So I'm Stuck On This Shithole Island, And I Can't Even Have A Smoke? (pt. 1)

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 1)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, no pre-established relationship, sass, banter, misogynistic & violent undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, overall mature content.

Part 2

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Derek hadn't even stepped foot into his family's beach house, and he could already tell something was off.

He hesitates on the porch, waiting for someone to scurry out and greet him, to take his bags and carry them inside. He waits a minute. He waits two minutes. No one comes.

"Daddy's home!" He calls out to the house as he kicks open the door, a truly unnecessary gesture.

Silence.

What the hell? Did he get the dates mixed up?

Derek grumbles to himself as he rolls his suitcase inside. Where the hell is the staff? Even if the butler had fucked off somewhere, there should at least be a maid or two nearby. What gives?

He takes a quick hit of his vape to calm his nerves as he sets off down a hall, determined to chew out the first person he sees. They should know better than to keep a Danforth waiting.

"The fuck?"

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, lounging on the couch and reading a book.

"Hey, been waiting for you." You say, not even bothering to put the book down and look him in the eyes. That alone makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Alarms are blaring in his head. Something isn't right.

"Who the hell are you?" He snarls, plopping down to sit in a plush chair opposite of the couch.

"You don't recognize me?"

This makes him pause again. He studies your face as you set down the book and straighten yourself on the couch. You do look familiar.

"You're my mom's little assistant, aren't you?" He laughs when he finally pieces it together. That's a relief. Does that mean his mom is here after all?

You try to correct him and introduce yourself properly, with a name. Derek just brushes you off, propping his legs up on the coffee table and relaxing back into the chair.

"Alright sweetheart, care to tell me what's is going on here? Where's my mom?" His tone is sickeningly sweet, condescending even.

"She won't be coming. It's just us."

Derek almost laughs again, but when he sees your deadpan expression, he freezes.

"Come again?"

"Aww, did your mommy not give you all the details, Derek?" You respond, matching his condescension with your own.

Okay, that's it. He sits up and plants his feet firmly on the hardwood floor, making a rather loud thud with his snakeskin boots.

"Tell me what's going on. Now." Derek narrows his eyes in what he hopes is an intimidating glare, then takes another puff of his vape and blows it at you from across the coffee table.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You make a sour face and wave away the cloud of mango-scented nicotine. He really shouldn't vape inside, but you decide to ignore it. For now.

"You and I are going to be getting well acquainted over these next few weeks." You give him a purposely vague answer, just to piss him off more. It works.

"W-Weeks?" He sputters, nearly choking on his stupid little nicotine stick.

"Fuck are you going on about? I'm here to see my mom for the weekend."

Of course that's what she told him. You let out a sigh and rub your temples, already sick of this manchild.

"Well, instead you're going to see me for the next three weeks. Twenty-one days. Get comfortable." You let out an amused huff and lean back on the couch, propping your feet on the table in much the same way Derek did earlier.

That really seems to piss him off.

He kicks the coffee table with his boot, sending it sliding across the floor before finally colliding with the couch.

"Listen here, you little bitch. I came here to see my mom and have a quick vacation. If she isn't here, I'm fucking leaving."

"Good luck with that!" You scoff, pushing the coffee table back into place. Seriously? Temper tantrums already?

You shake your head as he storms off down the hall. He'll be back.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Sure enough, Derek soon finds that his only option is to tuck his tail between his legs and crawl back to you.

God damn it. How could the entire house be empty?

He had checked all the bedrooms, the office, kitchen, hallways, hell, even the servants' quarters. Every time he opened a door just to be met with an empty room, he felt himself grow more angry. What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?

He stomps back into the living area, only to face yet another empty room. Fuck. It's like his own house is mocking him.

Thinking he heard shuffling in the kitchen, he ducks around the corner. Sure enough, you were in there, poking through a cabinet.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? And why my phone has no service?" He angrily waves his phone in your face, intentionally encroaching on your personal space.

"I told you. You and I are going to be staying here together for the next few weeks."

Derek silently fumes as you calmly take a step back from him.

"Don't look at me like that. You can thank your mother for this. She thought it was finally time you get sober."

The word sober cut through him like a knife. His mom was always nagging him to give up drugs. Fuckin' hypocrite. The woman smoked, like, half a pack a day since he was born.

Though, admittedly, Derek did a lot more than nicotine. He felt at his pocket, checking to make sure the little baggie of coke was still there.

"So is that what this is, then? A fucking intervention?" He practically spits in anger, giving you his best glare.

"No, Derek. You've had an intervention. You've had ten interventions. This is rehab."

He nearly choked at that. Rehab? Seriously?

"And what makes you think I'm going to play your little game?" He sneers at you, and pointedly takes another hit of his vape.

"Don't do that in here. I'm about to cook dinner."

He watches as you casually wash your hands in the sink, oblivious to his hateful gaze.

"Answer my fucking question. Why shouldn't I just walk out of here right now?" He stands directly behind you, leaning down over your shoulder and hissing directly into your ear. His breath is still tinged with a hint of mango-scented vapor.

"Because... you can't?" Derek is gently shoved aside as you make your way over to the kitchen island.

He grits his teeth and follows, leaning on the counter and staring you down as you start chopping vegetables, presumably for the dinner he wanted no part in.

The worst part is that you're right. His family's beach estate is... remote, to say the least. Located on a private island, the only way on or off is via helicopter or boat. He had taken a helicopter, obviously. Boats were for servants. Unless it was a yacht.

"How much?" He finally relents, sighing.

"For what?"

"To get me off this goddamn island."

You just smile slightly and continue chopping away, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm not doing this for the money, Derek. Though your mother is paying me very well for this, I assure you."

That answer didn't surprise him, however annoying it was. "not in it for the money" just meant "you have to offer me a LOT of money".

"Two million in Bitcoin if you can pull some strings and get me out of here by tonight."

"I'm doing this as a personal favor to your mother. And I couldn't get you out of here early even if I wanted to. Your mom is determined to finally get you sober."

Derek's brow furrows as you finally look up at him from across the small section of countertop. A personal favor?

"So what, I'm a goddamn prisoner?"

"Pfft. If you want to think of it that way. But there are much worse places to be held captive than a luxurious million-dollar beach house."

"Four million. Four million-dollar beach house." Derek grumbles, eyes glazed over as he stares off into space and ponders the gravity of his situation. Three weeks? Rehab? With you?

"Ah. Of course."

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as Derek leans on the counter and watches you chop an onion. It starts to make his eyes sting, so he backs up and scoffs.

"It's not going to work, you know. I'm not getting sober." He crosses his arms defiantly.

"Oh? You brought enough drugs to last three weeks?"

Derek instinctively pats at his pocketful of cocaine again. Truthfully, he had only brought enough of a fix for a few days, maybe a week if he rationed and stretched it out. Two weeks was pushing it. Three weeks was impossible.

"Fuck you." He spits, and starts to take another hit of his vape to calm down.

"Blow that in another room or you aren't getting dinner."

He pauses, holding his breath as he considers his options. He wants to blow it right in your stupid face, but he does as asked, turning and letting it all out into the adjacent living room.

"Thank you."

He stands in the corner, silently fuming. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Was he seriously expected to just drop everything and let himself be trapped here for three fucking weeks? He had a business empire to run. He didn't have time for this shit.

"I'm not getting sober." He repeats, trying to convince himself as much as you.

"Why? You're going to go through withdrawals and feel like shit regardless of whether you give up the drugs or not. You can either leave here mostly weened off of them, or leave still mostly addicted, having wasted three weeks of your life feeling shitty for nothing."

God damn it. Why did you have to be so sensible? Derek scowls at you from the corner, but of course, you aren't paying attention. You ignore him yet again, scraping the freshly-chopped veggies into a pan on the stove.

"It's gonna be a fucking waste of my life either way. I've tried getting sober before, believe it or not. It's never worked out." He grumbles bitterly.

"I know. I believe you." You respond, still absorbed in whatever you're cooking. It actually smells good. Better than mango vape oil, at least.

"But it's easier when you physically can't relapse, even if you wanted to. Which is why..." You turn around and finally meet his gaze, giving him a sympathetic look.

"...I was hoping you'd give me everything you have on you. Vape, cigarettes, LSD, weed, pills, whatever you're on these days."

Derek scoffs. You couldn't be serious.

"And if I don't?"

"You will."

Derek grits his teeth, but before he can snap back, you speak again.

"Seriously, Derek, please. It'll be easier to give it all up now rather than later when you're craving it."

That makes him pause. Fuck. You really had this all planned out, huh? He's completely and utterly unprepared to argue about this. So, he just groans and leans against the counter, putting his head down.

"Do I have to give up the vape too?" He mumbles, words muffled with his head buried in his arms.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Four baggies of cocaine, two blunts, and a bottle of mystery pills later...

You stare at the defeated-looking man before you as he slumps over the counter, sitting on a stool. His head is buried in his arms, and you can't help but feel a little bad for him. Just a little.

"Hey, you're gonna be glad you did this." You try to reassure him, but he just grumbles incomprehensibly in response.

You sigh, deciding to leave him alone and turn your attention back to dinner. He'd already done more than you'd expected from him, honestly. He gave you everything in his pockets without a fight, and even fetched the rest of his stash from his suitcase.

He'd convinced you to let him keep the vape until just before bed, since the nicotine withdrawals were likely to hit him first. At least he had that small victory.

You ponder over this while you move the veggie mixture around in the pan, the smell of sautéing onions and garlic permeating the air.

"You wanna help me with dinner?" You call out, looking over your shoulder at Derek.

"Pfft. Women's work?" He grumbles, shifting so one eye can peek over at you. When he sees you're looking back at him, he hides his face again.

"With that attitude, you'll be making your own meals." You scold him softly, but can't bring yourself to really lay into him. He looks like he's taking this hard.

"You know, I only packed a few day's worth of clothes." He muses, finally sitting up and leaning his head against his hand.

"Mhm. You'll be fine. There's extra clothes in your room. Your mom picked them out."

Derek groans. "My mom? Seriously?"

"Oh, please. Like her taste could be any worse than yours." You turn and eye him, taking in the cheetah print shirt topped with a green blazer. It all really clashes with those snakeskin boots of his. Not to mention the gold chain... and diamond earring... god, he's a mess. He dresses like a Texan thrift store threw up on him.

"Like you dress any better." He scoffs, furrowing his brow as he looks you up and down, seemingly taking you in for the first time. His gaze lingers near your breasts for an uncomfortable amount of time, so you turn and quickly change the subject.

"Could you grab me the ground beef from the fridge?"

"I'm not cooking."

"Did I ask you to cook?"

Derek mumbles a few curses but stomps over to the fridge and eventually brings you the ground beef. He stands behind you and peers over your shoulder for a minute while you cook, either curious or bored.

"How much longer till dinner?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek sits at the dining table across from you, pushing his food around with his fork. He hasn't taken a bite yet even though he's hungry, partly out of spite and stubbornness, and partly because it doesn't look like anything he's eaten before.

He watched you add vegetables, beef, noodles, cheese, and like ten different seasonings.

The dish was akin to some kind of homemade hamburger helper, but of course, growing up rich and spoiled, Derek would have no idea what that was.

"You gonna eat?" You ask, covering your mouth with your hand as you chew.

Derek sighs and takes a bit of his food. It... doesn't taste bad. Surprising. He takes a few more silent bites.

"So... what exactly are we going to do without internet for three weeks?" He finally breaks the silence, waving his fork at you in an accusing manner.

"What do you usually do without internet?"

"Drugs."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence lingers in the air, and Derek is itching to take a hit of his vape. He could, too, it's still in his pocket. The one thing you let him keep. But he has a feeling you'd react negatively to him vaping at the table, so he waits.

"We could watch a movie? Or walk down to the beach? Listen to music? Read?"

Derek groans. "Aren't you supposed to be more fun than this? You're basically a glorified babysitter, right? You're not going to... entertain me?"

He raises his eyebrows at you, a suggestive tone in his voice.

"Sorry, love. I'm here to keep you sober. Not empty your balls."

He frowns at that. Expecting him to go without drugs for three weeks was one thing, but drugs AND sex? What did he look like? A fucking NUN?

"I'm not saying it's in the job description... but surely you're not opposed to a little... recreation?" He tries again, giving you a sly smile as he props an elbow on the table and leans his head on his fist. His other hand waves his fork around wildly as he talks.

"What, do you want me to call up your mommy so you can beg her to fly out a few of your whores?" You blink at him, smiling sweetly.

Derek grits his teeth. "You bitch."

"Oh? I'm a bitch for cooking you dinner?"

"No, you're a bitch for not wanting to..." He trails off, realizing how stupid he sounds.

Damn infuriating woman. He stands and stomps upstairs to go unpack his things, and take as many hits of his vape as possible before you inevitably take it away.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You watch him leave with a grimace. Well, that went... well?

At the very least, he agreed to try and be sober for the three weeks. You'd work on his lack of cooperation skills later.

You stare down at his half-eaten plate of food. He is not going to like it when you reveal to him he actually has to do chores.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Author's note: Sorry if this chapter dragged on! I tried to edit it down, but I really wanted to get the general plot set up in one part. We'll get to the more... juicy stuff later. This is going to be more of a slowburn than my last fic, so buckle up!!

Also sorry most of it is in Derek's POV? Do you guys like that?? His internal monologue is just too funny and deranged not to show

Part 2

So I'm stuck on this shithole Island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 7)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 3.6k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, HEAVY angst, fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Derek wakes up long before you do the next morning.

Except, not really. Is it really "waking up" if he never fell asleep in the first place?

He'd insisted on going to bed early, skipping dinner. For once, you hadn't pushed him to reconsider, and he wasn't sure whether to be angry about that or not.

He has plenty of other things to be angry about, anyway.

Derek flings himself onto the couch in a huff, fumbling for the T.V remote. Maybe he could drown out his thoughts with some bullshit movie.

It doesn't really work. His mind keeps wandering back to you. How could you dismiss his feelings so easily? Sure, maybe it's too early to drop to his knees and make a declaration of love... but he's sure there's something between the two of you.

Seriously. You'd given him not one, but TWO kisses yesterday. If you don't like him, you're just being cruel.

Around midmorning, you stumble downstairs, and Derek purposefully ignores your greeting. He doesn't have any especially nice words for you at the moment.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" You call out, heading through a doorway and into the adjacent kitchen.

"M'not hungry." He grumbles back, determined to show his displeasure.

There's no response, so he just sighs and curls up on the couch, tucking his face into the cushions and hiding away. He can still feel a bit of lingering embarrassment from yesterday's rejection.

Well, sort-of rejection. Secretly, he was still holding onto some level of hope that you like him. Technically you never told him how YOU feel. You just brushed him off and ran away.

Coward.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Sit up. I'm not letting you skip two meals in a row." You gently shake Derek's shoulder and place a plate of food on the coffee table. A simple breakfast, toast and some fruit. Hardly a good offering considering he made you pancakes yesterday, but damnit, you weren't sure he was going to eat at all.

Derek rolls over and stares blankly at the meager breakfast, mumbling some kind of thanks. He doesn't make any effort to sit up and offer you room on the couch... so you make due and perch on the armrest, near his head.

"So... what do you wanna do today?" You ask, trying to remain casual after yesterday's uncomfortable conversation.

Actually, "uncomfortable" might be an understatement. Damn him. Couldn't he see that anything romantic between the two of you is ABSOLUTELY out of the question?

Even ignoring the whole son-of-your-boss thing, (which is disgustingly cliché), he's still a fucking Danforth. Son of the goddamn president. And a billionaire, to boot.

Okay, those qualities were probably attractive to some people. Or most people. But not you.

You look down at the man who is pointedly ignoring your question and poking at his food. No, his wealth and influence were not his best qualities. You much preferred his dorky charm. Hell, even his bratty side could be cute. Sometimes.

"It's toast, Derek. Not poison." You scoff and take a bite of your own food just to prove a point.

He glares at you for a moment, and you finally get a good look at him. Are those... eye bags? Suddenly, you feel guilty for not offering to let him sleep in your bed again. Maybe he really does need it.

Eventually, he grumbles something under his breath and grabs for his plate, beginning to nibble a piece of fruit.

Damn. He's so cold this morning. Usually you'd be sitting properly on the couch with him, his head in your lap, and your hand in his hair... not just precariously balanced on the stupid armrest.

Is he really that upset about last night? You'd tried to let him down as gently as possible. And there was no way he was serious about you, anyway. He's the kind of rich asshole who could snap a finger and have the perfect trophy wife delivered to his door in a heartbeat.

You have to be honest with yourself here, and the truth is that Derek Danforth would drop you as soon as you two got back home. Better to save yourself the heartbreak.

"If I have to watch T.V all day I think I'll die of boredom." Derek breaks your contemplative silence after a few minutes, whining and dramatically draping an arm over his eyes.

Ah, right. Gotta keep the brat entertained so he stays out of trouble.

"I'll see what I have for us to do." You respond calmly, hopping down from the armrest and heading upstairs.

Damnit. You need to diffuse the situation, fast. Everything feels so tense between the two of you, like he's pulling back into his shell. Normally you'd suggest going down to the beach again, but considering he nearly drowned yesterday? That's off the table.

After poking around in your closet for a few minutes, you return with an armload of various boxes. A few board games, a pack of cards, puzzles, books, and even some paper and colored pencils. Hey, with no internet, you'd have to make due.

"Any of this look interesting?" You huff, dumping it all on the coffee table.

Derek sits up and raises an eyebrow at the pile of less-than-adequate activities. "What is this, a summer camp? Do I look five?"

"Hey, you're the one that called me a glorified babysitter."

He just rolls his eyes in return, standing up and muttering something about a headache.

"Where are you going?" You ask, watching him trudge upstairs.

"To rest."

You're left alone on the living room floor, watching him disappear as a couple of the various precariously-stacked boxes tip off the coffee table and spill their contents across the rug.

This is not going well.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek lies back on the mound of pillows piled against his headboard, a sleepy haze clouding his mind as he tries to stay awake.

He rubs his eyes, blinking at the flat screen TV mounted to the wall opposite him. The bright flashing colors are probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.

Just as he's about to drift off, a knock at the door pulls him back into reality.

"Derek? I brought you some Tylenol."

Before he can tell you to go away, you throw the door open and waltz in. Apparently, you've forgotten what happened the first time you did that.

"Here, take this. And something to wash it down with."

He sighs and accepts the medicine, swallowing the little pill and downing half the glass of water before setting it aside.

"Oh, so watching TV wasn't the issue, you just didn't want to watch it with me, huh?" You ask, taking a seat at the foot of his bed and turning your attention to the television.

He can tell you're just being playful, but the question still makes him squirm slightly. Damnit. He's torn between wanting to joke back, and wanting to chew you out for acting so normal. You made his whole world fall apart last night, and now you're going to sit on his bed and crack jokes?

"You're blocking the screen." Derek grumbles, trying to show his annoyance.

Unfortunately, you take that to mean "crawl further into my bed", and end up taking a seat next to him, with your back to the headboard.

He begrudgingly allows it, silently watching as the stupid movie he picked out plays. At least you're not touching him.

...

Fuck. Not even a minute passes before you lace your fingers into his hair, a gesture he'd usually appreciate. Now? It just serves as a reminder that you aren't his.

He finally loses it when you tug on his hair in that oh-so-familiar way that makes him whine involuntarily.

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?" You blink down at him with a blank expression, clearly confused. God, can't you see what you're doing to him? How is he supposed to just sit back and let you touch him like this after being rejected?

"Acting like everything can just go back to normal."

"Can't it?"

"No."

You take in a sharp breath, but before you can respond Derek pushes your hand away and sits up. He isn't done with last night's conversation, and he's not letting you worm your way out of his questions this time around.

"If you don't like me, that's fine. But stop fucking pretending like you do."

That statement seems to hit you hard, because you wince at his words and harsh tone.

Derek doesn't care, continuing his rant. "Always touching me... playing with my hair, hugging me, kissing me, hell... we fucking slept together..."

"Don't say it like that, please." You visibly grimace, slinking back against the bed.

That just agitates him further.

"Yeah, well, even if we didn't fuck it was still EXTREMELY intimate."

"YOU'RE the one who begged to sleep in my bed."

"Yeah, after you KISSED me!"

"On the cheek!"

Derek is just fuming. He wants to argue back, but the truth is, he's not even sure you're wrong.

Yes, the two of you have gotten... closer, over the past week or so. But is he reading too far into things? Are you really just... this nice?

Fuck. He has no idea. Maybe he's not special. Maybe you treat everyone this way. Or everyone you're close with, at least.

He slumps down face first into his pillows, having completely lost the will to argue. Something tugs at his chest, but it's not the same pain he felt last night.

He just feels... defeated.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You stare down at Derek, and you can't help but feel bad for the man, even if he's sort of pissing you off as well.

Yeah, you've been getting closer with him... so what? He's not some innocent bystander in all this. He literally BEGS to be touched, whether he realizes it or not.

Like right now. God, you can't just leave him like that. If he starts crying again, you'll probably cry with him.

"C'mere, love. Can I hold you?"

It's probably best to ask permission before grabbing for him, just in case he tries to use this as further evidence you're leading him on. You don't exactly give him a chance to say no, though, tugging him up towards you.

He resists slightly at first, but gives in completely when he looks up into your eyes.

You pull him tightly against your chest, his cheek pressed just above your heart. If you weren't wearing the simple cotton t-shirt, you could probably feel his stubble.

One of your hands finds its way into his hair, lacing your fingers in his soft curls. The other rubs soothing circles into his back, pulling him as close as possible.

His arms wrap around your waist in return, and he shifts to lie between your legs, melting into your embrace.

You lean back against the headboard and just hold him for a while, doing your best to comfort him. He can act angry and standoffish all he wants, but you know deep down he still craves your touch.

"This sucks."

"I'm trying my best here, Derek. I'd like to think I'm a pretty good hugger..."

"Not you. Well... not ALL you. This whole things sucks. Being stuck here, I mean."

Derek sighs and tilts his head up to look at you, his chin resting right between your breasts as he slumps lower.

"Well, you only have..." You pause briefly to do the math. "...11 days left?"

"I was only SUPPOSED to be here for two," he grumbles.

"I know... just, your mother thought-"

"My MOTHER is part of the fucking problem." His face turns sour and he squeezes you a little tighter as he rants.

"I thought- FINALLY - she was going to make time for me. Of fucking course not. She just wanted to get rid of me for three weeks."

Ah, great. So drug issues AND mommy issues. This man really has it all, huh?

"It's not exactly a good look for the president to have a druggie as a son." You say the words in a lightly teasing tone, but he seems to take them as accusing.

"I didn't ASK her to be the fucking president, okay? And regardless, she never would have made it this far in her political career if it weren't for me. Before I stepped in, she was behind in 15 of 20 counties she needed to win."

You just watch helplessly as he rants, biting your lip as to not say anything that could provoke him further.

"15 of 20!" He repeats, scoffing. "I fund her entire fucking campaign... and how does she repay me? By shipping me off to some shithole island."

It's wrong, but... you can't help but wistfully smile at his little comments.

"You know, Danforth... most people don't have the luxury of an all-expenses-paid vacation on a private island while they're getting through an addiction... they just continue working their shitty dead-end jobs."

"Spare me, please. When has the 'It could be worse' sentiment ever helped anyone, EVER?" He responds sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Honestly? He has a point. Even if he's still relatively spoiled when compared to the general public... well, this is probably the toughest thing he's ever gone through in his sheltered life. And it IS your job to help him though it.

You tug at his hair a little more in an attempt to soothe him, which just makes him wine. He tries to cover it up by burying his face into you, but accidentally ends up with a faceful of titty.

He seems to immediately realize his mistake, because he mumbles a lame-ass apology and starts to pull away from you.

You pull him right back against you, probably a little too eagerly.

"I don't mind."

It's a struggle to get the words out without sounding giddy. You absolutely love having him there, so close to your heart.

Your chest swells with warmth as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, the lower half of his face sinking between your breasts.

“This is cruel.” He grumbles and looks down, burying his face in your chest.

“What? Letting you shove your face in my tits is cruel?”

“When I know you're just going to write it off as platonic behavior later, yes.”

Ouch. Okay, he had a point with that one, too. Damnit. Can he really blame you, though? Getting involved with Derek Danforth of all people… can’t he see just how MESSY that could be for you?

But looking down at him, it’s really hard to see him as your boss’s son, or the president's son, or a billionaire, or whatever-the-fuck else. He just looks… needy.

You continue to stroke his hair and rub his back simultaneously, and a few whimpers escape him as he nestles his face between your breasts.

It’s honestly shocking just how natural the whole thing feels. God, if only you were bare-chested…

"Okay, maybe this isn't a purely platonic relationship." You slump back against the headboard as you admit this, groaning internally.

This piques his interest, but you don't give him the chance to look up at you, shoving his face back down into your chest. Looking him in the eyes is just too much right now.

Hell, all of this is too much. Derek seems to share the sentiment, because he lets out a low groan. Or was that a moan?

"You're killing me." He whines, shifting his hips almost imperceptibly and slowly grinding them against the mattress.

"Oh? What's wrong, love?" You hum in response, tugging at his hair with one hand and tracing your nails across his back with the other. Like you even need to ask. It's obvious how he's feeling. Horny bastard.

He groans in response, tipping his head back to stare up at you. Fuck. Those eyes. He looks completely lovesick. Or lust-sick, maybe? He's still not-so-subtly grinding against the bed.

"You're so fucking pretty. It's not fair." You cup his face in your hands, lifting him from your chest slightly to better examine his face. His dark eyelashes flutter as he blinks up at you, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

Yeah. Pretty. You can't think of any other word to describe him in this moment. His cheeks, lightly dusted with freckles, turn pinker by the second as you lean in for a kiss. Then another kiss. And another.

He squirms in your grasp as you pepper soft kisses from one side of his face to the other, following the pattern of his freckles. His eyes flutter shut and he squeezes you tighter, eager to feel your touch.

You pull back to look at him again, still cradling his face in your hands. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be kissing him like this. You shouldn't be kissing him at all, actually. What happened to stomping out your feelings and hoping for the best? Protecting yourself from the man who would just inevitably break your heart?

"You're prettier." He mumbles, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he stares up at you with blissful admiration.

Those words penetrate straight to your core. Damnit... as much as you hate to admit it, this man is no heartbreaker.

"Oh, love..." You pull him back against your chest as you trail off, the words getting lost on their way from your heart to your lips.

He whines again as you absentmindedly tug at his curls, something that's become nearly as comforting for you as it is for him.

"Please... I'm... mnnghh..." He mumbles, the words coming out muffled as he nuzzles further into your chest.

You're not even completely sure what he's asking for, but damn, hearing him beg is addictive.

"What do you want, love?" You coo at him, voice soft and low as you hold him tightly against your chest.

He just pants in response, occasionally letting a whimper slip free as you continue to play with his hair. His breathing gets more and more shallow as he continues to shamelessly jut his hips into the mattress.

For the hundredth time, you remind yourself just how wrong this is. Those thoughts are immediately drowned out by his soft noises of pleasure, and you can't help but wonder just how much he can even feel through those sweatpants, anyways. Maybe if you took them off for him...?

No. Fuck. That's too far. Right now, you're not doing anything wrong. How could you be? You aren't even touching him. Well... not touching him there.

"Please." He repeats, crying the word out a little louder this time.

Guilt and lust battle in your stomach, and you can tell which has won when you clench around nothing. God, something about him begging is just so... ugh.

"What? You wanna cum?"

Derek lets out a high pitched whine, nodding into your chest.

"Can you wait for me?" You whisper the words, barely audible as one of your hands makes it's way down to the waistband of your shorts.

Another nod. More panting. The bed starts to shake slightly with the intensity of his grinding, and your brain goes fuzzy as thoughts of him overwhelm your senses.

Your had dips into your shorts, and you begin to play with yourself as Derek does the same. Well, something similar enough.

"Faster." The word comes out as a moan, and you aren't sure if you're talking to Derek or yourself.

He takes the order seriously, jutting his hips into the bed more rapidly.

Fuck. The noises he's making are almost pathetic, and somehow it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. Soon your own moans join his, creating a lustful symphony as you both lose yourselves in the other's touch.

All thoughts of this being inappropriate are long gone. All thoughts in general are long gone. You see, taste, smell, hear, feel, and breathe Derek Danforth.

He must feel the same way, because he starts to mumble your name over and over, his hips stuttering as he grips you tighter, like he's afraid you'll slip away.

"I'm here, love." You coo at him, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head.

"Cum for me. Can you do that for me, pretty boy? Hm?"

Apparently he can, because he gasps, and with a few more thrusts... he's reduced to a sweaty, writhing mess in your lap.

You aren't much better off, finishing immediately after him. Shit... are your legs trembling? Is that normal? Fucking Danforth.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek finally pries himself from your chest, staring up into your eyes and breathing heavily from the exertion.

Two days in a row... that's got to be a personal record. He shudders at the uncomfortable, yet familiar, feeling of hot cum in his sweatpants.

"S-sorry... Did you...?" He stumbles over his own words, face flushing as you stare down at him. This is so fucking embarrassing. He shouldn't let himself get so damn desperate.

"Yeah... I did." You respond, blinking at him with a dazed expression.

Derek knows that feeling. He's half convinced this is all some kind of sick hallucination induced by his severe sleep depravity.

His worries are washed away as you lean down and plant another kiss on his forehead. He wants nothing more than to stay here with you, but fuck... the mess.

"I'm gonna go clean up." He mumbles, pulling away from you and discreetly covering the wet spot on his sweats... like you don't already know what happened.

"Please, just... stay." Derek looks back at you one last time before disappearing into his bathroom, and all he can do is pray you'll still be there when he returns.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Author's note: Okay this took WAY too long and I have no excuse I'm sorry. I hope it was worth the wait! It's currently 3am, stayed up all night writing this because I'll be out of town then next few days. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out in a reasonable amount of time... but I do plan to write a one-off smut piece first, so... who knows. I'll try.

Also I REALLY want to write about Derek teaching the reader to play poker but I do not know how to play poker. Someone help. Can two people play poker together? Or does one have to be the dealer? How does that work? DM me or send an ask or a comment or something I need help!!!

LOVE Y'ALL thanks so much for being patient <3

The Extent of All My Worthless Rage

Had fun with this one! Idk why I write for Derek so much he's just such a funny guy! There's a tiny little smut scene at the end of this one after the red divider.

Pairing: Derek Danforth x gn!Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: you and your old boss, Derek, used to be extremely close. Suddenly, a switch flipped and he became irritable and hostile, which lead to you quitting and moving to a similar company that has a partnership with Danforth Enterprises. That was years ago, and tonight, the two of you are going to the same company party. Hopefully you don't cross paths.

Tags: friends to enemies to lovers, jealousy, cursing, gender neutral reader, gender neutral reader description, Reader wears a formal outfit which isn't described at all, Reader is described in gender neutral terms (stunning, ‘you look amazing’, etc.) but certain features (eyes, hair, etc.) are described as ‘beautiful’, smut is vague as well but Derek is on top, kissing, making out, fingering (Reader receiving), penetration (Reader receiving)

-★-★-★-

Derek had obviously known about this company party for weeks now. And he knew that all the higher-ups from all of the company's business partners would be there. It's not like he didn't know you would be there, it's just not something that crossed his mind until the day of the party.

When he remembered this little fact, he had been sitting at his desk, typing up a scathing email to one of his employees. Something about a discrepancy in the monthly budget. He had opened one of his lesser-used drawers, looking for... Something. It was kind of like when you walk into the kitchen and then immediately forget why you're there. He rifled through the drawer, hoping that he'd find whatever he was looking for and it'd jog his memory.

He instead stumbled upon a mug tucked into the back of the drawer; a mug he hadn't seen in years. He picked it up, the interior coated with a thin layer of dust. He blew into the mug to try and remove some of the dust, which backfired and caused it to shoot up into his face. He snorted, a small smile spreading on his face.

You would've laughed.

The smile then quickly disappeared at the thought of you, being replaced by his typical scowl. He looked back down at the mug, which had his name on it written in your distinctive handwriting, and held it up above his trashcan. His fingers loosened their grip on the handle...

...

He scoffed, unceremoniously shoving the mug back into the drawer where it came from. He turned back over to his computer, immediately going back in his inbox and checking the initial email that announced the party. He was hoping that the company you managed a department in wasn't invited to the party... And of course it was. He slammed his laptop shut, going to take a walk.

-★-★-★-

You had come into his office with some papers he had requested you print out. Of course, he could've just printed them out himself, but then he wouldn't have had an excuse to see you.

"Working on your birthday? I would've thought you'd be celebrating with your friends," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

"Nah, I don't really do ‘birthdays’ anymore. Today's just a normal day for me."

He shrugged, looking over at his desk. "To each their own. Here, uh..." He picked up his mug, holding it up to you with a playful grin. "Happy birthday," he said, offering it to you.

"What a thoughtful gift," you laughed, accepting it from him.

You ended up using that mug every day; until his birthday had come up. He had teased you about not getting him a gift, and you handed him your empty mug. "Happy birthday."

"Hey, come on! You're gonna regift that to me?"

You picked up a sharpie, scrawling his name on the mug. "There, now it's no longer the mug you gifted me. Also, it has your name on it, so obviously it belongs to you."

He grinned, taking it from you. "Alright, sure. But I'm getting you a new mug."

-★-★-★-

The rest of his day was awful. He had procrastinated like crazy with planning for this party, so he hadn't actually bought anything to wear yet. In typical fashion, he put it off until a couple hours before the event. Clothes shopping was hell, because he couldn't get you out of his mind.

Would they like this blazer?

What about this shirt?

Should I wear these shoes so I look a little taller?

Of course, he tried to shake these thoughts from his head; he wasn't trying to impress you. Quite the opposite, actually. He didn't want anything to do with you. If he was lucky, he wouldn't even see you.

He still ended up walking out of the store with a suit in your favorite color.

As he walked down the street, he kept seeing things that reminded him of you. Your favorite food was being sold at a nearby food truck. your favorite song was being played by one of those street performers. He rushed home, back to the comfort of The White House. He blew off his mom the second she tried to talk to him, instead racing to his room and slamming the door shut and pacing, pacing, pacing.

Thoughts were racing in his head, all of them about you. Your stupid hair and your stupid clothes and your stupid face which reminded him of your stupid smile and of course that reminded him of your stupid, soft lips...

-★-★-★-

You had started dating someone. Some guy who Derek couldn't stand; he had met your boyfriend once when the two of you had just happened to run into him at Target. The guy was weird and annoying and, frankly, Derek thought he was ugly as hell. You constantly gushing about him was annoying enough, but after he had seen just how... Strange your boyfriend was, any mention of him just made him angry. Why would you date that guy? Derek was embarrassed on your behalf. You were way out of the guy's league.

You and Derek had been quite close after working together for a few years. You quickly climbed your way up in the company, ending up working just below him as the CFO of Danforth Enterprises in no time. You two were practically inseparable.

Of course, that was until you got that damn boyfriend. You wouldn't shut up about him, and it just made Derek want to strangle you- no, not you, him. That stupid, ugly son-of-a-bitch. You caught on to the fact that Derek was distancing himself from you, and assumed that meant that he didn't like you anymore for whatever reason.

He became irritable whenever you were around. Not because of you, but because you were always talking about your boyfriend, which made Derek subconsciously associate you with that feeling of frustration. He was snappy and moody, and that spread to his interactions with all of his employees; not just you. He turned from a well-respected boss to a nightmare to be around overnight. Nobody knew what was going on. But you had had enough; you left the company, going instead to work for one of Derek's most successful business partners.

And just like that, Derek had ruined his relationship with his closest friend, and all of his other friends were starting to hate him as well. He became miserable, taking his anger out on any unsuspecting person who came within range of him. He was ruined without you.

-★-★-★-

He shakes his head, trying to distract himself from his thoughts of you. He has to head out now if he wants to get to the party on time.

Once he arrives at the mansion, he immediately makes a beeline for the bar. He orders a beer, deciding to try and just hide in a corner all night.

Derek is Derek, however, so his plan to stay out of trouble and not talk to anyone falls flat pretty much immediately. He sees his friend group sitting around a table, and he heads straight towards them to join in the conversation.

The night drags on, and he finds himself gazing off into the distance, no longer engaged in the conversation. His friends are talking about some movie he's never seen, so it's not like he has any reason to pay attention.

That's when he sees you on the other side of the room.

Fuck.

He's immediately enraptured. You look... So good. Your outfit is stunning. He literally can't stop looking at you; the way you move, the way you move your hands when you talk, the way your throat bobs when you take a sip of your drink...

He doesn't even register that his feet are moving until he's halfway across the room, and when he turns to look at his friends, they don't seem to have noticed his disappearance. He turns back towards you. You're engrossed in a conversation with some guy and you almost seem like you're flirting with him... Are you single? Did you break up with your boyfriend??

He stands there like an idiot for far too long before he comes to his bearings and walks over to the wall, far enough away to not seem like he's looking at you but close enough for careful observation.

You look great, a stark contrast to his current state: sad, angry, and bitter. You look like you don't have a care in the world, giggling as you talk to this guy. This new guy is much less awful than the first, but Derek still feels a tightness in his chest that makes him feel like he's about to throw up.

You finally notice him, and when the two of you make eye contact, he immediately turns away, speedily walking away. He doesn't expect you to follow, but you do, quickly catching up with him in a lounge near the main room.

It's a dead end. He'd have to turn around and face you in order to exit. He doesn't know what to feel. He desperately wants to run into your arms and spend hours catching up, but he also wants to jump out of the window and run away so he can escape the situation without having to see you.

You walk over to the couch in front of him, sitting down and making eye contact with him. His eyes dart off to the side, his head unmoving, so he doesn't have to look at you.

"Derek, sit down," you say, gesturing towards the other side of the couch. "And stop acting like a petulant child."

He huffs, marching over to the couch and sitting down, looking at you. He almost wants to cry. He hasn't seen you in so long. He wants to say that he almost forgot about you, but he knows that isn't true. He could never forget about you. He could never forget your voice or your smile or those goddamn lips-

"Hello?"

"Uh- What?" He's snapped out of his thoughts, eyes clearing up. "Did you say something?"

"I asked how you're doing."

He scratches the side of his face. "I'm... I'm doing fine."

"You sure?"

He crosses his legs, leaning on the arm of the couch. "I'm fine."

"You don't seem like you're doing fine," you mutter.

"And what gives you that impression?"

"The fact that Jenna says that you've been acting like a dictator ever since I left."

He scoffs, tightening his arms over his chest. "Jenna just likes to start shit."

"Really? Because she sent me a screenshot of an email you sent her today."

His eyes widen. Oh... That email? That's not a very good look for him. You begin to read it off of your phone.

"Jenna, have you never used Excel before, or are you that fucking dumb? This might sound shocking, but it's not possible for us to spend money on advertising and end up having a greater amount of money than we started with. It's fucking subtraction. Can you not do that? Learn how to operate a calculator or your ass is going straight to the curb. Kindest regards, Derek."

He averts his gaze from you, stewing. "In my defense, it was a dumb mistake," he grumbles.

"Yeah, and you would've never treated someone like that when I worked with you. What happened?"

He looks off to the side. "Nothing."

"Is it because I left?"

He rolls his eyes. "It has nothing to do with that-"

"You're lying to me."

"Okay, fine, I fucking miss you, okay? I miss you more than anything in the whole goddamn world."

You close your mouth, nodding. "Then why did you push me away?"

"I didn't-"

"You did! You barely spoke to me for the last few months I worked with you."

He huffs. "What are you talking about?"

"You would shut me down any time I tried to make conversation."

Because he was tired of you talking about your boyfriend.

"I... I didn't realize..."

He didn't realize that he was doing that. He never realized he was making you stop talking to him, he just knew he was happy because he didn't have to hear about your boyfriend anymore. And then he stopped being happy because you weren't talking to him.

"Oh my God," he mutters, putting his head in his hands. "I didn't realize... I... I just hated when you would talk about that guy you were seeing."

"Alex? We broke up, like, a month after I left... Wait, why didn't you like him?"

"You two broke up?"

"Yes, we did. A while ago."

"Never thought he deserved you," he mutters. "He wasn't good enough for you. That's the truth. And neither is that guy out there who you were talking to."

You furrow your brow in confusion. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because... I don't know."

"Because you were into me."

"What? No, I..."

You sigh. "Why didn't you just fucking tell me that?"

He rubs his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You scoot over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Derek, if you had asked me out, I would've said yes."

He feels his throat close up. "You would've?"

"Yes."

He places his hand over yours, taking it off of his shoulder and just holding it, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

"So this whole time, you didn't hate me? You were jealous of my boyfriend?"

He bites his lip. "I'm sorry for being so fucking stupid," he laughs nervously, looking at you remorsefully.

"You weren't being stupid. Just a little... Airheaded."

"Sounds like a sugar-coated way of saying I'm stupid."

"Coating it in sugar makes it easier to swallow," you say, and you end up cracking a small grin, which he returns.

"At least you remember that I prefer sugar, not salt-"

"It was one time! I never gave you coffee with salt ever again after that."

"How do you even make that mistake? Salt is way bigger than sugar-"

"I was tired!"

The two of you giggle, his grip on your hand tightening.

"Remember how I took a sip of that coffee and immediately spit it out all over that contract? And I had to reprint it and have Jason re-sign it? And when he asked what happened to the original-"

"I panicked and said a raccoon ate it," you laugh.

"And I was like, ‘how would a fucking raccoon get access to that contract?!’"

"Oh my God, that was so fucking funny."

You two dissolve into a fit of laughter, your head coming to rest on his shoulder, his free hand rubbing your back. You lift your head, looking up at him. He's never been this close to you before. His hand moves from your back to your hip, tracing small circles with his thumb.

"You look amazing tonight," he whispers.

You smile. "So do you."

"You look a lot less amazing when you're lying to me," he smirks.

"Oh, shut up."

He smiles, unintentionally following your order. He's too engrossed in just looking at you that he can't find any words to say in response. His eyes trace over your face and each detail comes back to him; your beautiful hair, your gorgeous eyes, your lips... He watches as they form words, but the sound emanating from them doesn't reach his ears.

"Derek," you laugh, snapping him out of his trance. "You zoning out?"

"Yeah," he mutters, eyes drifting back to yours. "Just a little distracted. Missed you a lot."

You give him a knowing grin, leaning closer. "How much?" You whisper, voice barely audible.

"I could tell you..." He says, hand creeping around your waist, "Or would you rather I show you?"

"They say actions speak louder than words," you reply with a smirk, and he responds with his lips against yours, immediately snaking his arms around you and holding you tight. He's finally got you back in his grasp, and he knows he can't let you go ever again. He sits up, pulling you into his lap. His hands come to the sides of your head, pushing your face into his. He seems content with just making out, you in his lap, which is evident by the fact that you need to use the strength of a thousand warriors to pull him off of you so you can fucking breathe.

He's panting, lips separated so he can take deep breaths through his mouth. He's in a daze, his eyes glazed over. He doesn't care enough to try and remember if he's taken anything tonight, but he feels like the rush from your lips is enough of a high to carry him for days. Weed? Coke? Meth? He's never heard of those. He just needs you.

"I'm not fully convinced," you mutter.

"Huh?"

"You said you'd show me how much you missed me? I think... I need a more in-depth demonstration."

He nods gently, barely paying attention. "Yeah, yeah... I can... I'll do that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll... I'll show you."

-★-★-★-

He takes you by the hand, leading you out of the lounge. He's walking so fast you can barely keep up (your shoes are honestly a little too big for you and quite uncomfortable to walk in), bobbing and weaving through the crowds of people. Music pumps over the speakers; some generic pop hit. He's got full tunnel vision on the task at hand, his pace unwavering even as he stumbles over discarded red solo cups and other assorted trash.

When you two arrive at one of the many, many guest rooms in the mansion, he pounds on the door, waiting for a response. When none is given, he pulls you into the room, slamming the door shut and locking it before dragging you to the bed.

He gently but eagerly lays you down on the mattress, kissing every inch of your neck. You let out a content sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair. Encouraged by your hand, he nibbles on your skin, littering your neck with bruises.

Pulling away feels from you like ripping off a bandaid, but he does it anyway so he can help you undress (as quickly as possible, of course). Once you're completely nude, he immediately climbs back on top of you, holding onto you for dear life. His hands trace over your body, memorizing each curve and edge, each nook and cranny.

"I've been wanting this for so long," he whispers, voice lightly trembling. "So long, you have no idea. You're perfect."

"Then quit teasing," you mutter, leaning your head back into a pillow.

"Anything for you," he muses. He sticks two of his fingers in his mouth, soaking them in his saliva, before plunging one of them into you. Your reaction is heavenly to him; the way you suck a breath in through your teeth, your pretty eyelashes fluttering.

He relishes in the sounds you make as he thrusts his finger in and out of you, and the way they pick up when he adds his ring finger. He wants to make you feel this way for the rest of your life. You begin to roll your hips into his fingers, matching his pace.

"I'm ready," you whisper, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. He pulls his fingers out of you, hands trembling as he takes his belt off and pulls his pants and underwear down. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel him line himself up with you. He braces himself with one hand next to your head, the other holding the junction between your thigh and hip, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

You suck in a sharp breath, throwing your arm over your eyes as he begins to sink into you. He pulls your hand away from above you, pinning it down next to your head and interlocking your fingers. While he lets you adjust, he peppers kisses along your jawline.

"Go ahead," you whisper, wrapping your free arm around him. He begins to rock his hips into yours, panting into the crook of your neck.

"Feel so good," he mutters, kissing your neck. You crane your head out of the way, giving him better access to your skin. As he steadily increases his pace, he whispers praises in your ear; you're so amazing, you're perfect, you feel so fucking good...

He doesn't seem to notice what words are coming out of his mouth, purely focused on the pleasure he feels. He grips your waist tightly, pressing his lips into yours and swallowing the noises that leave your mouth.

"More," you choke, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. "Please."

He complies, gripping your shoulders and thrusting into you with everything he has. You see stars dancing across your vision with every movement he makes, his warm breath prancing along your cheek.

"I'm close," he whispers, snaking a hand between your legs to help you get off. It works, and you feel yourself approaching your orgasm as well. You throw your hands around his back, digging your nails into his skin. The pain of your nails is actually quite useful for him, as it helps him try to delay his climax so you can catch up.

"Derek, fuck," you moan, "I'm gonna-"

Your orgasm washes over you, coaxing his out in turn. He rolls off of you, not giving you a chance to get a single word out before smashing his lips into yours yet again.

"You're perfect," he mumbles against your lips, caressing your waist. "So goddamn perfect, I can't believe I ever let you go."

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep. "Well, you have me now," you mutter tiredly, sinking into the mattress.

He smiles, kissing your forehead. "See you in the morning."

Will you regret this in the morning? Maybe. But for now, all you can think about is his touch as you fall asleep.

     billy loomis x reader x stu macher + ft. wearing/sharing their clothes

                                                     ——————– 

Stu wears the softest… best fucking clothes. You hug your boy because his hugs are state of the art but you also do it because he wears the softest shit. Someone who knows how to give a proper bear hug + the bliss of a sweater that feels like woven happiness? Indescribable high. Where the fuck are you buying this stuff, is often a question you mumble unintelligibly while you rub your face into his chosen top of the day.

Stu also doesn’t have a bad sense of style. Actually he’s got a pretty good one. Even a little bit aware of fashion trends. Is he following them? Not really. But he’s #Aware. Has summer, fall and winter wardrobe and no we’re not talking in terms of warmth/environmental protection. We’re talking colors. Certain cuts on certain clothing. We can go on and on here           The point is the boy is style conscious.

In other words despite the fact that he’s huge stealing his clothes is fucking CHOICE. The fabrics? Nice. Colors? Nice. Style? Nice. Even if his shit is just totally hanging off you it looks so good that you’ll look good. Besides you look cute drowning in all his sweaters and shirts. He has aww’d at you out loud when he’s turned around and there you are in his clothes again.

He was being an obnoxious dick about it but actually meant it lowkey. His heart? Soft. Bat him away from you with flappy sleeves (which he looooves watching you push up/adjust all day long).

Billy notices you doing this thing™ with Stu that you never do with him and he is ….irritated to say the least.

Trying not to get mad about it because outside of this one thing you and Stu show absolutely no favoritism towards each over him. He’s getting honestly 0 vibes that you prefer each other to him. Thus, he’s trying to be reasonable (for once in his fucking life). Besides, he and Stu have their own “special” thing they do together. Even if this is just a special “two of you” thing he should be understanding of it, right?? … riGHT.

So anyway he’s gonna blow his fucking gasket. 

Once he blows up. And yes it is a blow up (he’s physically incapable of discussing his feelings. Can only snap and yell them). Stu is actually the one who mediates this one. Gets up right in the middle of Billy bitching and yelling. Just walks upstairs. Billy is now absolutely losing his fucking mind becAUSE WHERE DOES STU THINK HE’S GOING-

Stu comes back and tosses a sweater at Billy’s face full force. This did not make Billy less mad. Until he uses his one brain cell to realize it’s Stu telling him that if he wants to wear his shit he can and could’ve just totally been doing that all along. Why does he have to be so fucking difficult for? Nobody knows.

One part of his jealousy is fixed now even though he’s still trying to be huffy about it (he’s not putting on the sweater right now because he has to save face even though he wants to highkey).

“So why don’t you ever wear my shit, huh?“ Delightfully the focus is now on you. Your answer? Billy seems like the type to want his space/items/privacy/boundaries absolutely respected or God help you-

You didn’t really ask Stu to start wearing his clothes. It just happened naturally and increased in frequency naturally. You didn’t want to just do something with Billy and hope he went with the flow. Recipe for disaster right there.

Besides … you would’ve been embarrassed to just come out and ask if you can wear his clothes. It feels sappy and clingy to ask. Just doing it? Well the act is already done! Asking and then doing it? Flustered button has been pushed.

Silence settles in the room as you and Billy stare at each other wondering why you’re both like this. It’s rare that Stu gets to be the exasperated third party and he’s lowkey eating the shit it up.

Eventually Billy takes off his t-shirt and puts on Stu’s sweater. He tosses the t-shirt to you and you obediently put it on grinning the whole time.

The way you beam at him makes all his lingering insecurities melt away. Pretend this never happened anyone! Billy Loomis has never had a Moment of Vulnerability in his life. It was a false alarm. Shut the fuck up the both of you! Movie night is cancelled because y'all are laughing at him. He’s going home! Fuck you! No he doesn’t want a fucking hug-

You walk into school the next day wearing a white t-shirt that isn’t yours, a big ass cardigan that clEARLY isn’t yours and?? You look damn good. To the boys? You look very happily taken.

                                                     ——————–

You Can’t Spell ‘FWB’ without ‘Friend’

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: Ever since the night before, you and Derek had become best friends with benefits. Bored at a fancy rich person party, you two decide to hook up again. However, when you’re inexplicably taken out of the mood, you two decide to do something else for the night: hang out like the best friends you were.

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: 18+ content, MDNI, (graphic descriptions of) sex (awkward), cursing, mentions of drugs, (best) friends with benefits, platonic (but you can interpret it as potentially romantic), short read, reader and Derek are just best pals that fuck, slightly ooc Derek, reader is rich/famous like Derek, attempt to hook up in the bathroom at a party (end up hanging out instead), smoking, drinking, Star Wars references, very chaotic

(A/n: Dedicating this to my wifey @xcherryerim 🫶 your post awaiting this fic meant a lot to me :3)

-

Holy fuck, you wanted to gouge your eyes out.

You had a glass of wine in your hand, staring at the crowd of old, wealthy hags, sipping the drink briefly out of boredom.

You were at yet another fancy party in some rich person’s mansion, accompanied by your best friend Derek, the son of President Jessica Danforth and CEO of Danforth Enterprises. You had been good friends with him for a very long time, the two of you always stirring up trouble whenever together.

You stare down at the deep scarlet of your drink, intensely zoning out as you thought about the night before. A pair of hands caressing the skin on your thighs, legs tightening around hips, wrists held above your head, and loud, sultry moans and sounds filling the room.

And then you snapped out of it as you felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up to see exactly him—Derek.

“This party is ass,” you grumble to him, taking a sip from your drink.

“I know,” he replies, sipping his. “Any luck with finding investors?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have people doing that for me,” you scoff.

“Right,” he nods.

“Any luck with convincing some poor girl to invest in crypto?” You ask, looking at him as you raise an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he answers with a sigh, but a smile was plastered on his face.

You chuckled at his reply. “Hah. I’m not surprised. Crypto is fucking ridiculous.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

“Hm, you already did. What, once isn’t enough for you?” you retort quickly, sneering.

Derek’s eyes widened in response, frantically looking around to see if anyone heard you, then whispered, “Would—Would you be quiet?” He stressed under his breath. “Don’t say that fucking shit out loud, what if somebody heard?”

Last night didn’t really mean to happen. Like the close friends you were, you hung out with Derek at his mansion as you regularly do. However, one thing led to another because of a bottle of pinot noir and the unfortunate appearance of a sex scene in a movie you two watched together. Accordingly, you woke up sore the next morning. You two had established that it was just hooking up, no strings attached—but nobody could know about your arrangement. Not your friends, not your co-workers, and especially not Derek’s mother. While he was known for being promiscuous, the press couldn’t find out that Derek had hooked up with you, not only a good friend of Derek, but someone who was well known in the media due to their wealth.

You roll your eyes carelessly as flashes from last night began to cloud your mind. His fast breaths, his body, his skilled hands. Yet you shook it off easily. “Oh, come on, Derek, these old, ancient fucks can’t hear shit.” An old woman looked at you in disapproval after hearing you swear, walking away from you. “Okay, well, she heard that, but nobody’s gonna know! Don’t get your fuckin’ Louis Vuitton boxers in a twist.”

“They’re not—” he huffs in annoyance. You weren’t taking this seriously, which ultimately frustrated him; your carelessness reminded him too much of himself. “Y/n, who knows what’ll happen if anyone finds out? Like, you know I have to keep my fucking reputation up, and you do too. I don’t think there’s anything Wallace could do if the press found out we hooked up.”

You pause briefly until a smirk creeps up onto your lips in realization. “You regret it, don’t you?”

“No, of course I don’t regret it,” he answers immediately. Not regretting it was clearly an understatement. He really enjoyed last night, every second, every feeling. So he was slightly confused as to why you even doubted him. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just—” you stutter out, “I woke up and you were gone, you know.” You mutter as you took out a cigarette, placing it into your mouth and lighting it.

His mouth went dry and he pursed his lips promptly. “I had to be at Danforth Enterprises,” he says, watching you exhale the smoke from your cigarette.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve sent me a text or written a note,” you shrug. “Like, it’s your house, dude. I was supposed to be the one leaving the morning after, not you.”

“Right, sorry,” he says simply. “Force of habit.” —It was true; he had an infamous history of one-night stands.

“Plus, I’m your best friend,” you reason. “I don’t want this to, like, ruin everything we had. Like, you’re still my buddy to me.”

He looked at you with a slightly amused grin. “Hey, nothing’s gonna change between us, alright? As you said, you’re my best friend, and it’s always gonna stay that way.” You chuckled, offering him a smile as you heard his response. He could be sentimental whenever he wanted. “Look, the day our friendship will ever change is the day I’ll shut down UDG and Nine Star. Which is basically, like, fucking never. Don’t worry about it.” Even as he said the last sentence, this could be interpreted in two different ways. The first one is that he’d never be in some sort of greater relationship with you, likewise his reluctance to stop scamming. The second one, however, implies that if he ever got into something serious with you, a moral obligation will arise, forcing him to shut down his unethical phishing companies just for you. Right. That sounded ridiculous. It was definitely not the latter.

The two of you both took a sip of your drink in unison.

“But, like,” he began, swirling his glass of wine in his hand engagingly, “Is this gonna be, like, a regular thing?”

You raise an eyebrow curiously after taking a sip of your own. “Like, hooking up?” He nods. “I mean… Whatever happens, happens.”

“Uhh, how do you mean?”

“Like, if it was a one-time thing, so be it. But if it’s gonna become regular, then also so be it,” you took a drag of your cigarette. “Doesn’t really matter. We can just, like, do whatever we want. Nothing has to be all predetermined. If we feel like fucking, then we’ll fuck. If not, then great, another day of walking normally.”

“Right,” he says.

You were bored.

So fucking bored.

You dressed all fancy for nothing, you feel. You were obligated to go the same reason Derek had: your wealthy, famous status. But it was so underwhelming and useless, even. As long as you made an appearance, then that should’ve been enough for everybody.

You put out your cigarette and finish your wine, nearly chugging it.

“Hey,” you tap on Derek’s shoulder, making him turn around to look at you after he had been gazing at a potential crypto girl. “Wanna do a quickie in this rich loser’s bathroom?”

He raises an eyebrow in interest.

***

You were held up against the wall of the bathroom, legs wrapped around Derek’s hips as his hands held you by your thighs, pounding his cock in and out of you at a fairly quick pace. Your hands held onto his arms and your chin rested on his shoulder tiredly as the occasional skin slapping against skin sound echoed in the room, hearing Derek grunt with almost every thrust.

You felt slightly uncomfortable and awkward. Like, you weren’t really aroused. It felt… dry? You didn’t know what you meant by that, but the friction was just… unsatisfying. He was grazing your walls in a way that just made it feel like burning, increasing your discomfort. But at least he looked like he was enjoying this. Good for him, you guessed.

This never happened before, so it was sort of… really weird to you, to say the least.

To be honest, you were kind of bored. Like, really bored. How the hell were you still bored? You temporarily escaped an old rich people party to have rigorous sex in their bathroom with your best friend, but you were still bored.

“Shit…” you mutter, disgruntled, as he moved consistently inside you, the burning sensation catching up with you. “What the fuck? Why does—ow—Why the fuck is this hurting?”

Derek pulls his head away from your shoulder and looks at you in concern, his dick still inside of you. “Are you okay? Should I go slower?” He offers, raising an eyebrow as he searched for hesitance in your eyes, then looking you up and down.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” you nodded. “It’s whatever, just—just keep going,” you dismiss in a low murmur. As he starts again at a slower pace, you still had an uncomfortable expression on your face. He was moving his hips but all you felt was mere irritation.

“Okay, what—what the hell?” You groan as you still felt shitty, resulting in Derek stopping his thrusts.

“What’s the issue? Am I still going fast? Should I slow down more?”

“Yeah, uh, probably, yeah,” you say as your head goes back on his shoulder. He proceeds with his movements, his cock sliding in at an even slower pace, stretching your walls more intricately.

“Is this—is this better?” He asks as he moves patiently, steadily moving in and out of your body.

And it wasn’t even a minute in before you would interrupt again.

“Umm… Actually I,” you begin, sighing, “I’m just—I don’t know, I’m not feeling it.”

Derek slides out, still holding you up against the wall by your thighs and raises an eyebrow, looking into your eyes. “Seriously?”

You nod simply.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He asks, unsure if it was something on his part.

“I don’t know, I’m just not really feeling it,” you reply awkwardly.

“Weren’t you the one who brought it up—”

“I’m not feeling it anymore, dude, I’m sorry!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in surrender.

He puts you down as you put your clothing back on. As you slip your underwear back on, you look at him standing by the same spot by the wall. “Are you still hard?” You ask, raising an eyebrow insightfully.

“Yup,” he shrugs shamelessly.

You sort of felt bad, since you were the one who had the idea of fucking in the bathroom in the first place, making him all riled up.

You sigh softly and you two look at each other in silence. You let out a quiet huff.

“Want me to jerk you off?”

Soon after his release, he put his boxers and pants on leisurely. You were in front of the mirror, trying to fix your hair and clothing, ensuring that you didn’t just come back from a sexual experience in the bathroom.

“Dude, look at how much expensive perfume these jagoffs own,” you chuckle amusedly, looking down at the bathroom sink counter. On the surface were several perfumes of Armani, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana, as well as a few lotions.

“Hey, don’t—don’t touch those, Y/n.” Too late. You sprayed him with one.

You two grimaced at the scent.

“Well shit, I didn’t even know what I expected,” you cough severely, waving your hand around your nose as you despised the shitty perfume’s smell.

“I told you not to touch them, idiot,” he huffs, buckling his belt as he scowled at the odor.

“Don’t be a dickwad, you totally would’ve been curious enough to try them too,” you scoff, looking through the cabinets of the bathroom mirror and sinks. “Hey, look,” you smirk, throwing a small object at him that you had found.

He caught it involuntarily with his hands and inspected the item: it was a bottle of Viagra. He raised an eyebrow, looking at you and laughed softly. “I am not surprised that these old fucks can’t get it on,” he threw it back at you and you shelved it back in its original place.

You watch him take a hit from his vape and you sigh from boredom. You didn’t want to be in this bathroom any longer, but you definitely didn’t want to be out in the party either.

“Dude, I’m bored,” you whine as he handed you his vape pen.

“‘Sup Bored, I am Derek,” he muttered sarcastically, under his breath. You rolled your eyes and handed him back his vape once you were done with it.

“Can you—can you not?” you mumble exasperatedly in response as he just raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, making his way towards the door, “We’re getting out of here, you can ride with me.”

“Hold on,” you interject quickly. “We should—I mean—I should probably wait a few minutes after you leave the bathroom to get out. You know, so no one will suspect us if we were to, like, walk out of the bathroom together.”

“Right. Yeah. Yeah, you have a point,” he nods.

You had to be careful from now on, realizing that just through the mere plan of leaving the bathroom alternately. This meant you had to be more delicate and thoughtful with every action and word that came from you—and Derek’s—to keep this messy secret.

***

You were laid on the bed beside Derek, one hand tangled in his hair and the other holding an ice cream cone as the bright colors of the TV in front of you nearly blinded your eyes. Your arm was propped up behind Derek’s head in order to play with his hair, feeling the soft curls brushing your palm and fingertips. The two of you looked intensely at the screen as you ate your ice cream in one hand, which was graciously prepared by Derek’s personal chef.

“Dude, Jar Jar Binks was definitely a Sith Lord,” you blurt in a low mutter. Derek turns his head and looks at you in befuddlement.

“What? No. Y/n, no, no, no, do not get started on this again—”

“I’m just saying, dude, that whole ‘goofy idiot’ appearance was hiding the fact that he was a powerful Sith Lord!” You exclaim passionately. “Have you seen his fighting style?”

“Yes, I’ve seen his fighting style, and it looks as if he’s chugged twenty fuckin’ martinis, then atrociously became crossfaded through several, reckless bong rips,” he replied straightforwardly.

You pause briefly as you realized. “Derek, I swear, if that was a reference to that one hangover I had back in December, I swear fucking to god—”

He met you with silence.

You nearly whisper, “Was it?”

The smirk that rose onto his lips told you everything, and you playfully smacked the top of his head since your hand was already there before, tangled in his hair. “Ow,” he muttered, yet his smirk never ceasing. “Look, all I’m saying is that I respect you for that. You are, like, the craziest person I know in the best fucking way possible.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” you mumble, fighting the inevitable curl of your lips that formed a flattered, soft grin. “Okay, anyways, all I’m saying, is that not only was it a tactic to trick his opponents, but he could’ve also been using the force! And how many times has he avoided death?”

“Okay, Y/n, that’s enough, lay off the grass,” he jokes, letting out a low snicker. “How is Jar Jar even relevant? We—we aren’t even watching the prequels, isn’t this The Empire Strikes Back?”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re watching Return of the Jedi,” you say confidently.

“No, this is—this is definitely Empire Strikes Back,” he refutes, then pauses. “Did we seriously forget?”

“Well, there’s a billion of movies in this franchise, so we’re bound to mix up its titles. Hm, well, it can’t be The Empire Strikes Back, because Return of the Jedi is the one with that sexy Leia outfit,” you reason, shrugging. Derek raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, you know what, this isn’t even the point, the point is, that Jar Jar is relevant because it’s fuckin’ Star Wars!”

“Whatever,” Derek rolls his eyes with an amused grin that swiftly transitioned into a mischievous smirk. “You look like Jar Jar,” he mumbles.

You let out a playful, offended gasp. “Oh yeah? You look like Jabba the Hut.”

His head turned directly towards you and let out a exaggerated gasp as well. “Fuck you, you look like Yoda!”

“And you look like that fucking gremlin-looking piece of shit that’s Jabba’s pet!”

“Yeah, well, you look like—”

This continued a little longer until the both of you got too tired, unable to think of any more ugly Star Wars characters to compare each other to—which then resulted in a peaceful truce.

Your fingers proceeded to play with Derek’s curls as you took a bite of your ice cream, then letting your head rest on his shoulder. With this action, however, you suddenly thought about the night before and how things had led up to that event.

“Hey, are there any sex scenes in this?” You ask quietly, feeling his short strands of hair tangle loosely around your fingers.

He scoffs with a slight grin. “It’s a fucking Star Wars movie.”

You two burst out laughing. “Right, right, that’s—you have a point,” you giggle, catching your breath. “Oh, thank god, then.”

“Why? Are you that against having a repeat of last night?” He accuses, attempting to sound more playful, rather than the genuine concern that he felt.

“No, it’s just—” You struggled to think about how you wanted to word it. “I really like this. You know? I’m too tired, I’m very comfy, I…” You nuzzled further into his neck as your head rested on his shoulder. “This is nice. I like this.”

He smiles warmly to himself. “I like this too.”

The rest of the night was quite tame. You finished your ice cream before you finished the movie. Except, you didn’t really finish the movie entirely, because you two fell asleep in each other’s arms in the middle of it. Yet seen through your easy laughter and smiles, you were reassured indubitably: nothing was ever going to change between the two of you.

Can we get a fanfic where billy gets pegged by the reader well stu is tied to a chair with a vibrator tied to him as a punishment for Stu?

Maybe with a bit of reversal of roles where the reader degrades stu and billy?

Decided to kill two birds with one stone and answer this ask whilst also doing some Kinktober~

Hope you enjoy anon!

Kinktober 2021 - Day 4

Prompt: Spanking l Role Reversal l Knife play

Pairing: poly!Ghostface x afab!GN!Reader

TW: NSFW.

---

You could hardly contain your excitement, blunt teeth digging into your bottom lip as you take in the sight before you. He was art, pure art. An abstraction in the flesh. Your hand strokes down his chest, and his breath hitches beautifully.

"You look pathetic like this, Loomis." Haughtiness envelops your voice, the sheer power you felt making the tips of your fingers tingle. You give a sharp thrust with your silicon cock, earning a sharp intake of breath from the brunette below you.

"Fuck you." Billy spits out, eyes narrowed as he pulls at the bindings tieing him to the headboard. "This was supposed to be punishment for Stu, not me." He growls out as his eyes narrow, the sneer on his face doing nothing but allow arousal to pool further within you.

The sound of a whimper drags both your attentions, and your grin grows impossibly wider as you feel hear Stu shudder in his chair.

"Y-yeah. Come on, babe. This is torture. Turn it up." Stu speaks up, desperately trying to keep his composure, and failing dramatically. You see the muscles in his biceps and shoulders flex as he squirms against his own bindings. His cock was hard, achingly hard, and the bullet vibe taped to it had him leaking steadily, pre-cum running in rivulets down it and pooling in the crevice of his pelvis. You lick your lips.

"Aaaaw. What's wrong Stu?" You giggle out, another rough thrust resulting in Billy throwing his head back. "Can't take what you dish out? Can't take a little teasing from time to time?"

The blond groans at your words, hips canting upwards as you flick the remote in your hand up another level. The intense stimulation to his frenulum drove him wild, it was the most sensitive part of his cock, and you used that knowledge to your full advantage.

Setting the remote down, you regard Stu's drooling face for a moment more before turning you attention to Billy once again. His face was red, and he was glaring up at you as you fucked into him.

You figured now was a good time as ever to up the ante. The three of you had been doing this for awhile now, and you were sure if you didn't move it along, this role-reversal would become much rarer

"You two are so lucky." You sneer as you hoist yourself even further over Billy's body.

"Hey, wait a second, what are yo-." Billy's questioning is cut off as you take one of his legs, wrapping your arm around it and grunting as you hoist it up your shoulder. It was a bit difficult since you were smaller than the brunette, but you made do and started a brutal pace.

"Holy-fuck! Y/n!" Billy groaned out as you hit his prostate over and over, your free hand finally wrapping around his cock. Your eyes flash as he throws his head back once again, and you can't help the dirty words that spill from your mouth.

"'You're such a slut Y/n!', 'Beg for my cock Y/n!' Yeah? Well who's begging now?" You sneer, condescension and mockery dripping in your tone as you drive in and out of your boyfriend. His eyes widen, snapping to yours as his teeth sinks into his bottom lip at your words. Fuck. That shouldn't get to him the way it does.

"And you!" Your voice rings out sharply, turning your head to the teary blond. "You always talk such big shit. Always have that stupid grin on you as you tease me for hours." A growl leaves your lips as you recall the recent memory of Stu driving you mad, not letting you cum as he ate you out languidly, the elation on his face as he enjoyed torturing you and turning you into a quivering mess.

"Well now, it's my turn. Cum you fucking slut."

You flick the remote to it's highest setting and Stu practically yells out, tears pooling in his eyes when he finally releases all over himself, your name falling like rapturous prayer from his lips.

The sight, the sound, and situation itself had Billy not far behind. Your fake cock pounds against his prostate in perfect rhythm, and you twist your wrist on his shaft just the way you know he loved. With a final animalistic grown of your name, he spills as well, thick ropes of hot cum bursting from his cock and painting his sweat-soaked chest white.

You laugh breathlessly as you slow down, eventually stopping once Billy's hands shakily pressed themselves against your hips.

"Nnngh - AH - babe! T-turn it o-off. Please!" Stu grinds out as his jaw locks, overstimulation setting in. You blink. Oh yeah. The vibrator was still on it's highest setting, and as Stu begins thrashing and Billy begins chuckling tiredly at the man, you smirk.

"What do you mean? Weren't you begging me to turn it up? you can give me one more can't you, baby?"