castielgeralt

[castielgeralt]

THE DINER

by billie eilish

pairings: parasocially obsessed! mike x famous musician! reader

warnings: parasocial relationship, breaking in, mention of being imprisoned, dubcon, obsession, mike not making sense and backtracking so it may get confusing, reader frozen in the moment.

a/n: this song has been on repeat, i’m sorry 😭

♡ your name was everywhere. mike couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, and he was obsessed with you. every move you made, word you said… it was for him. he knew you wanted him but you weren’t able to tell the public, so you sent messages through the screens.

♡ you were in his dreams, you were telling him to come to you. [phone]. you kept repeating those numbers, your voice kept echoing even when he woke up in cold sweat.

♡ he quickly took out his new phone and dialed your number, breathing heavily as he hears your voice.

“hello? helloooo? who’s this..?”

♡ was it really you? “it’s me, mike.” you hung up. you hung up. you hung up. you hung up. you hung up. why would you do that to him? he’s what you need and he KNOWS you know that. you’ve been giving him hints for years, why the fuck do you keep running away from him?

♡ maybe it was too soon, it has only been a couple of days since he got out of jail.. maybe you thought he was still mad at you for calling the cops? but it was your fault! he seen you hiding with another man in your car… don’t you know that he knows your license plate by heart? you need to stop acting so fucking stupid.

♡ he calls again but it went straight to voicemail, “hey! it’s me, i can’t come to the phone so just leave a message! muah muah muah!!” he smiled at your voice, listening to it made his heart feel so full.

♡ “don’t be afraid of me, baby. i’m what you need, remember? you even made a song about me, baby. remember? you looked right at me through the screen, the magazine, when i was waiting on your block, when i took your order at the diner.” his incoherent babbling continued until his phone beeped, signaling that the message could no longer be recorded any further.

♡ he calls again, “i just wanna talk, please. don’t call the cops, please. i’ll meet you at the diner again, just please talk to me. i could change your life if you let me, please. you could be my wife, baby! it’s okay if we get into fights, i know you’ll come back and tell me i was right and we will be happy together! you’ll kiss me goodnight and..”

♡ he continued until he passed out from exhaustion at 5 am…

♡ his alarm woke him up at 9 am sharp. your house sitter should be leaving by now.

♡ he grabbed his bag and walked to your block, the 250,000 dollar bail wasn’t enough to make him leave, of course it wasn’t. you’re the love of his life and he’s yours.

♡ he watched the sitter leave. he jumped over the fence and landed on his feet, taking out the makeshift key he made. soon, it’ll be real. soon, you’ll be comfortable enough to give him a spare key, you’re just scared that’s all!

♡ he walked around the island table in your kitchen, going to the fridge to take a half eaten sandwich. he ate it, moaning at the thought of your teeth sinking down into this same sandwich… you knew he was coming so you left this for him, you’re too nice to him! he then took out the letter he wrote for you during his shift.

dear, you

i really hope you read this letter. you better. that incident was very unexpected, but i forgive you. i meant it when i said that if anything happened to him, that you could bet it was me, haha! i tried to end it in prison, as you know, but it’s okay. i ended up landing on my feet instead of hanging… thank god for that. i knew you would come back to me. i couldn’t sleep the whole month i was in there, but someone paid the bail. i know it was you. i knew you would save me, but i understand we have to be a secret. i love you so much, my wife. come to the diner, we could run away and get married. just bring the veil.

- mike schmidt ♡

♡ he places it on your fridge, using the magnet he made to hold it up. it was a photoshopped picture of the two of you kissing. he smiled softly before zipping his backpack back up again. soon he could replace it with a real picture of the two of you. he just needs to wait.

♡ his head darted to the sound of the doorknob jiggling, holy shit… could this really be you? he hid behind the kitchen island, listening to you place your purse down as you hummed. he could hear your footsteps getting closer to the kitchen, you gasping as you looked at the new piece of paper on your fridge.

♡ “how.. how… is he here?? is h-“ your voice gets cut off as he slaps his hand accross your mouth.

♡ “shhh, shhh… it’s me, mike. please don’t call the cops. they’ll make me stop and I just wanna talk, baby. you promise you won’t call them?”

♡ you try to nod your head as you shake profusely, your stalker was insane but he never had the chance to touch you. he had already hurt people in your life physically, but never you. you were terrified of what he would do next, so you listened to him.

♡ “good girl.” he let go of you briefly, he then held your head and made you look at him. “it’s okay, it’s just us. no one else is here, you can finally be my wife.” his hands shake as he lets go of your cute cheeks, going down to the hem of your shirt. “now you can do your wifely duties.”

♡ “please. no…” you whimpered, your voice low and quivering.

♡ “it’s okay, we’re married. this is okay. this is okay, shhh.” he slowly took off your top as you stood still in fear of him getting angry. he already tried to kill your boyfriend, what would he do to you? kill you then himself?

♡ “what am i doing… ha! we need to go to your bedroom, princess.” his big hand gripped onto your wrist as he practically dragged you to your bedroom. he laid you on your pink bedsheets, pulling down your baggy shorts. “why would you ever want to hide your beautiful figure, angel. do you not want people to see what’s mine? it’s okay… i’m sure they know you belong to me, me, me..” his muttering felt more unsettling in person.

♡ you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t move. you wanted to scream at him to get off of you as he kissed your inner thighs, inhaling the musk between your legs. “you smell so good, way better than i imagined.”

♡ “such a tasty… pussy” he licked you through your panties, grunting as he grinded against your bed. you looked up at the ceiling, praying for this night to be over.

♡ “at least fucking act like you’re grateful. i’m risking everything being here.” he alludes to the restraining order you have against him.

♡ you force a smile, still looking up at the ceiling. “that’s better. be a good girl for me, angel.” he pulled your panties to the side to give him better access to your cunt, it wasn’t as wet as he hoped but he swallowed his disappointment.

♡ “hold on… i want to remember this night forever.” he took out his phone and started recording. what a fucking creep. he wasted no time to go back to lapping at your cunt. his groans became louder as more of your juices entered his mouth. he swallowed and sucked around your clit, not bothering to be quiet.

♡ he pulls away, a string of your cum and his saliva connecting the two of you together. he spread your cunt open with his thick fingers and showed the camera how much you were dripping. he mumbled your full name, exclaiming how this is the generation’s pop princess’s pussy… and that he’s the one who’s making you feel this way, not your “boyfriend.”

♡ “you’re being so good for me, princess.” he mumbles as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, hurriedly trying to pull down his pants and boxers at once. his cock springs out, so much pre cum was formed that it splattered onto your cunt.

♡ he smacks his cock onto your pussy.. watching your face for any reactions. “hey, baby… enjoy the moment.” when you didn’t, he smacked you. “listen to me, you fucking slut. you’ve been asking for this for months, don’t act like you hate me.”

♡ all you could do was sob, you didn’t want this. he continued to press the tip of his slicked cock against your hole, biting his lip and holding his breath as he entered. “my baby’s tight pussy is finally around my cock..” he breathed heavily. beads of sweat dropping onto you, he threw his phone on the side of the bed, wanting to enjoy this moment fully.

♡ “i can’t believe i’m finally inside my wife… you’re going to be a beautiful mom, angel.” he grunts as he’s already close to cumming. he just couldn’t believe he was finally inside you.

♡ “you’re the love of my life!” he yells as he cums inside of you, it felt like eternity but it actually lasted less than a minute.

♡ he slips out of you and lays next to you, but all you could do was curl up and sob. the only thing giving you coverage was your bra, but mike’s hand was already crawling underneath it. he pinched one of your nipples as he mumbled into your ears. you blocked it out as you prayed for every god in the world for him to stop, but he didn’t.

♡ “i love you, angel. forever and ever.”

thank u for reading :D sorry i didn’t know how to end it ;-;

[castielgeralt]

'I'd Rather Stay Here' 18+ MDNI

Derek Danforth x F!Reader

────────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───────────────

Oneshot:

Insatiable for you, Derek convinces you to ditch the party. Eager to have his way dominating you, away from prying eyes. Desperately, you wouldn't dream of passing up the chance…

Tags:

Dom/Sub, Light Dom/Sub, Dom/Sub Play, Grinding, Dry Humping, Wet & Messy, Naked Female X Clothed Male, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Neck Kissing, Choking, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Doggy Style, Creampie, Overstimulation

────────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───────────────

Derek's palm slinked against the satin of your evening dress as he pushed you into his exquisite bedroom. He'd been eyeing you the entire evening, flirting mercilessly. Not caring who was within earshot. 

Shameless in how he spoke, how he bordered on vulgar. Yet, it worked. 

Every. Time.

Derek was not your type. Not in the slightest. Cold in attitude, unexpectedly callous and fuck, a cocky little shit at times.

Yet, you still came crawling back for more. Like a sickness. An inexplainable fervour.

It was unhealthy, an infatuation. 

With your mind already filtering to perverse fascinations, his hand shifted to yours, fingers intertwining. Tugging you roughly into the room, he slammed the door shut, using your body, as your back pushed against it. Sinking his forehead into yours, as his eyes flicked over your low-cut dress. Then darting them back to meet your gaze. The way he licked at his lips was very indicative of his intentions.

You felt a familiar gratifying rush of lust simmer in the pit of your stomach. Silence hanging in the air. As you shared that intense look. Heavy breaths hang against your lips. 

"God look at you...” He broke the silence, fixating on your body. His palm weaved against your hair, loosening the clip that pinned it in place. As it fell downward. Reaching his palm to brush the strands from your cheek. You swallowed harshly as he did. His touch felt like fire dotting across your flesh. 

Fingertips looped under the thin straps of your dress, as his nails dragged against your collarbone. Dipping your eyes downward to watch his touches, as your heart raced. Skin prickled with goosebumps. 

"Look at me..." He seized under your chin as he said it. Cringing as you felt your bottom lip flutter. Face all flustered, as the colour of your cheeks warmed. 

"Fuck, you are already so needy, huh? Look at you, all pretty and pink...” He hummed melodically as he toyed with your ego. 

“I want to break you..." He sneered.

"I bet your panties are already dripping...aren't they?" He ridiculed, pulling your face forward in his hand, he kissed you with a thirst you'd never quite experienced. Pinning your hips back against the door frame. Using his weight to hold you there.

"D-derek..." You barely manage to whimper. It was like he was choking you. Smothering you with his fierce kiss.

Pressing his lips deeper, he demanded attention.

Palms pawed at your waist as his fingertips burrowed into you, marking your skin beneath the dress. One hand firmly groped up your waist, as it slithered across your chest again. Smoothing over your right breast. Feeling your nipple perk upward under the silken fabric. He pinched it, as he rolled it between his thumb and index finger. Looking down at you as he dragged his tongue against your lips. Watching for your reaction. 

Hyperventilating as you yearned for him. To feel him throw your body against the bed. To be used. He wore you down, you could feel yourself tremble against him. 

"That's a good girl.." He taunted. As you turned a deeper shade of pink. 

"D-don't... don't call me that." You hissed, as he raked his teeth against your neck almost a little too roughly, pleas escaped your mouth for him. 

He scoffed lightly.

"Don't be such a little prude. I know what you are, how undeniably desperate you are. You fucking crave me." His words were like torture. However, the best kind.

You clenched your hands into fists against the arms of his suit jacket. Fingers tightened, threatening the stitching, as you steadied yourself. Feeling him roll his sleeves over his flexed forearms. Thinking of his hazy stare

Pulling his lips from yours slowly, as he broke the kiss. Hearing your frantic little breaths escape. Strings of spit pulled between your mouths. His hand grips under your chin once more, pushing your head back with a gentle thud against the door. Forcing you to look at the ceiling. As you let out those little whimpers he hoped for. Feeling as his hand wandered, stroking his hot palm at your exposed thigh in the slit of your dress.

"Hush, all those little noises and I am barely touching you... Tell me where you want my hand." He urges. You were all flustered and frustrated as you shook your head, his palm slid along your jaw, and he moved it to your neck. Fingers wrapping around it. Squeezing lightly.

"Go on, use your words for me." He taunted.

Stuttering as you try to speak, you whisper in a stifled squeak. 

“Please...T-touch me, please... I need you Derek” Stammering as you watched him lick your spit from his mouth that curled into a devious smile. Wasting no time. 

His palm curved over your delicate lace underwear. Fingers threatening as they arched upward. Stretching the thin material of them. Pushing the panties into your sloppy wet hole that begged. Begged to be caressed. Puckering your lips as he did. Trying to grip his tense forearm. For a moment feeling his veins peek and tighten against the muscle. Your fingers grazing against. However, his other hand stopped you promptly. Without a word. You knew better. 

Your legs started to shake, as your balance waivered in the high heels. Heaving breaths escaped you, as he coaxed more noises from your despairing sweet body. Satiating his need. His hunger. 

“That’s it..you're needy, aren't you baby girl? My little slut.” He groaned. Fingering the lace in and out of your pleading cunt. Watching your lips shake as you moaned into the air from him. Feeling the sweat build on your neck, he pressed his palm more forcefully against it. Fingers coiled around it tighter. But it only heightens your high-pitched cries. Tears threatened as you felt a flutter of shame. As he only further pinned you into the hardwood of the door. 

A ringtone buzzed in his pocket. Though, without a shred of reluctance, he ignored it. Focused solely on you. As his fingers fought. Pushing your panties aside vigorously. Curling his middle finger in first, you banged your head back against the door. It creaked loudly against your shivering body. You heard as people passed by the room. The party continued without you both.  

Derek was deliberate.

Knowing you’d be heard. 

Finding it gratifying, how soft and broken you were for his caress. Taking his hand from your neck. Pushing it through your hair, tangling his fingers within. Showering wet breathy kisses along your jaw. Exhaling in short bursts of breath. 

You let your eyes flick between your bodies. Peeking at how the suit pants jutted upwards. His crotch pressing into your other thigh. Rocking. Grinding at you. You couldn't help but smirk slightly through your fluster. 

Derek's mouth sucked and marked your neck with deep pink love bites. They nipped and it only caused you to wriggle further. Biting against your shoulder for a second, sinking a second finger inside your pleading pussy. Then almost instantly a third finger nestled inside your folds. Drenching his palm in your pleading arousal, so much so your hips were shaking. Rocking against his palm. You pressed your head forward into the edge of his neck. On the edge of climax already.

“Don’t. Don't you dare." He growled. 

"Listen to me.. hey.. look at me." Leaning closely to your ear. "Not yet..”. He was gripping your throat pushing your head back to look at him. 

Your eyes shut as you couldn’t get your words out from the overpowering pleasure. 

“Fucking look at me while I am talking..” Slipping his fingers out as he spanked at your drooling cunt. Making you whine as your clit ached under the firm slap. Feeling suddenly hollow. Your hair gripped in his palm as he yanked you slightly towards his bed. 

Finally, you saw more of the room. Disorientated, your eyes scanned the over-the-top design. Obscenely extravagant. Much like him. 

Teal lace and black bedsheets spread across the four-poster bed. Draped with sheer hangings surrounding the top beams. Woodwork carved and all. Art was framed over the walls as he took you and pushed you back into the bed. You eyed the swirling carvings across his ceiling, till your eyes diverted back to him. Eyes beckoning you, darkly.

He crawled slightly, against you. Reaching to grip the split fabric in your dress. The slit that exposed your leg was so captivating, tempting him. His fingers gripped either side of the split, tugging at it further. The noise of the fabric splitting, tearing against your skin. Until your body was exposed.

“See, much better..” He grinned. Sneering as the phone only continued to buzz. 

“Open your fucking legs..” He demanded. And you obliged. It was torture. He wiped his thumb over his lip watching you. Cradling his hard-on through his pants as you did. Exposing your fingered pussy, dripping for him. Trickling against his sheets. 

“God look at that mess.. all for me? Such a good girl aren’t you?..” He smirked as he saw that stubborn resistance to his persistent use of the pet name. Tugging his suit jacket off he tossed it aside, pulling the remainder of your ripped dress aside. Hands stroking your exposed flesh. Starting to loosen only some of his shirt buttons till his chest was on show. Rolling his sleeves up further. 

Leaning over your body now, looking down at you. Basking in your vulnerable state. The scent of your sweet musk invaded his nostrils. Dipping his head down, he speckled your bare tits with kisses. Dragging his tongue over your left breast. The right one cupped in his palm as he massaged. Hungrily, suckling against that left nipple till it swelled in between his lips. Finding yourself grinding upward you failed to control your hopeless little noises. 

“Such a slut aren't you... you are mine. Say it.” He said sinfully. 

Hesitating at first. Coming completely undone. 

“Yours... I am y-yours... Dereks good girl..” You blurt out. A devilish laugh left his lips. Red washed over your skin, so completely lost in him.

“That’s my girl...” He bit at his tongue as he pulled his hand away. Patting at your ass cheek instead. Before he pulled back his palm, swatting to give a proper slap. The skin rippled. 

Derek's phone continued to ring, and that is when he lost it snatching it from his pocket. Frustratedly.

“Don’t stop. Okay?” He rasped. Dragging his hand away. As you suddenly longed for its return. Watching as his fingers were dripping with your pleasure still. His hands gripped your waist. Yanking your body down the bed, so your ass was perched against the edge. Pushing your thighs open some, as he began resting his knee between your legs. Shoving firmly against your pussy as it spread against his knee. He felt the slick pleasure stain through the material of his trousers. Using his soaked hand he forced his first two fingers into your mouth. Your cheeks burned as he did. Tasting your excitement on his skin. 

“Now suck." He insisted. Grinning wildly as you obeyed so willfully. 

"That's it, suck for me... I need you to try and be quiet, can you do that?..” He was not asking, this was his demand. Nonetheless, you nodded so eagerly. Rocking his knee back and forth, your hips jolt like there was electricity sparking through your veins. Stopping his movement he gestured.

“Show me what you need, grind for me.." Reaching for your hips, helping at first.  "That’s it..harder. I know you ..” He smiled deviously. Dragging the phone to his ear. 

“What the fuck do you want?.. Whatever it is, it can fucking wait. Do you think I just have time to wait around, fucking answering your calls?” he snarls. Hearing his rage you quicken your deprived humping. Obeying him. Whimpering as you suckled his fingers wetly. As he fucks at your mouth with them. Allowing you to suck their length. Staring, as if entranced for a moment.  

“I don’t give a shit." He hissed. His eyes never shifted from yours as you followed his instructions. Twitching within his pants. 

"It is simple. You fucking take the gun, shove it down that motherfuckers throat and you tell him, tell him what he is going to do or blow his fucking brains out.” He was frustrated. But also pent up. His eyes watched how divine you looked under him. 

Your eyes fluttered as you followed his instructions. Even as he spoke with such vindictive anger. Soaking against his suit pants. Drool leaving the corners of your lips. Edging at your own pace. Reaching that peak almost. A little faster. 

He watched you, barely listening to the panicked stranger on the other side of the phone. 

“Don’t fucking phone me till you are done…fuck off..” He stammered, hurling the phone across the room, as you heard it crack against the wall. He couldn’t wait any longer. Refusing to starve himself of his lust for you any longer.

“Are you intentionally teasing me?..." He bit his lower lip. Pressing his palms on either side of your head, leaning down. Inches from you as you sucked further against your fingers. Your eyes glazed with a burning need. 

"Making me fucking want you... you are so needy look at you.” Seizing your hips as he tore his nails against your skin. Firmly he flipped you to your tummy with ease. Kicking your heels apart with his foot. Rough in the heat of the moment. 

“Hands behind your back.” Rasping as the words spewed from his lips. With no moment of hesitation, you followed his directions. Wanting to feel him. How his girth splits you open. Stretching you. 

You started burying your face in the soft sheets as you brace for him. Your cunt yearning to feel him fuck you mercilessly. 

Loosening the buckle, he ripped his belt from his pants. Clutching it as he contemplated for a moment. His grin pulled at his lips as he looked down at your delightful body. Tracing his eyes over you. He eased his hand upward. Striking the belt down, the leather snapped against your asscheek. Pain rattled through you. Your head snapped back from the sheets as you screamed out erotically. Delicately, he petted your hair with his free hand as you nestled into his touch. 

"D-derek.." You sighed feverishly. "Again... p-please...” You whispered so quietly he barely heard at first. Watching you with such intensity, not entirely surprised, but taunting nonetheless.

“You kinky little whore..” His lips curled again. Spoiling you with this pathetic submission of yours. Raising the belt again. As it struck you hind a second time. Squeals left your quivering lips again. As the markings were raw. Dropping the belt beside you on the bed. Noticing the slick pleasure spilling between your thighs. Tracing your quivering sex with his thumb. 

He loosened the button of his pants, then slid the zip downwards. Not quite taking them off, though pushing his boxers out of the way within them. Taking his throbbing cock in his palm. Stroking himself as he gawped at your body below him. 'All mine' Derek thought to himself.

“You are such a good girl, aren't you? I’m so proud of how easy you break for me..” Mocking you affectionately. Bending as he said it. Exhaling atop your rear. Pecking the red marks he’d branded upon your butt. Stroking them under his thumb. As you mewled painfully.

Diverting his touch, he stroked your dripping pussy with his fingertips. Using your excitement to lube over his dick as he jerked. Stepping closer. Pushing his hips forward, as he grinds at your spread folds. Teasing his tip against your now swollen clit. Derek was just glad you could no longer see him as his head was thrown back. Gasping into the air.  

Unable to control yourself, your hips back into him. Trying to meet his rhythm. As he angled his body. Pushing you down, as he began sinking into you fiercely. His hips smacked against your ass, as he leaned his head back further, allowing his grunts to flow from him. 

“So fucking tight..” He grumbles. Kneading the skin of your waist under his touch. Tearing back from you, and slamming back inside your needy fuckhole, as you call out his name. Clawing at his bedsheets. 

Continuing that motion of his hips. Quickening. Grasping the back of your head. Shoving your face into the sheets. Muffling your beautiful sounds, as they only served to excite him too much.

Slipping his hand into the curve of your back. “That’s it..that’s it, baby girl..” He puffed. 

You were so close. He could feel it. How your walls clenched, he was pushing you further to your limit. 

“Not yet..” He growled. Sliding deeper. As the echo of his slaps against you filled the air. Slithering his hand around your hips. Tucking it under your body, fingers nestled between your thighs. Finding that pressure point. Circling over your clit, the swirling of his touch, drew further intense moans from your lips. 

Huffing out. Moaning under him as you lift your head. Catching your breath as your face glowed. That pressure built between your legs as your breaths grew increasingly dazed. Gritting your teeth. 

“D-Derek I can’t..please I need to..I need to...  Please let me” Your pleading could have melted him right there and then. Tempted to give in, though he kept fucking you with such greed. 

“You can do it... keep going. Don’t fucking stop..” He grunted. Getting harsher. Making it all that more difficult. His touches danced delicately down your clit. Kissing between your shoulder blades. Licking your sweat from his lips. 

With his free hand pulling your head back softly, he tucked your hair behind your ear. As he pounded at your pussy. His grunts turned to guttural moans. Pinning you in place, as he became ravenous. Too close for you now. Struggling to keep up with his own pace. 

“Be a good girl, and cum for me..” He murmured hotly against your ear. Tensing against you, the throb of his dick pulsating in your tender walls as you lost all control. Rolling your eyes back as you called out for him. Your orgasm squirted from you in waves. Spluttering against him in a wet little mess. Drenching the length of his cock fucking you, smearing over his naval. You felt as his thrusts grew sporadic.

His fingers dug firmly into your clit as he groped your body. Sliding every inch inside, he grunted out a deep melodic whine. Reaching his breaking point, spraying his cum deep inside of you. Unable to fathom pulling out, not now. Never. He twitched and struggled to compose himself. Shuddering against your body as he pulled back one last time and fucked the rest of his cum deep inside of you.

“Fuckkk you are such..a good girl. Holy shit”.Watching as you puddled under him. Dripping with his cream. He pulled his hips back to see the mess that trailed from you. Grinning. as he smeared it up and down your pink folds. Hearing your sensitive whimpers, as you struggle. Your clit was so tender as he only further teased. 

You peeked back over your shoulder. It was rare he looked so playful. Narrowing your eyes some. He caught your gaze. Raising his eyebrow, winking. Spanking that pretty ass of yours, as his sweat dripped from his chin to his chest. 

“Did you enjoy that?..” He hissed gripping you as you giggled, pushing you onto your back. To see your flustered cheeks as you covered them shamefully hiding your smile. 

As you toyed with him. He shook his head. 

“No way come on.. let me see how much of a pathetic mess I made you...” He rasps mischievously, climbing over you. Pulling at your palms. Pushing them on either side of your head. 

“Stop..” You complained. As he finally cupped your cheeks. Seeing how your mascara had smeared. And your lipstick was smudged. Deliberately you stare into his eyes, moaning for him. Under his mercy. 

“Such a mess. And yet I didn’t even force you on your knees..” He mocked. 

“There’s still time...” You pouted through a sly grin. 

Rolling off of you laughing. He laid on his back. The suit pants practically around his ankles now. Brushing back his curly highlights. 

“I don’t think we can go back downstairs if you don’t have a dress anymore..” He reminded you of the ongoing party below. Hearing the music rumble loudly. Likely due to the noise of the pair of you. Fucking like animals. 

He reached into the bedside drawer, clasping a pack of smokes. 

Parting his lips he rests a cigarette between them. The spark of the lighter sparked as it burned alight. Though you snatched it from between his lips before he got the chance to take a draw. 

You inhale softly. Leaning over him as you blow the smoke over his lips. Derek parted them. Inhaling the smoke from your breath.  

“I’d rather stay here anyway..” You smirked. 

“Oh, I bet you would..” Rolling against you pinning your hands above your head as scoffed. Nibbling against your neck as you writhed.

[castielgeralt]

Roiben and Kaye by Frostbite Studios

[castielgeralt]

I re-read Deal with the Elf King earlier this year, and I really enjoyed it a lot more the 2nd time around. In fact, it’s now one of my favorites, and something that will probably be on my annual reread list <3 It’s such a fun fantasy romance take on Hades/Persephone, and even a little bit of Beauty and the Beast (which I am always a sucker for). Anyway, here is the Elf King himself probably wondering where his betrothed is, before she realizes who she is.

Commissions | Shop | Website

[castielgeralt]

Luella and Eldas from A Deal With The Elf King!

Love that book!

[castielgeralt]

ᗣ ᙃᥱᥲꙆ ᙎɩtᖾ Ʈᖾᥱ ᙓꙆƒ ƙɩᥒɠ

Loved this book so much ❤️

[castielgeralt]

from-hogwarts-to-rivendell:

Endless list of great books: The Modern Faerie Tales (Holly Black)

[castielgeralt]

*Lana gave him another soft smile as he spoke about his cooking.*

“I usually cook something up. I can make rice, sandwiches, pretty much anything basic. I don’t order takeout usually, I just cook for myself.”

*She looks through the menu, ultimately deciding on what to get. Still, she doesn’t want to seem rude by not paying for her part of the meal, looking up at Mike slightly worried.*

“I think I’ll get a burger and Sprite.. You’re sure you wanna pay for all this?”

“I’ll be honest with you, I don’t have a ton of money to pay you regularly. Not until I get a good job. So I want to be able to treat you where I can, like this.” Mike scratched his ear. It was quite a blow to his ego to admit how bad on money he was. But he didn’t have time for pride in his life.

“I know you said money isn’t an issue, but I get if you’re having second thoughts. I mean, at least you shouldn’t be with her too long. For now, only when I’m out job hunting? I just don’t like leaving her out in the car…”

[castielgeralt]

━━ ON THE CLOCK

author's note: to those who have submitted requests a reminder that since i always keep my requests open there are a lot of them already so im working towards completing all of them but be please be patient with me, and also i sincerely appreciate all the i've support gotten so far!!

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! masturbation (m!receiving), mentions of riding, phone sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 2000+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The air in the monitor room is stale and sticky against Mike’s goosepricked skin. He’s more or less nearing the brink of insanity in the incessant silence that’s only punctuated by the occasional squeak of the chair beneath him, and his own heavy, helpless breathing. He’s hyper aware of the ache of his growing bulge as it strains against the constraints of dark, faded denim, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to ignore his longing as he tries (and fails) to keep his eyes trained on the grainy images of the monitors before him. 

Six hours seemed more resemblant to six years as he sat and watched and waited —waited for this shitty shift to end so he could get home, get home to you. You and your airy giggles and knowing eyebrow raises, that evil twinkle that lives in your irises, the one you flash him before he’d whisk you away to the privacy of his modest bedroom, diving into your body, the territory he’s claimed as his. 

Fuck. He can have you once this is all over, he tells himself. He wasn’t going to bother you when you were sleeping, not when he’d already swarmed you with the responsibility of unpaid babysitting for Abby.

Even though his jeans were sodden with a saturated patch of precum that was blooming right at the tip of his tent. 

His mind wanders before he can rope it back in; he’s thrust back into the memories of previous intimacy. Of his shaking figure, swallowed by the mattress, outlined in a tide of his own sweat, your gentle palm easing along his length, the stark contrast from his own calloused fist so erotic in itself. You were always there. Every buck into your hand, you accepted. Everything he needed, you gave. You always gave. 

He feels like an animal; his insatiable lust makes him sick in his own skin, but what can he do? You’re everything and more, and the heat festering in his stomach is making it hard to breathe. His desire is too strong over him – he’s weak. He runs his tongue along his teeth, searching for you and the flavor he craves but his search is futile.

A few more tangled minutes saunter by, and eventually he feels he has no choice but to give in to a fraction of his lust. His skin is melded further with a dry haze of heat and he curses himself as he reaches into his boxers. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. 

He starts slow, his fingers grazing his cock and triggering a taunting voice that begs for more more more. You stay imprinted onto the forefront of his mind; every curve and crevice, the way you conduct the heat of his groping hands better than any precious metal. He can picture the slope of your jaw so effortlessly, the way your neck bleeds into your shoulders, every divot, every movement forever memorized. 

He needs more, it isn’t enough, the friction feels like an unscratchable itch. He’s chafing and aching like a raw wound, his pace quickens, his voice raises pitch, but nothing happens. Without you, he's helpless.

Mike’s brows furrow, nose twitches with utter concentration, features strewn wildly across his face as he chases his fantasy, fist speeding. In his mind, your body glides atop his, slick and succulent; the air is so heavy, a smothering caress to your slippery skin as your hips rock and ride with practiced ease. A whimper falls from his lips. Another, and another, ringing dull across the frozen air. 

But it won’t ever be enough. 

He needs a part of you, a slice, a vestige, something. He can’t come now, not on his own, not without some help. His wrist falls limp, his chest rises and falls sporadically as he takes his breath back in, stopping his movements. His eyes wander across the decrepit room until they reach the phone, mounted against the wall and waiting for him. Beckoning him. Call you. Get some help. He knows he needs it.

Shit. 

—

Your body feels lifeless as it deflates into the welcome embrace of the worn sofa. Swaddled in a patchwork blanket, hands nursing a cup of lukewarm tea, your vision remains weary as it wanders through the curios of the Schmidt family home. The dim light that seeped from the lamp on your right was enough to coax you further into a state of fatigue, and you might have fully fallen off the brink of consciousness had it not been for the shrill cry of the phone that rang from the kitchen. 

You stumble upwards to a shaky standing, inching across the carpeted floor and picking up the receiver with a lethargy wave of your wrist. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is broken glass as it comes out, shredded and tired and when Mike hears how groggy you sound he nearly hangs up without even greeting you. 

“Uh… hey.”

You can hear the speed of his uneven exhales, what’s he been doing? Is he alright? Why is he even calling you?

“Mike, what the hell? Why are you calling on the job? Has something happened?”

A moment's pause blossoms between the line, as another shaky breath tears itself from his mouth. 

“Nothing’s uh… nothing’s happened.” You cock a brow, and he can hear the confusion knitted into your tone.

“What’s going on then? Why do you sound like you just ran around the block?”

Again, he doesn’t reply. And then reality takes a knock at your head. 

“Oh.” He’s silent, every inch of him consumed by raging shame. Jesus, why’d he call you? Why’d he have to embarrass himself like this? He’s pathetic, he’s so pathetic, he called you? You’re gonna realize how needy he is, you’re gonna hate him, you’re gonna leave him— 

“You know I can’t come over, Mikey.”

Your saccharine voice is enough reassurance that this wasn’t as stupid as he thought; at least you haven’t screamed or been sick with disgust at the revelation that he really, truly, needs you.

“I know. I know, I… I just thought that…” He swallows his pride. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Look, I can hang up–” 

“Don’t.” 

He silences himself, and shifts uncomfortably in the cheap spinny chair that he’s resting in. 

“Don’t?” He probes nervously. 

“Nope.”

He’s aching, leaking, every single surface of him is basked in sweat and screaming out for you. 

“I’ll help you, yeah? That’s what you want? Need me to talk you through it?”

A shiver chews at his spine, his figure convulses and his knuckles whiten around the phone. 

“Don’t get shy now Mike.” 

He just about crumples at your tone; so sultry and yet sugar-sweet. You’re sanguine; he’d devour you if he could, drunk on the feeling you give him. He’s never known love like this and he never wants to let it go. 

“Yes. Yes, please, god, please.” Mike can taste your grin through the phone. 

“Knew it. Is your dick out already? Is it Mike?”

His insides burn. “Y/n–”

“Tell me Mike. C’mon.”

He glances down at himself, at his cock that rests stiff and swollen in his hand, wet webs of pre-cum etched across the skin of his rough palms. “Yeah,” he confesses softly, weakly. 

“So you’re all ready f’me, huh?” 

He nods despite your inability to see it, eyes trained on the way he pulses, the way he dreams to disappear between your glistening folds.

“Mike.”

“Shit. Sorry. Uh– yeah. Yeah. I’m.. I’m ready,” his voice descends an octave. 

You settle down into the chair beside you, getting comfortable, a smirk creeping into the corner of your lips. “Then go on. Touch yourself. Nice and slow, just for me.”

He chokes at this, spluttering as his fingers ghost along the sensitive flesh, thumb caressing his tip as his fist begins to stroke his length. He lets out a satisfied hum, falling into the gentle rhythm that you allow him. Nothing faster. He wants you to make him cum. He wants to be good for you. 

“Yeah? Feels good?”

He’s still a little tense– he’s never done anything this dirty before. Technically speaking, he’d never done anything dirty until he’d met you. He was bound to Abby early on, and lost any idea of a relationship, prioritizing her in every instance, but then you came along, took his heart and his virginity and everything in between, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“Should be you,” the words tumble from his lips, accompanied by an audible slop as he gathers more of his slick with his fist. 

“I know, baby.” His chest caves at the pet name. “I know. But it can’t be right now.”

He grumbles something that is lost under the muffle of background noise and the distance between you two, but the phone does capture a soft whine that crawls from deep in his throat. He bucks up, seeking more; more friction, more of the nectar that drools from your voice. To taint your neck with reds and purple, for you to do the same to him. He needs to writhe beneath you, for you to drink his stress up with kisses. His hand gains speed and another fractured whimper escapes his lips, adorned with the broken syllables of your name. 

“That’s it. Just like that. Go faster for me, a little faster.” 

He’s nodding again, a subconscious action as his hips begin to chase his fist. He doesn’t have the capacity in his head to reply to your sugared little coaxes with words, but he whines and grunts and loses himself. Loses every shred of apathy, loses the stress and the indifferent facade that he veils upon himself. 

If he was sweating badly before, his current state is beyond that. He’s soaked, his entire face glimmering under the flickering lights, and all he feels is an inescapable hunger blooming in his stomach, and oh god he’s already so embarrassingly close. 

“You getting close for me Mike?” He manages to jumble out a quiet, “So close,” under the current of his breathless whimpers, the stark contrast to his typical low grumble almost comical. 

“Yeah you are. Just for me, right? Gonna give it to me, I know you are.”

He just about sobs; tears prick the corners of his warm eyes and he gives up any and all control, fist pumping at an ineffable speed as needy cries spew from him like a faucet. He’s finally getting what he needs. “Just for you, god, god, honey please– please, honey, sweetheart, oh–”

“Gonna make a mess, a big mess, all over your hand? You always do. Always giving me everything, so good for me.” He’s indescribably close, nearing the brink of ecstasy, whining and moaning and thrusting into his hand and convincing himself that it’s yours– you and your soft palms, floral lotion delving into every crevice. He moans, once, twice, dangerously near…

“And you know I’ll always be here, ready at home for the real thing.”

He cries out your name so loud the impact alone should shatter glass as he erupts with thick white ribbons, tears rolling free along the flesh of his reddened cheeks, whimpering shamelessly. His brows knit so tightly his skin scrunches, his eyes squeezed shut as his sentences string out in incoherent bursts and all he feels is the overwhelming relief as his entire figure shudders in shock. 

His hand, the table, his faded navy hoodie, tainted with ivory spills that seem to never cease. He comes and comes and comes, heavy and hard, enough to fill buckets. His chest heaves and he wants to freeze this moment and keep it tucked in the waistband of his jeans, buried in the creases of his mind. Your name occasionally falls from the knot of tangled words he can’t seem to choke out, and though it seems eternal, he does float down from his bliss eventually. 

You listen to his breathing for a while, hearing his jagged gasps morph back to even sounding pants, and you can sense the moment it all hitches and the shyness, the awkward man who asked for your number in the coffee shop, claims him once again. He doesn’t speak first. 

“You okay Mike? Did I lose you?” You tease gently. 

He groans out. “Stop.”

“That’s not what you were saying before,” you grin. 

He grunts irritably. “I hate you.” 

“Oh really?” There’s a soft silence that creases as his voice, gravelly and hoarse, comes back.

“No.”

You smile. “I love you Mike.” There’s no pause this time. 

“I love you too.” 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[castielgeralt]

Jensen Ackles as Beau Arlen in Big Sky: 3x09 Where There's Smoke There's Fire

[castielgeralt]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[castielgeralt]

Art by Frostbite Studios

Fam, my jaw has dropped fully through earth and out the other end into the dark abyss of space.

[castielgeralt]

Fairy Chess ‖ p. ⅱ

Desire, I'm hungry I hope you feed me How do you want me, how do you want me? Pairing: Roiben x Kaye Rating: M/E for Myself is a deviant and Everybody about to know about it Part Ⅰ

――――――

"I warned you, little fox," he whispers roughly. "I do not play fair."

The halls on the way to his rooms are near empty and quiet—a stark contrast to the liveliness of the throne room, much to Roiben’s relief. He leads Kaye along, passing the odd servant every few paces; they shuffle out of the kitchens, carrying silver trays piled high with replenishments and crystal bowls overflowing with varying shades of equally-diverse liquor. They stumble into bowing when they see the king among them, to which he gives a nod in response, releasing them to continue their tasks.

As they pass the still-bustling kitchens, he wonders, absently, if any of them have had a moment’s reprieve through the near-month-long revelry. He concludes not likely, and makes a mental note to be sure they are given proper respite when this is all over. Roiben had promised he would be different—better than those who held his station before him. He could start with this.

Suddenly, Kaye is pulling on his arm, tugging him out of his reverie and into a dark corridor splitting off from the main hallway. Roiben frowns; she knows the way to his chambers, and this isn’t it.

“What—?” he starts, but the question is abruptly silenced when Kaye pushes him back into the packed earth wall and covers his mouth with her own.

Her kisses are furious, burning things. Her hands, as they slide up the front of his doublet to grasp the buttons fastening it closed, are echoes of that ferocity.

Before Roiben can protest (not that he had a mind to in the first place), she’s already loosed the three silver clasps at his collar and is fumbling to undo those remaining. His own hands find their place at her hips to pull her into him. The sigh she gives when his fingers sink into the soft flesh there sends a spreading warmth through his lower abdomen, to the hardening length between his legs. They begin their own dance, tongue over teeth in the abandoned hall, the only sound that of their own breath quickening.

After freeing the last clasp of his doublet, Roiben’s already-labored breathing catches in his throat when Kaye’s hand slips farther down, to grasp him through his trousers. He shudders, fingers digging into her sides at the shock of the sensation. “Kaye,” he cautions against her swollen mouth, but she answers him only with a teasing squeeze. A groan rattles his chest. It’s almost painful for how good just this small action feels. Then he realizes, like a strike of lightning: she had made her first move of the game when she pulled him into this corridor, and now she’s advancing her turn without allowing him his.

A pixie, indeed.

Before she can steal another victory, Roiben encircles her wrist with his thumb and forefinger and spins them in one motion, until she is the one backed against the earthen wall. He pins her arm at her side, then forces a knee between her legs, parting them roughly. Kaye makes a small gasp at his sudden forcefulness, but doesn't protest. Instead, her leg snakes up to curl around his hip encouragingly.

He presses himself against her other thigh, near to throbbing now after her first wicked move. When he meets her eyes, he can see the greed in them even in the dim light. Her breathing is shallow, but she looks as though she’s ready to devour him in one gulp. He feels himself twitch at the thought of that. Kaye must have felt it too, because she grinds herself against his knee and bites her bottom lip in the same, ruinous way she had in the throne room.

This time, however, there are no onlookers to witness him leaning in to grab that bottom lip with his own teeth, no courtiers to gasp when he sucks on the swollen flesh—nor are there any other ears to hear the delicious moan she gives him for his checkmate.

Releasing her wrist, Roiben pauses only long enough to allow her to think it’s her move; sure enough, the hand he’d been holding against her side reaches out for him again, but he stops her short by crossing an arm over her chest, pinioning her there against the wall. Kaye huffs in frustration, wriggling against the bar of his arm.

A dangerous smile tugs at the corner of Roiben’s mouth. He brings his lips to her ear again, snaking his tongue out to lick the lobe. “I warned you, little fox,” he whispers roughly, his free hand gliding under the sheer fabric of her dress to thumb the band of her underwear, “I do not play fair.”

With a wink much like the one she’d given him earlier, he slips his hand down to the heat at the junction of her thighs.

Kaye’s gasp is divine, her arching back and the feel of her pulse against his stationary palm setting his mouth to water. She tries to grind against his hand, but he moves with her, refusing her the friction. Her fingers claw at his forearm in feral protest as he presses against her bundle of nerves yet makes no further move to give her what she wants. She lets out a whine, while her leg squeezes against his hip. Roiben can’t help but grin at the petulant sound.

“That’s… not… fair,” she pants, then seems to remember what he’d just finished reminding her; she relaxes, minutely and begrudgingly, against him and lets her head fall back against the wall.

Another point to the king.

Roiben takes this small sign of surrender with another smile and begins to move, drawing a languid line up, then down her slick petals. Without warning, he pushes a single finger into her core. Kaye makes a sound bearing close resemblance to a sob.

Just the feel of her, warm and trembling around him, is enough to make him stifle his own moan against her neck. But it’s Kaye’s mewling gasps in tandem, the agonizing pleasure as she bites down on his exposed shoulder in retaliation, that causes his hips to buck of their own accord against her other leg.

He draws back to look at her, wavering on a salacious faultline of his own making. It’s a measured effort to keep himself from taking her, right there in the dark of the hall—and by the look in her eyes, she knows it. “Now, that was unfair,” he grits out, reciprocating her low blow by adding another digit to his rhythm.

Kaye’s eyes widen before rolling closed, enraptured as his fingers curl inside her. He’s unrelenting now, driven by his own building desire as well as Kaye's own, picking up speed and then slowing to a painful withdrawal before sliding back in to the base of his knuckles. He can tell she’s every bit as furious as she is aroused; by the way she sinks her nails into his chest and drags them down his torso, her frenetic gasps; her leg a vice around his back; her walls clenching around his fingers.

She’s growing frantic—a wild creature lashing out at her captor. Fortunately for the both of them, Roiben has no interest in taming her any longer.

He traces his tongue along the pulsing vein in her neck as he finally gives her leave to move, withdrawing his arm from where it braced against her chest. “Go ahead,” he encourages her, palming her breast with his now-free hand through her dress. Kaye needs little more incentivizing than that; tangling her fingers in his hair, she rocks down onto his hand, setting her own chaotic speed. Her head falls against his shoulder, her lips going to caress the spot she’d bitten earlier.

Her other hand finds him again, stroking his length through his trousers. Roiben's eyes roll and he sucks in a breath at the touch, but he forces himself to keep focus; over and over he thrusts his fingers into her core, as deep as he can get them, curling and pressing into the spot that makes her cry out.

Kaye's whimpering, coupled with her unfettered rutting against his fingers while she palms him, is drawing him closer to the edge of his already-wavering control. His cock is overhard in her hand, his trousers too constricting. It is no small effort to keep his composure from crumbling.

Adding a third finger, he swirls his thumb over her soft petal of nerves and dips his head lower, closing his mouth over the thin fabric to get to the pert nipple beneath it.

He isn’t sure which of these—if not all of them at once—is the one to send her careening over the edge of rapture, but she topples all the same.

“Oh—oh, god. Ohfuckoh—fuck, Roiben!”

She’s attempting to stifle herself in the hall, but seems to struggle in maintaining a steady octave. When she buries her face in his shoulder to muffle her curses, he doesn’t restrain his pleased smirk.

Kaye bows off of the wall, spasming around his fingers as she rides the tempestuous wave of her release. Determined to see her through it, Roiben continues the pumping rhythm she set, teeth raking the sensitive area of her breast. She writhes and convulses against him, until her moaning declines into quiet whimpering at his neck. She collapses back against the cool earth, breath ragged, seemingly spent.

When Roiben finally straightens and withdraws his hand, however, Kaye catches him at the wrist, surprising him.

She brings that hand up to her clover-green lips; his eyes widen.

“Rath Roiben Rye…” His true name is hardly an exhaling of breath—though he hears her as clear as if she'd screamed it—before licking herself off his fingers.

He can’t decide, at the moment, which act is most shocking, but he can do nothing about either—even if he could work it out: He goes still as stone with the instant power of her invocation.

And while he knows Kaye can’t mean to do him any harm, that this must be some perverse ace up her sleeve to win their little game, not an ounce of that knowledge does anything to stop the old panic from clawing its way up to close his throat.

It does not balm the sudden stinging behind his vision.

His breathing comes in too short. Too shallow.

He realizes the irrationality of these feelings against Kaye. They are unnecessary—unwarranted. They are old nightmares.

She knows now what it means to conjure that power. What it means to him.

His heart is yet a wild animal beating against its own cage.

She won’t hurt him. She loves him. She knows.

Say something, he pleads without speaking.

He cannot diffuse his thoughts. He cannot bear this fear of suspension, the hovering step, seconds before the floor is stolen out from under him; of watching—of feeling every muscle, every joint, every nerve in his own body go rigid against his will, as it does every time. He knows he’s trembling, and yet he cannot stop himself. Not unless it comes from Kaye's mouth. Not unless she speaks the order.

Do it. Make me move.

Command me, Kaye. Command me, or release me.

It’s only a moment, a breath as she regains her bearings, but it is a long enough stretch of time that when she does speak, he is near to spiraling.

“Take me to your room, now.”

[castielgeralt]

Fairy Chess ‖ p. ⅰ

I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now all the things I would do So I’ll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I’m imaginin’ you…

Ship: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: {set immediately after Ironside} Kaye provides Roiben with a little more… entertainment at his coronation revel.

Rating: M/E for me going to hell but hey at least i’ve got reading material Part Ⅱ

―――――――――――――――――――

He wanted only one night.

One night, devoid of drunken courtiers. Of the endless pouring of wine. No constant strumming of lutes and harps and laughter echoing through the cavernous hall, no attendants bidding for a moment of his attention with some new seemingly-urgent dispatch. Just a single, fleeting night of glorious, undisturbed peace.

But when you’re a king of two courts, both of which would see the other fall to ruin, peace is a knife’s edge; a balancing act—not a reward. And no amount of wishing is going to change that.

Still, as Roiben leans back into the twisted branches of birch that make up his blood-won throne, watching the frenzied, continuous dancing, he finds himself hopelessly wishful anyway.

Continuar lendo

[castielgeralt]

So, knowing now what's up with Severin and Roiben... I have to give to Cardan credit for his suggestion to Jude, it was genius strategic move. Like he said "He might be foolish, but he's not a fool" and knows quite a bit despite he was drunk all the time...

I'm glad I read The Darkest Part of the forest and The Modern Faerie Tales, although I didn't like them as much as tfota...

mostly bc they have more heavy atmosphere, I mean Requiem for a Dream kind of heavy, with a lot of not so fairy themes not so far from real world like homeless teenagers, drug addiction and multiple betrays by siblings(I know, right? Hello, Tyran) and by other close relatives ( I didn't expect to find here slut mom who's sleeping with daughter's bf 😳)...

and I must say, even though you can't accuse Jude in being lovely and sweet, the main characters in those are pretty damaged and flawed.

I would say I liked Kaye more than others, but maybe it's also because she's in two books, so her story is more fleshed out

[castielgeralt]

scene from Tithe: A Modern Faerie Tale by Holly Black, adapted and illustrated by me ! i love these 2 to death !!!

[castielgeralt]

It's gonna be fun to re-read tfota after reading the darkest part of the forest and the modern faerie tales,

already knowing the pre stories of the court of termites and alderking's court

Meantime

Carefully avoiding spoilers for the stolen heir cause i can't lay my hands on that book yet 😭😩😭😫😭

ac: @phantomrin , @annalisejensen