✦ This is a blog for me to interact with x readers posts and blogs. I will be reblogging a lot of nsfw content so I will be blocking any ageless blogs.
just learned of Jamie Muscato and watched his rendition of Meant to be Yours and HOLY SHIT. That whole performance is fucking amazing (I absolutely adore his interpretation of JD, the character itself and the effort he as an actor put into creating it), but this specific part where he goes “But I~ can set you free~” in this sweet, smooth, velvety way I NEED TO INJECT IT IN MY FUCKING VEINS. Like *ugh* it’s just fucking delectable in a way that if I can’t have him either whispering in my ear directly or have this clip reverberating inside my skull (I was literally playing it full volume the other night and it wasn’t enough), the next best thing would be to just lick the screen itself. yknow I just can’t even. The way that I need this man is desperate and completely incurable. If a man ever sang to me in that manner (or just straight up was this man), he may as well just fucking get on one knee and propose because he won’t be escaping my clutches any time goddamn soon
summary: After another frustrating day of rehearsals, Derek offers to help you relax.
pairing: derek wills x f!reader
word count: 2.2k
warnings: smut (18+ only!!), semi-public mirror sex, fingering (f receiving); unprofessional behaviour at best; derek being an asshole; mostly unedited; please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.
a/n: let me tell y'all, being in bed with an absolutely awful cold for days on end is one hell of a way to remember that you have free will. and while i truly can't do much at the moment, what i can do is post my incredibly niche smut. honestly, no prior knowledge of the show required, this is mostly me going feral.
masterlist | read on ao3
You can feel your blood thrum in your ears with every step, your movements strong and precise despite your exhaustion. Your chin stays up, five-six-sidestep-eight, don’t look down, hold that note, smile at Jamie, turn around—
"Stop."
—don’t glance over, kick-two-and-four-and-what-was-the-line, turn left into the dip and—
"Stop!"
The music cuts out and you turn your head to glare at Derek. "What is it now?"
"Funny," he says, leaning back against the table with his arms crossed in front of his chest, "I was going to ask you the same thing."
You roll your eyes.
Under any other circumstances, you’d have probably found yourself quite enamoured with your assistant director. After all, Derek Wills is brilliant, dedicated, handsome; he has a keen eye for detail and he’s unafraid of anyone’s judgment of him. If you’d met him in a bar or a friend introduced to you, you’d probably let yourself fall head-first into an ill-advised dalliance.
Unfortunately, the first time you’d met was on the first day of rehearsals for your first ever principal role, and all of his intriguing traits make him an absolute nightmare to work with. Most days, with your director present, he holds himself back at least somewhat, even though it clearly pains him when things don’t go his way. This time, though, he’s outdone himself.
The show opens in less than two weeks, and with tech looming just around the corner, he’s decided to completely uphaul the entr’acte number. Now, there’s a whole new choreography you’re expected to learn on top of everything else.
The whole company is irritated over it, of course, but most of them have more of a dancing background than you do. Add to that nine and a half brutal hours of rehearsals and you want to rip Derek’s head off.
"I’m doing your damn quick dance," you say through gritted teeth. Jamie pulls you upright again, giving your hand an empathetic squeeze.
"However much I wish that were true, here we are."
"What on earth is your problem with me?"
"My problem isn’t with you, it’s with your performance today."
"Alright," the stage manager interrupts, tiredly massaging her temples. "It’s been a very long day. How about we break this up and come back tomorrow at 10:00?"
There’s a relieved mumble of assent as everyone around you starts collecting their bags and trickling out of the room. In the end, Derek is the first one to look away. You shake yourself out of your angry stupor.
"Ignore him," Lucy whispers as you take a long swig from your water bottle. "You did really well today."
"Not as well as you."
Even over the noise of everybody leaving, Derek’s shout of your full name is sharp enough to make her flinch.
"Breakfast tomorrow?"
"If I make it out alive."
She squeezes your shoulder and then hurries out the door. It falls shut with a foreboding thud.
You can feel the glare in your neck, but it doesn’t deter you. Unhurriedly, you pack up your things, rolling your aching shoulders. Once you get home, you’re going to take a nice, hot bath to soothe your burning muscles; it’s the first thought in a couple of hours that makes you smile to yourself, however briefly.
When you finally do turn around, you’re met with pure British disdain.
"Can I help you?"
"You do realise I’m doing this so the press won’t eat you alive, right?"
"How kind of you."
"It is, actually. You know, I have two other shows that I should be working on instead of doing this."
"Well, no one asked you to, Derek. You’re not the director. Steven thinks I’m a fine dancer, or else he wouldn’t have cast me."
"Steven doesn’t give a rat’s ass about this performance. Which is why he’s added all of these last-minute changes we’ve been trying to get through and I’m the one having to drill it all into your heads. A job which, frankly, would be a lot easier if I didn’t also have to try to stop this show’s only real musical talent’s attempts to bulldoze her career before it’s even taken off."
It’s about as much of a compliment as he’s ever given you, and that very fact takes the steam out of you somewhat. You watch as he turns away from you again and flicks on the metronome on the table.
"You’re insufferable," you say, but it doesn’t have the same conviction in it.
"Maybe. But I’m right, and you know it." He pulls up a chair and sits down on it backwards, crossing his arms on the backrest. "Go again from the pivot."
"What, on my own?"
He raises his eyebrows in clear amusement. "Please."
There’s a challenge in his eyes, and despite your aching bones, the last thing you want is to back down from it.
You hold his gaze for a couple of moments longer, the only sound in the room the ticking coming from the metronome. Then, with an annoyed groan, you drop your bag.
"When—"
"No," he interrupts immediately and you roll your eyes. "Just the dance."
You press your lips together, but don’t argue. Pivot left, double step, head stays up, don’t flap your arms. It feels strange not to sing over the routine; it’s gotten so ingrained in your head over the past couple of days. Breathe now, five-six-sidestep-eight—
Derek sighs. "You’re doing it again."
You finish your turn with a glare. "Doing what, exactly?"
"The little stick arms. Your entire back is stiff and it looks like you’re going through a checklist whenever you reach that part."
"So you want me to, what, smile more?"
"Would your character smile more?"
His question catches you off guard, as does the fact that he seems to be expecting an answer.
"In the script, she’s—”
"I know what it says in the script. What do you think?"
"It’s not just the choreography. I don’t think this number makes sense. I get why the show needs an uptempo number to start act two, but I just … it doesn’t really connect."
It gives you emotional whiplash, going from this scene to the next, but that addition seems a bit too unprofessional.
Derek squints at you, seemingly lost in thought. You wrap your arms around yourself self-consciously.
After some time, he adjusts the metronome to a slower tempo. "Go again."
It’s funny; even though nothing else has changed about your choreography, it feels much clearer, more deliberate, almost—
The chair scrapes over the linoleum floor as Derek stands, crossing towards you in a few long strides. You hesitate, one arm still outstretched to where you would normally catch Jamie’s hand for the twist.
"Ignore me," he mumbles, his look of concentration never wavering. "Again."
Ignore him? Like you've ever been able to do that. You can feel his gaze prickle in your neck, cataloguing every move, every tilt of your head. Your fixed smile wavers.
Chin up. Sidestep. Eight. Turn.
Your dip is coming up. Why isn’t he interrupting you?
When you turn left, a warm hand catches yours while another curls around your arched back in one smooth motion. You freeze, your mouth half-opened in surprise, and your fingers inadvertently tighten around his.
A rush of adrenaline courses through your veins as the world turns upside down.
Slowly, gently, Derek pulls you up into the rest of your spin. You watch yourself in the mirrors covering the opposite wall, coming to a standstill way too close to him, his chest almost brushing your back. He smells nice, you think nonsensically.
"You need to relax," he says lowly, his breath fanning your ear, and, oh. That’s what this is.
Tension hums in the air between you, and you’re not even facing each other.
You let go of his hand, but you don’t step away. "Funny."
"I can help you with that."
It’s an offer, maybe even a question. For a moment, it hovers, just like the two of you do, not quite touching, not quite crossing the line. Yet. The metronome on the table keeps clicking.
Heat trickles down your spine.
This is a terrible idea, one you’re certain to regret tomorrow, hell, a few hours from now. It’s unprofessional, unethical and plain wrong, and …
Almost imperceptibly, you nod.
You don’t see his eyes in the mirror, but something about him softens as he moves even closer. His hands graze your sides as they settle around you, sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, gently, they wander towards your waistband.
"Say the word and we never have to speak of this again."
You exhale shakingly.
His growing bulge presses into you from behind as his fingers slip lower, teasing you through the thin material of your panties. You gasp when they find your clit, your hips chasing his touch.
For all his usual antics, he’s surprisingly careful with you; almost tender, even in the way he pushes the fabric to the side and starts spreading your slick. It seems so at odds with the scene that unfolds in the mirror, your head falling against him as you hold onto his arm, his neck, trying to anchor yourself with a low whine.
"Shhh," Derek whispers, dragging his lips down your neck. "You need to be nice and quiet for me. Can you do that?"
People might still be working, your mind supplies hazily as a soft wave of pleasure starts to build. For some reason, the thought doesn’t deter you in the slightest.
You buck into his hand again, making him stifle a groan of his own against your shoulder. Before you can feel too happy about that, though, one of his fingers pushes inside you and you have to bite your lip in order not to make a sound. Your grip on him tightens, your stance widening.
"Look at you," he mumbles, sounding almost mesmerised as he keeps thrusting into you, his thumb lightly flicking over your clit. You clench around him, desperate for more friction. For once, he obliges. "You’re doing so well."
Another finger sinks into you right as he adds the perfect amount of pressure to your clit, his other hand rubbing soothingly against your stomach as you're pushed closer to the brink.
"That’s it," you hear him murmur, as if to himself. "So good for me."
You gasp, your eyes rolling back in your head. "Derek!"
"I’ve got you," he says, his hold steady and warm. "Eyes open, darling."
You whimper softly, trying to find him in the mirror. He smiles against your shoulder, nipping at your skin.
"I want you to let go for me now," he tells you, his voice a gentle rumble against you. "Can you do that?"
You nod, or you think you do. It’s hard to tell, really, when all you can focus on is the mounting pleasure building higher and higher, until—
"Just like that. Good girl."
With a shudder, you come undone.
You’re boneless in his arms, your knees wobbling in your high-heeled dance shoes as you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. His hardness is pressing against you, but before you can even attempt to turn in his arms and help him take care of that, he slips his hand out of your pants and takes a step backwards.
"Now go again."
You blink, your chest still heaving. "What?"
"Go again," Derek repeats. "Try to feel it this time instead of just moving."
A breathless laugh falls fro your lips. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
"I think we both know that I am." He sits down on his chair again, his erection painfully obvious. "Try it. Stop being afraid to feel."
"I’m not," you say automatically. The metronome keeps clicking.
He raises his eyebrows. "Show me."
So you do.
There’s no way in hell any of your steps are anywhere close to precise. You’re off rhythm and shaky, and you almost stumble when you catch Derek put his fingers in his mouth as he watches you, his face that unreadable mask of concentration again.
Somehow, though, the number feels different this time. Like you’ve released some inner tension that had kept you from falling into the routine.
This is absolutely fantastic, you think to yourself as you move. On top of everything else, he had to be right.
When you twist to a halt just before you’d normally dip, Derek smirks. "Now we’re talking."
"You happy now?" you ask, breathing hard.
"Exceedingly, darling." He flicks the metronome off, reaching for his script next to it and starts flicking through. "You’re right about the tempo," he continues, scribbling something down. "We’ll slow the second half of the number to transition into the next scene."
"You think Steven’s gonna let you get away with that?"
"Leave that to me," he says, looking at his watch. "Shit, I need to go. You, go home, try to be on time tomorrow."
You gape at the dismissal, watching him gather his things without so much as another glance at you. "Derek!" you say incredulously.
"Right." He turns, a hectic look in his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "You’re gonna be a star, darling. Just you wait."
Before you can reply, he’s out of the room, still half-hard in his pants.
The lights flick off.
thank you for reading 🫶🏼 leave a comment to send me virtual tissues because honestly i'm running out. if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!
edit: i'm currently high on ibuprofen and completely forgot to give the appropriate shout outs 😭 big thank you to @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane and @scrumptious-delusion who read this fic first, i would do anything for u 🫶🏼
TBD: To Be Determined (meaning this list may change as I learn of/more about other characters)
Italicized: Especially that character
Red: The same meaning as italicized but by 100x
⚠︎ Notice: Any underage characters are being headcanoned as in the future of the canon, where they are the same age as me (example: highschoolers -> college students)
Borderlands
Handsome Jack
Timothy Lawrence
Rhys Strongfork
Zer0
Dispatch
Robert Robertson
Sonar / Victor
Waterboy / Herman
Scream
Billy Loomis
Stu Macher
JJK
Nanami
Geto
Gojo
Sukuna
Toji
Haikyuu
Bokuto
Kuroo
Oikawa
Sakusa
… TBD
The Sandman Netflix
Morpheus / Dream the Endless
The Corinthian
Arcane
Viktor
Jayce
Silco
Dexter
Dexter Morgan
… TBD
Criminal Minds
Spencer Reid
Aaron Hotchner
Zenless Zone Zero
Von Lycaon
Komano Manato
Lighter
… TBD
Genshin Impact
Zhongli
Childe
… TBD
Honkai Star Rail
Sampo
Blade
Dan Heng
Welt
Phainon
… TBD
Baldur’s Gate 3
Astarion
Gale
Wyll
Halson
Enver Gortash
Kar’niss
Raphael
Haarlep
Resident Evil
Leon Kennedy
Chris Redfield
Albert Wesker
Carlos
Karl Heisenberg
Ethan Winters
Marvel
Matthew Murdock
Wade Wilson
Peter Parker by Tobey Maguire, Tom Holland, and Andrew Garfield
How it feels to stumble upon an author who writes a scrumptious fanfic of a character you’re obsessing/hyper fixating on and on top of that they have a master list FULL of fics dedicated to them
