#Piranha Bar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imninahchan · 10 months ago

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⌜ 𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑺: gangbang [declaro oficialmente aberto meu período fértil slk], fwb, diferença de idade, bebida alcoólica, cigarro [cuidado com os pulmão preto], dirty talk, degradação, elogios e dumbification, oral masculino, dacryphilia, bukkakke(?), breast/niple play, um tapinha na bochecha e um ‘papi’ [me perdoem eu não me controlo], dupla penetração, anal, sexo sem proteção [no puede no]. Termos em espanhol — guapo (bonito, etc), dímelo (me diz), díselo (‘diga a/para’), porfi (informal pra ‘por favor’) ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ me perdoa se eu sou uma p****

𓍢ִ໋🀦 VOCÊ DEITA A CABEÇA NO OMBRO DE FRAN, AS PERNINHAS REPOUSANDO POR CIMA DO BRAÇO DO SOFÁ ─────

— Vai me dar uma carona? — reitera, embora já tenha escutado a oferta diversas vezes antes, durante e agora, no pós do rolê. Sempre pegava carona de moto com o Recault.

Ele, sentado no outro sofá, adjacente, não desvia a atenção do maço de cigarro, capturando com os lábios uma unidade. Uhum, murmura, e quando risca o isqueiro, você estica a mão pra roubar o pito, guardar de volta na embalagem. Aqui dentro não, alega, vai lá fora com eles.

O olhar do argentino segue em direção à sacada do apartamento, onde os homens conversam enquanto fumam. Poderia, sim, de fato, se levantar e participar do assunto facilmente, afinal é a opção mais favorável pra narizinhos tão sensíveis quanto o seu e de Romero, porém um pensamento diferente do desejo de pitar toma conta da mente.

— E sobre eles... — Volta os olhos pra ti. — Já vai embora mesmo? Não ia... sabe?

Um sorrisinho ameaça crescer no seu rosto. Sabe exatamente a que ele se refere.

— Não sei... — mas prefere fazer chamar, encolhendo o corpo. A barra do vestido justo se embolando no seu quadril.

— Ah, qual foi? — o garoto devolve. Se inclina de leve, chega mais próximo pra poder ir sussurando. — Não vai me dizer que tá tímida... — E você cobre parte do rostinho com a palma da mão, respondendo perfeitamente às expectativas alheias. Matí sorri também. — Ah, vai, eu e o Fran ‘tamo aqui... Não precisa ter vergonha de nós, não é como se não tivesse dado pra gente antes. E eles... — espia os outros dois, entretidos demais na conversa que têm pra poder perceber que são assunto da discussão vizinha. — Eles são de boas. Vão te tratar feito uma piranha, que nem você gosta.

Você verga o pescoço pra trás, tenta encarar Romero, o qual bebe um gole da cerveja na garrafa.

— Fran, o Matí me chamou de piranha...

Francisco coça a nuca, cogitando as palavras pra responder, e acaba sendo o mesmo abusadinho de língua venenosa de sempre.

— E ele mentiu?

Tsc, você resmunga. Não é que queria ser defendida nem nada, não se pode esperar outra resposta senão essa mesmo. É só pela manha, pelo suspense que vem fazendo desde um certo momento, desde que vieram pro apê de Romero depois de sair. Encontraram com dois amigos dos garotos num bar e estenderam o ócio pra mais algumas horas no conforto dos sofás largos e da madrugada quente.

Tudo muito calculado, você tem certeza, assim que Matías menciona, com a cara mais lavada possível. Já é contatinho fixo dele, Fran entrou no meio mais tarde, trazendo sua personalidade atrevidinha e melosa. Agora, os outros dois...

Quer dizer, são um colírio pros olhos. Esteban, retraído, tem um olhar que beira o poético, um sorriso de lábios finos e uma fragrância tão agradável ao olfato que quando o abraçou naquele bar, cumprimentando, quis que ele não te soltasse nunca mais. E Enzo, igualmente mais contido, ostenta um charme old hollywood, com os cabelos espessos, acumulando atrás da orelha, mas casual também, de pulseirinhas no pulso.

E, sei lá, só o fato deles serem mais velhos que você, Matí e Fran ao mesmo tempo, os faz mais saborosos ainda.

Morde o lábio, discretamente, os observando. Esteban joga o pescoço pra trás, soprando uma bufada de fumaça no ar, e volta a atenção pro Vogrincic. A cabeça pendendo pro canto de leve, atencioso.

Enzo apaga a bituca no cinzeiro apoiado no parapeito. Corre os dedos pelos cabelos escuros, ajustando as mexas atrás da orelha, gesticulando com as mãos de dedos longos, que parecem mais ásperos, grossinhos. Pô, imagina só dois dentro de você, vai valer por três, nossa...

Alterna o foco entre ambos, fantasiando consigo mesma. E quanto mais alimenta seu lado carnal, mais faz a ideia de ser dividida essa noite parecer um final de festa plausível.

— Son muy guapos, ¿no? — Matías comenta, como quem não quer nada, ao flagrar seu olhar nada casto em direção aos amigos dele. — Eu só ando com gente atraente que nem eu.

— Eu admiro seu narcisismo, Matí. — Fran murmura, levando a garrafa à boca, porém para no meio do caminho quando percebe ah, então eu sou bonito também, e ri.

Mas você nem se dá conta do bom humor, nem percebe, pois a cabecinha está voando longe, com a ajuda dos olhos. Mordisca a pontinha da unha, divertindo-se com a perversidade da própria mente. Porra, o Esteban parece ser aqueles tipos que faz carinho na sua cabeça enquanto você mama ele...

— Ah, é isso que você quer? — Se assusta ao perceber que falou alto demais, e agora o Recault tem consciência dos seus desejos lascivos. Antes que possa detê-lo, no entanto, o argentino rapidamente se vira para o outro e dedura: “Kuku, a gatinha aqui quer que ‘cê faça carinho na cabeça dela enquanto ela te mama!”

Merda, você tem vontade de enfiar a cabeça numa panela quente quando a atenção da dupla recai sobre ti. Vê Esteban apagar o cigarro no cinzeiro, e fica mais inquieta conforme ambos deixam a sacada pra se aproximar de vocês três na sala de estar.

Enzo senta no mesmo sofá que o Recalt, abraçando uma almofada sobre o colo. Na face, tem um sorrisinho de lado, diferente do Kukuriczka, que vem com a expressão mais neutra na sua direção.

Esconde as mãos no bolso da bermuda de algodão, te olhando por cima. O que foi que disse?

— Diz pra ele, princesa — Matías te encoraja, sorrindo, canalha. — Diz.

Você perde a postura porque Esteban está perto. Ele tem um jeitinho tão acolhedor, tão doce, e é justamente por isso que você sente vontade de desaparecer no colo de Francisco por tão manhosa que fica. A vontade é miar feito uma gatinha no cio e se oferecer como um pedaço de carne, nunca ficou tão suscetível.

O mais alto sorri, tranquilo. Levanta as suas perninhas, pra se sentar no sofá junto contigo, e as pousa sobre as coxas dele. Acaricia a região do seu tornozelo, afetuoso.

— Sabe... — começa — ...Matí é um pirralho chato, não liga pra ele. Você não precisa fazer, ou dizer, nada que não queira, cariño. A noite já está sendo muito legal só por ter te conhecido.

Caramba, dá pra ficar mais desejável que isso? Meu Deus, o calor que você sente dominar o corpo parece querer te colocar em combustão. E quando ele te olha com a nuca deitada no encosto do estofado, aquelas íris castanhas brilhando, docinhas igual um caramelo. Quer gritar me come me come me come de tanto tesão.

Não aguenta, então. Rapidinho está no chão da sala, abandonando os braços de Fran de qualquer forma, só pra se colocar sentada sobre o piso, entre as pernas abertas do mais velho.

— Fode a minha boquinha, Kuku — apoia o queixo no joelho alheio —, porfi.

Esteban entreabre os lábios, mas sem saber bem o que dizer. A sua falta de vergonha pra ser baixa com as palavras o pega desprevenido, o que, nem de longe, é algo ruim pra quem tinha topado uma dinâmica tão plural feito a escolhida pra esta noite.

— Eu disse, viu? — Matías fala. — Não vai negar pra ela, né, cara?

O homem te olha. Deita a lateral da face no punho fechado, cotovelos no braço do sofá, feito te admirasse. Com a outra mão, toca no seu rosto, contornando o maxilar até erguê-lo e segurar no seu queixo. Pra uma menina tão lindinha, diz, é difícil falar ‘não’.

— Mas eu quero um beijo primeiro — é a única condição, e você prontamente se apoia nos joelhos para selar os lábios nos dele. Esteban sorri entre os selinhos, a boca vermelhinha com o seu batom. Te tocando na nuca, indo e vindo com os dedos na sua pele, entre os seus fios de cabelo.

Está desabotoando a camisa ao passo que as suas mãozinhas inquietas se encarregam de abrir a bermuda. Aquela maldita expressão tão calma, nem parece que vai ganhar um boquete neste instante mesmo. Te dá tanta ânsia que crava as unhas nas coxas masculinas, na espera ansiosa por recebê-lo na sua boca.

E quando o tem, porra, só de vê-lo cerrar os olhos por um segundinho ao arfar profundo, já te faz rebolar sobre as próprias panturrilhas, excitada.

Ele te ajuda com os cabelos, com tudo que pedisse na verdade. Se quisesse que o mais velho surrasse a ponta da sua língua com a cabecinha gorda, faria sem pensar duas vezes. Mas você gosta de se lambuzar nele, não? Deixa um filete de saliva vazar de entre os lábios pra escorrer pelo comprimento já molhado, duro na palma da sua mão, pra subir e descer com a punheta lenta. Caridosa, empenhada. Alheia a qualquer olhar lascivo dos demais na sala de estar, ou quaisquer comentários sarcásticos que eles possam estar murmurando entre si.

Daí, Fran tem que agir. Ardiloso, se senta no chão, pertinho de ti. Apoia o peso do corpo nas mãos espalmadas no piso, pendendo as costas pra trás ao te encarar bem bonitinha no que faz.

— Sabia que eu falei pro Matí que ‘cê ia dizer não? — comenta, sem mesmo esperar que você fosse parar de encher a boca pra focar em outro alguém. — Mas olha só pra ti... — O rapaz exibe um sorrisinho ladino. — Não posso esquecer da putinha indecente que você é. Fica fazendo dengo, mas é uma garotinha sem-vergonha, não é?

E você ronrona, de boca cheia. Francisco se inclina pra perto, aproveita que você deixa Esteban escapar pra recupar o fôlego, apenas punhetando com as mãos agora, pra sussurrar ao pé do seu ouvido. Posso te dedar enquanto você mama ele?

— Você aguenta, não aguenta? — Beija o seu ombro. — Hm?

— Aguenta, sim — é Esteban quem responde por ri. Toca no canto do seu rosto. — Olha como faz tão bem... Merece um agrado enquanto está sendo tão boa pra mim. — Com o polegar, limpa o excesso de saliva que escorre pelo seu queixo. — Vai aguentar, não vai, cariño?

Você faz que sim. Mesmo se ele propusesse a maior atrocidade, você faria que sim igualmente. Quer agradar e, agora, também não se importa em ser agradada.

Francisco impulsiona o seu corpo pra frente, precisa que seu quadril esteja mais elevado para que o ângulo permita subir a barra do seu vestido e arredar a calcinha pro lado. E você se esforça, o plano é se esforçar ao máximo, porém no primeiro toque dos dedos no seu íntimo, estremece.

— Poxa, já tão molhadinha... — Fran comenta, naquele tom de voz que faz tudo parecer zombaria. — E tudo isso só porque ele tá fodendo a sua boca?

Matías ri, soprado, o que você esperava da nossa vagabundinha preferida pra meter?, e leva um golpe na face com a almofada que Enzo segurava no colo. O Vogrincic aperta os olhos, seja mais cavalheiro com as palavras, pirralho, repreende.

Já Francisco beija o seu ombro mais uma vez. Dois dedinhos vão fundo em ti, deslizam com facilidade. Acariciam por dentro numa região propícia a te fazer ver estrelas. O polegar, por fora, pressiona outra área mais sensível ainda.

Você engole os choramingos, usa as mãos em Esteban quando necessita arfar, respirar fundo, pra controlar o desejo. Mas não aguenta, não consegue dar conta das duas tarefas. O quadril empinadinho se empurra contra os dedos, remexe lentinho, no automático. Porque foca tanto no estímulo que recebe, cega nisso, aparenta se esquecer que não pode simplesmente deixar a boca cheia pra sempre sem respirar.

Engasga, então. Umas duas vezes. Tosse, com os olhinhos vermelhos e marejando. Um fiozinho transparente te prendendo à cabecinha lambuzada, ao liberá-la da sua garganta quente.

Esteban te ajuda a se recompor, todo carinhoso.

— Calma, mi amor, respira. — Limpa a lagrimazinha que ameaça correr pela sua bochecha. E sorri, terno. Te acha mil vezes mais formosa aos olhos nessa forma vulnerável, fofa, que tem vontade de te pegar pela nuca e ele mesmo encher a sua boca de novo.

— ¿Qué te pasa? — Fran espia por cima dos seus ombros, flagra o seu olhar de coitadinha. — Awn, não aguentou... Pensei que fosse aguentar, princesa.

E essa é a deixa pra te oferecer mais ainda. Mais fundo com os dedos, mais rápido. Mais pressão por cima do seu clitóris, circulando o local. Você passa a servir somente, paradinha, aí sobra pros dois a função de tomar as rédeas. Segura nos joelhos masculinos, levando pela frente e por trás.

É preenchida em ambos os buraquinhos quase que no mesmo ritmo. O rosto vira uma bagunça molhada, uma mistura devassa de batom vermelho manchado, saliva e porra escorrendo pelo queixo, gotinhas no pescoço. E a mordida que recebe na nádega, sem pudor, te faz lamuriar, manhosa. Fran se diverte com o som dos seus gemidinhos, o barulho ensopadinho da sua garganta sendo fodida. Não controla a reação de enfiar a mão por dentro da bermuda pra tocar a si próprio.

Você goza sem refrear. Incapaz de prender o tesão que retém, a situação erótica na qual se colocou contribuindo absurdamente. Uma descarga elétrica percorre o corpo dos pés à cabeça, feito um arrepio. Os músculos dormentes, doloridos. O peito pesando e a mente tão, mas tão fora de si, doente de prazer, que deve revirar os olhinhos, tola.

Nem pensa direito, vazia de raciocínio, só houve a fala de que eles querem se derramar na sua boca e se põe sentada no chão outra vez. Separa os lábios, língua pra fora, como Fran demanda. Os jatos morninhos acertam a sua bochecha, o nariz, lambuzam a face. É uma conjuntura que envolve tamanha submissão da sua parte que os suspiros e as palavras chulas que ecoam de ambos se torna comum pros seus ouvidos.

Francisco senta de volta no sofá, recuperando o fôlego. O calor do próprio corpo o faz puxar a camisa, apoiar a nuca no encosto do estofado. Esteban, porém, permanece à sua frente mais um pouquinho. Também respira mal ainda, quando toca o seu queixo, admira o estrago que fora causado em ti.

— Muy bien, bebê. — Pousa a mão sobre a sua cabeça, acaricia. — Perdoa se eu não te fiz carinho antes, igual você queria. É que estava tão bom que eu me esqueci. — Se inclina, deixando um beijinho na sua testa.

Você tem vontade de choramingar de novo, se debater no chão enquanto lamuria e diz perversidades obscenas. Por que ele tem que ser assim?! Te faz ter vontade de oferecer comida, casa, buceta e roupa lavada. Só manha, porém, com os olhinhos caindo junto dos ombros, o observando sentar no sofá outra vez.

Enzo sorri, te olhando.

— Vem aqui, vem. — Estica o braço. — Chega de ficar nesse chão frio servindo esses dois.

Você cambaleia, engatinhando até poder ser tomada nos braços e subir pro colo do uruguaio. Olha o que eles fizeram contigo, aponta, analisando o seu rosto. Um grande ‘gentleman’, quando puxa a própria camisa para usá-la na limpeza da sua pele manchada. Matías, também no estofado, ri, balançando a cabeça negativamente, incrédulo com tamanha cortesia.

Bem melhor, Enzo escorrega o indicador na ponta do seu nariz, amoroso, ao finalizar. Não se importa com a peça agora suja, joga em qualquer cantinho mesmo. Pode arrumar outra emprestada com o Recault, mas não poderia deixar a gentileza passar — ainda mais porque percebe que você se derrete toda.

As suas bochechas queimam, retraída. E o calor da palma da mão dele soma-se à quentura do seu corpo quando toca o seu rosto. Só que desce, não esquenta só ali. Caindo pelo canto, rodeando rapidinho no seu pescoço, e desviando pra lateral. No ossinho da clavícula, até contornar a curva do ombro, levando consigo a alça do seu vestido.

A timidez some logo, porém, mesmo com os seios expostos dessa forma. Talvez seja o olhar ambicioso, banhado à cobiça, que te acende o íntimo, te manipula a ansiar por ele de volta.

Lembra do meu nome?, ele te pergunta, com a voz rouca. E você, que vinha no esquema de só sentir, e não pensar, demora a ter a iniciativa de uma resposta, apesar de saber muito bem o que dizer. O homem sorri, pousa o indicador no seu lábio como se quisesse orquestrar o movimento que deveria ser feito ao ele mesmo responder — Enzo.

Você repete, igualando o balançar dos lábios com os dele. Quase hipnotizada, boba. Ri, quando ele ri também. Se ele quisesse falar um milhão de coisas pra você ficar repetindo assim, feito um bichinho de estimação, repetiria sem pensar duas vezes. Só quer se entregar total pra ele e curtir todo o deleite que tem certeza que vai sentir nas mãos do uruguaio.

Fran e Esteban também sorriem, julgam adorável a forma com que o amigo parece te domar por completo, tão suave na dominância. Matías, por outro lado, estala a língua, de braços cruzados.

— Tá sendo muito bonzinho com ela — alega. Tomba pra perto, só pra poder te encarar. — Conta pra ele — encoraja —, conta pra ele a putinha que você é. — E você ri, virando o rosto pro outro lado. — Conta que gosta quando eu falo sujo com você, no seu ouvidinho, pego forte no seu cabelo pra te comer. — Estica o braço pra alcançar a sua bochecha e dar um tapinha, chamando a sua atenção de volta pra ele. — Hm?

— É verdade? — o tom do Vogrincic é aveludado, baixo. Pros desavisados, soa complacente, mas quanto mais você interage com o uruguaio mais percebe que ele é tão canalha quanto o Recault é, a diferença é que mascara com o charme. — Gosta quando Matí faz essas coisas contigo? — A mão grande sobe pela sua nuca, afunda os dedos na raiz do seu cabelo e retém os fios, firme. — Que te pegue assim? É? — Inclina pra frente, próximo com a boca do seu ouvido. — Que fale o quê? Que você não vale nada, que vai te comer forte? Ou pior?

Qual foi a palavra que o Matí usou mesmo? Mira na direção do amigo brevemente, mas nem precisa de uma resposta, porque volta o olhar pra ti mais uma vez, sorrindo, ah, sim, ‘putinha’...

Você o envolve, escondendo o rostinho na curva do pescoço dele. Mas o homem não te deixa recuar, as mãos escalam pelo seu torço, te empurrando de leve pra trás, pra encontrar o olhar no dele novamente. Cobrem por cima dos seus seios, só que apenas uma das mamas ganha uma carícia. Os dedos enroscam no mamilo durinho, aperta um pouquinho.

— Gosta dessas coisas, nena? — reitera. — Hm? — Do nariz erguido, pra te encarar, abaixa o olhar e roça a pontinha pela região do colo, curvando lentamente a sua coluna para que possa com a boca umedecer a pele. — Dímelo. — Beija por entre o vale dos seus seios, de estalar os lábios. Você segura nos cabelos dele, suspira, de olhinhos fechados. — Díselo a tu papi.

E você derrete só com o uso do termo. Admite que sim, gosta dessas coisas, que, às vezes, é ainda pior, por isso não abre mão do Recault, muito menos de Romero, pois pode encontrar o que procura neles. Mas, também, se defende. Matí é muito provocador, né? Curte tirar do sério, implicar. Você é baixa, danadinha sim, porém o argentino gosta de degradar mesmo.

A boca quente toma um biquinho, a pressão em volta dos lábios suga, cruel. Língua umedece, lambe. Você arqueja, permitindo que te devorem os peitos, enquanto se força pra baixo, encaixando o meio das pernas sobre a ereção.

Matías se levanta do sofá. Se posiciona atrás de ti, puxa de leve os seus cabelos pra te fazer pende a cabeça e mirá-lo.

— ‘Cê é tão cachorra... — caçoa, com um tiquinho de raiva por ter saído como o ‘vilão’, porém com mais desejo do que tudo. — Quer meter nela, não quer, Enzo?

Enzo levanta o queixo, os cabelos bagunçadinhos o deixam mais atraente, em especial quando sorri ladino, cafajeste. Vamo’ meter nela junto, a proposta do Recault faz o uruguaio morder o lábio.

Toca o seu rosto, amoroso.

— Consegue levar? — pergunta, numa falsa preocupação. — Não vai ser muito pra ti? Eu não acho que vai dar. Mal aguentou o Fran e o Esteban ao mesmo tempo, e olha que eles nem pegaram pesado...

Você une o sobrolho, quase que num desespero. Não, vai dar sim... E ele parece imitar a sua expressão, caçoando, óbvio.

— Tudo aqui? — Com os dedos, toca no seu ventre, com a sobrancelha arquiada. Alivia as linhas do rosto, abrindo um sorrisinho. — Ah, acho que não, nena...

Você até ia choramingar mais, insistir, embora tenha plena consciência de que ele só está tirando uma com a tua cara. Acontece que Matí beija a sua bochecha, aquela risadinha de moleque no pé do seu ouvido pra tranquilizar ‘relaxa, se ele meter aí, eu posso te foder aqui por trás.’

Vai deixar ele fazer isso, bebê?, Enzo continua provocando, com o mesmo sorriso na face. Deita atravessado no sofá, com a cabeça no braço do estofado, para levantar o quadril e retirar as roupas de baixo. O Recault se despe também, a pausa entre se livrar da camisa, e antes de se ocupar com a calça, sendo ocupada com as mordidinhas perto do lóbulo da sua orelha.

Você fica de pé apenas pra empurrar a calcinha pernas abaixo, logo vindo por cima do uruguaio outra vez. Verga pra frente, de joelhos no estofado. Alinha a ereção entre as pernas, desce devagarinho, toda meiguinha, com a boquinha entreaberta.

As mãos de Enzo seguram na sua bunda, apertam a carne. Quando se empina para que o outro possa te tomar junto, resvala a ponta do nariz na do Vogrincic, o qual sorri mais, acaricia a sua bochecha. Matías utiliza a própria saliva pra molhar o caminho, bem devasso, esfregando a cabecinha de cá pra lá, instigante. Ao forçar pra dentro, arranca um resmungo seu, um lamúrio doce que é facilmente calado com o selar nos lábios de Enzo.

Queria poder saber descrever a sensação. Deveria ter se acostumado, quando tem uma referência de já ter experimentado com os seus contatinhos, mas, sei lá, porque é com alguém diferente, tudo aparenta mais intenso. A completude. A fadiga. Ambos jogam o quadril até ti, ocupam tudo no seu interior quase que ao mesmo tempo. Matías torce os fios dos seus cabelos no próprio punho, a mão de Enzo envolve o seu pescoço, o geladinho do anel prateado dele contra a sua pele ardente.

Se sente não só passível, mas conquistada, deliciosamente domesticada. Leva o olhar pro sofá adjacente e flagra os outros dois capturados pela cena sórdida. Fran com a cabeça descansando no ombro do amigo, e Esteban com tamanho amor nos olhos que você não dura muito tempo.

Quando Enzo continua metendo depois do seu orgasmo, procurando pelo dele, é ainda mais gostoso. Te inunda por ali, te dá tudo de si pra te deixar pingando. E Matías faz o mesmo, claro. Enche o outro buraquinho, orgulhoso dos jatos de porra abundantes, quentes, que te faz reter.

Você desmonta sobre o uruguaio, exausta. O corpo não aguenta mover ao mínimo, pesado, espasmando. Com a lateral do rostinho no peitoral suado, até cerra os olhinhos, tentando regular a respiração junto com ele.

— ¿Estás bien, cariño? — Esteban se ajoelha pertinho do sofá, de frente pra ti. Acaricia na altura da sua têmpora.

Uhum, você responde de volta, a voz tão frágil e doce que ambos riem. Enzo beija a sua cabeça, afaga os seus cabelos.

— Te odeio, Matías — Fran resmunga, pegando uma almofada pra abraçá-la. — Olha só pra esses filhos da mãe... Já tô sentindo que vamo’ ter que dividir ela com eles de novo...

Matí sobe a calça, abotoa de volta. Com um sorrisinho de canto, oferece um olhar para os amigos mais velhos, que agora parecem fazer parte dessa dinâmica casual.

Abre os braços, e se curva, vaidoso. De nada.

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

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siren ghost and sailor soap?

sort of inspired by the pirates of the caribbean sirens scene because it’s one of my favourite things of that series. also i got a little carried away

Over the many, many years of traversing the Seven Seas for his life’s work, Soap has become intimately familiar with the abundant myths and legends about the ocean and what lies beneath.

Of course, most of these hold no truth. Most of these are only mere stories to quell the anxieties of sailors, or to provide reasoning to strange occurrences seemingly otherwise unexplainable.

Sirens are, unfortunately, the exception.

Ruthless, ravenous creatures—they’re the worst fear of any sailor who knows the worth of his own life, and like most things that make mortal men afraid, they’ve been transformed into weapons.

Soap only knows that sirens are real because of what happens to many prisoners at sea—from the brig they’re moved to rowboats without paddles, abandoned and forced to sing until the sirens appear to lure them into the water, where flesh would be torn from bone with razor sharp teeth.

It’s a terrifying sight. The creatures are like sharks called to blood with the way they appear, like piranhas with the way they feast.

It’s horrifying. Fascinating. And Soap has vowed to never let himself end up on one of those boats.

But alas. Fate has other plans for him.

Soap had been reluctant to join the crew of Captain Philip Graves when presented with the opportunity, but the pay promised had been good, the work simple, and the destination somewhere he’s never been.

But what Soap hadn’t realized is that Graves likes to take prisoners. He likes to engage in unfair combat with other ships, and operates almost like a pirate, though not explicitly enough to be considered one himself.

Soap realizes his mistake far too late when he wanders down to the brig one night, otherwise unable to sleep. They’re two weeks into their voyage by now, and Soap knows there’s people in the jail—but he hadn’t known the state of them.

Most already without a secure amount of food outside their makeshift cell, they’re emaciated, wasting away in the hull of the vessel. They’re barely responsive when Soap knocks on the bars of the hold and pokes someone’s damp shoulder. Someone weakly latches onto Soap’s sleeve and begs for nothing in particular, and he feels awful for not having known about this sooner.

So he begins sneaking them food, brings them drink. Squirrels away what extra he can without anyone noticing he’s stopped finishing his meals.

Except someone must notice. Because, nearing the end of their journey, Graves is waking him in the dead of night and pulling him into the Captain’s quarters.

Soap swallows the pounding heartbeat in his throat as Graves slowly crosses the room to take a seat at his desk. He’s never liked the man, not one bit—but this just feels unnecessary. Taunting.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been keeping our prisoners fed,” Graves drawls. “Even though, from what I recall, prisoners are the enemy. I don’t suppose you really have been helping them out, have you, MacTavish?”

It’s a trap, Soap knows. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell Graves’s question isn’t really a question at all. Graves has his answer, and waits on Soap’s response if only to entertain him with the idea of escape.

Soap knows just as well that there’s hardly a point in trying to lie.

He lifts his chin as he looks straight into Graves’s eyes to tell him, “I have been. They’re still people.”

Graves chuckles lowly, rising from his seat. He rounds the desk, sitting back on its edge with his arms folded across his chest.

It might be intimidating, if Soap were anyone else. If he were a lesser man.

“Well, then—since you like ‘em so much,” Graves says, “surely you won’t mind joining them.”

Soap supplies Graves with no visible reaction. He doesn’t fight as Graves calls for his men to throw Soap in the brig, doesn’t put up any fuss as they try to cajole him.

If Soap has to be imprisoned for doing what’s right, then he at least won’t let Graves have the satisfaction of knowing Soap’s internal panic.

Because Soap knows what Graves plans to do with his prisoners. He’s known all along.

He predicts they’re maybe a day from port when they’re shoved off the ship and ordered into the decaying rowboat, left to drift away—not too far, however, as they’re still tethered to the ship. Because once all prisoners have been drowned, the boat will be reeled back and used again the next time Graves and his crew venture out to terrorize the waters.

No one has the energy to sing, to lure their cruel punishment to them. Soap’s half-convinced some of the others might just jump into the water on their own.

But they have to sing. Especially when a bullet ricochets off the boat and splinters the wood as encouragement.

Despite his time spent out at sea, Soap isn’t overly familiar with many shanties. He just follows along with whatever is mumbled in a weak tune, dreading as the volume builds with a second bullet, and the water below begins to churn. Glancing over the edge, Soap swears he sees the flash of a tail.

The first one appears shortly, singing along to the song like she’s entirely familiar with the melody. Soap feels the pull, though perhaps not as strongly as he imagined he would, if ever he ended up in these circumstances.

He wonders, briefly and distantly, if it has to do with the fact that he’s not really all that into women.

Soap snorts. Wouldn’t that be something.

But as more sirens appear, the pull grows stronger. Soap begins to feel swayed by the song, gone from muttered and off-kilter to something beautiful, hypnotic. The boat bobs with the weight of their new company and the prisoners that rush to the sides to get a better look at the sirens as if they aren’t the dangerous creatures they’re known to be.

Still, though, Soap isn’t completely compelled to join them in the water. He stays put in the centre and grounds his teeth—though he does gasp and reach out when the first prisoner is pulled under, and red soon blossoms across the surface of the water.

Then he appears.

The whole world seems to disappear for just a moment, when Soap looks into big, brown eyes.

The siren’s voice is deeper than the rest, soothing, and though Soap’s hindbrain screams at him that hidden behind the enchanting exterior, the porcelain skin and the straw-blond hair, there lives evil—he can’t help but lean in.

As Soap gets closer, the boat continuing to rock as more prisoners fall victim, the siren’s singing pauses just long enough for him to offer Soap a smile, saccharine, close-lipped. He reaches out an arm to Soap, calloused fingers caressing Soap’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

Soap can’t help but melt into the touch, its simultaneous warmth and coolness, subconsciously chasing it as it retracts, eyes fluttering shut with a short, pleased sigh.

But with the singing fading from the others, Soap’s eyes suddenly snap open. The siren still holds him, still leads Soap with that gentle touch and deceptively kind gaze, but Soap resists. He doesn’t know when he’d gotten to leaning halfway over the edge of the boat, but he scrambles backward to the opposite side, as far as he can get from this siren.

Soap comes to the startling realization that he’s the only one left.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” the siren croons. He props himself up on the edge of the boat, arms thick with corded muscle to show the real power of this creature. He leans forward, the boat tilting with his added weight. “I don’t bite.”

Soap glances nervously about the empty rowboat, gaze accidentally straying the bloodstained waters that surround them.

“I beg to differ,” Soap says weakly.

The siren laughs softly before slowly sinking back into the water. The boat sways. Soap shakes.

Everything goes silent for a suspiciously long moment before there’s a disturbance in the water and the siren appears at the side of the boat where Soap has taken refuge. He’s singing quietly again and Soap feels that pull, so he moves away, screws his eyes shut, and jams his fingers in his ears in an attempt to block it out.

It doesn’t work, not when the singing gets louder, and Soap’s attempt is rendered useless.

“Shut up,” Soap growls. “Please just shut. Up.”

The singing does cease, though only to make way for a deep, full laughter that is somehow tugging on Soap’s conscience with more force than any melody so far.

When Soap blinks his eyes open, the siren is perched on the edge of the boat, arms splayed one on top of the other, his head resting over them. He’s smiling, even once his laughter has died down, a glint of something in his dark eyes—maybe not quite sinister, but certainly mischievous.

“They’re not letting you back on that ship, you know,” the siren says, as if it isn’t obvious. “So you can either come with me—“

“And what? Be drowned? Eaten?” Soap snaps. “Thanks, but I’d rather rot right here.”

“Suit yourself,” the siren hums.

To Soap’s surprise, he actually disappears back into the water. And despite the waves—the ocean seems to have finally calmed.

Maybe Soap did have the tiny, illogical hope that he’d be brought back to the ship. Maybe Soap did have the tiny, logical hope that this siren would just put him out of his misery.

Either way, now he just sits in silence, listening to waves lap up against the hull as the rowboat rocks lazily with the current. Though the peace surely only stretches on for a few minutes, it feels like hours.

Stupidly, Soap goes to inspect the depths. To make certain he’s really been left alone.

Because that’s when he’s pulled in.

Soap barely has time to yell out before his mouth is filled with the overwhelming, stinging taste of salt, unfamiliar arms wrapping securely around his frame so he can’t wriggle free. His shouts are muffled by the water, and he feels the cold soak into his bones as he’s dragged deeper and deeper. The light fades, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

The last thing Soap sees is the siren’s grin, all fangs and malice before everything goes black.

But then, after an unknown amount of time—Soap wakes up to the slow drip, drip, drip of water on a stone floor.

He’s in a cave.

He’s in a cave, and there’s a light source somewhere, and the siren is watching him.

Soap coughs, clearing water from his lungs. He chokes out, “Why… what did you—“

The siren shrugs. “I don’t eat people I like.”

Soap frowns, still coughing. “You…”

“Call me Ghost,” the siren says, then dives into the pool he’d been wading in at the entrance of the cave, and swims away—long, elegant tail flicking behind him as he leaves.

And while many, many thought swirl around Soap’s head as he gradually gathers his bearings about the situation, the clearest of them all is also the simplest; what the hell kind of a name is Ghost?

If only he could guess.

And if only he could know what’s meant to happen to him next.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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cobaltperun · 10 months ago

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Woe out the Storm (8) - What have you done

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 4.9k

-There's a curse between us, between me and you-

Wednesday could admit her interests weren't ordinary, she could admit that neither she nor her family conformed to the norms of the society. She believed in different values; she ranked those values in a way most people wouldn’t. Not choosing violence was, for example, ranked very lowly. And she wasn’t opposed to murder and torture either.

Truthfully, it wasn’t the fact that her father was accused of murder that bothered her, it was the fact that she heard about it from a stranger. He was supposed to be an open book, honest with her, with their family and her mother was supposed to be the same. Despite that, they hid the truth from her.

When she set those piranhas loose, fully intending to kill Pugsley’s bully as an act of revenge, she openly told her parents about it. She expected the same openness from them. The society rejected them, deemed them too morbid and weird to be seen as normal; being an Addams meant only relying on select few, mostly family. So, she valued being honest and trusting those select few above nearly anything else.

And they, for their own reasons, betrayed that trust and put her in a position to learn about it in the worst way possible.

To make matters even worse, her father refused to be open with her yet again. He still wouldn’t tell her the truth about what happened, even now that he was behind bars.

Somehow, perhaps against her better judgment, she ended up in front of your shed. It was the first time she came here, the first time she’d step inside. She heard laughter from within and froze just as she was about to reach out for the doorknob. Of course. It was the Parents’ weekend, and you were with your mother. Enid mentioned in passing that you had a good relationship with your mother, that the two of you were close and that you missed her.

You maintained a close relationship with your mother, something Wednesday wasn’t capable of doing, even if she did deeply care about her family and despite knowing they loved her just as much. So, instead of interrupting you and asking you to help her find more clues that could help her prove her father’s innocence, she turned around and left. She’d have to go to her mother after all.

As she walked away, she began to wonder why she wanted you to help her, and truthfully, she didn’t quite understand it. She was perfectly capable of handling this on her own. Maybe it was because you just accepted her, never demanding from her to change, yet still being unapologetically you even when it meant you pushed Wednesday out of her comfort zone, like when you wiped that paint off her hands and face last week.

Or maybe it was as simple as you being honest with her, not once hiding the truth and in turn being frustrated by her own lack of honesty when she didn’t tell you she asked Xavier to go to the dance with her. While Wednesday couldn’t say you ranked honesty as high as she did, she could say you valued it.

If she was completely honest, even with just herself, she might have had it in her to admit the vision she had during Rave’N and what happened with Eugene had a lot to do with that as well. Somehow, deep down, Wednesday convinced herself that if she was there, close to you, maybe that vision wouldn’t come true, and she wouldn’t have to visit you at the hospital or attend your funeral.

~X~

You didn’t always understand how lucky you were. Oftentimes as a child you wondered why you couldn’t have a regular family, with two parents present in your life. Dad was with you a few days a year, around your birthday, and always secretly. Your mom did everything she could, even back then you guessed she did more for you than most single mothers could, but you had some resentment toward your dad.

‘Why couldn’t he be normal, or any other kind of outcast? Why did he have to be a raiju?!’ that’s what you wondered for years, despising the restrictions being a raiju brought to your life. Fear and hatred caused you to separate the beast from yourself, you were a raiju, but the beast was, in your mind, the entirely different being, a creature that had nothing to do with you. The beast was dangerous, uncontrollable, and you despised it for what it could do to your loved ones or innocent bystanders.

The truth was that you should have begun going to Nevermore much earlier, the moment you showed the first signs of lightning, actually. But you cried and screamed at the mere thought of leaving your mother’s side, and she refused to even consider sending you to Nevermore, or anywhere else, unless you wanted to go. You were eight and she was the only real family you had.

‘Do not underestimate my child,’ she’d say whenever someone told her it was too dangerous to keep you outside of Nevermore, that you’d lose control and hurt or kill someone. Neither side was right though.

It was more of a miracle, than anything else, that dad was home when there was a huge storm when you were twelve, otherwise you really could have hurt someone. That was when your resentment toward your dad began fading away, when he calmed you down, when he taught you how to better control your lightning, when he made sure you didn’t hurt anyone, especially your mom. That was also when you finally agreed to go to Nevermore, because you could no longer risk it.

In the four years that followed your relationship with your dad improved, he dropped by more often, whenever you truly needed him. When you shifted for the first time, or when you really wanted to talk to him, he wouldn’t arrive immediately, but he’d come and see you. So, when you saw Enid’s parents you just decided that you were lucky, that you had a loving mom that accepted you for who and what you were, and that your dad, while not always there, was by your side when you needed him.

And he would come now as well.

So, that was your family, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

With those thoughts filling your head you stepped into your room with a bounce to your steps. That energy dropped to a more usual intensity when you saw Enid, lying with her arms spread on her bed. “You’re not a disappointment,” you immediately said as you went over to her side of the room and sat down next to her.

“Tell that to my mother,” she sighed and looked to the side. This wasn’t Enid’s usual mood, even when she was upset, she made sure everyone knew that. Her energy was more similar to Wednesday, if Wednesday ever sulked. And it really made you wish you could help her, actually help her and not just stand by her and offer support when she needed it.

“I will if you let me,” and you were completely serious, if only Enid allowed it, you would gladly have a long chat with Esther Sinclair.

Enid smiled a bit and reached out to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You smiled back, taking her hand and squeezing it, offering Enid at least some small comfort.

“How come you aren’t with Wednesday?” she asked out of blue, and you had to resist an urge to facepalm at that. Your eye still twitched, and she probably noticed. “I’m not teasing, she was just looking for you, she even asked me where your shed is!”

That was odd. “Why? Isn’t she with her family?”

Enid sat up, now realizing you really didn’t see Wednesday since this morning. “Her dad got arrested for murder and I think she plans to prove he is innocent,” Enid caught you up to speed with what happened.

You couldn’t help but get a bad feeling in your bones. “Murder + family matters + Wednesday? Yeah, she’s going to do something illegal and morally even more questionable, isn’t she?” you sighed, looking at the goth girl’s part of the room.

Enid laughed uncomfortably. “I mean…” she trialed off, she really didn’t need to finish her sentence, you could figure it out yourself.

“She’s going to dig the victim up, isn’t she?” you were just about ready to run headfirst into a wall and pretend you didn’t know she was probably going to get into trouble.

“Maybe sit this one out?” Enid offered, and if you were at least a bit logical and driven by reason you would have listened to her.

You weren’t. You were driven by emotions and much like lightning those were difficult to control sometimes. Especially the ones connected to Wednesday Addams. “If I get locked up for this, don’t break me out. I’ll deserve every second of my punishment for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“On the brighter side,” Enid’s smirk was already terrifying enough. “You could break you and Wednesday out and go into hiding,” she laughed as your eyes widened and you looked at her incredulously. “She might actually love that!”

“I hate you,” you grumbled as you stood up and took a few deep breaths, you’d prefer to avoid living the rest of your life on the run. Dad being on the run from someone was already one family member living like that too many. You didn’t even know who he was hiding from. You just knew it was serious enough for you to be given your mom’s last name instead of his.

~X~

Wednesday was, indeed, digging up a grave, in fact, she was nearly done when you ran up to her and her mother. “Please tell me you are nearly done,” you whisper-yelled at her. “Hello, Mrs. Addams, it’s good to see you again,” you politely greeted her mother, who nodded with a smile, and then you immediately turned back to Wednesday. “There’s no way this can end well, you know?” it wasn’t even about what she was doing, Wednesday was going to be Wednesday and there was nothing you could do about that, you just wished she would have done it when it was even less risky. Like, way past midnight, with you there to watch out for the police, not like this, just before midnight and without you to stand watch.

“We’ll need to show it as evidence anyway, and they’ll figure out it was us no matter what we do,” Wednesday pointed out and you opened your mouth to respond, but you really couldn’t argue with that logic.

Well, at least she already opened the coffin before you showed up. “Right,” you frowned and stepped down, inspecting the coffin. “If you want me to, I think I can magnetize it and pull it out. Maybe. I never tried to do it with anything this heavy,” and just as you reached down bright light shined on all three of you. “Either the ground swallows me right now, or dad will ground me for the rest of my life,” you just raised your hands in surrender as police arrived.

“There’s a hole right here,” Wednesday suggested.

“I’m not sharing unless it’s with you, Addams,” you deadpanned, missing the way Wednesday’s eyes widened, and the way her breath hitched, and the way her cheeks darkened just a bit.

“Oh my, how awfully unhinged,” Morticia commented, and you’ve been around Wednesday and Thing long enough to figure out that wasn’t meant to mean what it usually meant. So, you just gave a thumbs up as you got out of the grave, earning a graceful, elegant smile from the older woman.

~X~

Well, at least you weren’t all alone, that was a positive, right? Nope! Because Wednesday’s parents couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and there were bars between them! Suddenly, you understood exactly why Wednesday would be averse to shows of affection and the idea of a relationship. They were unapologetically in love, and very passionate about showing that love, and you could admire that, to an extent, but still!

“Not even the long arm of law could keep us apart!” Gomez went right back to kissing Morticia.

“At least we’ll have one last night together!” maybe breaking out wasn’t the worst idea, because you doubted you could listen to them all night.

And Wednesday was right there!

“I’ve seen jackals with more self-control than you two,” Wednesday somehow managed to get them to stop, though they didn’t properly separate. “Neither one of you is strong enough to serve hard time. And thanks to me you won’t have to,” she said.

“I’ll pretend I’m not included in that. The strong enough part,” you grinned a bit.

“You especially aren’t strong enough to serve hard time,” she shut you down without even a hint of hesitation.

Well, you guessed that was fair.

“I knew our little jailbird will have an escape plan,” Gomez exclaimed as she showed a finger to the three of you wrapped in a black handkerchief.

“It’s a souvenir from our outing, I borrowed it from Garrett, he died from nightshade poisoning,” she explained as her mom took the finger.

“How come the police didn’t find it?” and then you remembered this was Wednesday you were talking about, she probably glared, and they locked her up without even searching her. ”Yeah, don’t answer that one.

The very corner of her lip twitched up as she glanced at you, as if pleased by your realization. “The remarkable preservation of soft tissue and blue tint confirms it.”

“Which means Garrett was dying-” her mom realized.

“-before you stabbed him,” Wednesday finished.

Her parents looked at one another. “You look even more ravishing as an innocent woman,” and they were back to kissing.

“I’m not entirely sure that’s how this situation works, but sure,” you looked away. You guessed poison being there proved self-defense though, and that might just be enough to drop charges. Although, knowing Wednesday she had something else up her sleeve as well.

“For once could you two get off of each other and focus?” Wednesday asked and reached out for the finger. The moment she touched it a vision struck her, and you were immediately behind her, holding her up.

You looked at her parents and saw they recognized what happened to Wednesday, which was a relief. Though, there was some surprise on their faces. She probably never mentioned her visions to either of them.

“Wednesday,” her mom leaned in a bit as Wednesday woke up from her vision. “Did you have a vision? What happened? What did you see?”

You stepped to the side, no longer worried that she might fall. Sometimes she fell, sometimes she didn’t, you really couldn’t be too cautious.

“The night Garrett died he had a vial of nightshade poison that broke in his pocket. He wasn’t just trying to kill father, he was going to use the nightshade poison to murder the entire school,” she explained.

~X~

“The sweet taste of freedom! How I missed you!” you exclaimed when you were finally set free. At the same time as Gomez, actually, maybe the sheriff was being petty over you electrocuting his son last year, in which case you could get behind that. “I don’t think we met, I’m Y/N,” you raised your hand to greet Wednesday’s brother.

He nodded, smiling a bit. “I’m Pugsley, thanks for going to jail with Wednesday,” he said sheepishly, though he took cover behind a rather tall man when Wednesday glared at him.

You grinned a bit at that and contemplated just leaving so the family could have a moment on their own.

“Don’t even think about leaving, we’ll go back to Nevermore together,” Wednesday said before you could even consider that idea properly.

“You’re the boss, Wednesday,” you grinned cheekily, much to her annoyance.

You still stood aside, giving them enough space and privacy. You still smiled when Wednesday accepted a family hug.

And then your blood ran cold.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up as the chill ran down your spine. You could recognize the electricity in the air, and you knew it was too late. "I'm going to be grounded for the rest of my teenage life," you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and if this was an anime or a cartoon you were sure you'd have cartoonish tears falling down your cheeks.

He appeared in a burst of lightning, as in control as ever, with that bright orange lightning surrounding him and moving to his will. "Gomez! Why is my daughter in prison, Gomez?!" your dad was pissed, he was beyond angry as he stomped over to Gomez and pointed a finger at his chest. "How did you being accused of murder get her in jail?! Oh, hello Morticia, you look amazing as always," how he flipped between nearly yelling at Gomez to politely complimenting Morticia in a split second you would never understand. You could never.

"You look good as well, Elijah, it's nice to see you after all these years," Morticia greeted him with grace that shouldn't have been a part of her ordinary behavior, yet here you were.

You slowly took a few steps back, hoping to flee while he was distracted by Wednesday's parents.

Wait…

He knew Wednesday’s parents?

"Y/N is your daughter?" Gomez and Morticia seemed to be genuinely surprised. You couldn't blame them, with the different last name and everything.

"My pride and joy, yes," your dad said, momentarily forgetting about the issue at hand and grinning proudly.

It made you stop as you took in the pride in his gaze. You didn’t think five words could have such an effect on you. Despite his absence, when he was there he was a great father, and to hear that he was proud of you made you smile.

“So, about my daughter being in jail,” apparently, he wasn’t going to drop it, so you slowly began backing away again. “Now where do you think you are going, Y/N?” well, so much for escaping silently.

“I just remembered something! See you later, Wednesday!” you were just about to turn into lightning when bright orange lightning circled you.

“Don’t even think about that, kid,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Now that’s just unfair,” your eyes changed back from red to your usual eye color and you slumped to the ground, defeated. Of course he’d use his stronger lightning to prevent you from using your own lightning.

“Elijah, Y/N was there for our Wednesday, don’t be too strict with her,” Morticia came to your defense, and you felt like you’d eternally be grateful to the woman if it worked.

“Your Wednesday?” your dad repeated and blinked a few times, his eyes changing into their natural color, the same eye color you had. He glanced down, right at Wednesday who seemed to be genuinely interested in him. “Ah, Anna did mention a new roommate,” he was piecing together whatever information he had. “The fuck is this Gomez? Another Addams-raiju roommate situation?”

Your jaw dropped at that and you looked at Wednesday only to see well-concealed but definitely there shock on her face too. The two of you looked at each other and then at your fathers. “What the?!” you couldn’t help but yell.

Gomez laughed at that. “It looks like that’s exactly the case,” he agreed as the lightning around you disappeared and you approached the group.

“Wait, the roommate you told me about was Wednesday’s dad?” you asked, still unable to fully process the new information.

Your dad nodded. “Yeah, something like that,” he turned to Wednesday. “Uh, there was a storm, and I lost control for a bit while Gomez and Fester were there, luckily I didn’t hurt them, but, I could have,” he looked away, ashamed of losing control like that.

Wednesday took that information in and looked at you as if she just figured something out. You didn’t like that look on her face.

“Elijah left Nevermore after that, and we haven’t seen or heard from him since. I never made the connection between Y/N and him,” Morticia said, mostly to Wednesday.

“Anna and I figured it was safer for Y/N to take Anna’s last name,” your dad explained. “Not that it helped you to stay out of jail, you little troublemaker,” he pulled you in, ruffling your hair.

You pulled away, annoyed that he kept that habit. “No comment,” you rolled your eyes.

“Just be happy I convinced Weems not to call Anna,” your dad said and took a few steps back. “Come on, now, say goodbyes and follow me, Y/N,” his eyes turned orange once again. “Gomez, Morticia, it was good seeing you and your family. Wednesday, thank you,” and he burst into lightning and went in the direction of the woods.

“Does he not realize that I can’t do that?” you just watched the spot where he was standing moments ago.

“Why did he thank me?” Wednesday asked you.

You lightly rubbed the side of your neck. “Uh, don’t worry about it. Dad can be a bit random at times,” you sighed and pulled out your lucky knife. “I’ll see you later!” and off you went, one burst of lightning at a time.

~X~

You were out of breath and on your hands and knees when you caught up with your dad and he didn’t look even a bit tired. Guess you still had a long way to go. No shit, your lightning was still red, Still, his was orange, and that was just one level stronger than your own. Just how strong would a raiju with yellow let alone blue lightning be? You moved so you could sit down and hung your head low, still trying to catch your breath.

“You did good, that was faster than I expected,” he still praised you, smiling proudly as he sat with his back against a tree.

You shook your head. “It’s not nearly as fast as it should be,” you rejected the compliment.

He sighed, standing up and approaching you. He sat down on the ground a few feet from you. “I don’t care about how things should be, Y/N, I just want you to be happy and healthy,” he said softly.

“I know,” you smiled, having heard those words plenty of times. It was still hard to believe in them. Not because he ever did anything to make you doubt those words, but because it simply felt too good to be true. Just look at Enid’s parents, you couldn’t imagine them, especially Esther, saying something like that to Enid. Although, Wednesday’s parents seemed content with Wednesday just being happy in her own way as well.

“This,” he gathered some lightning between his palms and raised his hands toward you. “it’s not a curse, Y/N, and neither are our beast forms.”

The smile fell off your face as you raised your head to glare at him. “Don’t give me that. Not after you left this place because you were also afraid of these powers, of hurting people!” you yelled, red sparks dancing around you almost out of control.

And then his eyes turned yellow, and you jumped to your feet and put at least some distance between the two of you. Yellow lightning raged around him and he roared, loud and powerful, and animalistic, and moments later a huge golden bear stood in his place. He was much bigger than even a grizzly bear, as it was usually the case with raiju. There was barely any lightning coming from his body and you could only stare in awe. The less lightning there was, the more in control the person was, and your dad only had lightning coming from his eyes and front paws. He growled, though there was no threat in it, as if telling you to shift as well.

“I can’t, I can’t control it,” you refused, closing your eyes and turning away from him.

“This is your best chance. While I’m here everything will be fine even if you lose control,” he shifted back. “You’re at your limit. You’ve been restraining it for over two years, and the more you restrain it, the more painful it gets. It might be the next time there’s a storm, or on the fifth, or even tenth storm from today, but you will shift no matter how much you discharge,” he sighed, firmly grasping your shoulder. “Fear isn’t bad, Y/N, but don’t be afraid of yourself. If you aren’t ready to shift now, it’s fine, but give me a call when you feel like you’re ready,” it was the reassurance you needed. His words, his control over his beast form, it eased your worries, even if only a little bit. It gave you hope that maybe you could eventually control your own beast form.

“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m ready,” you promised and hugged him.

He hugged you back, sighing. “I don’t want to scare you, but you need to know one thing. With how inexperienced you are, no matter what happens, do not shift twice in a row. Even if you stay in control the first time, you won’t be able to control it the second time,” his words were definitive, there was no doubt there, for him, or for you.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

“We’re not separate from that form, it’s as much a part of us as the lightning,” and lightning couldn’t do anything but destroy, it was too powerful to contain, direct and use for anything but battle. That was what lightning was, and that was what made it so frightening to take a form of a beast made of lightning.

~X~

The Parents’ weekend was coming to a close, her parents, Pugsley and Lurch were leaving. Your father already left, as did most of the families. You were close to her, seeing as you just said goodbye to your father and he wanted to say goodbye to her parents one more time, and meet Pugsley this time. So, even after your father left, you stayed nearby, waiting for Wednesday so the two of you could go back to your room.

You wouldn’t be waiting for much longer, her mother said her goodbyes, showing Wednesday affection in a way Wednesday was comfortable with, with air kisses and turning to leave.

Wednesday paused, contemplating her choices. Finally, the need to understand, the need to be aware of potential effects it could have on you pushed her to say. "Mother," she called out, getting her mother's attention.

Her mother halted, turning around with just a subtle hint of surprise on her face. "Yes, Darling?"

"Goody told me to use the raiju," she said, she didn't want to admit it, but the choice of words and what she saw, especially after what her mother said about Goody, it just felt wrong.

Her mother sighed, a heavy, foreboding sigh Wednesday rarely heard. "Once in every generation an Addams forms a deep bond with a raiju," her mother revealed, just for a moment looking in your direction. "It can be friendship or love, many believe Goody was in love with her raiju."

Wednesday's eyes widened, and the way her heart began beating just a bit faster made her uncomfortable. "I've never heard of a raiju in our family," she argued, trying to, at the very least, remove love from the equation.

"Because there wasn't any. Despite all the times an Addams fell in love with a raiju. Those bonds always end in a tragedy, but especially when there was love involved, the raiju always died for their Addams. They are powerful, and that power makes them reckless," this time Wednesday was the one who looked at you, and as if you felt her eyes on you, you looked up and grinned at her. It made her feel nauseous for a moment.

"Her father is still alive," she tried to argue once again and for once didn't mind her mother placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Friendships sometimes ended up with raiju no longer capable of living a normal life. Maybe that's why Y/N carries her mother's last name, or maybe they broke the cycle," her mother paused for a moment. "Or perhaps you and Y/N will."

Wednesday clenched her fists. "I don't feel that way about Y/N," she claimed, even if her actions spoke otherwise. "Especially if it's tied to some kind of fate or a curse," she didn't want to feel like she wasn't in control, especially over her own emotions.

"Darling, even if it was fate, would that make those feelings any less genuine? Regardless of the nature of those feelings?" Wednesday remained silent, not quite able to put into words how she felt.

She just looked at you again. Death was never something she feared, she was even excited about it. The idea of you dying for her, however, wasn't thrilling to her. It made her feel dread and not a good kind of dread. She made a mistake, staying close to you wouldn’t prevent that vision from coming true, staying away from you would prevent it. So, Wednesday made a decision, you would no longer be involved with her investigation. When she looked away from you she pretended not to see the smile on her mother's face.

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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stylized-corpse · 2 months ago

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Warkrusher @ Varning Fest (Piranha Bar) - 10/18/2024

#Warkrusher #stenchcore #Varning Fest 2024 #Varning Fest #Piranha Bar #live music #Montreal #Varning Productions

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mistwalker-official · 5 months ago

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It’s not often that we get to play with post-black metal bands but Hell is Other People certainly set the bar high. From delicate atmospheric guitars to precise, intentional drums, to wailing, pained vocals, these guys ruled.

#Hell is Other People #blackgaze #atmospheric black metal #black metal #metal #post black metal #heavy metal #extreme metal #Piranha Bar #live music #Montreal #MTL #Quebec #QC #Canada #Canadian metal #Ontarian metal #Viridian Cult #Viridian Cult Productions

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apologiesnope · 4 months ago

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I committed a Stupidity last week and got a new puppy. Meet Tripoli (as in From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of...).

Don't let that cute face fool you--I'm living with a piranha. Even his step-bro's Howitzer and Ka-Bar step lively when he's around.

#Doberman Pinscher

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the-queen-of-hell-666 · 2 months ago

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Merc with the Mouth

Kinktober 2024 - Day 18

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Plus-sized!X-Men!Fem!Reader

Kink: Tittyfucking

Word Count: 900+

Summary: Wade can't get his hands off of you.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (tittyfucking, spit as lube, marking, nipple play, cum marking, slight oral fixation), needy!Wade, porn with plot, breaking the 4th wall

a/n: Here is Day 18! This took me quite a while to write cause I'm in the middle of LPN school and these classes are really kicking my ass! I will do my best to post on time!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

“Wade, we are in public. If you don’t get your hands off my tits, I’m going to hurt you.” You hissed, slapping his hands away from your chest and his smile grew wider. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck, making your scolding turn to giggles. His hands grasped under your shirt and groped at your plush hips and up to your breasts again.

“Don’t tease me with a good time, sweet cheeks.” Wade purred in your ear as he palmed at your breasts and you rolled your eyes and yanked his hands out from under your shirt.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him down so your lips were by his ear, “Wade, I’m warning you. It is Negasonic’s birthday. We are in a bar, in public. Behave.” You growled and bit his jaw in warning, leaving teeth marks that healed up. You pulled away from him and walked away to go back up to the bar, with Wade following you like a lost puppy.

“Come on. You’re wearing your too tight skirt. I’m soaking.” He groaned against your hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I have wide hips. Everything is too tight on me.” You huffed and thanked the bartender for your new drink.

“And I thank the writer for that.” He mumbled against your hair making you roll your eyes.

“We can stay for half an hour longer then give Negasonic her gift then we can go.” You huffed and leaned into his hold, making you smile softly.

“Promise?” He asked as he turned you to face him.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, “I promise, you insufferable merc.” You huffed and kissed his lips softly and he whined when you pulled away without letting him deepen the kiss.

The night finished with you and Wade saying your goodbyes and giving Negasonic her present before you two left. Dopinder drove you and Wade to your apartment, and Wade could barely keep his hands off of you in the cab ride and it got worse as soon as you two stumbled into the apartment. Mary Puppins popped her head up as the door opened but settled back down once she realized who you two were. Wade quickly scooped you up into his strong arms, making you squeal softly.

“Wade!” You giggled and smacked at his back as he carried you over his shoulder and into your shared bedroom. He tossed you onto the plush bed, making your breasts bounce with the force and Wade quickly shed his clothes before tugging at yours. “Calm down, you piranha.” You huffed and stripped off your clothes and he was quick to press sloppy kisses to each expanse of your plush body. You let out a soft gasp as his teeth dug into your skin, leaving light marks on you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him up to your lips, he engulfed your lips with his, making you moan and whine against his lips.

He pulled away with his forehead pressed against yours and his hands moved down to palm your breasts softly, “Let me make a mess of these beautiful tits of yours. They would look so fucking beautiful painted in my cum.” He groaned and leaned down to suck one nipple into his warm and wet mouth, making your back arch into the pleasure that his mouth was providing. His hand palmed your other nipple with the same vigor of his mouth.

He pulled back and gathered the spit in his mouth and spat in between your breasts, and he moved to straddle your chest and slid his already hard cock in between your breasts. You moaned softly as he squeezed your breasts together, creating a soft tunnel for Wade to thrust back and forth in between your bare breasts. He let out a loud groan of your name as he felt your soft breasts wrapped around him.

His hands tugged and pinched your taut nipples, while keeping your breasts together. You let your hands rest above your hair as you let Wade use your body as he pleased. He moaned and grunted out noises and incoherent words as his thrusts grew sloppy with each time he thrusts in between your warm breasts. You let out breathy moans and gasps as he plucked and squeezed your nipples, till they were sore.

“F-fuck, cupcake, so soft, so warm. God, I’m gonna blow my fucking load. Paint these tits white with my seed.” He huffed as his thighs shook around your chest with each thrust. You took the tip of his cock into the warmth of his mouth and he cried out your name, his thighs tensing as he reached his peak. His cock let out spurts of hot cum, painting your tits in stripes of white, making you moan as his cum hit your skin.

He let out a stream of obscenities as he rode out his high and he promptly slumped onto the bed next to you. His chest rose up and down rapidly as he came down from his high. You let out a deep sigh and you turned your head to look at him and you slapped his chest. “Bum. Get up and make me feel good. I want to cum, you owe me one.” You huffed and he let out a chuckle and sat up and climbed on top of you.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes playfully and kissed your neck softly before looking over to the wall, “Sorry, readers. This is where it ends.” He winked before kissing you deeper.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #kinktober #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fandom #marvel fanfiction #wade wilson x y/n #wade wilson #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x plussized reader #deadpool #deadpool x reader

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cloudzzcore · 4 months ago

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Ambrosius x Mr. Wolf

—

Ambrosius is my oc! I just felt writing something for them.

Here’s Ambrosius Google Doc if you’re curious!! Doc

Playlist!!

Ambrosius was cleaning the windows of his bakery, The Ruby Rose, it was his sanctuary and a nice little place. He was lucky enough to even be able to buy especially after the guardianship trying to bar him from even moving away from Italy. The bakery was on the top of a hill, on a corner making it stick out to the eyes of people who would pass or if he

God that whole week was stressful yet it didn’t really matter to him anymore. The Arctic fox was so focused on the windows—Or his thoughts—to hear the sound of a car chase behind him or for the better term approaching him.

The engine roared as Mr. Wolf pressed down hard on the gas pedal, the car tearing through the streets with the police hot on their tail. His focus was split between navigating the twists and turns of the chase and listening to the chaos from the backseat.

Mr. Shark, Mr. Piranha, Mr. Snake, and Ms. Tarantula were all engaged in their usual banter, each one offering ideas on how to lose the cops. It was a typical day for the Bad Guys, but Mr. Wolf knew they needed to find a way out of this fast.

"We gotta shake these guys, Wolf!" Ms. Tarantula shouted from the back, her many legs busy typing furiously on her laptop.

Mr. Snake slithered across the dashboard, his eyes scanning the road ahead. "Take the next right! It'll lead us to a dead end, but we can double back through the alley."

"Or we could try to blend in," Mr. Shark suggested in his deep voice, clearly nervous as he peered out the back window. "Maybe a disguise?"

"Not the time, Shark!" Mr. Piranha snapped, hanging halfway out the window, firing a makeshift slingshot at the police cars behind them. "Just get us outta here, Wolf!"

Mr. Wolf gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the road ahead. They were coming up on a sharp corner—a perfect opportunity to outmaneuver the cops. He was about to take the turn when—

"Wolf! Watch out!" Mr. Shark suddenly bellowed.

Mr. Wolf's eyes widened as he noticed an Arctic fox, standing right in their path, reaching for a bucket of cleaning supplies. Time seemed to slow down for a split second as he and the fox locked eyes—those wide, startled blue eyes meeting his—and in that instant, he could see the life-or-death stakes of what was about to happen.

He yanked the wheel to the side with all his strength, swerving the car just in time to avoid the fox. The tires screeched, the car tilted dangerously, but somehow, miraculously, they didn’t crash. The car missed the fox by inches, but the force of the near-miss sent the fox stumbling back, pressing himself against the wall of the bakery.

"Hang on!" Mr. Wolf growled through gritted teeth as he struggled to regain control, the car skidding but ultimately straightening out as they sped past the bakery.

Ambrosius, the Arctic fox, was left breathless, heart pounding as he watched the car roar away down the hill. He was pressed against the wall, bucket forgotten, his mind reeling from how close he had come to being run over. But more than that, the brief but intense eye contact with the driver left him stunned, something in those amber eyes striking a chord within him.

Inside the car, Mr. Piranha laughed, though it was more nervous than anything. "Whooo! That was close! You okay, Wolf?"

Mr. Wolf nodded, still shaken from the close call. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just keep an eye out for any more surprises."

Ms. Tarantula shot a quick glance back at the bakery they had just narrowly avoided. "Did anyone else see that guy? He looked like he was about to have a heart attack."

Mr. Snake hissed quietly, his usual calm demeanor returning. "Let's just focus on not getting caught. We’ll worry about that later."

As they sped away, Mr. Wolf couldn’t shake the image of those heterochomic eyes from his mind, nor the sudden, unexplainable feeling of guilt gnawing at him. It wasn’t often that a simple chase would leave him rattled, but something about that fox had gotten under his skin. He pushed the thought aside for now; they had bigger problems to deal with.

But as they disappeared around the corner, Ambrosius slowly slid down the wall, his heart still pounding in his chest, unsure of why the encounter had left him feeling so shaken.

Ambrosius just sat there wrapping his arms around himself as a cop car stopped next to him and an officer stumbled out, Officer Jackson Foxington got out. He was his brother in law and governor’s older brother. He was a good man just with some social anxiety and some stage fright.

“Ambrosius! Holy shit.. a-are you okay?” Jackson's voice was filled with worry, his eyes scanning Ambrosius for any signs of injury.

Ambrosius, overwhelmed by the recent encounter and his own mounting stress, buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly. "I—I’m fine, Jackson. Just... just a bit shaken."

Jackson, though visibly anxious himself, stepped closer, his social anxiety momentarily forgotten in the face of his brother-in-law’s distress. “I can completely understand that.” He offered a reassuring smile, attempting to ease Ambrosius’s fear.

Jackson gently opened the bakery door and motioned for Ambrosius to come inside. “Let’s get you out of the cold. Come on in. We’ll get you sorted and make sure everything’s alright.”

Ambrosius, still feeling a bit disoriented, slowly got to his feet and followed Jackson into the bakery. The warmth of the interior was a stark contrast to the chill outside, and the familiar scent of freshly baked goods was oddly comforting.

Jackson closed the door behind them, the sound of the sirens outside gradually fading. He led Ambrosius to a small table and gestured for him to sit down. “Here, sit. I’ll get you something to drink. You look like you could use it.”

Ambrosius sat down, the adrenaline of the chase slowly giving way to exhaustion. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to shake off the lingering fear from the encounter. “Thanks, Jackson. I just—didn’t expect that. They almost hit me.”

Jackson, busy preparing a pot of coffee, glanced over with a sympathetic look. “I’m glad you’re okay. Those guys can be real trouble. I’ll make sure to put out an alert for them.”

As Jackson poured the coffee, Ambrosius took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The anxiety was beginning to recede, replaced by a deep sense of gratitude for Jackson's presence. “I appreciate it. I guess today’s been more eventful than I planned.”

Jackson nodded, placing a cup of coffee in front of Ambrosius and taking a seat opposite him. “Yeah, I’d say so. If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know. And remember, you don’t have to face these kinds of things alone.”

Ambrosius managed a small smile, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Thanks, Jackson. It means a lot.”

As they sat there, the tension from the day’s events slowly started to dissipate, replaced by a quiet, comforting companionship. The bakery, though still filled with the remnants of a stressful day, now held a sense of calm that Ambrosius desperately needed.

—

I might make a pt 2 but idk today was my first day of school tho.. BUT, Im also working on requests which is actually taking me a bit so expect some more works soon!

#mr wolf x reader #mr wolf x mr snake #the bad guys 2022 #the bad guys #the bad guys book #the bad guys dreamworks #the bad guys movie #the bad guys fanart #the bad guys mr wolf #the bad guys oc #Mr wolf x OC

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dreamycloud · 6 months ago

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❤️ first kiss / realization - I'd love to see this with Don and L3666 but would also be happy with regular Lokius!

Thank you for the first ask, @stillwanderingflame!!!!! Of COURSE I had to deliver a story specific to D3666 and L3666, but the challenge was that they already had their first kiss in my fic i bet on losing dogs. I needed to figure out a way to fulfill this prompt…and I think I got it. Enjoy!

“Of all the luck,” D3666 muttered, smacking his shin on the WaveRunner VX Deluxe he didn’t see in front of him until lightning illuminated the shop.

Rain fell as if heaven had a water hose aimed at Cleveland; he couldn’t see much out the windows beyond the silver deluge flooding the parking lot.

“You go on ahead, Dale,” Don whispered, rubbing his bruised shin through his khaki pants. “It’s Saturday night. Can’t keep that hot date of yours waiting. I’ll check the circuit breakers. No, I don’t need help.”

And look where his kind gesture got him. He was the one cut off from his family for the night with no way of reaching them. The phone lines were dead. He couldn’t even make smoke signals. A carrier pigeon would drown in that rain trying to fly home. He hoped Dale choked on his chips and queso.

He should have gotten off work at five, but his wristwatch told him it was past eight with no hope of escaping bunking down for the night in Piranha Powersports for the night. He and Dale had been on staff for the last shift, and at around 4:45pm, the power went out.

Problem was, despite one wall of the shop made of floor-to-ceiling windows, moving without walking right into the displays proved to be impossible. He also had no idea where the circuit breaker was. He may be a Chief Sales Officer, but he wasn’t the General Manager. Darlene was out on her annual trip to Honolulu and thought they could behave themselves like adults while she was gone. She liked cutting corners.

The biggest problem of all, he learned, at 5:10pm, was that the building’s security system kicked in. One feature was that the doors locked from the inside. Don, to his horror, discovered that he couldn’t leave. He had spent an embarrassing few minutes pushing and tugging on a door that would not budge. His arms were tired. His shins—both of them—hurt from multiple collisions. There should have been a flashlight in Dale’s station behind the counter, but damn it, he couldn’t find it.

So Don stumbled toward the back of the store, holding a prayer between his lips that he could do so without incident. Another lightning flash and he saw Thrustking before him. Don sighed and climbed up, tossing one leg over so he could sit up high and watch the nasty storm until he fell asleep still straddling the personal watercraft.

Loki would have put the boys to bed by now. Don had already cooked for the night, making plastic-wrapped plates of chicken parm made from cheap tomato sauce and dinosaur chicken nuggets. Green beans, French cut, drowned in butter for Kevin and Sean. Once he’d realized he was trapped, Don had scarfed down an old crinkly granola bar. So much for family dinner.

The pit in his stomach grew as he recalled the morning. He had been on his way out the door and stopped at the kitchen table to press kisses to the crowns of his boys’ heads. They squirmed and complained, splashing cereal, but they were not-so-secretly pleased by the attention from dear old dad.

“See ya later, sweetheart,” Don said, catching Loki in doorway. He rolled onto his toes to kiss Loki’s smooth cheek, but Loki startled like a deer and flinched away.

Don’s face burned with the rejection. He hadn’t waited for Loki’s stammering explanation, if he was even going to get one from the god. He grabbed his keys and ran off to work.

The rain hissed. Don wrapped his hands around the handlebars and squeezed. This was his first week back at work after recovering from the injury that nearly killed him when the Kree attacked. He had a nasty scar on his stomach but he was happy to be alive. Except today, maybe. Today, he was hurt and confused.

He and Loki had been intimate nearly every night since their first time. Loki seemed to adore him, his face slack with pleasure as he moved above Don. But Don still needed to be gentle, tempering his touches, waiting for the god to consent to each spine-tingling moment in bed. And when Don thought about it, he realized that Loki was in control. Loki kissed first and last. Loki pushed Don into bed or against the cold shower wall. Loki melted into him. Not the other way around.

Maybe that was the problem. Don hadn’t yet kissed Loki first. And he really, really wanted to.

“No help for it,” he muttered, grimacing. He respected that Loki’s healing journey would be long and jagged. The torture he suffered couldn’t be erased overnight, no matter how deeply he and the boys loved the god. But this morning had cut Don deeper than any knife. Made him wonder if maybe he wasn’t desirable enough. Maybe the idea of being kissed by Don might be equal to having a bucket of cockroaches dumped on Loki’s head.

He was only human, after all. Understanding only got him so far.

A crack of lightning made Don jump, fingers flexing on the handlebars. A shadowy figure stood outside the shop.

“Shit,” Don said, sliding off Thrustking in a panic. A robbery on a night like this? Where could he find a weapon?

A new sound coming from inside the shop—the plink, plink, plink of rain hitting the tile floor.

Don held his breath.

“Your dinner’s gone cold.”

He exhaled harshly. “Loki?”

L3666 burned his image upon Don in the next lightning flash. He was sopping wet, hair slick against his pale, sulky face and black trousers and sweater sticking like a second skin to his tall, slim frame. A puddle formed beneath him. The darkness came again. Loki’s voice was soft like silk. “Sean and Kevin are asleep. The sound of the rain knocked them out early.”

“Good, good,” Don said. His palms felt suddenly sweaty. He wiped them on his khakis. “How did you…?”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Loki said, sharp and full of hurt. “I must say, choosing work instead of a bar to avoid me is uninspired.”

Don blinked. What was he talking about? “How do you figure I’m avoiding you? In case you haven’t noticed, the power’s out. The phone lines are dead.”

Loki sniffed, offended.

“I’m trapped like a rat in his building until morning, O Great God of Limitless Power. Or did you forget to notice those details when you popped in here easy as pie?”

“Forgive me, I was more concerned with your absence,” he said stiffly.

“I’m glad someone was,” Don said softly. He took a few slow steps closer.

“When you didn’t come home,” Loki said, “I worried about what happened this morning. I didn’t mean to react the way I did.”

“I know,” Don said. The hurt he’d been carrying all day washed away with the rain.

“You were there so suddenly. In my face. I hadn’t been paying attention and it scared me,” Loki said, words tumbling over each other, silk turned frayed.

“It’s okay, Loki. I get it. I know.”

Loki’s ruined leather shoes squeaked as he approached. His hands slid over Don’s elbows, catching on his forearms. “You doubted me. I can feel it.”

Don looked up where he thought Loki’s face would be and felt the warmth of the god’s breath wash over his face. “No, no, no. I was hard on myself. Not you. Never you, sweetheart. I just wasn’t sure if I’m what you really want. If I can’t kiss you…”

Loki’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into Don’s forearms. “Kiss me, then.”

“Just like that?”

Loki let go, and in the next lightning flash, Don saw him tuck his hands into the pockets of his wet trousers. No longer touching, leading, directing. He waited for Don.

Don gently cupped Loki’s face, smoothing away the clinging raindrops on his cheeks. “Trust me?”

Loki trembled, his eyes electric green in the storm. “Always.”

Don led Loki’s mouth to his. Loki shuddered and moaned, leaning into Don’s kiss but made no move to control it.

He playfully smattered kisses on the god’s wet lips. My kisses are fun, he told Loki with his mouth, my kisses are a balm when you’re feeling blue. One hand slid to the back of Loki’s head and slowly curled into a fist, grabbing a handful of slick black hair. He pulled Loki even closer and slid his lips across the god’s, setting them both aflame.

Loki’s hands flexed restlessly in his pockets. Wordless begging between kisses, demanding more.

Don tilted Loki’s head and ran his tongue over Loki’s bottom lip. The god opened instantly. His other hand pulled roughly at the heavy, soaked sweater. They both moaned loudly then Don’s tongue curled around the god’s.

He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, lazy and slow, punctured by fits and bursts of desire. At one point, Don pulled away to catch his breath and saw the droplets clinging like crystals to his god in another lightning flash. He cupped the back of Loki’s neck and kissed the fragile column of Loki’s throat.

Loki gasped and raised his chin, exposing more of his neck. Don’s heart squeezed. This was Loki at his most vulnerable, bearing the most fragile part of himself. Don didn’t take that lightly. He was honored. Don supported the back of his neck and made a trail of kisses from his collarbone to the underside of his razor blade jawline. He licked up every droplet still clinging, cold rainwater melting on his tongue.

The rainfall let up right about the time Don’s lips had felt sore and sensitive from the small bites Loki allowed himself. They parted, breathing hard, searching for each others’ eyes in the dark.

“Suppose we go back now?” Loki asked hoarsely.

Don huffed, amused and madly in love. “That’s your call. I can’t get us out of here, but you surely can since you found your way in.”

Loki probably rolled his eyes. At least, Don hoped he did. He liked seeing the god get some humor back. “If we’re quiet, the boys won’t hear us.”

Don pressed a kiss to Loki’s cheek and grinned with Loki didn’t flinch. They could do this. They’d be fine. “Is that a challenge? Because I can’t think of a better way to spend our Saturday night.”

#lokius #loki #mobius #mobius m mobius #loki series #lokius ask game #ask game #kissing ask game #lokius fanfic

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