miffysrkv

[miffysrkv]

"Just a Taste"

Warnings: Smoking, Weed equivalent (glimmerleaf), suggestive content

A/N: Shotgunning with Arcane Women! enjoy c:

Vi 🥊

Vi and Caitlyn stepped through the flickering neon haze of the Undercity, following Babette’s directions to a place whispered about in the quieter shadows—a sanctuary of velvet and smoke, where secrets traded hands like currency. The air thickened with the scent of incense and something greener, deeper.

The curtains opened to reveal (y/n), lounging like a queen on a throne of cushions and draped silks, smoke curling from a blunt held lazily between long fingers. Her clothes were a mesmerizing blend of opulence and edge—silks that caught the dim light with a faint shimmer, embroidered with arcane sigils that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Eyes sharp and alive, flicking up to Vi with a knowing smile.

"Vi," (y/n) breathed, voice smoky and low, "It’s been too long."

Caitlyn lingered near the doorway, quiet and wary, but (y/n)’s gaze barely registered her presence. She knew Vi and Jinx—those two were family, blood and bone—but the name Caitlyn meant nothing here.

Hands already glowing faintly with eldritch runes, (y/n) tapped the blunt against a low brass table, releasing a swirl of violet smoke that twisted upward, weaving itself into shifting images suspended in the air.

“Let’s see what your sister’s been up to,” she murmured, shotgunning the magic.

The smoke coalesced into sharp, flickering visions: Powder’s blue eyes wild, her fingers crackling with unstable energy; flashes of explosions echoing through the cavernous tunnels beneath Piltover; a silhouette darting between steel beams, hunted but unbowed.

“She’s been chasing ghosts,” (y/n) said, voice threading with arcane power, “and some are starting to bite back.”

Vi leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the images swirled around them—ghostly whispers of Powder’s last known steps, tangled alliances, and enemies cloaked in shadow.

“You’ll need more than luck to catch her now,” (y/n) warned, exhaling a plume of magical smoke that shimmered like liquid light. “But I’ll keep an eye. This city’s veins run deeper than you think.”

Caitlyn finally spoke, voice tentative, “Who are you?”

(Y/n) glanced up, the elegance never leaving her smirk. “Someone who knows the family’s secrets better than most. And right now, your best shot at finding Powder.”

Sevika 🥃

The Last Drop was louder these days. Under Silco’s rule, it had a new kind of pulse — steadier, more dangerous. The bar lights flickered like they always had, casting dull glows on metal limbs and sharp eyes. Smoke curled through the air, mingling with the bitter scent of spilt liquor and the metallic tang of Shimmer.

In the far corner booth, Sevika sat like a throne had been built just for her. One mechanical arm resting heavy on the back of the cracked leather seat, the other wrapped around a glass half-full of something dark and burning.

Then there was you — (Y/N), hovering near her table with that grin she hated to admit she liked. Not quite friends. Not quite enemies. You pushed her buttons. She pushed back harder. But somehow, when smoke was involved, the edge between you blurred.

"You just gonna stand there lookin’ pretty, or you planning to share?" Sevika muttered, voice low and unimpressed, though the subtle twitch of her lip betrayed her amusement.

You slid into the booth without hesitation. No point asking permission — she’d only respect you more for not bothering. Pulling the half-joint from behind your ear, you lit it with practiced ease, the ember flaring between your fingers before you took a slow drag. You held it in, letting your head tilt back, eyes closed for a beat.

Then you turned toward her, still close. Closer now. “Open up,” you said, voice smooth with mischief.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but parted her lips anyway.

The shotgun was deliberate. You leaned in, exhaling the smoke between her lips, the distance between your mouths barely more than a whisper. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in irritation — no, this was something else. Something more alert. Curious, even.

You sat on her lap, slow and easy like it was just another seat in the bar. Sevika didn’t stop you.

“What’s this then?” she asked, her breath smoky, voice rougher now.

“Just sharing,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace the edge of her collar with innocent intention. “Figured you might like a taste of something a little less... synthetic.”

Her laugh was low and dry. “And what are you supposed to be, then? Organic trouble?”

You smirked, offering her another pull, this time with your hand gently tilting her chin toward you. “Something like that.”

Sevika exhaled, the smoke curling from the corners of her mouth like steam from a machine just beginning to overheat. “Don’t make a habit of this,” she warned, though her hand was already resting firm on your hip.

“Too late,” you said, smirking as the bar noise seemed to blur around the two of you.

Caitlyn Kiramman 🪻

The dim lighting of Caitlyn's bedroom flickered off the crystal chandelier, casting soft golden shadows against velvet drapes. The room, lined with fine bookshelves and plush armchairs, smelled faintly of lilac perfume and something older—oak, tradition, luxury. A fire crackled quietly in the marble hearth, painting the space with warmth.

Caitlyn sat cross-legged on her grand canopy bed, still dressed in her house robes—deep navy with silver trim. Across from her, (Y/N) lounged like she owned the place, which wasn’t far from the truth. Their families had been close since they were toddlers, always at each other's estates, trained in etiquette and politics side by side. Yet something about tonight felt... different.

(Y/N)’s (hair color)-spilled over her shoulder as she pulled a silver case from her jacket. “You mind?” she asked, voice teasing.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you carry that around?”

(Y/N) just smirked and struck a match, lighting the blunt with slow deliberation. She took a hit, exhaled like it was nothing, and glanced sideways at Caitlyn, eyes hooded.

“I thought you were the proper one,” Caitlyn said dryly.

“I thought you were the brave one,” (Y/N) countered, scooting closer across the silk sheets.

Caitlyn didn’t back away. She didn’t even breathe.

The blunt passed between (Y/N)’s fingers like something sacred before she took another draw, held it, and leaned in—straddling Caitlyn’s lap like it was the most natural place to be. Her thigh pressed against Caitlyn’s hip, her face dangerously close. Caitlyn could feel the heat of her breath as (Y/N) tilted her head and whispered:

“Open your mouth.”

Caitlyn hesitated for a fraction of a second—then parted her lips.

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, sending the warm, smoky breath directly into Caitlyn’s mouth. The world narrowed. The scent of smoke and (Y/N)’s perfume mingled. The closeness of it, the intimacy, made Caitlyn’s pulse pound in her ears. When the smoke faded, neither moved.

Caitlyn’s voice was barely audible. “That’s illegal, you know.”

(Y/N) grinned. “So’s half the fun we have.”

Mel Medarda ⚜️

Mel’s private quarters were bathed in a warm amber glow, the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Plush velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the noise of Piltover’s elite outside. On the couch, (Y/N) lounged—muscular frame stretched out like a panther in repose, a lit blunt nestled between her fingers. Her golden-brown skin glistened under the soft lighting, and the glint in her eyes was equal parts mischief and exhaustion.

Mel entered, her golden cuffs catching the light as she folded her arms and raised an unimpressed brow. “Really?” she said, voice a velvet scoff. “My mother would’ve had you in a chokehold by now.”

(Y/N) grinned, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Yeah, well… your mother didn’t have to deal with half the shit we do now. And neither did you—before you dragged me into your world.”

Mel hummed, stepping closer, her amusement warming into something softer. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

“No regrets,” (Y/N) murmured, patting the seat beside her.

Mel sank down with a regal kind of grace, brushing her curls back. They sat in companionable silence for a beat, the smoke coiling between them like lazy spirits.

“You want a hit?” (Y/N) asked, tilting the blunt toward her.

Mel reached out with slender fingers, but instead of handing it to her, (Y/N) tugged her gently forward—pulling her right into her lap.

Mel gasped, half-playful, half-scandalized. “Bold.”

“I trained under your mother, remember?” (Y/N) whispered near her ear, voice low and teasing. “Bold is part of the job.”

The blush that touched Mel’s cheeks was delicate, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands found purchase on (Y/N)’s broad shoulders as she steadied herself.

(Y/N) brought the blunt to her lips, inhaling deeply, eyes never leaving Mel’s. Then, leaning in close, her voice dropped to a hush. “Open up.”

Mel did.

Their lips nearly brushed as (Y/N) exhaled slowly, smoke flowing from her mouth into Mel’s, their breaths entangling, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, tender and charged.

Mel pulled back only slightly, eyes half-lidded. “You’re a terrible influence.”

(Y/N) smirked, brushing a knuckle down the side of her jaw. “And you love it.”

[miffysrkv]

"Before Everything"

Rating: Mature 🔞 (MDNI) Pairing: Survivor!Jayce x Fem!Reader x Arcane! Jayce Setting: AU – Time displacement, pre-Arcane canon events

The lab was quiet, humming with the low drone of static crystal energy—unfinished, unrefined. You were the only one there, surrounded by scattered blueprints and half-soldered tech. Jayce and Viktor were out and about somewhere which left you to your own devices. Outside, Piltover gleamed in its golden hour, but inside, you were focused. The numbers didn’t make sense. The arc sequence wasn’t stable.

You didn’t hear the heavy footsteps. Not at first.

Not until they stopped behind you.

Your shoulders tensed.

You didn’t turn.

“...Jayce?” you asked, brow furrowing. You glanced over your shoulder. “Is everything okay? Wha- Why do you have a beard—”

You didn't get to finish your sentence.

He was on you.

His chapped lips crashed against your softer ones with a desperation that felt like lightning—raw, burning, aching. One of his arms wrapped tight around your waist, the other slipping behind your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he let go.

You gasped into him—just enough for him to deepen the already heated kiss.

He tasted different. Like fire and survival and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. His beard scraped your skin, rough and unfamiliar. You could feel his breath hitch—like he’d been waiting for this far longer than you could possibly know.

When he finally pulled back, lips flushed, eyes haunted, you could barely whisper, “Jayce...?”

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you—like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he needed to memorize you before the world ripped you away again.

Finally, hoarsely, he said, “You’re here... you're safe.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. “Jayce, what are you talking about? What happened?”

His fingers trembled as they brushed your cheek. “I’m... not from this time. Not exactly. I don’t know how long I have here, but if this is my only chance... I’m not wasting it.”

You felt the heat rise in you. A mix of confusion, fear—and something else. Something unmistakably electric.

“…Then don’t,” you breathed.

And this time, you kissed him.

The kiss deepened—heated, breathless, unrestrained. His hands roamed your body like he’d already memorized it in another life, and now he was desperate to make sure nothing had changed.

Jayce’s beard scratched your skin as he moved down your jawline, lips feverish and worshipping. “You don’t know what I’ve seen,” he growled against your throat. “What I’ve lost. You… were the worst of it.”

You barely had time to respond. His hands gripped your thighs, hoisting you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The cold metal of the lab bench kissed your back a second later. Tools clattered to the ground as he cleared space for you—he didn’t care. Neither did you.

“Jayce—”

“I need you. Now.” His voice cracked with restraint as he worked at your clothes, fingers trembling but quick and efficient. Every inch of exposed skin drew a reverent groan from him, like each part of you anchored him deeper into this reality.

He tugged your under shirt off, mouth immediately descending to your collarbone, sucking and biting—leaving marks he needed to see there. Proof. Claim. Worship.

When your hands slipped under his shirt, you paused—his body was different. Scars, tense muscle, hardened by something brutal. Your fingertips brushed a long, jagged scar over his ribs.

He caught your gaze, stilling. “I didn’t come from peace,” he murmured. “But this—you—you’re the only part of me that ever felt like home.”

That undid you. You surged forward, kissing him once again as soft moans spilled from you. His pants were gone in seconds, yours tangled somewhere with his on the floor. The cool air of the lab hit your exposed heat—and then his fingers were there, thick and rough and utterly knowing.

“So wet for me already,” he growled, pushing two fingers inside you with an ease that made you gasp. “Gods, I missed this. I missed you.”

You couldn’t speak. Just clung to him as he pumped those fingers, curling just right, stroking every hidden nerve until your hips bucked off the bench, you essence dripping from where his fingers were.

“Jayce, please—”

He didn’t make you beg. He was already lining himself up, cock thick, hot and heavy. When he pushed in, it was slow—excruciatingly so. He stretched you open inch by inch, one hand gripping your hip like he needed the grounding just as much as you did.

“Fuck, you feel the same,” he breathed, jaw clenched. “Tighter… even sweeter than I remember—”

You moaned, head falling back, fingers clawing into his shoulders. The lab echoed with the sound of skin against skin, the wet slide of him thrusting into you, the labored groans and gasps of reunited lovers.

Jayce’s forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading between you. His rhythm was punishing, worshipful. Possessive.

“I’m not letting you go again,” he growled into your ear. “I don’t care. I’ll fight through every world to have you like this.”

Your walls clenched at his words. You were close—so close. He felt it. Smirked. “I feel her clenching tight, you gonna cum for me?” he rasped. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel it. Let go for me—”

You moaned, back arching off the table.

The orgasm hit like a surge of energy—bright, overwhelming, body-locking. Jayce groaned loud, his own thrusts stuttering before he spilled deep inside you, holding you flush against him as if the depth could somehow keep this moment forever.

The lab went quiet except for the aftershocks of your breathing.

Jayce didn’t pull out right away. Just held you, forehead against yours again, a soft groan leaving him as your bodies remained connected.

“I don’t know how long I have,” he whispered, voice raw. “But if I disappear again… remember this.”

You nodded, blinking tears as your fingers carded through his damp hair. “Then stay as long as you can.”

The afterglow lingered like a fog—heavy, hot, and thick with the scent of sex. Your fingers still gripped at Jayce’s broad back, his weight pressing into you while his cock pulsed deep inside, lazily twitching as you both tried to catch your breath.

His beard scratched your throat as he kissed you again, slower now. Reverent.

Then—

The door clicked open.

You both froze.

Survivor Jayce’s head snapped up, body tensing like a loaded weapon.

And standing there—wide-eyed, fresh-faced, and just a little too cocky—was the other Jayce.

Your Jayce.

The younger one.

The Jayce from this timeline.

The room went dead silent.

Clean-shaven. Still wearing his high-collared Hextech lab coat. Innocent in comparison—but confused as hell. His eyes dropped from your flushed face… to the flushed, sweat-slicked body over you… to the thick arm still braced on the table.

To the unmistakable sight of himself buried inside you.

“Oh—what the fuck?” the younger Jayce blurted.

Your heart stopped. You scrambled to cover yourself, but Survivor Jayce didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He was still inside you. Twitching... and you could feel him hardening again.

And now his eyes were locked on his younger self.

“Close the door,” Survivor Jayce said, voice low. Commanding.

“You’re—me?” the younger Jayce stammered. “Is this some kind of shapeshifter? Magic? Mirror dimension—?”

“Close. The door.” The tone was darker now. A warning.

He still didn’t move. Just stood there, stunned, staring at the raw scene in front of him. You weren’t helping, gasping and trembling, trapped between shock and the undeniable throb of arousal that refused to die down.

You’d just been split open by him—this version of him—and now the original was seeing it. Watching the bruises already blooming on your neck, the stretch where his cock was still inside you, your legs still hooked around him like they belonged there.

And then… Survivor Jayce started to move.

You gasped again—eyes wide—hand clutching his bicep as he began to thrust, slow and deep. Right in front of the other Jayce.

“Wha—what are you doing?” you hissed.

“Showing him what it means to keep you,” Survivor Jayce growled, low against your throat.

You let out a helpless sound, half-mortified, half-melting. The younger Jayce’s eyes snapped back to yours—shock mixing with something darker now. A heat you recognized immediately.

Desire.

“I don’t understand,” young Jayce whispered, but he wasn’t looking away. “Why… why are you with him?”

“Because I didn’t waste time,” Survivor Jayce snapped, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in. “I knew what I wanted.”

Your head fell back with a moan, your body traitorous—responding to the deep, delicious pressure of him, even with the room swimming in tension, much to your embarrassment.

The younger Jayce finally took a step forward—but slowly. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide. He didn’t look angry. Not even really confused anymore.

He looked... curious.

“You don’t know what you’ll lose yet,” Survivor Jayce said, eyes locked with his counterpart. “But you will. If you don’t fight for her.”

His gaze didn’t waver as it moved over your still-bared body, the way Survivor Jayce was still deep inside you, hips rolling lazy, claiming every inch of you like you were made to fit only him.

The younger Jayce’s voice was quieter this time.

“…Is it really me?” he asked. Not to you. To him.

Survivor Jayce didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he locked eyes with his younger self—and suddenly pulled out of you.

You whimpered at the loss. Your slick, his cum and heat clung between your thighs.

Then you heard it: the door closing shut, and the low rustle of buckles. A zipper. A more clothes rustling.

Both of them were undressing.

You blinked up—barely able to process the sight.

Two Jayces. One scarred and hardened by time, beard shadowing his jaw, eyes sharp and heavy with pain and lust.

The other—clean, unsure, but utterly enthralled. His cock already hard, flushed and aching.

And both of them looking at you like you were the center of gravity.

Survivor Jayce leaned down, brushing your lips with his. “You okay with this?” he murmured, voice edged with gravel.

You nodded. Breathless. “Y-yes.”

Younger Jayce moved closer. His hand cupped your cheek, a softer touch. “I just… I need to know what you felt with him.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You reached down—and guided him to your mouth.

He groaned when your lips wrapped around him. Your hand wrapped the base of his cock as your tongue swirled, tasting him, while his older self watched, lips parted in awe.

“Fuck,” young Jayce whimpered.

All three of had moved to the cold floor fo the lab. And behind you, Survivor Jayce’s hands gripped your hips again, his cock rubbing the of your hole before lining up once more with your soaked entrance.

And then—

He pushed in.

Hard.

You choked around the other Jayce, the force of the thrust rippling through your whole body as your were pushed deeper against your Jayce's navel. Pleasure punched through you—blinding, raw. Your mouth stayed full as your cunt was taken, wet and needy, stretched all over again.

The rhythm they set was instinctual. Mirrored. Like two halves of the same man, learning each other through you.

Younger Jayce held your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he fucked into your mouth, hips shaky with newness. “So warm,” he moaned. “So fucking perfect.”

Behind you, the older Jayce growled low. “She is. I told you. And now you know.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. But you felt everything. The fullness, the heat, the possession. Your body caught between them, used by both—and worshipped by both.

Their hands explored you like a shared memory. Their sounds—grunts, moans, praise—wrapped around you, filled your ears as much as they filled your body.

And gods… it built fast.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning—shaking, clenching, writhing. They didn’t stop.

“Fuck, she’s coming—she’s squeezing me—” older Jayce hissed.

Younger Jayce groaned loudly, spilling white ropes into your mouth and down your waiting throat, hips twitching as you swallowed around him, eyes half-lidded, dazed as his cock twitched heavily.

The older Jayce followed—slamming deep, flooding you, his groans buried in the crook of your neck.

The three of you stilled.

The room spun.

Your body trembled—used, worshipped, ruined, complete.

And when they pulled you into their arms, one on each side, still panting, still warm, you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly.

“So…” you said, voice hoarse. “Time travel, huh?”

Both Jayces chuckled—one soft, the other deeper.

Survivor Jayce nuzzled your neck. “Told you I wasn’t wasting my second chance.”

Your Jayce kissed your shoulder. “Guess I’m lucky I didn’t miss my first.”

[miffysrkv]

"Don't Look Back"

Pairing: Shane x Ex-Wife!Farmer!Reader Warnings: pure angst Continuation of: “Don’t Smile” Pt.1 can be found here

POV: Shane

There’s a routine to guilt.

It starts when you wake up and remember she’s not in the bed beside you.

Then it pulses when you see the chickens and think of how she used to talk to them like they were people. And it wraps around your throat when someone in town asks if you’ve “checked in” on her, like she’s a project you left half-finished.

But she was never a project. She was a whole world you couldn’t hold.

You thought she’d thrive after the divorce. You really did.

She had the farm. The animals. That steady patience you never understood — like she could coax life out of stone if she loved it long enough.

You pictured her laughing again. Maybe with Harvey, or Elliot, or that weird magician guy. You imagined her twirling in a sundress, handing fresh blueberries to Jas, saying “It’s better this way” to anyone who asked.

But that’s not what you saw.

No. What you saw was a woman who moved like a clock now. Precise. Predictable. Distant.

She still sold the best eggs at Pierre’s. Still had sunburns on her neck from long days in the field. But she barely said a word to anyone. Not unless they said something first.

You asked around — quietly. Leah said she hadn’t gone to a festival in almost a year. Emily mentioned she doesn’t visit the saloon anymore. Marnie said she didn’t smile when she dropped off eggs last week.

Jas said, “She hugs different now.”

That one stuck. Hit harder than the hangovers.

You thought she’d be free without you. Lighter.

But you broke something in her, didn’t you?

You never meant to say it.

“I guess you weren’t enough to fix me, huh?”

You’d been drunk. Angry. Cornered by your own demons. And all she’d done — all she ever did — was try to help.

You watched her freeze like she’d been shot. Watched the light in her eyes shatter.

And you couldn’t take it back.

Couldn’t even say sorry. Not then. Not when it mattered.

A month ago, you saw her sitting at the pier.

The one near Willy’s shop — the place where you first met her for real. Not just a hello in passing, but one of those quiet, unexpected moments where something clicked. She’d sat beside you, back then, without asking, dangling her feet over the water like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said nothing for five whole minutes. And then she’d offered you a cold Joja Cola like it was peace in a can.

You remember thinking, Don’t fall for her. You fell anyway.

And now, here she was — years later — sitting in the same spot, but she wasn’t offering peace. She wasn’t offering anything.

She didn’t know you were watching from a distance. Hidden by the crates near the shop. You’d gone there to clear your head. You stayed because you saw her.

The sunset was curling gold against the waves, and she looked like a ghost. Still, unmoving, save for the tears trailing down her cheeks — one after another, like they’d been waiting patiently all day to fall.

And the worst part?

Her lips didn’t quiver.

She didn’t shake or sob or cover her face like she wanted to disappear.

She just cried. Silently. Steady. Like she’d accepted the pain. Like she carried it with the same devotion she once gave you.

Your chest locked up so tight it hurt to breathe.

You’d hurt her.

Not with fists or rage or betrayals. But with silence. With not being enough. With saying the thing she never thought she’d hear from the person who swore to protect her.

You stayed there until she finally stood. Brushed her face with the sleeve of her flannel. Turned, slow and empty, and walked back toward the farm without ever noticing you were there.

And you stood alone on that dock long after she left, wondering how long a person could live with that kind of regret before it became their whole identity.

You drink less now. Not none — you’re not a liar — but less.

It doesn’t make the pain go away. Doesn’t make her come back. But it keeps your mind clearer. Lets you carry the guilt with just enough clarity to maybe learn something from it.

You don’t ask the town about her anymore. You already know what they’d say.

Instead, you sometimes leave things at the end of her driveway. Quiet things. A bouquet of blue jazz flowers. A golden egg Jas thought she’d like. A note once, folded crookedly, that only said, “You didn’t fail me. I failed you.”

You don’t know if she read it.

You don’t know if it matters.

But it’s the first honest thing you’ve said in a long time.

You see her again at the general store one morning. She’s buying seeds. Sunflowers. You want to say something. Anything.

But when she turns and your eyes meet for the first time in months, she gives you the faintest nod.

Not angry. Not warm.

Just… acknowledgment.

And something in that nod says, I’m still standing. But I haven’t forgotten.

You watch her leave, hair tied up, boots muddy, hands full of life she’s about to plant.

And you think to yourself:

She was never the one who needed fixing. I just wasn’t strong enough to grow beside her.

[miffysrkv]

"Don't Smile"

Pairing: Shane x Ex-Wife!Farmer!Reader Inspired by the song “Don’t Smile” by Sabrina Carpenter Warnings: angst, themes of alcoholism, emotional pain, divorce, isolation A/N: I would recommend listening to the song during Pt.2 as the POV switches to Shane's :')

The wind carries the scent of ripening wheat through the valley — golden, sun-warmed, and cruelly unchanged.

You step out onto the porch, boots crunching against the worn planks. Same as always. Chickens cluck faintly from the coop, waiting. The cows nudge at their fence. Your watering can is already full; you filled it last night, half on purpose, half from dread. The routine comes first now. If you think, you’ll feel. If you feel, you’ll break.

It’s been a year since the divorce.

Shane is back at Marnie’s. You see him sometimes, blurred and distant, walking down to the bus stop or back from Joja with a six-pack in a plastic bag, head down, hands deep in his pockets like he’s afraid of holding onto anything too tightly. Like he might crush it.

You used to hold his hand so tightly he’d laugh about circulation.

You don’t laugh much anymore.

One Year and a Half Ago

You were married in the fall. The leaves turned that rich copper-orange, and he looked at you like you were everything he’d never believed in. He wore a suit that didn’t quite fit and stumbled over his vows but made up for it by crying at yours. It was… good. Maybe even great.

The winter was quiet but warm. The fireplace in your cottage was always burning. He helped with the animals. You cooked breakfast together. He smiled more than you’d ever seen. And in spring, when the baby chicks hatched, he cried again — softer, quietly in the coop, where you pretended not to notice.

But you noticed when he started coming home later.

You noticed when the empty cans reappeared in the trash, hidden at first, then carelessly tossed.

You noticed when the warmth of his hand faded from yours, and his voice became shorter, clipped — until it broke entirely.

“I guess you weren’t enough to fix me, huh?”

You’d argued, sure. Over the mess, over the drinking, over the way he stopped trying.

But that sentence?

It wasn’t just a wound — it was a revelation.

Because you had been trying to fix him. And he knew. And he hated it.

And maybe, a tiny voice whispered, he hated you for trying.

You didn’t leave the Valley after the divorce. That would’ve felt like defeat. Besides, the land loved you. It remembered how your hands first touched the soil, how you brought life back to a place everyone else had abandoned.

But something hollowed out inside you.

You care for your animals like a nurse dressing old wounds. The crops still thrive, but you plant them by numbers now, not instinct. You rotate your fields because you should, not because you want to.

The villagers notice. Penny still says hello, gently. Evelyn brings cookies sometimes. Leah leaves flowers on your doorstep on rainy days. You say “thank you” and smile just enough that they don’t worry.

Just enough.

But you don’t attend festivals anymore. You don’t dance at the Flower Dance. You don’t watch the jellyfish with wide eyes like you used to. You don’t go near the saloon.

You don’t see Shane, not really.

But you feel him.

Like a pulled tooth, phantom pain. Like the ghost of a song you used to sing in the kitchen, with your hands in soapy water and his head on your shoulder.

Sometimes you catch glimpses — a flash of his blue jacket behind the general store, the drag of his boots on the gravel. You hear from Jodi that he’s still at Joja. And sometimes he shows up drunk to the saloon again. Sometimes he doesn’t show up at all.

You think about him more than you mean to. It’s not longing. Not anymore. It’s just… an echo.

Summer, Year Three

You find an old photograph behind a drawer while cleaning the kitchen. It’s from your wedding. You’re both laughing — really laughing. He has one hand at your waist, the other tangled in your hair. You remember how happy he looked that day.

You stare at it for a long time.

And you don’t cry. You thought you might. But your tears dried up somewhere between the barn and that night he said those words.

You just sit there, still, with a knot in your chest that never unties.

Marnie’s Ranch

You drop off eggs sometimes. You never mean to see him, but today, he’s there. Sitting on the porch, hunched forward, elbows on knees. A beer bottle in his hand.

You freeze.

He doesn’t look up at first. Then he does.

He blinks.

“…Hey.”

You haven’t heard his voice in months. It sounds cracked. Softer. Tired.

You nod.

“Hey.”

Silence, thick and awkward.

“You look good,” he says, like it’s a question.

You don’t answer.

He takes a swig. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

You shrug. “Didn’t think you’d still be drinking.”

That hits. He flinches like you threw something.

“Right,” he mutters. “Fair.”

You look at him for a long second. At the man you loved. The man you tried to save. The man who didn’t want saving — at least not from you.

“You still working at Joja?” you ask.

He nods. “Still blue. Still soulless.”

It’s almost a joke. You almost smile.

But you don’t.

He looks at you like he wants to say something. Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. But instead, he just says, “I’m sorry.”

Your breath catches.

You want to scream. You want to laugh. You want to ask, Sorry for what? For loving me? For letting me believe it was enough? For breaking me with one sentence?

But you don’t.

You just nod.

“Okay.”

You turn. You leave the eggs. You walk away.

He doesn’t call after you.

You don’t look back.

The sun sets slow in Stardew Valley. It paints the hills in amber and lavender, gold and grief. You watch it from your porch most evenings. Your animals sleep peacefully. Your fields are full. The stars come out one by one.

You still get up early. Still work the land. Still tend, still care.

But not like before.

Not like when love made the soil feel sacred, when every tomato tasted like laughter, when your hands smelled like hay and his cologne.

You’re still here.

But something isn’t.

And maybe that’s just how it is when love ends. When fixing someone costs you parts of yourself you don’t get back.

You don’t smile.

But you don’t cry either.

And for now… that’s enough.

Pt.2 can be found here

[miffysrkv]

"Desk Duty"

Pairing: Male!Reader x Kaeya (Genshin Impact) Tags: NSFW, dom!Male Reader, sub!Kaeya, full nelson position, office sex, powerplay, degradation + praise, choking, heavy moaning, overstimulation, slapping/thrusting sounds, legs spread, marking, spit, very rough, light breathplay-adjacent, reader manhandles Kaeya, dirty talk, cockdrunk Kaeya, messy aftermath

Kaeya was asking for it.

Flirting again — in that voice, all low silk and feigned innocence — lounging in his chair like he owned Mondstadt.

And you? You just smiled. Calm. Controlled.

Until the door clicked locked.

And now?

Now Kaeya’s wrists are hooked behind his neck, your arms cranked around him in a tight full nelson, legs spread wide across his own desk while you slam into him from below, making the whole office echo with every brutal thrust.

He’s gone.

“F-fuck—” Kaeya gasps, back arched, face flushed deep red. “You’re—hah—d-deep—”

You growl into his ear, sweat dripping down your jaw as your hips snap into his soaked, twitching hole.

“Shut up. You wanted this,” you snarl. “All that teasing—this what you needed, huh? To get fucking folded over your own paperwork?”

He moans like a whore.

The desk creaks violently beneath you. Papers flutter to the floor. His boots are still on, heels scuffing the wood as his legs tremble from how hard you’re wrecking him.

You push his knees wider with your own, making him fully exposed, completely helpless in your grip.

“You like being opened up like this?” you breathe, biting at his ear. “Legs wide, nothing to hold onto—just me, fucking you stupid.”

Kaeya shakes, arms straining against the full nelson, breath catching.

He loves it.

You can feel it in the way he clenches, how soaked he is around your cock — tight, hot, swallowing you down over and over again like his body was made to be used.

Slap—slap—slap.

Your balls hit his ass with every thrust. The sound is obscene. His voice breaks into breathless cries.

“I can’t—hah—I c-can’t cum like this—”

You laugh in his ear, teeth grazing his throat.

“Yes, you can. You're going to. You're gonna fucking cum untouched, ruined in your own goddamn office.”

You shift your grip — angle deeper — and slam.

Kaeya screams.

His back arches so hard it bows. His eyes roll up, mouth slack, and he cums untouched — cock twitching, spilling onto the desk and his own stomach as your cock drills into him harder.

“Good fucking boy,” you growl. “That’s it. Take it.”

You fuck him through his orgasm — overstimulating him, using him like a toy, arms locking tighter when he squirms.

“You’re not done. Not until I cum inside you.”

He sobs.

You rut into him hard, fast, filthy, until you feel your cock throb, your balls tighten— And then you burst inside him, cum flooding his hole, spilling out from how tight he still is.

You hold him there, shaking, twitching, panting over his shoulder.

And then you stay buried, still in full nelson, both of you drenched in sweat, Kaeya trembling and marked-up across his neck and thighs.

“Think Jean’s gonna enjoy finding you like this?” you whisper.

Kaeya just whimpers.

[miffysrkv]

"For Their Eyes Only"

Pairing: Chamber x Yoru x fem!Reader (poly) Tags: 🔞 Explicit / NSFW, OF video-making, face hidden kink, dom/sub, spit kink, spit-roasting, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), choking, overstimulation, possessiveness, creampie, rough & nasty, excessive cum, they treat you like a toy, camera POV, throat-fucking, praise/degradation combo

A continuation of "Off Duty" < first part is linked

It’s the first time you let them film with you.

You’ve done the prep. Lighting, angles, safe words. You’ve even positioned your camera on a tripod with precision. It only shows from the neck down — your face artfully out of frame.

They agreed on one condition: they get to stay anonymous too.

No faces. Just hands. Cocks. Tongues. Muscles. Tattoos. The sounds of them ruining you.

Yoru is the first to speak.

“You ready to be our little star, baby?”

You nod, lips parted as you sit pretty on your knees, already in lingerie that Chamber himself picked and paid for. Your bra is a sheer baby pink, your nipples visible. Matching panties cling to your hips deliciously. To them; you're heaven sent.

Chamber leans down, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Be good for the camera, chérie. Or we’ll film something you can’t post.”

You smirk.

“They’ll never know it’s you. But they’ll know someone’s fucking me better than I ever did alone.”

The recording starts with you on your knees.

Camera rolling. Audio crisp.

You stare directly into the French man's eyes, tongue dragging along your bottom lip as Chamber slides his cock along your flushed cheek.

“You want me first?” he teases, voice low and smug, stroking himself while Yoru stands behind the camera, already palming his cock through his pants. You nod; a little too eagerly.

“Yeah?” Chamber chuckles. “Then open up and show them what your throat’s for.”

You do.

He slides in slow, deliberate — letting the camera capture your lips parting, spit running down your chin as he feeds himself into your mouth. One hand behind your head, the other gripping your jaw to keep your angle just right for the shot. You can't help but moan at the weight of his cock on your tongue, slender but long.

Yoru can’t stand still.

“Switch.”

The camera shakes slightly as he trades places. Chamber kneels behind the lens now, guiding the view with careful angles — zooming in when your throat bulges around Yoru’s cock.

“Fucking hell,” Yoru groans. “She’s a mess already.”

You choke a little, your fingers digging into Yoru’s thighs as he thrusts gently into your mouth. Tears start to well, spit dribbling over your bottom lip.

Chamber’s voice coos from behind the camera.

“That’s our good girl. Let them see you drool.”

They don’t let you recover.

You’re pushed onto your back onto the soft sheets of your bed.

The camera rolls as Chamber presses your thighs apart, fingers spreading your soaked folds for the lens.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just spits.

The glob lands perfectly on your cunt, stringing between your clit and his mouth before he lowers to lick it all up — slow and filthy — while Yoru strokes himself beside your head.

“Show them how loud you get,” Yoru murmurs, gripping your hair. “Let ‘em hear what they’ll never fucking have.”

Chamber laps at your pussy like he’s starving. Two fingers slip into you, curling, while his lips seal around your clit. His free hand keeps your hips pinned.

Your moans hit the camera audio hard. Legs twitching, stomach trembling, you cry out as you cum — gasping Chamber’s name, your voice wrecked and soaked in submission.

You barely have time to come down.

Yoru flips you onto your stomach and mounts you from behind like it’s instinct.

The camera catches your gasp, the wet slap of skin as his cock drives deep, and Chamber’s palm on the back of your head, pushing your face into the mattress.

He leans down beside your ear.

“Keep it open, ma belle. Let them see what it looks like when you get used.”

You’re spit-roasted.

Camera front and center.

Yoru fucks you from behind, his grip bruising on your hips, your ass jiggling on impact. Chamber fucks your throat from the front, his cock disappearing past your lips again and again while tears roll down your cheeks.

You’re drenched.

Chamber pulls out just enough to stroke himself over your tongue.

“You want it, hmm?”

You nod.

He spits into your open mouth. “Then beg.”

You whimper, spit and slick all over your chin. “Please—fuck, I want both of you. Want you to use me. Fill me. Just… don’t stop. Don’t stop—!”

Yoru slams into you harder. “Keep that up and you’ll get filled twice.”

You’re a wreck. Legs shaking. Pussy clenching.

They slow down only to get the angle perfect for the final shot: you on your back, legs spread, one cock inside, the other in your mouth, hands holding yours down as your body arches in overstimulated, ruined bliss.

You cum again. Then again. Your voice breaks entirely.

Yoru grits his teeth and fills your pussy with a hot, deep thrust, cock twitching inside you. Chamber pulls out and paints your tits in hot stripes, groaning low as the camera captures everything in obscene clarity.

The video ends with you twitching between them.

Yoru grips your face and makes you look into the lens.

“Say it,” he growls. “Tell them who you really belong to.”

You moan, lips swollen, throat raw.

“Yours. I’m yours. Only yours.”

The camera blinks.

The recording ends.

[miffysrkv]

“Familiar Hands, Familiar Heart”

a Kotallo x Reader Fluff One-shot :3

(A/N: ^ The outfit that’s referenced from Forbidden West. Literally my favorite armor. I logged back into HZD: Forbidden West after a year, low and behold, I wasn’t surprised to see Aloy wearing the armor)

The quiet in your room was peaceful — the kind of stillness that comes at the end of a long day. You were kneeling near your pack, reorganizing supplies and setting aside a few salvaged parts. The soft golden light of dusk filtered through the little spaces of your window, dancing on the bronze trim of your armor.

The Carja Blazon outfit clung to your frame, warm from the sun and your own skin. The thin fabric did little to hide the strength underneath — your sculpted stomach flexing slightly as you moved, muscles shifting with practiced grace.

You didn’t hear him enter.

You didn’t need to.

There was a faint click of metal — the telltale sound of his arm — and then the solid warmth of him behind you. His presence filled the space before you even turned, before a word was spoken.

You felt it first — his breath brushing your ear.

Then: the press of his chin against your shoulder, grounding and affectionate, followed by his arms encircling your waist. His hands, warm and large, slid slowly across the exposed skin of your midsection, calloused thumbs grazing just above the line of your armor. He held you like you were something he’d claimed — not out of possession, but devotion.

“You always do this when you're restless,” Kotallo murmured against your neck, voice low, husky with affection.

You smiled, leaning back into him instinctively. “Organizing calms me.”

“I know.” His lips brushed your neck — barely a kiss at first, just a soft touch. Then another. And another. Slow, reverent kisses trailing from the base of your neck to just beneath your ear. “So does this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as his nose nuzzled against your skin, drawing in a deep breath. “You smell like wildflowers and cinnamon,” he rumbled. “It clings to you.”

You chuckled, voice soft. “That’s from the salve I use after sparring.”

“Mmm.” His mouth curved into a smile against your skin. “Then I hope you never stop using it.”

His hands roamed slowly, thumbs brushing your sides, his fingers resting comfortably on the plane of your stomach. You felt him sigh — a long, quiet breath — like this, being here with you, was all he needed to be at peace.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply stayed like that — him holding you close, kissing you gently, your body relaxed into his as the light outside faded to amber.

Then his voice, just above a whisper:

“Every time I see you in this armor… I have to remind myself to be patient. And respectful.”

A beat.

“But it is becoming very difficult.”

You grinned, turning your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, your nose brushing his. “Then you’ll just have to keep practicing that legendary Tenakth discipline.”

He huffed a soft laugh and kissed you again, slower this time — right where your neck met your shoulder.

“I’ll try,” he murmured. “But you make it very hard.”

[miffysrkv]

💣 Katsuki Bakugo x ABG Baddie!Reader Headcanons

💅 She’s fierce — and he’s obsessed

From the second he met her, Bakugo was hooked. The lashes, the liner, the nails that could slice someone, and that IDGAF energy? That’s his type, 100%.

He acts like he’s annoyed when she takes forever to get ready, but lowkey? He’ll sit on the bed watching her do her makeup like it’s a damn art form.

💥 Power Couple Energy

People stare when they walk in somewhere. She’s stunning, decked out in streetwear and gold jewelry, and he’s got that RBF and muscle. They both look like they could kill you — and they probably could.

If someone tries to start anything, she doesn’t even need to say a word. Bakugo is already stepping forward like, “You wanna say that again?”

💋 She teases him constantly

She calls him “Baby” or “Kats” in public to watch him get flustered. If she calls him “Pookie” he pretends to hate it but secretly loves it.

“You’re so soft for me, huh?” she’ll say, and he’ll scoff, ears burning red.

💘 But she’s his soft spot

He never lets anyone else talk crazy to her — even his friends. She could be yelling at him in the middle of the club, and he’ll still wrap his arm around her waist and be like, “You done yet?”

If she’s crying? He goes full panic mode. All bark and boom disappears — he just holds her and whispers that he’s got her.

👑 She hypes him up like no other

"That’s my man!” whenever he does anything remotely impressive, whether it’s saving civilians or opening a jar for her.

She posts pics of them and captions them like “My lil angry pitbull <3” — and he acts annoyed, but he saves every one.

💣 He’s protective AF

She goes out looking like a 10 and he pretends to be grumpy about it, but it’s mostly because he knows everyone’s looking.

If someone stares too long? Boom. Death glare from across the room.

💋 Physical Touch = His Secret Love Language

He’ll act like he doesn’t like PDA, but if her hand isn’t in his or on his chest, he feels weird.

She’ll sit on his lap when they’re out and he’ll pretend to complain, but his hands always find her waist.

🎧 They vibe over music

She puts him onto R&B, K-hip-hop, and ABG baddie playlists. He pretends he hates them — then you catch him humming Dean or Jay Park in the gym.

He makes her gym playlists full of angry trap beats and says, “This is what bad bitches should train to.”

[miffysrkv]

MIFFY'S MASTERLIST

─────[ ❀ - Fluff ] [ ♡ - Smut ] [ ✧ - Angst ] [ ౨ৎ - Suggestive]─────

- 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 -

"𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬"

JAYCE TALIS

"Before Everything" ~ ♡

"Built to Ruin Me" ~ ♡

"Catalyst" [on going series] CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4

"my dear wife" ~ ✧

"only you, can you show me this" ~ ✧

"For you, I surrender" | Pt 1 Pt 2 ~ ♡

VIKTOR

"Catalyst" [on going series] CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4

"waking up darling" ~ ♡

"only you, can you show me this" ~ ✧

VI

"Just a Taste" - ౨ৎ

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

"Just a Taste" - ౨ৎ

SEVIKA

"Just a Taste" - ౨ৎ

MEL MEDARDA

"Just a Taste" - ౨ৎ

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓 -

"𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩"

XIAO

"Fleeting Light" ~ ❀ ✧

KAEYA ALBERICH

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧: 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭 -

"𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠"

KOTALLO

"Lost and Very, Very Found" ~ ❀

while Kotallo walks away from his desk, leaving behind a wallet, the HZD crew are very, very curious to what their brooding coworker left behind...and finds more than what they bargained for

"The Quiet Between Suns" ~ ❀

a soft moment between you and kotallo and confessions are uttered when the world was safe... if only for a moment

Dom! Kotallo x reader ~ ♡

"Familiar Hands, Familiar Heart" ~ ❀

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐖 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 -

SHANE

"Don't Smile" pt 1 | "Don't Look Back" pt 2 (✧)

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀 -

“𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝…𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚!”

BAKGUO KATSUKI

"You Again?" ~ ♡

"Fucked through and through" ~ ♡

Ex-Husband Headcaannons + "Before the Fall" ~ ❀ ✧

katsuki & his baddie 💋

TODOROKI SHOUTO

Ex-Husband Headcannons ~ ❀ ✧

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Ex-Husband Headcannons ~ ❀ ✧

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 -

"𝐈 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞."

"Off Duty" (pt 1) "For Their Eyes Only" (pt 2)

When Valorant’s top agents clock out, the real mission begins: a steamy, off‑the‑radar rendezvous charged with dominance, desire, and clandestine thrills.

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 & 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 -

"𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫"

SETT

"Parked & Pent Up" ~ ♡

"Saving it for Later, Baby" ~ ♡

"The Beast and the Gift" ~ ♡

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐎/𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧 -

"𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭!"

NARUTO UZUMAKI

"Even If It's Just for Tonight" ~ ✧ ❀

feelings are spoken into the quietness of the night. It's been 3 years since you defected, but Naruto hadn't forgotten his feelings for you

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

- 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 -

"𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬"

LEON S. KENNEDY

threesome fun! ft. Ada Wong ~ ♡

"What's Left After the Fire" ~ ♡ ✧

ADA WONG

threesome fun! ft. Leon S. Kennedy ~ ♡

────‎──────⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹───────────

borders made by @cursed-carmine <3

[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

pt 2 can be found here

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 her 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 her 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