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cheese-water · 1 year

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Alright, here we go.

Under the cut is the message I sent to YouTube about how the company handles flagging deemed “age restricted content” and the lack of transparency and communication given to content creators. Specifically, how they’ve treated RTGame. I am in no ways a expert and would not liked to be posed as such. I am simply someone exercising their thoughts and opinions on the matter and very aware of the slim likelihood of YouTube reading my feedback, let alone causing change. All I’m doing is sharing my emotions after three and a half hours of writing. And 1600 words later, it was sent.

TW: slight mentions of themes described in YouTube’s Age Restricted Filter (ie Gore, Predatory Behavior, Minors in sexual situations, etc.); hopelessness; slight derealization

Please enjoy my reaction.

Based on what has happened with RTGame, Daniel, and many other YouTubers, the rules and guidelines listed here do not fully encompass what YouTube considers "age-restricted content." I know for a fact that, through my own and others' experiences watching Daniel’s videos, he and the content he produces all fit within the guidelines listed out: nothing harmful or meant for adults that minors could easily imitate; not presenting 18+ content in a way that appeals and could be confused as children’s content; no harmful, realistic pranks that might be construed as real; no invitations to perform inappropriate, sexual dancing, fondling, or groping; nothing that contains provocative clothing or poses to arouse viewers; no images or videos of detailed, violent gore, such as injuries sustained from a car accident, as the central theme in videos; no overuse of profanities and vulgar language found in video titles, thumbnails, and the content itself, and not a single video where the content is simply swears and other profanity out of context.

I am fully aware that this does not fully encompass the policies you have set, but after thoroughly reading the guidelines found in the link, I’ve concluded that my point still stands by exemplifying his complicity with the themes displayed on the main page. This is unacceptable on your part. Why do I have to list out what a ludicrous decision it is to limit and age-restrict at least 12 of Daniel’s videos in the past 48 hours? Why, after repeated requests for contact and appeal, is Dan sent the exact same manual review response stating that a 3-hour video was in fact "not advertiser friendly" after receiving the request 10 minutes earlier? Why is this continuing to be a problem on YouTube? At this point, it’s just disappointing to see a site supposedly "built for creators" have their entire livelihoods ruined because of reasons they weren’t told about or weren't able to fix. In the last paragraph, "Check if your content is age-restricted," you state, "Our systems are constantly being updated, and if we find any discrepancies with your rating, there’s a chance it could change." Now why are YouTubers, who have managers in contact with them or even work at YouTube, only finding out about these changes after they have been stricken? Wouldn’t it make more sense for you, the company in charge, to communicate with creators about this fluctuating filter in order for them to avoid creating said "age-restricted content?" Most creators on the platform, including Daniel, do not want to advertise cannabis dispensaries or expose their viewers to gory imagery. I am able to say that with such conviction because of the amount of distress those YouTubers feel when they face an age restriction on a supposedly safe video. No one benefits, not the creators, the viewers, or even YouTube itself, when a video is flagged as 18+ without any warning, context, or possible reconsideration with your current way of operating.

Now, at this point, I could speculate that YouTube does indeed benefit from this due to the vague phrasing and information about the "constantly updated filter" in your systems, allowing you to excuse undeserved content being flagged under the guise of "newly added guidelines" and allowing you to keep all revenue generated from said video and not split it with the creator. However, that’s just baseless speculation from someone who has never experienced demonetization or age-restriction personally, and something I don’t believe. I am one for facts, not groundless conjecture, so instead, I’ll tell you two reasons why YouTube will not benefit from this lack of transparency with creators and how it’s on the road to failure.

As mentioned previously, I frequently watch and enjoy the content produced by Daniel, also known as RTGame, a full-time content creator. While for some reason he has been seemingly targeted with your way of age-restricting inappropriate content, including multiple past and oddly privatized videos on his channel, that is not why I bring up Dan once again. No, I would like to inform you of something he said merely a few months ago about YouTube. While this is purely verbatim, I have faith in YouTube’s team to find this quote in one of his videos on his channels if you don’t trust me, Daniel states his frustration and disappointment with Amazon, specifically Twitch’s handling of the payment split between Amazon and streamers and the change including the members of the Twitch Partner Program. I specifically recall Dan going as far as to say that if this was the direction Twitch would continue to head in, including streamers being forced to run advertisements in the middle of their streams, he was likely to leave the platform and join YouTube Gaming. He said that even after facing unwarranted 18+ flags on his content the year prior. To be more specific, exactly the year prior regarding the age restriction of "Best of 2021." How about that? I can’t speak for Daniel or anyone else who is facing this situation, but I can tell you objectively that when a direct competitor’s successful employee starts to grow tired and irritated at the competitor’s management and publicly states the likelihood of them moving to you, you better work your hardest to stay on their good side. Have you already fractured your chance with not only Daniel but many streamers on different platforms due to your public negligence and utter disregard for this man’s creations and, most importantly, livelihood? I don’t know. It all seems to depend on what you do next. You did this to yourself.

Now, why did I do this? Why have I gone and spent my time and effort illustrating my thoughts about restricted content while defending a man and a community to which I’m simply a stranger? Why have YouTube's actions, your actions, fueled me to type all this out, begging that there’s someone human on the other side of the computer breathing, reading out my thoughts instead of being sent to a spam filter, screaming out my lungs into this void, half of me knowing that this was a waste of time but the other half grasping on this false hope that by sending this, something, anything, will change? Why put myself through this? Because of the second reason:

Myself.

…or at least what I represent in the grand scheme of YouTube.

I, for all my life, wanted to be a YouTuber when I grew up. Nothing else—as much as I knew it was a slim possibility—was where I felt most comfortable (literally, I’m wearing YouTuber merch right now). I dreamed of the content I could create, the people I would meet, and, most importantly, my impact on others. That’s what drives me as a person—not money, fame, or even meeting my idols—the ability to change someone’s life for the better just through my passion. All of my life, I knew what I wanted to do; all I needed were the materials to create it. And after so long, I have them. Not just the material items, but the time, motivation, and mental health—everything I needed to hopefully be the force of creativity and positivity in others' lives that the content creators I watch are in mine. I was hoping to actually post in the next two weeks, with the beginning of 2023 and everything.

Then this happened.

Again and again and again and again and again and ag-

I could say that I’m not starting my channel out of protest, that it’s simply because you don’t deserve my creations until you respect others, and that it's purely to not lose potential monetary gains I would make based on what happened to others. I wish it were as simple as saying that this was the final straw, and I will never create videos for YouTube.

But while all are partially true, I am someone who values the facts. And truth be told, I’m scared.

Not only for what YouTube as a platform will become if mass, unjustified censorship of video becomes the norm, but also because I know what it feels like to have poured effort and passion into something and eventually getting the courage to allow the world to it, only for the rug to be pulled out from underneath you for reasons that are not unfamiliar yet go unexplained. I am scared that the minute I think I’m comfortable with being a YouTuber, I’ll get age-restricted, either wrongly or accidentally, and all I can do is sit and watch as my creations, born out of my want to inspire others like myself, are deemed unwatchable for little to no apparent reason, forever held hostage by the faceless god who gave me the tools I used to form them. So I’m not going to put myself in a position where I could get intensely hurt like others have. Not until that possibility is gone. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people like me who want to build and hone their craft through YouTube, and the only obstacle in our way is the company itself. Why would we want to join a site that treats its most popular creators unfairly from an outside perspective?

Change, improve, or at least try to quell the disappointment festering in your user base.

Please?

If not for some stranger, at least for RTGame.

Please, YouTube?

Anyone?

I spent so long trying to reach you; YouTube really has made me who I am today. I don’t want to stand idly by while they sabotage their own creators through a lack of meaningful communication when I could have done something, anything.

Please.

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all-books-and-some-tea · 8 months

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#first tumblr post #should be called a tumble #lgbtqia #I have no idea I’m a tiktok person #lgbt #non binary #gender queer #they them #I haven’t had tumblr since the SuperWhoLock era #just respect peoples pronouns

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sciencegeniusgirlshowdown · 10 months

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Can we submit Genderfluid Science Geniuses?

I'd say my stance is that, if a character wouldn't mind being referred to as a girl at least part of the time, they're definitely permitted! Speaking from the perspective of a nonbinary person (though not specifically a genderfluid person) I know I wouldn't be the most comfortable if I myself was submitted to an explicitly gendered poll like this, but I know that that take won't be the same for everyone! So if a character is generally comfortable with being lumped in with women then I wouldn't have an issue with it at all! If their preference when it comes to how they're acknowledged is vague, I may open up a preliminary asking for voters familiar with them their thoughts on whether it'd be respectful to the character for them to be included.

I will add that, with the current number of unique submissions already nearing the 128 limit with the submission period still having a ways to go, there's a chance that they may be one of the characters that doesn't make the cut in the end. If they don't, please know that it's not because of any phobic sentiments on mod's part! While I'd love to include every character sent to me, at the end of the day some will be facing the chopping block. If I do decide to run another SGGShowdown bracket sometime after this one ends, I'm like, 99% sure that I'll make it so characters that were solely rejected from the first bracket due to being at capacity would take up the first however many slots of the second bracket.

With all that being said, I'd definitely submit them if you think they wouldn't mind being a part of something like this! I'm worried it may sound like I'm already planning on rejecting them, but I promise that's not the case! I haven't decided exactly how I'll be picking which valid submissions get to be in the limited number of slots and which don't yet, so I just wanted to get that little disclaimer out of the way!

#SGGShowdown Speaks #SGGShowdown Announcements #The current plan is to have the format of every poll mention Science Genius Girl somewhere within the post.#Not exactly sure how yet but like #I wouldn't feel great about having the post say smth like “Who should be Tumblr's Science Genius Girl?”#only for one of the characters to not be comfortable with being called a girl you know?#Also for a certain set of characters (I am thinking about one in particular here but I won't say a name to avoid showing bias)#where there's like different possibilities for them but they're still distinctly the same character #and in one or more possibilities they're not a woman #I personally will be avoiding using images of them from the possibility where they're not a woman #and I'd generally recommend not propagandizing using information from the possibilities where they're not a woman #but they're still totally fine to be submitted!#If it's a case like a character starting the series off as a woman but later on transitions to a man or something like that #with absolutely no substantial (canon) examples of alternate timelines where that's not the case #the character will be rejected.#I know some media has situations like multiple endings where no one ending is considered the “canon” one where this can get messy #but just generally I'd like for winning SGGShowdown to be something fans of a character can be proud of instead of smth to feel awkward abt #Tags ended up running a bit long but the words just kept tumbling out lmao.#I hope this all makes sense! I just don't want to end up offending anyone accidentally or anything like that.

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eclectichedgehog · 1 year

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I posted 430 times in 2022

That's 430 more posts than 2021!

4 posts created (1%)

426 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@spideygaymer

@funnytwittertweets

@leedongwok

@ceylinerguvan

@mothric

I tagged 131 of my posts in 2022

#spotify wrapped - 11 posts

#doctor who spoilers - 8 posts

#art - 6 posts

#doctor who - 6 posts

#star trek - 4 posts

#leonard mccoy - 4 posts

#meeeee - 3 posts

#hannah rambles - 3 posts

#a very good art - 3 posts

#david tennant - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 110 characters

#was not expecting to catch my doctor who feels after being away from it for so long but here i freaking am boi

My Top Posts in 2022:

my Spotify Wrapped "Audio Day" slide be like: you're so chill😌reflective💓zen ✨

the song playing on the story slide: Whistling in the Dark by TMBG

0 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

0 notes - Posted October 26, 2022

that awkward moment when I realize my blog is old enough to start 1st Grade

1 note - Posted November 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🎵what a wonderful phrase🎵

1 note - Posted April 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#my 2022 tumblr year in review #also i assume the peeps i reblogged the most get notified #so if u were tagged #hi :)#long post #also gotta love: that's 430 more posts than last year!#well tumbles that's a funny way of calling me absent

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objectshow-enjoyer · 2 years

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okey dokey gonna be real my object show obsession is fading a bit <\3

will probably still be active but posting a lot less!

#Maybe I’ll post some of my ocs #who knows!#it’s my page I can do what I want u_u #what are they even called on tumblr #pages? blogs? accounts? tumbles?#who knows #tldr: less art; probably more reblogs if I remember they exist #mhm

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billiewena · 6 months

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THREE YEARS SINCE NOV 5TH, 2020 as summed up by Supernatural (sequel to this and this)

image ID & context below:

[image ID: screenshots of Supernatural paired with screenshots of various tweets, news headlines and Tumblr posts.

A screenshot of Ed and Harry in SPN 3x13 Ghostfacers saying "You gotta be gay for that poor dead intern" with a screenshot of Misha Collins at the SPNNJ 2023 convention saying "I got a call from Warner Bros and they were like hey uh...is there any world you just let it go?" This is in reference to an incident in 2022 where Misha accidentally made headlines after a comment that seemed to be referring to his sexuality. His comments at this year's panel imply that the studio in fact did not want him to retract the comment and make the apology that he posted, but to instead just roll with it.

A screenshot of Bobby saying "Time travel?" and Dean saying "Yeah" in SPN 6x18 with a headline that says "Jensen Ackles' Explains The Winchester's Multiverse Twist & Supernatural Connection." This is about the series finale of Jensen's Supernatural spinoff "The Winchesters", in which it is revealed Dean and the Impala somehow traveled the multiverse to the alternate timeline the show takes place in.

A screenshot of Dean in SPN 15x08 saying "He's back, and he's out of control" with a screenshot of Misha Collin's first Tumblr post in seven years, a video with him and his brother being a public nuisance on public transportation. Also included are screenshots of various Tumblr users reacting with tags from various tumblr users. becauseofthebowties: "mishacollinsofficial tumblr account back from the dead???" myboobsarentsentientbeings: "this is the first thing he posts? after nearly 7 years???" casismybestfriend: "RED FUCKING ALERT MISHA IS BACK ON TUMBLR" cannabiscasgate: "who the fuck gave you back your password"

A screenshot of two news anchors in SPN 14x20, with one (named Jack) telling his co-host "I love you" and her replying "Jack?" with screenshots of the Destiel/Supernatural Confession meme trending multiple times this year with other current events topics like Russia, Titanic, etc. There is also a screenshot of a post by saintedcastiel that says "I cannot believe that since we started using the destiel meme as a breaking news alert that there hasn't been ONE destiel news anchor AU fic where they're co-anchors on the morning news. cas confessed on accident while they're on air and dean doesn't know how to respond so he just reads the next thing on the teleprompter."

A screenshot of Dean in SPN 5x14 as Cupid says "I-I was just following orders" with a screenshot of an anonymous Tumblr ask to user luxshine. The ask says "Hey! I was wondering if you have any updates on the LATAM dub situation and if you were/will able to contact the dub director". luxshine says "Hi! Well I could get the translator (you know, our dear rogue translator) and he told me that while he doesn't remember it completely (because he translates a lot of series) if Dean said "And I you" it's because the script he got said "And" I you" and the video he saw said "And I you" because he doesn't add stuff." This is in reference to a change in Spanish LATAM dub of Castiel's confession SPN 15x18, which added a line where Dean reciprocates, which was previously suspected to be a change added by the LATAM dubbing director or translator

A screenshot of a detective from SPN 8x08 saying, "[Chuckles] Whatever you say Scully" with a screenshot of the tumble blr blog ao3topshipsbracket's poll "AO3 Top Relationships Bracket - Round 2 Side 1" with Fox Mulder/Dana Scully (The X-Files) vs. Castiel/Dean Winchester (Supernatural.) In the final results from 51,514 votes, Mulder/Scully won by 53% and Castiel/Dean won by 47%. In early 2023, Tumblr added a polls feature which has led to numerous content, debates, and bracket polls similar to this.

A screenshot from SPN 11x15 where Dean says "No money, no glory" with a headline that says "Supernatural creator Eric Kripke gets 'zero' residuals from Netflix"

A screenshot of Dean rising from his grave in SPN 4x01 with a screenshot of a post from the official CW Supernatural Instagram with a clip from the pilot episode and the caption "And the story continues..." and a comment from a user that says "THE STORY CONTINUES?? WTF ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US?? I HAVE ANXIETY YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME." For context, no one is sure if the post was supposed to reference new content from Supernatural or not but it has led to speculation.

A screenshot of SPN 8x01, with the onscreen lyric "Another year has passed me by."

#almost thought there wouldn't be enough for a year three post but here we are once again #destiel #spn #supernatural #nov 5th #november 5th #destiel anniversary #destiel confession meme #destiel news #deancas #nov5thposting #ntjdmakesthings

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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

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bedtime with mike and abby ( mike schmidt x reader)

hi guys! this is my first ever lil fic/imagine/blurb here!! if y'all like this, I'll keep it up. I'm also new to tumblr, so please please be patient with me. in the future i'd love to do requests.

also if someone wants to help me with formatting/be friends, just shoot me a msg :p

this is just a quick lil imagine/blurb. I've seen so many smutty fics and i wanted to spice it up w/ some fluff. just sleepy time on mike's night off! on w the fic :p

*edit* this isn’t revised!! i threw something together last min and posted cause i felt like writing lol. don’t mind the typos

word count: 1,633

warnings: none! just fluff, angst if u squint!!

summary: nighttime with mike and abby on his day off!

Most of the time, you, your boyfriend Mike, and his little sister Abby were on entirely different schedules. Mike worked nights at a shitty gas station job for the time being after his job at Freddy's was... well.. no more for obvious reasons. Even though he swore off the night shift, this was necessary until he could find something better. Jobs were sparse at the moment, and Mike's history didn't exactly make him a star candidate.

A typical night would consist of you making the three of you dinner, slowly forcing Abby to venture out when it came to her taste buds. Recently, she'd taken a liking to tacos. You and Mike would make a joint effort to get her ready for bed earlier together, as Mike was more particular about being there for her since the incident. She'd get a bath, get into her jammies, and the two of you would tuck her in with a bedtime story. You'd both kiss her little forehead goodnight, then kiss your boyfriend on his lips before sending him off.

Most nights, you tossed and turned in your sleep, unable to rest properly without Mike by your side. A painfully dull feeling would rest in your stomach, the lack of his warmth beside you agonizing. You'd spend all night waiting for 6am to roll around as you felt the bed dip on his side, barely stirring you from your sleep. You'd have thirty minutes until your alarm went off, thirty minutes to wrap yourself up into him before you once again went on your separate ways... living your separate lives until you could have your few hours of union later on.

But tonight, you were lucky. Mike had gotten the next few days off. His job was being extra kind as they actually recognized the hard work Mike put in, something he wasn't used to. They'd told him someone would take over for a bit, to enjoy himself, to rest. It may have been a low-paying, trashy, borderline dangerous job, but his boss was nice, and the customers were certainly safer to deal with than those at the pizzeria.

You called out sick from work, not wanting to miss a single second with your little trio. You'd both even made the decision to pull Abby out of school for the day, spending it building forts, watching movies, and eating ice cream. The three of you even went out rollerskating, Mike awkwardly tumbling every few seconds on the rink as Abby would bust out laughing at him. The three of you were now sat around on the couch, Mike smooshed into the far side of the armrest as your entire body lay on his, Abby's head resting in your lap as she sleepily blinked her eyes. She'd already had her bath, brushed her teeth, and all three of you were in your pajamas.

"So, everyone have a good day?" Mike asked, turning his head to the two of you with a small but sleepy smile.

"Mhm," Abby hummed quietly, slowly nodding her head against your lap. It was clear that she was moments from passing out, and once Abby was out, she was impossible to get up without a fight.

"Okay, I think it's time for bed," you giggled, slowly lifting your own head up from Mike's shoulder. Mike nodded in agreement, a laugh of his own escaping his lips.

You both slowly pulled Abby up, getting her up on her feet, her half asleep state making her delirious as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staring back at the two of you in confusion.

"C'mon, Abs, it's time for bed," Mike muttered, standing up. He grabbed your hand, pulling you up with him. You stood as well, following Mike as he led Abby to her room. She crawled up into her bed, her little body tucking under her blankets as the two of you sat on both sides of her.

"Want a bedtime story?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows as he leaned down to press a small kiss to Abby's forehead. Abby's lips parted to answer, but before she could, her eyes were closed and she was out. A sincere and quiet chuckle escaped underneath Mike's breath, his eyes full of love for his sister as her stared down at her. You couldn't help but stare, the edges of your mouth turning up into a sleepy smile of your own. He was so majestic, his messy but soft brown curls were laying in every which way on his head. Even though he was much more rested than usual, his eyes were still somewhat sunken in, but to you, that just made him more attractive. His scruff was messy, unshaven, but it managed to highlight his jawline. The sparkle that remained in his eyes, even through it all, after everything that he'd been through, warmed you to your core, your love for him overwhelming.

"What?" Mike asked quietly with a smile still plastered on his lips, his eyes now locked on yours. A blush crossed your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught, your eyebrows raising.

“Nothin’,” you hummed, shaking your head. “Just admiring you.” Your hand reached out to his as the two of you went to your own bedroom, the only light now lighting up your house being the moonlight and street lamps peeking through the blinds. You both crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

There was nothing but silence other than the sound of the fan in your room, the hum almost hypnotic as you wrapped yourself up in his arms. Your head rest against his chest as he instantly tugged you closer, his back flat on the bed as his hand cradled your side. His thumb drew small figure eights on your shoulder. Your body felt fuzzy, a type of relaxation you hadn’t felt at night in a while. Mike made you feel safe. On nights where you two were able to just snuggle up, nothing could buzz in your mind. Anxious thoughts disappeared, even the ones that seemed to be a constant in the back of your brain. There was nothing but a warmness in your mind and a beam of love in your heart.

“Hey, baby?” You heard Mike ask softly, his voice cracking from his sleepiness. You were broken from your train of thought by this, looking up at the man with the sleepy eyes. “Hm?” You hummed in response, your eyes fluttering, but he couldn’t see due to the lack of light. Mike sat up, pulling you up with him as he grabbed your hands, both of your faces now lit up by the light peeking through the cracks in your curtain.

“I- I know we don’t get nights like these much, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m never home, I’m sorry you have to do so much for you and Abby alone. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess with Freddy’s, got you involved in so much of this,” he said, his voice seeping with sadness and regret. His eyes held an even softer emotion than they did earlier, one that felt like a knife to your chest. “Most importantly, I’m sorry I can’t be the boyfriend I should be. I mean, we should be spending our nights out at clubs, going out on special dates and vacations, and I hate that I’m unable to give you that,” he sniffled, a tear now falling down his eye.

You leaned forward, a frown on your lips as your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes locked on his as you placed your hand on his cheek, wiping away the tear with your thumb as you shook your head. Mike’s own two much larger hands were now placed on both of your cheeks as he continued. “But listen, Y/N, I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone, okay? I- I’m not good at this shit, I know I’m not. I’m clumsy and I’m bad at emotions. I don’t always know what I want or what I need, but I know I don’t only want you, but I need you. You came into my life and you brightened it where it was the darkest. You brought happiness back, you made me understand what joy was again, what it was like to feel.. complete. You saved me, but..” he trailed off again, full on tears falling down his cheeks now. “Most importantly, you saved Abby, made her feel whole again too, gave her somethin’ like a mother, something I couldn’t give her,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. Before he could say another word, you wrapped around arms around him, pulling him into a massive bear hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, your mind not even focused on the salty tears and the snotty nose that was leaned up against your shoulder. Your hands rubbing his back as you kissed the top of his head.

“Oh, baby..” you whispered softly, squeezing him like if you let go he’d disappear. “You know I love you so much too…” you finished, pulling his face up by his chin, pressing a soft, gentle but electric kiss to his lips. The two of you then settled back into bed, curling up in each other’s arms as he played with your hair, occasionally leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, small sniffles still leaving his nose from the emotional moment. He was right, it was rare you got moments like these together, but when you did, you cherished them. It took about thirty minutes of sweet nothings and cuddles before the two of you drifted off, in your own little dream worlds filled with many nights like these.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #michael schmidt #michael schmidt x reader

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

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With You (part 1)

next part || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Hi, everyone! This is not my first fic, but it is my first MK fic! I have been on Tumblr for ages, but never actually posted a fic here. (I know this account is newer. My much older one is my more personal blog).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader. No references to reader’s gender. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 2890

Warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism, ummm cursing? Some kissing and stuff? No actual smut. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Marc was a little quiet lately. Strangely quiet, even for him.

After finishing your shift at the hospital and stumbling home exhausted, you were eager to see your fiancé, maybe even talk to him to see what was going on.

After a brief eternity riding up in the old lift in your building, you finally turned the key in the deadbolt and let yourself into your shared flat. As usual, one of the boys had left on a small lamp in the entry way, its incandescent glow the only illumination in the flat except for the florescent light of Steven’s fish tank.

Depositing your belongings on the entry table and kicking off your shoes, you quietly made your way toward the bedroom. But as you passed the darkened kitchen you heard a whispered, “Shit,” followed by the sound of a glass bottle landing on the countertop.

Marc.

He was drinking. Even with only the moon’s glow through the kitchen window, you could make out his preferred brand of whiskey.

In the span of a heartbeat, you took in the sight before you. Marc was facing away from you, as if he had been staring out the window, perhaps cursing the moon. Sweatpants hung low on his hips as if he’d made little effort to tie the drawstring. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt and the muscles of his back expanded with a labored breath.

Broad shoulders sagged as his fingers gripped the counter’s edge, his head bowed in what was likely shame. His curls tumbled forward, and you were certain that his long fingers had raked through them relentlessly in your absence, to be able to pull them from Marc’s preferred style.

God, he was beautiful like this, in the moonlight. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, and you wondered how he was able to bring this reaction out in you after four years as a couple. Still...you were worried.

“Marc?” You softly called, giving him a moment to hear your voice and acknowledge you before you attempted to touch him. Despite your loving and very physical relationship, he didn’t like to be caught off guard by anything - most especially not by touch.

He sighed so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“Marc--”

“I know,” he bit out, though his voice was soft, sounding insistent rather than angry.

You paused, confused. “What?”

His hand reached for the whiskey bottle, which he lifted and quickly set back down on the counter, shoving it away from him. The liquid sloshed but didn’t spill - he had already taken care of too much of it himself.

“I know,” he repeated, still refusing look at you, or even lift his head from its bowed position.

Fairly certain you knew what he meant, you clarified, “You mean you know you’re drinking?”

Huffing out a sigh, he pushed his fingers through his curls, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t want to face you like this. You had been through this - his drinking. It was bad at one point - drinking every night, passing out, getting into fights, but he worked hard and got sober. He worked so hard...

As far as you knew, this was his first drink in two years.

You were devastated on his behalf, but more than anything you wondered what could have caused him to pick up a bottle.

Finally, he turned his head to the side, granting you the view of his profile. “Yeah, I am. So let’s hear it.”

He was waiting for something from you. A lecture? Disbelief, anger, something.

Pausing to calm your racing thoughts, you tried to figure out how to keep from running to him, grabbing him, overwhelming him, smothering him with love and concern.

Impatient, he turned all the way around, leaning against the countertop to glare at you. You could barely see his face in the darkness, but you could imagine the grumpy glower he wore.

“Well?” He asked, sounding more defeated than annoyed.

Squeezing your fists together, you exhaled quietly. Whatever anger or disappointment he was expecting from you tonight, it just wasn’t there. All you felt was overwhelming compassion and deep concern. What had hurt your Marc so deeply? Who were you going to have to tear apart?

Easing toward him, you moved carefully, slowly, angling your body toward his side, ending up beside him. Placing one hand gently on his forearm, you felt it flex in nervous anticipation. He stopped breathing as your eyes flicked up to his.

“Are you hurt, Marc?” You softly inquired, not even daring to squeeze or rub his warm flesh.

Exhaling shakily, he quickly shook his head.

You rubbed your thumb across his arm, feather soft, that small point of contact searing your skin with yearning for him. “Is this okay, sweetheart?”

His chest rose with a pained breath. With a slight nod, his chin dropped down to his chest, unable to look at you anymore.

You dared to rub and down his arm then. Small strokes of your fingertips dancing on his flesh, soothing, not demanding. “Missed you today,” you said sweetly, momentarily ignoring what was clearly agitating him the most - what you would think of him breaking his two-year sobriety.

Truthfully, your concern was growing with every passing moment. But you knew Marc as well as you knew yourself. You could get nowhere with him if he didn’t feel safe. And was so safe with you. You would burn worlds down for this man you were about to marry.

“What are you doing?” he harshly whispered, recoiling only a fraction from your touch. “I almost finished the bottle.” A confession of sorts.

Gently giving his arm a final squeeze, you let go, after laying a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. Reaching for the bottle, you shocked the hell out of your fiancé by taking a swig, wincing as the strong liquid burned your throat.

“Damn,” you gasped, immediately taking another drink. “You didn’t save much for me.” Tipping the bottle again, you never got to your third swig before Marc ripped it from your grasp.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t drink that shit.” He flung the bottle into the sink, where it crashed and broke. It definitely sounded more dramatic than it looked - he hadn’t tossed it very hard, but you still involuntarily flinched, which, of course, worried and upset Marc.

“Shit, baby...I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to...I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay, Marc, I’m okay,” you quickly assured him, moving fully into his personal space for the first time all evening. You decided to move and speak with confidence from here on out. He needed to know where you stood. Placing your palms soothingly on his broad, bare chest, you felt his thundering heart.

“Hey,” you whispered, gazing lovingly up into his frantic eyes. Repeating his name, you waited for him to look down at you, into your eyes, which he finally, reluctantly did.

“I’m sorry,” you softly soothed, reaching up to trace his jaw line with your fingertips. “I didn’t mean to upset you by having a drink.”

“Why?” he harshly whispered. “I don’t want you drinking that.”

You made a face, “Baby, you were drinking that.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He jerked away from your touch. “So just say what you’re going to say. Just fucking say it.”

So he was waiting on a lecture. Or a fight maybe.

“Is there any more?” you asked as he began to pace the kitchen floor. He looked a bit like a caged animal - contained but alert.

He paused for a moment, almost snarling at you, but seeing your innocent, truly curious expression, he quickly decided that maybe you were really curious and not mocking him.

“Steven’s bookshelf,” he answered candidly. “The one by the closet - you know, the ones he never reads.”

You nodded slowly, pushing off the counter to walk that way. “Clever,” you replied. Marc was hot on your heels but said nothing else until you retrieved a second bottle of whiskey - same brand - and walked it back to the kitchen.

He assumed you would open the cap and pour it down the drain. He actually wanted you to. But all you did after twisting off the cap was take another long, burning swig.

Before he could begin to react, you asked, “Are you going to have anymore to drink tonight?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he grabbed the bottle from your hand and finished what he thought you had started. The amber liquid tumbled from the bottle, splashing in the sink and filling the air with its stale tang.

“What is wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be the one doing this?” He huffed, dropping the empty bottle to join the first, broken one.

“No, I absolutely should not be the one doing this, Marc,” you evenly responded. “I should not be pouring out the alcohol that you brought into our home. That is not my job.”

“Ah, there it is,” he snapped, his fists clenching as he leaned toward you, ready for a (verbal) fight. “Let’s hear it, then. Tell me how much I fucked up.”

“No.” Your voice was calm and you took a confident but small step backward. It was not a step of fear, but simply a way to diffuse the fight he was apparently expecting.

“Marc, you’re a grown man. I’m not going to scold you, or lecture you, or tell you what to do. And despite what you may have been expecting, I’m not going to fight with you. If you want to drink, you’re going to drink. There is nothing I can do or say to change that.”

He looked stricken. Were you giving up on him? Tears stung the corners of his eyes before he could stop them. He’d had a lot to drink and his head was starting to pound. If you weren’t even putting up a fight, he must have really screwed everything up.

“A-are you...are you going to leave?” He whispered, physically withdrawing, turning to brace himself on the countertop once more.

“No, baby,” you answered him evenly, confidently. “I will never leave you. Not unless you made it impossible for me to live here with you. But you wouldn’t do that. Ever.” Easing over to him, you gently laid your cheek against his bare back. “I’m your partner. Not your boss, or a god or a parent. We’re a team. If you’re hurt, I’m there with you. I’m here, Marc. I’m here.”

“But I fucked up,” he shook his head sadly, his voice breaking. “All that work, all that fucking work to stay sober and I...”

“Exactly,” you agreed, carefully sliding your arms around him from behind, watching for any sign of physical discomfort from him. “You made a choice tonight and you hate the choice you made. That’s all that matters. You’re the person that you answer to. What you say goes. If you want to do better for someone, it has to be you. Not me, not Steven. You. Nothing I do will ever change that. Nothing I ever say will keep someone from doing what they decide to do.”

You squeezed him gently. “So no fights from me. No lectures. But I’m not going to baby you either. If we’re going to drink, that’s the way it’s going to be. You and I can accept that reality or a different one. A reality with no drinking. That’s why I took the drink tonight. It’s just a drink. It’s not evil. It doesn’t have a motive. It’s just liquid in a bottle. It’s what you feel right before you drink -that’s what you have to ask yourself, Marc. What happened right then?”

His body seemed to crumple in on itself and he slowly sank down to the cool tile of the kitchen floor, his back pushing up against the cabinets as he shook his head sorrowfully.

“I can’t,” he gasped, tears trailing down his beautiful, moonlit cheeks. Shaking his head despondently, he turned his broken gaze to yours as you joined him on the floor. “I can’t...everything will change now, I just can’t.”

How could he do this to you...to Steven? He was trying so hard to hide everything he’d learned from Steven - that they were not alone in this body. That there was another. And Khonshu. Stupid, fucking Khonshu still had them enslaved. How could he ever tell the two of you? He had only known for two days and it was killing him inside.

“Come here, baby,” you soothed, reaching to pull him into your arms. Something had happened to set him off. You were certain of it now, more than before, and despite your calm demeanor, you were scared.

Your worries both eased and doubled when his body softened in your embrace and a British accent greeted your ears.

“Darling...what’s all this, then?” Steven asked you, nodding to his state of undress and your positions on the hard kitchen floor.

“Steven,” you breathed, pulling him in for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sweetly replied, granting you a soft kiss. “You alright, love?”

Before you could answer, he shook his head slightly, “Bollocks, got a bit of a headache. Has Marc been drinking?”

The look on your face told him everything.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Two years sober right down the drain.”

Honestly, the sobriety thing, although crushing for him, was not the highest priority right now. Something was wrong with Marc.

“Steven, let’s go to bed,” you decided, standing up and offering him your hands.

Several minutes later, you and your fiancé slid under the covers, freshly washed up and ready for bed.

“Steven,” you softly repeated his name, running your fingertips over his jaw line, the way you had done with Marc earlier. “I love you.”

“I quite love you too, darling,” he sweetly replied, kissing you softly. “Now tell me what’s the matter.”

“Do you...are you aware of anything going on with Marc?” you asked as Steven’s arms slid securely around you. “I think something’s wrong - like big picture wrong. We didn’t have a fight, like - I don’t think the problem is with us. Did something happen?”

Rubbing your back soothingly, Steven answered the best he could. “Not that I know of. Marc has honestly been a bit closed off with me lately. He is somewhat of a quiet bloke from time to time, but...yeah, I’m pretty certain he’s not been exactly an open book these last few days.”

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to think of what could have happened. “I’m sorry for putting you in the middle, my love. I try not to do that, but he was so upset tonight, and the drinking...”

“He..he didn’t upset you, darling? Or...hurt you? Did he?” His warm brown eyes darkened in concern.

“What, Steven, of course not,” you insisted, sitting up in bed. “You two would never hurt me, I know that.”

“Of course, love, but it’s just...” Steven hesitated, sitting up to join you. “Marc isn’t always at his best when he’s been drinking and...when I was holding you, just then, you--you’re trembling.”

It was true. You hadn’t realized it, but you were more upset than you’d realized.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, you reached for your fiancé, whispering his name pleadingly as you climbed across his lap. Strong arms wrapped around your back, gripping you firmly as he pulled you into his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against your lips. “It’s alright, love.”

Feeling so safe in his arms, against his strong body, you pressed your lips against his, your fingers caressing up his neck, into his curls. Your body melted into his embrace as you slid your tongue over his. Admittedly, you were feeling a little desperate and Steven was most likely intoxicated, but it was heavenly to feel him pulling you into him as your tongues tangled, hands grasping to get somehow closer.

You went on like that for a short while, rubbing your body against his, sucking on his tongue the way he loved, fingers threaded through his curls, which made him almost feral. Lurching forward, he tumbled on top of you, ignoring the pounding in his head and running his hands up your bare thighs.

Despite how wonderful you felt, he paused, touching his forehead to yours for a moment of reprieve.

“Steven, are you okay?” You managed to whisper between kisses, looping your arms around his neck. “Your head still hurting?” You asked because you could tell he was holding back a little. You had been kissing for a while and his hands had yet to travel underneath your underwear or (Marc’s) oversized white t-shirt.

Easing his forehead down to your collarbone, Steven pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your chest. “Too much bloody whiskey,” he murmured. “Sorry, darling.”

“It’s okay. Feels good,” you breathed on his ear, which made him shiver.

“Didn’t mean to get too distracted, love,” he conceded, rolling off of you and rubbing his temples. “I know you’re worried about Marc. I am too, if I’m honest.”

There were no answers for you that night. Steven realized quickly that he needed some sleep and the two of you hoped that Marc might be there the next morning to give you some answers.

#moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #mcu #oscar issac fic

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dazedandconfused-15 · 25 days

Text

Heaven's in your eyes

This is to answer a request I received from an anonymous user a couple of months ago “Billy asks shy reader out and is protective over her”, for some reason I can't directly respond to their post still getting used to Tumblr. Sorry for taking a while to write this one. Anyway, I got a little bit carried away and turned it into a short fic, I just loved the whole concept. I’ll definitely post a part 2. Comments and constructive opinions are always appreciated 🩷

Part 1

You have always watched him from a distance.

There was something magnetic about him. Where he was, energy swirled.

You have never spoken to him. He’s something inaccessible to you. He hangs out with the popular crowd. Yet, unlike all of them, he doesn’t seem to pretend. He doesn’t show up. He naturally exudes an aura that makes him alluring. He’s not just what could be called "hot." No, he’s beautiful. When you first saw him in the school hallways, you could swear that for a second, your heart stopped. He was playing with his lighter, walking with an assured stride in the direction of his classroom with Jason Carver. He was a palette of contrasting colors that stood out in perfect harmony. His tanned face was framed by long, golden curls that almost fell over his shoulders. He looked straight ahead as he listened to the boy at his side with his red mouth stretched into a smirk that revealed white teeth. His cupid bow was dusted with stubble. It was no surprise that most of the girls looked at him with no shame, the shyest ones glancing up as soon as he passed them. That California boy did not look like a boy. He looked like a man. You could tell by the way he was built, the black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders, the muscular legs in his denim jeans.

You had realized that you were staring openly at him when he passed by you and, probably feeling the weight of your gaze on him, his eyes had met yours. There, something had happened inside you. His eyes were the purest blue you had ever seen. They were crystalline. But it was the long dark lashes that gave his gaze something expressive and unique. They were the embodiment of what is called a piercing gaze. It was a unique paradox: as angelic as it was rough in outline. Awakening from your enchantment, you lowered your gaze with an abrupt jerk of your head and resumed putting your books away in the locker, feeling your cheeks on fire and your heart beating wildly.

That was the only time you had even a remote semblance of contact with him.

As you rush to your English literature class a month later, rounding the corner of the hallway, the last thing you expect is to bump into him. You let out an "ouch" as you collide with his hard chest, your notes and pencil case tumbling to the ground in the chaos. It's only when you raise your eyes in a flurry of apologies that you realize who you've bumped into. You swallow, kneeling and picking up your notes hastily.

"You alright?"

"Yes. Yes." the notes slip through your shaking fingers.

His hands appear in your field of vision, and when you accidentally touch them, an electric shock almost makes you wince. He helps you pick them up, then raises to his feet and holds them to you. You thank him, thinking about what else you could say to avoid making the situation awkward. His baby blue shirt matches the color of his eyes. He’s even prettier from closer.

"Aren’t you in history class with me ?"

His question surprises you. You didn't think he would remember you. You didn't think he would notice you.

"Yes. That's right."

He holds out his hand, his heavy-lidded gaze on you. "Billy."

You shake his hand, introducing yourself. His hand is large and his grip his firm, but gentle at the same time. That touch makes your stomach tangle. You can't believe he is talking to you.

"You're new, right?" you ask. You know fully well that he arrived here a month ago. You know full well that he is from California. He probably knows that you know, but he doesn't say anything about it

"Yes. Moved here last month."

“Oh, okay. Welcome to Hawkins, then.” you say gently as you absently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence, him probably waiting for you to say something else. You point at the door down the hallway, starting to walk away. “I ah, I have to go to class. Sorry.”

And you walk away, no, you scurry away, almost escaping him, feeling a pang of embarrassment as you replay the scene later in your head, regretting how abruptly you left without saying more.

You don’t cross paths with him again after that. However, you are clearly more aware of his presence during history classes even though you don’t interact again.

In recent months, you've adopted a strategy of minimizing your visibility as much as possible. It’s not always easy. That Thursday is one of the hard days. Mr. Jensen, the new history teacher, makes his way through the rows of desks, collecting permission slips signed by parents for the upcoming day trip he has organized to Indianapolis.

"Ah, I don't seem to have your permission slip yet," he inquires gently as he sees you empty-handed. "Did you forget to bring it today?"

Feeling the eyes of everyone on you, your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. You hate all of this attention on you. "I, um, I haven't been able to get it signed yet. My dad's been working double shifts, and I haven't caught him at home."

“I understand,” the teacher says, “But I need to give all the signed papers to the principal by tomorrow. Is it possibly to get it signed today? By your mother, perhaps?”

Before you could answer, Tommy Hagan's voice pierces the air, his tone laced with mockery. "She's probably halfway across the country by now, cozying up with some other guy."

You don’t even turn to look at him. You saw it coming. It’s been five months since she left now. Hawkins is a small town, so the news spread quickly. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact with your classmates as you feel the weight of their curious gazes.

"I uh...I just," you try to ignore Tommy's comment, resting your eyes on the professor whose eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. "I'll tell my dad tonight. He's just been really busy. I will bring it to class tomorrow."

“If he comes back with the milk.” snickers Tommy.

You stiffen instantly without wanting to, which the teacher doesn’t fail to notice.

“That's enough, Mr. Hagan. Comments like that have no place in my classroom.” he snaps as his eyes darken, his jaw set. His expression softens as he turns to me “Don't worry about the permission slip for now. We'll make sure you're included."

As the professor returns to his seat, your eyes remain fixed on the spot where the bench is chipped, absently touching it with your fingernail. Your body fails to relax as you fight to ignore the burning in your throat, careful not to blink, your vision blurred for a few moments. But Tommy's yelp draws your attention and you turn your head to your left, where he is sitting next to Billy.

“Ow. What was that for, man?”

Tommy is rubbing his shoulder, his face scrunched up in pain and a mixture of disbelief and confusion on his face. Billy stares straight ahead, his face cold and hard.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he eventually mutters under the teacher’s explanation. However, it sounds more like a statement than a question.

As you go back to stare at your desk, your throat is still burning but your vision is clear again. You wonder if what Billy said was because of Tommy's comments. Why would he defend you?

The rest of the class passes in a blur of confusion and unanswered questions. Tommy's hurtful words echo in your mind, leaving you shaken and upset, the sting of their cruelty lingering long after the bell rings.

***

On the morning of the school trip, you are tempted to call the school and say you are sick, but your father comes back from the plant later in the morning and will see that you are actually fine. Also, Mr. Jensen might suspect that something is going on. Only, the idea of spending the day with the whole class, but feeling more alone than you are when you're at school, doesn't appeal to you. You've never been very outgoing. Since your mother left, the armor that covered you has only thickened, alienating you from the rest of the world. To this day you have received no answers. She left overnight without warning. You never received a call. You knew that things had not been going well between your parents for some time. Or rather, your mother kept complaining about how being in Hawkins was suffocating her, how she was no longer happy. The pain was slowly becoming coated with resentment. She had abandoned you and your father as if nothing had happened, as if years of living together had counted for nothing. As if being a family had cost nothing. Arriving on the ground floor and finding the kitchen light off had now become a habit, not an odd occurrence. Other things had become routine: the unaccustomed silence in your house, the TV once perpetually on now always off, the teapot once always in use was now in the kitchen drawer.

Once on the school bus, you spend your time looking out the window and counting the trees on the distant hills. You can feel the wind blowing outside, the rain pelting cruelly on the window. A crack lets a trickle of air through, making you shiver and clench tighter in your jacket. The ride at least passes quietly, no one talking to you or bothering you. Tommy Hagan keeps his comments to himself, too busy jabbering in the back of the bus with his band of friends. You can hear the occasional shrillness in the voice of Carol Perkins, his girlfriend.

You spend almost the entire morning in the Indiana Historical Society, following the professor through the corridors of the museum. You stay in the background, drowning out the guide's voice and looking at the paintings hanging on the wall. As you change rooms, you realize that you are not the only one who has remained aloof. Billy Hargrove lingers to your side at the back of the row of students, his hands tucked into his leather jacket. You try not to be affected by his presence, suddenly self-conscious of the way you walk and breathe. You still remember what he told Tommy Hagan the week before. You are increasingly convinced that he defended you. As the class spreads in different directions, everyone observing something different and speaking lowly in small groups you realize he’s still here, on your side. As you ponder if you should say something, or just assume that he’s walking behind on his own, he catches you off guard.

“Kinda boring, huh?”

“Yeah, a little," you respond, offering him a small smile that probably looks like a grimace. "History isn't my cup of tea."

“Mine neither,” his gaze scans the display cases lining the wall on your left. “Beats being seated all day in class, though.”

“Definitely,” you nod in agreement as you slowly cross through another room. Desperately trying to fill the silence, you come up with the first thing that crosses your mind. “I’ve been here before.”

“The museum?”

“Indianapolis,” you say. You hesitate before finishing your thoughts. “My grandma lived here. I spent some weekends at hers.”

Billy hums. He sniffs, then retrieves some chewing gums from his back pocket. He unwraps one. “How’s the city?”

“It’s great. Oh, thank you.” you softly say as you take the gum he’s offering you. “There are some nice parks.”

He pops the chewing gum in his mouth. “We have quite a few in San Diego too.

You turn toward him, curiosity overcoming your shyness. “You lived in San Diego?”

“Yes. Big change of scenery.”

“I can imagine.” your gaze wanders to the antique objects displayed in a glass case. “I’ve seen pictures, it looks incredible.” memories of your dad's album, from when he was young, flood your mind – images of palm trees swaying in the breeze, golden beaches stretching for miles, and endless blue skies that seemed to merge seamlessly with the ocean.

“That’s something else, yeah. Honestly, I couldn’t complain at all.”

“I wish I could see California,” you say a little dreamily.

“I can take you one day.”

Your throat feels suddenly dry. So you let out a nervous giggle, avoiding his gaze, assuming he is joking. Fortunately, the professor calls your attention back. It's lunchtime and he tells you that you are free to go wherever you want, as long as you are outside the museum within four hours. You told your father the school would pay for the student's lunch because you know times are tough. He insisted on giving you ten dollars in case you need it.

You walk down the steps of the museum looking around and thinking about where you could make all this time go. It's going to be long. You know a few restaurants, but you know that your pocket money is clearly not enough to eat there. A gust of wind brings the smell of smoke to your nostrils, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Billy stop beside you. His eyes take in your surroundings.

“So, you told me you know the city.”

“Huh, yes,” you answer, a little lost. “Not all of it, but most of it, like downtown.”

Billy exhales the smoke he’s been holding in his mouth. “Are we downtown?”

You look around, recognizing the skyscrapers in the distance. "Yes," you point to the skyline to your right, figuring he simply wants to ask you for information so he knows where to go with his friends. "It's over there."

“Sweet. You hungry?”

The silence that passes between the two of you makes him turn toward you, waiting for your response. So you rush to answer, ignoring the way his piercing blue eyes make you feel self-conscious.

“Yes. Yes, a little bit,” then you ask him, unsure: “...are you?”

“Starving.” he resumes walking down the stairs again, and you follow him, trying to figure out if he really means what you think he means. Some classmates are already leaving in different directions. “You know someplace to eat?”

“I do. But I don’t have enough. In case you want to go together. If that’s what you were offering.” You add, mentally slapping yourself. Why does everything you say have to come across as weird? Besides, you just admitted that you are practically out of money. “I can show you, though.”

Billy shakes his head, shifting in his leather jacket. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”

“No, really, I can't let you do that," you insist, your voice tinged with concern. "I mean, I appreciate it, but I can't just let you pay for me."

Billy turns to you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he exhales the smoke sideways. "Come on, it's no big deal," he reassures you. "Consider it my way of saying thanks for showing me around. Besides, it's not like I'm short on cash."

You hesitate for a moment. But ultimately, you know that accepting his offer would ease the burden on your wallet. With a resigned sigh, you nod in agreement. "Okay, if you insist," you concede, offering him a small smile. "But just this once.”

You wanna immediately grimace at your pathetic implication that there would be another time, but Billy doesn’t seem to notice anyway.

He just winks at you. And even if he’s not smiling or anything, it still makes your stomach flip. "Deal," he says. "Now, lead the way."

As you walk beside each other through the park later on, you relish in what surrounds you, not even realizing the silence that has settled between the two of you because it feels so natural. Some people are jogging, there are some families too, or people walking alone headed who knows where. The birds are chirping in the trees that are alongside the walk. You spot a squirrel scurrying up the trunk of one of them, its fluffy tail waving wildly. The late afternoon sun is shining right in front of you, hitting your skin in a gentle caress. Spring is gradually unfurling its colors, bringing with it a glimmer of warmth that has been absent from your life lately. In the midst of the cold and desolation that settled in after your mother's departure, this glimpse of light offers a tentative promise of renewal, a small beacon of hope amid the darkness that has enveloped you and your father. You glance at Billy, realizing that in the short span of your conversation, he's frequently reached for a cigarette. Yet, even during the moments when he abstained, like in the museum and at the restaurant, his mouth was never empty. It was either occupied by a mint, a bite of burger, the straw of his milkshake, or eventually a toothpick found on the table.

“So, uhm, have you been somewhere else besides San Diego or Hawkins?” you venture.

“Nope”, he answers, the “p” resounding loudly. He looks around, one hand in his jacket pocket as the other one holds the cigarette on his side. “Never moved from Cali. I was born in Santa Barbara. Then moved to San Diego when I was ten.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Is Santa Barbara close to the ocean?”

“It is. I’ve always lived by the ocean.”

You turn to him, enthusiasm laced in your voice as you get carried away in the conversation. “So you know how to surf?”

Billy chuckles, nodding as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “I do, yeah. Surfed every day.”

“Wow.” you breathe, your mind wandering away. “It must be…like an adrenaline rush.”

As Billy exhales the smoke, you don’t miss the nostalgic glint flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. "Yeah, it's something else. There's nothing quite like catching a wave, feeling the power of the ocean beneath you."

“I’ve heard it’s hard to learn.” you muse softly.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps punctuates the conversation. Billy stays silent for a few seconds, probably lost in his thoughts. Then he shrugs. “To be honest, I was on the surfboard since I was a child, so must’ve been natural for me. But yeah, it generally is.

“I can only imagine," you respond, a sense of longing in your voice. You’ve only seen this kind of landscape in pictures or on TV. "Must have been amazing growing up with that kind of freedom."

Billy's sigh is loud as he exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "It was. Surfing was my escape, you know? Whenever things got tough, I could just grab my board and disappear into the waves."

What he says lightens some curiosity in you. You wonder what he means by that. You wonder what he went through, what his past was like. There’s something really intriguing about him. But you refrain from asking more, aware of how little you know each other. Besides, you can’t help but notice the little twitch of his jaw muscles as he says it.

"It’s always been books for me.” you offer. “They have this way of transporting you to another world, making you forget about everything else."

Billy nods in understanding. “What kinda books you read?”

“Oh,” you look at your shoes as you feel suddenly vulnerable. You almost feel ashamed of your taste in books, but you know you shouldn’t. “A bit of everything, really. I’m reading a Dostoevsky one right now.

“Dostoevsky, huh? Pretty heavy stuff,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“You’ve read some of him before?

“I read Dream of a Ridiculous Man. A long time ago though.”

“Oh,” you breathe, recalling how challenging it was to finish it when you read it a couple of months ago. Reading books by Dostoevsky, especially that one, has been both a cathartic and enlightening experience. They made you feel less alone in your pain. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda controversial.” he grimaces. “It’s a fucking depressing book. But... it's like... there's something about it that just... resonates, you know what I mean? Like, you read it and... it's like looking into a mirror, but... the reflection's all twisted and weird. I don't know if that makes any sense.” he shrugs.

It couldn’t make more any sense to you. For the first time, you feel understood in that sense. It's a relief to know that you're not alone in finding meaning within its pages. His words resonate deeply with you.

“I totally get it. That’s part of the reason why I like his books.”

The subtle revelation hangs in the air with the rhythmic sound of your footsteps on the concrete path. You hope he’s not reflecting on your words too much, aware of what you’ve implied. Your own thoughts go on what he said. Why did Billy resonate so much with the book? What if there’s something everybody can relate to, even people who haven’t experienced anything bad in life?

“What about you?” he then asks. “Always been in Hawkins?”

“Born and raised.” you nod. Then you add, a bit sheepishly: “Nothing like California, unfortunately.”

Billy snorts, flicking his cigarette. “What’s there to do in summer?”

“Oh uh. Nothing much. We have a public pool.” you offer, looking at him.

Billy takes a drag, his eyes trailing on the path in front of both of you.

“We have Lover’s Lake too,” you add. “It’s quite nice, actually. People spend the day there and have barbecues or campfires.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that one,” he says. “You guys party by the lake during summer or something like that.”

“Yes.” then you keep quiet for a few breaths, imagining he’s probably heard it from one of his friends from the basketball team. They’re usually to host parties or organize them. It always involves loads of alcohol and ends up in big scandals. You feel the urge to correct him. “Not me, though. I don’t, uh…I don’t party.”

You feel his eyes on you. “Makes sense.”

You look up at him in question.

“Didn’t see you at the Halloween party.”

“The one hosted by Tina Williams?” you soon look away as soon as you meet his gaze. “I didn’t know you…you noticed.”

“Would’ve sure as hell noticed if you were there.”

As Billy's words settle in, you feel a warmth spreading through you, starting from the tips of your ears and flushing your cheeks crimson. His simple compliment catches you off guard, igniting a whirlwind of emotions within you. You find yourself struggling to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering away as you search for some semblance of composure. None of this makes sense. The mere fact that he recognized your absence at the party, that he shared lunch with you, that he's now walking beside you in the park—it all feels inexplicable. You're accustomed to blending into the background, being an outcast in the bustling halls of the school. You're no stranger to the whispers that swirl around you, painting you as the outsider, the comments about your situation at home, the subtle jabs at your circumstances. The silence between you stretches, pregnant with unspoken thoughts.

“You’re alright?” you hear him ask.

You slow down, lingering to a stop as you realize Billy has stopped walking too. He looks down at you with a hint of curiosity, the sun caressing his golden skin and reflecting in his eyes, becoming like polished, crystalline gems. That’s when you notice little details you haven’t paid attention to before. The scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the pattern of freckles dusting his nose.

“I guess I’m just a little confused,” you admit.

Billy exhales the smoke from his nostrils, his gaze effortlessly fixed intensely on you. “Why is that?”

“I just…” you try to not avoid his gaze. “Why are you here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement and what looks like genuine confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His question is so simple it takes you off guard. Makes you question your reasoning. As you’re at a loss for words, you feel a blush slowly creeping down your cheeks.

Billy’s lips slowly curve into a smile, somewhat teasing. “You really have pretty eyes, you know that?”

You’re positively sure you’re as red as a lobster now, a little whine escaping your lips as embarrassment settles over you. It’s the most instinctual reaction. It makes him chuckle, and makes you awkwardly laugh in response, because what else can you do? He tilts his head to the side, trying to meet your avoiding eyes.

“How about that? I’m here with you ‘cause of your pretty eyes”.

“I really don’t think they’re that special.” you shake your head, still laughing.

You’re not that innocent to not realise he’s openly flirting with you. You’re not surprised, because just looking at him is enough. You’ve also heard things about him and some girls at high school. What surprises you, is that he’s flirting with you. You don’t have that much experience in the love department, but there’s something sincere and genuine in the way he’s doing it now. There’s something soft in his eyes that tells you he’s sincere.

“Well, it’s a shame,” he says, that’s when you realise how much closer you are to each other. You can tell by how you can smell the tobacco and his cologne, his silver earring shining as it catches the sun. He tilts his head again, this time catching your gaze as you muster the courage to lock eyes with him. “’Cause you have beautiful eyes.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, nodding your head slightly. You swear you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

You feel like you want to return the compliment because his eyes are the reason why your heart is reacting the way it does. But then again, you’re too shy to do that, and a tiny part of you thinks it would make things weird or would end up having you vulnerable because you don’t know for sure if his compliment is fueled by real interest in you.

“I just don’t hang out with anyone, trust me.”

As a distant church bells toll four times, their echoes drifting across the park, a subtle reminder of the passing time washes over you both. The realization settles in that it’s time for you to go. You should be back in front of the museum in half an hour.

Luckily, Billy saves you from answering as he breaks eye contact and looks up beyond your shoulder, where the church is. “We should go,” he says.

As you walk back to the museum, you think about his words. Now you realize that you didn’t see him hanging around Tommy Hagan lately. In particular, today on the bus, the latter was seated with his girlfriend and hung out with two other members of the basketball team. Billy was somewhere else the whole time.

When you two reach the museum, the teacher is already counting everyone to make sure the whole class is there. Billy joins his mates, elbowing one of them in a friendly gesture. You didn’t fail the notice the looks most of your classmates shot at you when he saw you two arrive together. The teacher draws the class's attention back to the trip, prompting feedback and reflections from everyone.

What you don’t expect either once on the bus, is feeling someone sitting on the empty seat next to yours. Billy gets comfortable, making it seem something so normal as he stretches his long legs as far as the cramped quarters allow. His thigh brushes against yours and your heart jumps a little in your ribcage, but a few minutes later you start to relax. You can’t help the feeling of warmth spreading through your chest as you take in his choice to sit deliberately next to you. You don’t need to fill the silence, or at least not as strongly as a few hours ago. You’re also quite tired. As you venture a glance in his direction, Billy’s eyes are closed. It seems you’re not the only one feeling tired. His arms are crossed over his chest but his facial features are totally relaxed now that he’s dozing off, his head resting against the seat. His hair seems soft at the touch, a curl falling unruly on his forehead. You feel the distant urge to wrap it around your finger, brush it from his face. There is a difference between now and when he’s fully awake: his expression softened, his gaze peaceful, and his features relaxed. It's a stark contrast from the demeanor you've observed from a distance, where his smile is more wolfish, his facial muscles tense, and his eyes often distant or bored. You force yourself to look away from him, setting your gaze on the window. As the rhythmic hum of the bus lulls you into a state of drowsiness, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the moment envelops you, and soon, you find yourself dozing off as well.

Once you get off the bus, you wrap your arms around your waist as you shiver. The weather is distinctly different. It seems to have been raining all day. The sky is darkening. School buses cannot take you home because there is no bus stop near your house. Forest Hill Trailer Park is in the isolated part of Hawkins. There is no one from the high school living there, so you can't ask anyone for a ride. It's not like anyone would have offered anyway. You've always walked to and from school, in total it takes you forty minutes. As you start to walk away from the bus, you hear footsteps behind you and Billy is at your side, effortlessly catching up with you. You realize his car is parked a few steps away from you. The gleaming navy blue Camaro stands out among the other cars, "CALIFORNIA" on the license plate.

You take the opportunity to thank him before he can dart away and you will probably never exchange another word again.

“Hey,” you start, turning to look at him. “I just wanted to thank you for paying at lunch today.”

Billy plays with the lighter, making it bounce in his hand. “It’s nothing. How are you getting home?”

“Oh, I’m walking.” you point your thumb at the road on your left.

“Come on. I’ll drive you.”

Your mouth opens and closes stupidly, then your brain finally decides to cooperate. Accepting his offer feels like taking advantage of his kindness. You don't want to do this. “I…it’s not a long walk, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s probably gonna rain soon.” he points at the sky, walking past you and toward the parked car.

“You don’t have to.” you insist, guilt filling my stomach as he opens the passenger door for you.

“I know.” he chuckles.

The soft thrumming of a rock song fills the air, the bass pulsing gently as Billy lowers the volume as soon as he turns the engine on. The interior of the Camaro envelops you in a world that feels distinctly his. The smell of leather fills your senses, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. It's clear that he takes immense pride in his car and the care and attention he devotes to it reflects on the interior. The leather seats feel soft and smooth. There's not a speck of dust anywhere, even in the corners. A pair of aviators rests on the dashboard.

You give him directions, your voice cutting through the quiet ambiance of the car. He nods in acknowledgment, his gaze focused on the road ahead. His left arm casually drapes against the window, while his other hand firmly grasps the top of the steering wheel.

“It’s quite a walk,” he observes as the Camaro speeds through the road surrounded by the woods.

“Yeah…”

You’re thinking of asking him to stop before getting to Forest Hill, but it’s pouring and you don’t have an umbrella. As you get closer and closer, anxiety starts rippling through you. You shake the feeling out of your head. You’re being ridiculous, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Additionally, you barely know him. You try and distract yourself, asking him about where he lives instead.

“Cherry Lane. You know where it is?”

“Yes, it’s a nice and quiet area. It’s not that far from school either,” you observe.

Billy absently scratches his chin, the glint of a silver braided ring catching your eye. “Yeah. It’s quiet, that’s for sure.”

You find yourself wondering about its significance. Does it have one? You've heard numerous accounts of Billy's involvement in fights at parties, tales of the severe injuries sustained by those who crossed him, and the ferocity of his punches. How many times has that ring been tainted with someone else's blood? Despite the rumors surrounding his aggressive behavior, your interactions with Billy have always been positive. He's consistently shown kindness to you.

Billy turns left, veering off the main road onto a narrow side road, the tires crunching on the gravelly dirt path that winds its way towards Forest Hills. The rain drums insistently against the car, a steady rhythm punctuating the silence between you.

The first trailer emerges into view, its weather-beaten exterior casting a shadow of foreboding over your already uneasy mind. Despite your discomfort, you muster the courage to speak up, directing Billy to continue driving until the end of the road.

You steal a furtive glance at him, searching for any hint of judgment in his expression, but Billy remains impassive. There's no trace of surprise or disdain in his features. His gaze lingers on the scene before you, studying it with a detached curiosity that seems to characterize his view of Hawkins as a whole.

“Thanks again for today, really. I wanna pay you back,” you venture as he slows down.

Billy waves a dismissive hand before settling it on the gear shift, smoothly transitioning into first gear. “I told you it’s no big deal. Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

You worry at your lip, still not totally convinced. You glance at him. “I know that. But it doesn’t sound fair. It’s important to me.”

Billy's gaze shifts to the road ahead as he seemingly considers your words. "If you really wanna make it up to me," he starts, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continues, "How about you show me around Hawkins sometime?"

You blink, caught off guard by his suggestion. "Show you around Hawkins?"

"Yeah," he nods, resting his forearm loosely on the steering wheel as he gestures while he talks. "I've only been here a short while, and I don't really know my way around outside downtown yet. Like, all the places you talked to me about. The lake, the quarry."

The idea appeals to you, though the thought of spending more time with him outside of school never crossed your mind. The fact of spending time with him in the first place was out off the charts for you. "Sure, I could do that," you reply, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I mean, I'm not exactly a tour guide, but I could show you some cool spots. Whenever you want, uhm. Yeah.”

Billy reaches out to the compartment on the passenger side, brushing your knee with his arm. He opens it and extracts a pen.

“Here,” he takes off the cap with his teeth, and before you know it he’s taking your arm, gently lifting your sweater sleeve.

You try to look unfazed by his touch, though the feeling of his fingertips pressing gently against your skin as he holds your forearm, the sensation of the pen as he writes something on it makes you shiver, raising goosebumps. You look at him in silent confusion as he writes, his dark lashes brushing his cheekbones, a glimpse of pearly white teeth and a sharp canine as he holds the cap between them. Then he releases your arm, and you take a look at it while he takes the cap from his mouth. A series of numbers are written in blue ink on your skin. A phone number.

“Oh.” you say softly. You definitely haven’t expected that.

“Call me when you feel like it.”

It’s really hard for you to hide your nervousness, acting as cool as you can.

“Okay, will do.” you unbuckle your belt, glancing at him enough to give him a soft smile.

Billy nods at you in silent farewell before you close the passenger door. “Have a good night”.

“You too. Bye.”

The warmth of Billy's presence lingers in the car as you step out into the cool, damp air, the raindrops falling softly around you. Closing the door behind you, you watch as the sleek navy blue Camaro disappears down the little road and into the woods from the small window of the living room. As you stand there, the drops of water falling from the end of your hair, you can't help but brush at the phone number on your forearm, tracing the neat handwriting with your fingertips. It's like you're still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. Though you're trying to keep it under control, you can't help the fluttering feeling in your heart.

#billy hargove imagine #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #billy hargove x reader #stranger things fic #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove imagine #dacryphilia #eddie munson #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x you #stranger things smut

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st-el-la-luna · 3 months

Text

Syrupy Sweet: Nasty Baker! Soap x Reader

tumblr deleted the orgininal for whatever reason. Luckily I tracked down a reblog. Edited and added some new stuff (love tumblr for deleting my most popular post, rip my 600+ notes 😔)

NSFW 18+

Soap is forced into an early retirement. He gets a job at a small bakery. And that's where he meets you

➔ gn!afab!reader (described as having boobs & wearing a bra), creepy soap, pervy soap, obsessive soap, lust at first sight, non/dub-con cum eating, dirty thoughts, fantasizing, humping inanimate objects, coming in panta

After so many years working in the military, serving his country. Protecting the people of the world from danger. The last thing Soap expected waas tyo be discharged so suddenly and with so little warning.

Too much time working with explosives has affected his hearing. A bad knife wound, or a torn Achilles tendon. A bad break that never healed right. A couple of head injuries too many.

"An early retirement," they'd called it. Forced retirement more like it. They won't even tell him why, just that he's, "no longer fit for active duty," and that he should be grateful that they, "got him such a nice deal. That he gets to keep his pension."

He’s bitter about it, understandably, He likes his job. He’s good at it. They can’t be serious about this! His performance hasn’t been hindered.

Regardless of the reason, in spite of his arguments, Soap is benched, permanently. Price is apologetic, Ghost is... Distant, though that's to be expected. Gaz promises to keep in touch. And he does keep in touch, they all do.

But it’s ot the same. Soap still feels lonely. Bored. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or all the time he suddenly has on his hands. Doesn’t know how to operate without the adrenaline rush, without something to occupy his hands and minds. He figures that, maybe, he should get a job. A civilian job. Not one of those cushy desk jocky jobs Price had offered him out of pity, Soap wants a job far removed from the military. Really reintegrate himself into normal, civvie life.

After a bit of searching along the drizzly cobbled Glasgowian streets, Soap finds a little coffee shop and bakery nearby. A tiny, quaint little thing, run by a sweet old woman who just doesn't have the energy to keep the doors open on her own.

The place is situated on a street corner, tucked away from the busy traffic-filled streets. A soft bell jingles when the door opens. The sign is hsand painted. The place, though clearly aged, is well looked after, loved. The wood floors and counters shine; the tables and chairs, though antique, are comfortable, well made; plants hang from the ceiling; and a couple bookshelves line a wall, a leave a book take a book community library.

Soap applies for the position and despite his lack of experience, he gets the job. Something about him reminding the old woman of her own son.

At first, Soap worked there with her. Learning the ins and outs of the trade. How to make meringue and bread and macrons and creme brûlé. It's not easy, not at first, but with practice and time, he gets the hang of it.

He figures it's because of his experience with explosives and chemistry. Baking is... Kind of the same thing.

Eventually, he's left to tend to the day-to-day affairs of the bakery. The woman still writes all the recipes and makes some of the breads. But he's the one managing the front of the house.

It's where he meets you.

Sweet. Kind. Polite. Breathtaking. Irresistible. Sexy. You.

You come tumbling into the warm bakery on a day when the weather is particularly bad, even for Scotland. Strong winds, cold rains threatening to turn to hail, thunder rumbling in the distance.

You're soaked to the bone. Hair dripping. Shoes leaving puddles in your wake as each of your steps is announced by a wet squish. Your full cheeks bitten by the cold, fingertips numb, you offer him a blinding smile.

He's more focused on your tits though. And your bra. Visible through your thin, now see-through, shirt. Black lace. He can see how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. He can even see a small mole, or maybe a birthmark, on the swell just above the cup of your bra. He wants to sink his teeth into you. Wants to suck that mark into his mouth, chew and lick at it, make it bigger. Make it his. Make you his.

He's drooling a little, he realizes absently.

"Hey," you say softly, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. Hands curled into adorable little sweater paws as you try to wipe your wet hands off on your equally wet pants.

Soap just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Shell shocked. He... He’s never... You’re so... He... Holy fuck.

Eventually, he clears his throat and manages a smile, stepping a bit closer to the counter so he can hide the growing tent in his pants. He forces himself to meet your eyes, rather than stare at your chest.

But they’re staring at me, his innermost thoughts whine, wanton and airy in his mind. So desperate for attention... for love... ready to be suckled and bit and groped and pinched...

Johnny leans forward, elbows resting on the counter and chuckles, flashing you an easy, charming smile. "Hey... Looking for something to warm you up?"

Please say you've already found what you're looking for. Please say you want him to warm you up. With his hands. His mouth. His cock. Please say–

"Yeah... Do you guys do hot chocolates?"

"It's not on the menu, but I've got my own stash in the back," he says as he looks you up and down. But how could you blame him? What with your... everything! This is your fault, honestly. Dirty, dirty, little thing, wearing a white shirt in the rain. You know what you’re doing. Something sinister and heated bubbles in his gut. A thick, molten, syrupy desire, a primal need. A sort of instinctive pull, a fish lured in by the soft glow of an angler fish. A moth to a flame. Helpless but to stare, slack jawed, and fighting back drool, as you stare up at him expectantly, He smiles, his lips spreading further as he notices your flustered state, how you shift under his stare, biting your lip as he looks you up and down. Logically, it’s a nervous reaction. But, in Soap’s quickly spiraling mind, it’s a clean indicator that you want him too. "I'll make one, special for you, darling."

Your eyes sparkle, your smile tears the breath from his lungs. "Really? Oh my god, thank you."

Soap grabs a mug from the shelf and twirls it around his finger. He pulls up his sleeves, bunching them around his mid biceps. He flexes, purposefully, showing off the hard-earned muscles in his arms, the scars, the prominent veins, his big, strong hands. Hands that would look so perfect around your neck. Or holding your wrists. Or deep between your shaking legs reaching deep and good, far past anything you could reach on his own. He wonders if you’re a crier. He hopes that you are.

Soap notices the way your eyes fall to the newly exposed skin. The way your jaw drops a little. The way you close your mouth. The way you glance away before quickly looking back. The way your throat bobs when you swallow...

Holy shit.

He can give you something else to swallow if you'll let him. Please let him.

He rolls his hips against the counter and lets out a stuttering breath through his nose. His lips part. His tongue feels thick and leaden in his mouth.

A moan bubbles in his throat, he disguises it as a cough. "Can..." He swallows another noise as he shifts his stance, achingly cock pressed against the teeth of his zipper. He makes a show of dusting the counter off, acting like he's tossed something into the bin so he can adjust his pants. "Can I get you anything else?"

Your eyes, gorgeous eyes, scan the menu and the display. "A cinnamon bun?" You ask, pointing to the delicacy through the glass case. "Please and thank you."

"You're in luck," he says, rutting against the counter again, as quick and harsh as he can without drawing attention. A part of him thoough, a sick, twisted, part of him that quickly spreads his mind like a weed, corrupting and poisoning, wants you to notice. Wants you to catch him. To punish him. "Just made a fresh batch... I've just got to head back and ice them."

"Oh, I'm fine with one of them from the display, you don't need to trouble yourself."

Oh, and how sweet you are...

You keep chewing on your bottom lip. Part of him wants to stop you, tell you that that’s his job. Wants to bite your lips until they’re raw and swollen.

He's fucked. Well and truly fucked.

He smiles. You’re blissfully ignorant of the darkness lurking in his eyes. "No trouble at all... It's my pleasure."

And it is his pleasure. Very much so.

He comes out a bit later, a little out of breath. A little red in the face. A couple buttons undone on his shirt.

"Hot in there," he says with a smile, setting the mug and a cinnamon bun on the counter in front of you. He sets another little plate down, a doughnut. Chocolate frosting with a cream filling, the sticky white substance still pouring from the hole.

"I uh, I didn't order that," you say with a little, awkward laugh. "The doughnut."

"I know you didn't, sweet thing... It's a new recipe I've been trying out. Trying to get right... Mind telling me what you think? It's free of charge, promise."

"Oh," you blink, staring up at him with those wide eyes. God, how he wants to see those eyes watering. How he wants to see those eyes tearing up as you choke on his cock. How he wants to see you cry as he fucks you. You smile. "Thank you!"

You pay for your drink and dessert and blink up at him from under your lashes. Your smile turns shy as you chew your lip. Stop it. Stop it. You’re going to make him lose his mind. You have to know what you’re doing to him. You have to. "Keep the change."

He smiles. "Thanks."

You find a seat in the corner and settle in the corner with a book. Soap keeps an eye on you the whole time. Watches you as much as he can without attracting unwanted attention.

His cock throbs in his pants when he sees you take your first bite of the cinnamon roll. When you wipe at the icing with your thumb and lick it clean. He watches with delight as you eat and drink, rolling his hips against the counter in time with the bobbing of your throat as you swallow.

Soap watches you with rapt attention as you enjoy the desserts. His lips parted, jaw slack, drooling. He wonders if he could convince you to lick it away. He is so glad that he stopped by the office to record the security footage. He’s going to be watching this over and over and... Fuck!

With a final grind of his aching cock against the counter, his boxers are flooded with a wet, sticky warmth. He mourns it going to waste like that. His cum belongs in you. Your tight pussy, round ass, past your full lips.

"How was it?" He asks, breathless, when you return your dishes to the counter. He shifts his stance, hiding the wet spot in his pants. He's not embarrassed that he came in his pants just from watching how your throat moves as you swallow. At watching the way that you lave your tongue over your fingers, licking the thick glaze away with a spit-slicked tongue.

He just doesn't want to weird you out.

"It was amazing," you say. "I really liked the balance of the sweet with the salty... Sometimes the sugar is just... Too much."

"I agree," Soap says, breathless. He swallows a lump in his throat. "I agree."

You become a regular from then on. He always gets you freshly baked items, from the back. No matter how busy.

He's not supposed to alter the recipes. But he doubts the lady will mind that he made a change. All he did was put a little love into the recipes. A little bit of himself in the sour cream glaze.

Keep your eyes peeled for a part 1.5 involving what soap did in the back room!

Comments and reblogs help motivate!

Masterlist!

#call of duty #cod mwii #cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #x reader #dark fic #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #nastybaker!soap

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uniquethingtastemaker · 11 months

Text

Neige x Reader: White Beaches and a Spring Morning

Summary: The Ramshackle prefect is finally able to get a full week off from school after four overblots. Determined to enjoy their time to the fullest off campus, they set out to explore Sage’s Island, starting with the island’s southern beaches. However, it seems that our prefect can never catch a break, as they find an RSA student crying and upset. Unable to just look away, they set their sights on comforting him and helping him have a good time outside of school.

Word count: just under 3k

Tags: fluff, getting together (not officially though), dates, romance

Warnings: none… unless suave reader is a warning… reader being too hot lol

Author’s notes: this was inspired by a tumblr post by @sorbertisfruity and I loved it so much that I decided to start writing it. Also this is my first time I’m actually writing and posting my creative work, so I just ask that people are kind. Thanks and enjoy!

Leaning forward with the wind whipping through your hair, you fly down the mountain path away from Night Raven College. The engine of the magic wheel roars behind you, as music blasts from the speakers. Finally, you were free! After months of work, you finally got a week off. Of course, you had to blackmail Crowley by threatening to expose the multiple overblots. Nonetheless, he conceded to your requests in the end. Now, you’ve left your worries and Grim temporarily behind in favor of a relaxing day at the beach.

Pulling up to the sandy shore, you park the magic wheel you’d borrowed from Ignihyde and look out at the sight before you. It was a nice change of scenery compared to the dreary mountain Night Raven College sat atop of. The morning was crisp and clear with the sea breeze wafting from the ocean. The beach was empty. You were here on a weekday after all. You grab your bag from one of the compartments and head off toward the tide.

The sandals on your feet sink slightly into the sand as you search for a more secluded area to place your bag. After walking along the coast, you catch a glimpse of NRC’s rival school, the Royal Sword Academy. It was almost blinding with its tall white spires that were tipped with blue. Overall, the vibe is much brighter than NRC’s gothic horror aesthetic.

“Wonder what their facilities are like,” you murmur to yourself, “Maybe I can secretly get a tour of the school and request a transfer while I’m at it.”

You chuckle at the thought of your friends’ outrageous reactions to your fictional transfer. Just as you finish the thought, you hear a loud sob. Furrowing your brow, you pick up your pace. Even on your day off, you never catch a break, you internally sigh. You blame your upright and well-meaning nature, but you shrug off the thought as you come across an alcove in the rocks.

You find a boy huddled up against the stone, sobbing to himself. He’s wearing a familiar white uniform jacket, signifying that he’s from the Royal Swords Academy. You’re unable to see his face as he’s tucked it into his knees. Only his ruffled black hair shows. Next to him lies a black beret and the dirt and skid marks on his uniform make it obvious he ran out of the academy.

Coming closer to the cave-like area, your footsteps are masked by the sound of soft waves lapping against the coast.

“Hey,” you call out, “Are you alright?”

The boy’s head snaps up. He stumbles to his feet and begins making rapid apologies. His voice has a light, airy quality to it that cracks as he trips over his words.

“I—I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I—I should probably go. I don’t want to bother you—“

He isn’t able to say anything more, as his foot catches on a nearby rock and he begins tumbling forward with a squeak. Moving on instinct, you catch him by the waist, pulling him in to support his weight. Pressed up against him, you note that he has a slim but fairly toned waist. He’s also a bit taller than expected.

“Are you ok?” You ask, “That was pretty close. It might be a good idea to sit down for a while before moving again. Sorry, I startled you. I was just concerned whenever I heard someone in distress.”

Pulling away slightly, you’re able to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are the first feature that stands out to you. They’re soft, doe-like, and innocent. His brown eyes are a little puffy and red around the edges from crying, but it doesn’t detract from their soft allure. Your eyes flicker down toward his lips. They’re tinted a natural red, as he chews on them. Suddenly, you become acutely aware of how close the two of you are. You can feel his ragged breath on your cheek, as you take the time to observe him.

He glances down and away from you, tears still in his eyes, as continues to gnaw on his lip. Whether from the anxiety of being caught crying or the flustered embarrassment of being so close, you’re not sure. You suspect it might be both. However, when he turns his cheek, the light catches a glimmer of wet tears that have already streaked down his face. Before you have time to think, you reach your hand up to cup his cheek and wipe it away.

Blinking, you realize that you just performed a somewhat intimate gesture and you move your hand away.

“Sorry, I just wanted to help. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask.

He stares at you with wide eyes and touches the place where you wiped his tears with his hand.

“…No, I didn’t mind it.”

His voice breaks, then in a smaller tone, he comments, “It was nice.”

“That’s good,” you chuckle, “My name’s (Y/N), and you?”

He hesitates for a second before replying, “Neige.”

He watches your reaction intently, looking for any signs of recognition, but when there is none, he relaxes slightly.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting down again,” he tells you.

He starts to pull away to sit back down when you tighten your grip on his waist, stopping him.

“Hold on, I have a towel. Let me lay it down first,” you state.

Rummaging through your bag, you pull out a towel that you stole from Heartslabyul. The print on the fabric is a dead giveaway. It’s littered with multicolored card suits. Spreading it out, you plop down on the fluffy towel and turn to Neige, who comes to sit next to you.

“Again, sorry for scaring you earlier. I just heard you were in distress and wanted to make sure you were ok,” you repeat, inspecting for any physical wounds. “Physically, you seem fine. Are you in emotional distress?”

Playing with the edge of the towel, he glances up at you before looking away. His grip tightens on it and he nods.

Neige hesitates before saying, “You know, if you have other places to be, you can go do those. You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine–”

Before he can get any further, you cut him off, “Neige, I know we just met, but I’m not going to leave someone who’s upset behind. You seem sweet and I want to get to know you. It would be nice to get a new friend.”

You put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He looks up at you with wet eyes and hiccups slightly, trying to hold back newly formed tears. Your eyes go wide and your body moves on autopilot. You open your arms to offer a hug.

“Hey, do you want a hug? Will that make you feel better?”

Neige hesitates before nodding. Given your cue, you envelop him in a warm, tight hug. Cradling him, you rub small circles on his back and whisper words of comfort.

He breaks. Any semblance of wariness or guard that he had up before crumbles against your kindness and small persistence. He cries so hard that his whole body shakes against you. You squeeze tighter and you can tell that you are the only thing keeping him together at this moment. He ends up clinging and clawing at you as if you’re his only lifeline in the vast ocean. He sobs harder at your gentle approach to comforting him and a few broken words of gratitude spill from his mouth.

“—Thank you, thank you so much. I never— I never got this growing up. I always had to put on a cheerful face to not worry my— my family. This means so much to me. Thank you, thank you (Y/N).”

You clutch him tighter, running a hand through his hair, as he sobs into your shoulder. You feel for him. You understand the struggles of having to carry everyone else’s burden even though it shouldn’t be your responsibility in the first place. You ended up solving and resolving each overblot with only some of your classmates and practically no teachers. No responsible adults were around to help fight Riddle, restrain Leona, stop Azul, and punish Jamil. It had been getting exhausting. Thankfully, you got a week to yourself, but this wasn’t about you and you turned your attention back on your new friend, Neige.

You allow him to get all the tears, sorrow, and pain out of his system. When his sobbing slows down and his breathing starts to even out, you reach into your bag to pull out some tissues, nudging Neige’s face with them.

Upon feeling the tap, he looks up from where his face was buried in your shoulder. Tears and snot run down his face, and he takes the tissues with a small smile.

“Thanks,” he breathes, taking the tissue and blowing into it.

After giving him some water, snacks, a lot of tissues, and more cuddles, he’s much more relaxed than he was earlier. His tired eyes are unable to focus on anything specific, as they flutter to stay awake. He continues to lean on you for support.

Chuckling, you ask, “Wanna lay down?”

Letting out an almost incoherent murmur of approval, he clutches onto your clothes, before asking, “Promise you won’t leave?”

You give him a soft smile that he’s unable to see with his eyes closed, and you lay the two of you down on the towel. You rest beside Neige, as he makes himself comfortable, nestling into your arms.

“Of course, Snow,” you answer, “I’ll make sure to protect you if anything is out to get you.”

He nuzzles into you with a smile filled with sweet dreams, as he drifts off to sleep. After a while of listening to the ocean waves lap against the shore and feeling the slow steady breathing of the person next to you, you also find yourself lulled into the land of dreams.

~~~~~~

“You’re already skipping school. You might as well take the day off to relax and enjoy yourself,” you persuade, “Besides, would you leave your new friend behind to hang out at the beach by themselves?”

You look at Neige with playful and expectant eyes. He lets out a sigh and a small smile slips through, as he concedes.

“I suppose taking one day off wouldn’t hurt.”

You give a cheer.

“Race you to the ocean!” you shout, scrambling to your feet.

Neige squeaks in surprise, before he latches onto your ankle, tripping you. Landing on your hands with a small oof, Neige rushes past.

“Ok, pretty boy! I see how it is,” you cackle.

Launching yourself from the ground into a runner’s sprint, you catch up to him. Wrapping your arms around Neige’s waist, you use your momentum to spin him around a couple of times before flinging him in the opposite direction of the coast. He screeches at the unexpected attack and begins laughing as he stumbles back, trying to regain his balance. Without hesitation, you turn back to the destination and bolt toward the finish line.

The tempered ocean water hits your feet, slowing you down, as you raise your fists and cheer.

Neige jogs over with a stuttering laugh.

“Alright, alright, you win. Are you happy?” He asks with a grin.

“Immensely,” you beam.

~~~~~~

“We’ll have a [favorite ice cream/gelato flavor] and biscoff gelato, please,” you order from the ice cream parlor you found.

The man behind the counter nods with a smile and begins scooping out your request. Neige’s eyes are wide as they turn to you.

“You don’t have to pay for mine,” he insists, pulling out his wallet.

You stop his movements by putting a hand over his.

You hold eye contact with him, as you say, “I like and want to spoil you. You’re sweet, so getting you something sweet only makes sense. Please let me do this.”

Neige’s face heats up and you watch his brain malfunction for a few seconds, before turning away. You take the opportunity to pull out your card and give it to the owner of the shop, paying for your snacks.

“That’s so sweet of you to pay for your boyfriend like that,” the owner comments, swiping your card.

Grinning, you wrap an arm around Neige’s waist, tugging him closer to you.

“Yeah, he doesn’t treat himself that often, so I have to make sure he gets what he deserves,” you answer, winking at Neige.

Neige’s hand rushes to cover his blush as it spreads to the tips of his ears. The owner coos at you two, handing you your ice creams and card. You thank him on your way out, still attached at the hip with a flustered Neige.

~~~~~~

The magic wheel zooms through the streets of Sage’s Island, and the sun casts a golden glow on you and Neige. He’s pressed right up against your back, clinging onto your waist. It’s warm and comforting. You’ve been riding aimlessly together for about half an hour, but seeing the sun setting, you figure you should take him home.

Sneaking a glance at your companion, you watch his wide-eyed gaze explore the mountainous scenery. You smile before speeding up. You feel Neige’s chest move with twinkling laughter. He squeezes you tighter and leans in. Today has been a far better day than expected.

The sun has partially set in the sky as you pull up to the gates of the Royal Swords Academy. Putting the vehicle in park, you dismount the wheel, before offering your hand to help Neige off.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you say with a wink.

Neige’s breath catches, as a hand comes to block his mouth in embarrassment. He places his other hand in yours, using it to get off. With both feet on the ground, he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. You might as well have, you note, as the stars begin to peek out.

“When will I see you again? I want to see you again,” he pleads.

You blink in surprise at such a bold statement, before chuckling.

“Well, I can come back tomorrow if you want me to. You know I have the week off,” you offer with a fond smile.

“Really?! You would do that? That wouldn’t ruin your vacation, would it?” he clarifies at a rapid pace.

You laugh, leaning against the magic wheel.

“Honestly, Neige, if I didn’t leave NRC’s campus, I’d probably get dragged into some kind of shenanigans with Ace, Deuce, and Grim,” you explain, “I love them, but they’re a handful and I want a break. I would much rather hang out with you. It’s more peaceful and relaxing. Besides, I had a lot of fun today and I like getting to know you.”

Neige’s mouth opens in a small oh, as his gaze softens. He clasps his hands in front of his heart, simply gazing at you. For a few moments, you just hold each other’s gaze, content and comfortable in the silence. You reach out to tuck a loose strand of hair away from Neige’s face. You let your hand linger, cupping his cheek and rubbing your thumb against it. His eyes droop and he nuzzles into your hold. Unable to resist, you draw him closer and loop an arm around his waist, before remembering–

“Your beret,” you murmur, “Let me get it for you.”

Moving to open one of the compartments on the magic wheel, you grab Neige’s hat only to settle back into the space in front of him. Placing the beret on his head, you let him adjust it. As he finishes, you notice unfamiliar red lettering along the border. Leaning in, you take a closer look.

“Someday my princess will come,” you quote.

Smiling, you continue, “Mmm, that’s cute. That sounds like something you would say, Neige.”

Your thumb runs over the embroidery, following every swirl of cursive on the beret. Your eyes flicker down to his to realize that you’re rather close. You can’t help but take a peek at his lips. They’re red, just like when you first met him, but this time they're slightly parted. You find yourself locking eyes with Neige’s brown ones once again, drawn together like magnets. Neige presses his body more snugly against you, watching for any signs of discomfort, as he rests his hands on your hips. You play with his lapel, before moving up to his shoulders and finally wrapping your arms around his neck. You give a playful smile, as you draw closer, and you feel Neige’s quiet laughter against your lips. Eyes sliding shut, you lean in.

Before you can kiss, however–

“Neige, Neige! There you are!”

“Do you know how much you made us worry?”

“We couldn’t find you after you ran out of the dorm– *achoo*!”

“And you–you left your phone at the dorm, so we had no way to contact you!”

“We looked everywhere in the academy, *yawns* even my favorite napping place.”

“I can’t believe you skipped class. You should take us next time.”

“Toby, what are you talking about? We’re not supposed to skip class.”

“Oops, sorry, I forgot.”

Neige lets out a whine, as his head falls against your shoulder. With the moment ruined, he hugs your waist tighter in protest. Laughing, you pat the poor boy’s shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. You take a look past him to identify the source of the shouts.

You spot seven short figures toddling their way over to the two of you from RSA’s gates. You’re unable to make out the fine details in the diminishing light, and instead opt to look back at Neige, his pitiful form still draped over you. These must be the seven dwarves that he was talking about earlier; the ones he grew up with. Based on their behavior, they seem to care about him just as much as Neige expressed his love and concern for them. You squeeze Neige tighter, grateful that he has a secure support network. He’s already been through a lot just based on what he’s told you so far.

Neige lets out another groan of despair, as you turn your full attention back towards him. Feeling a bit playful, you bring your face right next to his ear.

“I won’t let you go without a little something,” you tease.

Neige perks up, looking at you with wide and attentive eyes.

You chuckle at his reaction, murmuring that he’s cute, before leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. He melts into your touch, gripping your waist tighter. Pulling away, you tap your own cheek with a quick wink. In the dim light, you’re barely able to make out the flush spreading across his face. His Adam's apple bobs, before he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle, and after a few seconds pull away.

“Enough to tide you over?” you question.

“...Barely,” he whispers, still stuck in the same spot, star-struck.

“I trust your friends will make sure you get to your dorm safely?” you confirm, starting up the engine of the magic wheel.

He nods.

“Good,” you smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Snow.”

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” he replies, before shaking out of his stupor and calling out, “Make sure to get home safe!”

You laugh, as you leave the Royal Swords Academy… at least for today.

“Thanks! Will do!”

You’ll be back tomorrow.

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