#reader x derek danforth

you knew derek was desperate for it, the way he looked at you over his shoulder with an uncharacteristic pleading expression. he never begged in public, he wouldn't dare, derek danforth didn't beg. but for you? in private? oh he'd plead and beg and whine and moan all night long.

your fingers dance along the curve of his spine, admiring the arch along his back and you feel him shiver under your touch, breath hitching in his throat. "aw, is someone desperate?" you ask, tutting under your breath.

"please." is all derek says, exhaling shakily. that word sounds so good to hear sung from his lips.

leaning down to whisper in his ear, you purr, "hm? didn't quite hear you, my love."

the blonde groans, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself, "please, i want it. i-" there's a pause, as if he's unsure whether to admit the next line, "i need it."

and those words send heat straight to your core causing you to bite your lip. you loved it when he admitted that he needed something. this picture of him, arched and lubed and ready for you, is in such stark contrast to the danforth that his employees saw, that the rest of the world saw.

"then i know you'll take it like a good boy, won't you?" your words cause his dick to twitch, leaking small drops of precum. fuck, he wants you inside of him so bad he can barely take it.

a nod, "yeah," derek whines, "such a good boy, i swear."

pulling back from his ear, you straighten up and slowly press the tip of the strap-on against his begging, slick entrance. instantly he grips the sheets and lets out a quivering moan. wow, he really was desperate for it, wasn't he? slowly, you guide the tip along his entrance, playing with your food, remembering the way your fingers felt in there stretching him out just a few minutes prior.

"fuck," he gasps as the strap dances past his entrance once more, "just fucking put it in already."

you pull back completely and his head turns to you in horror. "giving me attitude?"

"no." he almost immediately replies.

"that's what i thought." you press your hand against his lower back and return the strap to its position, gliding across his opening. derek melts against the sheets in a mix of pleasure and frustration, letting out a soft whine.

"there. . . you just need to learn some patience, don't you?" your voice stings in his ears like he wants to fight back - but it feels too good for him to even think about cussing you out right now. "unless you just want my fingers again, that it?"

derek's hole flutters just thinking of your fingers inside of him, but he needed more, way more, they wouldn't cut it. "no, want your strap." is all he says, biting his tongue.

"man of so little words today, huh?" you tease.

clenching his jaw, derek speaks up, "oh my fucking god please, i need it so fucking bad will you please just fucking put it in please." his words almost come out in a song, trying his best to sound nice but there's still that classic derek whiney undertone.

and with that, you slide in - just a little at first and derek goes wild. his arch becomes more pronounced and his mouth is stuck half open, small gasps escaping. "was that what you wanted?" you spoke in a low tone, continuing knowing that he wouldn't have the capacity to answer, "do you like that? like the way im stretching you out?"

sure enough, derek didn't answer, rendered silent for the first time in his life or. . . well, you took pride in the fact that you were the only one able to shut him the fuck up. stuffing him full of your strap always seemed to do the job.

still inching in excruciatingly slowly, derek attempts to push back against you in order to push you further in. "no." you command, pulling away as he pushes back, swiftly causing him to stop. "bad boy." god, it feels almost too good being the boss of him.

"fuck me please," he whimpers, face flat against the sheets with his ass up for you, letting you take him how you please. "i just want to be fucked, want you to fuck me."

"now what did i say about patience?" you hum, gradually beginning to fill him up, "you know i'll fuck you soon, baby, you just need patience."

it takes everything within him not to hit back at you with an insult, lash out to get what he wants. . . but he knows that's not how he gets what he wants with you. he needs to play your game, be a good boy, be obedient. doesn't make it easy, though. fucking hell, you never made anything easy for him.

suddenly, you've bottomed out inside him and he moans in celebration, finally full of you. his hole pulsed around you, you could even feel it from your hips making contact with his ass. your hands find his cheeks and you squeeze, letting out a moan of your own. this was your favourite part of his body, you thought, digging your nails in a little to the flesh.

and derek likes this, sucking in air through his teeth. he always liked pain, usually being the one to give it, so it felt extra pleasurable when you were the one holding a whip, metaphorically and physically speaking, (just not tonight. . . or, yet.)

he turns his head towards you, his brow sweating, eyes pleading, mouth open, his curls coming undone across his forehead - the look on his face could get you high. and you're overcome with lust. in one swift motion, you pull out and slam back into him with an obscene wet 'smack' filling the room.

derek almost snaps in half with the way he reacts to this, arching his back and covering his mouth to stop the high-pitched moan that slips from his sweet lips. your hand reaches down to grip his wrist, pulling his hand from his mouth to hear him moan as you begin thrusting slowly, slightly, only easing in and out a tiny bit. with his wrist in your hand, you pull it behind his back, pressing it there with another hand on his stupidly tiny waist.

his other hand grips his gucci bedsheets, little moans coming with every thrust, dick rock hard brushing against the sheets with every movement from you.

"this is what you wanted, isn't it?" you coo, biting your lip as you begin to pull out more with each thrust, making it hard and rough as he's thrown into the bed each time.

"fuck yes." derek cries out, squeezing his eyes shut, "harder."

"hm? speak up doll."

"harder!" he yells louder, squirming under you.

and you give him what he wants, slow, deep thrusts into his tight little hole. and the sounds from him. . . fuck, the sounds from him. they fill the room like a melody causing a gentle flush to fall on your cheeks. this was the one time derek sounded pleasant - when your strap was loaded deep inside him and he was too fucking fucked out to even think about complaining anymore.

"yeah, can't talk now huh?" you grin, "my strap feel that good? you like the way i fuck you?" but you know he can't answer, responding in only whines and pathetic moans. you continue anyway, knowing he gets off on being spoken to like this. "fucked by my fingers, then by my strap, what an obedient boy you are for me, derek."

god, his eyes are rolling back, cock begging for release. you can feel he's close by the way he's writhing, angling his hips to try and get you impossibly deep. now you really begin thrusting, all the way out and then in, pumping him full over and over, faster and faster. his whimpers increase in pitch and he begins screaming, "please, please, please!" without knowing what he's begging for.

"please what?" your eyebrow arches as the smirk is evident through your words.

a low groan of annoyance leaves dereks lips and he takes a deep breath to channel his words, "m' gonna cum. . . oh fuck baby please, don't stop." it's tempting, to tease him for longer and cease his pleasure - you had complete control over him.

but hearing him moan was too fucking good to stop now.

higher and higher, his moans climb up and up as his hole begins to pulse around you. this earns a moan from you too as you watch in awe as he begins to come undone beneath you.

"cum." you demand in that strong tone of yours, and that's exactly what danforth does the second the word leaves your lips.

ropes of cum spray from his dick onto the sheets, twitching and spraying his seed seemingly endlessly as his orgasm ripples through his core. he's a quivering, panting, pleading mess as he calls out your name between wails of ecstasy. and you don't let up, those thrusts are coming in harder and faster than ever before. he's crossed the threshold of being overwhelmed and overstimulated. but it feels too good to stop.

it's a good thing too that you don't plan on stopping. beads of sweat have formed on your forehead and your abs are burning from the workout, but you'd do anything to see derek cum like this.

tears prick at the corner of his eyes and roll down his cheeks from the pleasure, it's too much, it's so much. the feeling of the strap pounding him over and over, the way you're teasing him through it and the orgasm riddling him speechless - it's a perfect combination. you feel resistance as you push in now, he's clenching so hard. cute.

eventually, you slow your relentless thrusting, going back to a slow pace to ease up. derek lets out a moan of relief, turning his head to the side to look at you with that fucked out expression, tongue practically hanging out his mouth.

"aw, you've ruined your sheets baby." you grin, kneading the skin at his waist.

"f-fuck off." he stutters back, still trying to regain composure after all the stars in his eyes.

that causes you to grin further, raising an eyebrow, "oh? are you giving me attitude again?"

he thinks about it for a moment, breath catching up to him, "fuck you." there's a smirk playing at the edge of his lips like he's challenging you.

oh.

oh.

you like that.

leaving the soft skin of his waist, your hand snakes up his back to his hair to grip it tightly, pulling his head back. "sounds like you want to be taught a lesson, derek, is that what you want?"

the sensation had him reeling, sending another jolt to his cock that peaks up in interest once more. gritting his teeth, he takes a second to answer, "fuck. you." he repeats with that signature smirk.

you throw his head down and grip his hips with intention, tightly, leaving marks. "i'm gonna fuck you until the only thing you can think about is my strap. you're gonna be so fucking needy for it, more than you already are." you bring a hand up to smack his ass, he gasps in response.

"you can try." derek bites back.

you approach the en-suite, running your hands across the wooden frame of the door as you peer inside. that's when you find him. your shoulders dip when you see the small bundle of hair in the sink, eyes drifting up to meet his in the mirror. you've never seen him trim his own hair before, he'd insist on only the best salons, the best hairdressers, only ever the best.

but now, seeing him in his bathroom, blonde curls delicately falling onto the white porcelain. . . you can't help but feel like you're looking at the shell of a man you once knew.

he's wearing gloves, the bleach is already mixed, you can see his phone on the edge of the sink with what looks like some sort of tutorial playing.

he's attempting to bleach his own hair.

you walk over, noting the way his gaze flits from you back down to the task at hand like he doesn't care you're seeing him this way. . . except he does. this wasn't what you signed up for, he knew that. the endless stream of gifts stopped the moment his bank accounts were frozen, and though you say you don't care, he doesn't believe you. he wants to spoil you, to drown you in luxury like he always did.

because, after all, who is derek danforth without the fortune? without the penthouse? without the successful multi-billion dollar enterprise? without the yacht or the entourage?

who is he, but just another successful man who has fallen from grace? he should have known he was doomed to this path the moment he was born.

derek's not sure he knows who he is anymore, the one constant in his life being you. and man, is he grateful. you're the first thing he searches for in the morning when his eyes flutter open in the early hours, they find you and for a moment, he savours the feeling that things might just be alright - even if only for the period of time that he holds you.

and here you are again, approaching him from behind. you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his bare back as you relish in the close contact. you feel him exhale deeply, a gloved hand coming down to steady himself at the sink and the other finds yours on his stomach.

he looks at himself in the mirror, meeting his own gaze. derek can feel tears coming as he glares down a man he hardly recognises, but he wills the tears to stay at bay. if he starts, he doesn't know if he can stop.

you see him like this, yet you stay. you see him desperately trying to retain some semblance of the identity he came to wear like a freshly pressed suit, slipping through his fingers. . . but you're there to gently take his hand in yours, guide them away from clawing at the walls to escape the hole he's put himself in.

you're there to love him, to acknowledge his mistakes and to let him own up to the consequences of his foolish actions. you'll be there to help put him back together again, in whatever way that might be, however he comes out the other end of this.

". . . thanks," he mumbles, voice shaky and unsure, like he wasn't quite ready to talk but felt it was important you heard it.

you smile, and he feels it against the smooth freckled skin of his back. "anytime," a beat, "let me help?"

derek feels you remove yourself from the embrace and carefully begin to remove his gloves to put them on your own hands. he watches you as you gently strip them from him, he notes the tenderness in your actions.

"i love you," he half whispers in a tone that sounds both apologetic and deeply sincere, like he's sorry you love him. his expression breaks your heart when you pull your attention from the gloves, watching as his eyes trace over your features, a frown pulling at his lips.

it doesn't matter to you if he has the money, if he has the look, the blonde curls or the house. what matters is the way he looks into your eyes as if you're everything he's ever dreamed of, no amount of money or gifts can ever give you the same feeling that does.

you smile softly, "i love you too, babe." you say, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to you.

and he smiles, closing his eyes as your hand cups his cheek in a comforting gesture, one to let him know that you're here and you're not going anywhere. you couldn't. because you love him - you love the man you fell in love with, not the image he projects, not the one he presents to the world.

it wasn’t like he never experienced stress. in reality derek was more stressed than he would ever let on. running his business wasn’t easy despite what people would say. a nepo baby who never had to want for anything. legitimacy and morals aside, derek worked his ass off. danforth enterprises was what it was today because of him. not anyone else. not his mother. and certainly not his father.

so it was no surprise that his nightmare that night rattled him.

from the get go, he felt a swirling sense of paranoia invade its way around his skull like a ghost as he slips into the nightmare. it seeps through every crack, every crevice it can worm its way into. that same fear spread down his limbs and across his back, making his shoulders grow tense.

this didn’t feel like work stress, it felt worse. it felt more intense. it felt more threatening. more than just mindless work shit was on his mind. why couldn’t he place it?

derek felt cornered, sitting in his mothers office. his eyes dart between the windows and the doors. it felt as though the walls were closing in, threatening to crush him. he shrinks back into the chair, his hand coming up to pick at the side of his face - a habit his mother loathed and never kept quiet about.

but mom wasn’t here. no one was. it was just derek, alone.

his phone buzzes and he jumps in his seat, frightening him more than it should. shakily, his hand reaches out to pick it up, holding it so tightly that he might snap it in half if he’s not careful.

there’s breathing on the other end, and that causes his back to straighten. “who the fuck is that?” he spits out, feeling his breathing pick up pace.

the other line stays eerily quiet and this freaks him out more. fuck. were they already nearby? his eyes dart towards the windows again, expecting to see a figure only to be greeted with. . . absolutely nothing. an impending sense of doom spurs in his mind, unsure of where to go to alleviate it. he felt trapped, cornered. and derek didn’t like that. he didn’t enjoy feeling like a prey animal, when all his life he always presented as predator.

“i said who the fuck is that?!” he calls out again, gripping the arm of the chair.

still nothing on the other end. until.

“i’m coming.” is all the voice says.

derek holds back a gasp, the voice confirming his fears.

he swallows hard and prays his voice not to shake, “fuck off. you can fucking try, bitch.” derek growls, but it’s clear to anyone who knows him just how much he’s rattled. before the other person can reply, he presses the disconnect button and throws his phone across the room.

breath escaping him, he pants, raking his fingers through his hair.

no one would let anything happen to him, right? there was no way. he was too important. there were so many people he could pay to protect his life. he could hear his fathers words ringing in his ears, ‘i told you so.’. derek lets out a whine and covers his ears.

no, no, no. this wasn’t happening. this absolutely fucking wasn’t happening right now.

every creek within the old walls had him jumping, completely on edge. his heart races away from him. he’s seconds away from calling for his mom, hands aching to grip onto something real, something that could ground him. he feels pathetic for wanting his mother, but something deep inside him tells him that not even she could make him feel better.

and he’s glad no one else can see him like this. he’d never act this way in front of anyone. derek wasn’t known for his calm and collected manner, but he tried to never show weakness in the form of fear. he kept it bottled up, hidden away until he could get his hands on something that made him feel at ease, usually in the form of that sweet white powder he loved so much.

so now, completely alone, he comes undone. he can feel tears form in his eyes as he grits his teeth. derek wasn’t ready to die. he had his whole life to live. who’d provide for his mom when he was gone? no one else could do the job like him. they’d just fuck it up. she’d lose her position and it’d be all their fault.

derek didn’t want to die. he couldn’t. silently he begs for more time.

until he’s ripped from his sleep with a gasp. derek grips the sheets as he sits up, gasping for breath over and over. for a few seconds, it feels like he’s still in that office. but after a few blinks, his surroundings come back to him. he’s home.

but it doesn’t feel the same. it doesn’t feel safe. he doesn’t feel so untouchable now. he almost feels. . . vulnerable.

he grabs at the bedsheets beside him and realises that no ones there. he suddenly regrets sleeping alone. he releases shaky breaths from his nose and reluctantly lays back down. gathering the duvet against him, he wraps himself tightly within it and lays with his back against the headboard, eyes scanning the room.

his bedroom suddenly felt too big. his eyes move between each object as if looking for any form of a threat. did the curtain just move? fuck. he was losing it.

the digital clock on his nightstand blinks: 3:21am. it was a long way to go till morning. and derek couldn’t bring himself to move.

instead, he sat like this until the sun crept into his bedroom, bringing a small sense of safety. but that feeling of unease stayed in his mind, pricking him whenever he got too comfortable. no time to relax, always on high alert.

he realises he isn't as untouchable as he once thought. and that thought. . . fucking terrifies him.

derek wasn’t ready to die.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

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