miffysrkv

[miffysrkv]

“Lost and Very, Very Found”

Genre: Crack fic, fluff, modern AU of Horizon Zero Dawn: Forbidden West

Setting: Some kind of shared workplace/organization. Think: high-tech, a bit corporate, a bit combat training-y.

Featuring: Kotallo x Reader (established), squad includes Aloy, Erend, Varl, Zo, Beta, and Tilda (because her reactions would be gold).

-

It started innocently.

Kotallo had left for his break in a hurry—he was unusually quiet that day, even for him. A sharp grunt, muttered “I’ll be back shortly,” and then he was gone.

Which left one small, rugged, leather wallet lying on the console in the common area.

And six very bored, very nosy co-workers staring at it.

“…Is that his wallet?” Erend asked, already reaching for it.

“Erend, no,” Aloy said, swatting his hand.

“Erend, yes,” Zo corrected, already moving closer.

Varl tilted his head. “We probably shouldn’t…”

Beta, softly: “We really shouldn’t…”

Tilda: “If I were 30 years younger—or in his bed—I wouldn’t be misplacing that wallet.”

“Ma’am—” Aloy began, scandalized.

But it was too late.

Erend popped it open like it was a treasure chest and they were cursed pirates.

“Driver’s license. Ha! His photo’s all serious. Look at that jawline. Who looks like a brooding gladiator in a DMV photo?!”

“Military ID, too,” Varl added, peering in. “No surprise there.”

Zo, flipping through: “Receipts, coupons for protein bars, and—hold up.”

She froze.

“…Guys?”

There, tucked in one of the deeper card slots, barely poking out—a polaroid.

Erend plucked it out without hesitation. “What’s this—?”

SILENCE.

Utter silence as six people huddled close and stared at a very, very explicit photograph of you.

Dressed in black lace lingerie, on Kotallo’s lap, your head thrown back in a blissed-out expression. His strong arm around your waist, his other hand on your thigh, and definitely shirtless. His mouth on your neck.

Aloy shrieked. “WHAT—PUT THAT BACK—”

Beta squeaked and covered her eyes.

Tilda grabbed it and studied it like it a piece of art. “Tasteful lighting. Excellent use of contrast. The man has a photographic eye.”

Zo was fanning herself. “Girl. GIRL.”

Varl looked like he’d seen god. “I can never unsee this.”

Erend? Grinning like a gremlin. “My man Kotallo is out here LIVING. That’s our stoic king? I thought he meditated in his free time!”

Then—

The door opens.

In walks Kotallo.

Silent. Calm. A bag of takeout in one hand.

He stops. Sees them all huddled together. Eyes narrow. Slowly scans the room.

“…Where is my wallet?” he asks, voice low.

Everyone stiffens.

“…We can explain,” Aloy blurts out.

Beta is trying to shove the photo back in but drops it in panic. It flutters to the floor face up.

Kotallo sees it.

Pause.

He strides over, picks up the polaroid without a word, tucks it smoothly back into his wallet, and levels the group with a very long, very quiet stare.

Then: “If you’re going to go through my belongings… don’t be careless with keepsakes.”

He walks off.

Just like that.

Leaving behind stunned silence… and a slow, growing chorus of:

“…KEEPSAKES?”

“Did he call it a keepsake??”

“Y/N, what did you DO to him?”

“I need a cold shower.”

“I need therapy.”

“I need to delete my memory.”

“I need to find a partner like that.”

Tilda, whispering: “I should’ve taken that fencing class with him.”

Bonus: Later, in your shared apartment

Kotallo hands you his wallet, expression unreadable.

“I believe something… private… was seen.”

You blink. “You left that photo in there?!”

“…It is motivational.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “They should have minded their own business.”

And you know he means it—but he also kinda enjoyed watching them implode

[miffysrkv]

"Off Duty"

Pairing: Chamber x Yoru x fem! Val Agen! Reader Rating: 🔞 Explicit / NSFW Tags: Poly, voyeurism, secret discovery, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving), degradation + praise, spit kink, light restraint (hand pinning), double penetration (implied), rough sex, jealousy-fueled tension, Valorant HQ setting

You thought you'd been careful.

VPNs. A well chosen username that didn’t give any hints to your identity. Shooting your content on a burner device. Not even Phoenix — nosiest bastard at HQ — had caught on. Off-duty, you'd throw on lingerie or nothing at all, setting up your camera in hotel rooms or your room on base, never letting a trace link back to you, a Valorant Agent.

But what you didn’t plan for… was Chamber and Yoru scrolling one night.

It started as a stupid dare.

“I bet we can find someone at HQ who's got a secret side hustle,” Yoru had smirked.

And Chamber, arrogant as always, replied with: “Only if you don’t cry when it’s someone you want.”

They’d scrolled through endless accounts and feeds, laughing — until they found yours.

You. Spread across satin sheets, legs parted for the camera. The soft moans, the command in your voice. The way your fingers worked your cunt open, tongue tracing your lips when you teased your viewers.

Yoru stopped breathing. Chamber sat forward. They watched everything. Twice.

From then on, you were different to them.

They didn’t say anything. Not for weeks. They just watched. Obsessed in silence. Trained with you on the field by day, and got off to your videos at night. They shared headphones like degenerates in Chamber’s room, one hand each under the waistband of their pants.

You became an inside joke between them. A shared addiction.

And eventually… the tension boiled over.

It starts after a long mission.

Your body’s sore. You’re sweaty, tank top clinging to your skin, and you’re the last one in the training sim besides them.

“You always work this hard off-duty?” Chamber drawls from behind you, watching the curve of your ass in your skin-tight leggings.

Yoru snorts. “Nah. She saves her real talent for the camera.”

You freeze. Turn. “...What did you just say?”

They exchange a look.

Busted.

Yoru shrugs. “We know.”

Chamber smiles, slow and lazy. “Your content is quite… captivating, mon chérie.”

Your stomach drops, heat flooding your face — but not entirely out of embarrassment. They step closer. Cornering you. The air shifts.

Yoru’s voice is low now, teasing. “You’ve been parading around here like none of us know you get on camera and fuck yourself stupid every week.”

You should be angry. Flustered. But instead, your thighs clench. Your breath hitches when Chamber’s hand comes to rest on your waist.

“So,” he murmurs, lips near your ear, “are you going to give us the live version, ma belle?”

Yoru’s already behind you, dragging a palm along your ass. “Or do we have to beg?”

-

You don’t remember who kisses you first.

Maybe it’s Yoru, impatient and fiery, crushing his lips to yours and grabbing your face like he owns it. Maybe it’s Chamber, smirking against your throat as his hand slips under your top, cupping your breast, flicking his thumb over your nipple until you gasp.

What matters is how they devour you.

Your back hits the padded floor of the training sim. They strip you fast — top tossed somewhere, leggings peeled down your legs. Yoru’s mouth is already between your thighs, tongue dragging up your slick folds, his groan filthy as he tastes you.

“Fuck,” he growls, “you’re even better than the videos.”

You arch your hips into his mouth, whimpering. Chamber kneels behind your head, stroking himself lazily.

“You’ve made us watch,” he says, voice silky, “night after night. It’s only fair we get to see the real thing.”

You look up at him with glassy eyes. “You’re such fucking pervs.”

Chamber chuckles darkly. “You love it.”

Yoru groans, tongue flicking your clit. “You’re soaking. She’s fucking loving it.”

Your moans echo off the walls.

They take turns wrecking you.

Yoru eats you out like a man starved, lips and tongue greedy, groaning every time you cry out his name. He grips your thighs to keep you from squirming, fucking you with two fingers until you're panting and tugging on Chamber's wrist for something more.

Chamber feeds his cock into your mouth when you open up for him, slow and deliberate. “Eyes on me,” he purrs, “don’t you dare look away.”

You choke on him, tears brimming — and he moans like he’s in heaven.

“Mon dieu,” he pants, “your mouth was made for this.”

Yoru watches as you gag and drool, fingering you faster while he jerks himself with his other hand. “You take him so well,” he hisses. “Bet you dream about this every night.”

You come once with Yoru’s mouth on your clit, again with Chamber’s cock buried down your throat. Then they switch.

Yoru’s cock fills your mouth now, and he’s not gentle. He grips your hair and fucks your face with growls, hips snapping forward as your throat flexes around him.

Chamber slips behind you, stroking your cunt, murmuring how gorgeous you look on your knees, spit running down your chin, completely ruined.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “You want this. Being passed between us like a toy.”

You sob against Yoru’s cock — a desperate, fucked-out noise of yes — and he comes down your throat with a shout.

They still aren’t done.

Chamber lays you flat. Spreads your legs. Presses into you slow and thick until you're gasping his name.

Yoru stays beside you, kissing your shoulder, whispering how filthy you are. One hand on your throat, the other playing with your clit as Chamber fucks you deep and slow.

“You’re ours now,” he says. “No more hiding. We own this pussy.”

You tighten around Chamber, body convulsing, and he curses in French as he spills inside you.

And just when you think you can’t take any more, they flip you over — press your chest to the mat — and take you again.

Yoru from behind this time. Brutal. Rough. Unrelenting.

He slaps your ass, bites your shoulder, fucks you so hard your voice breaks.

“You gonna film this for your fans?” he pants. “Let ‘em know who really owns you now?”

Chamber holds your jaw, lips brushing yours.

“Non,” he murmurs. “This is just for us.”

Afterward…

You’re breathless. Barely able to move. Your skin’s marked with bites and bruises — the kind you won’t have to fake in future videos.

Yoru smirks, sprawled beside you. “Still think you can keep secrets from us?”

Chamber brushes your hair back, gaze heated and smug. “Or perhaps… we start our own channel.”

You groan. “You’re both the worst.”

But you’re already thinking about how good you’ll look on camera — one of them behind you, the other in your mouth — and the way they’ll whisper, offscreen:

“Let them watch. But you’re ours now.”

[miffysrkv]

"The Quiet Between Suns"

Setting: Campfire outside Hidden Ember, post-side quest, pre-Sky Clan confrontation, The base Pairing: Kotallo x Reader Warning: lots of fluff in the beginning, established feelings, and eventual smut

-

The desert wind flowed gentle. The sun had tucked itself beneath the jagged silhouettes of the dunes, and the glow of Hidden Ember shimmered like a mirage in the distance. Most of the caravaners had settled in for the night—some by the fires, others within the carved stone shelter of the oasis. But you and Kotallo remained outside the boundary, your own small campfire flickering between the two of you like a heartbeat.

You had taken off your armor, the lighter underlayers clinging to your sweat-dampened skin. Sand still clung to your forearms, your hair braided back loosely with strips of old machine wiring. There was a grease stain on your cheek, and your boots looked like they had survived a thunderjaw stampede.

To Kotallo, you looked like the sun itself had softened just to rest against your skin.

He watched you quietly as you sat cross-legged, repairing one of your traps, fingers deft and confident. You weren’t talking much—never did unless it mattered—but your presence filled the space around him like light warmed stone. It wasn’t in anything dramatic. It was in the way your brows furrowed when you worked. The small smile that ghosted your lips when the trap clicked into place just the way you wanted. The way your voice had sounded when you’d told him earlier, without hesitation: You’re not less. You’re different. And you’re still a warrior.

No one had ever said something like that to him and meant it so fully.

He hadn’t replied at the time. Not really. But he’d looked at you longer than he should have.

Now, in the quiet hush of post-sunset calm, Kotallo sat across from you, leaning slightly against a rock with his prosthetic arm braced at his side. The weapon you had helped him build still hummed faintly with the firelight's reflection. And yet his gaze stayed fixed on you.

You looked up suddenly and caught him staring.

“What?” you said, raising a brow, only half-smirking.

Kotallo blinked, not embarrassed but deeply thoughtful. “You’re… different when you’re not fighting.”

You tilted your head, a spark of amusement flickering in your tired eyes. “Different good or different weird?”

“Good,” he said simply, as if the word had always belonged to you.

You didn’t reply at first. Just gave a short, quiet laugh and went back to tightening a wire. “You’re not too bad yourself when you’re not brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You definitely brood.”

He gave a short, startled chuckle—so rare and low it sounded like it had been shaken loose from somewhere deep in his chest. It made your smile widen just a little, and the campfire caught in your eyes like twin embers.

Kotallo looked away briefly, as if the sight of that was something he wasn’t ready to hold for too long. But not because he didn’t want to.

Because he wanted to too much.

And that’s when it happened.

No sudden spark. No dramatic realization. Just a quiet, steady knowing that wrapped itself around his bones.

He loved you.

Not for your skill in battle. Not for your bravery or your strength or your strange Old World mind that never stopped working.

But for this—this quiet, ridiculous version of you that fixed traps in the sand and teased him into smiling. The one who treated him like a person long before he believed he still was one.

The thought scared him more than any machine ever had.

So he said nothing.

He just let the fire crackle between you and let himself memorize the way you looked in that exact moment. The way your voice softened as the sun dipped completely below the horizon. The way you exhaled like the weight of the entire day had finally been set down.

You sighed and leaned back on your elbows, looking up at the stars.

“It’s nice here,” you said. “Quiet. Not full of people asking questions I don’t want to answer.”

Kotallo nodded, watching your silhouette against the night sky. “The Tenakth believe the stars are the campfires of fallen warriors. That they burn bright so we remember them.”

You glanced over, and your expression softened. “That’s beautiful.”

You looked back up and whispered, “I think I’d like to be a star someday. Just… floating out there. Quiet. Watching.”

He didn’t answer. Not out loud.

But in his mind, he thought: You already burn like one.

And he wondered, with a kind of peace he hadn’t known in years, what it might be like to stand beside you longer than this war. To walk the land not as a soldier and a savior, but as two people who had bled and survived and learned how to feel again.

You yawned, a small sound that broke the silence like a ripple across water.

“I should sleep,” you muttered, already stretching out by the fire with a bedroll you’d haphazardly dropped beside you earlier. “Don’t let a scrounger chew off my foot if I pass out.”

Kotallo smiled again, the barest ghost of it. “I’ll stand guard.”

Your eyes fluttered half-shut. “Of course you will. You always do.”

There was affection in your voice—unspoken, but true. You trusted him. Entirely.

And as he watched you slip into sleep, your fingers twitching in the way they always did when your dreams started, Kotallo knew he wouldn’t say a word about what had bloomed inside him.

Not yet.

Because love, real love, wasn’t something you forced or cornered or demanded.

It was something you waited for. Something you protected.

So he sat beside you, the fire warming one side of his face, the stars burning above. He would keep watch tonight. Not out of duty.

But because he wanted to.

Because he loved you.

And someday, when the war was done and the fire in your eyes no longer had to burn quite so fiercely—he would tell you.

And he would hope you already knew.

-

The Base was quiet.

Zo and Varl speaking in low whispers in a corner. Alva was in the lab. Erend was passed out face-down on the couch. The hum of old-world tech buzzed low in the walls, a steady heartbeat beneath your feet. But you stood in the control room alone, staring at the map and the mess of data that had flooded in since the latest machine site was cleared.

It should’ve made you feel triumphant.

Instead, you felt… unmoored.

Because when the machine fell—when the ground shook and you turned expecting silence, expecting solitude—he had been there.

Kotalo.

Bleeding. Steady. Fierce.

But not because he had to be.

Because he chose to be.

You remembered the way his voice had cut through the storm when you’d taken a hit. Not loud. Not panicked. Just your name, full of something raw you hadn’t had time to look at too closely.

Until now.

You shifted your weight, eyes still fixed on the holographic flicker of the terrain. The usual tangle of thoughts tugged at the back of your skull—what’s next, how to beat them, how to protect the world, again—but one thought kept threading through all of them like a quiet tether:

He was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was already burning.

He had stood beside you in the storm. And when the thunder ended, when the world stopped shaking, he stayed.

And when you turned to face him, blood crusting your jaw, eyes sharp and full of exhaustion—he’d looked at you like you were home.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him. The familiar rhythm of metal and leather, measured and quiet.

You didn’t need to turn.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low, standing just behind you.

“No,” you said. “Just… thinking.”

He stepped beside you, his presence a calm heat. You could feel the tension in his frame still, like a storm just passed. You glanced at him, and your breath caught.

There was dust streaked down his neck, a new bruise on his jaw, and his prosthetic was scorched at the edge, the plating cracked. But his expression was steady.

Concerned.

Tender.

You stared at him too long. You knew you did. But for once, you didn’t look away.

Because this—this was the moment.

Not dramatic. Not poetic.

Just still.

Real.

You realized it in a heartbeat that echoed too loud in your chest:

I love him.

Not for how he fought. Not for how he guarded you. But for the way he saw you when you didn’t even know how to see yourself. For the way he never asked you to be more or less. For the way he held silence like it was sacred—and offered it to you like a gift.

Your lips parted, but no words came. You didn’t need them.

Instead, you reached out and touched the cracked edge of his prosthetic, fingers brushing over the scorched plating like you could somehow take the damage for him.

His breath caught.

“You need to repair this,” you said, voice quiet.

“I will,” he replied, but he didn’t move away. “It held. That’s what matters.”

You dropped your hand and looked at him again—really looked. His scar. His strength. His stillness.

He hadn’t said he loved you.

But you knew. You knew.

And now you did too.

The space between you stretched, electric and waiting.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you said softly. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

He turned toward you more fully, eyes searching. “You didn’t have to.”

You gave a short breath of a laugh, but it caught in your throat. “I’ve never… I don’t know how to do this. Any of this.”

“You’re not alone,” he said. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“But you’ll be there when I do.”

It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “Always.”

And for the first time, you let the words stay unspoken.

I love you.

Not as a declaration. Not yet.

But as a promise.

You stepped closer, not quite touching—but close enough that you could feel the warmth from his skin. His hand hovered for a moment, and then rested gently at your lower back. Just a touch.

You didn’t step away.

Because it was enough.

Tonight didn’t need anything more.

Just this:

The quiet knowing that you loved him. And that he already knew.

-

The storm had passed.

Or so you thought.

You stood alone in one of the private rooms near the back of the Base—your makeshift quarters, barely lit by the dim green glow of a flickering old-world panel. You hadn’t said a word since returning. Your hands trembled slightly as you peeled off your outer armor. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only heat and ache in your limbs, and something in your chest that refused to settle.

The door slid open behind you with a low hiss.

You knew it was him.

Kotallo didn’t knock. He never needed to. His presence filled the room like earth after a long rain—solid, warm, patient.

But not tonight.

Tonight he stood in the doorway with his jaw set, shoulders tight, and eyes dark. His gaze met yours, and everything between you that had been simmering for weeks—months—was now an inferno just waiting for a spark.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Because this wasn’t something you could talk around anymore.

The air crackled between you, your pulse thrumming in your throat. You took one slow step toward him, and he didn’t move. But his eyes—those fierce, grounded eyes—followed every motion like he was preparing for something he couldn’t take back.

“I can’t keep pretending it’s not there,” you said, voice low, rough. “That I don’t feel it. That I don’t feel you.”

His breath hitched, barely audible, but you saw the ripple it caused through his entire body.

You kept going, step by step. “You’ve been at my side through everything. Not because you were ordered to, not because I’m the mission. But because you chose me. Again. And again. And I—”

You stopped a breath away from him.

“I’ve tried so hard to keep it buried. To be smart. Strategic. Unbreakable.”

He said nothing, but you saw it in his face: I see you. Say it. Please.

Your throat burned.

“I love you,” you whispered. Then again, louder. Fiercer. “I love you.”

It shattered the silence like a thunderclap.

You didn’t remember crossing the room.

One moment, your confession—I love you—hung in the air like a blade balanced on the edge of your lips. The next, Kotallo had you caged between his body and the wall, his mouth crashing against yours like a wave that had waited years to break.

There was nothing restrained about it anymore.

He kissed you like a man starved—like he’d spent every waking moment holding himself back and now, finally, had permission to feel. His hand gripped the back of your neck, guiding you into the kiss with purpose. Your mouths met again and again—wet, frantic, desperate—as if the only way to prove it was real was through contact.

Your fingers clawed at the seams of his armor, dragging him closer, harder, until his chest was flush to yours and you could feel every rigid line of his body against you.

You gasped into him when his thigh slid between yours, anchoring there, firm and deliberate.

“Kotallo—” you breathed, but the name broke into a moan as he pushed his leg higher, pressing you open and rubbing deep where you ached. Your hips arched instinctively, seeking more.

His prosthetic braced beside your head, metal clicking softly as his other hand roamed—down your spine, over your hip, gripping the back of your thigh to hook it around him. His fingers dug in. Possessive. Worshipful. Starving.

“I’ve thought about this,” he rasped against your mouth. “Every night. Every time you looked at me like I was something more than what I lost.”

You reached between you, tearing open the last clasp of his armor, shoving it off his shoulders so you could feel his skin—hot, scarred, strong beneath your palms.

“You are,” you whispered. “You are something more.”

That undid him.

He scooped you into his arms again, this time with less control, and half-carried, half-pinning you to the bed. The world narrowed to the heat of his body, the press of his chest, the grind of his hips into yours.

Clothes became a problem. You yanked at yours. He helped—ripping fabric more than unfastening it. Your shirt went first, then his. His hands explored like he’d been waiting for this map forever—fingertips dragging across the soft curve of your stomach, up to your chest, pausing only to feel. His touch reverent. Intent.

He stared, breathing heavy. “You’re beautiful.”

“Kiss me,” you demanded.

He did.

Hot. Deep. Tongue sliding against yours, hands claiming every inch of skin he could touch. When he pulled away, his lips were red and swollen, jaw tight, pupils wide with want.

Then his mouth was everywhere.

Down your neck. Across your collarbone. Over the swell of your chest. He sucked a mark just beneath your breast, slow and deliberate, and you gasped, hand fisting in his hair as your back arched off the bed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist again, grinding against him without rhythm, chasing friction like it was salvation. He groaned into your skin, one hand sliding down your thigh, gripping hard before he shifted and rocked against you.

The heat between your bodies was unbearable—soaked with sweat and tension and the kind of need that hurt in its intensity. You weren’t careful. You weren’t slow. This was no gentle first-time. It was frantic and overwhelming and raw.

“Tell me,” he growled into your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you gasped. “All of you.”

And stars, did he give it.

Every movement was guided by a need to memorize. To take. To give. His hands never stopped moving—stroking, squeezing, grounding you. His mouth kissed every exposed inch of you like it was a battlefield he meant to reclaim. When you cried out—soft, breathless, broken—he swallowed the sound with his lips against yours and whispered, “I’ve got you.”

You clung to him.

Desperate.

Trembling.

And when it all finally broke—when you unraveled under his mouth, his hands, his weight—he followed with a deep, shaking groan, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

There was nothing quiet about it. Nothing polite. Only skin, and heat, and the sound of your names in each other’s mouths like a promise.

And when it was over, you didn’t move.

You didn’t need to.

He stayed curled around you, his breath slowing against your temple, arms locked around your waist like letting go wasn’t even a possibility.

“I love you,” you said again, quieter this time. No fire. No fury. Just truth.

His lips pressed to your forehead, his voice so soft it nearly broke. “And I have never loved anything more than you.”

[miffysrkv]

"Built to Ruin me"

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Reader Tags: NSFW, affair, cheating, filthy smut, possessive!Jayce, multiple rough creampies, face fucking, deepthroating, spit, mating press, overstimulation, light degradation, cockdrunk reader, power imbalance, messy, little to no aftercare, selfish sex

-

“You know she’s expecting you.”

You were breathless as you said it, your back already arching over the polished surface of his Council desk — your legs spread open, knees hooked over Jayce’s broad shoulders.

He didn’t answer.

Not with words, anyway.

Just a low grunt as he fucked into you again, cock dragging wet and slow, teasing the swollen ring of your entrance before spearing back inside — brutal, deep, exactly where you needed him.

“She can wait,” he muttered, voice ragged, sweat sliding down his neck as he held your thighs wide, pinning you in place with his weight and strength alone. “She always does.”

You whined, hands scrabbling uselessly against the desk behind you as he thrust harder, faster — his hips colliding with yours, obscene, the sound of your soaked cunt taking him echoing between the marble walls of the Council chambers.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t anything official.

Just a fuck. A well-kept secret. Someone he could ruin in-between speeches and banquets. Someone who let him break his perfect little image in half.

He didn’t treat you like Mel. He didn’t kiss you tenderly or say anything sweet.

Jayce used you.

And you let him.

“You were made for this,” he growled, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, the other reaching to slap your clit hard enough to make you jolt. “Fuckin’ perfect little thing. Letting me dump a fifth load in you and still beg for more.”

You cried out as he pounded into you, deep and punishing, each thrust dragging a gasp from your throat as your slick mixed with his cum, leaking around the thick base of his cock.

You lost count of how many times he’d filled you. Hours had passed — you weren’t sure how many. Your cunt was raw, pulsing, stretched open and ruined, but he kept going. Like he needed to empty everything into you just to stay sane.

“Look at this,” Jayce snarled, pulling out with a wet pop to watch his cum ooze from your hole — only to spit on it and stuff it back in with two fingers. “So fucking sloppy. I should make you clean it up.”

You whimpered — and that whimper made something unhinge in him.

Jayce grabbed your hair and dragged you to your knees.

Before you could catch your breath, he shoved his cock into your mouth, still wet from your cunt, thick and heavy on your tongue. He didn’t give you time to adjust — just gripped your skull and fucked your face, rutting into your throat with brutal, practiced force.

“Gag on it,” he spat, watching you choke and drool around his cock. “Go ahead. Make it messy.”

Your eyes were glassy, throat convulsing, spit spilling from the corners of your lips as he kept going. His balls slapped your chin, heavy and wet. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Jayce hissed, tightening his grip as he pushed deep and held there — your nose flush to his abdomen, his cock lodged all the way down your throat while you twitched and gagged and took it.

“You take me so fucking well,” he groaned, voice dark and wrecked. “Mel wouldn’t. She couldn’t.”

He pulled out just in time to cum — thick, hot ropes painting your face, dripping off your cheeks, your tongue, your lashes.

He grinned as you panted, ruined, spit and cum trailing down your chin.

“…Still not done.”

Jayce hauled you up again, this time throwing you back on the desk in a full-on mating press — knees to your chest, legs bent, cunt wide open and ready.

He shoved his cock back into your used, sloppy hole with a snarl.

“You want me to keep going,” he breathed against your mouth, his body folding over yours as he started to thrust again — slow at first, then faster, deeper, relentless. “You want me to fuck you dumb. Stuff this tight cunt until you can’t think of anyone else.”

You were sobbing now, babbling his name, moaning like a whore with every thrust.

He pressed a kiss to your jaw — the only gentle thing he’d given you — and whispered:

“You’ll never be her. But you’re perfect for this.”

Then he fucked you so hard you swore your body left the desk.

And when he came again, deep inside, you didn’t even feel it.

You just knew you were full. Leaking. Loved only in the way a man with everything to lose loves — with cruelty. With greed.

And with no intention of stopping.

[miffysrkv]

"You Again?"

Bakugo x Reader | Glory Hole | NSFW | Filthy Talk & Anonymous Use

It was supposed to be anonymous.

That was the point, right?

You didn’t know who was on the other side of the partition—just the weight of his cock when it slid through the opening, hard and dripping with pre. The way his hips flexed when you licked him from base to tip. The low, guttural “Fuck—yes” when you took him all the way down your throat.

But you knew.

The second he growled, “Open wider,—don’t half-ass it,” you knew it was Bakugo Katsuki on the other side.

You were addicted.

You came back once. Then twice. Then four times.

And every single time, his cock slotted through the hole, hard and heavy, already twitching, already leaking, like he couldn’t wait to use your mouth again. You swore he jerked himself half-hard on the walk there.

This time was no different—except when you wrapped your lips around him and moaned, he froze.

“…You again?”

His voice low.

Your stomach fluttered. But you didn’t speak.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he moved his hips, both hands bracing against the wall as he started fucking your throat—rough, hard, hungry.

“Fuck—yeah, it is you. I recognize that fuckin’ mouth. Always so eager, huh?”

You choked. Moaned. And nodded with your mouth full of this cock.

He groaned. “Knew it. You’re the one who sucked me dry last week—shit—you didn’t even ask my name. Just slurped me up like a desperate little cock slut.”

You loved how he talked to you. Loved how filthy it got. How fast he started losing his composure when your tongue traced the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.

He pulled himself out with a wet pop—only to shove back in, his heavy balls slapping the wall.

“Fuckin’ hell—you gonna take it like last time? Let me fuck your throat until you cry?”.

He groaned—loud and low—and slammed in deeper.

You didn’t even realize you were touching yourself through your pants. The slick you were producing between your legs was insane. You were aching for him—just from his voice, his cock, his fuckin’ words.

He must’ve heard you.

“What’s that?” he growled. “Touchin’ yourself already baby?”

You whimpered.

“No fuckin’ patience,” he hissed. “You’re lucky I even came back here. Lucky how I remembered how tight your throat gets when you cum.”

A shiver ran up your spine at his words.

He laughed—mean, cruel. Perfect.

“Bet you’re gonna cream yourself without even bein’ touched properly, huh? Just from my suckin’ my cock?”

The rough pace of his hips never faltered. “Yeah. Go ahead. Fuck yourself silly if you have to. Cum like the little cock hungry slut that you are.”

And you did.

You were pathetic. Shaking. Tongue lolling out, choking around him as you came hard. Your panties were soaked, your thighs trembling. Your moans muffled by his cock.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he groaned. “You like being used like this.”

He didn’t stop.

He kept going.

Fucked your mouth harder. Faster. Your jaw was sore, rivulets of spit dropped down your chin, more obscene noises filled the space and you could feel his cock twitch in your throat—signaling he was going to bust.

“Shit—gonna come—swallow it, baby, fuck—take it—!”

And when he did? You didn’t waste a single drop.

Silence.

Your body was still shaking, your throat raw, and face still wet as you catched your breath.

Then—his voice again. Rough. But quiet this time.

“…What’s your name?”

You paused.

Didn’t answer.

He let out a slow breath.

“Tch. Fine. Don’t tell me… I’ll just fuck your throat again same time week.”

[miffysrkv]

"Parked & Pent Up"

Themes: Car sex, facefucking, rough blowjob, possessive Sett, power dynamic, spitting/gagging/sloppy sounds, oral fixation, marking, mild degradation, aftercare implied Pairing: HEARTSTEEL!Sett x K/DA Member!OC (secret relationship)

Setting: Sett’s blacked-out luxury SUV, parked on a quiet overlook above the city after a "casual" post-show dinner Tone: Dominant, messy, intense, with that we shouldn't, but we will anyway tension

The city lights glittered below like a stage of their own.

Venessa sat next to Sett in the driver's seat, legs tucked up, still wearing her cropped hoodie and mini skirt from earlier. The windows were tinted — thank God — but even that felt like a weak barrier against the tension in the car.

He hadn’t touched her all dinner. Not once. Not under the table, not during the ride here. Just hot, hungry stares like he was starving.

So when he pulled into a dead-end road above the city, killed the engine, and finally looked at her?

She knew.

"You've been pushin' it all night," he rumbled, eyes dark, heavy with restraint. “Actin’ all sweet, sittin’ pretty like that, leg over leg, talkin’ to the waiter with that fake little giggle—”

She raised a brow at this, lips twitching. “Jealous?”

His eyes flashed. “Worse.”

Venessa shifted closer on the leather seat. “Prove it.”

He had his seat reclined in seconds.

She unbuckled her belt, leaned over her seat, the center console digging into her stomach, as your palms planted themselves on his muscled thighs. His pants were halfway down, cock already thick and throbbing in her face.

He grabbed the back of Venessa 's neck.

“You know what I want.”

She simple nodded, lips parting, tongue teasing the tip of his cock just enough to make him hiss. And then she took him deeper — wet, slow, messy — until her throat was full and his hand reach from your neck to make a makeshift ponytail, gripping tightly

“Just like that,” he grunted. “So good for me, fuck.”

Venessa moaned around him, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth, already starting to drip down her chin in rivulets as he started guiding her head — shallow thrusts first, just the tip gliding past her glossed lips.

Then deeper.

And deeper.

Until her nose hit his pelvis.

He started fucking Venessa's throat like he owned it.

The rhythm was brutal — fast, deep, relentless. Her throat starting to ache, tears forming on her lash line, but fuck- it made her whole body burn with desperation.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, looking down at her like she was the filthiest, most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. “Look at you. All that stage presence and power and now you're droolin’ all over my cock.”

Venessa gagged, but didn’t pull away.

“You like this,” he snarled, “Like when I use your mouth like this, don’t you?”

Despite her mouth being full of cock, she nodded.

And that was all he needed.

He growled — a real animal sound — and shoved his cock deep, holding her there, buried to the base as she choked and spluttered on him, throat convulsing on his length.

“Take it,” he hissed. “Take all of me. You’re mine, baby. Every inch.”

He came hard — moaning her name, cock pulsing deep in Venessa's throat, his hips jerking as he emptied everything into her awaiting throat.

She swallowed around him, didn’t pull back until he let go, until he finally slumped in the seat, panting like he just finished running a marathon.

Venessa sat back on her heels, wiping spit and cum off her chin, smiling sweetly.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. “Fucking trouble.”

She made a move and climbed into his lap, straddling him, pressing her soaked panties against his thigh.

“I’m your trouble,” she whispered, licking the edge of his jaw. “So next time, don’t wait till dessert.”

[miffysrkv]

The mission had been long. Dangerous. Dirty. Hot with rebel blood and machine oil.

But you made it back. Barely.

And now?

Kotallo doesn’t say a word. He grabs your wrist the moment the Base doors close and drags you into a disused side room, slamming the door behind you.

Before you can ask—he throws you down.

Face-first into the supply bench. Chest against cold metal. Ass up. Exposed.

“Take it,” he growls. “Not a fucking word.”

He’s already hard. Already leaking. Already angry.

You try to turn, to glance back—but he presses a hand to the back of your neck and shoves you down, making your spine arch, your hips tilt—perfectly positioned for him to take.

Then his other hand yanks your armor down to your knees.

You whimper. Helpless. But he doesn’t even look at your face.

“I don’t care if you’re ready.”

And he rams into you.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream.

The stretch is brutal. Violent. Deep.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let you adjust. He just uses you.

Each thrust is a punishment. Each slap of his hips against your ass is louder than the last. Your slick drips onto the bench. Down your thighs. Pooled between your knees on the floor.

And he doesn’t care.

“You know what you are to me right now?” “A hole. That’s it. A wet little cunt for me to fuck until I’m empty.”

You moan—loud, broken, half in pain, half in bliss.

Your body shakes, jerks, clenches around him—and he growls when he feels it.

“Don’t you dare cum. This isn’t for you.” “You don’t cum unless I say.”

He grabs your hair and yanks your head back. His breath is ragged—feral—as he drives in deeper, harder, unforgiving.

Your voice is gone. Your legs barely hold. And your mind? Melting.

He cums without a warning.

Slams in deep and just grinds, cock twitching, thick ropes of hot, endless release flooding your cunt until you feel it spill back out, down your thighs, soaking your armor.

But he doesn’t stop.

He stays buried. And when his cock starts to harden again inside you, you realize—he’s not done.

“You think one round is enough?” “You made me wait days for this. You teased me. Walked past me in that tight little suit while I fought for breath.”

He pulls out.

You gasp, grateful for the second to breathe—

And he flips you over.

Your back hits the cold bench. Your legs are yanked apart with zero tenderness. And he shoves himself back in—wet, messy, already leaking—and still rock hard.

You cry out. Hands slip. Your vision blurs.

“I’m not here for your pleasure.” “I’m here to fuck. To use. Until I can’t feel anything but the mess I left in you.”

Round two is worse.

At this point, you lose track of time.

Of the orgasms you’re denied. Of how many times you’re filled. Of how many times he spits filth into your ear:

“You’re just a hole for me.” “My cumdump. My toy. That’s all you are right now.”

You shake beneath him.

Cum stains your thighs. Your stomach. The bench. Your cunt—gaping, used, leaking—is still twitching as he pulls out one last time and watches it all drip out.

And you?

You’re limp. Fucked out. Too full to think.

He doesn’t touch you after.

Doesn’t help you clean up. Doesn’t soothe you. He just zips up and leaves.

But when he stops at the door, he turns.

Looks over his shoulder. Smirks.

“If you’re not cleaned up in ten minutes, I’m coming back for round three.”

[miffysrkv]

“Saving it for Later, Baby”

Pairing: HEARTSTEEL!Sett x K/DA!Reader Setting: Sett’s private suite, night before both your groups leave for separate tours Tone: Intimate, raw, shameless, smut ahead 18+ mdni

You’re perched on his lap, naked except for a baby pink-star pendant choker adorning your neck, the same one you wore during your set earlier that night.

His phone is already out. Camera open. Recording.

Your hips roll in slow, deliberate circles, dragging your soaked pussy along the length of his cock without putting him in yet.

“C’mon,” he grunts, one hand gripping your thigh, the other steadying the camera. “Don’t tease. This is for me, remember?”

You smirked, looking into the lens — right into his soul through the screen.

“I know,” you cooed. “I want you to miss me.”

And then, finally, you grab his cock, aligning him against your slick covered folds and sink down on him in one smooth motion.

First Position: Classic cowgirl, mirror behind him, your hands braced on his abs.

He films from below as you bounce on him, moaning shamelessly, your tits bouncing, that little choker glinting as you ride him like you own him.

“Goddamn,” Sett groans, tilting the camera just enough to get the mirror view. “You look like a fuckin’ porn star, babe.”

You laugh, then clench around him hard. His hand shakes and so does his phone.

“You’re gonna cum just from watching this next week, huh?” you whisper to the camera. “Gonna jerk off in some hotel bed while I’m on stage with cameras in my face — and you’ve got me like this on yours.”

He growls. You moan louder.

Second Position: You’re manhandled, with your face down, and your ass up. He’s hitting it from the back.

The phone is propped on a pillow. He’s got both hands on your hips now, fucking into you deep, slow — sensual even — like he’s making love just for the film.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he mutters low, watching as his cock moves and disappears in your puffy cunt.

“You, Sett,” you pant. “It’s yours. Only yours.”

“Say it to the camera baby”

You look up — mouth open, moaning, makeup smeared.

“It’s Sett’s pussy,” you moan. “You own it, baby.”

He slaps your ass, and you let out a squeal. “Damn right I do.”

He leans more into the frame, hands no longer on your hips but bracing them on either side of your head as his pace quickens, the loud sound of his hips against your ass, the wet obscene plaps accompanied by your pornographic moans are heard throughout the room— and that’s the moment he’ll replay later. Over. And over. And over again.

Third Position: You’re on your back, one leg over his shoulder, the other wrapped around his waist. Camera in his hand now, inches from your face.

You’re shaking. Wrecked. Babbling.

“Look at you,” he mutters, zooming in slightly. “You already came, didn’t you?”

You nod through tears. “Y-Yeah.”

“And you’re still letting me fuck you like this? What kind of slut are you, baby?”

“Yours,” you whisper.

“Say it louder.”

“Yours, Sett. Your slut—fuck—!”

Your orgasm hits again — harder this time, back arching off the mattress as you scream his name and claw at the sheets.

He groans, losing rhythm, thrusts getting sloppy.

“You gonna let me come in this tight little pussy?” he pants. “So I can see my cum leaking out of you every night on tour?”

“Please,” you sob. “Fill me up.”

Final Clip: Camera angle is over his shoulder, you’re seated in his lap again, cock still buried inside you.

You’re not riding him this time — just laying there, your back against his chest post-orgasm, cockwarming him while he strokes up and down your stomach, occasionally groping your breasts as you come down from your high.

“You hear that?” he whispers into the mic. “That’s her breathin’. That’s what she sounds like when she’s full of me.”

He pans down — recording your cum and slick covered thighs.

He kisses your temple.

“You better watch this every night you’re gone,” you murmur, dazed. “I want your cock in your hand when I’m on that stage.”

“Oh, baby,” he whispers with a grin. “I’ll be jerkin’ it to you on repeat. No fuckin’ doubt about it.”

You smile before turning your head to capture his lips in a heated kiss, his cock twitching inside of you.

He stops recording. And it’s saved in a private folder.

Just for him. Saved for later

[miffysrkv]

"Even If It’s Just for Tonight"

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki × Uchiha!Reader

Setting: Naruto Shippuden Era (Post-Time Skip) Tone: Tension-laced, heavy with emotion, forbidden sweetness, canon-divergent lean Themes: guilt, longing, soft yearning, angst, soft smut (non-explicit), found-then-lost

He sensed you the second your foot landed on the small metal beam outside his window.

With his window wide open, you could have killed him. But there was no such intent. Just a shadow of something familiar. Something warm. Something lost.

“…Y/n?”, Naruto called out, voice low, tired.

You were there, crouched in the moonlight, hair longer now, eyes still Uchiha-dark, a cloak clinging to your form like a secret. The same chakra signature that once danced beside him on missions now pressed against the threshold of his window

“I’m here,” you murmured.

“..is this real?.”

That made your lips turn up, not in a full smile but something of the sort.

You didn’t utter the words of ‘sorry for the intrusion’.

You simply slipped inside.

He sat up cross-legged on his bed, hair messy from sleep. You observed his room; scrolls were scattered around him, a half-eaten cup of instant Ramen forgotten on the floor as he watched you move

“You always were a slob.”

“You always left before you had to help clean up,” he shot back, but it lacked heat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He stood slowly, uncertain, as if blinking might make you disappear again.

Your eyes met.

You both said nothing for a long time.

He didn’t ask about your brother. He didn’t ask what you’d seen on the other side of loyalty, or how many scars you were hiding under that cloak. You didn’t ask why he still waited—still trained, still fought.

Because none of that mattered, not tonight.

“I had to see you,” you spoke softly.

Naruto swallowed. “You’re seeing me.”

You stepped closer.

“I needed to.. really, see you.”

The silence between you vibrated, aching and fragile.

“…for how long?” he whispered.

“Til dawn.”

You expected him to break then. To be angry with you. To ask why you only came when you were ready to vanish again. But he just nodded—quietly, like a boy who had learned how to live with your reasoning and accept the heartbreak.

His hand reached for yours before his words could.

Your fingers brushed and curled, and it felt like stepping into a memory, into something half-alive and burning beneath your skin.

You sat down beside him, your knees touching, breathing slow.

“Tell me something real,” he said.

You looked away.

Then: “I dream of home sometimes. Not Konoha. Just… the smell of roasted sweet potatoes. Your stupid jokes. The way the sunlight looked shining through the window and they way it made you look radiant as we laid next to each other.”

He stared at you like the past was standing in front of him.

You continued. “I hate myself for leaving. Not because I regret it. But because… you’ve waited, all this time”

He shook his head. “it was worth it.”

“what was?”

“you.”

You leaned in first.

He barely flinched.

Your lips brushed against as if speaking an apology.

Like a thank you.

Like a goodbye.

But when you kissed him again, it wasn’t soft.

It was three years of silence crashing into one impossible moment. Teeth. Tongues. Shaky breaths. His fingers slid through your onyx colored tresses as his other held your waist, your own fingers tugging at his jacket, and every press of his mouth against yours felt like a desperate prayer to a god neither of you believed in.

He tasted like Ramen and loss and everything you should have forced yourself to stay away from.

But you didn’t stop.

Not when he crawled on top of you, gently pushing you back so you were now laid on top of the white sheets of his small bed.

Not when your hands slid under his shirt, caressing the new muscles that formed over the years.

Not when he moaned your name into your mouth, low and broken.

“Please,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Don’t leave me again.”

You did stop then.

Breathing hard, heart wild, your hand coming up to press itself against his chest to stop him. to stop yourself.

“Don’t ask me that.”

He trembled, brows furrowing. “Why not?”

“Because if you do…” Your voice cracked. “I might say yes.”

His hand found yours again, his grip tight. “So say it.”

“I can’t.” And then a quieter: “Not yet.”

The heat didn’t fade, but it cooled—settling into something sad and bittersweet.

You crawled into bed beside him, still clothed, back against his chest as his arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish into smoke. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you.

You just stayed.

Breathed.

Remembered what it was like to be whole.

It was then when both your breaths leveled, you both allowed yourselves a few hours of peace

—

When the light cracked through the window, you sat up quietly.

He did too.

“There’s no convincing you to stay.”

You smiled, and this time it broke something in you.

“Until next time.”

You stood up to move yourself in between his legs, cupping his face delicately before kissing him once more, slow, soft, like sealing a memory and a promise all in one.

Then, without another word, you were gone.

The scent of of you remained on his pillow The ache in his chest still lingered while the world moved around outside. You left him with hope that maybe—just maybe—you’d find your way back home again.

[miffysrkv]

"The Beast and the Gift"

Pairing: Sett x Vastaya! Reader

Setting: Deep in the underbelly of Ionia's fighting pits, far from the tranquil gardens and temples above. The roar of the crowds is distant now. You’ve been handed over like spoils from a clan too weak to refuse the Boss.

Your wrists were still bound in silk when they throw you at his feet.

Sett looks at you like he’s just been handed a piece of meat — not just any, but one he’s been starved for. His eyes flash gold, mouth twitching in that cocky smirk that always means trouble. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he growls, crouching down to your level, his shadow swallowing yours whole.

“You one of them fox Vastaya? All that fluff and magic—but now you’re mine, huh?”

You don’t answer.

Not because you’re too proud—but because his hand is already gripping your jaw, fingers digging in just hard enough to make your body still. The silk falls away, but you don’t move. You can feel it—he wants obedience. He wants to ruin you with it.

He’s already undoing his belt.

“You’re gonna open that pretty little mouth for me, sweetheart,” he says, low and thick with amusement. “Gotta show me what I’m workin’ with before I decide whether to keep you or just fuck the attitude out of you.”

He doesn’t ask again.

Your lips part, and his cock is already half-hard, thick, veined, and heavy as it lands against your tongue. He doesn’t guide you—he forces it. One hand threads into your wild, silken hair, fisting tight as his hips surge forward.

He’s too big. Too fast.

You gag the second he hits the back of your throat, and his growl is satisfied.

“C’mon,” he snarls, dragging you deeper, spit already starting to string from your lips. ���That all you got? Thought you Vastaya had stamina.”

Tears prick your eyes as your claws dig into his thighs—but he just laughs. “Look at you,” he pants, starting to thrust, rutting into your throat like he’s in the ring again. “Messy already. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your ears flatten. Your tail lashes behind you—nerves shot and fire pooling low in your belly from how helpless you feel. How used.

Your nose is buried against the base of his cock now, the scent of him—sweat, musk, the copper tang of blood from an earlier fight—overwhelming. His grip is bruising. His pace is brutal. But your throat tightens around him anyway, eager and hot.

“Yeah, you like this,” he breathes, voice darker now, ragged with control slipping. “Take it. Gag on it. That’s right, that’s my mouth now.”

You whimper around him.

And it only makes him worse.

He keeps you there, stuffed full, nose twitching with heat and shame and need. Then finally—finally—he pulls out with a slick pop, dragging a long string of spit from your swollen lips to the tip of his cock.

You’re panting. Drenched in your own drool. Eyes wet. Knees sore.

He looks down at you like you’re his prize.

“On all fours,” Sett commands, voice gravel. “Tail up. Let’s see if the rest of you’s as fuckin’ obedient as that throat.”

Your knees hit the cold floor again with a thud, tail twitching behind you, unsure whether to bristle or curl. But you obey. Because there’s no point in resisting—not with the way Sett’s looking at you like you’re something wild that’s already his.

He growls low behind you, rough knuckles trailing up the backs of your thighs. “Now that’s what I like t’see,” he mutters, spreading your legs wider. “Obedient little fox. Look at this—she’s drippin’ just from suckin’ my cock?”

His claws—short, blunted, but brutal—dig into your hips as he pulls you back. You feel the blunt heat of him drag along your folds, teasing, sliding through the slick mess you’re making.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he huffs, raking his cock along you again. “Ain’t even had my knot yet and you’re already this needy?”

Your tail flicks involuntarily, and he grabs it—fist tight at the base—forcing it up as he shoves the tip of his cock inside you.

You yelp.

He doesn’t wait.

He splits you open on the first thrust, thick and unrelenting, forcing your walls to stretch around him. His hips slam against your ass with a snarl, tail still trapped in his grip like a leash.

“Oh yeah,” he pants, fucking into you without mercy, “this pussy was made for me.”

Your claws rake across the floor, panting, whining as he uses your body like it belongs to him. Every time he thrusts, his knot threatens to push in—just a little too wide, just a little too much—and he likes watching you squirm around it.

“You feel that?” he growls, leaning over your back. “That swell? Gonna lock you up, foxy.”

You shake beneath him—but it’s no use. He’s too big. Too heavy. His furred chest brushes against your back as he drives into you, breath hot against your ear.

“Bet they gave you to me hopin’ I’d break you,” he chuckles darkly. “Well guess what—I will.”

He ruts into you faster, filth spilling from his lips. “This tight little cunt’s gonna remember me for days. You’ll be limpin’ through camp, tail low, smellin’ like me. All the other males’ll know I claimed you.”

You whine—loud—as his thrusts turn desperate. You feel his knot grinding at your entrance, stretching you too wide, and he’s groaning like he’s right there.

Then with a brutal thrust, he shoves it in.

You scream out, walls locking around him as he knots you hard, cock twitching deep inside your core as he spills into you—hot, endless, and possessive.

Sett growls low against your back, chest heaving. His hips rock gently, grinding the knot in place, keeping every drop inside. Your body trembles under him, locked in place by biology and brute force.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, kissing the back of your neck with unexpected heat. “You’re mine now. Ain’t nobody takin’ you from me.”

His knot pulses again, and your body jolts around him, stuffed full, tail twitching helplessly in his grip.

[miffysrkv]

The safehouse is dim again.

Another mission behind you. Another file decrypted, another corpse left bleeding behind some government curtain.

You’re still in your torn undershirt. Ada’s lipstick is smudged. And Leon?

Leon sits on the edge of the couch, legs spread, bloodied gloves off, watching you both like a man barely holding the leash.

“You two think I didn’t see the way you were looking at each other all mission?”

You and Ada glance at each other.

A smirk played on both of your lips

“You gonna punish us?” Ada asks sweetly, already undoing the zipper of her dress

Leon just growls, head tipping back as he leans into the cushions. “On your knees. Now.”

You drop first.

Ada follows beside you, kneeling gracefully on the hardwood like a predator resting before the pounce. You sit thigh to thigh, your shoulder brushing hers as you both reach up at once—hands tugging Leon’s belt open, zipper down, pants shoved low on his hips.

His cock is thick, already flushed, twitching with need.

You glance at Ada.

She smirks. “Ladies first?”

But you both go in at once.

Your tongues meet first—on him. You lick up the underside of his shaft while Ada sucks his tip into her mouth, humming low. You moan into the base of his cock, licking where he’s hottest. Ada bobs her head slowly, one hand pumping him, her other curling in your hair to guide your mouth to his balls.

Together, you worship him.

Leon groans—loud, guttural—his head falling back, a hand tangling in each of your hair. “Fuck. You two—look at you.”

You blink up at him, your mouth wet, tongue tracing his length as Ada slides off with a pop.

“She’s messy,” Ada teases, licking a drop of spit off your lip.

“She’s mine,” Leon growls.

And he grabs his cock—grips it tight—and slaps it against both your tongues.

Once. Twice.

“Open.”

You and Ada open your mouths, side by side. He slides in—deep—into Ada’s first, fucking her throat slowly. Then pulls out and feeds it to you, groaning when your lips seal around him and your throat flexes to take more.

You’re both drooling. Eyes shining. Desperate.

Ada strokes what you can’t reach, whispering in your ear, “You’re so good at this. Look at you, dripping.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock.

He’s shaking above you now, hips starting to thrust, losing control. “Fuck, you two—too good—keep going—”

You and Ada take turns.

Kissing his shaft between your mouths. Sucking his tip together. Cleaning up the mess together.

One team. One target. One goddamn beautiful downfall.

Leon chokes on a breath.

“Where do you want it?” he rasps.

Ada licks her lips. “She earned it.”

He grabs your jaw, cock twitching, and groans through gritted teeth as he cums across your tongue, his load hot, thick, spilling down your throat and over your lips.

You swallow.

Ada leans over. Licks the rest from your chin. Kisses you filthy.

Leon watches, dazed, destroyed. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You both smile up at him like angels with blood on your hands.

Ada tilts her head. “Again?”

-

Now you lie upside down across a crate. Your back arched, legs over the far edge, head dangling off the side.

Mouth open. Throat exposed. Waiting.

You feel Ada’s fingers slide down your cheek, curling under your jaw to tilt your head just right.

“You look divine like this,” she purrs.

Leon steps between your parted lips.

His boots creak on the concrete floor. You don’t need to see him—you feel him. The heat of him. The tension radiating off him like a live wire.

He brushes the head of his cock along your lips—wet already. Heavy.

“She’s shaking already,” Ada whispers. “Use her. Slowly.”

Leon eases inside your mouth.

Gravity helps. Your throat opens on instinct. You gasp around him, hands grabbing at the sides of the crate for stability as he sinks deep, the angle forcing your muscles to stretch and submit.

Ada strokes your hair as you gag.

“Good girl,” she breathes. “Breathe through your nose. Take what he gives you.”

Leon starts to move.

Short thrusts at first—testing, building—before growing bolder, deeper, until your throat is flush with his cock, spit pouring from the corners of your mouth and down your cheeks.

He groans above you, hand braced on the crate. “Fuck. She’s swallowing me—just like that.”

Ada crouches beside your face now. Watches your lips stretch around Leon’s cock. Watches your lashes flutter as you try not to choke. Watches spit string and fall to the floor.

“She’s crying,” she says gently, fingers swiping a tear from your temple. “So beautiful like this. Ruined just for us.”

Leon thrusts harder now. Controlled. Feral beneath the surface. His hips slap lightly against your lips, cock slamming down your throat in smooth, punishing strokes.

You can’t breathe properly. But you don’t care.

You want to be used like this.

You want to give him everything.

Ada leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice like sin.

“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you to.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock, body shuddering. Your thighs rub together at the other end of the crate—soaked, dripping, desperate. You're not even being touched, but the pressure is unbearable.

“She's twitching,” Ada muses. “You're wrecking her.”

Leon grunts, hips stuttering. He’s close. Again. You feel it—thick, heavy, pulsing on your tongue.

“She gonna take it?” he pants.

Ada kisses your temple. “She’ll take every drop.”

Leon drives deep one final time, hips flush to your lips, cock buried in your throat.

And he cums.

Hot. Sudden. Brutal.

His seed floods your mouth, thick and hot, and you gulp—again and again—refusing to let even a drop spill.

Ada watches you with dark, hungry eyes.

“That’s it. Don’t waste it. Swallow him like you’re starving.”

You do.

Your throat aches. Your mouth is numb. You can barely breathe.

And you’ve never felt more alive.

Leon steps back. His cock slips free from your lips with a slick, messy sound.

You lie there upside down—dripping, wrecked, mouth still open, throat fluttering around the ghost of him.

Ada leans in, gloved fingers dragging gently down your throat.

“You didn’t cum,” she whispers.

You shake your head, dazed, obedient.

Her smile sharpens.

“Good girl. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

She disappears from view—and then, warm fingers slide between your thighs from the other end of the crate.

Finally.

[miffysrkv]

"Fucked through and through"

pairing: aged up! pro-hero Bakugo x pro-hero! reader

CONTENT TAGS🧨 Face fucking | Dom Bakugou | Power dynamics | Sloppy oral | Spit | Gagging | Possession kink | Dirty talk | Restraint (optional) | Bakugou in full control | Cockdrunk energy (for both parties)🔞 This is extremely NSFW, 18+ only, and gloriously unclean.

a/n: this one is super long, but bare with me here when I say I think ya'll are going to LOVE it.

It starts like it always does—with shouting.

“Goddammit, Katsuki!” you snap, tossing your gloves onto the locker bench. “You don’t have to fucking bodycheck me during training—”

“Then move faster,” he growls from across the locker room, his voice rough, angry, too close to the edge already. “You’re the one who left your flank open.”

You whirl on him, still hot from the mission, from the clash, from him. “It was a drill, not a deathmatch!”

“Tch. Then don’t fight like you’ve got a death wish.”

That’s it.

You march up to him, toe-to-toe now, chests nearly brushing, your jaw tight.

“And you don’t get to treat me like I’m your fuckin’ rookie sidekick—”

“I’ll treat you how the fuck I want.”

He says it low. Intentionally. Possessive.

Your breath hitches.

He’s close now. Too close.

You open your mouth to snap back—

And that’s when he grabs your face.

It happens fast.

One hand at your jaw, the other fisting the back of your collar, pulling you down to your knees with that brutal, unrelenting force he uses on villains.

Your back hits the cool tile. The locker room lights glare overhead. And Katsuki Bakugou?

He’s already got his cock out.

Thick. Red. Veined. Already leaking like he’s been hard for hours.

“Keep fuckin’ talking,” he snarls, eyes blown wide with fury and something filthier. “Let’s see how much that mouth can take.”

You barely have time to inhale before he’s pushing past your lips—hot, heavy, thick enough that your jaw strains to take it.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

His voice drops to a growl as both hands slide into your hair, gripping tight, using you.

“You wanna argue with me?” “Wanna mouth off in front of the whole fuckin’ squad?” “Then open wide and take what’s fuckin’ yours.”

He thrusts—slow at first—just enough to tease the back of your tongue, letting you adjust, your throat fluttering around him.

You whimper, gagging softly around his cock.

But it only makes him grunt—his hips rolling harder now, sliding deeper.

“Shit, look at you.” “Down there like you fuckin’ belong.”

Spit’s already pooling down your chin. Your mascara’s starting to smudge. Your hands grip his muscular thighs for balance, but he knocks them away with a sneer.

“Nah. Hands behind your back.”

You obey, to your own dismay, heat flushing through you, thighs squeezing together.

And he starts really fucking your mouth.

There’s no rhythm—just raw need. His hips snap forward over and over, cock plunging into your throat, squelching wet sounds filling the locker room.

You gag—again and again—and he doesn’t stop.

“Take it.” “Take it like a fuckin’ good girl.” “So fuckin’ mouthy a second ago. What happened, baby?”

Tears prick your eyes, and your nose brushes his navel with every brutal thrust. You can barely breathe, every inhale catching between spit. his cock and your own shame.

And Bakugou?

He’s watching you. Every second. Eyes locked on your ruined face. That smirk twisting darker each time you gurgle and exude spit around him.

You feel his cock twitch.

You try to brace.

He grabs your head in both hands, plants his feet, and fucks your throat so deep your nose slams into his pelvis.

You scream—around his cock.

And he cums.

“Yeah. Take it. Swallow it—fuck, swallow every fuckin’ drop—”

You do. You have to. There’s too much—hot and thick, it floods your throat, dribbles out your lips, stains your chin.

When he finally pulls out, it’s messy. Your mouth open, strings of spit and cum connecting tongue to cock, your chest heaving, throat red.

He kneels down, grabs your jaw, forces your mouth open again.

“Still wanna argue?”

You shake your head. Dumb. Fucked out.

“Didn’t think so.”

And then?

He lifts you up, carries you toward the private showers, his cock still half-hard, brushing your thigh.

“Let’s see how that pussy handles round two.”

The shower tiles are cold against your back. Steam curls around your skin. Your throat is raw, mouth still slick with his cum, and Bakugou’s hand is already shoved between your thighs, cupping your soaked pussy through your ruined hero suit.

“Still drippin’,” he snarls, voice gravel. “All that fuckin’ attitude and you’re soaked for me.”

He rips the fabric aside—literally tears it, seams splitting—and doesn’t wait for you to adjust.

Two fingers. Deep. Thick. Brutal. Immediate.

You gasp, arching off the tile, legs twitching.

“Yeah. That’s it. You think runnin’ that mouth won’t get you punished?” “You think I’ll just let you walk away after you take my cock like that?”

He flips you around—presses your front to the shower wall with a loud, wet smack, your hands flat against the tile, hips pushed out.

And he drops to his knees behind you.

You barely manage a breath before his tongue is on you. in you.

Lapping. Sucking. Growling.

He spreads your cunt wide with his thumbs and devours you like he’s starving—like your flavor’s the only thing that’ll calm the burning in his chest.

You cry out, knees trembling, thighs slick with spit and water and want.

“All this from suckin’ my cock?”

You nod—dazed, panting.

And then he stands.

Grabs your hips.

And shoves his cock into you—hard.

You scream.

The angle. The stretch. So full, so fast, you slam into the wall with a choked sob.

Bakugou grips your hips like he owns them—thumbs digging into bruises he’s already made, hips crashing into yours with wet, violent slaps that echo in the steam.

“Yeah. That’s it.” “That pussy fuckin’ sucks me in. You hear it?” “So fuckin’ loud.”

He wraps a hand around your throat again, just like before—pulls you back against his chest as he fucks up into you, this new angle bring him deeper you swear you could feel him in the depths of your stomach.

Your knees start to buckle.

And he catches you with a grunt.

“You’re not fuckin’ going anywhere.” “You’re takin’ every inch until I’m done.”

You clench around him—tight, and desperate.

And that’s what snaps him.

He slams in deep and stays there—hips flexing, cock twitching, and then—

“Take it. Take my fuckin’ load.”

He cums hard. Loud, rough, grinding into you as he fills you, cum spilling out around his cock, mixing with water and sweat and heat.

You moan—wrecked. Gone. Brainless.

-

You're still trembling.

The shower is long behind you now, but your body’s barely functioning—legs wobbly, your suit hanging halfway off your body, and his cum is still dripping down your inner thighs with every step you take.

But Bakugou?

He’s still hard.

And he’s dragging you by the wrist back to the bench in the middle of the locker room.

“Sit.”

You try to catch your breath, but he’s already spinning you around—pushing you down onto the bench, your knees hitting tile with a dull slap, your eyes just inches from his cock.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth again.”

You blink up at him. Dazed. Still fucked out.

“Don’t get shy now,” he grunts, thumbing your chin, guiding your lips open again. “You know what I want.”

His cock is so hard—angry, red, still glistening from where he pulled out of your soaked cunt in the shower. The veins stand out thick along his shaft, and the tip leaks with another drop of cum that lands on your tongue.

You whimper.

And he shoves in again.

Your throat opens on reflex—used to him now. Hungry for him.

He groans. Loud. Like this is what he’s needed all fucking day.

“God, your mouth…” “Takes me like it’s what you were made for.”

This time, there’s no warm-up. No teasing.

He fucks your face raw.

One hand grips your hair, the other on the back of your head, using you like you’re not a hero, not his girlfriend, not a person—just a mouth to be used.

You gag and splutter around his cock.

Drool spills down your chin. Onto your chest. Down your stomach.

“Messy little slut,” he growls. “You like this? my cock in your mouth?”

Your nails claw at his thighs—not an attempt to stop him. To hold yourself steady.To pull him in deeper.

He moans—needy, desperate.

“Fuck. Look at you—gaggin’ for me, takin’ it all, eyes fuckin’ rolled back—”

He twitches. You feel it.

You brace.

And then—he cums again.

Harder.

Thicker this time. Heat floods your mouth, and this time you can’t swallow it all—some of it escape from the corner of your mouth and down your neck.

You’re shaking, throat used, chest slick with him.

And Bakugou?

He crouches down. Wipes a thumb through the mess on your face and shoves it back into your mouth.

“Swallow all of it. Every drop.”

You do. Of course you did.

And when you’re done?

He tilts your chin up. Smirks. Cock still wet, still twitching.

You already knew what that smirk meant.

At this point, you're breathless.

Still reeling from how he used your mouth—cum on your tongue, throat raw, body trembling.

But Bakugou?

He’s not done.

“Get up on the bench,” he growls, voice dark, low, mean. “Face down. Ass up.”

You blink, dazed. “Katsuki—”

“Now.”

And like your body’s wired for him, you obey.

You’re barely on your knees, hands braced on the far end of the locker room bench, when he yanks the remains of your suit down—rips them completely, fingers digging into your hips.

Your pussy’s still so soaked.

Still twitching. Still leaking. Still throbbing from the aftershocks of the shower, from his cock down your throat.

Bakugou groans behind you when he sees it.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess.” “Can’t even keep your legs closed, can you?”

You whine.

And then—he slides in.

No warning. No mercy.

The sound is filthy.

So wet. So loud. Your cunt sucking him in, squeezing him like a vice.

Your knees skid on the bench. You nearly collapse.

But he grabs your hips—and slams in deeper.

“There she fuckin’ is.” “Tight little pussy just beggin’ for it.”

He sets a brutal rhythm—hips slapping your ass, cock grinding that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“You feel that?” he hisses. “You know what’s fuckin’ comin’, don’t you?”

Your nails claw the bench. The pressure is building. Fast. Sharp. Dangerous.

Your voice breaks. “Katsuki, I—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can.”

His hand slips under you, finds your clit—rubs it just right.

You jerk.

Your whole body locks up.

And you scream.

You squirt.

Hard.

A sharp gush sprays between your thighs, soaking his cock, the bench, even the tile below.

It’s loud, embarrassing, uncontrolled—and he fuckin’ loves it.

“That’s it,-fuck- baby,” he groans. “Fuckin’ soak me.” “Squirt all over this cock. I fuckin’ earned that.”

You cry out again—shaking, hips bucking against him. But he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, pace relentless, wet slaps echoing off the locker walls.

You’re sobbing. Moaning. Too far gone.

He leans over your back, lips at your ear:

“No one else makes you do that, huh?” “No one else makes you fuckin’ squirt like that.” “Say it.”

You gasp, choking on your own moans. “Only you—fuck—only you, Katsuki—”

“That’s right.”

He slams in deep. And finally, and hopefully for the last time, he cums inside you with a growl, cock twitching like crazy, filling you up again.

When he pulls out?

You're ruined.

Soaked. Trembling. Legs twitching as you drip onto the tiled floor.

And Bakugou?

He pulls you back into his lap on the bench, still wet, still open, cum leaking everywhere as he kisses you.

[miffysrkv]

“What’s Left After the Fire”

Resident Evil Universe — Set during/after RE6 timeline

pairing: Leon S Kennedy x Agent! Reader

warning: smut head 🔞, feelings are involved, sir is down bad for you

The lab is on fire.

Gunfire echoes in the distance. Sirens scream like ghosts. The air stinks of ash, melted metal, and blood. You're bleeding—left side, shallow cut—but you keep running. You're not here for intel. Not even for survival.

You're here because of the name that popped up on your mission tablet like a ghost refusing to stay buried.

Leon S. Kennedy.

And there he is.

You find him in the lower levels of the facility—gun smoking, shoulders tense, hair damp with sweat and ash. His eyes find you instantly, and the gun lowers in disbelief.

“...[Y/N]?”

He says your name like he’s tasting it for the first time in years. Like it hurts.

You should lie. Make a clean exit. But your mouth betrays you.

“Miss me, Kennedy?”

His jaw clenches. “I watched them bury you.”

You smirk. But your heart's racing. “Clearly, not well enough.”

He closes the space between you in three strides. “You let me think you were dead.”

You swallow but kept the façade up. “I had to. If you knew I was alive, you’d come after me.”

“I would’ve saved you,” he growls.

“No,” you whisper, it was your turn to take a step closer. “You would’ve died for me.”

And that’s when the fire between you reignites.

He grabs you by the waist and slams your back into the nearest wall, mouth crashing to yours with years of pain behind it. His kiss is furious. Tongue claiming. Teeth biting. You answer with nails dragging down his back, hips rolling into his like you’re starving.

“Still reckless,” you gasp between kisses. “Still a fucking hero.”

“Still in love with you,” he spits, breath ragged. “Goddammit.”

Clothes are half-shredded. Tactical belts hit the floor with metallic clatter. His hands grip your ass, lift you with ease, your thighs wrapping around his waist as he presses you into the concrete, cock already rock-hard, pressing against your soaked core.

“You want to forget me?” he snarls. “Then I’ll fuck the memory into your bones.”

You moan, body aching for him. “Do it."

He enters you with a growl—deep and brutal, stretching you in one thick, aching thrust. The sound you make is somewhere between sob and scream. Your head hits the wall, your nails dig into his back, and he doesn’t stop moving.

His hips slam into yours, cock dragging along your walls like punishment and worship all at once.

“You think I didn’t dream of this?” he pants. “Every night. Wondering where the fuck you were. Who you were fucking. If you were even alive.”

You grab his face, force him to look at you. “You were the only one.”

His thrusts falter—for a second. Just long enough to feel it.

Then he slams into you harder.

Faster.

He’s feral. Grieving. You both are.

Each thrust is a demand.

Each moan, a confession.

He pulls out only to flip you around, bending you over a supply crate, dragging your soaked cunt back onto his cock with a groan that sounds broken.

“You always liked it rough,” he hisses, one hand fisting your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you’ll bruise. “You still take me like I was made for you.”

You scream his name as your orgasm tears through you—shaking, soaking him, eyes wet and throat raw. He follows with a guttural moan, spilling inside you, hips jerking as he fucks you through it.

When he collapses over your back, forehead against your shoulder, the room is silent but for your gasps and the distant roar of flames.

He whispers, “Tell me you’re not leaving again.”

You close your eyes. “I never stopped wanting to come back.”

“But you won’t.”

Your silence is the only answer he needs.

He lets you go with a kiss.

Slow. Devastating.

Like everything in this world worth having… and worth losing.

-

You hear the door before you see him.

Heavy boots. Slow tread. A ghost announcing himself with every step through the dust-covered hallway of the abandoned safehouse. You’re halfway through changing out of your gear when the lock is punched in—hard enough to break it.

Then he’s there.

Leon.

No words. No warning.

His eyes are wild. Tired. Wounded. Feral.

“Leon—” you start.

But he’s already crossing the room.

“You fucking left again,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “After everything. You ran.”

Your mouth opens—lie or truth, you haven’t decided yet—but you don’t get the chance. He’s grabbing you by the waist, slamming your back into the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. His mouth crushes yours in a kiss that's more bite than breath, tongue forcing its way in like punishment.

You moan—helpless, wrecked—because no one feels like him.

“I had to,” you whisper between gasps. “You know I did.”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore,” he snarls. “You don’t get to keep leaving me like I’m some chapter you outgrew.”

His hands yank your shirt open—buttons fly, fabric tears. You hiss, but you don’t stop him. You want him angry. You want him brutal. Because it means he feels it too.

“Leon—” you breathe. “You’re hurting—”

He rips your pants down, forces you to turn around and brace yourself against the wall, breathing hard against your neck.

“I’ve been hurting since Tall Oaks. Since Raccoon City. Since you first fucking disappeared.”

His cock is out, already hard. You’re dripping—shamefully so. You want this. You ache for this.

He doesn’t ease in.

He slams into you with a guttural growl, and you scream his name, forehead against the wall, hands clawing for something solid.

Each thrust is punishing—deep, relentless, hips smacking against your ass as he drives into you like he's trying to fuck the betrayal out of his bloodstream.

“You don’t get to haunt me,” he snarls. “You don’t get to look at me like you didn’t crawl into my chest and rot there.”

You choke out a sob as he leans over your back, one hand slipping around your throat, the other between your legs.

“You feel that?” he breathes, voice cracking. “That’s me. Still inside you. Still yours.”

You cum like that—tight, shuddering, raw—his hand choking the moan from your throat as you clench around him, milking him like your body remembers who it belongs to.

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t let you breathe.

He pulls you back by your hair and fucks you harder, deeper, meaner.

“I’ll never let you leave again,” he whispers. “Even if I have to keep you like this—on your knees, screaming my name, too full of me to run.”

You whimper his name—Leon—and that’s all it takes.

He buries himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he cums inside you with a broken moan, body trembling. He presses you to the wall, staying buried, hips jerking through the aftershocks as his cum spills out of you, thick and hot and marking.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. Ruined.

“You’re the only thing I never learned how to kill.”

You turn your head. Catch his eyes.

Tears are there. Yours. Maybe his.

And you say it:

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I didn’t think you’d survive me.”

He closes his eyes.

“You were the only thing that made me want to.”

[miffysrkv]

Catalyst

Pairing: Jayce x Reader x Viktor Genre: Slow burn, mature, romantic tension, polyamory, hexcore Tone: Tender, obsessive, emotionally charged Warnings: a slightly un-hinged Jayce here :p Mel cares for you

Chapter 4 – Control Systems

Navigation: CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 (you’re here)

You hadn’t seen sunlight in days

You honestly don’t remember the last time you even tried to leave the lab.

But that fact wasn’t entirely your fault. Jayce and Viktor had practically barricaded the lower lab with new biometric locks, layered security, and a coded keyphrase known only to the three of you.

And if you were being truthful… you didn’t want to leave.

There was something about the space now— the shared energy, stolen touches, long silences broken by labored breathing and soft gasps against cold tables and warm beds—that it was starting to feel like home. You were studying magic, yes, but you were also being studied. By both of them.

Jayce with his blazing, physical intensity. Viktor with his quiet, consuming need and the way he used his words.

They hadn’t left your side.

Not once.

And Mel noticed.

She always had a knack of knowing and even noticing things when they weren’t so open to the naked eye.

When she appeared at the lab’s upper entrance, her presence sliced through the walls like a scalpel.

“Jayce,” she said, voice as smooth as ever, “we need to talk.”

Jayce stiffened beside you. His hand—warm, calloused—was on your lower back, and for a split second, he didn’t move it. He just stared at Mel with something you didn’t recognize.

Possessiveness.

For a moment, it was quiet, both councilors challenging each other with their gaze before he spoke again.

“No,” he said. “We’re busy.” his voice sharp and full of authority that you’ve grown to love.

Mel’s eyes flicked to you, her voice steel beneath silk. “She hasn’t been in Council sessions. She missed the last engineering roundtable. And your last three status reports are blank.” You and Mel had been close once. From the time when she first arrived in Piltover to when you found each other again, rather this time she was a councilor and you a well accomplished scientist. The two of you would always find time outside of Council and Laboratory duties to share with each other on how your days had faired.

But those times seemed to fade when she had caught wind of your newly found relationship with Piltover’s creators of Hextech.

Viktor was already there—calm, unreadable. He stalked slowly to your other side, cutting off Mel’s line of sight like a shadow closing in.

“The Council doesn’t need to know everything,” Viktor said simply. “Not yet.”

Mel’s gaze shifted over to the lankier man. “This is about the Hexcore, isn’t it? It’s doing something to you… to all of you.”

Jayce stepped forward, voice low. “Be careful, Mel.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I always am.” She sent you a conflicted look before turning away from the trio.

When she left, the silence in the lab was suffocating.

Later, when the doors were locked again and the windows darkened, Jayce paced like a storm trapped in a cage. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wild.

“She’s going to ruin everything. She’s going to drag this into the Council chamber and—”

“She won’t,” Viktor interrupted. “You’ve made her feel important. She won’t burn the bridge she still hopes to rebuild.”

You blinked, snapping your attention towards Viktor.

“You knew?”

“I know everything,” Viktor murmured, stepping closer to you. “You think I’ve spent all this time watching just the Hexcore?”

Jayce looked between the two of you, tense.

Viktor tilted his head, eyes trailing down your form like you were an equation only he could solve. “She’s not the problem. We are.”

Jayce moved forward. “And what does that mean?”

“It means,” Viktor said, his voice soft and dangerous, “that I’m done waiting for you to realize how fragile this is. How perfect. And how easily it could break if we let fear get in the way.”

You’d never seen Viktor like this.

Confident. Commanding.

He turned to you. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched.

Jayce stepped in too, possessive as ever, pulling you into him with a growl. “She doesn’t take orders from you.”

“No,” Viktor said, stepping behind you, voice at your ear. “But she wants to.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You liked this side of Viktor, and gods you couldn't help the heat that was growing in the pit of your stomach.

Their hands found you at the same time—Jayce’s rough, strong, gripping your hips like you’d vanish. Viktor’s fingers slid around your throat, feather-light, tipping your head back until you were between them.

Owned.

Adored.

Studied.

Jayce kissed you hard, urgent and devouring, as if he needed to mark you before Viktor got his turn. His mouth trailed heat down your neck, down your chest, until your breath hitched into a moan, your hands trying to find purchase.

Viktor, ever the strategist, waited. He watched you break apart first. Then, when Jayce pulled back to look at you—flushed, breathless—Viktor took your chin in his hand.

“You’re more than ours,” he whispered. “You’re the axis. And if anyone tries to take you from us—”

Jayce finished the sentence. “—they burn.”

Later, after the steam had cooled and the lab was thick with sweat and magic and promises whispered into skin, Viktor stood alone by the Hexcore.

It pulsed like it was breathing. Like it had felt everything.

He reached toward it—fingers trembling, reverent.

“I will not lose her,” he whispered to the Core.

“I will not lose them.”

Behind him, you slept between tangled limbs and silent promises.

And the Core pulsed again.

Stronger.

Hungry.

Awake

[miffysrkv]

“Fleeting Light”

Xiao x Outlander! Reader Genre: Angst, severe longing on both ends, Fluff and a happy ending

A/N: XIAO MY BELOVED, please enjoy ya’ll— had to take breaks with this one ;_;

You always found your way back to Xiao. No matter how far you chased your younger siblings across Teyvat — whether tracing faint footsteps in Mondstadt’s gusting winds or the whispered trails hidden beneath Inazuma’s storms — he remained your constant. A lone figure perched atop the tallest cliffs of Liyue, where the world seemed quieter, the stars close enough to touch, and the burdens that weighed him down barely disturbed the chilled air. He never turned to greet you, never gave you the easy warmth of a smile. Yet, you felt seen. In your own complicated, desperate way, you belonged to this stoic Yaksha.

Your relationship was a delicate and painful thing, defined by absence and fleeting touches, a fragile truce between your two worlds. Friends with benefits, some might say. But it never fit neatly into any box. Xiao was the vigilant guardian, his very being tethered to duty and endless penance. You, restless and driven by family and fate, carried your own chains — chasing Aether and Lumine through the fractured lands, hoping to find them before the world swallowed them whole.

Every time you visited, there was an unspoken tension between you, the kind that crackled beneath the surface like static before a storm. When your hands brushed, it was electric and trembling; when your eyes met — if only for a breath — it was laden with a thousand words left unsaid. Yet, you came back. And he let you come.

Tonight was different. The winds that swept over Liyue’s cliffs were gentler, and the silver moon bathed the world in a soft glow, as if the heavens themselves conspired to soften the weight you both carried. You sat beside Xiao on the rough-hewn floor of his quarters, where the faint scent of incense mingled with the cool stone and wood. Lanterns flickered shadows across the walls, painting the room with flickers of light and darkness.

His arm brushed yours, hesitant but deliberate. Your heart thundered — a drumbeat you hadn’t realized you still carried. Xiao’s voice was low, rough like gravel tumbling over worn stone, “You shouldn’t stay.”

You met his gaze — dark, guarded, but beneath it all something fragile and raw. “Neither should you,” you whispered back.

Silence stretched like a fragile thread between you. Then your fingers found his, tentative at first, then steady as if they belonged there all along. The years of loneliness, the endless vigilance, the torment that shadowed every breath he took — all of it seemed to fall away in that small, stolen moment.

Lying tangled beneath the worn linens of his modest bed, with the world beyond your window muted and distant, you felt the mask he always wore slip. Xiao’s breath hitched. His emerald eyes flickered with a vulnerability you rarely saw, the usual stoicism cracked open. “I love you,” he breathed, almost afraid his own voice might shatter the fragile peace.

The words caught fire in your chest. For a moment, you were silent — the mission, the endless search for your siblings, the crushing weight of your purpose pressing against your mind. But none of it mattered here, not now. You reached up, fingertips trailing along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the pulse beneath his skin. “I love you too,” you whispered, letting the truth fall between you like fragile glass.

His eyes closed slowly, a softness blooming where there had only been pain and isolation for so long. You stayed there in the quiet dark, wrapped in the warmth of something real and unspoken until the dawn crept in with pale fingers, softening the edges of night and hope.

Morning light was merciless. The fragile sanctuary of your shared night shattered with the first rays, reminding you of everything you had to leave behind. Your mission called — the endless road that would take you far from here, chasing shadows of your siblings, chasing a hope that always felt just out of reach.

Xiao’s grip on your hand tightened for a heartbeat, then released, a quiet understanding passing between you. “I understand,” he said, his voice low, heavy with everything he couldn’t say.

You leaned in and kissed the pale skin of his forehead — a touch both tender and aching. “Until next time,” you murmured, though you didn’t know when that time would come.

Stepping into the cool morning haze, your heart felt torn apart and held together all at once. The memory of his whispered love burned bright inside you, a fragile flame to carry through the long nights and endless miles. Because even when your paths seemed destined to pull you apart, even when loneliness clawed at your soul, you had found something real — a fleeting light to guide you.

And sometimes, that was enough to keep going.

-

The world was burning around you. Flames licked the edges of a battlefield that stretched on endlessly, chaos and destruction weaving into a tapestry of fear and loss. Your heart, normally encased in layers of steel and silence, felt as if it might shatter beneath the weight of what you were fighting for—and what you were losing.

In the midst of it all, your thoughts broke through the noise like a quiet breath, unbidden yet fierce: Xiao.

His face came to you unbidden, the sharp lines softened by the moonlight, the loneliness behind his eyes that mirrored your own. You remembered the nights spent in his quiet chamber, the fragile warmth of his hand in yours, the whispered confession that shattered the walls you’d built around your heart. You, the Outlander forever chasing your siblings, forever running from the ghosts of your past—and he, the Yaksha, burdened by millennia of penance and solitude.

You thought of him as you fought. As the clash of swords and the roar of magic tore through the air. In those moments when the world narrowed down to life and death, you allowed yourself the forbidden hope—that maybe, when this endless storm finally passed, you could lay down your burdens and live a life beside him. A life quiet and simple, away from the endless chase. Maybe you could be like your siblings, who had gained new strength, new light—each marked by their own glowing sign: Aether’s earring shimmering with wind, Lumine’s flower pulsing with light. A mark of change, of hope, of belonging.

You pressed a hand to your neck beneath your collar, feeling the smooth curve of a single earring tucked beneath your hair—a small token you had left with Xiao long ago. You remembered the moment you handed it to him, voice steady but heart pounding beneath the surface.

“Keep this,” you had said softly. “So when the night gets too dark, you can remember me. No matter where I am.”

Xiao had taken it without a word, his usual guarded expression faltering for a moment as he slid the earring onto his ear. It was the only piece of you he carried—a silent tether between your worlds.

Now, as you fought with all you had, that earring felt heavier than ever. It was more than a trinket. It was a promise. A fragile ember glowing against the cold dark.

But you were broken. You were afraid. The mission that drove you was merciless, demanding sacrifices you weren’t sure you could bear. Every step forward was a step further away from the life you wanted—away from him.

In the chaos of battle, your defenses cracked. You let yourself imagine a future where you didn’t have to run. Where you could lay your weapons down, rest your weary soul, and simply be.

The thought was both a balm and a curse.

Because hope was dangerous.

And love—even more so.

When the dust settled, when the smoke cleared and the battlefield lay silent but scarred, you found yourself alone once more, the weight of your choices pressing on your chest like a storm.

You clenched your fists, fingertips grazing the place where the earring once rested against your skin, aching with the knowledge of what you’d left behind—and what you might never have.

Yet still, somewhere deep inside, the ember flickered.

A light you refused to extinguish.

For Xiao. For the promise you made. For the life that might still be waiting beyond the war.

And in that quiet, burning hope, you found the strength to keep going—even when it hurt so badly you thought you might break.

-

The world felt colder without her.

Each breath Xiao drew was a reminder of the emptiness that stretched between them—an expanse vast as the mountains he guarded, as desolate as the night sky that had once cradled their whispered confessions. The earring hung from his ear, glinting faintly in the pale moonlight, a shard of her tethered to him across the distance.

He didn’t speak of her.

He never would.

Words were fleeting, too fragile for the weight he carried. But in the quiet moments, when the wind was still and the world ceased its endless turmoil, Xiao felt the ghost of her touch linger—soft, warm, aching.

The mission that kept her away was relentless, pulling her farther into shadows he could not follow. And though his heart, centuries old and hardened by regret, throbbed with a longing that defied his very nature, he accepted the cruel truth: their worlds might never align again.

Yet every night, he reached for the earring—a silent prayer, a vow whispered into the darkness.

Come back to me.

In battle, his fury burned brighter, fueled by memories of her—her fierce spirit, her quiet strength, the rare softness she allowed him. But once the fight was over, the loneliness returned like a tide, crashing relentlessly against the shores of his soul.

He dreamed of her sometimes—her platinum hair like a halo beneath the stars, her voice a fragile melody cutting through the noise. And in those dreams, he dared to hope for a life beyond pain, beyond duty, beyond the endless war.

But waking was a cruel reminder.

She was gone.

And all he had left was the faint glow of the earring against his skin—and the unbearable ache of loving someone who might never stay.

Xiao’s vigil was silent, unyielding, and drenched in sorrow.

Because love, for him, was a wound that never healed.

-

The world had finally settled.

Years had passed since the endless storms and battles that tore through Teyvat had finally come to a close. The land slowly healed, and with it, so did you—or at least, you had been given the chance. The chains that once bound your mission, your relentless pursuit of your siblings through shattered realms and shifting fate, were broken. The heavy burden that had shaped every breath of your existence now lay at your feet, silent and still.

You were free.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you chose your own path.

That path led you back to Xiao.

You had not seen him in years. Not since the war ended, since you last held him close beneath the cold moonlight, and the world demanded more from you than you could give. You hadn’t called out his name during all those dark days, all those desperate nights filled with loss and quiet longing. You hadn’t allowed yourself to reach out, even when every fiber of your being ached with the need to hear his voice again.

Because there was something you carried inside—a secret too heavy, too sorrowful to share until now.

The wind was sharp as you approached the cliffs where he waited, the place where you had first laid down the fragile promise between you. The years had not softened the sharp lines of his face or the guarded shadow in his amber eyes. But as he turned and saw you, something unspoken shifted in his gaze. Recognition, pain, hope — a storm of emotions held beneath the surface, held with the careful restraint of a man who had known only solitude for lifetimes.

He did not speak at first. His silence was not coldness, but the weight of all he held inside—the vigilance, the regret, the love never fully voiced.

You stood before him, heart pounding with the ghosts of what you’d lost and what you dared still hope for.

“I never called your name,” you began, voice quiet, trembling like a fragile leaf caught in the wind. “Not once.”

His eyes searched yours, unblinking, waiting.

“Because... I thought if I did, if I called out for you, I would lose you all the same,” you confessed, the words heavy with the sorrow you had carried in silence. “There was a moment… a moment when I almost died. When everything I hoped for seemed to slip away. And I was afraid that if I called to you then, it would only make the pain worse—that you would see me fall and there would be nothing you could do.”

Xiao’s breath hitched, the usual stoicism breaking just enough to reveal the fierce ache beneath. “You carried that alone,” he said, voice low, raw with all the unshed grief he bore.

“I thought... if I stayed silent, if I didn’t reach out, maybe I could spare you the pain. But the truth is, every day I was gone, every moment I didn’t call your name, I was still reaching for you—just in my own way.”

His fingers brushed your cheek, rough but gentle, grounding you in the fragile now. “You should never have carried that burden alone.”

The years apart weighed on you both, the silent walls of regret and love pressing heavy between you. But beneath it all, something stubborn and fierce burned—a bond forged in pain, in absence, in whispered promises beneath starless skies.

“You’re here now,” Xiao said, voice steadier but no less full of longing. “And that is enough.”

You let yourself lean into him, the weight of years falling away, the ache in your chest softening with every breath.

The world beyond might still be uncertain, but here—in the quiet between heartbeats—there was something worth holding on to.

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough.

-

The first days of reunion were wrapped in a quiet hesitance, like the fragile unfolding of dawn after a long, cold night. Years of distance and silence had woven layers of caution around your hearts, but beneath the guarded gazes and careful words, a soft warmth flickered—waiting patiently to grow.

Xiao was still the vigilant Yaksha, his presence steady and reserved, but the way his eyes lingered on you now held a gentleness you hadn’t seen before. It was in the smallest things: the brush of his fingers against your hand when he guided you along the cliff’s edge, the rare, almost shy smile that touched his lips when you laughed softly at some quiet joke, the way he allowed himself to lean just a little closer in the evenings, as if afraid you might disappear again.

You, too, found your walls slowly melting, brick by brick. The solitude that had been your armor softened in the warmth of his quiet devotion. You let yourself rest in the safety of his presence, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his breath, the soft weight of his hand cradling yours as the sun dipped low behind the mountains.

One evening, as twilight bathed the world in hues of gold and lavender, you sat side by side on a rocky ledge overlooking the sea. Xiao’s gaze was distant, but when he spoke, his voice was low and sure.

“You have changed,” he said softly. “The weight you carried... it is lighter now.”

You smiled, a genuine, tender curve of lips that reached your eyes. “Because I’m not carrying it alone anymore.”

He turned to you then, those jade eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. Without hesitation, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear—a simple touch, but charged with a thousand unspoken feelings.

“I have waited for this,” he murmured. “To walk beside you, not as a shadow, but as a companion.”

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder. “And I will walk with you,” you promised. “No more running, no more hiding.”

The world around you faded—the crashing waves, the whispering wind, the fading light—all replaced by the quiet harmony of two souls finding their way back to one another.

In the days that followed, you shared stolen moments: quiet conversations under star-studded skies, gentle laughter echoing through the quiet forest, and the slow, delicate dance of rediscovery. Xiao’s guarded heart opened just enough to share fragments of his pain, and you offered your own scars as bridges, not barriers.

With every touch, every glance, the distance of years unraveled, replaced by a love both fragile and fierce—a love built not on promises of forever, but on the simple, profound choice to stay.

And as the seasons turned, you knew that no matter what the future held, here and now was enough.

Because you were together.

[miffysrkv]

Catalyst

Pairing: Jayce x Reader x ViktorGenre: Slow burn, mature, romantic tension, polyamory, hexcore(??)Tone: Tender, obsessive, emotionally charged

Chapter 3 – Resonance

Navigation: CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 (you’re here)

Jayce would not stop watching you.

Even whilst he tried to act normal, laughing over schematics and pacing during Council updates, his eyes always found you. His eyes flicking to your lips. Your hands. Your throat.

Viktor was probably worse.

He barely touched you now. Barely spoke to you—except in private, when he’d corner you between shelves and whisper things like “I dream about you. I wake up sweating and afraid you’ve disappeared.”

And all the while, something in the lab had begun to change.

The Hexcore glowed brighter when the three of you were near it. Its usual rhythmic pulses—calm and faint—were now erratic, almost as if it were... alive. It seemed to sense when all three of you were in proximity, thrumming like a second heartbeat. A shared one.

That morning, the readings spiked again.

You stood beside Viktor, staring at the console screen in disbelief.

“It’s responding to us,” you murmured. Your eyes were transfixed on the core in front of you and you couldn't bring yourself to look away.

Viktor didn’t look surprised. “I think it has been for some time. We simply weren’t… aligned.”

Jayce entered the room, shirt half-buttoned and eyes still heavy from sleep. “It’s been drawing energy from our emotional states,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Like it’s feeding off the bond.” Feeding off the bond? How was this even possible.

You turned to him. “That’s not just a theory anymore.”

“No,” Viktor said quietly, stepping closer to the Hexcore. “It’s evolution.”

You should have reported it to the Council.

Jayce knew that. So did Viktor.

But none of you did.

Because somewhere, beneath the awe and the fear, there was something else: possession.

This connection—between the three of you, and the core—felt sacred. Untouchable. The thought of anyone else interfering filled you with something hot and dangerous.

Even now, standing with Jayce beside you and Viktor’s shadow stretched long on the floor, you could feel the hunger building again—not just sexual, but emotional, existential. Like all of you had been incomplete before this. Broken halves, now suddenly whole.

Jayce reached out to take your hand again. His palm was warm, steady.

“You feel it too, right?” he asked.

You nodded.

Viktor looked up. “It’s changing us.”

You turned to him. “Into what?”

He stared at you for a long moment, before looking back at the core as it continued to thrum

“A trinity.”

—

That night, the Hexcore pulsed until the walls vibrated.

Jayce was the first to feel it—waking in a sweat, stumbling into the lab half-dressed to find you already there, eyes locked on the console’s flashing readings.

Viktor followed minutes later, coat dragging, face pale as he limped towards the two of you.

“It’s syncing to us,” he said. “It’s sensing our bond in real time.”

The air rippled and you swore you saw arcs of magic stretch between the three of you—thin, threadlike lines of light binding you together like a constellation.

You stepped closer to the Hexcore, hypnotized. Its glow flared as you reached out, hand hovering above it.

Jayce’s voice was rough as he called out to you. “Don’t touch it. Not yet.”

Viktor’s was hoarse. “She has to.”

You looked between them—and then, slowly, pressed your fingers to the surface.

The reaction was instant.

Light exploded from the core, throwing all of you back. The world vanished in white heat.

—

You awoke on the floor.

Jayce beside you. Viktor on the other.

And something inside the Hexcore was breathing.

Its hum was deeper now. Stronger. It had changed.

It knew you.

Viktor pulled himself upright, bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow. He looked at the core like it was some sort of deity.

Jayce’s hand found yours again, gripping tight.

“We’re not just in this,” he said quietly. “We are this.”

Viktor looked at you, then Jayce. “If the Council finds out—”

“They won’t,” Jayce cut in. “We’ll protect it. Protect her.”

Your throat felt dry and you tried to swallow the nervous feeling you couldn’t shake off.

And understood something terrifying:

This wasn’t love anymore.

It was devotion.

And devotion could destroy everything.

[miffysrkv]

Catalyst

Pairing: Jayce x Reader x ViktorGenre: Slow burn, mature, romantic tension, polyamory, s3x is heavily implied hereTone: Tender, obsessive, emotionally charged

Chapter 2 – Dangerous Variables

Navigation: CH 1 | CH 2 (you’re here)

There was something about the air in the lab now—charged, humming, watching.

You stayed.

Even after Jayce’s fingers slipped from yours. Even after Viktor’s confession, quiet and staggering. Even after logic screamed at you to walk out of that room before your heart caught fire.

You stayed.

And they didn’t look at you the same after that night

The next few days passed in fevered fragments. You tried to focus on your work—truly, you did—you had pretended not to notice how Viktor lingered too close, how his voice softened only when he spoke to you, and even how he would make you your favorite tea without having to ask.

You tried to ignore the way Jayce touched your shoulder in passing, like it meant nothing, like he wasn’t memorizing the slope of your body with every glance, how you would catch him staring at your lips whenever you finished speaking

But the tension only wound tighter. Like a coil, waiting to snap.

—

It finally broke late one night.

You were alone in the lab, recalibrating the Hexcore interface. The room pulsed with blue light. You could feel the hum in your bones, your work area was lit the same color as the very intracate form in front of you.

Then you felt him.

Jayce. Standing in the doorway, watching.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said.

You didn’t turn around. “Working?" you replied back, your tone laced with slight irritation.

He stepped closer. “No. You’re trying to pretend like this is just work. Like we didn’t tell you what we feel.” He was right behind you now, you could feel his gaze scorching your back and you didn't dare to look, fearing you would collapse under his gaze.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you whispered.

Jayce’s voice dropped. “Didn’t you?”

You turned then, ready to snap—but stopped cold.

Viktor stood just behind him, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t,” you said, backing away, attempting to put as much space between yourself and the two men in front of you. “Don’t do this. Not both of you.”

“But that’s the thing,” Viktor said softly, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s always been both of us.”

His eyes locked onto yours with startling intensity. “I tried to stay away. I told myself you were a distraction. I told myself I had no time for attachment. But every time I look at you… I feel like I'm losing control.”

Jayce moved behind you, just as Viktor had that first night. His presence was fire—overwhelming. You could feel your heartbeat everywhere, your ears felt hot and your hand slightly trembled.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Jayce murmured in your ear. “Maybe we all need to lose a little control.”

Janna, someone save me-

You were trapped between them now—Viktor’s sharp brilliance, Jayce’s smoldering power. Their emotions were no longer hidden. They wanted you. Together. You were suffocating.

“You don’t have to choose,” Jayce said, voice rough. “We’re not asking you to.”

You trembled. “And what are you asking for?”

Viktor’s hand came up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that broke something open in you. “Everything.”

Jayce’s lips hovered near your throat. “All of you.”

They moved in sync, like they'd choreographed this—like you were the equation they had finally agreed to solve together.

And for once, you didn’t run.

—

Afterward, none of you speak right away.

You're pressed between them on Viktor’s narrow cot tucked behind the storage alcove. Jayce's arm is slung protectively across your waist as he plays with the slightly damp strands of your hair, and Viktor’s hand is still tangled in yours, rubbing slow circles on your skin.

No one moves. No one dares to.

“You’ll ruin me,” Viktor whispers.

Jayce chuckles, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “We’ll ruin each other.”

You close your eyes, heart thundering as your heart flutters at the amount of attention they are giving you.

Maybe that’s what love is.

Not safe. Not sane.

But shared.

Even if it burns.