g0ry0re0

[g0ry0re0]

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

[g0ry0re0]

⊹₊｡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.

[g0ry0re0]

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | More parts coming soon

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.

[g0ry0re0]

"playing cards" Masterlist

A Derek Danforth x GN!Reader Mini-series

Summary: When his mother hosts a party and expects him to bring a proper date, Derek is obligated to comply. Not wanting to disappoint her any further (mainly driven by the rumor of her cutting him off), Derek recruits his best friend to pose as his fake partner. However, the two have to keep up this lie when a series of constant, luxurious events are held, causing several shenanigans to ensue.

Content: fake dating trope, gender-neutral reader, use of Y/n, comedy/attempt at humor, friends to lovers, (Derek's) mommy issues, drinking, angst, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

More chapters coming soon!

Please support the version on AO3 as well! You don't need an account to leave kudos <3 Each chapter has a unique title as well :) -> Playing Cards on AO3

Hello friends! To those who are new, welcome! To everyone who has been keeping up with the series, I've finally created a masterlist so that it's easier to access each chapter in one spot :)

Thank you guys so much for your endless support <3 I am so excited to continue this series with you all!

<3 Special thanks to Skye, Two, Hayley, and Moni for inspiring and supporting me always.

[g0ry0re0]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[g0ry0re0]

youll be able to find books and movies and music that change your life until the day you die. that's pretty good

[g0ry0re0]

FNAF movie Mike and Vanessa swapped vibes,,

[g0ry0re0]

FNAF 2 movie could cook with shadow Freddy,,

[g0ry0re0]

[g0ry0re0]

It's not the best, but it's good so far in the end! <3

I wanna post my arts in this new account, so it will be a fresh start! and here's an Art of Billy from Burn (2019) i tried with the color linearts- Also, Billy's so hot I-

[g0ry0re0]

man im high af thought house was talkin to a mini wilson

[g0ry0re0]

My favorite sex position is any of them. I’m just glad to be involved

[g0ry0re0]

I love Abby's longer hair, I love Vanessa's hair being down, but mike?

Fuck you and your short ass haircut bro 💔🥀

[g0ry0re0]

THE FNAF 2 MOVIE TRAILER IF IT WAS GOOD!!

[g0ry0re0]

[g0ry0re0]

WAAAAA I love this so much holden!!!! The fandom is being fed TODAY

The banter was so good I literally felt like I was talking to my best friend the entire time and I'm so excited to see what else these idiots get up to!!!!

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | More parts coming soon

Summary: You and Derek discuss a few things as you pack for the trip. Once you board the boat, you're met with businessmen, your friend group, and a rather glum Mickey Garnett. The piled up lies about your fake relationship get worse as Derek tries to impress the investors.

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: gender-neutral reader, swearing, fake dating, pop culture references, playful (but more aggressive) banter

Ao3 Link

(A/n: I didn't think I'd continue this, but here we are! Thank you for your nonstop love and support! Hope you enjoy)

-

As you packed your bags for the upcoming three-day trip, Derek was lounging in your penthouse. You'd registered that if it weren't for your job at Danforth Enterprises and the convenient role as a millionaire that your best friend burdened, you probably wouldn't have possessed this extravagant home. The interior was painted a soft cloud white, which framed the large windows occupying one wall of your bedroom. Your fake boyfriend slouched lazily on your bed, watching the way you folded your clothes and organized them inside of your luggage. Obviously, you weren't as wealthy as him, so you didn't have anyone else to do that task for you.

“Hey, so,” you began as you picked out a shirt from your closet, slipping it off the hanger, “you’re inviting, like, all of our friends?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods while taking an instinctive hit from his vape.

“Like… the whole friend group?” You ask for clarification, raising an eyebrow as you eyed his rather vacant state.

“Psh, yeah, obviously,” he replies with a slight scoff, “That’s what I always do. Why?”

“Yeah, but like… it’s different,” you say with a mere hesitance.

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, looking directly at you. “Wh—How?”

“Uh? This whole event is meant for us to make you look like a good, renewed person by the two of us being a public couple and everything. It’s gonna be awkward for the rest of the group, no?” You ask with uncertainty, folding the shirt and placing it neatly in your luggage.

“Pfftt, we can always just tell them we’re faking it,” he huffed, waving his hand in dismissal, "they'll go along with it, they're all fuckin' chronic liars."

Sighing, you crossed your arms. “Right,” you reply briefly, moving back to your closet to grab another shirt. With your back to him, you add, “But like… Mickey.”

Derek scoffed, almost in a mocking tone. “Yeah, what about him?”

“I mean—come on!” You began in a slight outburst, “You two had this weird… like, situationshi—”

“Shit-show,” he interjected harshly, “it was just occasional hooking up, nothing more.”

“Well… He didn’t think of it as that, did he? Christ, the way you two are with each other now is just so fucking awkward! You boss him around whenever you can, and now he’s gonna see the two of us act like a happy, healthy couple in public? That’ll kill him!”

Derek rolled his eyes, unaffected by your assumption. “Oh, please, Y/n, it wasn’t even a huge thing, he’s not gonna be so broken up about it. Plus, we’d be telling our friends, including him, that this is all an act. We're not, like, leaving him in the dark.”

“That’s not the point,” you argued, throwing a folded shirt in your luggage, “the point is, that you were so adamant on keeping that fling private because of your reputation; you didn’t want people to see you romantically involved with an employee of yours. And now, you’re here, willing to fake a relationship with an employee—me—so then, he’s gonna think that the problem wasn’t the publicity of it all, but himself all along. You don't think that'd crush him?”

Derek seemed to ponder on your words, and for a tiny second, it was like you could read the slightest expression of guilt in his softened eyes. Before he shook his head dismissively, at least. “No,” he scoffs, “he’s not that sensitive. I bet he couldn’t give a flying fuck about this. Also—why do you care so much anyways? You're not, like, his best friend or anything.”

You sighed with exasperation, continuing to pack your luggage. “Yeah, but... both of you guys are, at the very least, my friends. And ever since that weird... fallout, it’s just been tense and awkward between you two. Affecting the entire friend group as well. I hate that.”

As a result of your words, his train of thought pauses, rather reflecting on the past interactions that followed the ending of his and Garnett’s fling. For instance, the two couldn’t stand to be alone together; if there was someone leaving to use the restroom at a club, one of the two would join them so that he wouldn’t be stuck with the other.

As Derek thought of a way to respond to your explanation, his eyes had fell onto the item you threw in your bag instead.

“Is that fucking Uno?”

Your eyes looked up at him, taken aback by his rather unprecedented, sharp reaction. “Yes...”

“Why would—“

“It’s an old people cruise,” you remark bluntly with a heavy sigh, “Boredom is inherent, regardless of all the flashy cruise shit. Look, I’d rather be locked up in a cabin playing Uno with Trevor rather than giving your mom constant updates, trying to convince her how much your ass has ‘changed’.” You paused, eyes flickering on the floor then back to Derek's in realization. “Shit, no offense, but if your mother's dumb enough to believe that, then she probably shouldn’t even be president.”

“Y/n!” He hissed, eyes widening at your brutal statement.

“It’s the truth!” You huff.

Derek scratched his chin, actually considering your argument. “Well, the stupidity of political leaders is pretty much inevitable. At this point, it feels as mandatory as the age requirement.”

"I know, right?" You agree with a low chuckle, "like, might as well add 'must have an IQ score lower than 80' to the Constitution."

He snickered quietly at your joke, and at that point, he couldn't even be mad at what you had said before. "Yeah, but anyways, even if that was right, that my mom would be stupid enough to believe I've changed—which it isn't because it's not unbelievable—she'd still be fit as president. There's definitely been more stupid leaders in the world than her... Also, is it really that hard to believe that I could change?"

You looked at him as if he had just told you that the sky isn't blue. "Yes," you say flat out.

Derek would’ve been offended, but you weren’t wrong at all. In fact, he was sort of proud of himself already. Proud of his party life, his arrogance, his way with people. The only problem was that he needed his mom to be proud of him too.

"Also, about the whole Uno thing," he began, taking a drag from his pen, “Most couples stick with each other all the time, especially on luxury vacations like these. So, you actually have to be seen with me, like, fucking always. While also, yeah, being seen by those businessmen and posting our 'relationship' online. Honestly, I don't think you'd have time for yourself in your cabin at all.”

You groaned in annoyance, hating every setback for any chance of self-indulgence on this godforsaken trip. “Fake dating, break up, then Fiji,” you remind yourself, trying to look forward to the things Derek promised you in return for your cooperation. You found yourself repeating the phrase in a mutter as a form of consolation, "break up then Fiji, break up then Fiji..." Derek thought you were being too overdramatic.

***

You looked at the large private jet in front of you as you stood beside Derek.

"Huh. I forgot you had that," you shrug casually. "Now I get why you're so desperate to not get cut off."

The day of the trip had came, and you were getting ready to go to Miami, which was the location of the cruise port. The flight there wasn't hell, but it wasn't so great either; it wasn't your first time in this private jet, after all. You just went over your fake backstory with Derek again, napped, and played Wordle. Derek had cheated, by the way. It was "raise," dumbass.

When you landed and reached the terminals by the sea, you were finally boarding the cruise ship with Derek, gazing at the astonishing structure of the boat. It wasn't as huge as most cruises, as it was a more exclusive experience, but it was still a lovely sight nonetheless.

"It's nice, really nice, I can't complain about that," you remark, attention moving from the boat to the man beside you, "but goddamn, I still cannot believe you talked me into this."

Derek chuckles pretentiously. "Well, that's why I'm CEO of Danforth Enterprises, I'm great at negoti—"

"You're the CEO because of nepotism."

"...Fuck off," he groaned.

You then saw a group of men boarding the ship, noticing Derek's sudden physical reaction to it: wide eyes, cut off breath. "What? Who are they?" You ask, observing them curiously. Whoever they were, they certainly caught Derek's attention. They all carried themselves with confidence, yet so pompously as well, which gave you the answer as to why he was so interested in them. They reminded him of himself.

"They're who my mom was talking about, the potential investors," he says plainly, "more funding, more money for me, more money for you."

You glanced at them again, this time with a grimace towards the clique of fat cats. "Yeah, well, that guy looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy, the one on his right looks like an actual registered sex offender, and the one on the left looks like a Walmart Steve Buscemi."

Derek's eyes narrowed, carefully examining the looks of each elderly capitalist. "Huh. Wait, holy shit, I actually see it..." he says. "Come on." He attempts to grab your arm to walk you both towards them, in which you pushed his hand away with a disgusted grunt.

"Ew, don't do that—" You hiss at his sudden gesture, aggressively wiping off 'his germs' from your arm. "What are we doing?"

"I'm going to introduce myself to the investors," he says, pointing at them with his eyes. "You'd make me look good, help me out."

You frowned, and knowing the whole deal, you reminded yourself of the fake break up and Fiji once again to soothe your nerves. Then, with an eye roll and a defeated huff, you hooked your arm with his. Derek smirked and added, "Come on, you can ask 'Steve Buscemi' what it was like filming Grown Ups."

A soft chuckle escaped from your lips, admiring how he had went along with your stupid joke about the men's awful appearances.

"Hey, you must be Mr. Danforth, the man of the hour," the shorter Pillsbury dough-man grins with a pompous laugh, shaking his hand. His cold blue eyes trailed towards you, then down to Derek's grip on your arm. "And you are?"

"Oh, uh," you glance from your best friend to the businessman, "My name is Y/n, I'm, uh... I'm Derek's partner."

All three of the men huffed in surprise, definitely not expecting the two of you to be couple. Rightfully so, because you weren't even one in the first place.

"Seriously?" The movie star lookalike spoke up, raising an eyebrow with amusement. "Now that's a story I'd like to hear." The other men agreed with nods and deep, haughty chuckles.

"Well," Derek began with his usual charm, "I knew them ever since college, actually. We work together now at my company and just recently, we put the pieces together, and boom, just sort of found out how compatible we are."

"Good for you two," the last guy, the creep, flashes a smile, "you know, I had that similar story of how I met my girlfriend." Naturally, you assumed that the college part was the one thing he related to, and that his old ass met her when she was a freshman or something. Then he looked at you, as if he could read your uncouth mind and insults. "You don't talk much, do you?

Your eyebrows furrowed, alarmed by the sudden attention on you. "Actually, I—"

"They're very shy," Derek snickered with a fake, mocking pout. "See, I was the only one to really get Y/n out of their shell."

You were not shy.

What kind of bullshit story was this?

However, being obligated to go along with it, you laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, definitely. I was... always the introvert."

"Yeah," he huffs, continuing this horrendous plot line, "kinda boring at the start too. Had trouble making friends."

"Oh, I see," Pillsbury said with an impressed tone. Huh, you never actually learned any of their names, it seems. "That's a mighty excellent thing for you to do, helping them sorta navigate their way into the social world. And it's a brutal world. I bet you were like their savior in those early years, huh?"

"Precisely," Derek smirks proudly.

Oh, you see how it is.

"I saved him too, you know," you butt in abruptly, Derek giving you a look of confusion. "He always had trouble with, uh... hygiene! Never knew how to take care of himself, you know, barely ever showered and smelled like a dumpster fire, but lucky for him, I introduced him to the wonderful world of... soap."

Obviously, that was untrue. Much like Derek's dumb lie about you.

And having to go along with it as well, he let out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Yup. That was me in college. Stinky and... unapproachable most of the time."

"Yeah. It was a surprise how much he's grown throughout all these years, right?" You grin, looking at the invested faces of, well, the investors. They seemed to eat up whatever bullshit you two were burning on the stove.

"Speaking of growing," Derek began more aggressively, "it was actually me who taught this one about money and finances. They were so clueless, they didn't even know how taxes worked, can you believe it? It was so adorable, isn't that right, babe?"

"Yes," you grit your teeth fiercely. "Which actually came a lot in handy when you were spending too much money on Viagra."

The men raised an eyebrow at your statement as Derek's head jerked towards your direction.

"Yeah..." you frown sympathetically, "Derek used to have a constant little problem down there, so... stocked up on Viagra like a madman. And because he taught me about everything there is to know about money, compared to how oblivious I was before I met him, I got him to stop using up all his money for it and... learn how to accept himself." You look at Derek with a snarky grin, seeing him taken aback by his mortified expression.

"Such an important lesson," he sighs sarcastically, "much like their old, questionable diet and tendency to clog the toilet every chance they'd get. And get this, the smell—"

"Chumbawamba," you blurt out the code word that the two of you came up with, in order to put an end to the passive aggressive lying. The three businessmen, who had constantly looked back and forth between you and Derek, finally landed on you in confusion.

"Oh, they're just talking about the concert we saw together, and my story must've reminded them about that terrible time in the porta-potty in which they—"

"Oh, you!" You smacked his ass to mock a playful couple interaction in a cheerful voice, covering up your actual resentment for him.

He flinches, sucking the pain through his teeth with a similar plastic grin. "Oh, you!" He says back, hitting your ass as well, making you hiss and conceal it quickly with a laugh.

Obviously, none of the wannabe robber barons saw that as suspicious. Rather funny, sweet, and natural, actually. "Seems like you guys are in it for the long run," the balding A-lister said. "Well, I hope you two have a good time together on this cruise. Lovely opportunities for romance here."

"Yeah," Poppin' Fresh agrees. Jesus Christ, you had to learn their actual names. "And in the meantime, you know, we can sit down and talk business."

"Yeah. Yeah, sounds good," Derek nods, still trying to brush off the embarrassment and irritation from earlier. "I'm looking forward to it."

Finally, as the three walk away, you let out a sigh of relief before punching Derek's arm. "What the hell was that? Why were you making me look bad in front of them?"

"You wouldn't get it," he insists, rubbing the area on his arm that you socked, "I would never be seen in a relationship. But since I am to these guys, I had to prove to them that I was the one in control between us, that I was the dominant one."

You roll your eyes at his unabashed arrogance. "Oh please, you're 5'5, the only thing you'd be dominant in is fuckin' limbo."

"5'7," Derek coughed quietly. "And I was just trying to make myself look good, I do represent my company, you know. But then you had to ruin it and say my fucking dick doesn't work and I smell bad, which, isn't true because I've always had much more expensive products than you ever did."

"What I did was stand up for myself. No way in hell I'm supposed to be the shy, stupid partner while you mansplain everything, fucking dickwad," you grumble. It was one thing to be his best friend, you thought, but another to have to be his significant other.

"Fine, fine. I won't... make you look bad anymore. Just... help make me look good, okay? That's the point of all this," he huffs.

You groaned in exhaustion, shaking your head. "Yeah. Fine. Truce."

As more people began to board the boat, you finally see you and Derek's friend group. Most of you had met either during college years, Derek's company, or just through parties. You'd invited almost the entirety of the group, which consisted of Mickey, Trevor, Connor, and Rachel. They were already notified about the whole fake arrangement beforehand, so they were all prepared to see the two of you act like a real couple.

The usual greet by hugging and laughing had occurred, bags being taken to cabins by the ship employees as you contributed in the small talk and brief catching up as well. A few of them mocked Derek's plan and joked about how insufferable it'd be to actually date him. While all this cheerfulness went on, you couldn't help but switch your focus to Mickey, as he seemed rather hesitant to speak up to Derek, finding comfort in his other friends. You were probably going to bring it up when you two would be alone.

"Hey, where's Clair?" Derek asks, looking around the dock for your other expected friend.

"Oh, they couldn't make it," Connor says, shaking his head, "business trip."

"Aw, that sucks," you huff, crossing your arms with a frown.

Trevor butt in with a smirk. "So, how're you guys gonna do this? First of all, Derek's not really the relationship type."

"I don't know, but we were already able to convince Jessica, then a couple of investors," you sigh, feeling the debilitation of the day catch up with you. "Just a few more days, and then we get to stage a break up. Then Derek owes me cash and a fully covered trip to Fiji."

"Lucky," Rachel frowns playfully, "ugh, I wanna go to Fiji. Why wasn't I asked to be his fake date?"

"Rachel, you're a lesbian, you wouldn't be able to take their place either way," Connor snickered.

"But it's all pretend, isn't it?" She argues with a chuckle, "I was able to do that for at least, like, eighteen years." As much as she joked about how much she would rather get a free trip to Fiji, you were pretty sure she didn't want to be seen in a relationship with any man, even if it was fake, let alone with Derek.

"I can't believe you guys have to put up this façade for the entire time you're here," Trevor huffs. "Like, are you sure you can handle this?"

"Oh please, it's nothing too complicated. All we have to do is pretend we're dating, and you guys can back up our story as well," Derek replies with a carefree energy to him. "Then we stage a break up on good terms and we can all forget this ever happened."

***

You and Derek made it to your suite, both with a large frown on your faces.

"Why is there just one bed?" You huff.

"Duh, my mom set this whole thing up, if we're a couple then we'd—"

"I'll take the couch," you cut him off, referring to the sofa across the mattress, separated by a small table. The room was quite massive, covered in dirty blonde walls with rich brown carpeting. It was filled to the brink with intricate patterns, curtains, and delightful amenities that felt too exquisite, even for you. You had to admit, you never experienced this much luxury before. Sure, being best friends with a millionaire had its perks, but being the fake partner of one? You said it yourself: a whole different breed.

After Derek's body flopped flat onto the mattress, his head popped up to look at you with a proposal.

"Hey, you know what? We should get drunk."

[g0ry0re0]

REJOYCE

mike is bald but its ok oh no i wanna write for him again