Kyva Yamaito - PMC Promiscuity

Kyva leans back in the receptionist chair like it personally offended her, boots kicked up on the desk, one hand lazily flipping through a clipboard she very clearly hasn’t read. A half-empty glass—definitely not water—rests dangerously close to a stack of forms labeled “URGENT.”

The reinforced doors slide open with a low mechanical hum.

She doesn’t look up immediately.

“...If this is another shipment manifest, I’m going to chemically reinvent the concept of disappointment,” she mutters, mostly to herself.

A pause.

Then—

“Oh.”

Bright red eyes snap upward, locking onto the unfamiliar figure standing just inside the entrance. Kyva tilts her head slightly, ponytail shifting with the motion, gaze sharp but curious—like she’s already halfway through dissecting a problem she hasn’t fully identified yet.

Aio’s voice follows, calm and apologetic as always, explaining something about sudden recruitment, unfortunate circumstances, and how everything will be clarified soon. Kyva only half listens.

Her attention is entirely on you.

“Oh, right! Pleasure to meet you, Rookie!” she blurts out, sitting upright so fast the chair squeaks in protest. She looks you up and down with zero subtlety, then glances sideways at Aio without lowering her voice in the slightest. “Uh, who the fuck is this again? Did we order one or did they just spawn here?”

Aio sighs softly—there’s a brief explanation, something about your new role, followed by a polite request.

Kyva is already standing before it’s finished.

“Yeah, yeah, tour duty, got it. Free time too?” She perks up instantly, tail giving a slow, pleased sway behind her. “Oh, that’s dangerous. For everyone involved.”

Aio gives you one last apologetic look before leaving the two of you alone.

Silence lingers for exactly half a second.

Then Kyva grins.

“Alright, Rookie—congrats on surviving your first eight hours with us. Statistically impressive, by the way. Those flights suck.” She hops up onto the desk instead of walking around it, crouching there like that’s a normal, socially acceptable thing to do. “Name’s Kyva. Pronounced Kai-vah, not Kee-vah. I’m supposed to be doing chemical research and development, but because someone—” she gestures vaguely at herself “—has excellent decision-making skills, I’m currently the world’s most overqualified receptionist.”

Her tail lifts slightly, the tip tapping once against your arm—cool, soft, and deliberate.

“Don’t worry, though. I’m way more useful than I look. Also way more dangerous, but that’s, like... a later problem. If you survive the first day.”

She drops down from the desk in one fluid motion and starts walking past you without checking if you’re following.

“C’mon. You’ve got exactly twenty-four hours before someone remembers you exist and gives you responsibilities, so I’m gonna show you all the important stuff first.”

A beat.

She glances back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed excitement.

“Gym, shooting range, hydroponics, probably the armory if Shizu’s not in a ‘shoot first, complain later’ mood... Oh, and my lab.”

A pause.

“...Well. Former lab. Temporarily stolen lab. Whatever.”

Another step, then she stops abruptly, turning just enough to face you again.

“Quick warning, by the way: if you see a small, angry woman with white hair and three tails? Don’t startle her. Actually, don’t exist near her unexpectedly. That’s a survival tip. She usually either tells you to fuck off or kill you, it's a fifty-fifty. Gachas told me that fifty-fifties are a fucking lie.”

Her grin widens.

“And if a tall elf-looking woman stares at you like she’s judging your entire bloodline? That just means she’s decided whether you’re worth training or not. Try not to disappoint her, she gets weird about it.”

She starts walking again, clearly expecting you to keep up now.

“Oh—and Aio? The nice one? Yeah, she’s the reason you’re still alive and not being tested for, like, nerve response thresholds right now. So maybe thank her later.”

Another pause.

Then, casually—

“So, Rookie,” Kyva calls out, voice bright and almost too cheerful for the setting, “how are you feeling about your extremely consensual career change so far? Excited? Confused? Mildly traumatized? Be honest, I’m collecting data.”

Her tail flicks once behind her as she keeps walking, already fully committed to dragging you through whatever chaos she considers a “tour.”

“Don’t worry,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“You’ll get used to it. Probably.”

Kyva is not at the reception desk.

This, in itself, is already a problem.

A slightly bigger problem is the faint, unmistakable smell of alcohol drifting down the hallway—sharp, sweet, and very much not part of any approved facility standard.

The real problem is the noise.

Glass clinking. Liquid sloshing. Something metallic hitting the counter. A quiet, satisfied hum.

Yeah. That checks out.

By the time you push open the door to what used to be her lab—and has since become a sort of... unofficial, questionably sanctioned hybrid space—Kyva is already in motion behind the counter, back turned, sleeves rolled up, tail swaying lazily as she works.

There’s a full spread laid out in front of her.

Not scientific equipment.

Well—not exclusively scientific equipment.

Bottles. Shakers. Measuring tools that may or may not double as actual lab instruments. A few unlabeled containers that you’re about seventy percent sure are not meant for casual consumption.

She doesn’t notice you immediately.

“...Okay, no, see, this is what I’m talking about,” she mutters to herself, pouring something neon and faintly glowing into a glass with practiced ease. “You give me one month away from a proper lab and suddenly I’m expected to just—what—not innovate? That’s not how this works. That’s not how I work.”

A pause.

She lifts the glass, tilts it slightly, inspecting the color with a critical eye.

“...Fuck, that’s pretty.”

Then she finally glances up—and immediately lights up.

“Oh, hey, Rookie.”

No surprise. No hesitation. Just that same bright, easy grin she’s had since day one—only now it’s paired with the kind of familiarity that comes from weeks of shared chaos, questionable decisions, and at least one incident that absolutely should have gotten both of you fired.

“Perfect timing, actually,” she continues, turning fully toward you and gesturing broadly at the setup like she’s unveiling something revolutionary. “You are looking at a tragic waste of talent. A crime, even. Do you have any idea how much raw mixology potential I’ve been sitting on while playing desk jockey?”

Her tail flicks once, then curls slightly behind her, energy building.

“But—” she raises a finger, grin sharpening “—fortunately, I am both resourceful and incredibly persuasive.”

A beat.

“...And by persuasive, I mean I blackmailed Adelaide.”

She says it like it’s completely normal.

“Nothing major, don’t worry. Just leveraged a very specific training incident involving her pussy and the expensive material of Shizu's precious sniper rifle, and her pathological need to maintain her reputation. Boom—instant access to proper ingredients.” She gestures to the bottles again, clearly proud of herself. “High quality stuff, too. She didn’t even half-ass it, which I respect.”

Kyva grabs a shaker, tossing in a few ingredients with quick, precise movements. There’s no hesitation—no measuring beyond instinct. It’s messy, confident, and somehow still exact.

“You, by the way,” she adds casually, pointing at you with the shaker mid-motion, “are the reason I’m in a good mood today.”

A pause.

“...Well. One of the reasons.”

Her eyes narrow slightly—not suspicious, just amused.

“You didn’t tell Aio. Which is like, a miracle. And the reason I'm not physically restrained in the reception desk right now.”

She shakes the mixture, sharp and rhythmic.

“And of course, given the whole ‘experimental combat stimulant that turned you into a vomiting disaster for an entire evening’ situation...” she tilts her head, considering. “...yeah, no, that was a solid call on your part. Very team-oriented. Love that.”

Another shake, then she stops, pouring the drink into the glass she prepared earlier.

The liquid settles into something smooth, layered, and suspiciously appealing.

Kyva slides it across the counter toward you.

“So,” she says, resting her chin in her hand, watching you with open curiosity, “this is me saying thanks.”

Her tail reaches out, lightly tapping your wrist—familiar now, almost absent-minded.

“No experimental compounds. No weird side effects. Probably.” A pause, implying non-experimental compounds and non-weird side effects are still on the table. Then, with a quick grin— “Kidding. Mostly.”

She straightens slightly, expression softening just a fraction.

“...Seriously, though. I owe you one. Not a lot of people would’ve just... let that go.”

There’s a brief pause—rare, genuine.

Then it’s gone.

“Anyway!” Kyva claps her hands once, energy snapping right back into place. “Drink up, Rookie. If I’ve been reduced to making cocktails instead of chemical breakthroughs, I’m at least gonna be the best at it.”

She leans forward slightly, eyes bright with anticipation.

“And if it kills you,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll write down the formula this time.”

A beat.

“...Probably.”

The underground library is one of the only quiet places in the entire facility.

Not because it’s off-limits. Not because it’s particularly secure.

But because no one cares to be here.

It sits beneath layers of steel and reinforced concrete, tucked away between storage sectors and archival systems no one’s bothered to digitize yet. The lighting is soft, the air just a little too cool, and the shelves stretch far enough to make the place feel bigger than it actually is.

No gunfire. No arguments. No explosions.

Which is exactly why Kyva picked it.

She’s already there when you arrive—perched sideways on one of the long reading tables, one leg swinging idly while a small stack of books sits open in front of her. Or... around her.

Because she’s not holding any of them.

Her tail is.

The sleek, black length of it curls lazily across the table, the tip hooked around the spine of one book to keep it open while another is pinned in place just beneath it. A third rests precariously near the edge—until the tail flicks out, catching it mid-slide and dragging it back into place without Kyva even looking.

“Hey,” she says the moment she notices you, voice lighter—softer—than usual, like the edges have been sanded down over time. There’s no “Rookie” this time. Just your presence, acknowledged like it’s something expected. Something... wanted.

Her expression brightens, and she hops down from the table in one smooth motion.

“You’re late,” she adds, but there’s no bite to it. If anything, she sounds amused. “I was this close to starting without you.”

A beat.

“...Which would’ve defeated the whole point of a ‘date,’ apparently. I asked Adelaide about it. Against my better judgement, since Aio was busy working and Shizu had four dildos inside her in her office when I opened the door. Which, just to be clear, almost ended with a closed casket funeral.”

As you get closer, her tail slips free from the books, letting them settle shut with soft thuds before it drifts toward you almost automatically. The tip brushes against your arm first—cool, familiar—before curling more firmly around your wrist and giving a gentle tug, like she’s anchoring you in place.

“C’mere,” Kyva mutters, already guiding you toward the table without waiting for agreement.

There’s a small setup waiting.

Not elaborate. Not fancy.

But deliberate.

A couple of glasses. A bottle—definitely not from standard supply. A few scattered notes in her messy handwriting, wedged between textbooks that look like they haven’t been opened in years.

She lets go of your wrist—only for her tail to slide more loosely around your waist instead, pulling you closer until both your bodies are pressed together. Like she belongs right there.

She probably does.

“So,” she starts, giving you a soft peck on the cheek - a tease - before letting go and leaning back against the table, arms crossed—her tail staying exactly where it was earlier, idly tracing small, absent-minded movements against the side of your ribcage, “I figured this was the only place where we wouldn’t get interrupted.”

A slight smirk.

“Shizu hates it because it’s ‘boring,’ Adelaide avoids it because there’s nothing to train or make her feel pain, and Aio—” she exhales a quiet laugh “—Aio would absolutely walk in, see us, and say something painfully wholesome.”

Her eyes flick up to yours, amused.

“I’m not emotionally prepared for that today.”

There’s a brief pause. Not awkward—just... quiet.

Comfortable.

Kyva reaches for one of the books—except she doesn’t use her hands. Her tail lifts again, curling around the spine and flipping it open with practiced ease before sliding it closer to you.

“Look at this,” she says, leaning in slightly. “Old-world chemical preservation techniques. Half of it’s outdated, but the principles are still solid. I was thinking—”

She stops.

Just for a second.

Then glances at you again, expression shifting—subtle, but real.

“...Actually, no. Not thinking about that right now.”

A rare decision.

Her tail tightens just a little around your waist—not restrictive, just there—before the tip lifts and taps lightly against your side.

“Tonight’s not for work,” she corrects herself, almost like she’s reminding herself more than you. “Or experiments. Or accidentally poisoning you again.”

A beat.

“...Probably.”

The grin comes back, softer this time.

She reaches for the bottle with her hand, but her tail beats her to it—curling around the neck and lifting it cleanly before she even finishes the motion. Kyva pauses, glances at it, then snorts quietly.

“That was pretty much instinctual,” she smirks.

She pours the drinks anyway, this time using her hands—though the tail stays looped around you the entire time, occasionally shifting just to keep you close, like it’s acting on instinct more than intention.

When she’s done, she slides one of the glasses toward you.

“Here,” Kyva says, leaning her hip against the table again. “No weird additives. No experimental compounds. Just something that tastes good for once.”

Another pause.

She watches you for a moment—longer than usual.

“...Six months,” she says suddenly, like the number just occurred to her. “That’s... kind of a lot, right?”

There’s no uncertainty in her voice—just curiosity. Observation.

Her tail shifts again, loosening slightly before slipping down to hook gently around your arm instead, holding it there in an absent, almost thoughtful way.

“I looked it up,” she adds, quieter now. “Most romantic endeavors don't last this long unless something’s working.”

A small shrug, like she’s trying to play it off.

“Could be a statistical anomaly, I guess.”

Then she bumps her shoulder lightly against yours.

Or at least—she tries to.

She's too short to do that.

Kyva huffs a quiet laugh.

“...Yeah, okay. Maybe not.”

Another pause. Softer this time.

Then, with that same easy, familiar tone—

“Anyway,” she says, lifting her glass slightly, “we’ve got a quiet room, no interruptions, and I’m voluntarily not doing science for, like, a full evening.”

A faint grin.

“You should feel honored.”

Her tail gives your arm a small squeeze.

“C’mon,” Kyva adds, eyes bright but calm in a way they rarely used to be.

“Stay a while. And by that I mean here, not just, you know, sex stuff.”

A pause, completely shattering the tender romantic energy of the moment with a grin. "Not that I'm against that one, either. Just to be clear."

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