#sinday drabbles

[biteofcherry]

GOT!Steve + Overstimulation 💋

"I can't, I can't, I can't," you chanted into the sheets, lips leaving wet stains of drool on the fabric.

Your body was wrung out; muscles straining and aching, lungs burning. You kicked your feet helplessly against the mattress and fisted the covers near your head.

There was nowhere to run from the onslaught of sensations, which kept continuing and heightening the longer Steve took you.

You were locked on his knot. Again. And it seemed that a rutting Alpha's knot was somehow bigger than normally, or maybe you were just too tight from all the times he made you cum.

Steve snarled in response to your resistance. He spread his fingers on the back of your head and pushed your face into the mattress. His other arm hooked beneath your hips, served as an anchor keeping you firmly in place, while his cock kept throbbing and spurting inside you.

"Come again," his order was a guttural rumble.

When you shook your head (as much as you were able to with the way he was holding you down), Steve bared his teeth in displeasure.

The growl he emitted was unlike any other he pleasured and tormented you before. It didn't simply roll over your body with sensations, but was a snap that shot straight to your clit and core.

You screamed, gushing around Steve's knot.

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#quethekillerqueen #reply #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers x omega female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #grain of truth #lazy sinday #lazy sinday drabble

[astudyincontrasts]

You gave us jealous viktor which is great

But what about

HIS S/O GETTING JEALOUS BC OTHER GIRLS ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO HIM

You got it, nonny.  And just to kill two birds, we’re making this a continuation of drunk!Viktor for everyone asking for a second part. 

Inspired by @arcanescribbles artwork featured above, full work here

Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW  - Part 1

You didn’t know what you should have expected after that drunken night together.  It surely wasn’t this, though.  Awkwardness had been anticipated, sure.  Perhaps a touch of sweetly embarrassed self-consciousness around each other at what you’d done, at the fumbling, wordless admissions you’d both made about your attraction to each other.  

Because what had happened sure hadn’t felt one-sided.

Now, though… now you weren’t so sure.  The notion that perhaps Viktor had just been sloshed out of his wits and not actually interested in you had opened like a yawning, sickening little pit within.  A sinkhole growing by the day as he avoided direct eye contact, made no effort at all to speak with you beyond the formality of cool greeting or farewell.  Worse still, he never seemed to be in a room alone with you, or a room alone at all, preventing any attempt at quiet or private conversation about what had happened.

Truely, it was as if nothing indeed had happened at all.  At least for him.  Cool, collected, buried in his work, Viktor carried on his day to day blithely unaware of how you stood there, burning.  A crackling, scorching human flame of unanswered questions growing more painfully hotter by the day.  No, you were back to being another moving bit of the scenery in his world.  Nameless, faceless drone among the other lab workers and teaching assistants.

Perhaps you should have taken his example, forgotten all about that night and went on with life as usual.  It wasn’t as if he’d used you, after all, or led you on.  And with how incredibly drunk you’d both been nothing serious had happened.  Just a bit of heavy petting, just the feel of his skin on your skin, his large palms and long fingers greedy to cup each curve they could find, eager to squeeze and leave little light bruises behind that had just about faded to nothing a few days later.  Just the taste of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, just…

Maybe that was it.  Maybe the fact he’d had too much to drink to stay fully hard had him embarrassed.  Or the fact he’d passed out sleepily on you the second he had you beneath him on the couch.  Honestly, you’d slept together but that was it.  Just sleep.  Just a cuddled pile of half-clothed bodies dozing off the booze in a tangled heap of unsatiated sexual frustration.

Or perhaps it was that you’d left so ignominiously; waking well before him to untangle yourself, redress and sneak out without saying a word.  At the time you’d blearily thought it was for the best.  That this was saving the both of you an awkward, painfully hungover morning of shame and apology.  Now you realized you’d instead tossed away your one opportunity to actually make sense of what had happened, together.  

Had he been hurt, when he woke and you weren’t there?  Or confused?  Maybe he’d thought it hadn’t happened, that it had all been a boozy dream.  Or maybe he’d misunderstood your leaving as tacit agreement to pretend like your drunken fumble had never occurred.

It was difficult to say which of any of these horrible theories you liked least; that he had never been interested in you, that he was embarrassed of what had happened or regretted it, or that he felt hurt by how you’d slipped away like a thief without a word.  And no way to know since you couldn’t talk to him.

It was making you sick, the uncertainty.  

Sicker still to watch how little it seemed to affect him.  Going about his everyday, blissfully unaware of the weight of your gaze or the crumbling edge of the pit within you that kept shearing off beneath your feet as you suffered his presence in the world in silence.  It made you bitterly angry, had you short and sharp with everyone around you, made you feel like a mess of a person while he, gleaming and perfect and calmly polished, sat above it all untouched.

The breaking point came that weekend.  Almost two weeks to the day that your world had been unraveled by something as innocent as a little too much wine with dinner.

Progress Day.  The first one since the founding of the HexTech labs, since the breakthrough Jayce and Viktor had made that promised to change the world.  The first Progress Day since the council had approved HexTech for research and funded the project to design and build what would eventually become the first of the HexGates.  The experiments in controlling and directing the gates were coming along, and everyone was giddy with anticipation of the first manned attempt at travel scheduled in the coming months.  

Normally you loved the pageantry of the holiday.  Loved the tents and brilliant inventions on display, the bustle and busyness of the open streets and multicolored, intricate tents.  A feast for the eyes, the imagination, the mind and the senses, overwhelming and exhausting in all the best possible ways.  

But instead of a riot of color, your world was a wash of stark grays lit only by the livid flash of angry red as you stood there, manning the HexTech displays and tables along with your fellow lab workers, watching the fawning adoration of the crowds that streamed into the tent to meet the two men of the hour who were touting a brave new world for Piltover.

Jayce was ever the natural;  warm and delighted in the fawning attention, the undisputed and easy locus of the majority of the crowd.  Viktor less so, more reserved, but still beneficent in his acceptance of the attention.  He seemed to catch the overflow from those who couldn’t reach Jayce through the thick gathering that surrounded them both.  

And you stood there and watched, as over and over and over again some young woman or another chatted him up.  Fluttered eyelashes and smiled up at him, one after another, blushing prettily as he spoke earnestly, putting hands upon him in a vaguely inviting manner that had you want to vomit on your own feet.  Stomach lurching every single time he returned a smile, or someone got a little laugh out of him.

So many strangers apparently perfectly deserving of his attention while you were spared not a crumb.  Pretty Piltie debutants and eager university students alike, all lined up to take a greedy mouthful of what you’d already had a taste of.  

Your limit came when one of them, her hand resting upon his shoulder, leaned up on tiptoe to whisper something into his ear and you watched that insufferably pretty mouth of his curl cockeyed into a smile at the edge just under that dark little beauty mark.

The prototype model you held in the clammy grasp of cold-sweat slicked hands slammed onto the table top, your fellow lab engineers jumping at the sudden violence of it and no doubt staring at your angry little outburst as you spun on a heel and marched off.  Head throbbing with every livid heartbeat, the world a hot flame, you cut your way back to the silence of the labs through the crush of crowds and throngs of faceless revelers. 

They could all burn.  It could all burn.  

The labs were mercifully empty.  Quiet.  Work, work would help, surely.  The equations were a worthy opponent and the technical engineering a safe, logical haven where everything was neat, ordered, made perfect sense.  Nevermind that you couldn’t possibly do an ounce of the delicate work with how badly your hands shook at the moment.  Calm would come.  It had to.  First, to the stockroom to shed the fancy frippery of the university waistcoat and tie for the protection of one of the lab smocks and to get the equipment and ledgers you needed.

You were just tugging loose the intricate triple fold knot of the tie when you heard your name.

The question of your name, in that familiar voice.  Accent too gentle with the syllables of it, too careful with the sound.  Oh no.  Janna, no.  Please.

Viktor’s long, lean shape darkened the doorway of the small stockroom closet a moment later and you felt your mouth go dry even as burning wet prickled unwelcome along your lower lashes.

“Am I interrupting?”

“What are you doing here?  You’ll be missed.  Don’t want to disappoint all those adoring-” 

“I could ask you the same thing.”  Viktor’s even, unbothered tone cut off your hotly callous harshness.

“I’ve got work to do.”  It was a thin excuse, and as brittle as your voice.

“Oh.  I see.”  He was so gently willing to let you have your facade that it almost stung more than if he’d pushed back, dismantled your flimsy excuse and left you unprotected and easily seen.  A moment’s awkward silence fell like a sharp edged stone heavy between the pair of you as he turned, glanced toward the exit across the lab, and you felt sure he’d take the easy escape.

Instead he turned back, and one stilted step after another brought him into the closet with you.  

How many days now, had you been silently screaming, begging that he just look your way, just pay you an ounce of attention, acknowledge you existed?  And now, under the weight of both those amber eyes you fervently wished to disappear.  Your turn not to be able to look at him, hands struggling with your tie in a way that only made the knot tighter.

“Is something the matter?”

“W-why would anything be the matter?”  You asked thickly, dropping hands to your sides hard as you gave up strangling yourself with your tie and instead stared at the shelving in front of you as if it had done a personal injury to every member of your family and your dog as well. “You’d better hurry back.  Wouldn’t want to-”

“Are you mad at me?”  The quiet question stopped you cold.  Viktor’s cane clicked once more upon the floor as he swayed a step closer, and then hung the thing from the edge of a shelf to reach forward and pull the knot of silk around your throat loose.  Careful fingers teased the mess you’d made of it until you should have been able to breathe again, were it not for all the air in the room vanishing with his proximity.

So close you could feel the warmth of him.  So close you could smell that clean soap-chalk-coffee scent that was so essentially him.  Eyes closed tight, if only to stop the hot prickling threat of unbidden tears, brows knit hard together as you forced the hard thud heartbeat in your temples to cease, to let you think clearly godsdammit.

“I confess, I can’t remember everything that happened the other night.  I’m afraid I might have done something I regret.”  He continued, when you failed to answer.

There it was.  That sickly sense of nausea returned in double at the thought you’d taken advantage of him, that you’d both been too intoxicated and he’d never wanted what you’d convinced yourself he’d instigated.  That sucking void within beckoned dizzyingly.  Fall.  You deserved it.

The silk at your throat parted and you felt a tug on the back of your neck that confused you, had eyes opening to find Viktor’s hands with a grasp of either end of your tie, using the looped tether of it to drag you closer, inch by fractional inch until you had to turn the question of your gaze up to meet his.

His expression was tight, almost pained.  Like he was struggling to sift through the right words, or couldn’t force them to come at all.

“Viktor-”

“I think… I fell asleep on you.  During… well, before.  Anything.”  His attention had slipped from your eyes to your mouth as you stared at him in confused consternation, “Embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

Wait.  He was sorry?  That was his regret - falling asleep? 

“Have you.”  You had to stop yourself, swallow, fix a point of focus on the little mole just below his one eye to keep the world from dissolving around you before you continued, each word coming out clipped and heavy, “Have you been avoiding me?”

Golden flecked gaze lifted slowly from its fascination with your mouth to find your eyes again, and the silently strained discomfort of his expression said it all.  Don’t make me be this brave again sober.  The breath you sucked was sharp, prickled with the barbed thorns of sudden epiphany.

“When you weren’t there in the morning, I thought… Well.  And ever since you’ve seemed angry.”

Stupid boy.  Stupid, stupid, Janna how could the smartest man you knew also be the most profoundly stupid… Alright, not that you’d been so incredibly intelligent about all this yourself, but.  

All that doubt, all that jealous anger and uncertainty came rushing forward in a searing burst as you shoved him back against the shelves, caught his mouth as you went tiptoe and stopped the both of you saying another foolish word.  His initial grunt of shock thinned and warmed to a hungry little hum as that rough kiss deepened.  As you caught his lower lip in the tug of teeth before seeking the invitation of the press of his tongue against your own.  Hands found his tie and this time you mercifully did not make a mess of it as you got it loose, flung it away and yanked the buttons at his throat open until you could get to skin, skin yes Janna, the taste of his skin again under your mouth.

Above you Viktor sucked a sharp hiss of a breath between teeth as you buried your face in his throat; biting, suckling hard kisses, pouring every last drop of that fruitless jealousy into each taste of him.  Leaving a messy clustered path of darkening red and faintly purpling bruises behind from beneath his ear down to the sweet cut of his collarbone as his hands found the shape of your head, fingers sinking into hair and fisting tightly each time you nipped sharply or licked ticklishly over the faint pulse just under the hinge of his sharp jaw.  

Yours, and everyone would know it.  Everyone would see. 

Reeling back a fraction, you gulped air as fingertips stroked lightly over your handiwork, smiling thinly to yourself at the pretty little patterns of pink and plum you’d wrought on that long, pale column of his throat.

“What…?”  He was mumbling, puzzled at your smug, dark little expression of satisfaction, clearly as confused as he had been a few moments earlier about the nature of your feelings for him.

“Now all of those girls will know.  I don’t want a single one of them thinking they can… I don’t want anyone to…”  Words failed you as the hot sting of watching all those pretty women flirt with him as you stood helplessly by came rushing back and eyes darted from the possessive little marks you’d left to catch his gaze.  Found him looking lost and confused but madly wanting.  Brilliant idiot.

“I’m sorry I left.  I shouldn’t have left.”  Everything felt like a heady, dizzy hurry.  Two weeks worth of frustration and need pouring out and wiping away any sense of reason in the crushing wave. 

You slid to your knees and had his pants open before he could even suck a breath to shape a noise of protest or encouragement.  Desperate to show him how he didn’t need a single one of those other girls, to show him how much you’d wanted what had happened the other night and how badly you craved more.

Face pressed into the part of trousers, breath humid as your hands slid over his clothed groin, eyes turned upward in the heavy lidded need that he understand.

“Tell me to stop.”  You mumbled, finding the weight and soft curve of his balls through the fabric of trousers, cupping them in a constricting, slow roll of one palm that made the lovely shape of his mouth drop open.

“Nno.  No, don’t.”  His order was strangled, softly cracked and urgent.

He hissed relief when you freed him at last, gave him respite from the ever tightening confines of clothing and wrapped both warm hands around the considerable girth of his cock.  More than you’d anticipated, and the back of your throat burned just looking at it.  Gently curved leftward, thickness of it run through with two branching rising veins like a deep blue lichtenburg under pale but flushing skin.  The smooth bell curve head of him ruddy with an invitingly deepening rouge along slit and beneath the ridged rise of its edge.  

He practically invited taste from look alone, had you all too eager to lick the sensitive head of his cock to a glossy wetness as your hands worked him, pumping slow, too slow if the way his hips rutted forward into their grasp had anything to say about it, yet he made no move to guide or halt you.  One long fingered hand pressed to the flat of his own stomach, holding the front tails of his shirt up and back, offering a tantalizing view of the thin, darkly chestnut trail of hair that traced from just above his navel to the base of the cock in your grasp.  The other hand still gripping your hair, throwing you right back to how he’d teased you that night.  How he’d so perfectly summoned all those secret, dirty little fantasies of doing exactly this, exactly here, in this room.

An urgent, near angry little sound from him as you toyed tongue beneath the straining little sensitive line of frenulum beneath the head of his cock let you know the limits of teasing had been hit.  And once more you turned eyes upward, only to feel him tighten his grip upon your hair, the strained, sweet tugging burn coursing over your scalp in a centering little delicious burn of faint pain.

The look on his face had your thighs clench against each other hard.  Amber eyes gazing down from a face whose lovely angles made such a welcome seat for the bruised lust enthroned there.  Softly dark and dangerous, ravenously wanting in that thinly veiled way that looked so wonderfully devious in place of his usually guileless expression.

The warm, wet heat of your tongue flattened out, let the weight of his head just rest there before you sucked the tormenting tenderness of a wet little kiss off skin made slick by both the oozing beads of his own cum and your licking ministrations. 

“Do you want me?”  The words mumbled against the hot of his flesh pressed against your wetted lips.

He nodded and you frowned, the slight corkscrew spiral stroke of your hands slowing.  The genius finally caught the hint.

“Yes.”  The answer was breathy, molasses thick and dark.

“Just me?”

“Janna, yes.” You watched the heavy line of his brows tug in at their center as his knuckles pressed urgency at the back of your head. 

Lips parted as you pressed forward, holding his gaze unflinchingly as you let him into your mouth, watching his face, watching him come undone as he sank into the welcoming heat, until you had to let eyes drift shut as he nudged against the back of your throat.  One stilted swallow followed the repressed little shudder of a gag before you exhaled and opened in a slow relaxation that let him slide in as deep as you could take.

He tasted good, faintly bitter and sweat salt, clean and saturated with the heady, masculine scent that was just purely him.  So lost in the taste of him, in the feel of him filling your mouth, the weight of him against your tongue and lodged deep in your throat that you nearly missed the groaned, quiet noise he made above you a moment before the tug upon your hair insisted that you move.

Hands braced against lean thighs as you let him set the pace, let him use you, hollow cheeked and sucking hard, tongue a little curl around the sensitive heat of his head upon each withdraw.  Let him fuck your mouth at a languid pace that belied the urgency of how his hand in your hair was beginning to shake ever so slightly and the tension of thighs beneath your hands trembled with each little, restrained buck of his hips against the back of your throat.

The heated, weighted ache that had settled between your own thighs had you squirming, struggling to keep the balance on knees burning against the unforgiving hard floor.  If you could just drop one hand… slide it into the waistband of pants and-

“Viktor?”

Eyes flew open and a strangled little sound of shock and protest ripped from your throat as Viktor frantically yanked you off of himself with his grip of your hair, leaving tears welling reflexively at the sudden sharp burn of your scalp.

“Viktor?!”

Oh gods, oh fuck, oh no.  Jayce’s familiar voice and footsteps were approaching the open door to the stockroom too quickly to do anything about.  Viktor’s hands closed over your arms and heaved you upright, and in a second you were crushed full body against him, head tucked under his chin, face hidden from the door, the line of your body obscuring his state of arousal and undress.

“Vikto….ooooOH MY GODS.  OH JANNA.  Oh, I am.  I am so sorry.  Ha.  Oh, oh I’m sorry.  Hahaha uhh.  Sorry.”

You didn’t need to see Jayce standing in the doorway to know exactly how he’d reeled backward at the shock of finding his decidedly monk like, workaholic, staid introvert of a partner clearly in the throes of an illicit little fun in the lab, of all places.  Didn’t need to see him to guess at how he’d most likely slapped a hand over his own eyes, but was now more than likely also peering through the slats of two fingers at the disheveled pair of you.  At Viktor’s rumpled and opened shirt and all the darkening marks you’d peppered across throat and collarbone making it impossible to mistake what he’d stumbled upon for anything other than the dalliance it so clearly was.

Viktor’s arm tightened around you as you shoved the hot, mortified flush of your face into the safety of the crook of his far shoulder, clinging to him for dear life.

“What.  Did.  You.  Want.”  He asked, strained tone clipped and teeth clenched audibly.

“There’s a… gods I’m sorry.  It’s nothing.  The uh papers wanted a picture of us all, and uhm we got an invite to the councilors’ cocktail reception tonight… I’m gonna, I’ll uhm, meet you out there.”  Jayce’s voice trailed off as you could hear him back pedaling through the lab as he spoke until the slam of the outer door punctuated his departure.

The way the pair of you sagged against each other and groaned in unison might have been hilarious under any other circumstance.  As it was, it did have you each smiling ruefully, regretfully at one another in flitting glances that were shockingly shy given what you’d been doing not a moment before.  

His hands rose, cradled your head in a soothing touch as his mouth brushed your forehead, and for some reason that tenderness had you far more flustered than any of the filth that had just come before.

“Did I hurt you?  I’m sorry.”

“N-no.”  You offered up the white lie to save his concern, and accepted another soft kiss further up, against the tickle of your hairline before he released you.

It was clear, with how Viktor struggled himself back into his pants once you stepped back a touch, that going back to what you’d been doing was not on the menu.  And regret flooded eagerly in to fill the indent where all that sweet want had sat so deliciously heavy within.

“Viktor…”  You weren’t sure where to begin or where even that sentence would end as you stood there, tugging at the hem of your waistcoat.

He caught your face up instead, cupped cheeks in both hands and tilted you up into the hurried rush of a kiss before his forehead pressed to yours.

“Do you want to come to a party tonight with me, or would you rather stay home?  …Also with me.”  He added, quickly.  Brilliant idiot.

“I…”

“Let me know.  I have to go now.”  He bent, grabbed his tie, and caught his cane up off the shelf he’d hooked it to.  One last little stolen peck of a kiss burned warmly upon the apple of your cheek as he gifted you a slanting, reserved small smile on his way out the stockroom.

Left you to stand there, spinning while holding perfectly still, trying to sort out which way was up and what had just happened.  All that energy so ill spent in the last two weeks suddenly gone, leaving you feeling drained, empty save for the warm fluttering of confused excitement about how wrong you’d been. The glut of emotions was overwhelming, had you covering your face with both hands to exhale a silent scream.  

No, it hadn’t been a mistake.  Drunk and messy, yes, but not a mistake.  Oh oh gods, the marks you’d left on him!  The way you’d both been caught red-handed… 

No, no you had to get yourself together.  Get out of here, go outside, get lost in the crowd and ride out the confused elation and embarrassment and excitement surrounded by the distracting noise and crush of strangers.  No sooner had you hurriedly straightened yourself out and caught your breath, no sooner had you stepped out of the closet then you’d nearly walked face first into Viktor.

One more taste of his mouth in the rush of yet another hurried kiss as he caught your chin between thumb and the crook of forefinger.

“Please say you don’t want to go to that party.”  He begged breathlessly, crooked smile broad and eyes bright, as shocked, you shook your head in agreement.

“Good.  My place tonight?”

“Ye-yes ok.”

Sweet little thrill, to watch those fox-slanted golden eyes narrow in delight before he released you and hurried off, in so much as that gait let him hurry, only to stop by the doors and cast one more little hooking smile over a shoulder before he disappeared.

#viktor drabble #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane fic #viktor fic #happy sinday ya'll #part three you say? don't mind if i do #thank you scribs bby for the constant inspiration #muah

[newtabfics]

Could I have 1 with Ganondorf from the spicy prompts list?

I'm sitting here kicking my legs HEHEHEH

Send me prompts from THIS list!

"I know we're just friends though," She sighed, looking away from him.

"Friends?" He scoffed, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes bugged as he trapped her against the wall, using his arms to cage her in. Her heart hammered as she met Gerudo's eyes. "I don't think so. Friends don't know how you taste."

"G-Gan..." She mumbled, cheeks flushing as he lifted her chin. He leaned in, lips scraping against hers. "We shouldn't do this."

He glared at her at that. "I don't care. Unless you tell me otherwise, i want you to be my queen. I want you to rule alongside me. I want to be the only man who beds you at night." he smirked. "Though, I doubt you've even found another who can reach as far as I can."

"you're crude," She huffed before grabbing at the fabric over his chest and pulling him close, lips colliding.

#ganondorf smut fic #ganondorf totk #totk ganondorf #ganondorf smut #ask request #ask me stuff #drabble #spicy dialogue prompt list #ask game #Sinday Spice

[a-gal-with-taste]

Incognito (NSFW)

Summary: Getting arrested actually isn’t as rare of an experience, at least if you're a true Zaunite. In the height of a revolution, handcuffs are as common a sensation as breathing for those prone to troublemaking among the Lanes. It’s the staying in handcuffs, that’s a far-rarer experience.

Silco finds, in this particular incident, with this particular Enforcer, he might just enjoy it.

Warnings: NSFW|MDNI. Roleplay, rough/alleyway sex, slight glove-kink, spit-kink/spit-as-lube, handcuffs, young Zaunite revolutionaries, handjob, brief aftercare, banter, dirty-talk, ‘fuck the police’ but make it literally(?)

As a Zaunite, Silco knows he has no rights. Oh, he's sure that on some fancy paper, on an equally extravagant desk in the highest building in Piltover, there's some drabble about legalities and common-courtesies that are afforded to citizens of the Undercity, especially by those in power.

Obviously, said-niceties are ignored, especially by those in power. Zaunites quite literally reside beneath the feet of Enforcers, why should they see them as anything less than living dirt beneath their boots?

It's predictable, but it still makes Silco fume. The fires of the indignity seem to course through his veins, and though he's had a lifetime to get used to such unfair normalcy, that doesn't mean he intends to stay comfortable with it.

Just like he makes no intentions to stay comfortable in his current situation, with wrists locked tight enough to bruise behind him, and a boot planted firmly at the small of his back.

"You keep that up, I won't even have to do anything to you." The Enforcer's voice is cold, mechanical though the full-coverage helmet on their face. "Wear your damn self out all on your own... Zaunites like you always got too much spirit."

"I prefer calling it self-respect. We actually have it, it's got a nicer ring to it, and it's a bit more harder for you to break out of us." The cuffs are tight, and if they were meant for comfort for it's wearer, obviously they were created by some sort of masochist. Admittedly, Silco had weighed the options of thumb-dislocation, but though his adrenaline was rushing, the pain would still be enough of an inhibitor that, even freed, would hinder him from taking control of the situation again.

Not that his officer gives him any chance to take any sort of control. The bottom of the boot is replaced with a knee, digging hard enough that Silco hisses into the alley-ground beneath him. Kneeling literally atop of him, the uniformed-individual takes hold of his metal-joined wrists and halts the struggles he makes to free himself through the old-fashioned way of wiggling. "These are Piltovian cuffs, you really trying to get out?"

"No. I actually quite enjoy being thrown around by Enforcers - highlight if my evenings, really."

"Smartass... that what got you caught by those other officers? Winning attitude?"

"Regretting the rescue?" Twisting until he's looking over his shoulder, dark hair askew around his face, Silco grins sharply at the unexpressive helmet that seems to glare back at him. "Oh, but with armor so shiny, I bet you were just waiting for the opportunity." And how opportune they had been. A simple tussle outside a bar, with a different set of Topsiders looking to fill their quota of arrests.

Famous, for lack of stair-railings and it's ability to break fissure-folk. But it seemed the officer that had taken him from the original two on their own, seemed keen to break him before they ever made it to that Enforcer tower.

Obviously, Silco hadn't gone willingly.

And equally obviously, a third officer had appeared at the sound of his struggles against the original two, offering to take him to none-other than Old Hungry itself, the infamous, age-old Enforcer tower growing straight up from the depths of Zaun itself.

"Yes," They finally admit, respirator drawing out the slow-breath they make at his accusation, as they drop his cuffed-arms and let them fall onto the small of his back, where they curl into fists. "Yes, I was waiting for them to grab you. Your idiocy is something that could be seen for miles - it was obvious you were up to no-good, even before you went and got yourself caught. You're lucky I was there, can't imagine you would've survived a stint in Stillwater-"

"How touching. A Topsider showing concern for a Dweller-"

His taunt clearly frayed at some already scattered nerves, because with a low growl that seemed to amplify out the mask, gloved fingers grabbed his arms to haul him up. The world spun before it slammed - or rather, he did, right into the alleyway wall. Metal and brick digging into his back as he grunted, cracking his gaze open to peer at his savior through dark locks. Sharp white glinted between them, as Silco could almost catch the dark, irritated glint of their eyes behind the visor. "Such hostility. Must I make a complaint?"

His tone is just as dark, and still a taunt, but there's also a question in his voice, one that has the palm pressing flat against his chest to twitch at it's implications.

"... just trying to do my job."

A smile, nearly genuine crosses his face, and he leans in the space between them, soon close enough that his breath fogs up the lens of the helmet visor. The causes the hand to fully still against his chest, though Silco feels the tremor that runs up his officer's arm as he speaks, lowly and nearly-coaxing, "I do believe your job entitles you to a search. Unless I'm free to go, in which case-" Metal creaks behind him. Digging into already-bruised wrists, but he only smiles, quirks a brow as fingers tighten to curl into the front of his shirt as he breathes.

From his words, or the knee that has snaked up to rub between his Officer's legs. Full of promise, and familiarity.

"-in which case, I can take that pretty little key and be on my way, officer-"

"Literally stop talking."

Any taunts grow mute on his tongue as the tormenting knee his maneuvered out of the way for the Enforcer to move between both legs, the one from his chest snaking to curl and grip his hair, while the other hand ventures down. A strangled sound comes from the respirator, at the same time as a gloved hand palms him between his pants.

"You get off from this?"

"N-not exactly... actually never gotten this far in an arrest before-" Leather rolls and creaks against his clothed crotch, causing him to his at the firm, rough friction that not even his pants can fully render null. "Smartass," His Enforcer teases, giving a squeeze that drags out his hiss to fill the very cracks of the abandoned alleyway. "Attitude like that, you should be cuffed more often."

"Kinky," Cyan-green eyes crack over, and a dangerous smirk crosses his face. Absurdly so, considering his position, but he doesn't seem to consider it at all as he drawls almost teasingly. "But I have a partner."

The hand stills against the strain in his pants. For a moment, breathing heavily through his nostrils, Silco wonders just how unimpressed that face is beneath the helmet - and how long it would take for him to struggle out of the cuffs if his little officer decided to leave him there in their lack of amusement - when deft, quick fingers find the bottoms and zips to his pants, and he hisses out his approval into the evening air.

The feel of a glove around his length is rough, stern, unforgiving and gloriously firm around him. Hips nearly go to thrust into the grip, when, as quickly as it appeared, it abandons him again, earning a growl from deep in his throat.

This, in turn, earns him a rougher tug on his long locks, "Quit bitching, your wrists are already going to be raw from this. You want your cock to get marked up with friction too?" Unimpressed, but at least considerate, the Enforcer raises the flat palm of their glove up to the level of his chin.

Chest rising and falling with growing celerity, Silco glances between leather and reflective metal, piquing a brow. "Do you really want me to rub you dry, Trencher?" The slur makes that rising brow narrow, blue-green eyes now slits, but the Enforcer is unperturbed. "Know some of you got a thing for sadism, but that's really-"

Silco, as usual, has specific and precise aim.

While close-quarter jabs and stabs are his specialty, it cannot be denied that the young Son of Zaun has a aptitude for taking aim, with his throws, and, with a swish of his tongue and a precise shift of lips, his saliva as well.

The man grinned like a shark, at the way his Officer jerked back, growing-still as the wad dripped slowly down the reflected-visor, right between where the eyes would be. Silco took a moment to hum, barely apologetic before once more gathering moisture onto his tongue, and without removing his gaze from the reflective surface of the helmet visor, and the no-doubt wide eyes behind them, lands a second-thick wad of liquid onto the awaiting gloved hand.

Silco smiles, thumping his head back against the wall, and the still-gloved fingers in his hair. "Need anything else for me to assist you with your job, officer?"

His chin all but bounces off the wall behind him as he's turned, roughing shoved against the surface as the fingers twist into his hair, yanking it back while the other glove hand snakes back around to wrap around his cock. "You're insufferable-"

"Oh, you must've... hnng, you had to h-have known we'd be difficult down here..."

"Should've left them drag you to Stillwater."

"Less paperwork that way, t-true."

There’s a squeeze on his cock, filled with friction and also bordering on painful, that leaves Silco to hiss instead of continue his mocking. Regardless, he thrusts into the grip that never ceases to slow or settle, groaning out through gritted teeth when a thumb slides over his head with purpose, and familiarity.

The faint semblance of syllables behind his tight-teeth makes the respirator next to his ear hiss-out, a shaky breath escaping his Officer's helmet as he grinds out the name again. "You're insufferable, loud-mouthed and I should've let them drag you off to jail, you moron. By Janna, did you even have a plan if I hadn't come along?"

"Not really, but c-considering how... e-eagerly you're stroking me, d-dear, it's clear you d... did-"

The hiss fades into an echoing rumble within your helmet as the glove becomes stained with the sudden release, cock twitching in your grasp as you work him through his orgasm. Relishing in the heaving groan that’s muffled with his forehead pressing against the wall before you, you wait until it starts breaking into the beginnings of an over-stimulated whine before you pull your hand away. Chuckling at him small hums and grunts as, after pointedly wiping off the cum-dripping glove on the tail of his shirt, you tuck his cock back into his pants before both armored-arms come down to wrap around his torso from behind. “You, have issues.” 

"Oh shut up, Silco." Chest-to-back, they spread the leaking pre from their fingers all along his length, giving special attention with a smooth leather-clad hand makes the man thump his forehead against the surface in front of him, hips bucking with every motion, and fighting back a pleasured groan as dripping-fingers twist with the next motion along his cock. 

Admittedly, he’s unable to fight the next round of strangled sounds from escaping him, the moment you catch his reaction and ensure to trace along the veins of his throbbing length with purpose. That purpose, apparently, is the whiney-breath that contains your name, that once more makes your respirator hiss with an unrestrained pant of your own at his sounds of pleasure.

“What’s that thing Benzo started? Something about fuck, and the, and Enforcers?” Turning, he catches your hands in his own, humming at the angry red marks left on his wrists. Your hands flex in his grip, possibly out of guilt as you gaze at the sight yourself, but his palms soon slight from your wrist, arms, armor-padded shoulders, until he catches the latch of your helmet beneath his fingers. “I must admit, in this particular situation, it has a quint ring to it,” He murmurs, green-blue eyes crinkling at the corners when the helmet clatters to the ground, the sight of his fellow revolutionary a welcomed and familiar sight indeed.

Silco only chuckles, albeit weakly at the feel of the helmet resting gently against his shoulder blades, and arms squeezing his waist gently as his breathing returns to normal. “You initiated it, dear. I merely followed your lead... and I'm grateful for the efforts to go incognito, it got me out of an arrest, after all... among other, much more agreeable things.”

“Yet here you are, still in cuffs. Freak.” Not for much longer though, for with one last squeeze around his waist, and a clink of metal, there’s a lack of pressure on he’s hands that soon smoothed by your own - flesh and blood fingers, not leather anymore. “Vander’s gonna kill us, you know. This uniform is meant for undercover-work, not fucking around. Literally.”

“See, you do have issues if you think fucking in one of these is a good time,” You say, giving a dirty-look to the helmet abandoned on the ground. The debate to kick it is clear in your eyes, but alas, it’s the only one the revolution has for infiltration-work. You shudder, complaining even while your hands come up to interlock with his, thumbs rubbing away the the worst of his sore wrists, “It’s so... stuffy, even with the ventilator! Sweet Janna, do Topsiders just forget how to breathe once they get underground-”

“Hm.. Is it built into the helmet?”

“Yes, but, they make you carry a spare, and it’s more like a gag than an actual breathing-aid.”

“Oh?” His wrists were still pink, but a gentle roll proved they would fade back to normal after a day. Good to know, just as the information you were proving was just as... insightful. “You know what I realized, officer?”

In dark promise, purpose, and familiarity.

Your eye-roll at his hoarse purr was long, and before you even fully-realize why his hand leaves you, quickly interrupted.

Not by words, but by the simple sound of metal clicking shut around your wrists. Shortly followed by a sound of the air knocked out of you, as positions flipped - brick digs into your back, and with Silco gripping the bit of metal between your wrists to keep them pinned and high above your head, they dig just as hard into your skin.

Silco smiles, almost genuine and equally as shark-like as before, as a hand snakes up your side while a knee slots between yours while he leans close, seeming to inhale the sharp gasp you make. “I realized, you aren’t very good at your job. You caught the suspect, certainly, but you didn’t do a good job searching.”

“I-” Your weakened breath of his name is muted quickly, though not with the sound of metal again, but with his knee shifting purposefully between your thighs, at the same time as his finger almost playfully flicks at the spare-respirator slung at your hip.

Brilliantly, you had referred to it like gag, and could see the consideration of such a comparison in his eyes as Silco leaned close, breath close enough to fog up your visor, if you still had such protection.

Or wanted it, as your eyes flutter briefly as his words and breath traced your face as it twisted with pleasure under the shifting of his knee between thighs. 

“Perhaps I ought to show you how to properly search a 'Trencher'... Officer?”

-

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#i fell asleep before posting tbh #y'all can point and laugh I deserve it #sinning sunday #sinday #silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #my writing #18+ #lol arcane silco #gender neutral reader #silco x gender neutral reader #young silco #feral zaunite revolutionaries #oneshot #drabble #lemon #citrusy #completed #lol arcane #fanfiction #fanfic

[cxpperhead]

The days were getting shorter and so was Copperhead's tolerance for the cold, the abrupt end of summer leaving a distinct chill in the air he hadn't quite gotten used to yet. Doing so would take time; the changing of seasons always caught him off-guard even though he could feel it in his scales that winter was coming, speeding towards the land on hurried winds of mist and cold. Just the thought made him not want to get up ever again, to never leave this haven of comfort and warmth even though he knew he couldn't stay forever and neither could his guest for that matter, despite having spent a most wonderful night nestled within his coils... A rustle in the blankets caught his attention suddenly, movement in the blankets next to him alerting Copperhead that his companion was not only stirring but beginning to awaken, their new position quickly leaving him cold as their bodies momentarily seperated- "No, don't move yet." Copperhead mumbles sleepily, muscular tail sliding around their torso before soundly dragging them back into his nest of blankets and duvet covers with a soft thump. Renewed warmth instantly floods through his scales, bringing him fresh waves of pleasure though perhaps much to his bedmate's chagrin, now finding themselves being treated more of a captive than lover.

#🐍 || musings #;; drabble #Just a sleepy smol before bed bc Copperhead is a real hog when it comes to bedtime #Mainly when it comes to sharing a bed with someone :') #He will not let them leave until he is good and ready #Unless it's an emergency GOOD LUCK #;; sinday #I'm not sure what I was doing with this but I'm sure I'll be disgusted with my writing when I wake up #Good news everyone just one more shift tomorrow and schediule should be back to normal! #Then again that's what they said last time lmao #Ah well we shall see #I'll try and get a response or two eked out in the morning my writing has suffered HARD in this workload #Just wanted to write a sleepy snek I guess :') #Some muses he will absolutely do this to asdfghjkl

[goldensimisage]

.

#to maybe do sinday stuff #or to start the next drabble #ooc

[apoapsis]

-

#++|| OOC #.... do i post the nsf.w comic or the nsf.w drabble for sinday....

[biteofcherry]

Lazy Sinday 😈😈😈😈😈

Any of your steves and the chase kink 😌😌😌😌😌😌

You're not sure when exactly it happened, nor why, but suddenly the playful joy and sense of triumph as you snatched the little blue flag turned into a rush of adrenaline and dark kind of excitement.

A fun game which you took as a chance to annoy Steve a bit, but which became a run for a different kind of victory. Not necessarily one where you make it to the campsite before him.

You purposely joined Bucky's team and roped Natasha to join your efforts as well, while Steve and Sam were your opponents. Steve gave you that warning look already then, when you bounced next to Bucky and Amita, loudly proclaiming that you were going to beat Alpha's ass.

The rules were simple - sneak into the opponent's zone and steal their flag. Before they stole yours.

Thanks to Natasha and Bucky you were able to do it. But the moment your fingers gripped the blue fabric and you bolted through the forest, your instincts kicked into an overdrive.

You ran ahead, not looking behind you, but you knew - you just knew - that your Alpha was after you.

Your heartbeat raced. Your nipples hardened as a jolt of arousal at being caught shot through you.

You didn't want him to catch you, but at the same time you did. Your Omega brain elated in excitement from being chased by your mate; your pussy throbbed, slicking in preparation.

"No!" You cried when Steve's body collided with you, his strong arms caging you.

But as he forced you down onto the ground, pinning you to the forest floor with his body, you couldn't contain the needy moan spilling out.

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#anonymous #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers x omega female reader #grain of truth #lazy sinday #lazy sinday drabble

[ainyan]

Random Sinday drabble.

I just realized Kali's never slept with a woman. Like, she's kissed a woman (there's picture proof out there), and she's flirted with women, but she's never touched/been touched/had sex with another woman. Most of my characters end up being pan because I'm pan - I look at attitude/personality/voice first, and only physical features a distant second. But Kali's fairly straight-seeming.

I wonder if she'd enjoy it. Hmm. All of her lovers have been men, but that's mostly opportunity and the fact that I'm not terribly attracted to many of the NPC women out there (those that are physically attractive are often unattractive on a personality level to me/Kali). Except maybe Lucia.

Okay, except definitely Lucia. (Damn you, Lana, and your sexy voice.)

>.>

#drabble #sinday #kal'istae miurani

[hunterxxandxxhisxxpanther]

The “Fine Art” of Vampirism: Sucking (and we don’t mean blood...this time)

bass. my muse going deep (interpret as you want).

@thatdoodlebug​

“Hunter...” 

There is something about the way his nickname rolls off the other’s tongue in a specific drawling tone that has his nerves prickling because it is clearly dripping with a familiar want and desire that coils tightly low in his stomach as his own desire raise in agreement. His tongue darts out between his lips and he takes a slower breath to get a bit of a hold of himself. “Yes, Panther?” he returns seemingly all focused on what he’s doing which happens to be cleaning the latest ensnared rabbit which would no doubt make a great stew. But it’s not remotely where his mind is and he has a suspicion the other is very much aware of it.

“Hunter.” The emphasis on the repeat is enough to have him unable to resist a smile curving at the edges of his lips. He knows what that impatience signifies and knows that pushing much more might have a sight to behold for anyone who might show up to the castle. He’s pretty sure that neither Merle nor Rick want to walk in on them again. He’s not sure what time this would make but he can’t say as he’s too surprised. 

They tended to be very intense around each other and more often then not things spiraled into passions that spilled out. So he’d promised Rick that he’d try to be a little more contained these days. And he was trying. 

Success rate was...a work in progress. So he decides not to have the counter reset today and carefully sets the carcass aside so he can fully turn and face the other before there is a tonal shift. “Yes, Kitten?”  The look flashed tells him so much and he murmurs, “Lemme clean up and I’ll meet yer in th’ bedroom.”  “Arrive promptly if you do not mind, Hunter.” “Make it in under ten, promise.” He has an idea if he doesn’t the other will reappear and he’s sure everyone in the vicinity might get an eyeful. But that was the result heat and desire that rose between them, and it was a craving, needy thing which he still wasn’t sure there was control to be found or how one might go about doing that regardless. So until it was truly a problem then he’d do what Dixons were very good at: ignoring it all together. 

So he makes quick work, as promised, of cutting and storing the kill so that the meat could be used properly later and cleaned the table as well as he was sure that he doesn’t want to hear someone complain about lack of care or whatnot. He has more important things on his mind or at least a more important vampire. It’s with this in mind, he slips his boots off before slipping up the stairs lips curving into a smile brought easily at the other granting more of a bounce in his step as he heads for the chambers he’d chosen as his. Stepping into the room, he finds the other sitting on the edge of the bed leaning forwards showing his impatience. It draws a low chuckle from him as he shuts the door before twisting the lock. “You find me amusing do you?” 

“No, nothin’ like that,” he’s quick to assure, “‘M more pleased and delighted by th’ fact yer look like yer ‘bout ta launch from there like some caped missile.” 

“To be fair, I do blame you for my... lack of control these days. Or rationality. Or truly anything close to stoicism. You do make me very hungry, Hunter. So if you are done finding me a source of amusement, come here.” Daryl is still chuckling softly as he makes his way across to him. “So impatient. Would think yer were starvin’ or somethin’. Can’t really blame me fer...” The sentence is derailed rather violently by the sudden removal of his pants and boxers in a fashion that speaks to the other’s supernatural abilities and clear impatience with things. On the plus side at least these are spared being torn from him but only just as he’s fully aware due to the unfortunate demise of a few other clothing items.

However he can’t really worry too much when fingers drag him closer and he hears the impatient hiss that has him focusing on the other because it’s not usual that his partner is this pushy but the look leveled at him is something: dark and hungry. “D-damn, Kitten, what...” And again his voice trails off but this time it becomes a startled groan as he finds himself with the other shifting so that he he can lean and press his mouth over him without any warning. And the hard suck has him jerking forward. “Ahn!” His fingers find the other’s dark locks and tangle there. “Fuck....Oh...Yes, that’s...fuck...jus’ like that...” It’s not too long before there is the lewd sounds of the other sucking pressing close and Daryl’s head swims from the sheer intensity of it. His eyes close and his head lolls back as he draws him as close to his abdomen as he can get arching as the other sucks and curls his tongue as he seems to take him in exceptionally deep and swallows making him shake and the most desperate noises escape. 

His partner was very, very good with his mouth. Always had been. And seemed to just enjoy finding more and more ways of trying to remove Daryl’s soul with each encounter. As if it wasn’t already his to begin with. As if he had anything left to prove to Daryl in order to keep him. 

There was no where else and no one else Daryl would ever belong to but him alone. If it wasn’t bewitchment or enchantment then gods both above and below knew it was love. Had to be.

But introspection frays and tatters and vanishes in the skill of the others mouth, in the way he holds and presses and takes him apart in this way. It’s a powerful image, Daryl realizes as when his eyes open half-lidded and more silver than anything, even if the other thought it subservient. The vampire was a powerful sight on his knees like this. One of the most fantastic sights maybe bested, a little bit, by him splayed and shaking beneath him. His fingers thread and tighten. “T-Take m-me so well...f-fuck...wh-what a hungry Kitten yer are...Th-that’s it...sweetheart...get yer cream...”

The encouragement, not that it was truly needed considering there was enough desire between them to set the castle ablaze by it’s heat alone, still has lewder and wetter sounds escaping and it robs Daryl of his senses and coherent words. Instead it’s stuttered partial curses and arching and guttural sounds as the other works him up. 

And the payoff has him jerking him sharply against his groin with this sound; primal and desperate as he spills deep into the others throat. And it leaves him shaking and struggling to breathe properly as the other pulls off, mouth a mix of drool and bit of cum that can’t be contained and he looks so satisfied that Daryl cannot help shifting and pressing a kiss to his mouth tongue darting in and tasting the mix of his own semen and the other’s taste with a low rumbling sound before he finds himself shoving him to sprawl back on the bed. 

He nips his lower lip as he gazes in heady want. “L-like yer cream?”  The other licks his lips before giving him a satisfied grin. “You know I do have a...healthy appetite these days.”  Daryl finds himself giving a breathless laugh before he reaches and undoes his cape. “Well, if yer don’ wit’ yer treat then I want mine. ‘Cause now yer have me ravenous...”  “What a terrible fate,” comes the cheeky response, “but do please make sure to not let that get wrinkled. I do have an...image to uphold.”  Daryl gives a snort but he’s still careful with the familiar cape draping it over the nearby chair before he affixes the other. “Now, I think we have a date, Count Dracula, you and I.” 

“Oh, is that so, Hunter? Is the famed Van Helsing going to stake me as in days of old?”  Daryl shifts so that he’s straddled over him. “Oh, yer have no idea, sweet Kitten,” he breathes out, “Gonna make sure to do it hard an’ deep until yer well an’ truly put to rest.”  It draws a low pleased sound. “Sounds like a good time, sweet Hunter. So do your worst, Van Helsing...” 

#Dracyl Drabble #{{Definitely not safe for public reading}} #{{And yes I have a terrible sense of humor and think my titles can be funny}} #Stake Night Sinday #{{Still not sure I capture Drac as well as you but I'm trying...}} #{{Yes it ends abruptly}} #{{XDD}} #{{Will write the following scene as another drabble}}

[crucifixi]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Wolfwood leaned over Angelina, his hands deftly working on the motorcycle's engine. As he tinkered with the intricate parts, beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

As he focused on his task, Wolfwood's hands meticulously worked on the delicate intricacies of the motorcycle's engine. With practiced precision, he adjusted the timing belt, tightening it just so, and replaced a worn-out spark plug, coaxing life back into Angelina's beating heart.

A drop of motor oil splattered onto his cheek, interrupting the symphony with an unexpected note. Wolfwood paused, pulling away from Angelina, his eyes momentarily diverted from his beloved machine.

Instinctively, he reached for the end of his shirt, drawing it up to his face. With a gentle swipe, he wiped away the errant droplet, leaving behind a smudge that mingled with the sheen of sweat on his cheek

With a gruff grunt, Wolfwood pulled away from Angelina, his gaze shifting momentarily to the smudge on his face. Frustration etched lines on his forehead as he muttered.

❛ Hopefully this works.. ❜

#✟ ｡ — ❛ my primary objective is to protect. ❜ ( drabble . ) #// hey sexy lady —get shot— #// have one sexy thing he can ever do before sinday over —winks—

[surpriseattack]

suggestive tw. @iobartach * the ' they fight and... ' and things get spicy lol

What led them to spar led them to blood and fangs. In a tangled web of carefree provocation and the mundane gesture of offering a word or a cup of coffee eventually, those things became a means of pining for each other whether they wanted to admit to the act themselves or not. A means to challenge their ideals — how far they would take something as simple as idle infatuation and run with the notion until the network of threads they've intricately woven around the idea had become too much and too strong for them to simply detach from without hindrance as they would like.

They'd have to tear through the silk and leave themselves in tatters. And that's exactly what they do.

An exchange of words that manifests into an argument until they're throwing punches and dodging kicks from each other. The clash of opinions about Canon Events is quickly made a thing of the past when their fight becomes a dangerous dance. Everything is laid out on the table. Like a fight breaking out in a parking lot, they each took a metaphorical glass bottle and prepared for battle.

Miguel's approach was violent : the end of the bottle shattered and jagged. Each punch thrown with a purpose to knock its target prone if caught in its strike. And with each swipe a dangerous possibility of being torn open in a splash of death and crimson. The hostile nature, however, is expected for Noir and he keeps his bottle solid and firm, dodging blows and hitting his enemy with precision and a means to deflect or block. But he draws blood. Red trickling from the other's nose. And that might've been the detective's biggest mistake yet.

If he hadn't known the other's temper, he may not have been able to create some distance for himself before the ferocity of Miguel's attacks turned to downright animalistic.

❛ 𝙾'𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙! 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝! ❜ He raises his hand to swing and attempt to flee, but he's caught by the hem of his trench coat and is dragged back into the fight. The other's claws raking across the metal of the damn floating platform they always found themselves conversing on as Noir rolls towards an opening with barely any space to escape.

He's playing defence now, arms crossed and in front of him. The only safety net around are the hard edges of the control panels and monitors that are being slashed to sparking bits. He can't recall if he'd actually seen LYLA fizzle into view at one point before his eyes, before she too was sliced away without care but the thing with holograms is that they come back and he could've sworn he heard panic in her voice. Whether that was towards the damage being caused to the equipment or that she was actually pleading for his life.

Noir grunts as he's thrown against one of the controls, barely able to catch himself before he reaches for his gun. But he doesn't take it out of its holster. ❛ 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙾'𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚊! ❜ He had time to fire a warning shot, but he doesn't. Like a lion out of its cage Miguel pounces on him, pinning him against the keyboards and lights. Noir expects to be berated into which he would've willingly taken just for the fight to stop. But what Peter Parker of Earth-90214 surrenders to are fangs sinking into his throat, tearing through fabric and flesh and drawing his blood.

He manages to stifle a sound rising from his throat — catch himself for what they've become from becoming a reality. At least in his mind if he continued to resist, he wouldn't have to admit anything out loud as to what they were. But laying down felt nice, and warm and... he was so tired. He doesn't continue to resist and he whispers Miguel's name.

And then a weight comes off him, steering him to awake over the curtains that had begun to close over his vision. Out of habit Noir waves his arms, attempting to push the body that isn't there anymore and he stumbles to his feet. He's seeing double, the world spinning around him for a moment and he doesn't know whether that was from the blood that was drawn from his person or the lavender haze that had washed over him during that intimate encounter.

There's no balance to his steps. Every sound his boots made against metal echoed in his mind and the world was slow with the beating of his heart drumming against his ears. He needed to leave this room. He needed to leave this place. His hand reaches for his neck, not to check for blood or stop any bleeding if there was. He was checking for the fangs. Unconsciously his body was already working against him and he hated it.

He always told himself to never get attached. To never get too close but he always does.

A presence is behind him saying his name but their voice is too much to bare — muffled and dissonant. Like static. Shit. His day pass must've been torn in the fight. His head hurts. He wants to sleep, and it isn't until he finally stumbles to his knees at the edge of the platform and falls off of it when he allows the darkness to take over.

#SINDAY HAS COME EARLY FOLKS* #IT HAS COME. #HELP - #drabble tbt