#knight!soap

[amazeingartist]

blood knight soap art I unfortunately lost sight of and probably won’t finish

[greatstormcat]

Into the Fire

TF141 x f!reader Medieval AU

Part 3

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, nudity, voyeurism

AN: apologies for my Google translate Scots Gaelic, not entirely happy with this update but here we go…

Your mind reels with the revelation, this was Lord Price and his closest Knights. You’d heard stories over the years, but had always assumed it was fiction to keep old men amused in their cups in the tavern. Clearly, the nagging thought in your brain had been trying to get you to piece this together. Now you understand just how serious this situation was, you were tied by a blood debt to one of the most skilled and deadly Knights in the known world.

Simon slides from his saddle and opens one of his packs, pulling out a carefully folded square of material and several long poles. As you watch he connects the poles, snapping them together somehow, and then unfurls the material to reveal the same banner you saw before with the bear emblazoned across a deep blue background. The banner is attached to the pole and lifted aloft once he is back into his saddle.

“Let's go home boys,” Price sighs, and turns to MacTavish. “Let them know we’re coming.” The Highlander grins and lifts a horn that is attached to his belt, giving it a blow that sends a deep, rolling call across the land. The effect is instant, you see the people in the town pause in what they are doing, looking up towards the hill. There’s no doubt the note was heard as far away as the island, and an answering blast comes from somewhere down below.

Price has already begun the descent towards the town, and Simon rides beside him carrying the banner, snapping sharply in the sea breeze. The four men ride taller, straighter as they near the town gate, even the horses seem to know where they are home and step with vigour, hooves sparking on the cobbles as they clatter along. People gather quickly, drawn by the horn blast, first one or two rushing from what they were doing in outlying buildings and fields to wave and watch the passing troop.

As you pass through the gate, a dozen guards in shining chainmail and helmets march towards you, behind what must be their commander on his own horse who salutes Price with his sword. They carry halberds and wear pale blue tabards with Price’s bear emblem proudly displayed on their chests, and form a line either side of the horses, keeping the crowds back to allow you to pass through unhindered.

The noise grows as more and more people crowd the street, packing together but held back thanks to your escort, cheering and yelling a welcome to their Lord and his knights. The beat of hooves and tramp of feet becomes a steady heartbeat under the constant roar, the jingling of harnesses and armour a counter melody. MacTavish and Kyle smile and acknowledge the adoration, clearly soaking it up and enjoying the attention. Simon, face covered by his skull-fronted helm and his spine straight, keeps his eyes alert looking for signs of danger and generally ignoring the fuss as though the throng of people isn’t even there. Price acts every part the Lord, his bearded face softened by the adoration of his subjects but still maintaining his air of something.

It isn’t hard to spot the intrigued looks and whispered conversations that you draw, perched between Kyle’s thighs as you are. There is no mistaking you for nobility, with your burnt hair and simple clothing, and more than once you catch an open look of envy and hostility from the crowd. The noise becomes a living thing, following your procession towards the distant island as you move down the main street of the town. Flowers begin to be thrown by the mass of people, still calling out their love and adoration.

At the shoreline a small troop of guards stand by the start of the causeway, halberds held at their sides and ready to close the way behind their Lord once he passes by. Peace descends once more as your ride out onto the causeway towards the island, the gentle lapping of the waves against the stones strangely peaceful and calming. Gulls call along the shore, and you try to keep your composure as the huge edifice of the castle grows in front of you.

“That was… something,” you admit quietly to Kyle, and you feel him relax a little behind you once more.

“You get used to it,” he shrugs nonchalantly, as though it's something that happens every day and is rather dull. “Price is good to his people, and they’re good to him in return.”

“It shows,” you agree, “but why didn’t he tell me who he is?”

“Guess he enjoyed a little bit of anonymity for a while,” Kyle muses. “You would have freaked out if you knew, probably would’ve been kneeling in the mud and making more of a mess of yourself than you already were.”

“I thought knights were meant to be chivalrous and full of manners?” you hiss indignantly. “You’re an absolute…” you stop yourself before you finish your sentence, and tense as he leans closer to your ear.

“One more word and I’ll throw you into the sea. Then you can walk the rest of the way dripping wet,” he growls, forcing you into sullen silence. You try to ignore the prickle of your skin where his breath gently touches.

The crowd that greets you at the other end of the causeway is smaller, but no less ecstatic. If the majesty of the walled city had taken your breath away, the approach to the castle on its island was like walking into another world entirely. The closer you get, the bigger it looms over you. The steep and winding road up to the gatehouse would have winded you if you had to walk it, so for once you are grateful for the horse beneath you.

The walls rise straight up from the rocky heart of the island, the battlements and towers high above you. The main gate is protected by an enormous, spiked portcullis, held up on chains thicker than your own body, and riding beneath it is quite unnerving. The courtyard beyond is lined with more guards and ranks of servants and staff.

A woman waits for them at the wide steps by the grand doors, her braided, pale blonde hair coiled on top of her head and a serious expression on her face. She wears a pale blue dress which shifts in the sea breeze, with a white scarf wrapped around her neck. Her face warms from a concerned frown as she looks over the four horsemen, and then her eyes land on you and she raises her eyebrows.

“Good to see you all back in one piece, My Lord,” she greets Price as he swings down from his saddle, and he pats her shoulder fondly. “Who is this?” she asks, looking at you with sharp, intelligent eyes as you dismount with Kyle.

“We picked up a new healer on the way back. Saved you a job,” Price grins, and the woman gives you an appraising look. Her eyes are bore into you, and you feel as though she is someone who knows everything about you just from one glance. “She’s got herself a blood debt to Kyle, so she’s his problem for the time being, but I’m sure he will be amenable.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kyle tugs your arm past the blonde woman who watches you with interest.

“Not the time or place,” he mutters, dragging you stumbling up the steps and into the keep.

“Where are we going?” you exclaim.

“Sir Kyle,” you hear Laswell call out, and he pauses in the doorway. “Maybe I should take her with me? I can help her get cleaned up and find her some quarters, while you tend to your own needs.” Her voice is calm, but with an underlying hint of authority to it. It’s jarring hearing someone address him by rank for the first time. Kyle’s fingers tighten around your arm to the point of pain, as though the thought of letting you out of his sight is unbearable.

“Garrick, let her go,” Price utters the warning, seeing his hesitation, and you feel his fingers relax slowly, as though taking a huge amount of willpower.

“Fine,” Kyle relents, and with a dark look at Laswell, he stalks into the keep alone. The woman moves quietly over beside you, lightly touching your elbow.

“Come with me,” she says quietly, and you follow her blindly, glad for a calmer presence.

“I’m the Earl’s Steward, Kate Laswell,” she introduces herself as you follow her through the stone corridors of the castle. “I take care of the day to day running of his affairs, so if there’s anything you need you come to me.”

“Can you help me escape?” you ask her bluntly, deciding it’s easiest just to make it clear you are here against your will. She lets out a sigh.

“Do you have somewhere to go back to?”

You press your lips together firmly, you don’t and you know that. If you return to the village the priests would find out and finish off what they started, and roaming the countryside alone was also certain death. Your silence answers for you.

“Well, surely you’re better off here then?” Laswell suggests.

“It’s not what I wanted though,” he reply, hating how petulant you sound.

“The gods don’t often care what we want, they tend do send us where they prefer us to go,” she says with that same tone. As you talk she leads you further into the castle and down a spiralling staircase. For a moment you feel uncomfortable, as though she is taking you to the dungeons to lock you up forever. Eventually you stop before an oak door that looks like all the rest, and you expect to see torture devices and iron bars when she opens it.

“Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, then we can see about somewhere for you to stay,” he says kindly, pushing the door open and walking through. You followed after, hearing splashing water and finding yourself in a low, warm room. A large round tub, like the bottom half of a barrel stands against the wall, rimmed with pale fabric.

A carved, wooden screen stands behind the tub to give you privacy from an archway into another area and voices echo from behind it, along with the sound of water.

“This is our bath house, it’s open to everyone in the castle but you’ll have to share normally. This private alcove is for higher ranking household members only, but I’m happy to let you use it for today, to give you some space.” Laswell leaves you alone, and you run your fingertips through the water, shuddering at the heat and promise of being clean. Quickly, you strip naked and gingerly climb in.

You ease down into the steam tub, hissing softly at the water makes your skin tingle, and the red raw patches of burns sting. The aching from being in the saddle dulls as you sit down, the water lapping around the tops of your breasts gently. Leaning back against the linen wadding at the side, you allow yourself to relax for the first time in forever. Grabbing a small bar of soap from a stool beside the bath, you eagerly scrub your skin and hair, letting the dirt float away from you. Once you are clean to the point of needing new skin, you relax and soak in the water.

Deep voices pull you out of your reverie, their familiarity instantly identifying them, and you stop moving to listen.

“…and you don’t think you’re taking this too far?” you hear Simon’s deep voice coming from behind the screen. The urge to crouch further into the tub and hide washes over you, and you sink lower into the steaming water.

“Why? It’s a blood debt, you know what that means.” Kyle’s voice sounds irritated, exhausted even, as though this conversation has been going on for a while and he wants to be done with it.

“It’s clearly more than that, you’re practically…” MacTavish adds, before a loud splashing sound drowns his words out.

“For fucks sake Johnny!” Simon snaps angrily.

“Ach, shut up and get in ya big daftie,” comes the chuckled reply mixed with the gentle trickling of water.

“I’m not obsessed with her, she’s just… different…” you hear Kyle grumbling, his words getting quieter and you struggle to hear him. Against your better judgement you kneel up, leaning over the edge of the bath closer to the screen, desperate to hear what he is saying about you. The noise of your heart thumping interferes, and you try to calm your unexpected excitement. You shouldn’t care what he thinks about you, but you can’t help it.

You find a small gap in between the wood planks, a tiny slither of light coming through giving you just enough room to see through. You can see Simon and MacTavish in one tub together, Simon’s back resting against the other’s chest. Kyle is still standing beside another tub, his back turned towards you, and naked. The steam in the room has settled onto his skin, making it shimmer, picking out his muscles. You feel yourself warm in a way that has nothing to do with the water around you, and your breath catches in your throat as you watch him climb into the bath, bending over as he does so.

“Different?” Simon chuckles, sounding much more content now. “You mean she isn’t afraid to tell you to f…”

“Am I interrupting?” Laswell asks you and you flinch violently, water sloshing around you as you turn to face her. She entered so quietly you didn’t hear her, or you were so busy eavesdropping you missed the sound of her walking up to the tub. Your face heats with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I was just…” you flounder as you try to find a lie to cover yourself.

“Don’t worry, I of all people can’t get mad at you for spying on anyone.” She laughs, a cryptic smile on her face and holds up a towel. “Come on, I have a room for you. Let them finish their conversation in private for now.”

Laswell waits for you to dry and dress again, before leading you though the labyrinth of corridors to the upper levels of the castle. The views from the small windows in the deep slits are stunning, moonlight slipping over the sea and the whitewashed houses glow with it in the distance. Golden light from lanterns and candles glow in the windows, adding warmth to the pale scene, and the sea sparkles, now covering the causeway and cutting you off from land.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Laswell says over your shoulder, catching you staring.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” you sigh in awe.

“Would you rather be back where you were before?” she asks bluntly, and you turn to see her smiling, her arms crossed under her bosom.

“Not really, I guess it’s all just a huge transition,” you admit finally. “My life ended back there even though Kyle pulled me from the fire, I just don’t know what my new one holds for me yet.”

“It’ll work out alright, there’s obviously something at work here and this is where you’re meant to be,” she says, guiding you towards an oak door nearby. She opens it and a bedroom lies beyond, the walls panelled in dark wood, and the stone floor strewn with rugs and sheepskins. A canopied bed is against one wall, a table and chairs in the middle of the room, and a pair of padded chairs are set before the fire. Tapestries hang in the walls, and Price’s coat of arms is proudly carved into the pale stone above the hearth.

“This is too much,” you gasp and Laswell urges you forward.

“No, it’s not but I have a proposition for you if it helps ease your mind.”

You walk slowly around the room, touching the intricately carved posts of the bed.

“Anything,” you answer earnestly.

“We need a healer,” she explains. “The reason one didn’t go with the Earl to battle is that our previous healer passed away over the winter. Price wants you to try and fill his shoes. You’ll be on a trial, to prove yourself, but it’s yours if you want the position.”

“I’ll do it,” you reply without hesitation.

“Good,” the Steward nods. “I will have someone bring you some food, and some fresh clothes. Tomorrow you stay here and rest, I will keep Sir Kyle occupied and out of your way. In the evening there will be a feast to welcome them all home, and I’ll have someone come and help you get ready and join us.”

You sleep better, the bed is soft and comfortable, but dreams of shadows chasing you through the castle wake you before the sunrise, and sit in on the deep sill of the window to watch the dawn break over the sea. Good to her word Laswell makes sure you have space to yourself for the day, and you explore around the nearest corridors a little, making sure not to get lost. You return to your room to find a heavy trunk by your bed, which you open and find a variety of clothes, hair brushes, shoes and boots.

Later in the day, a young maid appears at your door to help you get ready for the feast. She teases the knots from your hair and cuts away the burnt sections, before helping you into a gown and slippers that Laswell and arranged for you.

The hall is packed, musicians play and more food than you had ever imagined in your life fills the long table in the middle of the hall. Price sits at its head, a goblet held in his hand already, Laswell to one side and Simon on the other. The knight has forgone his mask now, and you only know it is him as he is the biggest man in the room, and wearing a black doublet. Beside him MacTavish drinks deeply from his tankard, his face flushed.

You hesitate for a moment, watching Kyle from behind the screen of bodies as he sits at the table with the others, idly swilling his tankard. He is listening to something a blonde man with a bushy moustache is saying, a smile on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he listens to him and his lady companion.

After a moment you gather your nerve and smooth the front of the gown, then walk through the crowd. As soon as Kyle sees you he gets up and strides through the assembled guests, the light returning to his eyes. His long legs quickly cover the distance between you, his leather breeches hugging his thighs, and his white shirt hangs open showing a large amount of hard chest. You swallow impulsively as he bares down on you.

“You took your time,” he says by way of greeting, but with a genuine smile. His hand grips the back of your neck and you stiffen, irritation bubbling but an idea occurs to you.

“Well, I’m here now so it doesn’t matter,” you reply and take hold of his wrist, pulling his hand down and linking your arm with his. His eyes narrow for a moment, and then his expression softens and he pulls your arm against his side before walking you towards the table.

“This is Sir Alex and Commander Farim,” he introduces the couple, and you nod politely to them.

“Sir Kyle tells us he pulled you from a witch burning,” Commander Karim says, her accent rich and lyrical. Her outfit is rich with gold thread, and she carries herself with grace and strength. Her long, dark hair is plaited and draped over her shoulder. “In my homeland we would call you a phoenix, and you’d be very important,” she smiles, her striking features beautiful.

“Yeah, ‘round these parts they don’t like that kinda stuff,” Sir Alex says with a raised eyebrow.

“There she is!” MacTavish shouts and barges between the two, pulling you into a bear hug before letting you go. Your eyes widen slightly as you take in his attire, a blue tartan kilt and knee length boots, and a white shirt that is barely laced at the collar.

“Kyle’s been stressin’ about you all day. I swear he was gonna turn the place upside down when Laswell refused to tell him where she’d hidden you!”

“MacTavish, why don’t you sit down before you fall down,” Kyle groans and guides you to the table, getting you to sit beside him. Kyle keeps you close as speeches are made, mead drunk and a great shared.

As the festivities wear on MacTavish gets more drunk and louder, taking on the role of storyteller as he regales everyone with tales of their battles and victories. He lapses into Gaelic at times, and Simon nudges more than once reminding him to speak to English. Price catches your eye and beckons you over, Kyle watching you keenly as you do.

“You settled in okay, love?” Price asks you, leaning on the arm of his seat.

“Yes… my Lord,” you add quickly, and he shakes his head at you with a grin.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you. “I purposely didn’t tell you who I was. Guess I wanted to see what it would be like.”

“I thought you were Hedge Knights,” you laugh. “I didn’t dream you owned a castle!” He laughs with you, his smile infectious.

“I’ve got several castles,” he answered. “This one’s just my favourite. Cities get on my nerves, too many people. When the tide comes in you can only get here by boat, and then only if Nik lets you into his harbour.”

The guests begin to disperse and find their beds as the midnight watch bell rings, and you yawn leaning against him sleepily. By now he has you sat on his lap, his fingers gently stroking at your arm, as MacTavish slumps over the table.

Simon, using his great strength, hauls him to his feet, and Price tells him to get him to bed. Kyle gently slides you from his lap to help, and you follow them from the hall and up the twisting stairs to the sleeping chambers.

“Simon, tha feum agam ort tilg mo chabair,” MacTavish groans as he leans on Simon, and you see the larger man’s head drop for a moment as though holding back a laugh, but you have no idea what is being said. “Please, mo ghràdh, I’m hurtin’ bad,” the Highlander begs him.

“Shut up, let’s get you to bed,” Simon mutters, trying to hide a smile, and MacTavish perks up considerably at his words. The two stumble away from Kyle and you, the slurred singing of MacTavish echoing around you. You walk with Kyle to the door to your room and he chuckles as you stand before your door.

“My chambers are just down there,” Kyle points down the darkened corridor. “I should have known Kate wouldn’t have put you too far away. If you need anything you come and get me, understand?” His words still sound like an order, but they lack the harshness you’ve come to expect from him. For a moment his eyes search your face, and you feel yourself hold your breath while you wait for him to say or do something. His hand comes up the cup your face, and he brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, and for a brief moment you think he is about to kiss you. He lets out a frustrated sigh and steps back, a dark look in his eyes.

“Good night,” he mutters and walks away to his own door, closing it firmly behind him.

——————————————————

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[tb-png]

the prettiest boy of the 141!!! - 🧢

hes so PRETTYYY I LOVE HIM SM

i spent half an hr on this so please ignore all the mistakes 😭 i just wanted to draw my pretty boy

[mrs-nayrariley]

🙂🙂 🤨🤨

Price and his two sons teammates

[taissabelle]

My mom: So, who are you texting?

Me, who spends unhealthy amount of time on Character.Ai : No one....

[honeyhobbs]

Off duty Gaz going adventuring!

[hffhifjou]

MY MIGHTY BOYS 🥰🥰 pt 2

[ghouljams]

Viking soap! Viking soap! Viking soap!

Grrrrrrrr Yes ok yes because I am feral for this idea and you're partially engaging a special interest of mine.

You spot him at the same moment he does you. A flash of blue eyes reflecting the shallow river, long hair shorn short on the sides, the fur the edges his clothes marks him as easily as the paint on his face. A viking. He stands as quickly as you step back, his eyes fixed on you. If he's here there must be more at your village. You know well enough that these men don't travel as solitary creatures.

You turn and run towards your home. You hear the crash of him through the forest behind you giving chase. Even knowing the land as well as you do the terrain is uneven, the roots are made to catch your feet, and the branches are low to obscure your vision. You don't have the deer's advantage of darting movement to keep you out of reach. Each step you can hear him getting closer, until you feel his hands grab you.

The man, the viking, catches you around your middle. You kick and scream and make every effort to batter him with your fists, to make yourself difficult prey. You've heard enough stories about what these men do to know you want no part of it. He lifts you, hauls you up off the ground as you fight and twist.

"Would you be still, I'm not going to hurt you," The man tells you in gaelic. You freeze at the familiar tongue.

"You're a liar," You push at him, claw at his grip, "why would you chase me if you weren't hunting me?"

"Why would you run?" He asks, grabbing your wrists to pin them against his chest. You glare at him, your chest heaving as you gather your breath back. He's handsome, for a viking. There's something sort of rakish about the stubble on his face and the set of his brow. "Did I do something to scare you, bonnie?" It's not an honest question, he knows full well why you'd run.

You keep quiet, keep your glare level with him. An easy task with him holding you up, his arm hooked around your thighs. His head tips back to look at you with a smile. "Aren't you pretty," He whispers, hardly phased by the run or your anger. When you don't respond he seems to find his head again, his smile dropping to something more serious.

"Fine, courting later, business now." He sets you back down, keeping a tight grip on your wrists now that you've proven yourself a runner. "I'm here to negotiate a trade, I need an escort," He explains, though you would think a man needing an escort would have a shorter handle on the ax at his hip.

"A bad liar," You amend your previous statement, tugging at his hold.

"Fine," He relents, "I want an escort. Escort me." He insists, tugging you against his chest again. You're really getting tired of bumping into him.

"Why? So you can lead a raiding party back as soon as I turn around?" You spit.

“To what end?” The viking asks, tips his head to the side, his eyes hard on you, “What use do we have for dead healers?” 

You stop your struggling, stunned. He’s not wrong, but he speaks to an understanding of your village you hadn’t expected. How much did this man and his company know about you? How many scouts had walked your paths, watched your neighbors work? He’s right, dead healers are useless, but so are port healers. Vikings are only as strong as their weakest man, wouldn’t they prefer to keep healers on hand?

“You said-” You swallow, “You said you were here to negotiate a trade. What- A trade for what?” He looks away from you, and you have your answer. You were right to run, he’s here for one of you.

“Let’s go,” He doesn’t pull you, but you follow him anyway. Your mind races, thinking through the people your elders would offer up. Who was the most skilled, the most expendable, weighing what you might get in return. What couldn’t these vikings offer you? Safety, rare goods, money, animals, friendship. Invaluable intangible things that would aid all of you, for whatever price they set. It’s still only the illusion of a choice.

Your wrist is still held tight in his grip as you walk beside him. An escort, what a joke. You’re not going to put in a good word for him or do anything more than act as a pass for him to walk your streets. You’re busy working on your escape plan when you smell it.

Smoke, just as you step clear of the forest.

"Gods," the man breathes, both of you standing on top of the hill at the edge of the forest, watching your home burn. Your eyes grow wide watching the fleeing shadows of raiders, the sacrifices of you kin. What are they doing? Why would they- A mass of fire belches from the center of your village, the man covers your eyes, shields you from the heat of it with his cloak. The tattered tartan catches your attention, makes your heart pound in your chest. You recognize it, Mactavish. He was one of you.

"We have to go," He tells you. You try to pull yourself free, scream for your family down the hill. He catches you around the middle again, hauls you back into the safety of the forest. 

"Tell them to stop," you beg. Your sobbing pleas fall on deaf ears.

“Those aren’t my men,” He doesn’t set you down, transfers your squirming to his shoulder with a grunt and keeps his pace. You can still see the lick of flame and smoke through the trees. The only home you’ve ever known, gone in an instant and all you can do is watch. The forest grows thicker around you as you lay against the familiar unfamiliar tartan and let yourself be carried off like a spoil.

[deathblossomm]

Neil at an event in Amsterdam for modern warfare II with Barry Sloane and Elliot Knight

some photos without cuts

[horangislittletiger99]

Describing my taste in men in one image

[amazeingartist]

[cursed knights au] non-sexual nudity

who would’ve thought a dragons curse would have that affect on the body, not soap that’s for sure (I really love this au of ghost having stretch marks especially)

I mucked up the thing people would use to change behind but apart from that everything else in this sorta worked out

[greatstormcat]

Into the Fire

TF141 x f!reader

Part 4

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, enemies to lovers, p in v, hint of threat, plot

It doesn’t take long for Laswell to get you situated in the previous healer’s workspace, a series of rooms with a view down into the courtyard of the keep. From the large window you have a clear view of the main doors to the keep and the enormous gate and portcullis. The main room is spacious and given over to a collection of shelves and cabinets containing ingredients for tonics and cures, salves and tinctures, and more books on medicine than you ever thought existed. A large table in the middle of the room holds a mind boggling area of vessels, bowls and utensils for brewing, distilling and mixing. The middle of which is dominated by an ornate iron brazier to heat the mixtures.

It’s clear that the previous healer knew his craft well, and the written notes he left behind him is an entire library in itself that you look forward to devouring. Once you begin delving through the manuscripts, reading his crabbed handwritten notes, you lose track of time and spend hours sat beside the fireplace.

Eventually your neck and shoulders begin to ache, forcing you to sit up and you see the sun has long set, shadows filling the corners of the room and twisting as the flames from the fireplace move. No lamps or candles are lit, feeding the darkness. Something cold creeps down your spine as you watch the shadows, feeling as though they are reaching out towards you, your heart racing.

The door slams open and you scream, dropping the book to the floor, and Kyle storms in, his face dark as thunder. He still wearing his knee length riding boots over his breeches, his shirt crumpled from being under his gambeson from training with the other knights. You'd snuck out of your chambers when he'd left the castle that morning, and planned to return before he found out you'd gone. So much for that now.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Laswell finally gave in and told me this is where you’ve been hiding,” he scolds you and grabs your arm roughly, dragging you from the chair and out the door.

“Let go of me!” you yell, pulling against his hold, but you’d do better pulling at the stones of the castle itself, his grip is solid.

“No, you’re coming back to your room. Now,” he snaps. He drags you, kicking and protesting back to your chambers, pushing you roughly inside before following you in and slamming the door. “You don’t just disappear without telling me where you’re going, understand?” 

Fury rages inside you at his attitude, and something snaps.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, stepping behind the table in the middle of your room. A heavy earthenware bowl of shining, red apples sits neatly on top. You grab an apple from the bowl and hurl it at Kyle’s head, narrowly missing him as he ducks and turns to see the fruit smash against the wall behind him with the force used. He snaps his head back to you, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

“Don’t,” he growls, raising a single finger to you. You reach down and grab another apple, preparing to throw, ignoring him completely. “Don’t, or you’ll regret it,” he warns, finger raised still.

“Like I regret you pulling me from the fire?” you hiss and launch the second apple. He dodges it again and it thwacks against the door with a wet sound.

“Fucking wench! Stop it!” Kyle shouts, teeth bared in anger.

“No! I’m done taking orders from you!” you cry, hating the brittle edge in your voice. You scoop up the remaining few apples in your arm and launch them one after one at him, and he dodges all but the last one which thumps into his shoulder, making him curse. Out of ammunition you turn on the spot and look for something else to throw, chest heaving as you fight for breath. You settle on picking up the earthenware bowl.

“Now hang on a moment!” he snaps, a genuine hint of concern creeping into his voice now as you heft the bowl over your head with both hands.

“No! No I won’t!” You yell at him, and he holds out one hand as if to calm a spooked horse, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the absurd sight before him. How dare he find this funny? You want to smash the bowl over his head even more now and heft it in your grip as it slips.

“Okay, okay… so you wanna play rough?” He edges around the table and you can’t help but circle the other way, trying to keep the solid wood between you. “I can play rough too.” His grin returns along with a fire in his eyes, and with a burst of speed he tackles you low around your waist, sending you sprawling on the sheepskin on the floor beside the bed. He cups the back of your head, preventing you from hurting yourself, but his full weight crushes you for a moment as you both land. The bowl bounces against the curling fleece with a dull thud, and cracks in two.

“Get off!” you try to yell, but it comes out as a wheeze without enough air behind it until he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. “Let go!” you demand and try to pull free of his grasp, kicking at the ground and pushing your palms against his chest. His hold is like being wrapped by iron bars, your struggles tiring you out slowly, but the grin on his face fuels your anger. Without warning his palm grasps the back of your neck once again and he pulls you to his mouth, kissing you. You freeze.

“Huh, not so fiery now?” he smirks.

Your mouth crashes against his, taking him by surprise this time but he recovers almost instantly. The moment he returns the kiss, everything inside you unravels, your fear, uncertainty and anger pour into something new and intense that you’ve never felt before. Your insides burn with need, blood roaring through your veins as you tug and pull at Kyle’s shirt, he assists you by ripping the fabric and letting it fall open either side of him. Your hands roam across his hard chest, grasping and exploring his hard planes feverishly.

Your clothes fare better, his frantic hands pull at your bodice, lifting it over your head so you can open the front of your smock. Kyle forces his rough, calloused hands inside the material and pulls it down your shoulders to expose your breasts before palming them both, squeezing and kneading the soft swells.

Desperation consumes you, the feel of his calloused hands groping the delicate skin of your tits drives your need, so when you feel hardening, engorged length pressed against your groin you grind against it.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs against your lips, and you do it again, relishing the tiny moans he makes.

“Kyle,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “please, I…. I need you.” 

He kisses you again, then nods, his eyes dark and filled with a need of his own. If you looked too long into his eyes you’d be lost, consumed by him entirely. With a sense of loss you lift your hips from his and he quickly unfastens his belt and pushes down his breeches, just far enough to let his cock spring free before shoving your skirt up hastily, pulling your clothed cunt down against his length by gripping your thighs. Both of you groan as you automatically grind yourself against him, underclothes soaking up your arousal and his precum. Your clit nudges against the head of his cock, each movement sending a jolt through your muscles, drawing needy little gasps from your throat.

It’s not enough though, not enough by far, your bottom lip throbbing as you feel his teeth bite into it. You’re the one that reaches beneath you and pulls the thin material of your under garment aside, letting your flushed skin touch his. The groan that erupts from his chests when your folds slide against him while you grind your hips is sinful.

It’s hard to keep moving at a steady pace, your hips stuttering as the pleasure swirls and mounts. You pull your hips forward sharply and the swollen head of his cock catches at your weeping entrance, and you let it rest there, gently rocking your hips and letting it notch against you.

“What are you doing you little minx?” he grits out when you stall, feeling your body threatening to take him in but not going any further.

“I’m thinking…” you muse breathlessly, and this time it is you who grins. 

“Seriously? You’d tease me with this? Right now?” he snaps, an edge of desperation to his voice.

“Are you going to stop being a dick to me?” you ask archly, seeing an opportunity before you.

“You wicked…” he begins to say and you lift your hips a tiny amount, he grips you in a panic. “Yes, okay,” he chuckles, and a smile crosses his face that makes your walls clench around the emptiness within you. Slowly you lean forward, kissing him deeply, and he lifts his length up letting you push back against it.

You cry out weakly as you press down onto him, feeling the stretching of your heated flesh around him, little jerks of his hips showing his desperation to feel you engulf him entirely. He swallows your cries, his kisses feverish and hungry as you split open around his cock until your hips meet. Sweat sparkles in tiny droplets on his brow when you pull back slightly to look down at him.

“You okay?” he rasps, voice hoarse and tight, the deepness emphasized by his passion. You nod once, and you feel his length twitch inside you, the feel of your heart beating echoed where you’re joined. Placing your palms on his chest you shift your hips, feeling the hardness of him inside your softness, making you soft breathe heavily.

You ride him, your skirts bunched around your waist and his hands kneading your hips and thighs, gripping tightly as though fearful you’ll disappear. The sensation of him moving and sliding within you has your body drooling down his length, his clothes surely drenched.

“That’s perfect, oh gods…” he groans, and lifts himself up to rest on one elbow so he can take one of your nipples into his mouth. As he sucks the bud between his lips your walls clench around him, making your hips jerk and a soft cry fall from your lips.

“Kyle,” you gasp, the edges of your orgasm constricting within you, tightening and amplifying every spark of your nerves. 

“That’s it,” he pants, lying back down against the sheepskin, thrusting his hips upwards and filling you with every inch of him. “That’s it, let me feel it,” he mutters, softly chanting your name like a prayer as your muscles seem to solidify, robbing you of air as your spine arches sharply.

With a sharp wail your orgasm rushes through you, burning hot through your veins and for a moment your vision and hear abandon you leaving you only with the awareness of your body and Kyle’s. A few more sharp thrusts has him spilling himself into you, hot, thick ropes filling you up and mixing with your own juices.

Slowly your breathing returns to normal, eyes still closed and you feel yourself draped over his chest, his heart pounding just as hard as yours as your cheek rests on his shoulder. With great care he slips his hands around your back, spreading his fingers wide to cover as much skin as possible and holds you against him, his slowly softening cock still lodging inside you. Neither of you speak or move, relishing the blissful moment.

“Hey,” he says softly, “look at me, please?” The politeness of the request has you looking at him with a grin, and he chuckles at your expression.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” he concedes.

“You guess?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he shakes his head but his expression is still soft. “But yes, I am sorry, there’s just something about you that turns everything I know on its head.” His hands gently run up and down your spine, over your soft skin.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, not since I pulled you from the fire,” he admits. “It's intense, like nothing I’ve ever felt before and my chest hurts when I don’t know where you are. It started before I even knew you existed.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“We weren’t meant to be anywhere near your village, but whatever way we turned something blocked the path and kept steering us. We all felt it, something forcing us down that road,” he says softly, his fingers carding slowly through your hair, prickling your scalp. “I don’t even know how I came to find you, all I know is the second that I saw you there, getting you out was as important to me as breathing. More important even. Every night since then, I keep feeling… my dreams are…” he shakes his head, a frown creasing his brow as he fights to find the right words. “Whatever brought me to you is trying to tell me to protect you, keep you safe by any means necessary.”

“You need to trust me though,” you tell him. “I’m all for being wary of what fate hands you, but I’m just a normal person.” You run your hand slowly down his cheek, feeling the slight bite of stubble on his cheek and jaw, before he turns his face and kisses your palm.

“I just feel like if I’m not watching you every second something is going to happen,” he admits, his eyes looking into yours deeply, telling you how serious he feels.

“Whatever it is, let’s find out what’s going on together,” you declare gently, leaning down and kissing him again. After a while he finally slips out of you, and once cleaned up and dressed the two of you head to the main hall. Now when you walk, he rests his arm around your shoulder tenderly. 

“Commander, would you tell me more about what you said the other night?” you ask her, and she gestures for you to sit in the chair beside her. Alex looks between the two of you before Kyle nods to him to leave the pair of you be.

“About the phoenix?” Farah says, her dark eyes boring into you intensely. “Of course, what did you want to know?”

Your pause for a moment, twisting the fabric of your skirt between your fingers as you try to formulate your question.

“Since the fire I’ve felt like there’s something… following me,” you admit quietly. “Like there’s something in the shadows, its never been there before.”

Farah’s eyes narrow as she listens to you, her head tilted slightly.

“Is this just in your dreams, or when you are awake as well?” she asks.

“Both,” you shrug, and you look over at Kyle. He is standing with Simon, Alex and MacTavish listening to something Price is telling them out of your earshot. “He feels it too. I wondered if you knew anything about this.”

Farah leans forward, her dark, almond eyes intense.

“You were saved by the gods, but at a cost. What that will be is up to them, but it sounds as if they have already chosen,” she says quietly, her voice filled with concern. "A phoenix dies in the flames, and something else rises from the ashes. The question is what has risen with you?"

You go to ask her more but a commotion erupts at the other end of the hall as Laswell enters at speed. She heads towards Price but stops at the head of the huge table. She looks tired, deep shadows under her eyes as she leans onto her hands on the edge of the table to catch her breath. A silence settles over the room as her break in composure catches everyone’s attention.

“Kate?” Price asks, stepping away from the others. “What is it?”

She lets a heavy breath go, stealing herself, the silence around the room makes it clearly audible.

“I just received a dispatch from one of my field agents, Baron Shepherd is coming.” A muttering of consternation and anger fills the room. “I’m sorry John, he’ll be here with his army in a few days,” Laswell says, her voice cracking. “He means to invade.”

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[the-shotce-newsletter]

“Never been to a Selkie seaport before, Ghost?” In one version of my mythic au, Selkies commonly wear their skins like kilts when they come ashore…and nothing else. In said AU, shifters wear flexible collars instead of dogtags. Also, why are chibis so hard to draw?😅

[mayawakening]

I promise this isnt an ad, I just NEED people to know you can smell like Maul. 😭 The heavy grit implies this man is smooth AF.

Let Obi-Wan soothe you:

The Vader one is brutal, why they do it to him like that, chokeberry, smoke, charcoal and SAND:

And why not smell like Yoda?:

Was very entertaining to just find these out in the wild lol

[streysteal]

aaaaand a medieval AU for the bbg’s  I’ll take drawing armor and swords over guns any day!

[ivuhe]

Me when a character looks like they're one push towards the light