#yes Vesper still gets into a Little Wolf like fight

[last-of-the-lot]

Okay so I have been obsessed with EPIC for a while now, and I was scrolling recently and found this little snippet floating around. Looking at the person made me think of Vex'ahlia from Critical Role, which immediately made me think of a Critical Role/Epic AU.

But instead of the normal dynamic of Odysseus and Penelope my brain immediately defaulted to Percy being the one waiting at home and making this challenge to the suitors to string Vex's old bow. And like... I don't argue with my brain when it comes to creativity. Then it started to snowball. I do not need to write an AU right now, but it won't leave my head.

Oooooh I have so many thoughts.

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

Like her uncle, Vesper’s solemnity and wit not only coexist but intertwine, leaving her equal parts charming and responsible. The only true adventurer of her generation–she maintains that Gwen just likes getting into trouble–she seems, more specifically, to have inherited the unfortunate habit of flirting regardless of sensibility.

Her diplomatic filter is firmly on in most circumstances, but sometimes she truly can't help herself. Cerkonos definitely fell in that category, as did far too many of her "rivals". Honestly, she doesn’t have a good excuse for the vampire. She’s fairly certain she wasn’t charmed, and she needed a minute to think of her next move, and he had said she looked ravishing, and calling him a dozen synonyms for handsome was the first thing she thought of. Apparently, that particular stupidity runs in the family.

She’s also the only one to have met her uncle–twice. The first occurrence even Vex can’t be one hundred percent sure, but they both want to believe the specter that appeared to her in the afterglow of Vesper’s birth was her uncle, sharing, for a moment, in that joy. The second…well. Vesper has only been resurrected once, but it wasn’t pretty. It took so long for her to die she assumed he was just another hallucination, at first, at least until the pain and cold subsided and her vision cleared and he was still there. He held her gently, shaded by the arc of his feathers, and talked about tradition and divinity and flowers and a hundred little stories they would have shared, had they been alive at the same time. He stayed with her the entire three days it took her team to find and resurrect her. His words have never left her.

Like her uncle, Leona Pike De Rolo hates having her hair in her face, but can’t stand to have it completely pulled up and bunched away. She’s the older twin–by twenty-one excruciating minutes–and her preferred weapon is throwing knives. She doesn’t care what kind of blade, really, she’ll throw an ax if she has to–but still, close enough.

She’s also the one who talks to ravens. Wolfe likes to joke that she is a raven–a petty thief, always attracted to gears and widgets and other shiny things–but he’s the only one that says such things, and only in carefully chosen company. At first Vox Machina thought this might be her way of showing some druidic inclination, but the reality is much simpler; she hates being alone. When her twin huffs off in impatience, or her father delves too deep in focus to be disturbed by conversation with an amateur like her, she prays under her breath and sooner or later a bird tends to appear.

Like his uncle, Wolfe Kristof de Rolo is incorrigible to everyone except Vex’ahlia. The male twin of his (almost) matching pair, he finds himself liable to teasing for being prissy and vain; those that tease him too incessantly find themselves liable to bloody noses and crushed fingers, dealt by either twin. And yes, Leona may be a far better hunter, but Wolfe fights dirty, when he deigns to fight. He fights quick and decisive and disappears as soon as he’s dealt his blow. He fights like his uncle.

He’s also the only one as fearless as Vax was. He climbed a tree in a lightning storm to carry down one of Cassandra’s kittens at twelve years old; at twenty, he swam a mile and a half through floodwater. He’s not as brave as Vax–bravery implies an end goal–but he is every bit as selfless and reckless and unswayed by fear. It’s part of why the twins take their mother so seriously; she's the one who taught him such things, after all.

Like his uncle, Vax’ildan Fredrick de Rolo has dark hair, darkvision, and a dark-and-stormy disposition. The most obviously elven in ancestry, at least by Syngornian standards, he’s also the bearer of the most obvious inheritance. Vax’ildan isn’t a common name, especially since the second root derives itself from an ancient drow war hero, but it is a name that is commonly known, like those of all of Vox Machina. Vox, Vax, Vex…he almost named his bear Vix, to complete the set. He didn’t, only because Cassandra put her foot down at having a “Vax” and a “Vex” and a “Ves” and a “Vix” in one household.

He’s also the one who has never felt at home. It’s irrational, maybe, but anxiety is rarely rational and he is an extremely anxious child. He is slow to learn to walk, to speak, to make his first friend; there is a reason he bonds so thoroughly with Trinket and Charlie, and not another child. Besides, the twins are clearly Vex’s favorites, and Gwen is Percy’s from the moment she’s born; Vesper is gone a good portion of his youth, already an adult herself. He’s not smart or brave or charming like the rest of them, he's just him. He knows he’s loved. He’s the black sheep anyways.

Like his uncle, Gwendolyn Zahra Melanie von Musel de Rolo is the sneaky sibling. She loves growing her skills in shadowing and stealth, and taught herself to write at age three by making (terrible) forgeries of her father’s sketches. She’d rather stab a sparring partner’s armor through the back than lose following conventional chivalry, and she’s as quick a thief as she is a runner.

She’s also the first of her siblings to die. Tieflings don’t live as long as half-elves or the celestially blessed; rogues and wizards don’t live longer lives as they advance in power. They bury her with her father, adjacent to an empty, ceremonial, tomb.

[msruchita]

Who Knew? - Part 1

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the snap, Bucky doesn’t seem to be coming back. Enters a stranger who is a balm to her soul. Will she dare to love again?

Pairing: Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (There’s just a lot of smut, so please, swearing too)

So, I have finally created a proper Marvel fic for the Sinful Secret’s Challenge. My prompt was ‘Do you want something better? Here’s my number.’ from

@howardpotts and also tagging @tranquil--heart and @cametobuyplums

Let me know your feedback and seriously, every like, reblog, comment is appreciated. I always aim to make myself a better writer. So, to stop rattling on, I hope you guys enjoy! Plus, my Taglist is open, but I will stop tagging you if after a few fics; I see no activity from your end

@thesaltyduchess @brazen88brat @lancetuckersmustache

Masterlist

“Enlighten me again, why are we playing Truth or Dare in the middle of a club when we can barely hear each other?!’ Peering intently over your glass at the three people opposite her, you downed the last of your vodka, before choking and gagging on it as everyone around you laughed uproariously. Trying your best to control your own laughter, you set the bottle down as Vesper winked at you before shaking a large silver cocktail mixer.

‘Feeling a little reptilian, in the nastiest way possible? We have you covered with Alligator Sperm! This bright green gator crazy goodness contains melon liqueur, pineapple juice, and yes, a literal splash of cream. Try ordering it at the bar with a straight face like me if you actually have the balls.’ She finished her sales pitch with a poker face as she poured out the  lime green liquid into fresh glasses while Shayan held a small pitcher of cream.

It was busy tonight, the crowd seemed to be thrice more than normal, the reek of booze, sweat and desperation spraying everywhere as you shifted on the slightly sticky leather. None of you ever spoke the truth outside of the group therapy sessions Steve forced you to go to. It was like scraping fresh wounds with salt, hence, every time Truth or Dare was played, it was more Shot or Dare. The latest dare being Vesper had to get a hickey from someone she hadn’t slept with yet; the video now safely in your phone courtesy from the bartender who had been necking her barely minutes ago, the fresh purple of the bruise standing out against her olive skin.

‘Crocodile cum, actually.’ Lucien was so matter of fact, everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles again as she waggled her eyebrows at him. The bass of the music thrummed through your veins as all of you relaxed, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter as all of you did shot after shot; most of the dares having already been done before and the novelty had faded.

‘Y/N, you. Flash your tits to the first guy that puts his hands on you or 5 shots.’ Shayan pointed at you, flashing you a grin that was anything but innocent, as you shrugged. Slamming all 5 in a row, you winked at them, waiting for the moment the liqueur went straight to your head; the throng of people gathered beneath the DJ, all looking to escape reality like you, parted like the sea as you slid off the leather vinyl.

The heat was near unbearable, but you didn’t care; the pulse of the music called to you, it was the only time you’ve ever felt so alive, so free. You could feel your blood singing as the humidity clung to you like second skin. The bass vibrated beneath your red heels; anything was better than thinking about what lay outside the walls of the club. At least protected by the four walls, throbbing beats and strobe lights, you didn’t have to face the rubble that Thanos left behind. The pain and suffering of the people lost still pierced deep in hearts; why Steve left you alone after you both lost him. The love of your life and his best friend. Bucky.

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you swirled your hips, rucking up the black camisole top you borrowed from Wanda paired with the skin tight jeans she and Natasha would whistle at every time you stepped out in them, running your hands through your skin, as you let yourself be seduced by the music. The memories of their laughter echoed in your mind as you noted several appreciative glances at your dancing and your body, knowing the glitter oil you used was illuminating your curves just right as you flipped your hair back. You caught a flash of gold, Lucien’s watch glinting for a second, as he gave you a thumbs up, hoisting Shayan up. Nodding once, you blew a kiss to Vesper; knowing your friends were just checking on you before heading out.

Vesper and Lucien understood better than most; your need to stay awake the entire night. Giving you a once-over from the table, they would check that you’re okay before calling it a night. They never stayed long; but they never said no to you either whenever you asked to go out. You continued swaying side to side, giving your hips an extra boost, pushing the memories away; the flash of teeth, crinkle of eyes before steel-blue eyes…

No! You dug nails into your side sharply, the pain chasing away the scent of gun metal, whiskey and mint. It was either dancing till the bouncer called a cab for you, telling you it was time to close up or spending hours waiting silently, staring up at your ceiling fan waiting for the alarm to ring. You always stayed till closing time, helping out to clean the place down, making sure the employees got home safe.

The body that suddenly slotted against you from behind was both familiar yet a stranger. A distant memory of raised scars and a warm, calloused hand, the same hand that now splayed wide against your belly, unyielding yet soft. Leaning against the hard chest, you continued swaying hypnotically and he followed without a second thought. ‘Did you know, there’s a rumour going on,’ you began after a long pause, as his grip tightened on your belly at your facade of casualness, that hint of pain rushing to your head faster than alcohol. ‘That you’re Erik Stevens, T’Challa’s cousin?’

The flex of the muscles under his skin relaxed fractionally, as you wondered what he was so afraid of. Nobody cared about that anymore; too much had happened. He slipped a hand beneath the camisole, up to rest underneath your ribcage, so warm and steady. It pressed just beneath your breast; thumbing slowly at the curve, a whisper, let go for me.

You could kick yourself for the comparison you can’t help but make that he never matches up to. That memory lane was dangerous as you pulled yourself out once again, chasing away the ghost of cold metal against your skin, another rough palm splayed out against your tummy, keeping you grounded against him as you very slowly sunk yourself into the crook of his body.

‘What’s my name?’ Erik asked quietly, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as his hand came up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh. ‘What do you know about me?’ He dipped his head further, his tongue snaking out to taste the jasmine on your skin, the other hand slowly tracing out symbols onto your bare flesh, the symbols etched on your skin like he knew, as you struggled not to shudder under his touch.

‘Charismatic genius, MIT graduate with top honors, slight homicidal tendencies and-,’ You cut yourself off, not wanting to do this dance anymore. You sighed indifferently, tired. ‘Why does it matter? One night and I’ll never see you again.’

His hips suddenly pressed flush against you, his cock coming to nestle between your ass, his hand playing with a nipple. A guttural growl of warning reverberates through his chest into you, like you’re treading on thin ice. True dread spiked through you as his posture shifted, shoulder rolled unconsciously back, feet parallel so that the weight is evenly distributed. The stance of a warrior.

His voice was a low timber as you slowly turned to face him, looking up at those piercing brown eyes filled with cold intelligence. ‘No,’ he assured, pulling the nipple away before releasing it, watching it bounce lightly. ‘Not with me. Never with me.’

You looked down to see the markings peeking from the top of his white shirt and the cuffs of his jean jacket. You knew they adorned his entire upper body; earned with every life taken. You should have trembled with fear when you traced one scar, but there was a deeper need to trace your tongue along each one, the way he longed to trace his fingers across every ink you had.

You sighed heavily again, breaking away from his touch as your body screamed for his warmth, hands that promised to show that you would be taken care off, over and over again. You managed to get away enough to reach the bar when Erik grabs your hand and like a movie spins you into his arms, flush against his chest, one hand slapping your ass so fiercely you gasp as he simply sets his lips on yours.

It could have been maybe a minute, but it felt like time suspended itself; everything slowed down before he gazed down at you, the hurt and concern in his eyes surprising. ‘Come with me, please.’ He held his hand out, and you slipped yours in it without thinking.

Your talks lasted the entire night, even after the soft pink and lavender of dawn peeked through, you both kept going. He starts with his beginning. About his father, about Wakanda, how he just wanted what was his by right; but even that had been deceitful. The fight for the throne, how he almost died, meeting the White Wolf. An enigma unlike himself.

Your heart clenched but he held you in his arms, your legs between his body, stroking your back against the silk. He tells you what his cousins were like, unable to hold a grin back at the elegant respect he begrudgingly built between him, T’Challa and M’Baku though the latter would love the chance to break his back. Shuri, for being a prodigy yet so humble, it annoyed him and made him prouder than he could have imagined.

You tell him how you met Bucky when Okoye and Steve forced him to join a yoga class as he wasn’t sleeping, and they had tried everything. Even Shuri was fed up. How it was a riot watching him struggle even though he had the natural agility and flexibility of an Olympian gymnast. Within a week he asked you out, a month later you were his girl, staying with him in STARK Towers, recounting all the incidences when F.R.I.D.A.Y and Tony would team up with Sam to play tricks on you.

He tells you about how Okoye beat him to within an inch of his life for attempting to murder her king and manipulate her lover, W’Kabi. He reluctantly admitted he deserved that as you laughed out loud, missing the way his face lit up at your laugh. His voice breaks slightly as he mentions going for therapy, going deep into the jungles to stop poachers, how he had just finished his probation when he heard the news, watching his men disappear.

A diplomat and the acting king for Wakanda, he came here hoping for some change, just anything to take him away from the ashes that haunted him. You would never admit how the bleakness in his eyes matched the ache in your heart…

You stand offering him a place to crash and a mug of peppermint hot chocolate as the sun filters through. He slowly pulls you into his embrace, arms tightening around you, the need to protect you, covet you so strong he doesn’t realise he’s near tears till his voice comes through ragged and raw.

‘Ya know, I expected something better than hugging the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and getting hot chocolate for baring my soul.’

He stares down at you, a cocky smirk on his face, his eyes shining with unshed tears you wanted to smear with your thumb.

‘You want something better? Here’s my number.’ Scribbling your number on his hand with a ball point pen you found in his jacket, it was like a purse in there. ‘No calls for the next 2-3 days. I don’t put out on the first date.’

Winking at him, you power walked away, heels clacking, telling yourself you wouldn’t look back. Within 2 minutes, you started chuckling, looking at the message from the unknown number flashing on your screen.

‘I’m not waiting 2 days for that ass.’

8 Weeks Later

Your back hit the mattress with a thump, bouncing lightly, giggling as you shifted yourself half upright to see Erik more clearly, the bangles on your wrists clinking softly against each other. His dark eyes glittered in the darkness, the lust stamped on his face hungry as he reached for your ankle, tracing the delicate bone before kneeling on the bed, straddling your knees, holding you down with his weight.

Leaning forward, he kisses his way up the red fabric, the gold accents shining in the moonlight, pausing at your exposed waist. Shifting the material of your sari aside, he took a good look at you, chest heaving against the barely there blouse, your tattoos swirling in intricate patterns around your skin.

Grabbing your wrists, he gently kisses your clenched fists, the metal scarping softly against his lips, smiling at the soft exhale of breath as he pulls you up, deftly untying the strings that held the scraps of lace together, exposing your breasts to him. Pushing you back enough to arch your back, he trails a trail with his tongue over one breast, before pulling the fabric back over your skin, your nipples hard and aching, peeking through the sheer material.

‘Did you enjoy making your King squirm for you? Wrapping me around your little finger, turning me into a jealous clout with just a yard of fabric? Hmm, answer me!’ He slapped you once, the slight sting making you gasp as with another grim smile, he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing the squeak of surprise, his hand tweaking a nipple, the soft scratch of brocade teasing your sensitive skin.

Mewling slightly, you grab his shoulders when he pulls away, trying to pull him down to your lips again, but he shrugs you off, instead kissing a burning trail down your neck, deftly undoing your necklace and draping it on the table beside; over your exposed shoulder before biting down on the firm muscle, his teeth leaving their imprint behind.

Frustrated at Erik’s refusal to kiss you, your hands reach for the lapels of his suit, fumbling to get the buttons undone on his shirt, as he reached to nip at your collarbone, sucking a row of purple bruises along the column, grabbing your hands and pulling them away from his shirt, shaking his head.

‘No baby, not this time. Not after that little stunt you pulled with this outfit…’ His words trail away as he runs a warm possessive hand over your waist, tugging lightly at the thin chain that adorned it, licking his lips slowly as your own heartbeat sped up.

*

Another useless gala dinner with the world leaders; just another unproductive meeting for them to try and reason with the Avengers. They never showed, leaving everything to you and Erik. The situation had worsened as nobody knew what to do with all the empty infrastructure. You had been sent to mediate lest the situation worsened; you wondered since when did a yoga teacher become a certified consultant.

Slowly climbing up the stairs, making sure your golden high heels didn’t catch along the embroidered fabric, you strode towards the foyer, just as Eric stepped in with Okoye nearly barrelling into the Prime Minister of Canada over, as his eyes never left you. The mere sight of you, a vision of gold and red with slight accents of blue; a true goddess. Okoye merely smiled at you, mouthing how beautiful you looked before her sharp eyes swept around, making sure there was no threat as the Prime Minster ogled at you.

His reaction did not go unnoticed by the Warrior King, his mouth tight at the sight of the sari wrapped around your lithe body, your curves accentuated by the small dips and creases in the fabric, your waist enticing any man for a closer look with a simple gold chain adorning it. His chain, the one he asked you to wear for good luck, now made into an object of desire.

Heads turned, jaws went slack as women hissed softly in envy, the sari blouse so daringly cut, it couldn’t even be called a blouse, it was a bikini top, mere scraps of gold lace held together by strings, cupping your breasts softly.

You strolled towards him, unaware of the seductive spell you wove; an extra swing in your hips, your movements almost cat-like, as you came to stand beside him, claiming your place, his hand sliding down your back possessively…

The rest of the night was a blur of sexual tension, stolen touches and awkward adjustments as he discreetly kept adjusting his dress slacks every time you bent down exposing the tattoo on your chest or when you turned around to showcase another one of your inked designs on your back dipping into your waist. Gritting his teeth, he promised retribution for your teasing, his teeth bright against the warm tones of his skin, a dark glint in his eyes.

Pinning your wrists down over your head, he used the strings of your blouse to tie the bangles together, the metal clinking each time you moved, a warning to not bring them down as he bent down to kiss you, slow and passionate, but still ghosting around deep. He begins his assault on your neck again, this time leaving a trail of stinging, red bites down your chest, around your breasts to bite down on your nipple, bringing your body up to an arch.

Keeping one hand below the bangles holding them down, the other hand strips off the fabric off your body, leaving you topless in the petticoat, your stomach quivering as he runs a finger lazily to trace the angelic runes that adorn the soft skin. Your belly goes taut under his touch, breath heaving as you moan for more. The soft cotton clings to your legs as he reaches down and takes his time pulling up the skirt, kissing every inch of freshly exposed skin. His other hand moves to clasp your hand in his, finger entwining as his lips trail your calf, up your knees, to your inner thighs, your arousal soaked through the cotton. You didn’t wear any underwear.

The dark glint returns as his mouth descends up to focus on your breasts again, kissing the aroused flesh, blowing warm air on each pert nipple, a small frown on your face as he refuses to give it the attention its begging for, instead stroking his hands across your exposed belly, the tattoos shining black under the moonlight from the open window.

Slowly, he tugs the petticoat off you, leaving you completely naked save for the belly chain and the bangles on your wrists. ‘Baby, you went without underwear, that’ll require some punishment…’

He smiles into your skin, finally taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly as a single thick digit slides into your wet, swollen folds, his groan reverberating through you. He chuckles wickedly, as you tighten and moan around him, the other hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing.

You buck your hips against his hand. ‘Erik, please…’

‘Hmm?’ He asks innocently, deliberately adding another finger , raising his head to press a kiss to your lips, his mouth watering to taste your tattoos, taste your sweet pussy, the obscene sounds calling for his tongue. He rubs his lips against yours, nipping the bottom lip and biting it down with a soft pull.

His muscular body pulls you up to him, pressed against you, the scars creating their own friction against his clothes, his cock hard against your mound. The sensation sends warmth and lust in dizzying waves through you, pooling to your lower belly. His fingers curl inside you, rubbing against your sweet spot, before pulling them out completely to suck and lick them.

‘So beautiful, so wicked, so sweet, all for me…’

‘Fucking tease…’

He chuckles again darkly, bending down to kiss you again as you gasp against his mouth as he suddenly thrusts both fingers back inside, the other hand leaves your throat to hold the back of your waist, the chain digging into your skin, keeping you still as he slowly finger fucks you.

‘I’m the tease?’ He continues the slow, torturous pace, enjoying the myriad of emotions running through your face, your mouth slightly open in mid-moan, and you look so pretty he can’t help pull you in to kiss you.

‘Perhaps you should have thought of the consequences about wearing bits of cloth as a blouse and this damn sari, mmm, this sari, will be the bane of my existence, and my solace when I’m away from you. Shouldn’t have worn it to the gala. This should have been just for me.’

‘It was a necessary risk. It’s my job to entertain and mediate the delegates.’ You manage to breathe out, his growl making you jump.

‘Perhaps you were being unwise. You will entertain no man but me.’ The smile that now graces his face has a hint of madness, it’s almost evil. He’s no longer Erik, but Killmonger and you understand immediately what makes him so fearsome to his enemies. Crooking his fingers, he twists them, screw driving you, making you cry out as you nearly collide into him, jerking at the pleasure shooting throughout your entire body.

He lets go, watching you fall back on the sheets, your hands clenching at the duvet, almost ripping it to shreds as your orgasm builds up. You sit up, grasping at his suit, pushing it off his shoulders desperately, hands shaking to unbutton his shirt, exposing his body to you.

Killmonger refuses to give in to you, a wicked smirk on his face, instead moving his fingers with more speed, his knuckles hitting to the hilt every time, biting down on the other nipple harshly as your orgasm rocks you, and he removes his fingers, your walls clenching emptily at nothing, as you whine at the loss of contact, disbelief stamped on your face. He slides backwards of the bed, leaving you feeling cold and frustrated.

Quickly shedding off his clothes, standing completely nude at the foot of the bed, devouring you like a carnivore with his eyes. He grasps your ankle and pulls you to him, hard. You nearly fall off the bed straight into his arms, as he bounces you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, the scars rubbing against your heated skin, making you bite your lip.

His hands come down to grab and squeeze your ass, slapping them a few times, knowing how much you love the sting, as he crawls back on to the bed, never leaving you and settling down on his knees. His hands trail all over your body, avoiding where you want them the most, pressing sweet open-mouthed kisses against the purple marks. He bites down on the skin on the other side, leaving angry red marks in its place, claiming you as his.

He pushes his finger back into you, adding another two, the three thick digits creating a soft stretch as he scissors them, swallowing your moans with a heated kiss. Your eyes almost roll back when he his hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing tightly, the air suddenly thin. He removes his fingers from you, spanking your ass hard before circling your clit, feather light. You buck your hips against him, but he merely smiles.

‘You look so pretty when you’re so flustered. Such a doll.’ He grins, kissing the corner of your mouth as you suddenly stiffen, feeling the ghost of cold metal in the place of his warm, calloused hand.

‘You’re such a doll to me. I don’t deserve you…’ Brooklyn accent washing over you as you tip toe up to tangle your hands in chocolate brown locks…

‘Y/N! Look. At. Me. Who am I? Who do you belong to?’ Grasping a handful of your hair, he yanks tightly as you snap back, unable to sink into the attack, his eyes seeking yours desperately.

‘I belong to you. Erik, please.’

‘Say my name!’

‘Please N’Jadaka, fuck me.’

Softly strokes your cheek, nuzzling your ear, pleased. ‘No.’

He changes the angle of his fingers so that they’re thrusting up, causing your orgasm to build again as you forcefully suck in a breath against his hand around your throat. He stills all movement again, you moan pitifully, the pressure bringing tears to your eyes.

Grinning wickedly, a glint in his eyes, he returns his hands back between your legs, the flesh so swollen and wet, it gleams softly against his skin. Removing them to roll a nipple between his fingers instead, as you arch your back against his hand and he takes your other nipple in his mouth.

He sucks lightly, flicking the tongue over the already sensitive, tender bud. You hum and he bites down slightly harder than before, turning your moan into a cry.

You can feel his cock pulsing against you and the anticipation is both killing and making you dizzy with pleasure. You clench your thighs around his waist, urging him but he doesn’t move. He releases your breasts, his mouth coming up to kiss you, the pillowy softness red and bruised as his hand comes down to play with your clit. He rubs it lightly, alternating between quick flicks and pressing against the very sensitive nub.

[azvolrien]

The Island of Stars - Chapter Four

I’m on a roll here!

Chapter Four: In which our heroes play the waiting game.

~~~

           “What’s happening?” asked Una once they had all taken the cable car back down to the lower observatory. “What did Strix find?”

           “I’m not sure,” said Tyto, ushering the wizards along the corridor. “Vesper will explain everything, I’m sure.” Somewhere, a bell began to ring. “For now, you should all wait in the Hall of Prophecy.” He sighed. “That bell means everyone is to come up here, and it and the library are the only rooms with enough space for more than a few people. In the meantime, well…” He sighed. “Pick something to read.”

           “Can I ask you something?” asked Una as everyone got settled in the Hall. “Something unrelated to all of this.”

           Tyto paused halfway through unscrewing the lid of his sardine jar. “So long as it’s appropriate,” he said warily.

           “Yeah, no, nothing inappropriate.”

           “Ask away, then.”

           Una leant on the bookshelf beside his desk. “When you first saw me, you didn’t react like Strix did.”

           Tyto blinked and sat up a little. “Why, how did Strix react?” He listened as Una explained about Strix’s behaviour in Duncraig and on the ferry. “I see. Well… You know that Strix is from the Northern Forest originally, yes? Anti-elfin sentiment has always been especially strong around there. Less so now than it was, I’m told, but still.”

           “Yeah, my parents saw that when they visited.”

           Tyto nodded. “I’ve never been there, myself. I’m from a small town in the far south, out on the grasslands between the desert and the rainforest. I won’t go so far as to say there are no problems between elves and humans there, but they’re certainly far less pronounced. Enough that half-elves don’t raise any eyebrows, at least.” He absently ate one of the sardines from the jar.

           “That sounds nice,” said Una wistfully.

           “I assure you, we have other problems to make up the difference,” said Tyto drily.

           “So – how did you end up all the way up in the Sea Lochs?”

           “Now, there I’m afraid my story is much less complicated than Strix’s,” said Tyto. “I joined the Order in my late teens, starting in a small local chapterhouse on the savannah, and moved around the different branches over the years until I was offered a position at the Noctorium.”

           “Oh.”

           He smiled. “It may not sound very exciting, but the life of a scholar suits me down to the ground, I promise you.”

           It was about half an hour before Nocta Vesper let herself into the Hall of Prophecy and cleared her throat. “I’m sure you all know by now that Strix has returned from scouting the ships that Tyto spotted. I’m sorry to say that Tyto’s fears were correct – the Noctorium may soon be under attack. They’re both raiding vessels, fast-moving and designed for quick strikes on coastal settlements, and Strix reports that each carries a crew of around sixty warriors. We don’t know where they came from or what they’re after, but they are well-armed and heading this way.”

           “Should we ready some defences?” asked someone.

           “The Noctorium is a peaceful scholastic community,” said Vesper quietly. “We’ve always relied on our location up here in the hills for protection. Other than that, the buildings themselves, and whatever martial arts individual Acolytes may have picked up… We don’t have any defences to ready.”

           “And none of us are School of Combat,” said Master Gwyn quietly. “We all have some basics under our belts, but…”

           “But some of us are Seers,” said Master Jones. “I can’t guarantee anything – this sort of thing is very new and not too reliable – but we might be able to get a distress message out through a scrying medium. Contact someone on the mainland, ask them to send help.”

           “Assuming it arrives fast enough,” said Vesper with a sigh. “But it can’t hurt to try – go for it, see what turns up.”

           “We could try to add some wards to the doors?” said Gethin. “Not really our speciality, but like Master Gwyn said, we do all know the basics.”

           Vesper nodded. “Anything else…”

           There were a few seconds of silence before Tyto raised his hand. “I think Strix has a bow somewhere, left over from his time wandering.”

           “One bow and a class of half-trained wizards,” Vesper muttered under her breath. “Well, we work with what we have.” She nodded to Master Gwyn. “I’ll leave you to organise what you can. I need to make sure nobody’s been left outside.”

           “Roan – the woman we found on the beach – went off somewhere,” said Una. “I don’t know where.”

           Vesper bit her lip for a moment, then sighed deeply. “If she’s gone outside the Noctorium, then… Then she’ll have to fend for herself. I need to worry about my Acolytes.”

           With all of said Acolytes inside, the observatory had grown crowded and stuffy. Una sighed and made her way up to the terrace outside the telescope dome, where she leant on the stone railing and gazed out at the landscape. Though it wasn’t remotely late, the Noctorium was far enough north that the winter sun was already beginning to sink lower, casting long shadows across the snow. Just outside the settlement boundaries, lines had been scored deep into the otherwise smooth surface.

           No, not just lines – wards. Una shaded her eyes against the glare and looked more closely, following the markings to where a lone figure in a sealskin cloak sat on a boulder at the end of the main road.

           Una glanced over her shoulder. She was alone on the rooftop. For a few seconds she just chewed on her lip. The responsible thing to do would be to go and find one of the masters or journeymen; she had been directly ordered not to leave the Noctorium without permission. On the other hand… There was no way their answer would be ‘yes’. And she wouldn’t exactly be leaving the Noctorium altogether.

           Una vaulted over the railing, slowed her fall with a quick blast of downwards force, and hit the ground at a run.  

           Roan stood up when she got close. “Go back inside,” she said, pointing firmly back up the hill with the point of a spear. She had bound strips of canvas around her hands and forearms like a boxer, and a long hunting knife hung in a sheath strapped to her belt.

           “Where did you get that spear?” asked Una once she had caught her breath.

           “I jumped one of their scouts and took it off him. Go back inside.”

           “Only if you explain why you’re out here by yourself. Are you trying to get yourself killed? There’s one of you and more than a hundred of them.”

           Roan sighed. “No, I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m the last line of defence here, not the first. You see the wards I’ve raised there?” She pointed with the spear again. “The outermost is a sting ward; it hurts to cross. In the middle is a slowing ward; walking through it is like trying to walk through knee-deep mud. Then finally there’s a blocking ward; makes a wall, as solid as I could manage.”

           “Yes, I know what a blocking ward does,” said Una. “And if they get past that?”

           “Oh, some of them will, there’s no ‘if’ involved. Then they come to me, and I kill as many of them as I can.”

           Una blinked twice. “So… You’re not settling for just chasing them off the island, then.”

           Roan shook her head and sat back down on the boulder. “Do you know much about the Raiding Period?” she asked.

           “Not much, no. It was over before Stormhaven was even founded and didn’t have much of an influence this far south, so it doesn’t really come up in our history lessons.”

           “The large-scale raids and wars between the people of the different lochs ended, aye,” said Roan. “But raids by small bands of renegades, people not fighting under a banner – those never really stopped. Much less common than they once were, aye, but not gone altogether. Here’s how they work. First they hit the islands. If no one stops them in the islands, then they move on to strike the coasts. Then if they aren’t stopped at the coast, they travel up rivers to prey on isolated inland settlements – small villages and farms.” She laid the spear across her knees. “I lost my parents to raiders when I was still in my cradle. I’m not letting them anywhere near my wife. Not one of them is getting off this island.”

           “You sound very sure about that,” said Una.

           Roan gave a grin that had very little to do with good humour and held out one hand. A small flame crackled into life above her palm. “Fire magic’s not my best skill,” she said. “But I can conjure enough to make someone regret sealing their hull with pitch.”

           “You burned their ships?” yelped Una. She looked down the valley towards the distant plume of smoke. “You burned their ships,” she said more faintly.

           “Like I said. They’re not getting off this island.”

           Footsteps behind them caught their attention, and both Una and Roan turned to see Strix riding Rionnag at top speed towards them. The fenris-wolf came to a sudden halt and Strix stumbled down from the saddle. An old bow and a quiver of arrows hung across his back.

           “What the hell are you two doing out here?” he asked in a harsh but unnecessary whisper. “Una, they’ve noticed you’re missing and those two Masters are furious – get back inside before those raiders get up here!”

           “Roan’s going to fight,” said Una.

           “Roan’s going to die, then,” said Strix. “There’s no reason for you to do the same!”

           “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing,” said Roan. She pointed with the spear again and explained about the wards she had raised.

           Strix paused, breathing deeply, and ran his fingers through Rionnag’s fur. “How long do you think they’ll hold?” he asked.

           Roan shrugged. “Depends how much of a battering they have to take. Longer, if the older wizards are willing to come down and feed some more power into them. And I’ve laid them so that when they start to fail, I know exactly where.”

           “You’ve built in a choke-point!” said Una. “Oh, that’s quite clever.”

           Strix bit his lip and turned back to Una. “Listen – they’ve managed to get a message out. I wasn’t there so I don’t know all the details, but help is coming. If we can hold out for three, maybe four hours, we’ll be all right. Which is why you should come back up to the observatory!”

           “Metal or not, with three or four hours to play with, two ships’ worth of raiders can break through those fancy doors and then it’ll be a massacre,” said Roan. “Out here, we can keep them at bay for that long.”

           Strix swallowed hard and took another deep breath. “Here,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “I’m really out of practice with this – it’s probably of more use in your hands.” He shrugged off his bow and quiver and handed them both to Roan. She gave the string an experimental twang and inspected one of the arrows, then nodded. “I’ll… go see if I can talk the other wizards into coming down here. You…” He stared at Una for a few seconds, then sighed, climbed onto Rionnag’s back, and looked at Roan instead. “Don’t let anything happen to that kid.” Roan nodded, and he rode back up the hill.

           “So, once the first gap appears in your wards…” said Una. “How long do you think you can hold a choke-point for?”

           Roan wrinkled her nose. “Well, if it’s narrow enough that they have to come in one or two at a time… Quite a while.”

           “You talk like you’ve seen a lot of fighting,” said Una. “Were you in the Legions?”

           “No. Shield-wall tactics and me don’t mix.” She tested the point of her spear with the tip of one finger. “You’re from Stormhaven. I suppose you grew up hearing stories about Lady Meredith?”

           “Well, yeah, of course, but – oh. You’re a berserker?” Una edged backwards a little.

           Roan rolled her shoulders one by one. “I have it pretty well under control. But it does mean I’m not used to fighting alongside other people, so…”

           Una nodded. “I’ll try to help out from a distance. Shields and so on.”

           “Normally I’d be grateful for the help, but you are fourteen years old. For the last time, go back inside.”

           “Will my age matter if they get past you?” asked Una. “Look, I might only have two years of formal training under my belt, but informally my father’s been teaching me since my powers first manifested and I’ve got a lot of raw power to throw around. I’m more useful out here.”

           Roan looked back; the line of her gaze shifted slightly. “Maybe they’ll have more luck convincing you.”

           “UNA! FALKARI! SMITH!”

           Una spun around where she stood. Master Gwyn, Master Jones, all of the journeymen and the four oldest apprentices stormed down the main road towards them. Master Gwyn – who had shouted – drew ahead of the group as his face contorted in naked rage.

           “You,” he snarled, “are really trying my patience, young lady. I swear, if you don’t start to take some responsibility for your own safety-” One of his arms twitched upwards. Behind him, Master Jones’ eyes widened and he hurried forwards.

           Roan’s hand clamped around his wrist. “Raise a hand to one of your students again,” she said in a low, icy voice, “and I’ll snap it off your arm.”

           Gwyn stared at his own hand. The rage had disappeared from his face, replaced by horror. He closed his eyes hard for a few slow, careful breaths. “I apologise,” he said, his voice still trembling somewhat. “That was inexcusable behaviour. I will keep better control of my temper in future.” He opened his eyes again and met Roan’s. She held his gaze for three pointed seconds before she released his arm.

           Jones caught Gwyn’s shoulder and gently eased him backwards before he stepped forwards to take his place. “Acolyte Strix said you wanted our help down here,” he said. “We’ve placed some wards on the observatory up there, but they’re not something we’ve had to practise in a long time so I don’t know how long they’ll hold. What do you need?”

           “Power,” said Roan. “I do have practice with wards, but I don’t have the kind of magical power to feed into them that your lot probably do. They’ll hold for a while as is, but the longer we have before I have to step into the fray in person, the better a chance we’ll have of holding out until your help arrives.”

           Jones nodded. “Right. Well, you heard her – let’s get to reinforcing those wards. Una…” He sighed. “I’ve had enough experience of your family to know when you’re not going to move from your course. Help the others with those wards, and… don’t make me regret letting you stay out here.”

           A long, fraught while went by in silence after that; the sun vanished below the horizon and the sky darkened. Everyone conjured witchlights to see by as, slowly, unfamiliar footsteps crunched through the snow and figures moved in the gloom.

           One person stepped forwards into the light. She was a tall, muscular woman with small bones braided into her dark brown hair and a short mantle of grubby white fur around her shoulders. She carried a steel helmet under one arm, a round shield on her back, and a short-hafted battle axe at her belt, while what they could see of her pale skin beneath the mantle and her tough leather coat was heavily tattooed with dark green-blue ink.

           Una couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s face. “Why,” she stammered to Roan, “does she look almost exactly like you?”

           Roan took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Not a damn clue.”

           The raider surveyed them in silence for almost a minute, before she placed her helmet on her head, hefted her shield from her back to mount it on her left arm, and took the axe from her belt. She gave it a theatrical little twirl with a twist of her wrist and sharply rapped the head against the iron boss of her shield, twice. Absolute silence fell, and held for a couple of seconds before one raider howled a wordless battle cry and charged forwards brandishing a long, heavy-bladed knife, only to drop to his knees gasping in pain as he ran headlong into the first of Roan’s wards. Two of his comrades hurried forwards to drag him back. The woman who so strangely resembled Roan spared him a glance, her eyes widening slightly beneath the face-guard of her helmet, and lowered the axe just a fraction as she studied the marks of the wards. She lifted her head to meet Roan’s steely gaze and gave what might have been a nod of grudging respect.

           Then she raised her axe high, screamed her own war cry, and charged. Behind her, every one of the raiders did the same.

           Roan showed her teeth in that humourless grin and lifted the bow.

~~~

(She’s her cousin. Her name is Svanna. They’ve never met and, indeed, were completely unaware of one another’s existence, so neither of them know this.)