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random-thot-generator · 10 months ago

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Dirty Little Secret + Pt. 7

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

Summary: Johnny takes a break from work to drive you into Kilroy for lunch but has to make a quick stop along the way.

Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+ Only! Explicit Sexual Content, Reader's in a mood, Johnny's gives her a hand, Profanity, No use of Y/N

(Notes: The situation is starting to heat up. Hold onto your knickers.)

Word Count: 3.3K

Like it or not, Johnny is becoming a semi-permanent fixture around the cottage. He arrives early and works late, only leaving once the sun has set. Almost all of the outdoor projects are done, and soon he'll be working inside the house. Where your bedroom is.

It's been a week already, but he's yet to demand his 'payment'.

Honestly, you're sort of shocked that he's not been after you to come through with your end of the bargain. He's not done more than give a little squeeze to your hip as he presses a kiss to your forehead before leaving every evening, and it's frustrating as hell. Sure, he still teases you, but he's not tried to instigate anything sexual since the day he got you to agree to this ridiculous 'payment' system. That's not to say he doesn't do other things to get you flustered, of course.

He doesn't really have to do anything overtly sexual to get you going, you're so keyed up already. You've thought of nothing else since agreeing to his terms. It doesn't help that Johnny knows exactly how to turn you on, and he uses it to his full advantage.

Like now, for instance.

He's leaning against his truck, shirtless and sweaty, his head tilted back to chug down the bottle of water you so thoughtfully brought out to him, and now you can't stop watching the way his Adam's apple bobs in his thick neck as he gulps it down. It reminds you of how he looks when he throws his head back during sex, his sweaty face and chest flushed with exertion, much like they are right now. You watch a rivulet of water run out of the corner of his mouth to trickle down his neck and bite your lip.

"Enjoyin' the view, bonnie?"

You snap out of your lust-fueled reverie at his words, embarrassment burning hot under your skin when he tips his chin down at you and smirks. You snap your jaw shut, inwardly cringing at the realization that not only had you been staring at him, but you had been doing so with your mouth hanging open like an addle-brained eejit. And he caught you doing it.

For fuck's sake...

With your face pinched up in a pissed little scowl, you snatch the empty water bottle from his hand and stomp back to the cottage. His rumbling laugh chases you back inside, your lips quivering with the effort to not start laughing, too.

Bloody arsehole.

You catch yourself peeking out the windows again and again throughout the morning, a sharp, warm tingle hitting you below the belt every time you catch sight of him. At first, you chastise yourself for it, forcing yourself away from the windows, but by noon you aren't even trying to pretend anymore as you stare down at him from your bedroom window.

What is he waiting for?

That question is stuck on a loop inside your head, which is what finally drives you from the house. You don't even look at Johnny as you hurry into the shed, determined to get away from him until you can get your shameful urges back under control.

"Oi!" Johnny calls after you, his shadow falling over you moments later, blocking out the bright noonday sun as he fills the doorway. "Where ya goin', bonnie?"

You fumble with the straps of your helmet as you keep your eyes directed at a spot above the door. "Thought I'd ride into the village, pick something up for lunch. Any requests?"

He eyes you, making you feel self-conscious, like he can see how flustered you really are.

"Huh. Was just thinkin' 'bout doin' the same thing, meself," he drawls out, stretching his arms over his head to grab onto the splintered door lintel. The sun's hitting him at just the right angle, the sheen of sweat on his naked torso burnished to a golden gleam, haloing his body in detailed perfection. His eyes are hooded and glinting as he slowly drags them down your body. When he brings his gaze back up to your face, he smirks and tosses his chin over his shoulder.

"Ye can ride wi' me. C'mon."

He drops his arms and walks away, leaving you to stare after him, trying to process how he just sidelined your plan of escape. Once your body catches up with your brain, you yank the helmet off your head and go after him.

"I'd uh— r-rather just take my scooter. It-It's such a nice day," you stammer at his broad back, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. You do your best to keep your eyes set firmly on the back of his head. Looking at anything lower than that would be a bad idea, because that bloody toolbelt sitting low on his hips is far too distracting.

He stops and turns so fast, you almost face-plant into his hairy pecs. You let out a little squeak of surprise and blink up at him as you stumble back. He catches you by the shoulders as he meets your wide stare and holds it, stepping into your space. He smirks at you, studying your anxious expression, then squints up at the sky.

"Aye, 's a good day fer a ride. Good idea, bonnie. Let's go."

"Go?" you blurt out. "You mean, both of us? On my scooter?"

"Aye," he murmurs, chuckling, backing you towards the shed. "Dinnae worry. I'll hold on tight."

It feels like every muscle below your waist contracts at once at his words, a shuddering, high giggle escaping your mouth at the sudden, heady sensation. "I-I don't have a spare helmet that will fit you," you rush to say, mentally patting yourself on the back for your quick thinking.

He shrugs and tosses a thumb over his shoulder. "No worries. Got a helmet in the truck. I'll go get it."

He turns back towards the truck, tugging his tee from his belt and shrugging it over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his back and arm muscles bunching and flexing as he shoves his arms into it. The thought of him curled around your body for the ride into Kilroy has you chasing after him.

"Never mind. We'll just go in the truck. I'm, uh— not used to riding with someone on the back."

He slows to a stop and plants his hands on his hips. His head turns enough for him to peer at you over his shoulder. "Sure, bonnie. Whatever ye want." He shakes his head with a huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth curling up.

It irritates the hell out of you, but that's good, you decide. Anger will keep you focused, keep your head straight. You scoff at him as you go to the passenger side of his truck and get in. He still has that smug smirk on his face when he gets in behind the wheel, the conceited arsehole. You sniff and cross your arms over your chest, making sure he sees you roll your eyes.

The two of you are silent as you travel down the gravel lane that leads to the main road. Once you're headed in the direction of Kilroy, you chance a quick peek at him, eyes catching on the way the wind tousles his overgrown 'hawk.

Pissed off at him or not, he's still one of the handsomest men you've ever met. He's definitely the handsomest man you've ever slept with, and hands down, he's the best lover you've ever had. Honestly, you can't even remember what it was like being with anyone else, now. Everyone else pales in comparison.

His little chuckle has you muttering a curse under your breath. Dammit! He caught you staring at him, again.

"Why are ye in such a mood, bon?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the road, though his tone is dripping with knowing innuendo.

"I'm not in a mood," you mumble, turning your head to stare out the window.

He sniffs, amused. "Ah, but ye are, bon. Did ye no' sleep well? Yer a right grump when ye've no' had enough sleep."

Your arms tighten over your chest as you shake your head. "How would you know?" you mutter, lips pressing together to keep from saying more.

You hear the creak of his hands tightening around the steering wheel, then the truck is pulling off the road, coming to a sudden stop. Your seatbelt locks, pinning you to the seat with a grunt. You huff as you glare over at him.

"What the fuck, Johnny?!"

He turns to face you, one arm draped over the wheel. His brows have lowered over his sea glass eyes, a storm brewing in their depths. "I ken 'cause I've been with ye fer two years, hen. Ye think I dinnae notice when ye were tired an' grumpy? When ye were stressed?" He tilts his head to regard you. "'Course, I also ken how t'take care o' tha'."

You're so pissed and flustered, you could slap him. "Not every problem can be solved with sex, Johnny," you snark at him.

He huffs a gruff laugh. "Aye. I ken tha' well enough, hen, but in this instance, it is the answer." He nods at the back seat. "Get in the back."

You gape at him, unable to believe his audacity. "What? No!"

He shifts the truck into park and shuts off the motor. His seatbelt clicks and slides off his shoulder, retracting with a silken hiss. He leans over, resting his elbow on the center console. "Either get in the backseat or I'll get ye off sittin' here where anyone can see ye if they drive by."

He reaches down and unbuckles your own seatbelt and tips his head towards the backseat again. "Go, bonnie. I'll no' tell ye again."

You huff, refusing to move.

"A'right. Have it yer way then, bon," he says with a put-upon sigh.

His hand cups your chin, turning your head to force you to look at him. You grab his arm, your nails digging into his wrist as you try to scowl, but the ferocity of it is lost, what with your cheeks squished together. "Leh' go," you snarl out, but it has a slobbery lisp to it, which pisses you off even more, but it only makes him chuckle.

He smirks, humming. "Hm. Yer bein' a right wee brat, hen. I ken yer gaggin' fer it, dinnae matter wha' ye say. Ya been watchin' me all mornin'; could feel yer eyes on me."

Your eyes slide off to the side as embarrassment courses hot through your body. You thought he'd been too busy to notice. You swallow when his hand lets go of your chin to wrap around your throat. His thumb strokes the erratic pulse fluttering near the base of your neck.

"Yer a'ready worked up, ain't ye?" he murmurs, pulling you closer to run his nose along your jawline. He inhales your scent, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, I ken I am."

His nose grazes up your cheek, his lips catching at your temple, a petal-soft kiss left behind before he nuzzles his nose into your hair. Arousal pulses deep in your core, makes the muscles clench as your belly drops. The sensation concentrates into a hard throb centered in your clit, and a whimper escapes as your lashes flutter down. You savor the feeling, after being without it for so long.

"Undo yer shorts, bonnie," he whispers against your temple, his fingers tightening possessively around your throat. Saliva floods your mouth and you swallow, feeling your throat work under his rough palm, and the feeling has your eyes rolling up. When the pad of his thumb presses down on your pulse point, your mouth falls open, a gasp hissing past your lips.

"Aye, yer needin' it, huh, bon? Need yer Johnny t'take care o' ye, hm?"

Your fingers fumble with the button and fly of your cut-offs, hands shaking slightly when you slide down the zipper. His hand slips from your throat, gliding down between your breasts and lower, over your tense stomach, burrowing under the hem of your tee-shirt before turning his hand to arrow his fingers down the front of your shorts. He works past the elastic waistband of your cotton panties to reach the hot apex of your thighs. He groans as his hand curls to cup your soaked cunt.

"Steamin' Jesus, yer s'wet," he moans, his head tipping forward to rest his brow against the side of your head.

Another throb pulses in your clit, and arousal seeps out of your channel to dampen his fingers. He grits his teeth and growls lowly into your ear, his middle finger pressing into your slit, parting your folds. A choked grunt punches out of your lungs as you feel your channel contract, your entrance kissing the tip of his finger that's pressed against it.

"Christ, she's beggin' fer it, ain't she, bon? Poor wee cunt's starvin' fer attention."

He snatches his hand out of your shorts, making you whimper out a frustrated sound, but he shushes you before sucking three of his fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste as he sucks at his fingertips, then pops them out and shoves his hand back into your shorts as his other hand curls around the nape of your neck. Spit-slick fingers glide over your swollen labia, his middle finger once more parting them before he notches it against your entrance. He presses it inside you, grunting out a low, growling moan when your walls clamp onto the calloused digit.

"Fuck, tha's it, bonnie. Pull me in." He pushes in deeper and groans. "Christ," he mutters, shifting his hips, his legs spreading wide to accommodate the obvious bulge in his faded jeans. "'Bout t'cum in m'skivvies, hen. S'feckin' hot an' wet— fuck!"

Your knees fall open, hips canting, inviting him to sink deeper into your grasping cunt. He kisses your temple again as he pulls his finger back, his knuckles smearing slick on your puffy folds. Your walls clamp down, muscles undulating, milking, clutching.

He pumps his finger slowly, curling it to tap against the spongy membrane of your G-spot. Your legs quake, one knee knocking against the door panel. Johnny huffs a breathless, wrecked sound.

"Should'a listened t'me an' got in the backseat, bon," he says with a choked laugh. When you reach for the door handle, he shakes his head. "No' stoppin' now. Too late fer tha'. No' stoppin' 'til ye cum."

A pitiful whine catches in your throat, but he only shushes you again, then adds his ring finger as he continues to stroke your walls. Your head comes off the backrest, body curling in on itself when he slides his thumb through your folds to press it onto your clit.

You've got a death grip on his wrist to keep him in place, hips instinctively rolling with his hand, breaths panting as that coil in your gut begins to wind up tight. You can feel your clit throb under the pressure of his thumb, your cunt flexing and spasming around his pumping digits.

Juh— Johnny..." you pant out, eyes rolling up to meet his hooded gaze.

"Tha's it, bon. Let go. Fuck my fingers jus' like tha'."

It's his rushed speech, the shake in his whispered voice, that ends up triggering your orgasm. That and the way he's looking at you. There's a wild, feral look in his eyes but it's softened by affection, tempered with pure adoration. It makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you ride out your orgasm on his soaked fingers.

His forehead is pressing almost painfully against the side of your head, his teeth gritted, muffling his growl as his hand stills between your legs and his body stiffens. Your eyes blink open to stare at him in breathless awe. His hips rut once, twice as he grits out, "Fuck, tha's it Nngh..." in a strained whisper.

You're both panting, limbs loose and limp. Your head rolls to the side so you can look at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and neck, the blissed-out expression on his sweaty face. He huffs out a little laugh and rests the side of his head against the driver's seat to meet your eyes.

"Did you cum?" you ask, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

You both look down at his crotch, the shadow of a damp spot forming as his spend soaks into the worn denim. He snorts a soft laugh. "Aye. Could no' help it. When ye came, I lost it."

You can only stare at him, eyes darting between his, then your cunt clenches in a weak spasm around his fingers. You made him cum, untouched, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever heard of.

He hums, pleased with your physical reaction. He gives a couple of teasing pumps with his fingers before finally slipping them out of you, dragging your own cum up and over your mons, leaving a sticky, wet trail in his wake. He makes sure you're watching when he brings them up to his mouth to suck your release from them, moaning in pleasure. Pulling them free with a wet pop, he smirks.

"Still my fav'rite flavor," he says with a cheeky wink.

You roll your eyes but can't keep the pleased smirk off your own face. "Jesus, Johnny."

He chuckles dark and low as he rebuckles your seatbelt and then his own. He starts the truck again and shifts it back into gear, pulling back onto the road. "Need t'stop by my room an' change a'fore we get lunch. Ye made a mess o' me, bonnie."

You sniff a little laugh as you rebutton and zip up your shorts, trying to control the small tremor in your thighs. Your legs feel like overcooked spaghetti, your head still buzzing with leftover endorphins. You'll need to change your own knickers when you get back home, grimacing a little at the sticky feeling between your legs.

When he reaches over to grasp your thigh, you don't pull away or shove his hand off. Instead, you allow yourself to enjoy the gentle caress of his fingers. Whatever you had been so pissed about has completely slipped your mind.

Once he's parked in front of the Seabird Inn, he leans back in his seat to study you, elbow resting on the open window as he strokes a finger back and forth under his bottom lip.

"What?" you ask, staring back at him.

"Yer off work again t'morrow, aye?"

Your eyebrows inch up your forehead. "Yeah. Why?"

He smirks and climbs out of the truck, closing the door before leaning on the open window to peer back at you. "Ye need t'pack an overnight bag when we get back t'the cottage. We'll stop by the bakery so ye can tell Rue ye won't be home t'night."

A tingling little shiver skitters up your spine, prickling your scalp. "Why?" you ask in a breathy voice.

He tilts his chin down, a wicked smile curling his lips. "'Cause I plan on collectin' m'payment t'night." His expression turns dark and hungry. "I wouldnae plan on sleepin' much, if I were you." He then brightens and beams a bright smile. "Be back in a tick, sweetheart."

You watch him walk into the inn, his words making your head spin.

"Oh, shit," you whisper.

part 6 part 8

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod soap #soap x fem reader #john soap mactavish x fem reader #john soap mactavish x reader

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enigmasandepiphanies · 1 year ago

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today my friend told me how the guy she briefly dated over summer has no fulfilling friendships and it led to us sharing about our intense friendships with people

I told her about friends I care for and have cared for and how they cared for each other and how I have witnessed them being in love with me,being apart from me, being in love with each other and apart from each other and how I used to get so glowy like happy whenever I went on an activa ride with my best friend to ex to close friend and my childhood friend and I used to leave my best friends' building and sing on the activa cause I felt like there was a ball of golden light inside me

and how I met this insane boy in my life who became the coolest person I have talked to and I gave him so much value and love and warmth and he became one of my closest friends in no time and then I realized he didn't care that much and I did and I cried so much and my other friends were there for me

and just I feel like I am growing but I am also constantly reliving my girlhood and I feel so intensely—something many people have either taken as a flaw or respected me for it— you know I used to think I was the only one in the world to feel that because teenage angst is the othering of self to belong to the other and you know, I realized it wasn't true as I grew up because I found solace in this collective loneliness of humanity, isn't that funny how we are all collectively lonely, we are lonely together! what a hilarious oxymoron, a bizarre antithesis

I have nurtured so many friendships and some of them have just withered away and sometimes I get so scared whether I am too intense for a person but last month I visited my childhood best friend after two years and she held me as I cried and told me that I do feel more than other people she has seen perhaps but it's not a flaw at all and when she sees me she sees me as love shaped because that's how I have grown to her and that's what makes me, me

and I have had extremely fulfilling, intense, emotional, fiercely in love friendships with people and all I want is to be a prism and radiate so many emotions and rainbow like light to them so they can be hugged by all colours of warmth and I hope I have done that in my past friendships even though I have faltered so many times

and I wanna give them so much love and make them laugh and hold their hands and listen to their bubbling rants and rest their heads on my shoulders as they feel safe in their sleep and how this friend of mine, the one I am talking to has become one of them

I am growing up so much and one of my greatest wishes and hopes in life is that whenever my friends have spent time with me in the past and will do in future, I hope they have a ball of golden light inside them too

and for lost friendships, I only hope that on cold days and monsoon days they can go to that little crevice and find some warmth in that

and yes, my friendships are fulfilling cause they literally fill me with light and oh how I love them

#eni life stories #found family tag #musical soulmate tag #val tag #hiraeth tag #smn tag #eejit tag #bestie tag #krash tag #if y'all seeing this now that i really love and appreciate you

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soulhollow · 2 months ago

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Confess your sins tag game!

Rules: Any character from any fandom can be used for this game. Pick a character that you consider a guilty pleasure/background character aside from your blorbo and confess why you like them! 😊

Ehehe little known fact: my guilty pleasure character is absolutely Aethelwold (just you wait until I write the bit, the first of many times, in which he RUINS his uncle's life - god I'm terrible).

Why Aethelwold? Probably because Harry McEntire's portrayal of him was masterful to me. I don't know if he read Cornwell's books, but it definitely feels like he did. Either way, he grasped the essence of Aethelwold so completely that the show is very much a treat to re-watch and focus on just Aethelwold, in every scene that he's in. Harry's portrayal is just, incredible. Chef's kiss. He played a character it's very easy to dislike (because, narratively, that's the point) but I went full circle right back around to loving the eejit. Also, Harry himself seems like he'd be the coolest dude to hang out with. Clever, niche interests. I love lit and theatre nerds.

No pressure tagging @thedarknone @kingslionheart @aelswiths @tricksterkat209 <3

#the last kingdom #harry mcentire #tlk aethelwold #tlk

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todaysrat · 6 months ago

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CHARACTER VOICE TAG!!

Thanks @capnmachete for the tag RAHHH

Rules: Rewrite the line of dialogue from the person who tagged you into the voice of your OC! Pass on the tag with a new line of dialogue. ***

My line: "That's a terrible idea." Trigger: "Got to be the worst fucking idea I've ever heard, but do it, Love. Only live once and that." Dante: *Is the terrible idea.* Daithí: "Fucking eejit." Mantio: "LETS FUCKING GO!!!" *Puts on Low Rider by War.* ****

Your line: "Why do you have so much cheese?" Tags: @imnotgreen-art @madaman0 @hanawrites404

#writer tag game #character voice tag #ocs

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sheyshocked · 10 months ago

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If They Knew Me, They Wouldn’t Want Me (1/5)

Summary: Demoman works as a stripper and doesn’t want Soldier to know that. So of course he finds out in the worst way possible.

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Rated: E

Ship: RED Demoman/BLU Soldier

Warnings: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-esteem issues

Tags: Strippers & Strip Clubs, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Self-Esteem Issues, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

You can also read it on ao3!

Juggling three jobs was rough. Even without him mum constantly pestering him about being “lazy” and a “disgrace to his father, who worked twenty-six jobs just to provide for his family”. God, Tavish knew she meant well, but damn… If only she knew.

Don’t take him wrong. He loved each and every one of his occupations. Was pretty good at them, too. But sometimes, slaving for Mann Co. during the day, helping out at demolition sites at the weekends and holding a night job in the town was wearing him thin. Still, given a choice, he wouldn’t change anything. Being busy (and drunk) was good for him. It kept the bad thoughts at bay.

Not always, of course. He wasn’t that lucky. Every now and then, not even a shitton of booze and less than four hours a day of sleep was enough to keep him from recalling that night at the loch. Or the look of surprise on his best friend’s face right before he chopped his head off over and over again, and for what? Some shiny relic? Bah!

It’s true the WAR was long since over, and he and Jane had made up, once again meeting behind the backs of their enigmatic and cruel employers like nothing had happened, but the sad truth was that it did happen. And they could never take that back, no matter how hard they tried. The confusion, heart-break, betrayal, how much he missed his best mate every waking hour and loathed him at the same time…

But he shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not right now, when he was just about to climb into his car and drive off to his other job.

He felt kinda like a thief, sneaking off into the night. Thank goodness no one ever asked where he was going. Pfft, can you imagine? A guy who was hired to kill a bunch of other eejits for wearing the wrong color, embarrassed about having a side gig. He knew how ridiculous it sounded. Still, he couldn’t help himself. He liked his teammates, some more, some less, and they would never look at him the same again if they knew.

Same goes for Jane. If he were to somehow find out about this… Tavish would have no other choice but to crawl into some deep gravel pit and die. And that wasn’t him just being overly dramatic. Well, maybe a little bit. But he knew Jane. His beautiful, passionate Jane, how deeply he felt about things. The best possible outcome he could hope for would be a punch square in the jaw. The worst? Him stopping hanging out with him altogether. And he couldn’t have that. Not when he just got him back after years of fighting.

He would never let work tear them apart. Not again.

The alley was dark and deserted, like it usually was. Still, he took the time to check his surroundings, to see if he wasn’t being watched. Call it a professional deformation. But there was really no one there, maybe except for a few stray cats.

Calm once again, he knocked on the last door on the left. Once, twice, three times in a rapid sucession. He heard a rustle on the other side, then the door opened and a bouncer, a man almost as huge as their Heavy, ushered him inside. There, at the end of the corridor, he ran into an older guy in a tuxedo, who was just making a phone call. As soon as it ended, his attention turned to the newly arrived Demoman.

“Tavish, my boy! You’re here just in time! People are already lining up to see you perform tonight. You don’t want to disappoint them, do ya?”

“Eh, ye know me, Marcel. I wouldnae want tae keep them waiting.”

Marcel, the owner of the club, gave him a big grin and a friendly pat on the shoulder before sending him off to the backstage. Some of his coworkers were already there, getting ready for the main event. Most never wanted to talk, or even exchange pleasantries. Here, they were competitors, not a team. Still, it would be weird not to say hi to them. So he did, before making beeline to his vanity.

Time to get dressed.

The costumes, shiny and leaving little to imagination, were probably the most ridiculous part of this job. At some point, he even considered quitting because of it. Just looking at what he would have to wear for the night made him feel mighty self-consciouss. But the pay was good and Marcel kept telling him it would be fine, so he caved in.

“Oh, c’mon, big guy, people will love this, you have the perfect legs for it!”

“I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m no bonnie lass! What sick bastard could possibly enjoy seeing me in knee-high boots and ton of make up?”

“You’d be surprised. Just give it a shot. You’ll see, trust me.”

He did. And people really loved it, for some reason. There were more of them every night. So much so that Marcel started calling him “his golden goose”. Eventually, Tavish became used to it. The only thing he drew the line on was the stupid pirate costume. That one hit way too close to home.

Tonight, the costume was pretty tame in comparison. A white shirt with some tight leather pants and lacy underwear. Simple and easy to remove. Perfect. He put it on in a hurry, leaving the top of the shirt unbuttoned. It always seemed to drive the customers mad.

Soon, the music started playing, a soft, upbeat tone. Everyone stopped doing whatever they were doing and turned to face the stage, where Marcel would announce the first three performers of the night.

“Now, give it up for our gorgeous and talented dancers – Skye, Travis and Blaze!”

A wave of clapping and cheering followed, loud enough it could be heard even behind the heavy curtain that separated them from the crowd. A gentle smile found its way on Tavish’s lips. Blaze was his stage name.

All right. Let’s get this show on the road.

But first, he gave poor Skye and Travis, twins who just started working at the club, a big thumbs up and a mouhed: “Good luck, lads!” Why? Maybe because he remembered just how utterly nerve-wrecking his first shift was. He could certainly use a friendly face back then, and so did they now.

They flashed him a grateful little smile before they disappeared behind the curtain. With head held high and a sultry grin that spelled confidence (which he didn’t feel deep down, but he learned to act like he did – the more cocksure he seemed, the more tips he would get), he followed after them.

Funnily enough, but as much as he dreaded it at the beginning, he came to love the moment when he stepped into the light of the reflectors. It helped that with a bit of practice, he turned out to be a damn good dancer. Nearly as good as he was at making things explode. The way the crowd was cheering him on as he slowly, ever so slowly took off his clothes to the beat of the music… it made him feel desired. Stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.

Those people down there, when they looked at him, they didn’t see a black Scottish cyclops with a severe drinking issue. They had no idea that the eye patch wasn’t just for the show, that he wasn’t faking the accent or that he was sloshed more often than not. For them, he was just a nice, muscular body to admire.

That was more than he could ever hope for.

As his pants slid to the floor (he never got fully naked on the stage – that was for private shows and lap dances only), he tried not to remind himself of the sheer number of scars he just uncovered for everyone to see.

A monster, an one-eyed monster, his mind kept screaming at him, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of an applause and his own beating heart.

***

The night went spectacular as always. He certainly couldn’t complain about not having plenty of customers singing him praises and asking for lap dances. Got more than a few generous tips, too. So why did he feel like something was crushing his chest?

By now, he was no stranger to this strange, empty void that enveloped his heart. It usually came after a long night at work. But it would be fine. He just needed to have a drink or two and tomorrow he’s going to town with Jane. That always used to cheer him up a little bit.

#team fortress 2 #boots n bombs #demosolly #demoman/soldier #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #shey scribbles #multiple chapters #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier

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avernusfuries · 9 months ago

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People I'd like to get to know better

last song: cain - tiamat. favorite color: my favourite colour is a toss up between bublegum pink and yellow. both are exceptionally happy colours, after all. currently watching: I've been trying to watch the crow for like, three days, but wifi said so. but it is the last thing I tried to watch. spicy/savory/sweet: savory, always!! relationship status: engaged, been with the same eejit for ten whole years in octboer. :D current obsession: vampire the masquerade: bloodlines has my in a fucking chokehold right now.

tagged by: @sanguisarcana. tagging: @triickst, @vigilant-cleric, @hellscaress, @nanlanmo, @shentacles, @wolf-eyes-wolf-soul. @wolfsbarbaren, @wanderingarcherviola + you!

#gnutty for gnomes. — [ out of character. ]#:3c

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aliceisathome · 1 year ago

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I was tagged by @waitmyturtles so here's my Thai QL Favorites Tag Game answers! Brief because arghh, not able to spend lots of time on anything bloody fun at the moment.

Favorite Thai BL: I love so many but it just has to be Until We Meet Again. For all its flaws (Pharm's blushing maiden, New's pedestrian direction etc) it's a masterpiece of storytelling and a perfect cast. And it still makes me ugly cry when I rewatch it. Bad Buddy comes a close second though

Current Obsession: I'm too swamped to have a current obsession. I'm so behind I haven't even watched The Eight Sense yet. I had to pause Be My Favourite after ep 2. I can't start anything new so currently only rewatch favourite bits of already consumed media. Sob.

Favorite Pairing: I'm wavering between PatPran and DeanPharm. And AePete...

Most Underrated Actor: There are a couple of actors that I'd just like to see in more things because whenever they appear they elevate the whole drama. Tonnam Piamchon is a proper scene stealer and I'd love to see him lead something out. I'm surprised there hasn't been a proper lead for First (not that one) Piyankul as well.

Favorite Character: Pat. He may be an eejit but once he realises how he feels he's all in, forever. I love that man.

Favorite Side Character: Can I have Toh's entire friendship group from Secret Crush On You? I love all of them.

Favorite Scene in a BL: I won't pick one and you can't make me. Some I love because they're fabulous, some because they are so bad they're good, others make my heart clench. A few of my many highlights include; In and Korn so happy on the beach in UWMA, the rooftop kiss in BB, Daisy and In's noodle flirtation in SCOY, White and Sean at Pride in Not Me, the airport scene in ATOTS, and as a gloriously over-the-top bit of pulpy goodness, Kim descending the stairs in his best Alexis Carrington imitation to confront Cherry in Unforgotten Night. Then there's this one:

Favorite Line in a BL: "In this world, you can be afraid of anything. I will always be beside you, but you cannot be afraid of me" Win to Team in UWMA

Most Anticipated BL (& Why): เขมจิราต้องรอด Cherry Magic with TayNew OF COURSE. I think we all know why. Middleman's Love because TutorYim - aww. And Only Friends because Jojo's got free rein and a fabulous cast.

Healthiest relationship in a BL: PatPran, Li Ming and Heart, despite their youth. and ultimately DeanPharm.

Most Toxic Relationship in a BL: Lots of people are going to have TharnType in this spot. I suspect these people have forgotten Dr Bright and Farm from Together With Me, or Techno and Kengkla from LBC and LBC2. Tharn and Type are pure as the driven snow in comparison.

Guilty Pleasure Series: Love Mechanics - look I just love my spiky boy Mark and my hopeless boy Vee and their messy, messy relationship.

I won't tag anyone - do it if you fancy!

#thai bl #Thai QL Favorites Tag Game #UWMA #Until We Meet Again #Bad Buddy #Love Mechanics #Unforgotten Night #SCOY #Secret Crush on You #Love By Chance #Together With Me #Tharntype

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 1 year ago

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Reflections

Chapter Three

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: none, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Mia marvelled out the car window at the house. The pictures didn't do it justice.

It was Tudor style; the white-washed daub between the timber frames, steeply pitched gables, and thatched roof made it easy to distinguish between that and other periods. Brick and pipe chimneys smoked merrily. The casement window glass gleamed with shine and a fresh coat of white paint.

Two years of Covid and a subscription to Home and Garden Television, along with Tubi and their shows on restoration projects across the UK, apparently imparted lessons that were paying off.

The door was kelly green with a white climbing rose clinging to the wall. The plant crossed the lintel and spanned the area above the house's main floor windows. Someone had taken great care of the garden, for flowers bloomed in veritable heaps of colour below every window before the well-kept yard spread out in a wash of lush green lawn, meticulously mowed.

Trees surrounded the property, but she could make out more buildings farther into the grounds, though Jacob - her driver - pulled up in front of the cobblestone path that led from the raked gravel drive to the door.

"It's bigger than I thought," Mia murmured, allowing him to get the door and her to step outside. The house was triple the size of anything she could afford back in Canada.

The fresh air was crisp and clean, and the sun peeking through the clouds was lovely. She stood and basked, eyes closed, taking it in momentarily before moving away from the car.

She couldn't help but smile at the unique roof and the fancy thatching. After hours of devouring the shows on home restoration for period properties, she had enormous respect for the men and women who could accomplish such an incredible craft. It was truly remarkable that, after hundreds of years, such material and labour were still used today.

Before she could touch the doorknob, already in love with the door's colour, it swung open to reveal a short, stout woman wearing a frilly apron. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes emerald green, but her cast of wrinkles bespoke her age. Still, her smile was wide and welcoming, if a little guarded.

“Camila MacAlasdair?”

"Mia, please," she smiled and held out her hand. "Mrs. Bailey?"

"Ock, we don't shake the hands of family," she huffed, grabbing Mia's wrist and hauling her forward into a hug that should have come from someone the size of Fergus. "Yer wee gran would 'ave taken one look at ye and known ye were Callum's girl. Ye've yer da's eyes."

Mia leaned into the hug - though leaned down was more accurate. "You knew them well?"

"I've been keeping house for yer grandparents since yer da was a wee lad. It was a shame what happened with yer mum. A true shame. Would that they had lived to see ye and tell ye all this themselves."

Grief tugged at Mia's heart for her lost family. "Yeah."

"Bah!" Mrs. Bailey set her back and lightly patted Mia's arms. "Here I am holdin' ye in the door like an eejit when yer probably puggled. Let's get ye a scran and settled 'afor I go talkin' yer ear off."

The woman turned on her heel and set off into the house.

"Puggled?" Mia murmured to Jacob, arriving with the first of her bags.

"She means tired," chuckled the very British Jacob.

With the thicker accents of the Scots she'd spent the last week with, it was a shock to have Jacob greet her in a voice that reminded her of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.

He'd been kind enough to help her decipher a few of Fergus and Ivy's more colourful sayings.

Your head's full of mince was one of them. Your bum's out the window was another.

"Ah," Mia nodded, wondering if there was an app for deciphering Scottish - and British - English as even Jacob caused her to blink in confusion when he asked if she were 'taking the piss' and had to explain himself.

She would see about that later. Fergus gifted her a fancy new phone with what he termed better encryption and security. It was also already attached to her household expenses and ran on the nation's phone service.

Mia stepped beyond the threshold and bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The low-beam ceiling was spectacular!

Dark wood separated by white dab spanned the spaces between beams that looked like entire trees held up the ceiling. The wood flooring had planks that were so wide they, too, looked like they came from a whole tree. The rich dark brown of the well-loved wood made the house feel so warm.

She stepped into a kitchen right out of a fairytale.

Expansive windows threw light across the floor, reflected off the pans hanging above the antique stove and glinted on cut crystal vases filled with sweet-smelling flowers. Pots of fresh herbs sat in the window sills. Butcher block countertops ran the length of all the cabinets and covered the island.

An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, but a pot belly stove sat in the center, glowing a merry orange with the cheerfully burning fire. The mantel was another massive piece of timber, upon which sat a host of - what Mia assumed were - ancient kitchen utensils. They looked neat, some dull or rusted with age, while others carried a dark patina and still more shone with copper.

Before the fire, a round rug of burgundy and cream anchored two forest green wingback chairs with a small round table between them. It was of caramel-coloured wood, the top a little scarred with age, but it held a tea tray with the most gorgeous bone china tea service Mia had ever seen.

The white china fairly blazed against the dark backdrop, while the purple thistle and green leaves caressed the curves of the china with delicate brush strokes.

A small but fancy chandelier hung over the sink, but recessed pot lights covered the ceiling and would likely add to the warm glow at night, though they weren't currently on.

Mrs. Bailey poked a few mounds of dough back down at the island into their bowls before covering them with sunny yellow tea towels.

"Is that bread?"

"Aye. I always make bread on Mondays." There was something in how she said it, almost as if she challenged Mia to say something contrary.

Mia toed her shoes off beside the door and drifted closer. "I always wanted to learn, but Colt said it was a waste of time."

Mrs. Bailey's sharp eyes jumped to her face and the bruises she attempted to tone down. It wasn't easy to hide, not without also covering her freckles, and Mia didn't want to do that anymore.

"Ye've quite the keeker. I've some salve to help if ye want it."

"Did you make that too?"

Mrs. Bailey burst out laughing. "Naw! I'm a baker and a cook, alright, but I'm naw chemist."

Mia grinned. "I'd love to try the salve. I'm not sure which is worse, the black when it was fresh or the sickly yellow-green it is now."

Mrs. Bailey's brows drew together, and thunder filled her face. "The bloke who did it, he gonna be a problem?"

Mia snorted. "No. I left him in Canada, and he has no idea I'm here."

Her face cleared. "Good. Would've given 'im a good hard smack with a pan for laying hands on a lady."

Mia laughed. "No one has ever called me a lady."

"Yer lady of this house now, so expect to hear it." Again, there was tension behind the words.

Mia wasn't always the best at social cues in the fancy circles Colt aspired to. Still, after years in the foster system, not that she'd lived in any genuinely horrible situations, she'd learned to read people and the tension in their bodies reasonably well.

Only one of her homes was a bad place where the father drank excessively. He never touched any of the kids under his care, but he often yelled, smashed things, and made threats. She learned quickly to go to her room and stay out of his way.

So when Mrs. Bailey's brows pulled together in worry, and she picked at a crusty bit of dough on the island, Mia attempted to put two and two together.

"You know, I was thrilled when Fergus told me the house and the people associated with it were taken care of," she said, attempting to appear like she was admiring the pots hanging over the stove and not about to freak out. "I don't know the first thing about a place like this other than it's gorgeous, and I still can't believe I get to stay here. I wouldn't want people to think I would come here and make crazy changes, like fire everyone. It's not in my nature, and honestly, after the last few years, I'm just happy to have a home."

The last came out a bit of a hoarse whisper as surprise tears seared her nose and throat.

"Ye've had a time of it, haven't ye, Mia?"

She made the mistake of glancing at Mrs. Bailey, compassion in every line of her face, and broke down in tears.

"There now." The older woman enveloped Mia in a hug and rubbed her back. "Been a hard road, but yer here now. And we look after our own. Ye have yerself a wee greet. Then I'll show ye the house and put the tea on."

Mia sniffled. "Does tea include fresh bread?"

Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Of course!"

Mia hugged her tight. "Excellent."

The house was a dream.

All the times Mia watched someone restore their period home on television, she'd sighed in longing. However, after the first time she pointed out how gorgeous the craftsmanship of those older buildings was, even the restored barns, Colt snorted in contempt and called them filthy she hadn't brought it up to him again.

Laying on her back on a beautiful wide bed with a thick white duvet, Mia stared at the crisscrossed ceiling and let the tears come.

She'd been so blind to Colt's faults, so desperate for love and affection after being alone most of her life that she ignored his red flags. Some, she even turned around and placed on herself as her faults. She'd accepted blame and tried to change herself when he was in the wrong.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but they didn't last long. She cried for broken dreams and lost love, but she wasn't cynical enough to believe that would be the end for her. Mia would love again, but she'd learned tough lessons and would guard her heart with higher walls next time.

For now, she would put Colt behind her and move on with her life. It was here, it was new, and though it was a little scary, it was also exciting.

She sat up, wiped her face, and took in the sun-drenched bedroom. A fire burned in a beautiful iron grate in a modest fireplace between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream club chairs offered a welcome seat to soak in the view or the heat. Antique dressers now held the clothing she purchased, as did the pair of wardrobes. And, of course, the same stunning floor of overly wide wooden planks felt like they'd been polished smooth with literal generations of feet.

Off the bedroom was a bathroom straight out of a fantasy novel. A clawfoot tub sat on a riser within the confines of an alcove beneath a large octagonal window. The plank flooring gave way to large slate tiles, slightly misshapen, clearly hand-hewn. Again, it felt polished beneath Mia's feet.

A double sink sat in a vanity that looked like an antique dresser, while the mirror above appeared hand-carved or made from the bones of old crown moulding. It was magnificent, with the small wall sconces glowing on either end.

In virtually every room, some potted plant or vase full of flowers added greenery to the space, and her bathroom was no different.

She wasn't sure what the leafy plant on the sink was called, but she was determined to learn how to care for them and help out.

As Mrs. Bailey - first name Cora - showed her around through receiving rooms, drawing rooms, her late grandfather's study, the dining room, and five guest rooms, she introduced Mia to Oliva and Skye. The young women helped with the housework, general cleaning, laundry, and the like.

Cora explained the two women had received the items shipped from Edinburgh, found the boxes with her clothing, and unpacked them into the master bedroom.

It felt a little weird moving into what once was her grandparents' space, but Cora assured her the mattress and bedding were new, changed out when they learned she would be coming to stay. Her grandparents' clothing and the like were stored in the attic until she decided what she wanted to do with it. They had yet to bother with the rest of the house, as Mia could add or edit as she pleased.

So far, Mia was under the impression that her grandparents had impeccable taste. The antiques were glorious and well cared for. What brick-a-brack she saw seemed well chosen and possibly of value. Clearly, her grandmother had a thing for Waterford Crystal, not that Mia blamed her.

Her grandfather - apparently - carved and painted wooden ducks. The gorgeous creatures were lovingly displayed in his former office, riding the plate rail that ran the room's circumference.

They had stored her art supplies, works in progress, and finished paintings there.

Mia vaguely wondered if that was where her talent came from before Cora shooed her along, talking about how the house was fully renovated right before Covid hit, keeping the old world charm while modernizing things like the insulation, the lighting, wiring, plumbing, heat and air.

She could only imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent modernizing the house while retaining its classic look and feel.

The house tour ended in one parlour where another potbelly stove glowed brightly beside a burgundy velvet sofa. Skye was there with the tea tray, Olivia a step behind with another of fresh bread, preserves, and a crock of whipped butter.

Mia intended to invite the women to stay, but Cora shooed them out, sat with a thump on the couch, and made to pour the tea, but Mia beat her to it.

She wasn't much for superstitions, but her mother always laughed and said, 'the lady of the house poured the tea unless she wanted to end up enceinte.' Mia was eight when she finally asked what the word meant, but she never forgot the way her mother laughed and explained about the silly old wives' tale. Still, it was one of the weird things that stuck in her brain and arose at odd times. Like now, when she realized this was her house. She owned it, lock, stock, and barrel.

It made her hyperventilate a little.

Then, as she handed Cora a delicate tea cup, the woman bluntly asked how she got the black eye.

It surprised Mia, but she told Cora the truth. When an ocean separated them, there was no point in lying to save face or protect Colt. But, as Cora poked a little at still raw feelings, Mia felt the fresh prickle of tears.

It was only a week—seven days from losing everything to gaining everything.

Cora made a displeased sound with her tongue and changed the subject, but the thunderous set of her brows said if she ever met Colt, he might become intimately acquainted with one of the cook's larger frying pans.

She asked instead about Mia's art, and happy to talk to someone about her joy, Mia ate three slices of bread, liberally spread with butter and jam, drank two cups of really lovely tea, and nattered on about what she did and why. She thought it might bore the woman, but Cora's eyes were excitedly bright, though a bit of confusion lingered.

"Well, ye've all the time in the world to paint now, love," Cora grinned. "Yer grandad had a woodworking shop near the barn that might suit ye if we clean it out."

The idea of it excited her when Cora encouraged her to have a walk around, but Mia returned upstairs to change first. It was roughly six degrees Celsius, and coming out of a Canadian winter when minus forty wasn't unheard of, six degrees was relatively balmy, but Scotland was damp in comparison. Mia learned quickly that you could get rained on at any time.

Thus, she'd ended up sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to adjust to the metamorphosis her life went through in a short amount of time.

Quiet laughter echoed in her head, and she closed her eyes as the gentle touch of a caring hand danced across her forehead.

Loki was patiently waiting for her to unpack his things.

Smiling, Mia looked around the room. The dresser across from the foot of her bed was long and low with a vase of fresh flowers but otherwise empty.

It took very little time to unpack and cleanse the altar and set everything back as it should be. Once finished, Mia admired her handiwork before rummaging through the bags brought up by the maids. A few pretty crystals and a pewter bowl joined her collection, as did two silver candlesticks meant for fat pillar candles. She bought two in vanilla, two in citrus, and two with a cinnamon kick.

For now, she placed the cinnamon-scented ones in the holders, and the others remained wrapped in tissue paper she tucked into a drawer.

Loki hummed his pleasure, the warmth of it like the summer sun glowing in her chest.

"I'm glad you like it. Thank you for leading me here."

Here is where you belong.

Mia grinned. Yeah, she felt that, too.

Next Chapter

#reflections #au tom hiddleston fiction #rpf #real people fiction #tom hiddleston

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