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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Treat

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You bake one of your favourite fall treats for your coworkers but one of them takes it to mean more than it does.

Characters: Tony Stark

Note: this is the fourth of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The leaves feel more vibrant as you walk along the autumnal street. Clusters sit at the base of street poles and the brisk wind nips at your cheek and nose. You tuck your chin into your woolly scarf and hug the container of treats closer.

You stifle a yawn. Your exhaustion is well worth the output. You spent most of the night baking. It’s a hobby for you and now that you have your first steady job, you have the funds and the space to do it. And as the newbie in the office, it felt right to add a bit of warmth to the office culture.

To be honest, you’re trying to fit in. Since you started your desk job, you’ve felt that pressure. It’s all new to you and you feel like every day is a learning experience. Everyone else seems so settled and sure. It’s not like a retail gig where you’re all just trying to get through another day.

As you get to the front door of the building, your met with a familiar face. Rhodey flicks two fingers in a half-wave and drawls out ‘morning’ as he opens the door for you. You thank him and enter the lobby.

He trails you along the polished tile and you both stop before the metallic doors of the elevator. He taps the button as you tap one heel impatiently. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“What’s all that?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” He wonders.

He’s always nice. He interviewed you and helped you on your first day. He’s too busy for you to run into each other very much, but he’s always pleasant.

“Yes, you have to wait until you get upstairs to find out.”

“Oh, maybe I should see if I can beat the elevator,” he kids and looks at the door to the stairs. You chuckle. The doors ahead of you slide apart. “Ah, nevermind, seems like fate is on my side.”

He gestures you in ahead of him. The ascent is smooth enough. You’re never a fan of the rising sensation that makes you woozy. You step off thankfully, clutching the container firmly to your stomach.

“Well, I should find my desk,” you say.

“Hey wait, what about the surprise?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you face him and slide your arm under the container. You peel the corner of the lid back with your other hand and smile, “apple pastries. Hope you like ‘em.”

“Homemade?” He asks as he reaches for one.

“Sure are,” you chime. “I have napkins in my bag but my hands are kinda full.”

“Nah, I don’t mind a mess,” he sniffs the dessert, “think this will go well with my coffee.”

“Let me know if you like it,” you smile.

“Oh, you will know. I might just try to sneak a second,” he says and turns to head off towards the executive offices.

You shut the container and wade through the desks to your own. You put the container down and strip off the layers of your scarf, gloves, hat, and coat. You finally get yourself set as Marissa shows up.

“Do you smell cinnamon?” She asks as she wiggles her nose and plunks her insulated cup down.

“Yes, I do,” you take the lid off and gesture to the container. “Want one?”

“Hm, apple?” She asks and you nod. “What’s this all about?”

“I don’t know. I made them so I thought I’d share.”

“Huh, that’s sweet,” she remarks dryly as you offer her a napkin. “Enjoy that optimism while it lasts.”

Your cheek twitches. You notice that about the people here. Even if something good happens, they’re suspicious about it. They want to know why or the expect something horrible to follow.

As more people shuffle in, you offer them a pastry. Everyone seems to like them so far. Yet, you still have lots to go around.

You get up and Marissa glances over, “any more?”

“Well, yeah, I was going to go offer them to the managers.”

“Oh,” she darts her eyes way. “Good luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, just... interrupting for a pastry... kinda... non-productive.”

“Oh, right,” you pout, “maybe I could just leave them in the breakroom.”

“Probably a better idea.”

You’re disappointed. You know the execs rarely go that far. Still, she’s right and she would know better than you.

You take the container and pass between the other desk. As you pass the hallway to the exec spaces, you nearly collide with someone else. He barely seems to notice until you squeak and save the desserts from spilling.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you eke out as the man struts by only to scuff to a halt.

He turns back to you, a pinch between his brows and a tick in his cheek. You clamp your mouth shut as his dark eyes penetrate you. It’s him, Mr. Stark, the big boss. You’ve never seen him this close-up. You panic and look around as a hush falls across the office.

“Would you like one?” You ask out of sheer helplessness. You offer up the container and his eyes slowly descend. His expression doesn’t change.

To your surprise, he steps closer. He reaches into the container and takes one of the pastries. He examines it then turns away without a word. You stare after him in fear of your livelihood.

You wait until he’s gone and scurry into the breakroom. You put the container on the counter and catch your breath. Oh gosh. You just blew it, didn’t you? Over something as stupid as desserts. You shouldn’t be handing out treats like Santa Claus, you should be working!

You put your head down and march out. You go directly back to your desk and sit. You feel eyes on you. Marissa wheels closer. “Told you. Don’t bother the big guys.”

🍏

The windows are dark as you finally log off. It’s no coincidence that you’re the only one left in the office. It might be futile but you hope the extra work might save you from the fallout of your unfortunate run-in earlier.

You cross the office floor and dip into the breakroom. You claim the empty container from the counter. You’re happy that your hard work didn’t go to waste, at least.

You return to your desk and snap the lid on. You gather up your coat and pull on your hat and scarf, leaving your gloves in your pocket. You pack up your bag and sling it on your arm, clutching the container against your hip.

You push your chair in and turn. You nearly shriek, instead swallowing it to a squeal, as you find someone else standing across the space. You put your hand to your chest and gasp.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you,” you gulp. It’s Mr. Stark. Great, you don’t think you’ve done enough to stop the inevitable.

He comes closer, sliding his hands into his pockets as he approaches. He’s silent as he measures you with a long gaze. The silver at his temples twinkles against the darker strands. He stops at the corner of your desk.

“You all out?” He nods to the container.

You flinch, “um, yes, sir.”

“Too bad. Tasty,” he says. “And that little heart in the pastry... nice touch.”

“Oh,” you’re surprised by his praise, expecting a full remonstrance. “Thank you. I... I just thought it was cute but, er, sorry, I don’t mean to chatter. I should go.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, “another late night.” He clucks and glances around the empty office. “You know, that really... made my day. Not much to look forward around here.”

Your brows rise and you smile, unsure how to respond.

“Feel like I owe ya more than a thanks,” his forehead lines as he tilts his head, “and I gotta grab something to eat,” he checks his watch and sighs, “all my meetings went long so could I pay you back?”

“Uh, sir,” you wonder.

“You like shawarma?” He intonses.

“Shawarma?” You repeat, surprised.

“I know, I know, a guy like me is supposed to live off caviar and fine steaks. You ever just get the craving for something....” he pauses and pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Nasty?”

You chuckle, “um, sure. I sometimes order fast food.”

“So? Unless...” he hesitates, “you’re busy? Looks like you’re running behind too.”

“No, sir, that’s very generous. Um, I... yeah, I could... I could go for shawarma,” you agree, relief flowing over you. You don’t think he’s going to fire you unless it’s a trick.

“Great, let me just grab my jacket.”

🍏

Dinner is delicious, though a bit awkward. Your guilt isn’t lessened as Mr. Stark insists on paying for it. You tell him you can handle it but you don’t argue that much. He’s still your boss.

You pull on your jacket as you leave the restaurant. He holds the door for you. You’re already mentally preparing to tuck into bed.

“That was nice. If I don’t have some business lunch or dinner, I usually eat alone,” he scoffs as he comes up beside you.

“Oh? Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Just as much as that special treat you made me,” he says.

“Uh, yeah, well, I like baking--”

“You know, no one ever offers me stuff like that. They all just get quiet when they see me. Can’t even look at me,” he grumbles. “But you smiled at me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s... they’re just intimidated, I’m sure. Because you’re so smart,” you say.

“What about you? You’re not?” He asks as you stop next to his sleek red car.

“No, I am,” you admit. “I’m the newest person in the office, everyone intimidates me.”

He looks at you long and hard, “really?”

“Well, yeah, I’m still learning how to do everything.”

“Who?” He asks.

“Who?”

“Who’s being mean?” He growls.

“What? No, sir. It’s not—no one’s mean. I didn’t say that.”

“Because if someone’s messing with you, I’ll happily have a special meeting with them,” his expression darkens.

“No one,” you avow. “Sorry, I must’ve said it the wrong way.”

“You did nothing wrong,” he counters.

“Right, er...” you peer over your shoulder, “I should go catch a bus--”

“A bus?” He echoes.

“Sure, it’s almost nine o’clock,” you look at your fitbit.

“My car’s right here, get in,” he says.

It’s a command and you’ve pressed your luck far enough. You nod and thank him as he opens the door. You sit in the low seat and hug your bag atop the empty container. He shuts you in and strolls around to the other side.

As he sits in front of the steering wheel, his cologne clogs your nose. It’s definitely expensive. You squirm in the seat. You’re tired and a bit impatient to be home. You still have to go to the office early tomorrow.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes instead.

“Lease I can do,” he says. “Where do ya live, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? The epithet tweaks your ear but you try not react. You worked in retail, a lot of men love that word. You give him your address.

“Really? All the way over there?” He asks. “Girl like you shouldn’t be done there,” he tuts.

“It’s not that bad,” you assure him.

You drag your hand up your cheek, trying to wake yourself up. You’re exhausted. You’re so used to the 9-5 that you’re ready to flop into bed.

You zone out at the engine hums. The soft motion of the turns lulls you and it isn’t until you’re halfway in the other direction to your apartment that your instinct kicks in. You sit up and look around.

“Where are you going?” You ask in a panic.

“I live closer, sweetheart. You can crash at mine,” he says.

“Your-- no, Mr. Stark, I can’t do that. If you don’t want to drive me, I can get an uber.” You pull on the zipper of your purse and he hits the brakes. You lurch forward as he reaches over and clasps onto your hand.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says.

“Mr. Stark?” You babble. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why won’t you take me home?”

He’s quiet. His eyes fall to his hand and he lets you go. He grips the wheel again but doesn’t go. He sighs and tilts his head back.

“You gave me that pastry. With the little heart.”

“I gave them to everyone--”

“No, but you gave one to me.” He insists.

“Sir,” you sniff. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you--” He turns to look at you, “no, no, no.”

He fixes his gaze straight ahead and presses on the gas again. He rolls forward and turns down another street. You unzip your purse and once more, he stomps on the brake. You lurch forward and the seat belt digs into your chest as your bag falls onto your feet.

“Don’t touch that phone,” he snarls.

“Sir,” you sit back, rubbing where the belt bit into you, “sorry.”

“It’s just... I can’t see where I’m going with the glare,” he exhales shakily.

“Okay,” you whimper.

He drives on. You don’t move. Your heart is racing. You don’t understand what’s going on.

He enters the nicer neighbourhoods. Where the houses have that modern boxy feel, tall glass windows for walls, and iron gates around trimmed hedges. Their residents spends as much time there as their vacation homes on the next continent.

He hits a button and steers toward one of the gates as it slides open on a motor. He rolls through as you sink into yourself. This must be his house. You’re still spinning with the suddenness of it all. From the office to dinner to this. One moment stoic and silent, the next smiling and kind, and now...

As you look at him, his eyes are so dark that the swallow the glow from the dash and the security lights mounted on the house. He shifts into park and kills the engine. You twiddle your fingers and watch him. He reaches over and presses the button on your seat belt.

You wince and look away as he trails his touch up your arm and to your shoulder. He walks his fingers up over your collar and along you neck. He traces the curve of your jaw as you shiver.

“You gave me something sweet, baby,” he grabs your chin and makes you look at him again. “I just wanna return the favour.”

He leans across the space between your seats and pushes his lips to yours. You murmur and grab onto his wrist. You feel the tendons tense as he squeezes you tighter. His mouth parts from yours and he presses his forehead to yours. You’re locked in his hold, paralysed.

He hums and licks his lips, “You taste just as good.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #fic #iron man #tony stark x reader #mcu #marvel #avengers #autumn

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beomcharms · 4 months ago

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detest! [TEASER]

pairings: actor!soobin x actor!reader

genre: e2l, idiots to lovers, actor au

warnings: mentions of anxiety, jealousy, both characters are mean at times, probable smut in the full fic (none in the teaser)

wc: 2.9k (full fic-tba)

release date: tba

a/n: it’s finally here!!! every word in this fic was literally squeezed out of me. i really hope y’all like it :)

taglist: leave a comment or an ask and i’ll add you 🤍

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒

TEASER BELOW CUT

The lights were too bright. You could already feel the headache coming on from trying to remember all your lines.

“So, tell me Y/N, how was it like working with The Choi Soobin” the interviewer asks you with a smile.

You sigh inwardly. This was the third time you were answering this question.

Plastering on a smile, you pretend to contemplate before parroting off your answer.

“Ohh… it was genuinely the best experience…” your voice felt alien even to your ears.

Soobin was not helping things in the slightest. Leaning back in his chair with a cocky smirk, he pretends to fall asleep while you answer. You on the other hand were pretty sure you couldn’t handle another one of his “improvisations” as he liked to call it, while he goes completely off script.

You give him a little nudge and the interviewer laughs.

“You seem pretty tired with these questions” he says with a smile.

“Y/N gives the same answer all the time” Soobin says in mock pout and you feel like smacking him down with a chair.

You laugh along giving him a little push and Ssobin takes hold of your hands.

“Be honesttt now” he drawls out and you glance at his eyes. They’re full of mirth.

“Whaatt I AM being honest” you say “To work with you was a dream come true” you say gently, sure that the fans would go wild over this clip.

“Aww you guys are cutee” the interviewer says, “Alright then I have one last question for you Y/N”

No. You knew what was coming next. You hated this question twice as much as the rest of them. You feel Soobin’s teasing energy radiating off of him.

“How difficult was it to shoot the kiss scene?”

There it was.

-.-

To say Soobin and you didn’t get along would be an understatement. To say you detested each other to a point where neither of you could look at one another without gagging would be a more appropriate deduction.

You don’t know when exactly the rivalry began. You both went to the same acting school and had done multiple projects together before. But you just couldn’t seem to work together. Soobin felt like you were too practiced and poised and you felt like he was not trying hard enough. To see him on the big screen before you only added to your existing dislike for him.

He never took anything seriously. This was your debut break and you were sure that Soobin was purposefully holding himself back in some scenes for this film to flop. And who exactly would they blame? A rising star with hundreds of fans or the newbie that no one really knew?

-.-

You sighed inwardly before answering the question.

“It was the hardest scene to shoot, we just couldn’t get the angle right and I’d like to thank Soobin for being so patient…” you smile a little and look at Soobin the way you practiced and he winks back at you.

The interviewer chuckles before wrapping up the interview, wishing you luck on your film and shaking your hands.

Finally the lights turn off and both Soobin and you slump back into your chairs in exhaustion.

You close your eyes for a moment trying to collect yourself when you feel a finger poking you.

Tiredly you open your eyes and stare at Soobin hoping the exhaustion in your eyes is enough for him to leave you alone. Doesn’t seem like it though.

“You should try to be a little more creative with your answers instead of vomiting the same ones with little to no variation you know? Fans like a person with charisma not someone dull, lifeless” Soobin says in a pompous manner.

If you had the energy you would’ve toppled him over and set him on fire but you don’t so you just shrug at him and get off the chair.

This seems to wind Soobin up more.

“Look at you. Already tired and boring and we haven’t even finished all our promotions yet. I told you-

“Hey Soobin” you cut across him, “Can you like you know, shut up?” you ask him calmly.

You hear both your managers snort which is enough to soothe your anger for now.

Soobin is about to start his retort when his manager cuts him off.

“That’s enough the two of you. We have a lot of schedules to plan and you both have to get through all of it while looking on the verge of love” he says.

That was the worst part. Acting in a film with Soobin was bad enough. Now you had to act like you were about to fall in love with him to truly sell your role.

Your managers go over your schedule and by the end of it you’re pretty sure one of you is going to kill the other by the end of it.

“So, to sum it up, we have the party, a photo shoot, an overseas event and ofcourse the premier after which you guys wouldn’t have to be within five feet of each other” your manager smiles at the last part.

“Excellent” you say with relief.

“Just what I need” Soobin echoes.

Getting up from your seat you both thank the staff for their help and patience before heading off to your dressing rooms.

“When will you be arriving at the party?” Soobin asks you casually.

“Why do you care” you sigh, removing your heels. You look over at him loosening his tie and look away, something about the way he tugged at it made your stomach clench. Maybe you were going mad from hunger.

“Fine, if this is how you wish to spend the rest of the promotions, that’s fine” he huffs out.

“Around 8-8:30 I guess” you answer him quietly. “Who are you bringing?” You ask him.

Soobin wishes to answer your question the same way you answered his but looking over at you with you tiredly massaging your feet he can’t find it in himself.

“No one” he says. “See you there then” he says walking out.

“Bye” you mutter.

-.-

Cameras flash everywhere as you get off the car. Reporters barge in poking all their mics into your face. Your manager tries his best to push them away and you try to hide your eyes from the flashes

“Is it true you and Soobin did not get along on the set?”

“Y/N look here look here”

“Oh she is such a bitch”

You try your best to drown it out and hurry to get into the hall.

Once inside, you finally let out the breath you weren’t even sure you were holding. The anxiety that threatens to choke you down finally takes her hand away from your neck. You breathe and look around.

The party is crowded. You look out for a familiar face and notice Beomgyu and Yeonjun a few feet off to the bar. They seem deep in conversation and you slowly make your way towards them.

“I’m telling you it was a disaster- she had the most horrifying voice- Hey Y/N” Beomgyu stops mid sentence greeting you with a grin. “Nice dress” he adds, winking.

“I could’ve dressed her in something better” you hear Yeonjun drawl out and you smile a little to yourself.

“I’d like to protect what little is left of my dignity Jun-ah” you tell him calmly and Beomgyu snorts.

The designer narrows his eyes at you while you warmly pull him into a hug. You had known Yeonjun and Beomgyu since college. Design students and drama students went hand in hand and Yeonjun had helped design your dresses for stages multiple times before.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, because I like you” he tells you in a warning tone and you laugh.

“So which new singer are we badmouthing now” you ask Beomgyu.

“Jiyung- like you won’t believe” Beomgyu huffs out in frustration. “I put her on mute for a while to prevent myself from killing someone in the recording booth”

Yeonjun and you try to hide your laugh as Beomgyu animatedly explains his producer shenanigans.

“I don’t know how long I can hold onto my sanity before I stop being a producer and start my own dog cafe or something” Beomgyu sighs.

You rub his arm in consolation.

“Well, what is up with you? How are the promotions and how is the love of your life doing?” Yeonjun asks you and you echo Beomgyu’s sigh.

“Don’t get me started. The new rumour in town is that he and I didn’t get along on set and I wonder what the staff is gonna come up with now to diffuse it” you say.

“It’s not entirely a lie now, is it ?” Beomgyu smirks a little.

“Yah-” you start.

“I’m not too sure though” Yeonjun says thoughtfully. “The kiss…. it looked a little too real”

“It’s called acting” you huff out. Having to think about the kiss scene twice a day was painful.

“Hmm… I’ve known you way too long for that excuse to be believable Y/N” Yeonjun’s tells you with a small smile.

“For what to be believable?” Soobin asks and you nearly jump.

“Jesus Christ atleast let people know of your presence you idiot “ you tell him clutching your chest.

“So dramatic” he mutters while shaking hands and bumping shoulders with beomjun.

“I believe our seats are over there” you tell him pointing towards the tables. The dinner was about to start and you didn’t need Soobin hearing anymore about the Kiss.

This would be a publicised event, with photographers calculatedly talking shots of celebrities for their stories so your team had decided to place you two next to each other for the fans.

You sit down next to Soobin adjusting your dress a little.

Soobin looks over at you and takes note of your exposed thighs and gulps a little.

“You couldn’t find anything shorter to wear?” He huffs out.

“No” you tell him smiling sweetly as he rolls his eyes.

The MC rambles on about the founders of the trust who were throwing the party as part of charity. You make a silent prayer to god to give you the strength to make it through the event.

-.-

Soobin had gotten up a while ago and was now deep in conversation with Zhang Hao at the bar and you feel bored out of your mind. You know Soobin sort of hates you but to leave you hanging like this all night was a bit much. You look around at the other tables watching people converse and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

You sense someone watching you, glancing up and you notice Minho looking at you. You give him a small smile and he grins back at you.

Minho had reached out to you when you were done filming, congratulating you. Casual conversations wherein you wanted to engage more but rarely had the time to, left you both as acquaintances and nothing more and yet here he was looking like he wanted to start something.

Flustered, you look down on your plate. You sense more than see Minho getting up from his seat and walk towards you. When he reaches your side you look up at him again and he still has the smile on his face.

“Mind if I sit down?” He asks you.

“Not really” you reply and he sits down next to you.

“So, tell me, why is the prettiest girl in the room sitting all by her lonesome?” Minho’s eyes crinkle as he asks the question and you blush a little.

“Guess I’m not pretty enough for this crowd” you answer him, tilting your head a little.

“Now, let’s not lie” he tells you dragging the chair closer to yours.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

-.-

Soobin is still completely oblivious to what’s happening around him when he hears your laughter and he turns around.

There you were sitting at the table, laughing onto- wait was that Minho?

Something inside Soobin twists. He had gotten up to grab drinks for the both of you when he got sidetracked by Zhang Hao who insisted on keeping the conversation flowing.

Soobin’s eyes narrow when he sees you holding onto Minho’s arm to keep yourself upright while he was looking at you with adoration that Soobin wanted to smack out of him.

“Hao, I really need to go now” he mutters to the boy beside him pushing his way past. “Later”

-.-

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while. Minho’s dry comments about everyone had you cracking up more than you thought it would’ve. He was witty and charming and you found yourself in hysterics when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Minho” Soobin calls out and you look around to see him towering behind you. He glances once at you and for some reason you feel like sinking further down into your seat.

“Hi Soobin!” Minho greets him with a smile, “I was just telling Y/N about the Chan debacle”

Soobin gives him a tight lipped smile before looking back at you.

“I think our manager is looking for us” he tells you.

“I just saw him a couple of minutes ago and he mentioned nothing” you tell him puzzled.

“Yeah I just ran into him and he says its time for us to leave.long day tomorrow” Soobin tells you in a cold tone.

“But we haven’t even danced yet!” You huff out.

“Yeah, I’m sure one dance wouldn’t hurt anybody” Minho says getting up from his seat and adjusting his suit, holding out his hand to you.

“You’re right, maybe we SHOULD dance” Soobin tells you grabbing your arm and pulling you upto your feet cutting across Minho.

“Wai-“ you say trying to shake Soobin’s hold on you but his grip is vice like. Looking over his shoulder you mouth a quick sorry to Minho.

“That was so unnecessary” you hiss at Soobin. “You knew he wanted to dance with me”

Soobin tugs you closer to him, his hand on the small of your back. “And you tend to be forgetful about the fact that we are being filmed currently” he whispers into your ear.

The whole purpose of the event had completely slipped from your mind. Ofcourse you were being filmed and how would it look if you danced with some other man while Soobin was right next to you?

You look up at him guiltily.

“Forgot about it, didn’t you” Soobin huffs out.

“Well, the cameras didn’t seem to matter to you all that much when you ran off with Hao” you mutter silently.

Soobin holds back his smile.

“Aw, did princess miss me that much?” Soobin asks you in a playful tone and you pretend to gag.

“Please. If it weren’t for the cameras I wouldn’t even stand five feet next to you” you tell him.

“As if I would be caught dancing with you on any other occasion!” Soobin tells you indignantly.

You look up at him with narrowed eyes “FINE”

“Yeah fine” Soobin retorts, resting both of his hands on the small of your back while yours wrap around his shoulders

“Besides what was he talking about? What’s so funny?” Soobin asks in a quiet tone.

You smile a little thinking of Minho’s jokes before looking up at Soobin.

“I don’t know, I haven’t laughed this hard in a while” you answer him honestly.

“He should’ve debuted as a fucking comedian then” Soobin spits out. For completely unknown, some might call it envy-not Soobin, reasons he hates the way you talk about Minho.

“Aw, is my little prince jealous?” You ask him sweetly and Soobin pretends to puke leaning away from you.

You both sway a little to the dance, falling into a rhythm. Having been forced to spend so much time with one another, you’ve grown used to how the other one moves and feels.

Soobin is just so tall that your arms hurt a little from the strain of reaching upto his shoulders.

“Can you like bend a little you giraffe” you ask him.

Soobin scoffs before leaning down. You gulp a little at the proximity, an action not missed by Soobin who leans in closer still, almost touching foreheads.

You look away into the distance trying to calm your rising heart rate. Hoping to God that the dim lighting is enough to cover up your red cheeks you look back up at Soobin who is smiling at you.

“What”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered” He laughs out.

“You’re delusional, if you think you make me flustered Choi” you answer him dryly.

“Really?” He asks you softly leaning down closer still to you.

“Mmhmm” you manage to make out, trying not to let your voice show how affected you are.

“You can’t act even to save your own life” Soobin tells you, leaning back and you feel the competitive spirit in you flare up.

Pulling him down by his tie, so that your faces are only a couple inches apart, you ask him a question that’s been on your mind for the last couple of minutes.

“Were the cameras really the only reason you dragged me away from Minho?” You ask him calmly, looking deep into his eyes.

Soobin feels like a fish out of water. To have you, in his arms, staring at him like this was as close to a sensory overload as it could get.

“I- I uh-“ Soobin stammers around. He wonders if his brain has turned to mush. What was the question again?

“You can’t act to save your life” you retort throwing back his line at him and letting go of his tie.

Soobin leans back away from you and finally feels like he can breathe normally again. This was the first project you worked on after college ended. If he were a little more honest, Soobin would’ve admitted that he missed having you around. Excitement slowly bubbles up in his stomach at the thought of spending more time with you

This was going to be a long promotion.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗

🎧this is the end of the teaser!! i hope yall liked it, if you did please leave a comment/reblog/like it helps me out a ton and consider giving my other fics a read xoxo🎧

#soobin x reader #soobin fic #soobin x you #soobin x y/n #txt au #soobin smut #txt x reader #txt x you #soobin au #soobin #txt smut #txt soobin

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brakingpoint · 1 year ago

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i'd say "before you go spilling about ao3 to the actual drivers you should submit some of your very own fanfiction to them and see how embarrassed and uncomfortable that makes you feel and maybe you'll reconsider dropping other people in it like that without their permission" but i genuinely think to some of these newbie fans it wouldn't even register as an issue because they're so rpf-pilled into hardly viewing these drivers as real people that they'd probably view max verstappen reading their fic as a fucking compliment

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unequivocallyreid · 1 year ago

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Stay With Me Till Morning

hi guys! another fic for you :) i got a little carried away at the end, but you know how it goes. this is for any munch!spencer fans 🤗

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary:

Spencer and you are co-workers, strictly co-workers, despite your feelings for him. A few nights sharing a room won’t change that, right?

warnings: mentions of body-specific insecurity, fluff, smut, oral sex (fem receiving)

wc: 3.2k

if i missed anything let me know!

One of the worst things about being a newbie, at any job, is coming into a place where connections have already been made. Working at the FBI, more specifically the BAU, was no different.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, working there was a dream for you, but there was no doubt that you were severely lacking in personal relationships compared to others. Derek and Reid had a sort of brotherly bond, JJ and Emily’s like sisters, and Hotch and Rossi’s went unspoken but still glaringly obvious. You existed in their orbit, and while you had all grown to love each other, you still felt a bit like an outsider sometimes.

Unfortunately for you, this feeling intensified whenever the topic of room sharing came up. Sure there were benefits, like having a room to yourself on occasion, but usually it just served to worsen your imposter syndrome.

The case that you were working currently, sans Rossi (he was on a book tour following his latest release), pushed this feeling to surface even more.

You all were in Upstate New York investigating a series of homicides that seemed to mimic a string of murders that had occurred 20 years ago. The town you were in was on the smaller side, so the only place you could find accommodations was a small bed and breakfast.

Said BnB did not have enough rooms available for anyone to ride solo, and with Rossi gone, Hotch and Morgan were buddied up, leaving Emily and JJ and Reid and you. Naturally, Emily and JJ bunked up together, leaving you to share a room with the boy wonder.

It’s not that you didn’t like Reid, quite the opposite actually, you liked him too much. You’ve always had a propensity for falling incredibly deeply incredibly fast, and when you met Spencer for the first time you proved you reputation correct.

Your first impression probably put him off slightly, but he was gracious enough not to show it. When Hotch introduced you, the first thing you thought was how ridiculous attractive the man in front of you was. His high cheekbones and big, brown eyes drew you in immediately. To make matters worse, he was fucking adorable. After snapping back to reality, you offered Spencer your hand, which he declined citing the pathogens and it being safer to kiss.

In one of your more impressive displays of cluelessness you said, “I think we could make that happen.”

This caused Spencer to flush and a ghost of a smile to grace Hotch’s face. Thankfully, in the last few months you had redeemed yourself slightly, developed a rapport with the doctor, and stood by hopelessly as you crush developed into a nasty little monster.

So, no sharing a room with Spencer wasn’t really an issue, but still, might just be the thing that breaks you.

“There’s only one fucking bed?”

You’d spoke far too soon.

After assuring Spencer you were completely fine and not at all uncomfortable with sharing a room with him, you and him walked together to your room, only to find a scene straight out of a shitty romance novel.

When Spencer heard you and noticed that there was in fact, only one bed, he immediately said, “I can sleep on the couch.”

Maybe you should’ve just agreed and saved yourself from a week of sexual frustration, but you couldn’t.

“Spence, that couch is maybe five feet long. I don’t even think I could sleep on it.”

You looked at him then to muster up some courage, “We can share the bed. We’re both adults.”

He looked slightly pained, which panicked you a bit. God, how fucking embarrassing.

“Or I can take the couch. I wont let you, but if you’re uncomfortable I can. I’m a bit shorter.”

Spencer hurried to speak, “No!”

His outburst took you by surprise but he quickly went on.

“I mean, no. I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t want you to be at all or feel like I’m forcing you to sleep with me. Fuck, or I mean next to me-“

You cut him off before he could fall into a tailspin.

“We’ll share then.”

Sharing the bed had actually not been that bad for you at first. You were on your third day in New York, and you were making steady progress on the case. Hopefully, it would be wrapped up in a day or two.

Aside from the fact that you barely spent any time in the room, you had managed to stay on your side bed. The only spot of trouble was the dreams you were having, dreams about the person next to you that would turn even the worst sinner’s cheeks red. Still, Reid was acting no different, so at least you were confident you weren’t talking, or, god-forbid, moaning, in your sleep.

It had been an incredibly hard day. Not only was it freezing, but you had been outside and away from temperature controlled environments for far too long. Immediately once you got back to the Inn you were staying at, you asked Spencer if he’d mind you taking the shower first.

“I’m freezing my ass of right now. You don’t mind do you?”

“No, of course not. You know it’s kind of a superstition, but there’s some actual evidence that being cold can make you sick. I just read a study which showed 10% of people exposed to-“

You cut him off before he could finish.

“Spence, I’d love to hear about all that, but please just wait till I’m out of the shower.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

You shook off his apology as it wasn’t needed. That was one thing you didn’t get about the rest of the team; you loved hearing all the little tid bits of information that Reid let out. Yeah, he was like a literal encyclopedia at times, but it was never annoying. If anything it made you like him more. You loved the way he lit up when he told you about something he’d just read about, or read about 15 years ago. It was cute.

Getting into the shower was like a blessing. The water rolled over your cold skin and helped to loosen the muscles you’d been stressing all day. If you were bolder, or clueless to Spencer’s aversion to touch, you’d ask him to give you a shoulder rub. Your mind wondered off to where else he might touch you, but that was just wishful thinking.

After spending a near gratuitous amount of time in the shower, you shut off the water and reached for a towel. Only once you’d started drying off did you realize in you haste to warm up you’d forgotten to bring your sleep clothes into the bathroom with you. Now, you had to walk out in a tiny, hotel towel right in front of Reid. Sure, it was the start of a few of your fantasies, but in real life the idea seemed mortifying.

As quietly as possible, to not draw attention to yourself, you opened the bathroom door. With one hand gripping the point where the towel connected with itself, you tried to tiptoe unnoticed to your suitcase.

“Y/n?”

You looked up to see Spencer watching your frame like a hawk. As he took in your damp, barely covered figure, you wished to yourself that the lights in the room weren’t so fucking bright.

“I, uh, forgot to bring my clothes in,” and with that, you raced back into the bathroom to change.

After taking a minute to collect yourself, you make your way out of the bathroom again. The room is, thankfully, much darker and you see Reid tucked into his side of the bed. You climb in next to him.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was weird. I, I won’t forget my clothes again.”

“It didn’t, Y/n, don’t worry.”

With that, you both tried your best to fall asleep and put the day behind you.

When you wake up, it’s decidedly not light out and you are decidedly not alone on your side of the bed. One of Spencer’s arms is over your waist, holding you against his body. Still, you don’t know why you’ve woken up.

You tend to be a pretty heavy sleeper, and you know that some light spooning wasn’t enough to wake you up. As you lay awake, trying to figure out why you are up and what to do next you feel Spencer move behind you.

Now, you definitely know what woke you. Spencer, who could barely look you in the eye after seeing you in a towel, was grinding into while you slept. Obviously, he was asleep too, but that didn’t stop the shock of it all from hitting you like a fucking bus. He was silent aside from the occasional whimper, which sent shockwaves straight to your core each time he let one slip.

Despite this, again, being the start to a few of your own wet dreams, you were pretty literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. You felt like you’d be taking advantage of Reid if you didn’t wake him, but if you did you know he’d just about die from embarrassment. Or, worse, he’d think that you somehow executed all of this in a sick ploy. Not likely, but still a source of anxiety.

It took you a few minutes to get your head on straight, what with the burning feeling brewing in your abdomen, but eventually you realized that waking him up was pretty much the only thing you could do.

“Spence,” you said while gently shaking his shoulder.

“Spence, love, you gotta wake up.”

You were turned toward him now and saw his eyes open a crack, “Y/n? What’s wrong what’s goin-“

The realization of your situation also hit him like a truck, which was sort of comforting because at least you weren’t alone in the feeling.

“Oh my god, Y/n. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Jesus, I, I can’t- Fuck I’m so sorry.”

He went to spring out of bed, but your hand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Spence, it’s okay I promise. Honestly I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”

“No, no it’s not. You don’t even like me that way and I was all over you-“

You cut him off when you heard this, “Spence, what do you mean I don’t like you like that?”

“You heard me right? I said your name?”

The world stops spinning, “What?”

“Oh, oh no. Look, I’m so sorry. I’ll go sleep in one of the cars. Fuck, I’m so-”

“Spencer stop. Please stop apologizing.”

It’s like an old Western showdown for a moment, the two of you staring at each other without making a move.

“Were you dreaming about me?”

He nodded, about to speak and likely offer more apologies. But, before he gets the chance you push your lips to meet his.

The kiss is soft and gentle. At first, his lips don’t move against yours, and you start to pull back, worried you read the situation wrong. Fortunately, before your lips could even part from his, he’s pulled you back in. His hands find the side of your face and his lips pressed into yours with a bruising intensity. Slowly, his hands moved to your waist, holding you in place.

The feeling rushing through you was unlike any you’d ever experienced. His lips molded to yours so perfectly it was almost unbelievable. If you’re hands weren’t so preoccupied by his hair, you’d pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. With a move you didn’t think he’d possibly pull, Spencer bit into your lip, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to press further into the kiss, tracing your tongue with his.

Before you could fall completely into the kiss you pulled away to ask, “Spence, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve been thinking about it since the day we met, Y/n.”

With that, he pulled you back in. His hands moved more surely on you, dipping below your shirt. The feeling of his skin on yours sent shockwaves through your body. You moved to take off his shirt in turn, desperate to feel even more of him. He was relentless, breaking free from your lips to drag his mouth down your neck and over your exposed collar bone.

You felt needier than ever, and evidently so did he. In another move you didn’t expect (maybe you should throw your expectations out the window at this point) he grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. With you straddling him, he moved to take your shirt off. Insecurity grabbed hold of you before you could push it away.

You stilled his hands in yours, “I haven’t let anyone see me like this in a long time. Just, please don’t be disappointed by what you see.”

His face morphed into one so full of love that it made your teeth ache.

“You’re my dream, Y/n. You’ll never, ever disappoint me.”

You let go of his hands and they resumed their previous journey, pushing up your shirt and letting that part of you be bare to him. Admittedly, you had to fight the urge to cover yourself, but when you saw his face you knew it was pointless. He was ogling you, not offensively, but more like he couldn’t believe you were actually in front of him.

“You’re so, so beautiful.”

His words didn’t erase the thoughts you had, but they certainly made them easier to ignore. Moving up from your waist, he went to cup your breast, fingers playing with your nipple which made your back arch into him. He took the opportunity to flip you over so you were laying underneath him. The weight of his body over you was heavenly. You felt him press himself into your center through his sweatpants. There were just thin layers of clothes between you now.

“Will you let me taste you? I’ve been dying to.”

You’re stunned from words but you manage to nod your head. As he moved down your body, he took your shorts and panties with you, leaving you completely exposed. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared of the feeling or his reaction to you. With Spencer, you felt completely at home.

You felt him kiss down your things, teasing you in a way that made you feel completely crazy. His breath ghosted over your core, but he still hadn’t made contact with where you needed him most.

“Spencer, please.”

Hearing your voice must have broken his resolve. He dove in like a man starved. In the past, you hadn’t found yourself enjoying the presence on a man’s head between your legs. Not that you had much experience, but the men who had you in that way always seemed to treat it as a means to an end. One of the two boyfriends you’d had refused to go down on you at all, and the other wouldn’t unless you were completely shaved. Safe to say you didn’t feel like you were missing much.

Everything was different with Spencer. He licked into you there was no place he’d rather be. His tongue over traced over your cunt as he tried to find all the places that drove you wild, and god did he. The noises in the room were obscene, from the moans falling from your lips to the sound of his driving you to an orgasm.

You locked your hands in his hair, grinding into his face without even noticing that you were. You were so close, and you found the final push in his fingers. God, his beautiful fingers.

His mouth was on your clit as he pushed two digits into you, curling in before pulling out, over and over until your legs begin to shake. His unoccupied hand pressed on your lower stomach, building up the feeling until you burst.

You repeated a mantra of his name as you came harder than you can ever remember coming before. The sensation took you out for a minute, but when you came back down and looked down at Spencer, you saw him staring at you in awe and completely soaked.

“Fuck, Y/n. Have you, have you done that before? I think that was the sexist thing I’ve ever seen.”

You were confused for a moment, wondering why he’d think you hadn’t orgasmed before. That was before you felt the damp fabric of the bed beneath you.

“Oh! Oh god, uh, no I haven’t. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Don’t apologize for that, Y/n. Fuck, I’d spend the rest of my life between your legs if it meant I could see that again.”

The constat praise falling from him had you noticeably riled up, and you pulled him up, back on top of you.

“Spencer, please. I want you. I want you inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/n.”

He made incredibly quick work of his own pants, freeing himself. Your mouth dropped open as you took him in. He was big, the biggest you’d been with, and he was pretty. You would have drooled if it wasn’t for his lips pressing into yours. He ran his middle finger through your folds before grasping himself. He followed his own path and ran his member through your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect.”

The pet name made you even more desperate, “Please, Spence. Fuck, please.”

He put you out of your misery, sinking into you in one motion. You had to adjust to his size, but the feeling of him inside you, as close to you as possible had you reeling. You bucked your hips up, urging him to move.

He gave you exactly what you wanted, pushing into you at a perfect pace as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

You were overcome and all you could mutter was “thank you, thank you, thank you” in time with each of his thrusts. When he started to push into you harder, you couldn’t help but squeeze down on him.

His hips stalled, “You’re gonna make me come, Y/n. You’re so fucking tight”

You let your hands take down his back, “Please, Spence. Want you to, want to feel you come in me.”

His pace picked up, and you could feel how close he was. Still he wasn’t done. His fingers again found your clit and rubbed circles on it.

“Need to feel you come on me first baby. Need you to come.”

His words made your head spin. It only took a few more thrusts before you were coming again, just as intense as the first time. You pulsed around him and it pushed him over the edge. You felt him come inside you, filling you completely.

“I love you.”

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, but you froze immediately after saying them, worried that you had ruined everything. But, just as he had done before, Spencer quelled your worries.

“I love you too. God, I love you.”

The next morning was bliss. You woke in Spencer’s arms, and let him into you again. The sex was slow and you each let the three words spill uninhibited.

When you went downstairs, ready to finish the case, you were met with the sheepish faces of your team.

Derek spoke first, “I’d say congratulations if you both weren’t so loud last night.”

While you were mortified, watching the rest of the team hold back their chuckles, you couldn’t help but agree that this was all a moment to celebrate.

End

let me know what you think!!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #there was only one bed #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #fic rec #fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #a bit cliche but here we are #criminal minds smut #spencer reid is a munch

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xo2dee · 1 month ago

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NOW LOADING. .

DMC MASTERLIST

AMBROSIAL

PAIRING: Vergil x (Fem)Reader WARNINGS: Slight sexual tension sooo MDNI/18+ only. WORD COUNT: 4676 SUMMARY: He didn't even like strawberries. He just liked to piss you off.

A/N: first ever fic i ever posted on ao3 which is nuts. vergil brainrot never dies.

If you were to look back on yourself years ago, the thought of your current position in life sounded preposterous. A fairy-tale, fantasy even. Who in their right mind would take up demon-slaying as their primary job?

You, apparently.

Four years beforehand was the beginning: you had set out, armed with a baseball bat as ghoulish creatures had raided your hometown. You were a newbie, so incredibly under-prepared, and came out of that fight wounded and traumatized, but ultimately victorious. It was a start, no one was ever perfect as a beginner, you made mistakes, but weeks later you made your mind up and decided you wanted to kill these monsters for they did to your home and all those people. After all, it was the least you could in honor of their memory and for your guilt in surviving.

You could remember the ache in your back from being hunched over your computer looking up workout routines, the pain of ice-filled baths to relieve your soreness from pulling muscles after strenuous workouts and fights, and the scars on your body throbbing from one too many near-fatal fights with demons. You were human, painfully human, you had realized that particular notion after nearly breaking your hand socking a demon in the jaw. It was then that you realized you couldn't fight hand-to-hand combat with some demons (why did you even try anyway?) and you needed a weapon, one that was not a baseball or an axe that was on its last life. You needed a gun.

There you met her. Nico.

Two and a half years into your self-employment, Nico came speeding into your life. Literally, she almost ran you over.

You had to explain yourself that no, you were not a demon, you were just a carrying carcass because it was a good alternate to weight-lifting because you didn't have any weights. She had looked at you like you were stupid, eyes squinting and cigarette ash falling from the smoke in-between her lips and onto the road before asking, "You a demon hunter?"

Well, you didn't necessary call yourself that, but, whatever, you told her yes.

Nico grinned after that and introduced herself, telling you that you were lucky for her bumping into you. You wouldn't necessarily call that 'bumping into you' and how you were lucky from almost being flattened like a cartoon character on the side of the road? You had not one clue, but you took her word for it in the end.

Through her you met Nero, a young man – you had believed he was an old man at first because of his hair, to which he got fussy about while Nico was hysterical in the background – and learned that he too was a demon hunter, a rather good one at that; miles better than you. Of course, the glowing claw-tipped arm told you there was more to him than you knew, but you didn't push it, not when he convinced Nico to make you a weapon so you didn't look like a Neanderthal running around with a wooden baseball beating demons with it.

"It'll cost ya, I don't just do handouts," she had told you, blowing cigarette smoke into your face. A test you presumed.

Nero looked ready to interject at that, but you spoke up before another loud argument broke out while fanning away the smoke.

"I'll pay you anything you want."

Nero looked at you like you had just sold your soul – you probably did – while Nico smiled and stubbed her cigarette out with the tip of her boot. "I always knew I liked you."

She had made you a bayonet, a gorgeous onyx one held that objective affection towards. You had thanked her, giving a hefty amount of cash and practically skipped off ready to use your new baby. However, you were not a good shot since you almost shot Nero in the head – more times than you would like to admit.

That's when you met him. Dante, the Legendary Demon Hunter – though he didn't like to go by that, Nico called him that albeit never even meeting the man. And your teacher you guessed, not like he did any teaching standing off to the side occasionally throwing jokes at you and trying to hold his laughter back when you missed a target by a couple of feet. But still, he meant well.

Nero had practically held you by your scruff in front of Dante like some lost puppy and told him everything he knew about you, up to how shitty of a shooter you were, but were able to wrestle demons down in a fight. The aged man scratched the scruff adorning his chin and looked you up and down before sighing.

"Okay, but I can't pay ya."

What was with these people and money? Dante didn't pay you, and Nico would sometimes charge out the ass. Of course, you later learned Dante didn't pay you not because he was Eugene Krabs incarnate, but because he literally had no money and was in debt. You wondered if he even paid taxes.

(Though coming to find out Dante's true agenda behind being in debt – aside from the mountainous supply of pizza and booze he spent it on – you didn't bring it up, opting to keep your thoughts and mouth to yourself and just taking your duct of the pay from Morrison, Lady or Trish when you had the chance.)

Your 'demon hunter' status was well-off after that, you had teammates – meeting your favorites: Lady and Trish – your skills only increased, and you were basically employed at Devil May Cry. Life was fine until a giant fucking tree sprouted out of the ground in Red Grave City, and it was your hometown incident all over again. Dante, Lady, and Trish had went missing in May of that year leaving you with Nico and Nero, as well as the odd new member V, and his talking pet demon Griffon. You did not converse with him that well, he was quiet and you appreciated that since you often had to hear Nero and Nico's arguments, or worse, Dante's and Lady's. Still, you remained polite to him as long as he was to you, perhaps that's why you felt a little melancholic when he never returned after leaving with Dante and Nero that one time only a month after knowing him. Maybe you were sad at the thought that he died, given Nero and Nico had made a companion out of him and you were feeling sympathetic for them.

Then again, maybe you were sad for Nero since his father was apparently V, but was not V, ripped his arm off, was the reason behind the Qliphoth, fought his own father, then watched as his father and his uncle jumped into Hell to stop the roots from the tree from spreading any further out of the city. You had blinked when he relayed it all to Nico and you, astonished he seemed happier. You supposed it was understandable, he had found out that he did have family left (sometimes you had wondered if Dante was his father given the striking similarities and the relationship between them) and his arm... grew back. You didn't question it when you watched him later on pull out an old book with a V engraved on the front and flip through the pages with a ghost of small smile on his lips. If Nero was content, then all your complaints dissolved.

You weren't exactly so content cleaning up someone else's mess, but you reminded yourself that you wished someone had done it for you back then. As well having Morrison technically being your boss for the time being, you had to listen to him and take jobs from him.

It was months later when Dante came back, appearing in the middle of Devil May Cry through a random portal. You expected nothing less from someone like him, yet you still remained apprehensive scowling at the azure rift breaking reality. Out of it sooner than you expected came Dante, swaggering while looking like he never wanted to do it again and –

Who was that?

"Babe! Didn't expect to see you here, you been keeping the place clean for me?" Dante started out, walking towards you with his arms spread. It almost looked like he was going in for a hug, yet you knew Dante wasn't exactly the type for physical contact and your expression probably wasn't the most welcoming then. You didn't know if it was from your frazzled mask or him just being him, but he stopped mere feet away from you, holding up his hands in mock surrender as you regarded, "Relax, it's just me and Verg."

'Verg'. Vergil. It was him, Nero's father and Dante's elder twin. It was the first time you had laid eyes on him, though you listened to him and untensed. You took that time to not so discreetly take in the new face in front of you.

And boy, was he a sight.

The genes that ran in the family of Sparda must've been something other-worldly (literally). You can see the similarities in the twins: their hair the same shade, yet they both opted for a different approach on how they styled it with nearly the same type of face structure and same color in their eyes – however a different type of glint and feeling in them. They were of the same height, yet it looked like the eldest was a tad taller and you weren't too sure if it was due to his hair perhaps the boots he was wearing. Their choice of wear completely differed too, much in the sense of the colors they wore and the amount of skin they were willing to show; whereas Dante donned a regular Henley shirt with the beginnings of his chest exposed, his brother dressed himself completely covered in an odd vest, you didn't know where he had gotten, with the zipper all the way up to his chin with the only skin showing being his face and parts of his hands and fingers. Other than that, they seemed to like the leather pants combo too and it was easy to tell they were brothers.

You didn't miss Dante's red coat, and Vergil's blue one.

Truly the same blood, but completely different people.

You were still staring at him, perhaps like a little too long than you would've liked to have admitted, but you were having trouble wrapping your brain around the fact you were in the presence of the man that ripped your friend's arm who was also his dad, who also caused Qliphoth rising and then jumped into Hell and was back with his brother, who seemed to have settled that... 'difference' he had with him enough to bring him back to Devil May Cry...

You stared, mastering a poker face through years of being alone.

He stood rigidly in the middle of the room as if he was a statue, a white-knuckled grip on his sword with stiff shoulders as he eyed the room warily before landing on you. He looked down at you with a furrowed brow and a scowl like you were bug he was ready to step on. His presence was so... icy compared to Dante feeling so warm. They truly were polar opposites; the Red Oni and the Blue Oni. As you stared the more handsome he got and you could see how he was able to father a child – a child who looked so much like him, it was uncanny. Then he opened his mouth.

"What are you looking at?”

Why were you not surprised?

You did not like him. His voice fit him perfectly; so cold, and just so Vergil. It was slightly nasally and not like the husky tones of Dante's, but you knew his voice could instill fear into grown men and anyone else. However, you were not swayed, instead overcome with the backhand of his attitude.

Dante put up a hand before you could open your mouth and fire off a retort. Vergil wasn't even asking, it felt more like a demand to know why you were blatantly ogling him. You didn't answer, only throwing back an attitude with a tsk! and whipping your head around from his smartass. He didn't retaliate, stepping away from the scene and dismissing you like you were still nothing more than little bug underneath his boot. You had watched him walk away, glaring at the back of his head through the sides of your eyes. Dante, meanwhile, only laughed patting your shoulder looking a little too happy.

"I think you'll get along just great."

You did not get along 'just great'.

After that, it was a series of events...

Once you decided to be courteous for Dante and take his laundry with yours, to which Vergil all but dumped his dirty ass clothes on you as well. Literally, he just dropped them in your arms and you had struggled to catch them (why did you anyway?).

You had glared, fingers gripping the insanely nice fabric of his coat as he stood but two feet away from you, "Why should I?"

Vergil had the nerve to look down at you again, features as stunning as ever in the low light of the shop and his expression betraying nothing but that stoic exterior he was known for, yet you saw a minimal raise to one of his eyebrows, "Are you not offering?"

"I'm offering Dante."

"Then your common courtesy is a lie?"

He really had a retort for everything, didn't he? You scowled at him and pinched his coat between your fingers, "That's rich coming from you... but sure," you stuffed it down into the basket, balling it up extra measure to piss him off, "Anything for you, your Highnass."

You didn't give him time to reply, walking out with as much dignity as you could knowing you had given in and were going to do his laundry. Though he didn't know you kept his coat longer in the dryer to absorb as much static as it could, and you balled it up again to get as many wrinkles as you could in it.

(You were sure he knew though, if that Stanley Kubrick stare you got returning it was anything to abide by.)

As you left, you could hear Dante sigh.

"Have you ever heard of please? And have you ever actually talked to a woman before?"

There was another time you were just standing next to him, then suddenly your cheek was squished up against his bicep and body nearly compressed under his weight as he slammed you both into a nearby wall. You didn't think that perhaps he was shielding you from the rampant rage of a demon, more annoyed with the fact your bruised nose was getting the horribly intoxicating scent of his cologne, or whatever it was, and you could feel the disturbing way his lean body molded into your own.

"...Vergil."

All you got was a slight tilt of his head.

"Get your big ass off of me."

That got you the frosty glare you had been waiting for, the silvery tint in his eyes not something you were unfamiliar with or afraid to look into it. Vergil regarded you for but a few short moments, eyes darting around every inch of your face before quietly speaking, "I expected a thanks, not an insult for saving your frail self."

'Frail'? Whatever, you weren't about to argue with him thinking you were a dainty daffodil. He had eventually lifted off of you after you vouched out you had to pee because he was pressing on your bladder, the man looking – dare you say it – embarrassed over it as well.

Afterwards, it was another of Dante’s input.

“I need you to tell me how you had Nero, because this is just sad.”

It was a constant back and forth, though the times you randomly turned around and Vergil was just glaring at you nearly looking like he wanted to combust were the oddest of his vampire-like behavior. You figured perhaps he was plotting your demise, though it started getting weird whenever you turned around and he was inches from your face.

You didn’t like to think too hard about those.

Whether it was awkward van rides with you staring at him seeing if you could piss him off, him taking away a demon kill from you at the last second, you 'forgetting' to wash his laundry, him spreading out on the couch in the world's biggest man-spread so you had no place to sit, it was a constant back and forth. Or perhaps it was present time with the matter at hands.

Kyrie had brought her famous strawberry pie because she knew it was your favorite, and you had stashed the piece in the fridge for later time only for the next current day it to be gone. You confronted Dante about the matter ready to scold him when he you he hadn’t been around to even know you had any (and pouted you didn’t share), and then suggested Vergil did it. You didn't believe it, sure you two had... whatever going on, but you knew that as half-demons the twins did not have to eat human food; Dante only did so to keep in touch with his human side and probably because he missed his mother's cooking at times. Vergil, however, you never saw eat once, practically wrinkling and up-turning his nose whenever Dante brought back pizza or strawberry sundaes, so you assumed it had been Dante who ate your beloved pie and didn't want to admit to not hear your nagging.

Though Dante had listened to your reasoning and told you something that surprised you given Vergil's... tastes.

"True, he doesn't like strawberry-flavored things. I think he likes chocolate."

Of course he liked chocolate, perhaps bitter and dark like him.

Vergil would not eat your pie.

Or so you thought until he and you were sitting across from each other at Devil May Cry at that moment. When you caught his eye, you watched morbidly curious as he bore his silvery eyes into yours and ran his thumb across his plump bottom lip until you could see the crumb of red he purposefully left for you to see. He ate it. He ate your fucking pie out of sheer pettiness.

He didn't even like strawberries. He just liked to piss you off.

(Didn't your mother tell you that boys picking on you meant they liked you?

Still... you didn't think that applied to forty-year old half-demons with stick up their asses.)

You could not stand him, you hated him and his handsome face and his stupid lips. You don't know how many times you envisioned stepping on his stupid coat and watching him trip and fall flat on his face, or just tackling him into the ground in a fury, or just fighting him, or just kissing him –

You swallowed at that last thought, raising your gaze from his titled lips to lidded eyes. Teasing.

You never had a problem with looking him dead in the eye before, yet there was something brewing in-between that nearly had you sweating as you looked at him then. Since when where you shy?

Looking at Vergil then though... you weren't sure if you wanted to body slam him... or kiss him. Or both in that order.

So you did. You don't know what possessed you, whether it was his expression taunting you or the overwhelming urge to get rid of whatever the feeling was inside you, you shot up determined, marched over and tackled him into the couch. It was not necessarily a body slam like you wanted, but the giddy feeling you got watching his eyes widening a fraction and that barely concealed grunt he let out when you straddled him and pushed him down into the cushions was worth it. You felt yourself grow embarrassed at that point and uneasy as well. Vergil not throwing you across the room was one thing, but being able to straddle him and have him on his back was another thing altogether. Still, planting a kiss on those lips...

"Why are you making that face?" he asked once you finally looked him in the eye. He look unamused at a first glance, but close enough something was dancing in his pupils.

You knew you were embarrassed from the heat you felt on your cheeks. What face were you making? Did you look constipated? Whatever, you pushed it away and tightened your thighs against his waist and gripped his shoulders harder, reveling in watching his eyes flick downwards for a mere moment. You inhaled, hoping your voice didn't come out as unsteady as your body and mind felt.

"You ate my pie."

"All this over a slice of a dessert."

"You did it on purpose because you knew it was mine."

"I didn't see your name on it."

"You don't even like strawberries."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because."

"As I said, perhaps you should leave your name on things if they are yours."

"That's rich coming from the one who has their initial on their own little diary."

Vergil's eyes narrowed, "That 'diary' is a book of poetry, not that your narrow-minded self would know anything about." That hit a nerve.

"I want my pie, you ass."

"How am I supposed to give you 'your pie' if I have already ate it?"

Why did he look so smug? You trailed your eyes from his long lashes, to the slope of his nose, to his prominent cupid's bow before finally landing on his lips. You remembered the crumb he swiped away realizing he had only ate the pie just prior beforehand, he purposefully took it out of the fridge and let it sit until he knew you would be back and he ate it just before you returned, He ate it just to see you squirm. The sneaky, plotting, petty, handsome bastard...

You attention was roused back to him when he spoke again, saying your name, "I asked you a question: How are you supposed to get your pie if I have already ate it?" Vergil had caught you staring at his lips you realized. He was staring at yours now and unabashedly rolling his eyes down your body. It was an inquiry, wondering if you were going to do it. If you had the gall to. He knew what thoughts were brewing in your mind just by the look in your eyes and the flux in your body temperature. You made up your mind then, scooting up to sit on his abdomen and slapping your hands on either side of his face. You wanted your pie, so you were going to get a taste of it at least.

"Fine."

Your spine bending awkwardly at that angle reminded you once again the times you spent hunched over your computer, but the dull ache didn't compare to what Vergil's lips felt like. They were partly chapped, but you didn't mind, not when he was already opening his mouth for an invitation for you to get a taste. So you did just that, pushing your tongue through to explore his mouth for the fruitiness of your lost pie. He did taste like Kyrie's famous strawberry pie, but somehow it tasted better once it was on his tongue. He made a noise underneath you and maneuvered his hands to touch you, one gripping your hip fingers digging into your shirt and the other curled around the back of your neck to pull you further into him. You felt dreamy melting into him and moving your lips along his, you only failed to realize how incredibly sloppy your kissing was when Vergil pulled your neck back to speak against your lips.

"You are atrocious at that." Well, you can tell now given the saliva glistening on his lips. "Are you trying to devour me?"

You hummed, pushing your body down to lay atop his, "I don't think you can talk big when you don't know how to kiss either."

"Mmmm," you've never heard that noise before and it sent a flutter straight to your lower abdomen. Vergil moved the hand resting at the back of your neck, brushing fingers across your cheek to grip your face tilting forward until your lips touched again.

Compared to you basically drooling into his mouth in a needy make-out session, the kiss he left on you was chaste and so longing. It felt sweet. You wanted more as molded his lips onto your top lip, leaving you at the expense of his buxom bottom lip. You had wanted this so bad and all you could do was grip the lapels of his coat and drown yourself into Vergil's kiss. It was over far too soon than you wanted, which was why you chased after him when he parted away from you looking all too pleased with himself again. "I don't know how to kiss, yet here you are chasing after me again whining for another."

You groaned and hid your face in his chest again knowing that he had won. Again.

Vergil: 6

You: 2

Not that you ever won against his wittiness in the first place. Yet this time you felt you had won something big.

Vergil did have a son, so maybe you were wrong about his skills in kissing.

The moment was interrupted when the doors to the shop busted open and the owner waltzed in acting like he wasn't outside the door listening.

"OH – whoops, didn't realize you two were busy canoodling," Dante's tone sounded all too amused as he covered his eyes with hand, yet created a space in his fingers so he could peak at you both, "I'll just be on my way. Give you some privacy. Be safe though we don't need a repeat "

"Dante."

You had shot up back into a sitting position on Vergil when Dante burst into the shop, hoping to show the red-wearing twin that no, you two were not doing what he thought and almost countered saying you were both just wrestling, but that sounded even worse somehow. Vergil had hissed out his name sending a scathing side-eye towards his brother and you prayed they didn't breakout into another 'argument'. 'Arguments' being full-blown fights, whether it be with swords or just throwing hands at each other over the stupidest reasons. You had walked into their fights on more than one occasion, always giving a dry look towards them when Dante would usually explain that Vergil got mad he called his hair ugly or something. You almost rolled your eyes again, Grown ass men.

Dante held up his hands, one hand holding a pizza box, "Okay, sheesh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Verg. You should be worrying about hers."

"Leave us!"

The remaining effort it took for him to leave was the blue spectral sword that he ducked for before laughing and disappearing upstairs. You watched the summoning sword pierce the wall before dragging your eyes back to Vergil, who was already looking at you. "You're both annoying."

He glowered again, "You are infuriating and a maddening being. A witch."

"That's a new one. Are you saying I bewitched the mighty Vergil."

"Hardly."

"Okay, Verg."

His eye twitched at the crude nickname before pulling you back down onto him by your elbows, you had a clear message of what he wanted by the way his eyes were half-lidded and hands ghosting over your back.

You gave him a cheeky grin basking in the satisfaction of his brow twitching in annoyance at it, "You trying swap spit again?"

"You are disgusting."

You hardly took the insult to heart when his lips slowly pressed against yours again and you sighed dreamily into his mouth.

You suppose you could forgive him for the pie if you got that in return.

#{🩸} nee fics #vergil x reader #vergil devil may cry #vergil dmc #vergil x you #vergil x y/n #dmc #devil may cry #vergil #dmc x reader

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olderthannetfic · 24 days ago

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Saw this person being sad that A fans were unwilling to talk to them, and basically said that A fans were close minded. As an A fan, I know that some of us are super extreme so I thought "Hey, I can make this person's experience better" and went to check their blog. Mistake. Their blog is like:

Post about why A sucks

Post about liking both A and B… but explaining that B is actually better than A

Post about why they enjoy making A suffer in fics

Post about liking AC in the past until the fans annoyed them too much

Post about why B deserves the love A is enjoying in fandom instead

BC ship post... with a dig at AC

Post about why A doesn't deserve forgiveness or fandom love

Post about how A's trauma isn't a good reason to sympathize with them because they did genuinely awful things due to trauma

Post about how A and B have similar trauma but B came out being a decent person (their trauma level is not the fucking same btw. B has a relatively realistic shitty life. A's backstory would sound cartoonishly angsty if I didn't know that it was based on a true story.)

Like wow... Nobody wants to interact with you? Why would they do that? That's crazy... *Block*

Heh. Someone I know was mad at me for saying that Tumblr was a good place for conversation instead of the usual oldschool LJ party line of Tumblr being the worst 5eva. They were like "People send you asks!!!" in that "You're popular and that just happened for no reason and you don't understand the little people" kind of way that is always so infuriating. I hadn't reblogged them either, boo hoo.

The funny part was that they had a different name here, so while I did remember seeing that screen name, I hadn't known it was someone I knew. I'd probably have paid more attention if I had!

And then I looked at what they'd said while reblogging me and at their tumblr in general, and it was all zero-to-sixty rage monster rants on posts where that made no sense and was not that appropriate. You know: newbies asking a question in good faith, but the answer involves things that make us mad. The prior answers had explained the facts but not spent too much time venting over how much such-and-such sucks, so my friend found it deeply necessary to add all that anger back in.

I'm not in the habit of reblogging things that are not only offputting but repetitive and boring. Of fucking course they weren't getting interactions from timid randos who don't know them!

Granted, this all went down much closer to lockdown, and a lot of us weren't doing well, so I get why they were a rage monster, but... people don't like talking to rage monsters. Sorry?

A lot of people have a hard time accepting that the problem might just be them themselves.

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morgana-larkin · 9 months ago

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Love your work, i think ive read all ur melissa x reader fics😭. So yk how melissa says “youse”? I was wondering if u could make a fic where reader is a new teacher and shes from the south and constantly says “ya’ll” instead. Idk what after that tbh

Girl next time I'll need a bit more than that. And really happy that you love my work and thank you for the prompt. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I'm finally getting to all your prompts, so if you sent one, it's coming soon! I believe I have 5 other Melissa ones and 1 Chessy prompt.

Southern Girl

Warnings: Fluff, Reader having doubt

Words: 2k

You walk into the doors of Abbott all excited. You’ve been subbing for a year now, mostly at Addington Elementary, the charter school down the street. Now you’re Abbott Elementary’s new art teacher. You check in at the office and get your classroom key and badge with the photo from the interview a week ago.

“Alright newbie, you’re here. Follow me to the teacher’s lounge and I’ll introduce you to the ones that I tolerate here.” Ava pipes up from behind you and you follow her there.

You both walk in and 8 sets of eyes fall on you two. 3 from a corner in the back, 3 from a table near the window and 2 from a table near the fridge.

“Newbie this is where you introduce yourself.” Ava tells you as you were shocked with the sudden spotlight on you.

“Oh right, hi y’all my name is Y/n Y/l/n. I’m the new art teacher here.” You introduce yourself, your southern accent visible. Two teachers come bouncing over to you and talking a mile a minute. The things you got were Janine Teagues, second grade teacher as well as Jacob Hill, 8th grade teacher. The rest you didn’t catch at all as it was a lot before 8am.

“Janine dear, why don’t you and Jacob give her some room, she just got here.” One of the women from the table near the fridge says. “Hello dear, I’m Barbara Howard, kindergarten teacher.” She says gently as Janine and Jacob go to sit down. Barb then softly nudges the woman next to her and gets a weird look from the ginger. You have to admit that this nameless ginger is very attractive. “You should introduce yourself.” Barb tells her and she sighs.

“But she’s from the south, for all we know she can be a cowboys fan.” She says to Barb.

“The girl from south is right here and can hear you. And are you talking about the Dallas Cowboys?” You ask and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

“So youse a fan?” She asks and crosses her arms.

“Of the cowboys, no. Never really been a fan until I got here to be honest. It was all the rage when I got here so I looked into it, the Eagles aren’t bad of a team.” You tell her and you see the slightest smile on her face.

“I’m Melissa Schemmenti, 2nd grade teacher.” She introduces herself and you freeze.

“Schemmenti? Why does that name sound familiar?” You say and she sighs.

“Have you been to Addington?” She asks and you nod.

“Quite a bit actually.”

“You might have met my sister Kristen Marie there then.” She says and you widen your eyes.

“Of course, I do know her. Her and I are texting buddies, we text about once a week. I honestly forgot about her last name.” You tell her and she shakes her head. “Wait you’re Melissa, she’s mentioned you a few times.” You add.

“All bad things I’m assuming, knowing my sister.” She says and you shake your head.

“No, not bad at all.” Mostly embarrassing things, but you ain’t mentioning that to her. “Well I’d love to stay and chat with y’all but I gotta skedaddle. Lots to do in just a week.” You tell them and then leave the room. Everyone turns to look at Melissa and while she doesn’t see it, she feels them all staring at her.

“What are all youse looking at?” Melissa says without turning to look at them.

“You gave your name so… willingly.” Janine says confused.

“You heard her, she doesn’t mind the Eagles, she seems alright.” Melissa says with barely a thought to the answer.

At the end of the day you go to turn into the teachers lounge to get your lunchbox, only to run into Melissa, physically run right into her.

“Oh I’m so sorry Melissa, you ok?” You tell her while you have your hands on her arms to stabilise her.

“Ya I’m fine kid, are you alright?” She asks you and you nod. You go to get your lunchbox from the fridge and when you go to leave, she’s still there, waiting for you.

“Should I be flattered that you’re waiting for me?” You joke with her and she chuckles.

“I think so. I mean, I’ve never done it for anyone else before.” She says and you smile.

“Well considered me flattered then.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

“Well let’s, what did you say earlier? Skedaddle?” She teases you and you laugh. You both start to walk to the parking lot.

“Why Melissa, I hope you’re not making fun of the language of the south.” You joke with her and she laughs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it southy.”

“Oh I get a nickname too? You’re too sweet.” You say and she playfully shoves your shoulder with hers.

You reach the parking lot and then you both walk to her car which was right next to yours.

“Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask her, not wanting this moment to end.

“Ya, you will kid.” She tells you with a smile then gets in her car.

2 months go by and it’s safe to say you’re settling in pretty well. You’ve gotten support from your coworkers and your students are loving your classes. There’s one specific coworker that stands out to you and that’s Melissa. You’ve found yourself admiring her a couple weeks now. Ever since you were able to watch her teach, you’ve been wanting to again. At lunch, she offered you a spot at her and Barb’s table, which apparently has never happened before, and you find yourself staring at her when she’s talking. When she comes to drop her kids off at your class, you make yourself more presentable before she gets there, you quickly brush your hair, reapply lip balm, just anything to make yourself look better for her. You got looks from people when she invited you over to her house for the first time and you loved every second of it. You’ve also gotten weird looks from Barb and the trio lately and you have no idea why, until Barb talks to you.

“Hello dear, can I come in?” She asks from your doorway and you look up from your sketchbook.

“Barb, hi. Ya of course.” You tell her and she smiles as she walks in and closes the door. “What’s up?” You ask as you put your pencil down and lean back in your chair to look at her.

“I’ll be blunt with you.” She starts and you tilt your head at her in question. “You have a crush on Melissa right?” She asks and you widen your eyes. “We all see it, you’re not good at hiding it.” She adds.

Well no use in trying to cover it up. “Oh god, does that mean that Melissa knows?”

You ask her and she shakes her head.

“No, Melissa won’t ever think that you’ll like her. The only way she’ll know is if you tell her.” She says and you sigh.

“Well that won’t ever happen?” You say and she tilts her head at you.

“Sweetheart, what reason can you have to not want to tell her?”

“Many reasons. About to start with the fact that she’s straight, she’s my friend, she’ll never be into me, she’s out of my league, and did I mention that she’s straight?” You say and she smiles at you.

“You did mention it. Dear, I have known Melissa a long time, and what I can tell you is that you’ve caught her eye. I’ve seen how she is when someone catches her interest and how she is with friends. She treats you differently then how she treats me and the rest of the Abbott crew, and everyone else she has ever befriended. What I’m saying is, I think if you told her about your feelings for her, you might be surprised of her answer.” Barb says and you look at her stunned.

“I’ll- I’ll think about it.” You tell her.

“I wouldn’t take too long, Gary has his sights on her too.” She tells you and you widen your eyes.

“The vending machine guy?” You ask and she nods.

“Well she might be better off with him.” You say casually.

“Why do you say that? Why wouldn’t she be happy with you?”

“Cause I’m me.” You tell her and then get back to your drawing. Barb walks up to you and puts her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes you’re you, and Melissa likes who you are.” Barb tells you and then leaves.

At the end of the day you finish cleaning up the art supplies, then you grab your stuff and leave and you bump into someone on the way out.

“Oh sorry hon.” Melissa tells you.

“Oh Melissa, hi.” You stutter. “Wha- what are you doing in this corner of the school?” You ask her, considering her classroom is on the other side of the school.

“I came here to see you.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t see you at lunch today, or barely at all today actually.” She says.

“Melissa, are you saying you missed me?” You tell her in a teasing tone.

“I did actually, if you must know.” She says and playfully shoves your shoulder. “Something happened at lunch actually.” She adds and you tilt your head to let her continue. “Gary asked me out.” She says and you stop breathing for a second and widen your eyes.

“Oh.” You say, you stayed in your classroom at lunch today going over what Barb told you before lunch. Now it seems you missed your chance.

“I turned him down.” She says and that snaps you out of your head.

“What? You said no?” You tell her and she nods her head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to go out with him. I’d rather go out with someone else.” She tells you and she takes a step towards you. You’re breathing quickens as you look into her emerald green eyes that captures you in them. Your faces are close together, as you’re the same height, it wouldn’t take much to lean forward and kiss her. You gulp as you realise she’s waiting for you to say something.

“And who is it that you’d rather go out with?” You ask and you glance down at her lips before looking into her eyes again.

“You.” Is all she says but it still leaves you breathless. You see her glance down at your lips briefly before looking into your e/c eyes. Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss her fiercely. She kisses you back with just as much force and she grabs the back of your head with both of her hands. You place your hands on her waist and press her up against the wall and you both continue kissing each other as if your lives depended on it.

“Should we stop them? I mean it is still school property.” Janine says as the trio, Barb, Ava and Gary are watching you two make out down the hall.

“I think we should let them enjoy today. Then if we catch them making out again, then we can stop them.” Barb says, glad you both finally took the chance. “And Gary, thanks for asking her out, I knew it would make Melissa finally admit her feelings.” Barb tells him and he nods at her.

“Glad I could help.” He says and they all leave.

You both pull back to catch your breath. Melissa giggles as you look at each other. “Did you kiss all the southern girls that told you they have feelings for you?” She asks with a smile.

“I never liked them back so no.” You tell her and she cups your cheek. You surge forward to capture her lips on yours again, never wanting to pull back.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie

@unicorniusfallapatorius

@a-queen-and-her-throne

@sleep-deprived-athlete

@og-kxsh-420

@sasheemo

Let me know if you want to be added!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary

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persianflaw · 8 months ago

Text

ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL!

ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! The M*A*S*H fanfiction community has been approved! actually it was approved two weeks ago but i was on vacation

This community is open to any and all fans of M*A*S*H fic. Whether you're a writer, a reader, or a total newbie, this space is for you! You can talk about fics you've loved, ask for advice about a sticky plot point in your latest WIP, ask for recommendations for a ship you like, share an AO3 link to your latest fic, or share snippets from your work; the world is your oyster!

>> LINK <<

(As of 6.21.2024, communities don't let you generate an invite link yet, so just like/reply to this post if you want an invitation! This post will be updated with a proper invitation link once that feature is implemented.)

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Be nice. Duh. Any bigotry or unkind behavior will not be tolerated. Welcome everyone with open arms and open hearts, and be ready to make new connections.

18+ only. Go nuts. Show nuts. Whatever.

No gory or sexually explicit images. Most of these go against tumblr's TOS, and we don't want the community to get deleted.

Keep things on topic. We're joining this community to talk about fic, so let's make sure we keep our posts fic-related! General discussions about M*A*S*H are fun, but not what this community is intended for.

If you don't like something, scroll past. We all like different things, and that's what makes the world interesting. If someone shares a fic that isn't to your tastes, you don't have to read it. Leaving a rude comment on anybody's post will get you kicked. (If you're concerned that somebody is posting bigoted or hateful material, let me know, but I honestly don't anticipate this being an issue at this time.)

Use read mores for long posts or NSFW material. This makes navigating the dash easier, and helps prevent people from getting jumpscared by lovingly detailed descriptions of oral sex on the subway, something that has of course never happened to me.

Tagging or using content notes for your writing is encouraged. This is the best way to find your audience. People who aren't interested in a particular subject can skip over, and you'll also be able to draw in the people who are enthusiastically interested! If you think a particular topic might be especially sensitive, a read more is never a bad idea.

Only give concrit (constructive criticism) when asked. This is a somewhat contentious topic in fandom as a whole, so we're keeping it simple and asking that members don't give criticism on fic posts unless the author specifically requests it.

And one final note:

Small groups and communities can easily become cliquish. Few things feel worse than joining a group, hoping to find like-minded people, only to find yourself surrounded by what feels like an impenetrable friend group with no interest in talking to you. Nobody wants to feel alone in a crowd.

So when you join this group, don't just talk to people you already know. That defeats the point of joining this kind of community, anyway! Make an effort to talk to someone new. Leave a gushing comment about a stranger's fic excerpt. Tag someone who you think has a really cool interpretation of a character you like. Reply to a post that hasn't gotten any attention. Include people who seem a little shy. Be open and friendly and welcoming.

#text post #mash #m*a*s*h #m*a*s*h 4077 #mashblr #mash fanfiction #mash fandom #community #tumblr community #fanfiction community #hawkeye pierce #trapper mcintyre #margaret houlihan #bj hunnicutt #promo post #GOOD GRIEF. OKAY. think i got everything down.

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pickyourpoisonandevolve · 3 months ago

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Hello, have you also been struck with an inane desire to kiss the CoD boys? Did the brainrot demon whisper in your ear “go fuck the masked man, the mustache man, and the Scottish man?” Well you’re in luck. My sleep deprivation vomited this out last night, I did not check for errors and I have NOT played MW. Sorry to all the Gaz fans out there, I genuinely forgot to include him. Sometimes you just gotta purge the fic poltergeists in your brain. I’m sorry. John up next when the demon returns.

All for One, One for All

Part 2 here

TW: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader. I’m bad at tags, sorry.

Down time with the 141 was always a grab bag. If a mission went well it was celebratory, others were solemn. Either way, the group was comfortable enough to have a … physical connection with each other. Hugs and words of comfort common after missions. Hands through hair as you all shared stresses together. But while everyone had a baseline comfortability, as the newbie, you lost out on some of the camaraderie, some of the closeness. It drove you fucking insane.

That’s why you were barely holding it together as Soap and you were close on the couch in the break room, legs tangled as you talked about everything and nothing. The recent mission, what they were doing on leave, cute new recruits. He was always the easiest to talk to, decompress with. Quick to anxieties with, as well as who you both had … predilections to. A master of weaseling his way into talking about your respective secret desires. Like how he had been spending spare time with Ghost on off days. How you couldn’t keep eye contact with your Captain.

Missions were different, there were tasks at hand and jobs to do. But with Price, his hands comforting, ready to protect seemed to linger between you and him, longer than others. Yet you couldn’t keep conversations longer than a few minutes when you debriefed in meetings. Too much perception, you felt like dissolving when his attention was on you too long. You kept the intensity of how much you wanted your Captain to yourself though. You wonder how Soap did it with your Lieutenant. You picked at your hangnails, seemed like you could even smell them nearby, cigarette and cigar smoke lingering in your olfactory memory.

A longing, you told Soap, with your head in your hands, avoiding the embarrassment of eye contact. Stuttering through it, you described the longing, the need for belonging. “You all made it look so easy, it WAS so easy,” You lament. You got here too late, missed the boat on inclusion in the 141. No more room at the inn. They meant everything to you, they were your whole world. And the sneaking ache that you could die tomorrow and they’d move on clawed at your ribcage endlessly. You just… wanted to feel like you meant something to to them, to someone. Wanted someone to steal all the silence in your mind and fill it with warmth. With touch. With lov—

“To someone? Or to him?” You heard, through the static in your ears. The tears you’ve been fighting finally make an appearance.

“Bonnie, hey, darl’,” Soap whispered to you, bringing his lips to your forehead, fingers through your temples. Shh, shh, shh, everything was okay and that the team was here for you. He was here for you. Quieting your mind, his hands ran through your hair and lingered to your neck. You closed your eyes, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “I should have kept my mouth shut you don’t have to pity me.” You said, gently trying to push Soap back.

“Who the fuck said anything about pity.” A different, deeper voice in your ear this time. Panic floods your body as you feel a second pair of hands slide around your shoulders. “No, no, no Ghost, please don’t I’m sorry I shouldn’t—,” you stammer out, fight and flight winning simultaneously as you push immovable bodies and try to pull yourself away. Why you thought that was possible with these two men was beyond you.

Vice grips pull you back down, holding you close to both men’s chests. “Breathe, sergeant.” Delivered as a command. That part of your brain still seemed to function as you took deep breaths, not noticing how Ghost positioned himself on the couch. Leaning back at an angle, he pulled you in his lap, back against his chest and arms around your waist. Feeling his breath against the nape of your neck, steadying, matching his breathing. The smell of cigarettes, pine and sweat fill your senses. Soap slotted himself between both of your legs, into your lap, eyes keeping your focus. Knowing looking at Ghost would throw you completely askew. Ever the team, those two, you thought briefly.

Minutes went by in silence as your breathing slowed, heartbeat returned to normal. Ghost gave you one of his hands to fuss with as you calmed, testing the waters, getting used to him. His other hand carded through Soaps hair, lying in your lap. His nose nuzzled your neck as he broke the silence. “I’m, we’re, sorry for making you feel like the odd man out, sweetheart. Should have done a better job as your lieutenant to make you feel a part of the team.” He took the hand lying in yours and brought it to your stomach, bringing you closer into his chest, rubbing lazy circles. “This is… a lot to some. Who we are as a team. As much as we wanted to bring you in, we didn’t want to scare you away neither.”

“But for what it’s worth, ever since you got here,” Ghost growls, pinky grabbing the edge of your shirt, pulling upwards. “You’ve been ours.”

Everything seemed to move at once. Ghosts hands now on your body properly, exploring your curves and pulling you into him deeper. Soap chuckled lightly, his hands now caressing your hips and breathing into your waistline, peering up at you with big beautiful eyes. “Ours in the royal sense, LT. She’s been called f—“ his words cut off as a rough hand at the back of his head pressed him into your pussy. “Hmm, he’s a lot cuter when he’s down there, huh?” Ghost chuckles into your shoulder. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, your hands come up and try to meet his, unsure of if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. His arms come around and lock yours in place as Soap is released and fingers start to play with the button on your pants. “Let us make up for some lost time, sweetheart,” he growls into your shoulder.

Sheer panic, or disassociation, you’re not sure what gets you through the next moment. But either way it feels like an eternity, watching Soap pull down your pants and panties, feeling Ghost caress the valley between your tits, ambiently trying to steady your heart. Mumbling both to you and himself, he repositions you ever so slightly in his lap, bringing your ass tighter into his hips and spreading your thighs across his, giving Soap better access. “Have no fucking idea how bad we’ve needed you, bird. Been dreaming about your fucking body, how you smell, what you taste like.” You feel his hardness start, pushing up against your ass. Your deep breaths start turning into soft moans, and both men groan into you. Soap kisses you gently on your thighs, leading a trail to your core, nipping you along the way. You feel like glass, any sudden movement and you’ll shatter into Ghosts arms, heart too raw, wants too real. Ghost feels your tension and wraps one arm around your waist as the other brings your shirt above your tits, exposing them to the cold room. His free hand teasing a nipple as he whispered “Stay with me, baby.”

A strangled sound left your throat as you felt Soap’s tongue separate your lips and meet your clit. “Johnny, please, oh God.” Feeling his tongue work you open, you can only focus on your breathing so you don’t float away. Ghost adjusts something behind you as you feel two fingers slide in gently. Broken moans and pleas leave your mouth as you feel lips against your neck, kissing, biting. “Tell me how he feels bird.” Ghost murmurs. Fingers moving faster, faster as Soap attacks your clit. You chance a look down as you meet his eyes, his mouth breaking out into the biggest smile as he lifts his face briefly. A man this pretty should be illegal, you think. “Tell me, bonnie. Tell me what you want.” A sound you’d be downright ashamed of leaves your mouth, clenching around his fingers. “Fuck Soap, I want you, I want—“ His fingers start working your g-spot faster as he teases, “Use your words, bon. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I wanna, I wanna cum Johnny, please” you say in barely a whisper as he coaxes it out of you. All you feel is the cord in your stomach break as every muscle in your body tenses. Soap laughing into your clit, Ghost licking and moaning in your ear, that you belong to us, all of us. A distant part of you wonders why things sound so wet as you look down to Soaps eyes, crinkled as he makes you watch yourself squirt into his mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant as Soap sucks your clit, bringing you down. Everything feels wet, you can feel it at your knees. This couch is gonna have to be burned. Soap gives one last suck to your clit, coming off with a pop. Ghosts breath comes out in short bursts as you feel him grind hard into your ass, grunting in your ear. Soap comes up and grabs you tenderly by your face, kissing you gently, deeply, making you taste. Bringing his forehead to yours, he looks at you, so tender it makes your heart stop. “Told ya we’re here. Cannae do it without ya, sweet.”

Hands gently lay you down on the couch as you remember what your limbs are supposed to feel like. A kiss from each on your forehead as Ghost says “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of our boy here, you stay put, yeah?” Your breathing starts to return to normal, letting feelings flood back slowly. “Oh, okay.” You whisper out, taking a deep breath and sitting up slightly. The big feelings start to creep back in, but a little less heavy. Tears start to flow, not from sadness but something else. You sniff away some of the emotions. “Are we, are we okay, is, oh my god what is Price, what—“ Soap is quick to take a knee next to you, kissing your tears away and cooing shhhh’s in your ear. You’ve been so distracted by this attention that you finally notice the smell in the room, stronger than earlier. Cloves, a sweetness, cigar smoke.

Your head snaps back to the chair across from you all, and your breath dies in your throat. Blue eyes locked into yours, like he’s never looked at anything else. He crushes the last of his cigar into the ashtray beside him and leans forward, hands gripping his knees tightly. “You broken, sweetheart?”

#simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #cod modern warfare #cod x reader

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scary-grace · 7 months ago

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Off-Script - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is my second fic for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, with the prompt 'summer blockbuster'! As usual, thank you for running this event and congratulations on the milestone!

Act 1 Act 2

Act 1

“No.”

“No?” Midoriya Izuku repeats. He taps his headset, like there’s something wrong with it instead of what Dabi just said. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t do swordfighting,” Dabi says. “It’s in my contract.”

Midoriya looks baffled, just like every newbie director who’s ever hit their head against one of the batshit provisions in Dabi’s contracts. And Dabi’s not anywhere close to done with kicking the director around. “How come I’ve got a sword, anyway? Quicksilver didn’t have one in any of the other movies. Or the comics.”

In Tomura’s opinion, Dabi should keep his mouth shut about what happens in the X-Men comics. Everything he knows about the comics and the character he plays is something Tomura had to explain to him way too many times, in detail. “We’re rebooting the Apocalypse arc,” Midoriya says. “The premise is that Apocalypse rises in every age – long enough for people to forget about him in between – and the same characters have been fighting him the whole time, reincarnated over and over again. Only this time it’s different, because four of those characters have been chosen as Horsemen, and they’re fighting for Apocalypse, not against him.”

“Great. Why is there a swordfight?”

“In the original arc, technology provided a boost to the anti-Apocalypse forces,” Midoriya says. “By setting it in the Iron Age, we’re taking that advantage away. That’s why everyone has weapons. Including Quicksilver.”

“Cool.” Dabi lights up a cigarette. “I’m still not doing it.”

“But –”

“That’s what I pay him for.” Dabi jerks a thumb at Tomura. “Talk to him.”

Tomura’s been Dabi’s stunt double for basically all of Dabi’s career. Most stunt doubles stick to stunts, but over the years, Tomura’s role has expanded from stunts to include anything Dabi doesn’t feel like doing. Swordfighting isn’t a stunt. It should be well within Dabi’s skills. And it is – he just doesn’t want to do it. Which means that Tomura’s up.

Midoriya looks at Tomura hopefully. Tomura levers himself up off the wall and rolls his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Midoriya follows him to costume and makeup, yapping the whole way, trying to figure out what he did to upset Dabi so much. Tomura thinks about explaining that it’s not Midoriya’s problem and Dabi’s just like that, then decides against it. Midoriya’s the one who decided not to recast Quicksilver, and Dabi isn’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He made his own bed. Tomura’s not here to tuck him in, and he’s not here to make excuses for Dabi. He’s here to do stunts. That’s it.

Quicksilver’s costume isn’t skintight, which makes it miles better than any of the other Quicksilver suits Tomura’s had to wear since Dabi was first cast in the franchise. It’s his first time in the outfit, so he asks the costumer about it. “There was no Lycra in the Iron Age,” Magne explains as she stitches one last panel into place. “The director wanted historically accurate materials. And the SFX team threatened to quit if they had to edit any more bulges out of the shots.”

That’s a relief. Whenever a new movie in the franchise comes out, the fan blogs make lists ranking all the bulges, which is awkward at best and career-threatening at worst, given the one time a list used a shot where Tomura was doubling Dabi and ranked it higher than Dabi had ever placed on his own. Midoriya is deeply weird, even as far as directors go, but Tomura will take the wins where he can get them.

He tunes back in to what Midoriya’s saying as Magne screws around with his hair to mimic Quicksilver’s signature look. “Who am I fighting again?”

“Psylocke. You read the script, right?”

Sure, Tomura read the script. The script isn’t the problem so much as the fact that the actress playing Psylocke quit last week. “Did you find a new one?”

“Of course!” Midoriya brightens up creepily fast. “Right, you should meet her! She’s – um –”

“Up at the site already,” Magne says, spraying Tomura with hairspray without warning him first. “She was pretty quick to costume. I didn’t even have to put her in a wig.”

Midoriya beams. “She’s great,” he says. “We’re lucky we found her on such short notice.”

“Who is she?”

Midoriya says a name Tomura’s never heard in his life. Magne hasn’t heard it, either. “Come again?”

“She’s on the newer side,” Midoriya says. His smile’s looking a little insane. “Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec.” Magne sprays Tomura again, then attaches three motion-capture dots to his forehead. “There we go. All set.”

Tomura stands up, but he doesn’t get clear fast enough to avoid Magne’s customary ass-slap. “Break a leg,” she says.

“Thanks.” Tomura slinks out of the costume tent, already in a mood.

They drive to the site in one of the various beat-to-shit Jeeps Midoriya inherited from the person who directed the last X-Men movie. Midoriya drives, which is bad all on its own, but halfway there, Tomura realizes there’s someone missing. “Don’t we need Aizawa on this?”

“Aizawa’s choreographing the first big fight scene. Most of the actors haven’t done real swordfighting before, so it’s taking a while.” Midoriya’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled in a way that makes Tomura wonder if he should be bailing out of the car. He’s pretty sure he can do it without getting a single bruise. “Even if it’s just for a few tracking shots before we cut away to you – sorry, Dabi – chasing Psylocke, it needs to look good.”

That’s fair. Tomura hates a lazy background shot, on the rare occasions when he watches a movie. Midoriya glances at him. “I know you said you read the script, but – give me your take on what’s going on in the scene.”

Tomura’s heard Midoriya ask people that before. Correction: He’s heard him ask actors before. “I’m not an actor.”

“There’s not a ton of dialogue in this scene. The physical aspect has to tell the story,” Midoriya says. “So?”

He’s not going to let this go. Tomura decides to get it over with. “During the main fight, Psylocke lifts the artifact everybody’s fighting over and runs. Quicksilver goes to catch her, but she uses her mutation to slow down time around him, which puts him on the same playing field as she is. They fight, he pulls her mask off, and figures out she used to be on his side. Then she cheap-shots him and escapes with half the artifact. Did I get it?”

Midoriya nods, but he’s frowning. “Quicksilver and Psylocke are foil characters in this interpretation of the story. He’s Magneto’s son and she’s part of a family of heroes. When they recognize each other, it should be a shock – they’re not just seeing a friend who’s now an enemy, they’re each seeing the person they should have been. So the back half of the fight should, like, reflect that.”

Tomura doesn’t do emotional turmoil. “You want Dabi for this.”

“That was the plan,” Midoriya says. He sighs. “Just – do your best, okay?”

Tomura was doing high-wire stunts while Midoriya was still in high school. He doesn’t need hyping up for a swordfight he can do in his sleep. But just because he can do it in his sleep doesn’t mean the actress Midoriya pulled out of a cattle call will be any good at it. “Does Psylocke 2.0 know what she’s doing?”

“That’s why I picked her.”

Huh. Tomura crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat for the remainder of the ride.

The site is up on a bluff, in a stretch of forest thick enough that barely any sunlight gets through. “This is supposed to be a nighttime scene, but thanks to the tree cover we can fake it,” Midoriya explains as he parks the Jeep and scrambles out. “Hey, guys! Over here!”

The crew looks like they’ve been waiting a while. Tomura knows most of them after spending the last seven years on the sets of various X-Men movies and hanging out at C-list afterparties. Of the group, he really only gets along with Spinner, who handles props. Everybody else is just someone else to be irritated with when they inevitably start bossing Tomura around. He props his feet on the dashboard and waits for something to happen.

“Psylocke! Quicksilver! Over here!”

Midoriya’s beckoning to him. Tomura forgot about Midoriya’s habit of using character names during shoots, and he thought Dabi was just using it as something to bitch about until right now. It’s annoying as hell. Tomura gets out of the car and skulks over, but someone else gets there first. Midoriya’s talking to her as Tomura approaches. “I know the script says you’re shooting with Dabi, but he, um, doesn’t do swordfights, so he sent his stunt double instead.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not you,” Midoriya says hurriedly. “He’s just having an off day.”

“An off year,” Tomura corrects. Midoriya jumps, steps aside, and gives Tomura his first look at you.

He sees right away what Magne meant about your hair – you match Psylocke’s design from the comments in length and color, even if the texture’s wrong. You’re a little shorter than the original actress, and you don’t look like an actress, even though the makeup artists already got to you. Actresses in big-budget films look a lot like each other, because they’re all wearing the same makeup and getting the same plastic surgeries, and they’re all the same kind of hot. You look way too much like a person. Like you should be behind the camera, not in front of it.

As Tomura sizes you up, he’s well aware that you’re doing the same thing to him, probably having the same thoughts. But you smile and hold out your hand to shake. “Hi. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Tomura shakes your hand for lack of anything better to do. “Go see Spinner for props,” Midoriya instructs, “and think about how you want to do this. Maybe get in character also? I’m not sure how many takes we’ll get before the light changes.”

“Got it,” you say. “Spinner is –”

“The guy with the swords,” Tomura says. It’s hard not to roll his eyes, and it gets harder when you fall into step beside him. Spinner is waiting for you both behind the props table. “Hey.”

“I was expecting Dabi,” Spinner says, picking up a sword. When Tomura reaches for it, Spinner chucks it to one side and lifts another. “I was gonna give him that one, but you’re better than he is, so I can trust you with this.”

Instead of the kodachi, he’s holding out a tachi to Tomura. “See how you like the balance on that. And for you, Psylocke – one katana, coming right up.”

Tomura keeps one eye on you and your sword while he’s testing the balance on his. You’re not being stupid with it, at least not yet. Holding it properly is the lowest possible bar, but Tomura’s met plenty of actors who can’t even manage that, and at least your grip looks solid. You walk a few steps away to practice sheathing and unsheathing it, and Spinner elbows Tomura. He nods in your direction. “What do you think?”

“What rock did Midoriya find her under?”

“I think she’s a stage actor,” Spinners says. Great. “Mainly musicals. She’s never gotten cast as anything bigger than an understudy.”

Tomura would facepalm, except he’s holding a sword. “Still,” Spinner says speculatively, “the director’s not a total moron. He must have seen something he likes.”

“Yeah. He likes not having to blow the costume budget on a wig,” Tomura says, probably a little too loudly. He sees your shoulders stiffen, and you turn to face him. You don’t look like you’re going to cry or anything, but Tomura’s been wrong about that before. “What?”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to practice, or if we’re doing it blind,” you say. Before Tomura can answer, you make the decision. “I say blind. It’ll look more authentic if we’ve never fought each other before.”

Tomura likes that idea, if only because the chaos will mask his total lack of acting skills, but he was counting on a practice round to test your actual abilities. Still, it’s your funeral. “Fine by me. I’m not going to go easy on you or anything.”

“I’m glad,” you say, and smile. Tomura already saw you smile once, but it was nowhere close to being this spooky. You have to be doing it on purpose. “I wasn’t planning to go easy on you, either.”

Tomura should say something – maybe along the lines of ‘we just got off on the wrong foot, don’t cut my fucking head off’ – but before he can, Midoriya orders everyone to places. He must have given you instructions ahead of time, because you vanish into the trees, leaving Tomura to follow Midoriya’s hyperspecific directions for hitting his first mark. “We’re just going to roll,” he says, as Tomura steps out of frame and braces himself to run. “I’ll call cut once things go sideways.”

Things go sideways in choreographed fight scenes all the time. Things going sideways in an improvised fight is a guarantee. “Right.”

“Psylocke, are you set?”

“Set,” you call out from somewhere.

Midoriya takes a deep breath, like he’s the one who’s about to start a fake fight. “Okay. Action!”

Fake-running and skidding to a stop isn’t Tomura’s specialty or anything, but he can make it work. He hits the mark Midoriya specified, raises his hand to the hilt of his sword without drawing it, and takes a look around. Right here and now, there’s no reason for Quicksilver to think that someone’s about to attack him. Even Psylocke using her powers to slow him down could just be a tactic to ensure her escape. She’s basically already escaped. All Quicksilver has to do is wait for her grip on time to slacken, and then –

A twig snaps behind Tomura and he throws himself forward into a roll, pivoting as he gets to his knees and drawing his sword in the same moment. You put a lot of strength and a lot of momentum into your first strike, and if this was a real fight, Tomura would be injured or dead. As it is, you checked yourself at the last second, and you take your time settling into your next attack, giving Tomura just a second or two to plan out his own.

No attack yet. His wingspan is wider than yours and the blade of his sword is longer, which means the first step for Quicksilver to avoid a katana through the neck is to get out of Psylocke’s range. You’re not screwing around, so Tomura won’t, either – he picks up a handful of leaf litter, throws it into your face, and gets to a safe distance, remembering at the last second to make it look even sort of stylized. It’s a movie, after all.

You’re taking it seriously. The suddenness of your first attack has Tomura on edge, and the lack of any direction or choreography means he’s got no idea what you’re going to do. They won’t be in the back half of the fight until he pulls your mask down, and haphazard grabs look stupid on camera. He needs to get your mask on the first try, and between now and then, he needs to put on a show.

Tomura strikes at you, and you duck, pivot, halfway inside his guard before he can reverse the strike. But you’re in too close to use your katana effectively – on purpose – and Tomura aims a punch at your torso, hoping you know how to fake a hit. You do. You exhale sharply, jerk backwards, and Tomura separates from you again.

Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? Why are you going this hard? It occurs to Tomura as he parries your counterstrike and returns a few of his own that these are the same thoughts Quicksilver would be having if any of this was real. Now that Tomura’s introduced hand-to-hand combat into the equation, you start using it, too, throwing a high kick that brushes ever so slightly against Tomura’s jaw. Tomura snaps his head sideways to make it look good, then lurches backwards in response to a fake punch to the solar plexus. He’s holding his own, and he’s in control of the fight, but to the camera and everybody else it’s going to look like Psylocke is handing Quicksilver his ass.

And you should be. Tomura underestimated you, then insulted you, and now you’re making him pay. But as interesting as the fight’s getting, it’s a movie, not a grudge match. Tomura shortens his attacks and you step in closer, close enough for him to grab your mask. Or it would be, if your face was where it’s supposed to be. Instead you’ve gotten all the way inside Tomura’s guard, stepped across him, and grabbed his shoulder with your free hand – and now you’re throwing him over your hip to the ground.

You’ve got the physical strength to pull it off – Tomura can feel it – but he gives you some help anyway, making the resulting fall look even harder than it’s supposed to. He lands flat on his back with you poised above him, pinning him down with your katana at the ready. Now would be a great time to grab the artifact, since it’s hanging on a loop around your neck, but Tomura’s got his orders, as stupid as they are. He reaches up, seizes the mask over your mouth and nose, and pulls it down.

You really can act. Tomura watches your expression shift from startled to shocked to something else, and you recoil backwards away from him. Tomura’s slow to rise, because Quicksilver’s supposed to be shocked, too. Dabi’s going to have to deal with whatever character choices Tomura’s making here, and he’s going to be pissed. Tomura doesn’t care. If Dabi wanted to have a say over what this fight looks like, he should have done it himself.

You’re pulling your mask over your face, pressing it down. You’re so busy with it that Tomura almost gets away clean with grabbing the artifact from around your neck. You catch him at the last minute and pull it back, and it splits cleanly between his hand and yours. You take one artfully reckless swing with your katana and Tomura ducks back just a little farther than he needs to. Which is when you turn and run, booking it out of frame and towards the far edge of the woods.

Some camera guy – Iida, Tomura thinks – chases after you. Tomura’s off the hook, but he holds still anyway. He’s gotten yelled at more than a few times for moving before the director’s officially called cut. But Midoriya isn’t calling cut. He keeps not calling it. Tomura can hear him, though. He’s muttering to himself.

“Hey, boss-man!” hollers the unit director – Togata, or something. “Want to call a cut?”

“Oh, oops! Cut! Definitely cut.” Midoriya sounds like he couldn’t give less of a shit. When Tomura turns to look at him, he’s got a notebook and he’s writing furiously. And mumbling again. Tomura’s worked with a lot of directors and more than a few weird ones, and once he rules out the hand fetishist and the guy who wanted the fight scenes to include real knives and real blood, Midoriya’s definitely the weirdest.

You come back from wherever you ran off to, and you don’t seem to think Midoriya’s as weird as everyone else does. “Are we waiting for notes?”

“Huh?”

“After we run a scene in a stage show, we get notes,” you say. You’re not quite breathing hard. Neither is Tomura. “Do you not do that around here?”

“Nah,” Togata or whoever says. “Usually the director just hollers at whoever screws up and makes everybody do another take.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Who screwed up? Was it me?”

“You certainly took some liberties with the scene,” Iida says. “The original intent –”

“You want original intent, don’t tell us to improv,” Tomura says. The fight with you was maybe the most intense fight scene he’s ever done. When Midoriya inevitably nixes it, Tomura wants a copy. He addresses you. “It wasn’t you. Somebody on the sound side probably fucked up.”

“Excuse me?” The sound tech – maybe Jiro? – looks like she wants to club Tomura to death with a boom mic. “I fucked up? If you two hadn’t gotten all –”

“Midoriya,” Togata sings out, patting Midoriya on the shoulder. Midoriya jumps. “Hey! Good to have you back! Should we get set for another take?”

“No.”

Mirio looks confused. He’s not the only one. “Are we taking this one back to the drawing board?”

“No.” Midoriya shuts his notebook and looks up, his eyes shining in the crazy way movie people get when they have a really wild idea. “That was the take. We’re done.”

“What?”

“That was it.” Midoriya’s grinning. “It was perfect.”

Now you look weirded out. Finally. “No notes?”

“We need some close-ups, but –” Midoriya grabs his radio and hollers for somebody to put Dabi in his costume “ – you guys did a great job. Like, even the timing – it’s going to be so easy to use those beats for close-ups, and all the character stuff – you were so in sync it was scary, but emotionally you were each totally on your own journey, and it looked –”

“Hey, take a breath. Don’t faint,” Jiro instructs. Midoriya sucks down some air, and Jiro turns to you. “You did your first fight scene in one take. Congrats.”

Spinner lifts the sword out of Tomura’s hand, then takes the two halves of the artifact from both of you. Tomura’s done here for now. He’ll hitch a ride back on the Jeep that brings Dabi up and find a place to nap. Hopefully. He feels a little too keyed up to take a break right now.

You’re still standing there, looking sort of dazed. It annoys Tomura for a second, until he remembers that you’re used to understudying in musicals, not shooting superhero movies. “Hey,” he says, and you startle. “That was a solid fight. You’re better than I thought.”

“That’s not hard,” you say. “All I had to do to be better than you thought I’d be was to not impale myself or anybody else.”

“I haven’t seen you work before today. Sue me,” Tomura says. “You know what you’re doing. That was a really good fight.”

You shrug. It pisses Tomura off. Fishing for compliments always does, and Tomura hates it – but instead of telling you to grow up, he tries to hit you over the head with it for real. “You might not know your head from your ass yet, but I do, and it was a good scene. I haven’t had a fight like that in –”

Years? A decade? Tomura doesn’t think he’s ever been in a fake fight that felt real without actually feeling unsafe. “That’s the best one I’ve done in a long time,” he says finally. “You’re a real actress now. That modesty shit isn’t cute.”

You shrug again and make your way over to where Midoriya and Iida are talking. You’re probably going to ask Midoriya if you did something wrong, and he’ll get weird and reshoot the whole thing. Or he won’t, and he’ll think you’re insecure, which drives most directors up the wall. The fight scene was good on the first take. That never happens. Excuse Tomura for wanting to enjoy it.

“Shigaraki,” Spinner says from behind Tomura, and Tomura looks at him. “That’s not how you talk to girls.”

“Huh?”

“You, like – negged her. A lot,” Spinner says. Bullshit. Tomura knows what negging is. He knows he wasn’t doing it. “You told her she sucks, and then you told her she doesn’t suck as much as you thought she did. And then you trashed her whole career before now –”

“When did I do that?” Tomura’s done with this. “I said she knew what she was doing.”

“Uh, yeah. She took you to the cleaners on camera,” Spinner says. “And I hate to be the one to say this, but you looked really into it.”

What does he mean, into it? Tomura was doing his job. If he doesn’t get into it, he has to do extra takes. “So, like I said,” Spinner continues, “if you want to talk to girls and have it go anywhere, you have to give actual compliments. Not just tell her you’re surprised she wasn’t worse.”

“That’s not what I said,” Tomura growls. He doesn’t like anything about this conversation – not what Spinner’s implying, not what Spinner’s telling him to do. “Since when do you give me advice about girls?”

“Since I’ve gone on a date in the last six months,” Spinner says without blinking. “When was the last time you went out?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Dabi spent the last six months in rehab. You could have gotten out there,” Spinner says. Tomura glares at him. “All you did was work out and play League.”

“That’s what I was busy doing,” Tomura says. “I don’t need lessons on talking to girls.”

“Sure,” Spinner says. “Give her a real compliment next time. It’ll help.”

It’ll help with what? Tomura doesn’t know what Spinner thought he saw, but whatever it is, it wasn’t there. Tomura doesn’t date actresses. Or actors, in spite of what a bunch of Dabi’s fans seem to think is going on between the two of them. And even if Tomura was going to date an actress, he wouldn’t date somebody like you – somebody new to all of this, somebody naïve, somebody whose confidence can barely survive a single hit. Maybe you’ll be the kind of actress Tomura would date if you make it through this shoot alive. The fact that no actress would ever date Tomura doesn’t matter at all.

Even if this is the only blockbuster you ever do, he’ll get to fight you at least one more time. There’s another fight scene between Quicksilver and Psylocke later on in the script. As Tomura leans against a tree waiting for his ride to show up while you talk way too earnestly to Midoriya, he finds that he’s already looking forward to it.

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