After the boat and the landing however, finding Bill alone in a corner of the nave is the most sacrilegious of blessings, caging his long tense body there, fitting one of his knees in between his thighs and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, hands grasping for sharp hipbones and sharper jutting vertebrae.
Tight lipped kisses had come in kind, lips pressed against lips that had soon turned into teeth clattering and making Jock growl, doing a terrible job at not biting and kissing every inch of Bill on sight. He had sucked his cock then and there, made this boy who was all skin and bones shiver and whimper, all that composure melting under Jock’s mouth. Those saintly lips of his barely able to hold down his moans as he spent in front of a dolorous wooden Jesus, all over Jock’s face, moustache dripping with thick salty spend, his Captain’s fingers digging deep into his skull.
From Buckle, by Midna_Ronoa (Me!!)
Art by @getsloud
Recently commissioned art for this fic from the most wonderful R!! It has been a pleasure working with him and I cannot think of a better artist to capture the likeness of characters that are so very close to my heart. (You want to commission him SO baaaad)
Infinite thanks, R, for your amazing work, I can't wait to be able to act as a renaissance nobleman patron for you again!
John started, looking around to see where the voice — strangely casual for its harsh words — had come from. He’d been certain he was alone at his little bench, tucked away in the corner of the park with his book, but he had forgotten there was another smaller path coming out of the trees behind him, connecting them to the other half of the park. He heard the man speak again before he came into view.
“You are. You’re going to jail. And I’m not going to do anything about it. They’re going to come and accuse you of theft and I’m not going to cover for you.”
His words were firm but slightly condescending, as if explaining something to a particularly stubborn child, and it wasn’t until finally he stepped out of the trees that John understood what was happening.
The man — the broad, hairy, unquestionably handsome man — had perhaps the largest, fluffiest dog John had ever seen with him, a tiny plush rat clamped delicately in its large jaws.
“Are you listening to me?” asked the man, still looking very seriously down at the dog. “You’re going to do hard time, Bear. Years, maybe.”
The dog, unsurprisingly, did not reply.
John let out a shocked little laugh before he could stop himself, and the man finally looked up, noticing for the first time that he and his dog were not alone.
“Well, shit,” said the man, fixing John with a grin that made his insides feel as if they were about to turn to jelly. “Look at that, Bear, you’ve got a witness to your crime. Now I’ll have to turn you in, can’t make this nice gentleman an accomplice.”
“I could be an accomplice,” John choked out, despite never having been an accomplice to anything in his entire life.
“Yeah?” asked the man, looking John up and down, taking him in from his sweater-vest to his freshly polished oxfords and smirking. “To what, tax evasion?”
John wanted to protest, but he hardly could, not when his boss quite literally had been arrested on charges of tax evasion not two years earlier.
“What’s he done, then?” he asked instead.
“Stolen this rat from one of the other dogs at the park,” said the man. “It’s so small and she’s so big I didn’t even realise ‘til we’d left already.”
“I walk through there,” said John quickly, words coming out of his mouth before he even had time to consider them. “On my way home. If you like I can put it on a bench or something. Maybe they’ll come back for it.”
“Oh, I can—” the man began, before pausing, seeming to consider something. “Yeah, alright,” he said finally, squatting down in front of the dog. “Guess you’re not a narc after all. Drop it, Bear.”
“High praise,” said John, and the man’s smile came back again as he caught the rat that Bear deposited gently in his hands.
“I’m Sol, by the way,” he said, getting back to his feet, stepping towards John, closer than he needed to reach out and hand him the slightly damp toy. Their fingers brushed as John accepted it. “We’re here Mondays and Fridays usually. If you want to let me know how it goes.”
“Sure,” said John, not quite understanding what he meant by it. It was only a stuffed rat. Why would John need to let him know how it goes?
It wasn’t until Sol and Bear had said their goodbyes and walked away that the realisation hit John that Sol might have been flirting with him. It wasn’t until John had dropped the rat on a bench and made it all the way back home that he allowed himself to accept that he didn’t think he would mind if Sol had been.
Endlessly amused by your Hill House posting taking into account I spent the past year writing a Master's thesis on its sapphic characters and how they have changed in the different adaptations of the novel jdhakldhkjdh
WAIT. THAT WAS YOUR MASTER’S THESIS??!!
You are absolutely gonna give me a complex over being so freaking cool, I swear to god.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
High Tide (5881 words) by Midna_Ronoa
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: SAS: Rogue Heroes (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Bill Fraser/Jock McDiarmid, Bill Fraser & Eoin McGonigal
Characters: Bill Fraser (SAS: Rogue Heroes), Jock McDiarmid, Eoin McGonigal
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, even if Bill Fraser doesn't think so!!, Haunting, Ghosts, Maritime horror, Trans Male Character, Internalized Transphobia, don't even know how to tag when it's a modern AU but they are in Shetland, and as we all know Shetland is haunted, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression
Summary:
Another song starts. Some rendition of Will Ye Go Lassie Go that makes more than one couple at the pub get together, strangers who are on their second to third pint finally having the liquid courage to get close to the warm body they have been eyeing all night. It softens Bill, infinitesimally so, or it might be the fondness Jock irradiates.
“I’d take you out for a dance if I didn’t know better,” Jock speaks softly, something fond in his features that makes Bill want to run.
“You could try,” Bill mutters, “And get a kick for all your trouble.”
“Ach, but isn’t that half the fun?”
Bill has a fishing boat he inherited from his father, very little money for the winter, and a growing headache in the shape of an ocassional fling he doesn't feel inclined to call a boyfriend. He might also have inadvertently acquired a ghost for the season.
for the prompt sets of three ⁶⁾ a fresh buzzcut, pink bubblegum and rolling tobacco, mcdiarmid/fraser? ❤️
“You look good.”
Bill shakes his head, fails to not to turn his neck in an effort to hide from Jock’s attentive gaze.
“Should get your hair shorn more often,” he insists, something equally hungry shining behind his sunglasses.
“It was necessary,” Bill deflects, “For the heat.”
There is little to no distance between them, the pink bubble-gum Jock’s been chewing peeking in between two sets of blunt pearly teeth. Teeth that had been pressed against his neck two nights ago, teeth that had been hungry to mark, to search for a pulse. Bill cannot keep himself from looking at them, the same way he cannot keep himself from staring at Jock’s fingers, watching him roll a cigarette he will carefully place behind his ear and not smoke until things are done between them, at least for the day. He has never tasted tobacco on his tongue, there is always mint on top, or strawberry, or whatever drink they’ve shared before Jock was three fingers deep inside his cunt, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. Which, in Bill’s defence, has only happened twice—thrice if he allows today to go on like this, which he won’t.
“Are you still up for tonight?”
Tonight means grabbing something to eat at the pub Jock keeps yapping about every time they hang out. Tonight means that once he is behind Jock riding that, frankly, quite intimidating looking bike, all bets will be off—and he could find himself getting lost to another bubble-gum flavoured kiss.
Bill nods. He’s never been one to waste other people’s time.
“Promise it’ll be worth it,” Jock says, making Bill wonder if he is capable of reading his mind.
When Jock hands him a helmet his head snaps back up, eyeing Jock warily before he inspects it up close. It looks new, practical, still smells like how new cars do when you or your wet dog have barely had the chance to step into them. Jock is looking at him when he looks back up, something giddy in his posture, his smile unrelenting.
“Thank you,” Bill says, he could probably offer more but it would feel insincere, unlike him, and something tells him Jock would know.
He gets a self-satisfied smirk for his trouble, one of Jock’s big hands patting the bike with a fondness that borders on the sexual. An invitation then, one last time for him to say no. “Promised I would take care of you,” is all Jock offers before he puts on his own helmet, visor up, hopping on top of the vehicle without any more fanfare.
Bill stares back to their flat, to the sunny suburban street where not even the neighbours will see him leave with this man, and without second guessing himself any longer, he hops behind Jock and holds onto his waist just as the engine comes to life.
Boneyard Devotional (12289 words) by Midna_Ronoa
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Osferth & Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Sihtric & Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Characters: Finan (The Last Kingdom), Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Additional Tags: Gothic, Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Blood and Gore, Slow Burn, the power of trauma VS the personification of a fortress (house) who will win, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Parent Death
Summary:
“I doubt Dunholm will bring him any peace.”
“Have you been there before?”
Sihtric nods in acquiescence, mulling for a moment on his next words before saying, “I was raised there.”
“Oh.” Only the squelching of hooves on wet terrain can be heard for a while, Osferth’s wide eyed stare boring a sharp hole in the back of Sihtric’s neck before he dares speak again. “Do you still have family there?”
It is a very Saxon question, one that makes Sihtric grin lopsided. “My father killed my mother, Ragnar my father, and Thyra my half-brother. The only thing left for me there are ghosts.”
After Uhtred’s banishment from Wessex and his escape up North, Sihtric is forced to return to Dunholm, now in Ragnar’s hands, where ghosts lurk at every corner and his mother’s memory and Kjartan’s shadow feel larger than ever before. While uncertainty grows and whispers of war begin to spread, his friends from the present, and allies from the past, will become the best weapon he has to battle the darkness of a place that threatens to devour him whole.
For the fake fic titles: "and he shook me with the force of his hold" 😈
Water is falling on the other side of the wall. A steady drip, drip, dripping that has kept Bill awake for the better part of an hour.
He should leave, shouldn’t board that train. Let Jock keep the tickets, he’ll find someone else to take home. A woman perhaps, someone his mam would approve of. Miss McDiarmid whose letters Bill had read over Jock’s shoulder in Italy for the first time, traced the uneven letters on the page with his eyes and wondered what kind of woman calls a man of Jock’s breadth and calibre Jamie.
Bill makes quick work of his trousers and shirt, fingers stopping briefly to caress the weave of the blue linen. A gift from Jock, one which mirrored the shirt he had worn for so many days in Italy. Made your eyes pop, he had told Bill with an easy smile and a certain hunger in his eyes. He has no doubt that his mother will like it, that she will beam at seeing him wearing something other than his uniform. Simon on the other hand—
“Off somewhere?”
The door has opened without alerting Bill with its treacherous creak, Jock standing in front of it like an apparition, hair still dripping from the shower he has taken down the hallway. Even from where he is sitting, half-dressed and with his hair probably sticking flat against his head, Bill can smell him, warm, like those lemongrass bar of soap he had purchased along with the shirt three days ago.
“I can’t stay,” Bill says, stands, tucks his shirt into his pants before he tries to go for his shoes.
Jock watches him fumble with the laces, one of his braces sliding down his shoulder as Bill tries to avert his gaze as much as he can. That man has read Bill like a book from day one, got a scent for lies. He will know that Bill doesn’t mean it, that he is scared, that he cannot elongate this farce further without having the certainty that his heart will be torn out of his ribcage the moment Jock puts an end to it.
Better to end it now, swiftly. Before it is too late. Before Bill has known more of him when not deployed—and he already knows too much! His favourite soap, how he likes his bacon, his favourite colour…—and can’t bring himself to forget when it is over.
“Hey.” A warm presence behind him. Strong hands. Stronger arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him close. “What got you shaking like that, Billy?”
All of the muscles in Bill’s body clench. Not the name, anything but that.
“You’ve had your fun, haven’t you?” Bill says, aiming for detached, landing somewhere on the edge of scared.
Jock snorts. “Me? You are one to talk, pet.”
“Don’t,” Bill interrupts him, finally gathering enough courage to turn around, look into disbelieving eyes. “We both know how this ends. I’m just making it easier for you.”
Another laugh, followed by Jock taking one step, two into Bill’s space.
“I’m being serious, James! I don’t—I can’t—”
“Out with it, darling.” There is no fear in his eyes, his voice rumbling in a way that makes Bill push himself further back, against the wall, not wanting to feel it through Jock’s skin, not wanting for it to be more difficult.
“I have to leave before you do,” Bill blurts out, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Jock’s ears, still wet, pink from the hot water. “We can’t keep fooling around like boys until you—”
“Hm?”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know! Until you find a woman? Someone you can actually settle with and not hide?” It comes out shriller than he would have wanted, realising far too late that the damn’s broken and it’s all coming out. “I won’t be a little something you keep on the side, James, be completely bloody sure of that!”
The man has the gall to laugh. Long and booming, echoing through the room, his hot breath fanning against Bill’s chest. Right, so this is it then.
“Didn’t take ya for one, but you’re a complete idiot, Billy.”
Bill stops on his tracks, the arm that was about to push Jock away pillowing him against the wall as he gets even closer, bare feet suddenly rising Jock onto his tiptoes so he can properly look Bill in the eye, his dark eyes hot as sin. The tremor has gotten worse, the effort Bill is making not to dig his nails into the wallpaper becoming futile the moment Jock’s solid mass has got him fully pinned against it. Nowhere to hide. No room for escape. Just a hungry darkness ahead.
“And who’s the fucker that’s going to keep you from marrying you, lovey? Because I’d like to have a word.”
Whatever Bill is about to say gets choked on Jock’s lips, his strong hands grabbing him by the hips, encircling, not letting go.
