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g0ry0re0 · 2 months ago

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party 4 u

Rocco Gauthier x Reader

Summary: You attend a frenemy's pool party, only coming because your boyfriend Rocco was invited and wanted you to tag along. He doesn't know you're uncomfortable with the host because you didn't want to seem like the obnoxiously jealous partner. With only a few drinks to impair your judgement, you finally tell him what's wrong. Ensuring that you don't doubt him like this ever again, he finds a convincing way to reassure you. (Riff Raff Rocco x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 2.8k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, gender neutral language for reader, Lewis Pullman's Character Rocco from Riff Raff 2024, few uses of Y/n, graphic depictions of smut, pool party, jealousy, missionary, penetration (no specific genitalia for reader), creampie, reader is a bit insecure in here, random made-up side character for the sake of the plot, half-inspired by Charli XCX's 'party 4 u', I haven't finished the movie so I'm sorry if he is slightly ooc

Taglist: @funkyfable Happy reading! <3 Reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated!

You didn't even want to come here in the first place.

As you looked around the colorful fluorescent lights that were reflected across the pool's surface, you felt like you were being judged. Watched. It made you feel so self-conscious.

Rocco was your boyfriend of several years. He loved and cared for you like any man should for his partner, except he was blind to one predicament you faced.

Your friend group was complicated. Well, not the whole group, but just one person in it. You didn't really get along with Leah. You tried to, you swore it, but it was just not meant to be. Complimenting, conversing about things you had in common, and friendly smiles just didn't seem to work. The primary issue was her crush on your boyfriend. She specifically despised you for dating Rocco, as you entered the friend group late as a result of becoming his partner.

She liked Rocco. Who wouldn't, though? He was charming, sexy, and incredibly sweet. You didn't blame her for crushing on him, after all she probably knew him longer than you did. However, respect goes both ways. She would flirt with him shamelessly, as if you weren't already his. And that terrified you. Leah was different. To you, she was prettier. Funnier. More extroverted and outgoing than you were. She could easily steal his heart with her charms, taking him away from you.

You never spoke to him about your concerns, however. You didn't want to seem like the typical jealous and insecure partner with major trust issues. Even when she would drunkenly admit to you how much she feels that she deserves your boyfriend more than yourself, you still felt like you didn't have the authority to call her out. You didn't want to be obnoxious. You didn't want to seem insecure. You didn't want to lose him.

So you stood there on the patio with your hard seltzer in hand, watching the two interact in the hot tub with the rest of your friends. You could see them laughing, joking, and it made your heart burn more than your throat did from the alcohol.

You didn't want to be here because of this. It was Leah's party, celebrating God knows what, and she invited Rocco. You even tried to give him excuses not to come with him, but he insisted, practically begging you to accompany him. Of course, you felt like you couldn't tell him about the whole Leah-wants-him-and-hates-you situation, so you eventually gave up on refusing. You were only here at this stupid party because of him. Not for her. Not for whatever the hell she was celebrating. But for him.

Your feet were sore. You hated distancing yourself like this, just standing here and being a witness to an imminent crime of thievery.

As the evening progressed, you drank enough alcohol to be more tipsy than before. From afar, you continued to see her flirt with your boyfriend, and you couldn't do anything about it. You felt glued to the ground. Stuck. As if your throat was restrained by barbed wire and your lips were sewn shut. It wasn't right for you to talk to Rocco about your concerns. You were just being dramatic. It wasn't a big deal. You were being a stupid, jealous, insecure partner. And if he found out about these feelings, he would break up with you and run into Leah's arms.

You couldn't handle watching this anymore. Her touching his shoulder, their shared laughter. Dammit. You dried your feet as you walked back inside the house.

After snickering at a joke, Rocco turned his head and noticed you disappearing inside. He barely interacted with you tonight, feeling both guilty and needy. Earlier, you told him how your migraine weakened any desire of entering either pools, so he didn't question your isolated state. But enough was enough, and he missed you. So he stood up, excusing himself out of the bubbling jacuzzi.

Inside, you gripped the handle of the refrigerator, opening it to find a bottle of water. Before you could take the cap off and hydrate yourself, you felt a pair of warm, large hands grasp your waist, as well as peppered kisses on the back of your neck. Rocco's chin rested on your shoulder, letting out a soft hum. "How're you feeling, baby? Better?"

You sigh in relief, enjoying the short-lived comfort of your boyfriend's affectionate embrace. "I'm fine," you answer quietly, finally sipping some water before placing it back in the fridge.

"Are you sure?" He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "You look like there's something on your mind, babe."

You knew he wasn't the one at fault, you knew he was concerned for you, so you should've been kind to him. But just thinking about how he and Leah interacted with each other in the hot tub compelled you to be cold towards him. "I said I'm fine," you repeat indifferently, walking away from his arms.

Rocco huffs irritably, rushing after you. "Y/n. Don't be like that. Come on, you've been quiet and distant all night, what's wrong?"

"I told you, it's nothing," you run a hand through your damp hair in exhaustion, entering one of the guest rooms as you wished he would just leave you alone.

Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist gently to make you look at him, his deep blue eyes burning through yours. "I know when something's up, I'm your boyfriend, for fuck's sake. Just be real with me. Please," he nearly begs, eyebrows furrowed in desperation.

“Rocco, there’s nothing—”

"No, no, don't give me that 'nothing' bullshit—"

"I'm telling you the truth, there is no—"

“Y/n—"

“I’m serious, there’s nothing—”

“Goddammit, Y/n, just tell me what’s going on!”

“It’s Leah!” You exclaimed, the alcohol in your system and the intensity of the moment making it easier to confess. You felt a tinge of instant regret, knowing that Rocco would disapprove of your jealousy, and therefore be tempted to break up with you. Your eyes shut tightly in shame, sighing from fatigue. However, that scornful reaction you were expecting just didn’t happen.

Rocco pauses silently. "That's what this is about?" He mutters, searching your eyes for clarity.

“Yeah... I just..." you mumble before raising your voice, beginning to pace back and forth, "She likes you! And hell, everybody in our friend group knows that! And I really, truly, desperately tried getting along with her, but she's always hated me, and that’s because I’m dating you! And—and I don’t want to seem like the paranoid, jealous partner, but god, if only you heard the things she told me when you weren’t around!”

You finally ceased your pacing, standing in front of him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. “I didn't want to tell you all this because you would think I'm jealous and possessive, and then you would leave me for her... Hell, I'd get it if you did. For starters, she's known you longer than I do. She’s pretty, and charming—”

“Y/n—”

“And funny, and cool—”

“Y/n—”

“And I just can’t be at her level, so I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for—”

Rocco silences you by pressing his lips against yours in a brief, yet strong kiss. His face was close to yours as he spoke, "You're always gonna be good enough for me. Shit, you're way too good for me. If anything, I don't deserve you."

His hands were still gripping your shoulders from the kiss. “Look, I know that Leah likes me. It’s fucking obvious. I just figured that as long as she was respectful about our relationship, then we can keep being friends. But clearly, she hasn’t been, and I’m glad you told me about this. I’ll go talk to her soon. And if shit goes down, we’ll stop hanging out with her—the both of us. Okay?”

You frown, feeling a shameful pang of guilt. "I don't wanna be the reason your friendship with her is ruined, I don't—I don't want to affect your relationships just because you're with me."

"Baby, she's always been kind of an issue. I dealt with it in the beginning because I thought I could see past it, but clearly it's affecting you. And I don't like knowing how she makes you feel, directly or indirectly. You said she tells you about her feelings for me?"

You nod hesitantly, recalling the conversations you had with her. "Yeah. I mean, sometimes she would even make jokes about her stealing you from me—"

"Babe!" He exclaims, almost chuckling from how ridiculous that was. "Are you serious? You should've told me about this, I didn't know she says these kinds of things to you behind my back!"

"Yeah, well, that's why I didn't want to come. Just being around her makes me feel, I don't know... shitty about myself. I only came for you," you explain reluctantly. "I didn't want to seem paranoid and jealous to you, so I kept all that to myself. She knew I thought that way, too, so she always felt permitted to say anything about you to me... Riling me up on purpose."

Rocco huffs in exasperation, rubbing his forehead. "Fuck... I'm so sorry, baby, I should've seen the signs... I should've—should've—"

"Rocco, it's okay—"

"No, it's not! I didn't know how terrible she was treating you! Whatever bullshit she fed you, it isn't true." He cups your face. "Baby, I would never leave you, not for anybody, let alone for her, okay? There is no one else in this world that is more beautiful, funnier, and intelligent than you. I love you. You're everything to me, you know that?"

"Yeah," you mumble, your faltered response not convincing him.

He scoffs, looking back at the crack of the slightly open door, then at you. "Do I seriously have to prove it to you?"

"No, no, I do know, it's just..." He silences you once again with a deep kiss, his hands dropping to your waist with a light squeeze. You kissed back without hesitation, feeling him back you up against the door so it slammed shut behind you. He expertly locks the doorknob beside you before grabbing you by your thighs to lift you up, laying you down on the bed.

His lips don't leave yours as he undresses you and himself, which was a simple procedure due to the skimpy nature of swimsuits. He was used to seeing your naked body after having sex with you multiple times over the years, but he couldn't help but run his palms down your skin as if experiencing it for the very first time.

Rocco's lips traveled to your neck, leaving wet kisses there. You giggled softly at the ticklish sensation, in which he smiled, crashing his lips against yours once again. He was in love with the sound of your laugh. In fact, he was in love with everything about you. Obsessed, even.

Your eyes shut gently as you sighed deeply, feeling his hand reach between your thighs. You loved the way his warm, slender fingers would caress your flesh, knowing every place and stroke that made you feel good. He smirked to himself as he felt his fingertips dampen when they came in contact with a specific area.

With the smallest time possible in making you wait, his fingers finally slipped into your warmth, making you moan softly. You could never grow tired of that liberating feeling of Rocco's fingers stretching and exploring your tight walls. He didn't just use his digits to prepare you for his length, but he also wanted to simply please you. He enjoyed massaging your velvety insides, fingertips reaching the places his cock barely grazed. And he knew it drove you wild.

"I'm all yours, you know that?" He mutters, nipping your neck before his eyes looked into yours.

You were too much focused on the pleasure to fully comprehend his words, only nodding in your dazed state. When his words finally reached your brain, you sighed, "mm—Mm-hm..."

A soft whine escaped your lips as his fingers left you, Rocco now positioning himself between your legs.

The shocking thing about Rocco was that his favorite position was missionary. Well, not necessarily shocking, but ridiculously unexpected. Everyone he could have told would be surprised to hear it, considering it was too much of a vanilla position for a guy like him. It was Rocco, for fuck's sake.

The 'why', however, is essential. The main reason why Rocco loved missionary was because he got to see your face every time he made love to you. The wrinkle in between your furrowed eyebrows, the way your eyes went half-lidded, the way your lips parted to let his name leave your throat. It was the most intimate position he could be with you, and he didn't give a flying fuck if that made him a vanilla loser. Sure, he was always open to exploring the most wacky and kinky positions with you, but nothing could top missionary. Compared to every angle you two experimented with, missionary made him cum the fastest. It was just so good to see every single facial expression caused by the pleasure he brought onto you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands propped himself on the mattress. Rocco kissed you passionately on the lips before you felt his girth stretch you open, making you let out a lustful gasp. Your hands gripped his forearms as you feel his cock enter completely inside you. He could never get over this feeling. Your body was incredible, and never failed to make him feel amazing. He was obsessed with every aspect of you. Obsessed with making love to you.

Rocco grunted as his hips pulled back halfway just to push against you again, starting to thrust at a steady, back-and-forth pace. You loved the way his length moved in and out of your hole, making your insides flutter.

"Fuck, baby... You feel so fucking good," he murmurs under his breath, "there's no way I could ever think of leaving you, fuck no..."

Eventually, his pace increased to the point where the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the small bedroom with every thrust. The loud, wet plaps turned Rocco on, driving him to move faster. Both of you were pretty vocal, and you usually were when it came to sex; something your friend group would complain about if they ever had the misfortune of being in the area. As Rocco slammed into you roughly, the bed creaked repeatedly, its frame hitting against the wall.

"This bed sucks ass," you snicker under your breath, making him chuckle in response.

His hands moved from your hips to your limp wrists, holding them in place on each side of your head against the pillows. You whined softly, enjoying the control he had over you. Being under him was always a moment you indulged in.

Rocco's movements never faltered, his cock hitting deep spots that made you cry out his name. You felt yourself closer to the edge every time his length would piston in and out of you. Sensing how close you were with the way you pulsed around him, he released one of your wrists to bring his hand down, touching your sensitive flesh. Your body nearly spasmed, moaning louder than before as these overlapping feelings of pleasure drove you to the edge.

"I—I'm close," you whimper, clenching around his thick girth.

"I know, baby, I know," he mumbles, burying his face into your neck, "me too."

You both panted and breathed heavily, letting out lewd groans of arousal. Rocco's thrusts began to stammer, growing unsteady the closer he got to his orgasm.

"Fuck," he huffs, desperate to cum at the same time as you, "oh my God..."

"Mmm," you whine, out of breath, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming—"

"Fuck!" Rocco groans, spilling deeply inside you as you cum at the same time, your tightness gripping his cock. The sensation drove him insane as his release concluded with brief, remaining spurts that coated your walls. He held you tight, pressing his body close to yours, still snug inside of you.

He loved being inside of you. He loved cumming inside of you. He felt like it meant something much more than sex or lust. Like it meant something greater.

He slowly pulled out, huffing in disappointment at the loss of your warmth. He kisses your lips deeply, continuing to hover above you, tasting you sensually. His tongue parted your mouth, carefully slipping inside to move with yours. Your taste was addicting. The two of you had then made out for a long, breathless time, a passionate way to come down from your highs.

Soon enough, the kiss ended as Rocco finally rolled off of your body. Unable to function without your touch, he brings you in close with your head resting on his bare chest. You heard his heartbeat, unintentionally adjusting your own breathing to sync the rhythm.

His lips touched the top of your head, lingering for a bit. His palms stroked your bare shoulder and bicep affectionately. “I love you so much, baby...”

You kissed his chest gently, overwhelmed with reassurance and satisfaction.

“I love you too.”

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

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he definitely posts these on facebook unironically

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

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ty for the tag!! loved this so so much

ill be sad when I shower later and bob won't be there 😞

‘not your fault’

Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary: After a mission goes horribly wrong, you take a hot shower to unwind. With Bob being your worried boyfriend, he keeps you company.

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender neutral reader (of course), no pronouns used for reader, brief use of Y/n, reader is a Thunderbolt, shower sex, fluff, penetration (no specified genitals for reader), creampie, Bob may or may not be ooc, a certain stupid reference at the end, Yelena makes an appearance

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE UNDER THE CUT!!!

Taglist: @g0ry0re0 @deceitfuldevil Happy reading! <3 Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

You fucked up big time.

One of your missions as a New Avenger went terribly wrong, and it was all your fault. You led your team to the wrong place, made the wrong calculations, and overall was the epitome of a screw up. Most days, you were proficient and prepared, smart and level-headed, so it disheartened you when you let your teammates down. And while you all ended up succeeding by the end and completed the mission, sensing your colleagues' frustration towards you didn't feel so great.

When you all went back to the Watchtower, you went straight to your room without a word, ignoring Bob in the process. You knew that wasn't a good move on your part, but you felt way too ashamed to face your lover.

Your usual remedy was to take a hot shower. You were embarrassed and humiliated by your performance today, so enveloping yourself in flaming, steamy water seemed like the best distraction.

So there you were, standing in the large stall of your own bathroom as the hot water cascaded onto your sensitive skin. Your body had been covered in some debris as a result of the mission, now being washed off in the shower. You wouldn't have removed all of the grime, however, considering that you hadn't even picked up the soaps or even anything at all yet. All this time you just stood there, trying to distract your mortification with the heat surrounding you.

Your back was turned, looking at the ground that the water would land on, not turning your head as you hear the bathroom door creak open. You already knew who it was, so there was no use in questioning it.

The sound of shifting clothes was drowned out by the spraying of the shower. Then, it wasn't too long before the glass door slid open, closing immediately once the figure behind you stepped in.

"Ow—shit—that's hot," Bob flinched clumsily, turning the handle ever so slightly to turn down the heat. In other circumstances, in which you weren’t so depressed, you probably would’ve laughed at his silly response.

You felt your boyfriend's warm chest press against your back as his arms wrapped around your front, hands resting on your stomach. His head was relaxed against your shoulder, holding you close to comfort you. Your wet, naked bodies were practically merged together, in light of the very close proximity. Your thoughts had been drastically spiraling ever since the mission, but at least this felt nice.

For a while, it was quite silent aside from the rushing water, Bob offering his sole presence to ground you. Then, he finally spoke up afterwards, his tone in a compassionate manner.

"It wasn't your fault..."

Great. You assumed the team already informed him about what happened, probably telling him every stupid thing you did during the mission.

"Yelena, uh... She told me what happened," he continued hesitantly, your stiff body remaining against him. "Apparently, there was a whole mislead, uh... fraudulent information, something like that. But I mean, you just did what you had to do, and that's—"

"Don't." You sighed, briefly shutting your eyes in exhaustion. You didn't want his pity, you didn't want to be rewarded for your mistakes. "I screwed up. If it weren't for my judgement, then maybe—maybe all that wouldn't have happened, and there wouldn't be so much collateral damage, and—"

"Y/n." Bob grabs your shoulders, turning your body around to face him. Your expression was wrecked, eyes fearful and guilty. It hurt him to see you like this, especially since your vulnerability is a rare occurrence. "She said it was bound to happen. It didn't happen because of you. You didn't do anything wrong. It was an ambush."

"They're pissed at me," you frown miserably, disregarding his words, "the whole team, they hate me right now."

"That can't be true," he says with a gentle, sympathetic smile, "they're mad about the—the situation and the people involved, but not you. They know how skilled and smart and great you are, so no, they couldn't hate you, definitely not for this."

Usually, you were the one who would comfort and console Bob. Whenever he was going through something, you always talked him through it. Which was why this moment felt so foreign. This time, he was the one comforting you, using his own wisdoms to reassure you. And it worked like a charm.

"You okay?" He asks after a short pause with a questioning look.

"Yeah," you huff tiredly, embracing him closely, "I'll be fine..."

Pulling away from the hug, your hands reached up to cup his face. His eyes were so gentle, looking at you with enamored adoration. His hair was already soaked, some wet bangs falling over his face that accentuated the blue in his irises. Your thumbs stroked his cheeks affectionately, captivated by his effortless beauty. He was so goddamn pretty.

You grabbed his face and crashed your wet lips against his, pouring all your love and appreciation into the kiss. Instantly, Bob followed, kissing you back slowly, firm hands resting on your bare waist.

He whimpered needily in your mouth, parting it with his wavering tongue. He was addicted to your taste, grabbing you closer to his body as things began to grow tense between the two of you. The hot shower didn't seem to make it better, as it only added to the sensuality of this moment.

Bob wanted to please you. He wanted to make you feel worthy of pleasure, he wanted to remind you of how amazing you were. Essentially, he knew how it felt to fuck up and be looked down upon. He could only assume all the emotions you were feeling after the mission, so he made it his objective to distract you from them.

Bob carefully pressed your back against the shower wall, kissing you deeply and passionately. His hands came down to your thighs, lifting you up so your legs could wrap around his hips. He pecked your lips briefly while grasping his cock in one hand, stroking his already hardened length. The sensitive head of his dick throbbed as he guided it between your thighs.

“Ahh…” You let out a soft moan as he slowly entered through your tight entrance, walls fluttering at the stretch from his thick girth.

“Mmm—You feel so good,” he praises meekly, eyes half-lidded once he was fully inside you, “so good for me.”

Your hands were still cupping his face, holding him close to you as you pant under your breath. Bob began to thrust out gently, only to piston back in, making the two of you moan in pleasure. With his fingernails digging into your plushy thighs, he rocks his hips leisurely, taking his time to hit every deep, sensitive spot you had. And after a long time of being your boyfriend, he knew your body as if he studied a manual for it.

Bob was obsessed with making love to you. If not obsessed, then he simply loved it. And right now, he needed to make you feel the gentle love he had for you.

His lips were attached to yours once again as he fucked you softly against the wall, thrusting his cock deeply inside of you. Quiet whines left his throat, as he had always been the more sensitive out of the two of you.

Your hands reached the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soppy brown strands the more he stretched you with his length. Suddenly, Bob’s hand sneaked between your bodies, bringing attention to your sensitive flesh with his touch. Breaking the kiss, your mouth gaped in awe, panting heavily at the amazing sensation.

Noticing you were getting close, he tenderly pulled out in pursuit of a new position. As a whimper escaped your lips from the new-found emptiness, he kissed them briefly as a silent apology.

Bob positioned you with your stomach facing the glass door, standing right behind you as you felt his hard cock resting against your ass. His hands ran up and down your sides in a warm, worshipful caress. Then, his palms moved to your front, feeling sensually for your chest and stomach as your own hands were pressed against the glass, bracing yourself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your neck, nipping the skin, “you did so good today... you deserve so much…”

Finally, his dick pushed back inside of you, making you feel the satisfying stretch of your inner walls. Bob moved at a steady pace, still fixated on making slow, sweet love to you. He moaned as he felt your fleshy insides grip his hard length, his hands desperately feeling for your skin.

“Faster,” you murmur, already eager to reach your climax. Bob moans at your words, aroused by your voice as he then obeys you, increasing his pace. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, feeling your walls tighten even more around him.

The brunette groans, one hand now gripping your hip, and the other reaching around your front to touch your sensitive anatomy once again. He was already close, just desperate to make you cum with him.

“Ahh!” You cry as his cock dives deeper and faster in your hole, massaging your insides. Your knees wobbled, already weak from the pleasure. The lewd, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin that echoed in the steamy bathroom aroused you terribly.

"I’m close,” Bob whines, his forehead pressed to your back as he pounded his hips against your ass. “Y/n, I’m so close…”

“Fuck!” You moan, feeling close to the edge as well. You felt a warm sensation pool in your lower stomach as he continued thrusting his cock inside of you.

Then, with a soft cry, Bob tenses up against you, cumming deep inside as his hot, white semen would paint your sensitive walls. You came directly after him, flesh tightening around his dick as you moaned in pleasure.

He held you close, peppering kisses all over your face and back. And you would stay in that position until he thought it was time to finally lather your body with soap; not only washing off the leftover dirt from your body, but also the guilt and stress you had once carried.

Later that night, as Bob was fast asleep in his quarters, you went to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Closing the pantry after obtaining said snack, you flinch as you see Yelena standing in the room.

“Hi,” she smiles softly.

“Shit!” You huff under your breath, heart rate slowly stabilizing. “Jesus, you scared me.”

She walked closer to you with a purposeful expression, raising her eyebrows. “I just wanted to let you know that… None of us blame you for what happened,” she explains in her familiar, thick Russian accent. “I know, we were all angry and pissy, but you barely screwed up. Hell, it was an ambush, there was nothing you could do.”

Her eyebrows softened as she looked at you warmly. “We’re all in this together, Y/n. And none of us are perfect, far from it, actually, so don’t think you’re less than any of us because of what happened today. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod appreciatively, mirroring her smile. “Thank you, Yelena.”

Satisfied, she turns around to walk away, until she suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyeing you once again. “By the way… You and Bob might want to be a little… quieter. The Watchtower is still in construction, and, well.. walls and ceilings are pretty thin.”

As she strides away, you curse under your breath, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“But I’m happy for you both!” She calls out, disappearing into the darkness.

You took a worn-out bite into your Pop-Tart. Goddammit.

#YIPPEE #bob my beloved #kissi g him on tha mouth #bob reynolds #need to run my hands thru his hair too #ALSO the way i can hear yelenas accent so clearly #i love her #bob reynolds x reader #gender neutral reader

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

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I LIVE

Also Skeet Ulrich seems to be confirmed to be in the second film as the description of the book mentions him

source source 2

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

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love when stories inflict unspeakable horrors onto a person for no real reason. its not karma. its not payback. its not a lesson. its not your fault. no ones even out to get you in particular. youre not the chosen one or special or anything. it just sorta happened and you were there. sorry man

#i lobe him #what have they done to my boy #the horrors #i wanna give him a big hug

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

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⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹”secret”⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

summary // you house sit miles place while while he’s at work and abby is at school. you find yourself in his bed, overwhelmed by his lingering scent. caught up in the moment, you touch yourself using his t-shirt, only for Mike to return home early and catch you in the act.

tags // reader getting caught masturbating, mike schmidt x perv!reader, p in v sex, penetration, yearning, intimacy, sexual tension, smut and fluff, friends to lovers, soft dom mike, mild humiliation

mentions // @stop-talking @janitorhutcherson @lile6969 @whimperly @joshfutturman

authors note // we’re so back guys writers drought it out

you get back from taking abby to school, mikes at work and you have the house to yourself…you think.

you lay down in mikes bed which is normal for you. when he gets home he usually wakes you up softly or carries you to the couch. he’ll never admit it but he loves it.

as soon as you get ready for bed you feel a familiar sensation in your lower stomach. you notice that the room is full of his scent and it makes you loose it, grabbing a tshirt from his pile of unfolded clean clothes and innocently laying down with it.

before you know it you’re touching yourself with his tshirt in between your legs, got the smell of him has your eyes rolling back in your head as you touch your pretty cunt and think of him.

The scent of Mike’s t-shirt, a heady mix of his cologne and something distinctly *him*, clings to your senses, driving you deeper into the haze of your own desire. Your fingers move faster, the soft cotton of his shirt pressed between your thighs, muffling the quiet gasps that escape your lips. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you lose yourself in the fantasy of him—his calloused hands, his low voice, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You’re so caught up in the moment, eyes squeezed shut, that you don’t hear the faint creak of the front door or the soft tread of shoes against the hardwood. Mike’s home early. The pizzaria let him off sooner than expected, and he’s already through the living room, his mind on you, on the quiet comfort of finding you in his space.

But as he steps into the hallway, he freezes. The door to his bedroom is slightly open, and there’s a sound—soft, breathy, hot. His heart stutters, a mix of confusion and something hotter, more primal, curling in his chest. He should turn away, give you privacy, but his feet don’t move. Instead, he nudges the door open just enough to see you.

You’re sprawled across his bed, his t-shirt clutched tightly against you, your head tilted back, lips parted. The sight hits him like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He’s never seen you like this, so unguarded, so raw. His mouth goes dry, and he grips the doorframe to steady himself, torn between stepping back and stepping closer.

Your eyes flutter open at the faint sound of his movement, and you freeze, heart lurching into your throat. There he is, standing in the doorway, his work jacket still on, eyes dark and unreadable. The t-shirt slips from your grasp as you scramble to sit up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Mike—I—I didn’t hear you come in,” you stammer, pulling the blanket over yourself like it could hide what just happened.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares, his jaw tight. You brace for him to turn away, to pretend this never happened, but instead, he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The air shifts, charged with something electric. “You’re in my bed,” he says, voice low, rougher than usual. It’s not a question, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s trying to piece together what he just walked into.

“I… I was just…” You trail off, unable to find an excuse that doesn’t sound ridiculous. Your pulse races, humiliation warring with the lingering heat in your veins.

Mike takes another step closer, his gaze flicking to the t-shirt now tangled in the sheets. His lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close. “That’s mine,” he says, nodding toward it. There’s no judgment in his tone, only a quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t be.” He’s at the edge of the bed now, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of motor oil and sweat on him, grounding you back in the reality of his presence. His hand hovers near your knee, not quite touching, but the proximity alone sends a shiver through you. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he admits, his voice barely above a murmur, like he’s confessing a secret he’s held too long.

Your breath catches, eyes widening. “huh… what?”

He chuckles, a soft, almost broken sound, and finally lets his hand rest on your knee, his thumb brushing lightly against the blanket. “You think I don’t notice you? The way you fit into my life, into *this*?” He gestures vaguely to the room, the house, the quiet routine you’ve both built. “I come home, see you in my bed, and it’s all I can do not to climb in with you.”

The confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded, and suddenly the embarrassment fades, replaced by a rush of boldness. You shift, letting the blanket fall slightly, revealing the curve of your thigh. His eyes follow the movement, darkening. “Then why don’t you?” you ask, voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Mike exhales sharply, like the question physically pains him. For a moment, you think he might pull back, retreat into the safety of his usual restraint, but then he leans in, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Because once I start,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in your core, “I’m not sure I’ll stop.”

You don’t give him the chance to second-guess. You close the distance, pressing your lips to his, and it’s like a dam breaking. His kiss is hungry, desperate, all the pent up tension of months, spilling over. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you climb into his lap, the t-shirt forgotten as you lose yourself in the reality of him, no longer just a fantasy.

Mike’s kiss deepens, a slow, searing thing that steals your breath and sets your skin alight. His hands, rough from years of manual labor, grip your waist with a tenderness that belies their strength, pulling you flush against him as you straddle his lap. The weight of his confession still lingers, raw and electric, and every touch feels like an extension of it, a promise, a release, a claiming. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting the heat coiled tight in your core.

“God, you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the way he’s staring—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, lingering as if he’s memorizing every detail. “How long I’ve wanted this. Wanted *you*.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard planes of his body through his worn t-shirt, the warmth of him grounding you even as your head spins. “Then show me,” you whisper, bold despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You lean in, brushing your lips against the stubble along his jaw, and the low, rumbling sound he makes in his throat is enough to make your thighs clench.

Mike doesn’t need more encouragement. His hands slide under your shirt—*his* shirt, still tangled around you from earlier—his calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You lift your arms, letting him pull the fabric over your head, and the cool air of the room contrasts sharply with the fire building between you. His gaze rakes over you, reverent, hungry, and when his hands find your bare skin, it’s like he’s worshiping you, mapping every curve with deliberate care.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, almost to himself, and before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, like he’s pouring everything he’s held back into it. His lips trail down your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, arching into him. Your hands fumble with the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, and he chuckles softly, helping you tug it off. The sight of him—broad shoulders, the faint scars from years of hard work, the way his muscles shift under his skin—makes your mouth go dry.

You pull him closer, your lips crashing into his as you rock against him, the friction sending sparks through your body. He groans, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, and the tension that’s been building for months, maybe longer, snaps like a taut wire. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, and the raw need in it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

He flips you gently onto your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he hovers over you, one arm braced beside your head. His eyes search yours, checking for any hesitation, but all you can do is nod, reaching up to pull him down to you. “I want you,” you say, the words spilling out before you can overthink them, and it’s like a key turning in a lock.

Mike’s restraint crumbles. He kisses you like he’s starving, lips and tongue claiming yours as his hands explore, teasing and stoking the fire in your veins. When he finally presses himself against you, the slow, deliberate way he moves makes your eyes roll back, a soft moan escaping your lips. Every touch, every whispered word, is laced with the weight of everything unsaid—every late-night glance, every moment you’ve both pretended was just an arrangement.

The room fills with the sounds of your shared breaths, the creak of the bed, the quiet gasps and murmured praises. He moves inside you, for you, each thrust a blend of passion and urgency, like he’s trying to make up for all the time you’ve both wasted. Your nails dig into his back, urging him closer, and he obliges, his lips finding yours again as the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat and rhythm building to the upmost pleasure.

When you finally unravel, it’s with his name on your lips, your body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows moments later, a low, broken sound escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his breaths hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, you just hold each other, the intensity giving way to a soft, almost fragile quiet, like neither of you wants to break the spell.

Eventually, Mike shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, warm and steady, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your cheek. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t say it.

You softly smile, pressing a kiss to his bare collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales, a sound of relief, and tucks you closer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. The room is still heavy with his scent, but now it’s mixed with yours, a quiet testament to what’s changed. As you drift toward sleep, tangled together in his bed, you know this is only the beginning—messy, complicated, and undeniably yours.

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g0ry0re0 · 3 months ago

Text

YES HOLDEN YAAAA

the slow burn is finally igniting!!! :D

I love this sm 💜 now I want a capri sun

and a rich white boy with curly blonde hair in my lap named derek danforth

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: As Derek gets drunk, he spots a rather attractive person he feels desperate to spend the night with. Consequently, you were tasked with helping him sober up so he wouldn't be so foolish when approaching her.

Word Count: 4.4k

Content: gender-neutral reader, angst, Mickey angst, fluff, drinking, throwing up (brief mention of the texture), Derek's mommy issues continues, reader and Derek get closer

Ao3 Link

"Huh?" You nearly scoff at Derek's abrupt proposal.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he reasons, beginning to sit up on the bed with an eager smirk.

"Uh, yeah, actually, it is," you huff, looking down at your wristwatch, "it's literally five here."

"Okay, great, even better," he says, immediately getting up from the mattress, "let's go."

"Wait, hold on," you interject, stopping in front of him. "There's no way you're getting blackout drunk at a time where you're supposed to be keeping up a good reputation! And, what, especially in front of those investors, who, conveniently, are also on this boat! Derek, you're going to blow your own cover!"

Derek gave your words the smallest amount of thought until he shook his head dismissively. "That's why... You can keep an eye on me."

What the hell.

"Seriously? You drinking your ass off is one thing, but leaving me out of it? That is so unfair!" You exclaim angrily. "This was your plan, and the only person being tortured in this deal so far is me! I always get the short end of the stick! Jesus Christ, Derek, have some, what, consideration? I'm bending over backwards for this bullshit, and you don't have any decency to advocate for me!"

Derek was always frustrating. Hell, you never really knew how you were still friends with him because somehow, you two just made it work. He was a shameless product of nepotism; he went from eating baby carrots to caviar off of the same silver platter ever since he was born. He was arrogant, selfish, inconsiderate, and an overall pain in the ass. He would boss everyone around him, regardless of age or role, unless, of course, they were his mother.

But he was barely his mother's son. As respectable and graceful as Jessica Danforth was, he was the complete opposite. Unlike her, he couldn't last a meeting without rudely interrupting somebody, so who's to say he could lead an entire nation? Derek was difficult, and that was that. It was like walking on eggshells trying to deal or negotiate with him, even if it was the most mundane, simple thing. Yet you were still best friends with him, yet you agreed to this overcomplicated deal to help him. Really, it was tricky to pinpoint why exactly you still dealt with his bullshit. Hell, the only thing you could seem to truthfully admit was that he wasn't so much of a bad person.

Sure, he had his whole phishing scam business. That wasn't excusable. But Derek always had his ways of showing his care for others, even if a few are unethical. He wasn't 100% malicious, nor a sociopath. The point is, even after all this, he cares about you and the people he loves. It's not an amazing quality, as it should be an inherent trait in a human being. But for Derek, it's a start.

Still, you were pissed as hell.

"Fine, fine!" He huffs, taking in your words. He should've felt bad for you, he should've felt guilty, but when it came to situations like that, he couldn't exactly read the severity or the implications of his own actions. "You can drink with me."

You sigh as Derek was still not understanding it, mostly because he had always been very dense. "No, I don't w—"

"Then what the fuck do you want?" He interjects, eyebrows furrowing. "You want to drink, you don't want to drink—"

"I want you to be responsible," you say harshly, watching his lips form quickly into a frown. "The whole reason, the whole fucking reason why we're here, why I'm here, in the first place, is because you wanted to prove to your mom that you're 'good now' and that you deserve every penny she gives you. And if you can't even follow your own plan, then this is all pointless. It's bullshit."

Finally, Derek consciously absorbs your reasoning. He was still stubborn about it, but he, for once, wasn't going to be a big asshole while knowing he was in the wrong. He hated how you were always right, and he especially hated whenever it felt impossible to argue with your logic.

"I won't drink too hard," he says in defeat, his volume lowering, "you can drink with me, no babysitting. We're on vacation, we can play it off that way. No hard drinking, no hard drugs in front of anyone, and I won't seem like that guy who took a belly shot off a stripper from weeks ago. Does that sound good?"

You didn't exactly want to scold him either. You weren't his parent, but he could be so childish at times that it's impossible to treat him like an adult. So now, with him making that compromise to accommodate to your wishes, it felt so artificial; unsatisfying when he gave in. Because all you felt like at this moment was, well... his parent.

"I'm just advising you," you exhale, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I'm not your mother. I'm just... I'm just saying, it's probably not good to go crazy tonight if you don't want to get caught by Wallace or your mother. But you know what?... Do whatever you want. I'm kind of exhausted, so I'll probably just shower and hit the sack."

Derek pursed his lips, observing your current beaten state before shrugging slightly with a sigh. "Alright. Uhh, I'll be at one of the bars, probably meet up with the rest of the guys." You simply just nodded at his words. "And Y/n... You know you're always welcome to join us. I'll pay for your tab, it's whatever."

You nod again, watching him get ready to leave the room.

Of course, there's been a lot of tension that the two of you never got to release on each other. Just always brushing it off with humor and playing it off as "playful banter." It was frustrating, though; you having to deal with Derek's recklessness, him having to deal with your responsible rationality. You were each other's anchors, which was what made your friendship worked—or at least you thought.

The problem was having to be in this role where you had to pretend to be his romantic partner. You hated the lack of authenticity. Even knowing you had to fake it, even knowing it was fake, you hated how this was a lie. But you didn't know what made you feel worse; having the public think you were dating your best friend or the fact that this kind of relationship would always be impossible that it can only ever exist as a lie.

No, that's ridiculous. You didn't see him that way, of course, you would never date him. It was just insulting to you, that's all. Dating you shouldn't be so painful to lie about. Dating you shouldn't feel so condescending. You would be a great partner, you thought. And that was definitely your problem with this entire plan. Nothing else.

***

As Derek left the cabin, leaving you to take a shower, you decided to explore the ship afterwards, just for the time being. As your footsteps would gently meet the lavish planks of the deck, you spotted a familiar figure looking out at the ocean in a reflective fashion.

"Mickey?" You ask, standing beside him after realizing who it was.

"Oh. Hey, Y/n," he smiled weakly at you, looking back at the faint horizon line where the sky met the sea.

"How are you feeling?" You inquire, considering what happened in the past between him and Derek.

"I'm fine," he shrugs, shaking his head dismissively. "Seriously, it's not a big deal."

"I know," you remark, placing your hands on the railing as you stood on the edge of the ship with him, "but... I don't know, you've been so quiet. It's just... The friend group's never been the same ever since."

Mickey ponders at your words, feeling a wave of guilt, and then exhaustion. "It's not like I, um, like him anymore," he mutters, barely looking at you. "It's just, uh... I guess I'm just... offended? Like... Would it have been that embarrassing to be seen with me, y'know? I mean, I know I'm not perfect and, hell, invest too much in crypto, but... it's not like he's any better than me. But he constantly acts like it, which is fucking frustrating."

You frown as you listen to his perspective, sighing to yourself. You couldn't disagree, he was a hundred percent right. "Derek's a dick," you huff, "honestly, it's surprising how all of us, at one point, are able to stand it. But... You know him. He's afraid of intimacy. Real intimacy. He's too afraid of getting too close to someone, too afraid of disappointing anyone. He thinks it's better to leave first so that he doesn't get hurt."

"So then I should get hurt?" Mickey scoffs, looking at you now.

"No, it's just... I'm not excusing his actions. What he did was completely idiotic. All I'm saying is... he's a moron. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Derek's just... not exactly the standard for dating or the arbiter of who's a good partner, so... you're not as unworthy as he might've made you feel."

He pursed his lips, face contorting in contemplation. "It's just... I feel so used. I know, I knew it was a fling and there was nothing else to it, but... One of the things he told me was that we couldn't... be anything more because he didn't want to be seen dating a friend of his, or someone who doesn't come from a rich family, and..."

That was your exact concern.

"He's only doing this because his money's at risk. That's all," you reply softly, "there is no other motivation bigger than losing his money for him to fake date one of his friends, let alone me. It has nothing to do with you. I promise you that."

Mickey shrugs, disregarding your words. Not maliciously, just... unconsciously. Then you realized it was much more of an internal struggle. He needed direct closure from Derek himself. "I'm gonna go get a drink," he nods at you kindly before walking away, "thanks for this..."

As you watched him leave, you frowned to yourself, feeling the exhaustion of today's events finally catch up with you. Hell, you needed a drink too.

Motivated to search for one, you turned your body around, facing away from the view of the ocean. Suddenly, your eyes trailed to the empty lounge chairs on the deck with their corresponding tables. A box of Capri-Sun was just sitting there, unattended.

Huh. Change of plans.

***

The alcohol burned his throat as Derek took a swift, smooth swig, hearing the laughter and shouts of his friends around him. This was probably his fifth damn shot ever since the group occupied a colorful bar in the cruise ship. Soft music played in the background as they all sat in a cushioned booth.

"I can't believe Y/n isn't here," Rachel huffed in disappointment, looking around the space as if you would pop out of thin air.

"Yeah, well they're a fuckin' lame-o," Derek slurs, swishing his empty shot glass around, "why are they so serious? They've never been so uptight before. It's so annoying."

"Maybe because you put them in a position where they have to be your partner?" Trevor raises an eyebrow, sneering playfully. "No offense, dude, but I feel like anyone would feel humiliated if they had to date you. Again, no offense."

Derek shot him a menacing glare while everyone else laughed at him.

"I stand by that," Connor cackles, elbowing his friend, "being romantically involved with the country's nepo-brat himself? Says a lot about your self-respect."

"Shut the fuck up." The said nepo-brat retorts as he feels his head throbbing. He wasn't actually upset, however, despite his enormous ego. Even as his friends weren't so far from the truth, he could easily handle their targeted jokes. Unlike a large sum of people, they surprisingly didn't befriend him for his money. After all, they had several things in common: being rich, being educated, and being grade-A assholes.

"Hey, Danforth," Trevor pipes, shoving him obnoxiously, "hot chick, three o'clock."

Derek looks in the direction he was told, only to see a tall, gorgeous woman around his age, sitting on a barstool while mingling with her friends. Of course he was never new to her level of beauty, as he's hooked up with all types of people in the past. So no, her looks weren't the reason why he felt so desperate now. Truthfully, it's been a long time since he's gotten some. Ever since this whole fake dating arrangement, Derek had never gotten the time or chance to get into bed with someone enticing, or just anyone at all. He was always a fan of pleasure, a big fan of one-night stands. And right now, he was craving one.

"Fuck," he groans, strongly motivated to push through the drunken migraine he was experiencing. "I gotta... go talk to her..."

"No, dude," Trevor huffs in amusement, trying not to burst out into laughter, "you're way too drunk, you'll scare her away."

Derek frowns, unappreciative of his friend's deliberation. "I swear to fuckin' god, Trev, if I don't bang at least one goddamn person on this boat—"

"Relax," he chuckles, massaging Derek's left shoulder, "I'm just saying, you should sober up first. Not too sober, obviously, but you need to be well aware enough to make smart choices. Like, I know you'd fuck up the whole you and Y/n thing and someone's gonna find out." Derek nods as he listens to half of the things he heard, eyelids growing heavy. "Go back to your room, Y/n can sober you up, and when you're ready, you can come back and screw this girl."

Derek's thoughts were hazy and ran slowly in his brain like traffic. He couldn't focus on any of the steps instructed to him, nor did he feel inclined to comply.

"Hey, you know something?" Rachel chimes in, "there's this one thing you always do whenever you're way too drunk to function. It's almost, like, a signal for when you should stop drinking for the night."

"Oh, yeah!" The rest of the group exclaimed in a discordant manner, all laughing at the inside joke Derek wasn't yet aware of.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows curiously. "What do you mean, what do I do?"

"Basically," Connor chuckles, "we always know you're far too gone whenever you propose doing a flip. You say that every fucking time you're too drunk. Not when you're buzzed, not when you're tipsy, but every single time you're absolutely hammered. I swear, every time you're, like, 'watch me do a flip' or some stupid shit like that."

"No way," Derek grumbles in refusal, not recalling any memory of him saying those things, "I don't do that." To be fair, however, he wouldn't even remember anything from the times he was too drunk. Therefore, he couldn't even be a credible source for his own experiences.

"Uh, yeah, you do! Every time!" Rachel cackles with a wide grin. "One time, we didn't stop you because you wanted to do a skateboard trick, and you absolutely ate cement, man. We even got that on video!"

Derek groans in embarrassment, feeling his migraine grow. "Whatever. One more drink," he grumbles before a knowing smirk appears on his lips. Everyone around him scowled, watching him down more liquor, even if he was far too deep in intoxication.

"Hold on, one more," he giggles shamelessly, as he quickly finished the previous drink.

***

"Derek?" You huff in surprise as you hear the door swing open, seeing your friend stumble back into the suite.

"H—" before he could even say one word, he rushed to the bathroom to throw up in the toilet. As he fell on his knees, his hands gripped the poor, porcelain seat of the toilet. You followed him immediately, placing your hand on his back in deep concern.

"What the hell?" You gasp, "dude, how much did you drink?"

Derek coughed out the last bits of vomit, staring straight at the toilet bowl and the floating chunks that left his stomach, furrowing his eyebrows. "Where does flushed shit go on a boat?" He mumbles distractedly, failing to answer you. "Does this go straight into the ocean? That's so messed up..."

You roll your eyes anyway, having been accustomed to his drunken mannerisms. This actually wasn't the first time you dealt with him like this, which probably made you harsher than anyone would've been in this scenario. "Why would you care about what's messed up or not? You literally run one of the most immoral businesses in the world."

"Yeah, well, doesn't look like you're doing anything to stop me," he scoffs bitterly, looking up at you in the eyes, "having said that, you're just as bad as me."

You hated whenever he brought this up to refute you. How you never bothered turning him in, never bothered telling anybody. But was that not your moral obligation as his best friend? Were you supposed to get him caught or keep his criminal life private? Why did you seem to prioritize him over the thousands of vulnerable people in this world?

"I'm fucking with you," he smirks humorously, while you knew damn well he wasn't kidding. "I need to... sober up. There's this... chick at the bar I wanna hook up with and I can't risk anything, so... just need to be more conscious or whatever bullshit Trevor said. Can you help me?"

Immediately, you disapproved of it. "That's a terrible idea," you retort. "If anyone finds out about this, you'd be deemed a cheater. I don't care who you sleep with, but the purpose of this trip—"

"I'll make sure she keeps it a secret. Pay her, even," he says, his squinted eyes pathetically trying to meet yours, "Come on. Help me."

Why did you even bother?

"Fine," you sigh, standing up from your knees to flush the toilet.

The two of you sat quietly on the edge of the bed as you handed Derek some water. He gulped a substantial amount after muttering a thank you.

"You know you can't truly 'sober up' that fast, right?" You scoff. "You'd have better luck sleeping it off."

"But I have her right where I want her. It's a filthy one-night stand, not a perfect meet cute," he grumbles before taking a second glance at you. A foil juice pouch was in your hands as you ripped off the attached straw. "What is that? Holy shit, is that a Capri-Sun?"

You nod, poking the pouch's hole with the thin yellow straw. "Yeah."

"Where did you get it?" He asked with a sudden deep interest.

"I just... found some lying on a table on the decks, it probably belonged to some kid," you shrug casually.

"You stole it?" He huffs in shock, not expecting you, of all people, to do such a thing.

"Derek, think about the kinds of people who can afford this cruise, okay? Upper class families. I'm sure whoever it is, they'd be okay with a few missing Capri-Suns," you scoff. "I can promise you this, dude, it's not as bad as stealing money from old people." Clearly, you couldn't help but constantly bring it up. You had always felt bitter about it the moment he told you of it.

Derek pouts before groaning, sinking down towards you to lay his head on your lap. You were only slightly taken aback, as this was a common habit of a drunk Derek. But it was always surprising to you nonetheless, since you never really knew when he was going to do that. "It's not like... I'm evil, you know?" He mumbles bashfully.

You raise an eyebrow at his quiet words, letting him continue.

"Of course it's fucking unconventional and immoral and whatever. But the thing is... I'll never make the amount of money my dad did when he was still alive. And you're telling me I have to follow in his footsteps? That's ridiculous, for me, at least," he huffs. "Especially for me, actually."

You didn't know what compelled you to do so, but your hand landed on his head, feeling his soft curls between your fingers until you could feel his scalp. You were nearly petting him. And you hated it because ultimately, it confirmed your sympathy for him. You genuinely almost felt sorry for him. So what else were you supposed to do anyways?

Derek felt his heart tighten at your touch. It was all too familiar. Too much like his mother's. But he didn't want to think about it like that, not when it was you. "Everyone used to expect so much of me, even before Dad died. Until they learned that all I could do is disappoint. Now everyone expects the very least of me, which, fair enough.

"Danforth Enterprises has been slow, especially ever since I took the position. And I'm supposed... I owe something to my mother. I owe everything to her. And if all that money could... get her to be president, get her to think I'm a successful CEO, then... that's just... That's why I do it. I just... was far too gone. I'm in too deep now."

Derek felt a sting every time you stroked his head. It was horrible, it was as if he was back in his mother's grasp, when everything was much simpler, when he wasn't seen as such a failure. When a damn drawing of the private helicopter in crayon was the best thing he ever did in her eyes. When did he become such a disappointment now?

"It's shitty," you sigh, your own voice grounding him. It was you. This was your hands, your touch, not his mother's. The same voice that belonged to the smile that greeted him in his freshman year at MIT. You. "That doesn't excuse it, and I'm sure you know that. But... You're being too hard on yourself, Derek. I'm sure your mom would've appreciated it if you genuinely worked hard and show that you earned that position. The extra flashy money obviously never worked."

He hated being scolded. Being told what to do. But somehow, your words were a comfort to him instead. Maybe he was this vulnerable because he was intoxicated, but that was rarely ever the case.

The one thing he knew right now, though, was that it was your hands, your fingers, your touch, your voice that embraced. Not his mother's. And for that reason, he loved it.

"Can I have some of your Capri-Sun?" He asks coyly.

"You shouldn't have any sugary drinks when you just threw up," you advise.

"You're just gatekeeping it," he grumbles, shutting his eyes.

A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you continue to scratch his scalp. Derek felt his heart rush at the sound.

"You have a nice laugh," he mutters.

You paused your hand movements on his head, stunned by his words. "What?"

"I like your laugh," he confesses quietly, opening his eyes and fidgeting with his fingers. "It's nice." Then, he nudged your body with his head as a plea to resume your touches.

You continued playing with his hair curiously. He's never acted like this around you. Ever. What changed?

"Th—"

"And I mean it," he adds, closing his eyes once again in contentment, "you're great. I'm sorry for getting you caught up in all of this. It was never fair to you."

You sigh softly at Derek's admission, feeling the curly strands of hair beneath your fingertips. "Thank you," you mutter appreciatively.

"I know I said I'd make it up to you with Fiji and money, but... that's probably not enough. Maybe I'll be a 'yes-man' for a week. I dunno. Something like that," he reckons.

You felt so warm right now. You weren't sure what it was. Either a metaphorical would-be-disaster of a feeling or the fact that Derek's head was resting on your lap, giving off heat. And while you could admit that you enjoyed the feeling, you realized you might've distracted him from his initial goal.

"Come on, buddy," you sigh, trying to prop him back up, removing his head from your lap, "I think by the time you walk back to the bar, you'd be all ready for her."

"Oh, right. Oh yeah," Derek huffs as he also remembers the whole point of coming back to the room so early, "yeah. She's, uh, she's so not ready for this." He chuckles weakly, gesturing towards himself.

You pat his shoulder in a friendly manner, establishing the extent of your relationship. Friendship, rather. "Give 'em hell," you smile softly, helping him get up before he walked by himself towards the door.

Once the door closed behind him, Derek stood in the hallway, feeling unsure of himself. He felt lost, and it wasn't just because of the alcohol. He began to retrace his steps, vaguely remembering the face of the woman at the bar. Yes, she was pretty, but... for some reason, he just didn't want to go through with it. Which was insanity, because Derek never passed the chance to screw an attractive person. It all just felt so different, all of a sudden. Like there was a consequence and that it mattered. Like it just wasn't right to do.

He wanted to go back into the room with you.

He didn't care about the woman at the bar.

He really didn't want to admit it, really, but all he wanted was to be held by you once more. Just for a little longer.

And there was only one excuse that could help him get away with it.

Your eyes shot up as you hear the door burst open once again, seeing Derek stumble more messily than before.

"Hey, wait. Before I go... watch me do a flip!" He smiles widely, purposefully slurring his words.

In your perspective, Derek definitely wasn't sobered up enough to meet with that girl he was talking about. Surely, the flip nonsense would signify he was way too drunk to function. It was something he's always done that you and your friends noticed. Finally, you concluded that he could barely sober up in time before the night ended, having to stay with him like this, which was exactly what he wanted you to think.

Rolling your eyes with a slight grin, you scoff. "Come here," you groan, watching him come back to you. You handed him a Capri-Sun, finally, as you two sipped the juice in contented silence. And soon enough, his head was back in your lap as your hands were back in his hair.

#I CALL THE STRAWBERRY KIWI CAPRI SUN #“watch me do a flip!” is so funny im losing my mind #id love to see derek eat concrete #but not really

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