty Little Secret (March 15th, 2019) )
( Sure, Part 2 (March 15th, 2019) )
( Hunger (June 29th, 2019 )
Pairing(s) or Character(s): Darren/Chris
Word Count: 2800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non/Con in a fantasy setting.
Summary: Chris has a secret fantasy that he's only ever shared with one person. One night he wakes up to find it coming true. Straight up un-beta'd PWP
Chris was dreaming- not that that was unusual. It was the dream itself, really, that was strange. Everything felt blurry and surreal, colours and shapes passing and melting before he could see or understand them. Usually Chris dreamt with clarity and purpose. Even the things that made no sense, the things that only dream logic could explain, were crystallized in moments he could remember and recount.
But this was something else. The awareness of his body, of pleasure that was slow moving, the molasses of someone’s touch foreign against his skin, were something new. He ached, skin stretched too small and wanting, his spine arching as hands traced his muscles. He couldn’t move, but could feel the bed beneath his heated cheek. His naked skin against the rough sheets was startling and thrilling.
When he started to wake, it was with the clarity missing moments before. He realized that he was naked, tied to his bed face down and gagged, with someone heavy and too warm covering the exposed length of his back.
Panic was quicker than waking; he arched this time without pleasure but with dread, trying to buck the intruder off, turning to look over his shoulder. The room was too dark, his senses dulled by his inability to move and his fear. The sound of heavy breathing- his heightened by adrenaline mixing with that of an invisible intruder- filled the room.
Hands were on him, all over his skin. Damp lips on his shoulder blade passing toward his spine were leaving a cool trail in their wake. Chris grunted through the gag, shifting and flinching away. His body was still traitorously aroused, drenched in the sleeping draught of pleasure. The body over his was solid, the line of a hard cock flush against the naked cleft of his ass.
Unwilling, Chris felt a sort of dark thrill. Even as he pushed, thrashing and straining against the ties on his wrists, his dick ached, betraying him.
For all the fantasies he’d harbored, this was one he’d yet to experience. There were the once forbidden fantasies he’d packed away and pretended not to have as a teenager, before he’d come to accept the truth about who he really was. Fantasies as a young man; controlled danger and handsome men- fantasies he’d lived and experienced, experimenting and growing into his skin as a sexually confident man. Fantasies he allowed himself, explored himself, lived.
But the darkest was this: the desire to be taken advantage of and desired in very twisted ways. It was one he’d never really allowed himself to linger over. Wanting someone to take the choice from him, making him a traitor to his own body- it was unthinkable really. He rarely indulged in it, or let himself pursue the fantasy because it was inherently wrong, wasn’t it, to want someone to force you into pleasure against your will?
A finger was tracing forcefully up the knobs of his spine, a strong hand gripping his hip. Chris could think of only one person who could possibly know about his fantasy; one drunken confession made months ago that he’d completely forgotten. Roleplay came easily to Chris, he was an actor after all. The idea of pretending to be taken against his will had always really turned him on. What he’d never confessed to a lover seemed to come so easily to the ears of a friend. He’d been drunk, searching maybe, for approval, hoping to hear that he wasn’t alone in thinking the way he did. That he wasn’t a freak for wanting a lover who might understand the darkest things he needed and desired.
This wasn’t the enactment of a fantasy with a lover though. There was no safety net here, no previous agreement. Chris struggled to think clearly; the chances that this was who he suspected it was were slim, and yet…somehow…even as his mind rebelled against the intrusion of two hands, pushing under his body and stroking hard and sure over his erection, he could feel himself throbbing at the touch. Somehow his body had not yet caught up the fact that a fleeting desire, buried and repressed, was not the same as actually finding himself in bed with a stranger and no choice.
Because this didn’t feel like a stranger. The fact alone that Chris wanted this, even as he fought, based on the idea that this might be him, made something dark and wanting course through him. Even the shame, burning along with desire, turned him on. Because he did want it, wanted to feel dirty and taken and used.
Suddenly a mouth was near his face, damp lips trailing along one exposed cheekbone, strong fingers wrapping around Chris’s hand. There was something, something familiar…a smell maybe? A scent fleeting as lips began to bite down on his ear.
He arched away, arms taut as he tried to escape, a grunt of frustration turning into a moan as the strangers hand came up to his neck. Even knowing, or suspecting who it was, Chris wanted it to be real. Needed it to feel real. Strong fingers wrapped around the base of his head, holding him down, facing blindly toward the door. Chris bit down on the gag, shuddering at the display of dominance, skin prickling. Overpowered and helpless, Chris tamped down the spiraling heat curling in the pit of his stomach. There were teeth biting into the sinew of his shoulder, the body behind his panting.
He wanted, god, needed to be fucked. To be used and broken and objectified. But he wasn’t willing to do it without a fight. More than anything, he needed to pretend it was real. That he was in real danger. A face, rough prickled, pressed at the base of his spine, biting and licking, moving down until he felt himself spread open, the hot breath of a stranger ghosting over his skin.
Pulling in a whimper of longing, Chris twisted hard, feeling his shoulders strain. Yelling against the gag, he tried to kick at the intruder, only to find his legs pulled hard and together. What felt like knees came to press outside his thighs, holding him prisoner. Chris ached to get his hands lose, to flex his fingers and dig them into the taut muscles holding him hostage.
Forcing his body to calm, he relaxed into the bed, trying not to feel the whispered touches, finger pads catching rough against his skin as they traced the back of his thighs. Experimentally , he wiggled his hand, seeing if there was any room for movement or maybe, escape.
“Tsk, tsk.” A shifting as his body was covered, held down by a heavy weight. His skin flushed hard, too tight and sensitive.
Chris stopped fighting, letting his body still. The warm body draped over his vibrated; suppressed laughter maybe? Chris frowned, trying to focus on the things he could sense, wondering what might be coming next. There was a shifting and cold air over his back as the body behind his moved, a loosening as the gag in his mouth was taken away. Suddenly there were gentle lips on his, barely whispering over his.
“Are you ready to stop fighting?” He knew the voice in the darkness, met it’s reception with little shock. Recognition and confirmation flooded him, arousal washing through him with a jolting force. Chris could hear the challenge in the tone. There was a pause as they both leaned on the moment, the recognition of lines being crossed, the magnitude of what was happening heavy in the air between their lips.
“No.”
“You gonna keep fighting?” The voice was thick with suppressed laughter that only served to piss Chris off.
“Get off.” He twisted away, the words hard as those hands found their way over his body again, the laughter taunting. In slow motion they moved, Chris fighting and thrilling, each grappled touch forced with consent they were both pretending hadn’t been given. His body was a live wire, sparking with each touch.
Chris swore, repeatedly, slanting and moving away from the pleasuring fingers, seeking and sinking into his flesh. The body over his moved away suddenly, leaving Chris cold and shivering, aroused and on the edge of begging. A quiet whisper met his ears, sheets scraping against a body moving in darkness. Suddenly there was blazing heat, a hard cock thick as the crack of his ass. Chris could hear the stealthy sound of lube being opened and then spread, felt two hands owning his body as they pulled his ass cheeks apart and touched him with the confidence of a lover.
But this was no lover, at least never before. The arrogance and ownership of this touch was more than enough to set Chris’s sweat dewed skin and vibrating muscles on edge. Every touch was pure pleasure now, the feeling of his cock, trapped against the bed too exquisite to bear.
And then behind him a lubed cock was sliding between his cheeks. It paused every few strokes as his to tease at his asshole. Biting down on his lip, Chris could feel himself straining back, body thrumming, desperate to feel him inside. Chris tried to keep fighting, to carry on the charade, but knew that soon he’d be reduced to begging. Above him, whispered moans and grunted words- shit, ohmygod, fuckyes, rang through the quiet room
Suddenly the hands that had been spreading him open, vulnerable and wanting, were gone. He felt the weight of a body over his once more, hot and sweating as it rutted against him desperately. It’s owner’s breath was another layer of sensation, skittering over his shoulder blades and thickening the air. Helpless, Chris’s body roiled against him. Chris moaned, hands grasping at nothing, helplessly searching for something to grab, for flesh to touch.
“Please,” The body above his paused in its movements, waiting ”Please fuck me, oh my god fuck me, now.”
“I- I don’t have-“ There was uncertainty in that voice, a questioning but Chris didn’t care, he was too far gone for niceties or sense.
“I’m clean. Are you?” A small hesitation as the head on his shoulder nodded, then Chris’s voice again, rough with desperate need “I trust you.”
The body over his lay perfectly still as his words penetrated, and suddenly fingers were scrabbling to untie his hands and he was being manhandled and flipped onto his back. The lips that met his in the darkness were careless and wanton, the kiss shared was dirty and naked in its intensity. Chris arched, his body flowing and bending against the muscled curves of another he knew from pictures and watching, but never from touch.
Free to touch now, he did. They rolled together, grappling for dominance as they kissed fiercely. Using his strength, Chris rolled him over, plastering their bodies together as he pushed his hips down and over, grinding him into the mattress. In the dark, gasping and grunting, their moans of pleasure and wanting were a language of it’s own. A language that spoke of months of suppressed desire and curiosity. Of the knowledge that this could never happen, would never happen.
But in the secret of this darkness it was happening. There were no more words needed, just the desperation of trembling fingers tracing down and over Chris’s hole. Of two lips, barely moving, hardly breathing against his as he felt himself being opened and stretched.
“Now, now, Please.” He was surprised to hear his own voice, rough hewn and broken, begging.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I want you to, please, just fuck me, hurt me.”Chris bit down on the lips over his, needing to feel the pain, to feel marked, body rended by this moment and this man.
And when Chris felt him at last, sliding in, it was with a wince of pain that sent a deep shudder of desire through his muscles. Without speaking they moved together and against each other, brutal and hurting, savaging one another in their pleasure. Soon enough Chris had one hand on the headboard above him, holding himself steady as he was fucked relentlessly, the other fisted in his mouth, biting down too loud moans and cried out expletives.
“Look at me.” Darren's voice was hard, commanding and compelling and Chris could not resist it, not even if he wanted to. Eyes open wide, Chris looked, body wrecked with pleasure. His heart was hammering against his ribs, the thunder of his blood roaring as he looked, taking in the moonlit lines of Darren's beautiful body. For a moment Chris lingered, aching on the precipice of the culmination of his pleasure, wondering.
Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Chris finally looked Darren in the eyes, back arching into each slammed thrust. Darren paused, eyes locked on Chris's, running a sweaty hand over Chris’s ribs and arm, pulling his fist loose. Gathering both hands, he held Chris down, down and spread open for his cock. Chris could feel his eyes shutter closed as pleasure stormed through him, burning at the base of his spine.
This was no dream. This was his body, wrecked by Darren’s touch. Darren’s mouth on his, seeking and fierce, his body a force of pleasure and pain.
And then Chris was coming, neck straining as he arched into it, Darren swearing and fucking into him harder. They were both panting, drops Darren’s sweat trickling onto his body. His cock, aching and pulsing lay untouched between them as Darren continued to push into him, push him past orgasm and beyond, until he was writhing, over sensitized and sore.
“Wanted this so long.” Darren’s voice was hoarse, grunted through his thrusts, “Not done with you yet.” Chris winced, feeling the dryness of Darren’s cock inside him.
“Lube.” He whispered, throat dry. Darren paused before pulling out and slapping a hand to Chris’s side.
“Roll over.” His voice was sure, so confident. There was little need for words beyond those necessary. They could only serve to ruin this, make catastrophic what was now an unspoken break in reality. Chris obeyed without thinking, swaying as he settled on his hands and knees. Lube dripped cool and soothing down the crack of his ass. Then Darren’s fingers were inside, teasing at the rim of his asshole, assessing and sending shudders of pleasure through him that were this side of too much. Chris whimpered, unsure if he had any more to give, but willing to try. There was a sense of urgency between them, a lingering trace of uncertainty; for what this meant, if this would ever happen again.
Now when Darren fucked him, it was slow. Each thrust was measured, thrilling. Chris felt himself scraped raw, each nerve overwrought with pleasure that was pain. Darren’s hands on his hips were gentle. They moved together like water, tides rising and peaking before ebbing. Their bodies were going nowhere in particular, experiencing pleasure and give together.
It was when he began to tremble that he felt Darren soothing him down, pushing on tired muscles until he was as he had started, a heavy weight draped over Chris’s body in the dark. His movements were small and they rocked together quietly, barely moving as time passed. Chris reveled in it: in the sheer weight of Darren, in his exhausted body rising once again, in their fingers, painfully twisted and grasped together. Gasping, Darren paused. Chris could feel him pulsing deep inside. Darren’s forehead pressed hard against the rise of his neck, body tense as he tried not to come.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good Chris, ohmygod I just wanna fuck you, keep fucking you, holy shit.”
Warmth spread through Chris, inside where Darren’s thick cock was buried in him, waves of heat spiraling through him. Darren began to move again, incrementally faster and faster until Chris was moaning non-stop, tears of pleasure in the corners of his eyes. Untangling their fingers, Chris reached for himself. His dick was so hard it hurt. He barely managed to get himself in hand before he was coming, clenching hard around Darren. He could feel everything: the heat of Darren’s come hot in his ass, the sparks of pain as Darren bit down on his neck, hard enough to leave bruises, the sheets and the heavy air against his burning skin. Chris swore, body so tight it hurt, his orgasm rolling from his fingers and toes, through and through him.
Exhausted, Chris let himself relax slowly into the bed below him, feeling Darren lay a his head on a shoulder, sweaty skin sticking to his. Together they breathed, inhaling and exhaling as their skin stuck, hearts pounding uncertainly. Slowly, Chris slipped into sleep how he woke- with the knowledge of blurred sensations, overtired muscles and pleasure soaked skin still tingling, the weight of a man warm and foreign on his back.
I've been thinking A LOT for two weeks about what I'm doing here. By here I mean at the psychiatric rehabilitation facility I am living at.
I've been thinking about my reasons for coming (I feel that I was pressured by certain people...but that's all I'll say about that because I know they had my best interests at heart), and why I am here, and what I am getting from the program.
To be honest, I feel like the things I am most benefiting from here (DBT or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, my psychologist, and structure) are all things I can access in the outside community or implement myself. I'm not getting individual therapy here because this is a work based program, not a therapy based program. At it's heart, one of the main functions of this program is teaching people to function "in the community"- that is how to take care of daily living needs (getting up on time, showering etc.), how to take meds and what meds they are taking, and how to work.
None of which are things that I struggle with in such a way that I need to pay the RIDICULOUS amount being paid for me to be here. Yes I was underfunctioning as a result of depression. But given the right combination of meds (any by that I mean getting a psychiatrist who understood that I could not tolerate SSRI's because I have a mood disorder), I function so much better than I was. And to be honest, the worst time for me (in my life) was between December and Feburary of last year- this year. IN MY LIFE. And I've struggled with depression for about 15 years.
Anyway, the long and the short of this is that I've thought long and hard. I made pro and con lists, tried to think through facts and not be completely influenced by emotion.
The simple truth is that the costs outweigh the benefits. And I don't mean financial cost, although that is a factor. I am not with my children; the oldest of whom confided to me the other day that he gets in his bed and cries because he misses mommy. And he's three. I'm missing watching my 1 year old learn to walk, learn to talk. He's being raised now primarily by my husbands mother who is a wonderful woman but VERY lenient and completely different than I. I am surrounded by other mentally ill people. I can't think of a nice way to say that I am functioning at a higher to MUCH higher level than most of them. When I came they told me I might not even be sick enough to be considered.
Yet, three months later I am still here with no clear end in sight because of the way their program is structured. It's a long story.
Anyway. I talked to my case manager, and my husband. I am having a meeting with him and my sister and my case manager on Monday to talk about what's best for me. At best, that will mean I can give 30 day notice (not giving that notice means forfeiting a HUGE deposite. I can't even tell you how big cause you would shit yourself). At worst, that means I won't. Which will suck and I will probably suffer from an actual breakdown as a result. Well maybe not.
I am very hopeful. I hope that doesn't come to bite me in the ass. But I think I know what's best for me, and now I just have to advocate for it.
Wish me luck darlings.
Catch me up pretties. What is new?
cunt_aloupe created this amazing fanart for my story,
rdm_ation made this incredible fanmix for the story as well.Here You Come Again - Carly Smithson
I Need Something - Newton Faulkner
Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls
Arms - Christina Perri
Little Hell - City and Colour
Crashing - Gersey
Vulnerable - Secondhand Serenade
Ocean Wide - The Afters
If I Fell - Evan Rachel Wood
Nightminds - Missy Higgins
Near To You - A Fine Frenzy
Changed by You - Between the Trees
Title: Through The Hidden Door
Author: JudeAraya
Pairing(s) or Character(s): Kurt/Blaine, Blaine/OOC
Word Count:40k
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Offscreen non-con in reference, some dub-con, emotionally abusive relationship, and mild violence
Summary Blaine Anderson is lost; lost in a relationship that is abusive. He’s settling for a fraction of his dreams of romance and love, sure that his unhappiness isn’t enough to justify breaking someone else’s heart. Until he meets Kurt Hummel, the enigmatic boy he once noticed on a crowded dance floor. Kurt has his own demons to face, mistakes made in youth and the longing wish that he’d listened to his father when he’s insisted that he mattered. What starts as a tenuous friendship eventually becomes so much more. Both boys are broken and in need of friendship. As time passes, however, neither boy is able to deny the truth they’ve come to realize; that they are desperately in love with one another.
An: This fic has been the work of blood sweat and tears; not just for myself but for everyone who helped me with it. Thanks to lovely_spark and alianne for amazing beta skills. Thanks to epanaphoric and stut_ter for tense switching and lots of love to anxioussquirrel for demanding that I keep telling this story, even when I was ready to give up.
Fanart: cunt_aloupe created the most incredible fanart for this story. So many thanks, your art left me breathless.
Fanmix: rdm_ation made this beautiful fanmix
This story is a sequel to hand in hand one shots written a long time ago: How Long Will It Take and Justify this Unhappiness. Those should be read first. There is a sequel already half done that picks up immediatly where this story leaves off, so no pitchforks please!!
Title of the story comes from Florence +The Machine's song Blinding. Most of the music referenced in this story comes from Cursive's album The Ugly Organ.
Through the Hidden Door
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6a
Chapter 6b
Chapter 7a
Chapter 7b
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Tuesday I took the baby to the doctor. He got blood drawn and we hung out. I was getting very tired during the visit, and by the time I got home I had completely crashed. I remember not even being able to pick the baby up because physically, it felt like too much effort. Like, more than I could ever manage. I was laying on the couch, staring into space and thinking, "I'm just this giant weight dragging everyone down." My husband said he was going to stay home from work because he could tell I was really off.
All I could think was that everyone would be better off without me. My kids- I was positive that my mental illness was going to ruin their lives, that they are young enough to move on and forget me if I were gone. I was staring at my husband, positive that he could move on; meet someone healthy who would compliment his life and he could be happy instead of always having to care for this giant burden.
And I was tired. So tired. Because everything was just getting worse and hoping for something better was starting to seem like a pipe dream and I just didn't have the strength to wait for some elusive promise that might or might not come true.
So I planned to slit my wrists when my husband went to work.
I was serious.
For two hours I was positive this was the right thing to do. Until I realized I was planning to leave my children all day with no one to care for them. And I freaked out and told my husband and doctor what I was planning. I still wanted to do it, but that alone was enough to freak me out even more.
So I checked into the hospital. That's where I've been since Tuesday night, and yesterday I came home. I'll be doing outpatient treatment for 2-3 weeks.
They changed my meds and my diagnosis. They think that the meds were mimicing symptoms of bipolar, but that really I am just massively clinically depressed. I am on Celexa now. Also we addressed- well started to- my anxiety problems and I now have Ativan for anxiety which I like a lot better than Xanax.
Obviously three days in the hospital didn't cure me, or change too much other than to give me a few coping skills and a new diagnosis. I'll be doing a lot of work at outpatient I think. I am more hopeful now, and that is a good thing.
- Mood:
tired
judearayaand epanaphoricPairing:Kurt/Blaine
Word Count: ~3500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers for 3x11
Summary:. In which Kurt wants to comfort Blaine, who has a lot of inappropriate jokes to tell.
( Read More )
Pairing: Blinn
Rating: R
Summary: Blaine and Finn take the next step in their relationship.
AN: Something sweet and sexy written for
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epanaphoric's birthday! The rest of this verse can be found here.( June 29th, 2019 )
- Mood:
exanimate
