I would love an Angela x fem reader where reader is in the smosh cast and is having mic pack issues or a malfunction in smth they are wearing and Angela offers to help and it sparks smth between them (aka romance)
mic check
angela giarratana x gn!reader
warnings: nothinggg?, gn!reader only because no pronouns are used, really obvious/forward flirting, sexual & romantic tension, heavy touching, flustered ang, chanse feature, scissoring mentioned, reader is referred to as a princess once but not as a nickname, moreso that they are imitating the mannerisms of one.
note: hiiii first thing of my own im actually posting. ty for the req even though i didnt have any examples of my writing up for u 😭♥️ pls enjoy, sorry if this is a little more heated than what u had in mind, im just a freak <3
“ah, shit,”
you grumble, reaching behind yourself when you feel you mic pack catch on your distressed sweater. you pull on the fabric only for the pack to come with it, entangled in yarn and strings. you hold it with one hand to keep the expensive equipment from hitting the floor, trying to use your other hand to detangle it only to realize it’s engulfed. it’s become part of your sweater.
you look up and see most of the crew are either getting set or running around the stage. you’d ask somebody for help, but you find no one to ask. you look around, still anxiously trying to detangle the equipment from yourself with quick fingers but you’re doing it blind with your hands literally behind yourself back. you don’r get very far before somebody comes to your rescue.
“need help?”
angela approaches from your side, looking at the annoyed and distressed look on your face, arms crossed as she watches your fingers desperately claw around the mic pack.
you turn to her and nod, dramatically dropping your head to sulk. she giggles. she places her hand on your hip where your jeans sit and slides it across your lower back as she situates herself behind you. you wonder if she can feel the goosebumps that she leaves behind. she does.
she grabs your hands behind your back and gently swats at your wrists, telling you to let go.
“now why’d you do all this?” she asks, tapping on the sliver of your exposed lower back with her pointer finger. you can hear the smirk in her voice and roll your eyes.
“it wasn’t on purpose, obviously,” you reply, putting your hands on your hips.
you can feel her working better than you can see her. after a couple seconds of fiddling with it, you feel the tension in your sweater begin to loosen. she takes one hand and rests it just above your waistline on your back, finally untangling the wires with her free hand.
“you’re free!”
“oh thank god,”
“here, i’ll clip it back on, just-“
you go to lift your shirt up in the back for her, but you find she has a different plan. she grabs your wrist and pins it to your side with a quiet “i got it.” with her free hand, she starts at the bottom hem of the sweater and pushes it up your back, balling it up in a fist and holding it in the middle of your back before releasing your hand. you try and fail to hold in the surprised squeak
she tugs on the waistband of your jeans to create a small opening where she can easily clip the equipment back onto you with little resistance. she lets your sweater fall and pats the mic pack and your hip.
when you turn around to face her she wears the most ridiculous smug expression on her face. you’ve seen it before, across the table during a games videos and every time she gets proven right during a squabble with chanse. she’s overly pleased with herself.
“thanks, i thought i was going to break that thing trying to get unstuck,”
“you poor thing,” she tilts her head, stepping closer to you, closing the already small distance between you. the inner corners of her eyebrows are tilted upward in an exaggerated pitying expression.
she’s really good at this game. she always has been, pushing a button and walking away before she can watch the explosion. but you’re also good at this game, and you’re nothing if not competitive. or is it that you just like fucking with her as much as she does you? for hr purposes, you’ll stick with the former.
you look down between you for a second, contemplating, before snaking a finger into one of her front belt loops and yanking her closer. she yelps out of surprise and her expression wavers for the first time since she walked up to you.
“what’s your problem?” you ask lowly, though a smile graces your features. her eyes dart around your face, trying to avoid looking at your mouth even though she keeps getting caught there. she smiles a little, pointing a finger and pressing it into your chest.
“i don’t think i have one,”
you hum and scan her from bottom to top. it makes her nervous and she squirms a little, wriggling against your grip on her jeans. you let it go with a flick before stepping back once.
“i should probably lose the sweater, yeah?”
“i- what-“ she stammers, a hand flat against her front where you’d just been holding her.
“just so it doesn’t get caught again. i’d hate for it to happen while we’re rolling,”
you hold eye contact as you slowly peel the sweater off, leaving only a small, cropped, fitted tank top. angela tries and fails to avert her eyes from your chest hugged tightly by the fabric and your bare collar bones. you laugh, draping it over one arm and stepping back into her space. this time she takes one step back to match you, flustered now.
“that’s not fair,”
“what’s not fair, honey?”
“you just look like that. what am i supposed to do?”
“oh you can just stare like you always do. you’re great at it,”
she is great at it. you’re always catching her staring at you when she thinks you aren’t paying attention, from behind the camera while you’re on set or across the table when everyone’s at lunch. she knows you know. that’s why she keeps doing it.
she scoffs through a growing grin, stepping back toward you and closing the gap between you once more.
“you’re the worst,”
“because i got stuck in my mic pack?”
“because we’re at work and you’re making me feel crazy,”
“more than you usually do?”
“ha. ha.”
you open your mouth to say something else when somebody calls for cast to get set. you both turn your heads to see the commotion and shuffling as everyone gets ready.
“you’re lucky,” she says, biting on her tongue, looking you up and down this time. you don’t get nervous, though.
“i really am. my hero,” you pout, dramatically placing a hand flat on her chest and using the other to fan yourself like a distressed princess, leaning into her.
she grabs both your hands and holds them between you.
“go get set,” she scolds, laughing now and trying to gently push you backwards towards set.
“bite me,”
“i bet you wish i would,”
you hum and turn around as she releases you from her grip.
“thanks, ang,”
“you’re welcome,”
“come find me after the shoot?”
she scoffs. “is this a trap of some kind?”
“if you want it to be!”
and with that, she watches you disappear between the boom mics and monitors and headphones. she’s about to go find somewhere to sit when chanse appears next to her.
“i feel like i just watched softcore porn,”
she shoves him in the shoulder, earning a laugh from them both.
“you saw that?”
“i see everything in this place,”
“that was a perfectly respectable interaction,”
“sure, if you’re about to scissor,”
“chanse.”
“what! i want it for both of you! just not on the url couch, please,”
“GROSS!”
