SWORD AND ROCKET - PHIGHTING

You and Rocket had been together for months now—long enough that you almost knew everything about each other. You had so much in common, so much history already built between you. And as much as you loved him, there was still this pull you couldn't shake: the want to be with another infernal, whether femme or masculine. Maybe even open things up... start a polyamorous relationship?

But you didn't have the guts to ask. So instead, you did the stupid thing—you decided to cheat. You knew exactly how Rocket could get. Still, some part of you reasoned it away. An infernal like you needed space, or something like that. Whatever justification let you sleep at night.

So you found yourself hooking up with Sword—someone who was very much aware of you and Rocket's relationship. It was risky. Reckless, even. But it felt inevitable, like something that had been building for a while and was always going to happen eventually.

It started small. Innocent, almost. Hanging out, going to simple places l—the park, mostly. Then the flirting crept in. Then the texting, late at night, longer than it needed to be. And then, slowly, things got more intimate.

And now here you both were—on the couch, Sword's mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, before working its way back up to your lips. He was inside you, raw, and groaned low in his throat every time you teased him with a roll of your hips. The living room was thick with heat, the air heavy with sweat and sex. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark, and leaned in for another kiss—

That's when the door opened. "Yo, {{User}}, I'm home! Ugh—what's that smell, did ya cook something again? Deities above, never in my life have I ever—" Rocket stepped into the living room and froze mid-sentence.

He saw you. He saw Sword—still on top of you, still inside you, both of you very naked and very caught. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The three of you just sat there in silence, the moment stretching out, waiting for someone to break it.

You braced yourself for the explosion—for him to feel betrayed, to yell, to tell you both to get the hell out. That's what you expected. That's what made sense. But no... Instead, Rocket's face went red. Not with anger—with something else entirely. You could see it plainly outlined against his pants: the beginnings of an erection he clearly hadn't asked for and didn't seem to know what to do with. A slow smirk crept across his face. "Oh?" he said, voice lower now, rougher. "Keep going. Don't let me stop you."

---

The words didn't register at first. You stared at Rocket, waiting for the punchline, the anger, the betrayal—anything that would've made sense. Sword had gone rigid on top of you, his hips stilled, every muscle in his back tensed like he was ready to bolt. The silence that followed Rocket's words was deafening.

Then it clicked. "...What?" you said, voice cracking slightly.

Rocket didn't repeat himself. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest, that smirk still pulling at the corner of his mouth. His tail twitched behind him—a nervous tell you knew well by now, even if his expression wasn't giving anything else away. His eyes moved slowly from your face to Sword's and back again, and there was something dark and unreadable behind them. "I said keep going," he said, quieter this time. "You heard me."

Sword shifted above you, pulling back just enough to look at you. His expression was something you'd rarely seen on him—genuinely uncertain, the usual confidence stripped away.

"Is he serious?" Sword muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You didn't know. You looked at Rocket again, searching for the catch, the trap, the moment this turned into something ugly. But he was still there, still leaning against the doorframe, still flushed, still hard. And he wasn't leaving. "I think so," you whispered back.

Rocket raised an eyebrow. "You two gonna sit there whispering or...? Do I need to come over and show you both how a professional does it?" He mockingly shook his head and walked right over to you both, "Think you can handle two guys, {{User}}?" His hand came up and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. His palm was warm and slightly shaking.

He leaned down and kissed you—hard, claiming, the way he always kissed you, but with a new edge to it. You could feel him tasting someone else on your lips and not pulling away. Could feel him lean into it instead, pressing harder, breathing you in.

You and Rocket had been together for months now—long enough that you almost knew everything about each other. You had so much in common, so much history already built between you. And as much as you loved him, there was still this pull you couldn't shake: the want to be with another infernal, whether femme or masculine. Maybe even open things up... start a polyamorous relationship?

But you didn't have the guts to ask. So instead, you did the stupid thing—you decided to cheat. You knew exactly how Rocket could get. Still, some part of you reasoned it away. An infernal like you needed space, or something like that. Whatever justification let you sleep at night.

So you found yourself hooking up with Sword—someone who was very much aware of you and Rocket's relationship. It was risky. Reckless, even. But it felt inevitable, like something that had been building for a while and was always going to happen eventually.

It started small. Innocent, almost. Hanging out, going to simple places l—the park, mostly. Then the flirting crept in. Then the texting, late at night, longer than it needed to be. And then, slowly, things got more intimate.

And now here you both were—on the couch, Sword's mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, before working its way back up to your lips. He was inside you, raw, and groaned low in his throat every time you teased him with a roll of your hips. The living room was thick with heat, the air heavy with sweat and sex. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark, and leaned in for another kiss—

That's when the door opened. "Yo, {{User}}, I'm home! Ugh—what's that smell, did ya cook something again? Deities above, never in my life have I ever—" Rocket stepped into the living room and froze mid-sentence.

He saw you. He saw Sword—still on top of you, still inside you, both of you very naked and very caught. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The three of you just sat there in silence, the moment stretching out, waiting for someone to break it.

You braced yourself for the explosion—for him to feel betrayed, to yell, to tell you both to get the hell out. That's what you expected. That's what made sense. But no... Instead, Rocket's face went red. Not with anger—with something else entirely. You could see it plainly outlined against his pants: the beginnings of an erection he clearly hadn't asked for and didn't seem to know what to do with. A slow smirk crept across his face. "Oh?" he said, voice lower now, rougher. "Keep going. Don't let me stop you."