hello all!! my name is denny, i’m 22 and like most pokémon gays right now, i have fallen hard and fast into a z-a hyperfixation and subsequently back into a general pokémon one too, so here we are!! i do post some nsfw writing on here so please MDNI, and everything is tagged appropriately so hopefully you won’t run into anything you’re not looking for! i usually write for gender neutral readers because i’m non-binary myself :)
all of my work on tumblr is under ‘denny fics’ - i also have another blog where i post ‘date everything’ content, so all my writing from there is on this tag too if you fancy a read! i also have some art under ‘denny doodles’ if you’re interested <3
masterlist dividers by @uzmacchiato !!
thanks so much for stopping by & i hope you enjoy your scroll! :D
masterlist ↓
(y’all know what 🔞‼️ means 😋)
↳ corbeau
꩜ CUDDLE / SLEEP HEADCANONS
word count: 470
“god, you’re so cold,” you’d tease, mimicking the way he snuggles into you only with added scrambling limbs for dramatic effect. he’d simply shake his head with a fond smile, setting his glasses on the bedside table with a soft “shut up. missed you,” before pressing his lips to yours in a way that, despite his lack of warmth, still managed to make you melt every time.
꩜ CORBEAU X HOMELESS MC HEADCANONS
word count: 840
the fifth time corbeau came to summon you from the rooftops to spend the night at his, the weather wasn’t cold at all - it was quite mild, actually. only a few weeks had passed and spring was quickly blooming across lumiose, so you were surprised when you heard his familiar little “hey” from behind you again. “it’s not cold anymore,” you stated simply, looking up at him with thinly veiled confusion that was quickly replaced with a smug smirk. “i’m starting to think you like having me around or something.”
꩜ OFFICE CONFESSION
word count: 520
“i’m not fucking with you, beau, i want you. i’m falling for you.” you barely managed to get “for fuck’s sake, i have been for months” out of your mouth before shaky hands were holding your waist, your back was pressed gently against the wall and corbeau’s forehead was resting on yours. you met his gaze as you brought your hands to cup his face and his eyes were so bright, relieved, sparkling as if months of restraint had just been lifted from his shoulders.
꩜ FIRST KISS IN A BAR BATHROOM 🔞‼️
word count: 580
“come home with me,” he almost whispered, and you froze. his fingertips ghosted up your sides as he punctuated the end of his sentence with a soft peck to your lips. “please. i want to savour this. no interruptions. no rushing. i want to have my fill of you in my own time.” his gaze met yours again and your jaw fell slack, staring at him in mild disbelief as you caught your breath.
꩜ “TAKE ME HOME” 🔞‼️
word count: 870
“i mean,” you practically whispered, leaning in even further to ensure no prying ears could hear - you watched his pupils widen - “take me back to your place.” he eyed you like a cat would a mouse as you conveniently brought a thumb to your bottom lip under the pretence of evening out your lip balm. “is it so bold of someone to ask for what they want?”
꩜ DESK CHAIR 🔞‼️
word count: 440
it’s all heat and teeth and tongue and delicious, swallowing down each other’s noises and revelling in the fact that it was you doing this to him, and when he pulls away sharp golden eyes are fixed on you immediately. he looks fucking wrecked and you smile, his mouth ajar apart from him occasionally sinking his teeth into his lower lip and looking at you as if you hung the fucking stars.
꩜ INTOXICATING 🔞‼️
word count: 2k
“i want you,” you whispered, dragging him back down to earth, voice laced with desire, eyes burning up into his own as you remained kneeling between his legs. “and i see the way you look at me, beau, you’re not subtle. so please,” your hands roamed his thighs again, squeezing softly when they reached above his knees, “indulge me.”
↳ grisham
༄ THE COUCH 🔞‼️
word count: 350
“you make such pretty noises,” he breathed between kisses, trailing his lips down to your neck and nipping at the soft skin there, apologising with flicks of his tongue as he very obviously tried to mark you up. he simply smirked and bit down harder whenever he coaxed a soft moan from the back of your throat, hands slipping under your shirt and gliding over your chest like he’d done it a million times.
༄ JEANS 🔞‼️
word count: 980
a smirk fought its way across your face as you took your bottom lip between your teeth, a hand on grisham’s shoulder gently pushing him against the back of the sofa. a glint of mischievous recognition flashed through those pretty eyes of his and his gaze was on your lips before he spoke. “don’t get any ideas.”
༄ THE MORNING AFTER 🔞‼️
word count: 2.5k
you allowed your gaze to drift over him as he breathed softly, still encompassed by sleep, and your attention settled on the slight red stubble littered across his chin and jaw. he looked utterly stunning like this. most of all, he looked peaceful, and that was something you were starting to notice a lot more frequently since you’d been around. that was something you wouldn’t mind getting used to.
༄ BRAIDS 🔞‼️
word count: 1.2k
braiding grisham’s hair was one of your favourite pastimes, and he was more than happy to admit that it was one of his too. you’d always admired his hair, and he loved the feeling of your fingers against his scalp as you pressed sweet kisses to his cheeks. it was cosy, it was intimate, and it was entirely yours. and, of course, there were some other motives also.
↳ griselle
᯽ MORNINGS
word count: 430
“morning, beautiful,” you mused softly and she preened under your gaze, unable to hide the grin that curled her lips upward. bashful, she pulled up the covers in an attempt to hide her smile, but you could still see her dimples peeking out and the look in her eyes was pure adoration. “shut up. no flattery until i’m fully awake.”
᯽ MINIDRESS 🔞‼️
word count: 1k
she had insisted that her outfit be a surprise - she had grabbed it last minute and decided to surprise you with it, purely because the way you looked at her when she was even slightly dressed up made her heart skip. only moments earlier she had been inspecting herself in the mirror, lips quirked in a sly smirk as she realised this was going to drive you crazy. and fuck, she was right.
᯽ YOURS 🔞‼️
word count: 400
“go crazy,” she breathed through a dazed smile, “you’re not so bad either,” and with the way her usually steely gaze softened and her silky red and blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders, the way her soft white t shirt hugged her figure so perfectly that you could make out every single perfect curve and the softness of her breasts, you realised in that moment that you might have loved her all along.
↳ mable
✧ RESEARCH
word count: 600
her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed yours as she reached to take a sip of her coffee, holding eye contact the entire time. the drink smelled incredible - rich beans (undoubtedly from café nouveau) with a hint of lavender, and as she raised the mug to drink and you caught the scent of the perfume on her wrist, you wondered for a minute what her kiss would taste like, gaze fixed on her lips like you craved it.
✧ AFTER HOURS 🔞‼️
word count: 790
that was how it had started. something that could have easily been passed off as a jest between friends, baseless teasing. she didn’t need to know you were being serious. but something in the way she looked at you as you stood before her in the lab, a quiet recognition in bright blue eyes and a silence that suggested that maybe she was being serious, made your façade finally drop. and you had kissed her. hard.
✧ CAN’T GET ENOUGH 🔞‼️
word count: 920
“mmm… you know i can always see you staring,” she purred, low, sultry, and you could hear the smirk in her voice as her free hand began to snake its way up the back of your t shirt. “always ogling me in the morning… you just can’t get enough, can you?” you smiled to yourself as she littered teasing, feather-light kisses to your skin, holding you like she knew she had you wrapped around her little finger and god, she absolutely did.
↳ lida
✿ DANCE PRACTICE
word count: 750
“you’re so fucking cute,” you’d cooed at her, snaking your arms around her waist to pull her into a soft kiss as the floral notes of her signature scent enveloped your senses entirely. you couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her lips were as they curled into a tiny smile against your own - you were used to how they felt by now, of course, but god, she was just so soft and sweet and perfect that it made your head spin every single time.
↳ warden ingo
࿔ SHELTER
word count: 430
you were so deeply, unfathomably enamoured with the man that him simply wanting to kiss you made you flush as if it was the first one you’d shared. he kissed you slowly, deeply, so passionately that you felt you might melt into his bedroll if it weren’t for his grounding hand gently stroking the nape of your neck, keeping you anchored to the earth as you rode the high of his lips on yours. god, he was everything, and he was yours.
࿔ SENTIMENTAL
word count: 660
you had crept up on him like wildfire. if anyone had told him that there would one day be another like him, nevermind that he would grow to fall madly in love with them, he would have thought them mad. two strangers who fell from the sky in the same location, only months apart, and very quickly turned out to be entirely made for each other. if he were a more optimistic man, he would have thought it fate.
↳ volo
𖤐 ‘LOOK AT YOU’ 🔞‼️
word count: 1.9k
“fuck,” you growled against his lips, taking his bottom one between your teeth to bite down and revelling in the groan you pulled from the back of his throat, “what the fuck are you DOING to me?” he simply groaned as he pulled you into another dizzying kiss before surging forward, pushing you to lay on your back beneath him. “i think the question is,” he purred from above you, his gaze and tone borderline predatory, “what do you want me to do to you, hm?”
↳ nanu
☾ ‘THINK’ 🔞‼️ part 1 part 2
word count: 1.1k, 2.7k
his hand gripping your jaw shut you up immediately and your eyes dropped to his lips as you licked your own. it took a second for you to realise what you’d just so obviously done, and when you snapped your gaze back up to his he was grinning wickedly. “oh, what’s this, then?” he drawled teasingly, tightening his grip ever-so-slightly in whatever sick humiliation ritual this was, “you wanna fuck me or somethin’?”
Wordcount: 1.4k
Pairing: Melli x Fem Reader
Content: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, a little bit of degradation, established relationship, modern au if you squint
Summary: A morning sex fic waking up with the Great Warden Melli
This is @dennydoodles's fault, I take no responsibility for this one. I blacked out when I wrote this.
In the months you had been living with Melli, one thing was readily apparent: The man was a nightmare to share a bed with. Honestly, you were a hair away from getting a separate bed, but he pouted so hard the one time you brought it up that the conversation was temporarily dropped.
He had a bad habit of being a bed and blanket hog, symptoms of his lanky body and selfish personality. When he wasn’t sprawled out, he was clingy. More clingy than he’d ever dare to be while awake. He could be as grumpy as ever before bed, but as soon as he was in the throes of sleep, he’d gravitate towards you and wrap his lanky arms around you; Hold you tight like you were just a damn teddy bear, typically waking you up in the process.
Waking up because of him was a common occurrence. You weren’t sure how early it was when you felt his arm wrap around you from behind, and a familiar pressure was shuffling against you. It still looked dark behind the curtains when your eyes cracked open against your will. Your mind caught up slowly, immediately annoyed by the touch pulling you out of your blissful sleep.
You were caught between annoyance and interest when you realized what he was actually doing; rutting against your ass, slowly grinding his morning wood to seek relief with your soft body, still in his own blissful sleep as he did.
As annoyed as you were at being woken up, a familiar throb was already starting up between your thighs at the movement. Your thoughts drifted to him tugging down your sleep shorts and sliding into you instead, fucking you with the same slow rhythm he was using to pleasure just himself.
You huffed and moved to turn over, and he whined, still humping against your thigh until you were face to face, and you threw your leg over his waist. There was a slight tangle with the sheets and a bit of grumbling from the both of you, but then he was grinding against your covered entrance instead. The friction made you gasp and press your hips harder against his, eyes fluttering shut as you enjoyed the feeling.
It only took a moment before his touch changed. There was a questioning grunt, a pause, and then his hand was gripping your hip with a new, purposeful strength.
Your eyes opened again just to meet his. Half-lidden and sleepy, with an openness you rarely saw after 7am. Your hand came up to move a piece of his messy, long hair out of his face as you teased, “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“What a surprise,” he whispered, voice low and rough from the morning haze. His touch moved to your thigh, holding on tightly as he rolled his hips in a lazy, but constant, motion. He was incredibly hard, and the thin pajamas you were both wearing did little to dull the feeling of his hard length dragging over your clit. His tip even caught at your entrance, unable to slip in due to the barriers, but it made you both gasp.
“You woke me up first,” you murmured, still grumpy but meeting every roll of his hips, trying to find the best angle. You could feel your loose sleep shorts growing damp and you reached down to pull them to the side, wanting more direct contact.
He didn’t answer and wiggled his hand between your bodies, shoving his pants down just enough to free his erection. He took himself in hand, leaning away from you just enough to look down between your bodies and slap the tip of his cock against your clit. Your whole body jolted and he slid himself through your wetness, shallowly fucking your tight entrance.
As soon as you felt him slip inside, you hiked your leg up further on his waist, pressing forward to take him deeper. It was tight, and the angle wasn’t perfect, but then he moved his hand to your ass to press you against him as close as possible and he was in. You groaned in unison.
“This what you wanted?” he teased quietly as he just barely started rocking, staying as deep as possible at that angle. You looked up at his face, and he was already smirking. It was too early for that. He pressed his nose against yours, not kissing yet. Just teasing. “My little slut needed my cock to wake up properly?”
“I need coffee, but you’ll do for now.” you shot back, snickering when he rolled his eyes. He went slow, and the bed was a tangle of sheets filled with quiet moans and groans as you stayed locked together.
“Harder,” you panted, wanting more. In response, he wrapped his arm behind your back securely, then rolled until he was lying down with you settled on top of him. You yelped at the sudden shift, bracing your hands on his chest to steady yourself. The gravity pushed you fully onto him, taking him to the hilt now, and you looked down at him with a baffled expression on your already-flushed face.
“Since you want to be grumpy and don’t like how I’m fucking you, you can do it,” he explained, tucking a hand behind his head luxuriously. His other hand patted your hip before squeezing, like he was trying to encourage you to get moving.
“You’re the one that woke me up,” you grumbled, yet started moving anyway. You started slow, body sluggish as you found a rhythm, but then you shifted. Riding him harder, feeling the delicious drag of him inside of you. He always felt bigger in the mornings, impossibly hard and deep, and you had to admit that it felt wonderful. Just not aloud.
And he watched you intently, his smug expression fading into something softer and hotter as he panted and moaned below you. Neither of you had bothered to get undressed, so his hand moved to hold your loose shorts to the side, both to help and to watch himself disappear inside of you over and over.
Your body fell forward as your arms got tired, lying down on his chest for comfort as your hips moved behind you, smacking up and down against his roughly now. You heard him stutter out a curse, arms wrapping around you tightly as his hips bucked up into yours. You cried out, breaking the peace of the relatively quiet morning. He held you snugly to his chest, tucking his face into your shoulder and neck as he fucked up into you with an unexpected burst of energy, making you bounce on his lap with every thrust.
He was hitting a perfect spot, his pelvis rocking against your clit with every movement. There was a desperation in his touch that he’d never acknowledge, but you could feel it in the way his hands moved all over your back, and in the way he was groaning low and breathing heavily against your neck.
The pleasure built too fast, and you sank your teeth into his neck to muffle your cry as you came, squeezing around him as he fucked you through it. He kept going as you went limp on his chest, moving his hips desperately and losing rhythm as he chased his own release. It didn’t take much longer until he was urging you to lift your hips, and you did, pulling off of him with a wet sound just in time for him to tense up.
He forcefully moved your hips to make you grind down on his length as he came, shooting hot ropes between your stomachs. You watched his face as he threw his head back, letting out a ragged, pathetic little noise as he came down from his high.
Satisfied, and no longer feeling so grumpy as your body enjoyed the rush of dopamine, you smiled a little as you watched him pant and catch his breath. He was obviously thoroughly spent, and you were too, but he had really been putting some work in at the end.
Finally, he blinked a few times and sluggishly looked down at you on his chest, murmuring, “Good morning.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh and scooted up to give him a kiss. Your nose wrinkling at the feeling of his mess slick between you, but the kiss was soft and pleasant as you slowly made out. The room was full of the quiet, wet noises as your lips slowly moved together, and the sound of birds starting to wake up as the first bits of light started peeking through the curtains.
“Wanna take a shower with me?” you whispered against his lips, barely pulling back enough to talk.
“Mmhm,” he agreed, yet he wrapped his arms around you again, not letting you move an inch as he kissed you again.
Pyre, Chapter 11 - Embers
Et je lui porte enfin mon cœur à dévorer.
(And I bring her at last my heart to devour.)
-Jean Racine, Andromaque (1667), Act V, Scene 5.
Previous | AO3
Tagging: @anotherpokemonfanaccount @houndenny @fruitteagoblin @averysmolkirbo @aki-i-guess @grisham-enjoyer @wegotfoodathome @vanillianbean @godserene
WC: 5.3k
Written to: The Voice of No Return (Classical Guitar vers, NieR: Automata)
CW: Smut, Explicit Smut, Minors Do Not Interact
You laid on the couch, blanket pulled over your legs, and hands folded over your stomach. The ceiling fan was on, quietly turning as the sounds of Lumiose’s nightlife drifted in from the outside. Sylvie was curled up half on your lap, and you could hear Zorua snoring from the other end of the couch.
You couldn’t sleep.
You had found an apartment: a studio that wasn’t too far from where you were staying now. As much as Grisham said he didn’t mind, you were starting to feel awkward crashing on their couch. It felt like before. You were contributing, but you were still a guest. And while Grisham had offered the idea of finding an apartment between the three of you, it didn’t feel right to ask them to move for your sake. So it had to be you finding a place for yourself. That was the right thing to do. It wasn’t like you’d be cutting ties with them, but you weren’t sure how to bring up the topic with either Grisham or Griselle.
That and you still hadn’t figured out what to do with the house back in Geosenge. Nothing felt quite right, though selling it was probably the better option if you were intending to stay in Lumiose for the next few years.
The thought of staying in Lumiose was tempting, but it was met with more questions you didn’t have the answer to yet. What would you staying look like in the long term? Would you be staying with the intention of establishing a permanent life here? Did that consider dating? Were you interested in dating? It had been years since the last time you’d seen anyone in that capacity, let alone entertain the idea of settling down. And if you had, how would you navigate everything? Where would you even begin to explain that you had no family because of a terrorist organization’s failed attempt at starting a new world? That you lived with two people once affiliated with said organization- that you worked for them? That you were proud to even.
Your dating life would be a complicated one; you knew that. What you didn’t know was if you were ready to start that part of living.
You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a bedroom door opening and the stifled footsteps of Grisham as he tried to quietly navigate the apartment. You listened carefully, thinking he was headed towards the bathroom. Instead, he moved through the kitchen, past where you were lying on the couch, though you couldn’t see him yet, nor could he see you.
He was headed towards the front door. You sat up.
“Grish?”
He paused, “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” You shook your head, despite him not being able to see it, “Couldn’t sleep.”
“You and me both.” Grisham sighed, “I was going to go for a walk, would you like to join me?”
You moved Sylvie off your lap, depositing her on the armchair. She was still fast asleep.
“Sure, I could go for a walk.”
He had your coat in his hand, extending it out to you when you approached. Your shoes went on quickly after. You didn’t bother to change into proper clothing, and it looked like Grisham had the same thought, still wearing his sweatpants and a simple long-sleeved t-shirt, the V-neck cut suited him. He had pulled his hair back already.
“Thank you.”
He opened the door, letting you out first before turning to lock up the apartment and pocketing his keys. Griselle was out that night; it seemed like her date had gone very well, as you and Grisham had both gotten a text that she was spending the night. Good for her.
But you knew that Grisham wouldn’t rest easy. He worried for her; it was clear as day. And in a way, you understood. You might have been the same with your sister if she had ever started dating. You let the bitter thought sit there, slipping your hands into your pockets and following Grisham outside into the cool night.
It’d been two weeks since the housewarming party for Renoir and Vivienne. The temperatures were starting to drop, but not enough to where you saw your breath. It would be another few weeks before fall came in full swing.
For a time, you and Grisham walked in silence. The streets of Lumiose were relatively empty at this time of night, though you could see the holotech borders of that night’s battle zone and hear the ongoing trainer battles. You had half a mind to suggest turning back to the apartment and getting your teams for one or two quick battles, something to chip away energy and clear your heads. But the other part of you wanted to enjoy the walk, the silence, and the quality time with Grisham.
He hadn’t said anything yet, but you could see his eyes slowly scanning the streets, his gaze following alleys and seemingly searching the shadows. The two of you were getting close to Centrico Plaza, the holotech barrier of the wild zone quietly separating civilians from the Pokémon within. The foliage had practically overtaken the tower’s remains by this point; vines and moss swayed softly in the breeze. Grisham glanced at it, but continued his quiet search.
“Is something wrong?” You slowed your pace, glancing in the direction he had looked and finding an empty street, “What’s on your mind, Grisham?”
“I’m just…” He paused, attention following a noise from a nearby alley, just another Trubbish, “I’m just making sure that I’m doing all I can.”
“You do enough, Grisham.” You steadied, earning a grunt from Grisham, “I mean it.”
“I know.” He finally tore his eyes away from the alley. He’d have to find a time when you and Griselle were asleep to try his search again, “You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do.”
“Mm.” He straightened his shoulders, “What about you? What’s on your mind?”
You swallowed hard, trying to find where to start.
“I found a place to live. It’s a studio, but it’s not far from your apartment, so we could still have dinner or movie nights or-”
“Are you sure you want to move out? Really, it’s no problem for Griselle and I, and if it’s space you need, we could find a larger-”
“And like I said, I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve already done more than enough by letting me stay.” You pushed back, “And besides- I mean- it’s not fair to you and Griselle that I should be camping out on your couch when you’re both seeing people-”
“Griselle is seeing someone.” Grisham corrected, almost clipped, “I’m not. And she’s making it work for her. It’s really not a problem.”
You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat at the information, shaking your head.
“I don’t want this to become an argument- I just thought you should know that I might’ve found a place to… I don’t know, start living?”
Grisham started to say something, but stopped himself, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. He didn’t want to admit that he knew exactly why he was getting so worked up over the idea of you moving out. It wasn’t like he was blind to what was happening, but he wasn’t going to let himself be the one leading things. He had already fucked up once before; he didn’t want to risk losing you again.
“I… understand.” Grisham finally conceded, “I’m glad you found a place. Have you signed the lease yet?”
“Not yet, I’m still looking at a few other options, but I’m hopeful.”
“Mm.”
“This isn’t me saying goodbye. I’ll still be in Lumiose, and I’ll still work for Cafe Nouveau as its courier. I just want it to be more fair for all of us.”
That did bring a little comfort to Grisham. He dropped his shoulders.
“I’ll support you in whatever ways I can, and you know our door will always be open for you.”
“The same goes to you.” A chilly wind swept through the streets, and you instinctively stepped closer to Grisham, your shoulder brushing against his and seeking his natural warmth.
“Let’s head back.” You hissed, getting met with an amused hum from Grisham.
“Sure.”
---
When you returned to the apartment, you left your coat and shoes at the door with Grisham’s. He moved past you into the kitchen, flicking on the light and already busying himself with making two cups of tea while you got the lamp on in the living room and tidied up your bed.
Zorua and Sylvie seemed to have moved into Griselle’s room; you could see her door slightly ajar from where you sat on the couch.
“For you.” Grisham held the mug out to you, waiting until you took it to settle on the couch with you, smiling briefly at the small thanks you gave him.
“So what’s the plan now?” You asked, drawing your knees onto the couch.
“Hm?”
“For Flare Nouveau, for you.”
“For me?” He didn’t seem surprised that you asked it; it was more that he was testing the question, weighing it against his thoughts as if it had been on his mental list.
“You were pursuing that goal for so long, I just wonder if you ever thought about what you would do when you were done with it?”
“I’ve been giving it some thought, but for the most part, it’s just continuing as is. Doing the best I can, protecting Lumiose, and living the life I have no matter what people think of me.”
“And you do well at it.” You sipped your tea, the comfort of a lavender chamomile greeting you, hot as it was.
“I try to.” Grisham shrugged, taking in his own tea and relaxing further against the couch.
“Mm. That’s all that anyone can ask of us.” You nodded, your thoughts drifting.
A beat of comfortable silence passed, then a nagging thought made itself known.
“Were you looking for Lysandre earlier?”
Grisham didn’t answer at first, staring at you, at your hands holding your mug of tea, at the steam curling and disappearing into the air, “I think I was.”
“I wondered that. I didn’t know he was alive, I thought I was just seeing things, but-”
“Hold on, you saw him?” Grisham sat forward; he should have considered that that was a possibility. He tried not to let the guilt join his other regrets; it was another thing he hadn't told you about... but he was talking about it now, that had to count for something.
“It was during the whole situation with Ange. I let him go. Nothing I could have done would have changed anything for the better.” You sighed, taking a long sip of tea and settling against the back of the couch, your gaze drifting towards the ceiling, “Honestly. I don’t even think it was really him, y’know? He just looked… lost? Nothing at all like what I would have thought.”
The mug was slowly starting to burn against Grisham’s hand, but he held onto it, trying not to frown.
“What… was Lysandre to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t.” He did, but at the same time… “I think he was like a father to me once. I used to look up to him and the way that he would help others. Maybe I still do.”
The silence hung painfully.
“I’m not proud of the person I was after you left.”
He didn't need to say why.
“And are you now?”
“I think I am. We’ve both come a long way.”
You smiled briefly at that, humming in agreement.
“What was it like seeing him again?” You turned your head.
Grisham forgot to breathe for a moment, forcing himself to measure his inhale and soften his exhale. There was a lot he was feeling about it. It wasn’t the Lysandre that Grisham knew, but at the same time, did Grisham have a right to condemn him to whatever fate had befallen him?
“It's like watching a cycle start up again.” He placed his words carefully, like one would compose a poem, but still not quite reaching the exact words he needed, “Knowing that in another thousand years he will still be around, a mere shell of who he once was. I can’t say if that was a kinder or crueler fate than death.”
“I think you know that answer, though.” You inserted, finally setting your tea on the coffee table and scooting just a little closer to Grisham, “You’re not him, you know that, right?”
“I hope so.”
“Hey.” You reached over, resting your hand over Grisham’s, “You could have turned your back and ran when everything went to shit. But you didn’t. You won't be like him, I promise- besides. I don’t think Griselle will let you walk down that path either.”
“Of course she wouldn’t.” Grisham set his tea down, tilting his head, “I shouldn’t be so quick to forget that my girls have my back.”
His girls. You’d never heard him refer to you and Griselle like that. It felt…
Your eyes flicked down, recognizing the closeness between you. Your knee was almost brushing Grisham’s now.
His smile was a genuine and warmhearted one. One you wanted to see more of. One you treasured.
“It’s surprising how easy this is.” Grisham spoke with hushed sincerity, “You and me.”
“Yeah..” The word barely left you as little more than a sigh.
You leaned in, Grisham leaned in.
You could feel his body heat, comforting and tantalizing at the same time. The whisper of his breath over your skin set your nerves alight.
“Is it alright if I kiss you?” Grisham whispered it, low and careful, as if asking the question in itself was a step too far.
You nodded, slow at first, then whispered your answer.
Grisham closed the distance slowly, carefully, as if waiting for you to say no, to stop him like you had last time. But you didn't. You leaned in, your lips finding his.
Kinder this time, softer.
He was warm and expectant, his lips met yours, and a sigh escaped him as the tension melted from his shoulders. You could hear the shuffle of fabric and the shift of weight on the couch as Grisham moved closer to you without breaking the kiss. His hands found and delicately cradled your face, cautious in mapping unfamiliar territory.
You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and your hands found his shoulders. Steadying, firm. You used his shoulders to guide yourself as you carefully eased yourself onto his lap, your legs straddling him. It was a comfortable fit, though you did not move much closer to him. The taste of coffee lingered on your lips as Grisham pulled back, his hands steadying on your shoulders. He held you at arm's length, worry written across his face.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” You nodded, “Are you?”
“If you’re sure.”
“Grisham.” You sat back, “Do you want this to stop?”
“I want- No. I want this.” He finally admitted, “I just don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You won’t.” You promised, carefully closing the gap, your lips whispering over his, “I want this.”
“I want this too.” It came out barely as a whisper, more a resigned and relieved sigh, as if a weight had just been taken from his shoulders.
He kissed you. Soft, slow, and reverent. Taking you in slowly, shaping his lips to yours, guiding you along into a haze that drowned out the rest of the world. His hands rested on your hips, firm but not possessive or overeager. Calm. Measured.
Grisham drew you closer, and you cradled his face; the feeling of a slight stubble was sharp under your fingers when you grazed his jaw. You adjusted your position, using your weight to push him against the back cushions so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck up to meet you. His fingers edged along your shirt, dipping beneath the fabric and brushing along the small of your back, thumbs pressing lightly into your sides to guide him. When you tilted your head and nudged deeper into the kiss, you were met with a low, breathy note that settled in Grisham’s throat.
You pressed a hair further, his lips parted, your tongue swiped against his, testing the waters. This was wholly unlike the moment that had been shared in the old cafe. What was rushed, ill-timed, and desperate was nothing like this. Where Grisham had been dominant, he was now forgiving, easing against you as if he had all the time in the world and no doubts to tie him down with.
Cool air greeted your back as Grisham’s fingers traced up your spine, your shirt moving with him. You gave an experimental roll of your hips against his, feeling the bulge in his pants twitch sharply against you. Grisham inhaled sharply, pressing up into the kiss you were sharing, aching to taste more of you. His arms wrapped around you, grounding and guiding you as you rolled your hips against him again, an exhaled moan of your own brief upon your ears. Your fingers wove their way into his hair, combing through the red and white locks towards his ponytail, pulling out the hair tie and looping it around your wrist.
A thin trail of saliva connected you and Grisham when you pulled away for air, your breath hot against his and your skin begging to be touched, to be held. You sat back to shed your shirt, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor, the whole while your gaze was trained on Grisham’s face, watching for discomfort. Instead, you were met with silent beholding, with his eyes slowly tracing over you, over every curve, every dip. You found yourself almost holding your breath, waiting for an approval you knew you already had. His hands returned to your hips, and Grisham let go of a shaky exhale as he caressed up your sides, across your stomach, cupping your breasts for a moment before ghosting up your chest.
His touch was feather-light as his fingers brushed over your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. His palms returned to where they had cradled your face before, thumb grazing your cheekbone just under your eye. There was a natural and adoring serenity to his face, a deep set worshipping to his eyes that was drawing you in while you looked at his kiss-swollen lips and involuntarily licked your own, wanting to kiss him again and again. Not as a person starved would, but to reassure yourself of the reality before you, to silently revere, to thank him for all that he was and all that he’d become.
“You’re beautiful.” He breathed, pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “So beautiful.”
Your heart fluttered; the word felt almost sacred coming from Grisham. As if he reserved it for your ears only.
Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it up until he took his hands off you and sat up to shed it. Unhurried, you took in his chest, eyes and fingers silently tracing the faded scars. Small burns, larger scrapes, all of them had been tended to with medical precision. You hadn’t noticed them before.
“Should I be gentle?” Your fingers dipped against a particularly deep set of scars on his shoulder.
“They’re years old, I’ll be alright.” Grisham promised, “I trust you.”
You placed a trail of tentative kisses along his collarbone, steadying your hands on his shoulders. You could explore his scars more in time, but for now, your kisses trailed up his neck and found his lips once again.
He guided you down to the side and onto your back, laying you on the couch with attentive care, his hands supporting your waist as he shifted himself to be between your legs. He kissed you again, leading with a feeling you were finding a word for.
“Is this still alright?”
You nodded, verbalizing your answer in a low, breathy tone. Grisham pressed a kiss to your neck, another on your collarbone, a third between your breasts. A fourth over your stomach. His hands found the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers dipping beneath it as he paused to check in one last time. His eyes flicked up and found yours.
You rested a hand on his head, encouraging him to continue as you raised your hips to help him take your pants off. He put them somewhere on the floor; you truly didn’t care where.
When Grisham returned to you, he started with his hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs running along the inside and leaving a warm trail in their wake. His hands were strong, but gentle at the same time, even-handed against you. He kissed the inside of your thigh as he opened your legs, and anticipation swelled in your core.
A shock of electricity raced up your spine when he made the first swipe of his tongue through your folds. You inhaled sharply when his tongue repeated the motion, settling into a steady rhythm. He found your clit early on and focused his efforts there, swirling his tongue around you in a way that made your legs jolt, and your stomach flip.
His hand slid down your inner thigh, leaving you for the briefest moment before you felt his fingers working carefully around your entrance. You threw your head back as Grisham wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently and almost reveling in the moan that slipped from your lips when you pressed your head back into the couch. Your hand returned to his head, fingers tangling in his hair.
Another stripe, and you angled your hips up, your fingers tugging at his red and white hair. Your head felt light and fuzzy; it took effort to keep yourself focused on Grisham and what he was doing to you. On the feeling of his fingers working inside you, not rushed but exploratory and almost reverent in touch. On the feeling of his free hand gripping your thigh, not too hard, but firm and grounding. Your free leg wrapped over his back, almost clinging to him.
Grisham pulled away, sitting up and leaving his fingers in you, a deep scarlet haze dusting his cheeks and his eyes almost smouldering. You felt vulnerable under his gaze, but as you met it, you saw his own vulnerability. Momentarily, as he looked away from you, almost the second you met his gaze. But there. Hesitant, second-guessing, bordering on distant.
You made a noise, something soft and needy, as you reached out and rested a hand on the side of his face, turning him to meet your gaze.
“Please.” You managed, biting back a breathy note as his fingers curled in you, “Please don’t look away.”
Something softened in Grisham’s eyes; he leaned into your touch, nuzzling a wet kiss against the palm of your hand.
He withdrew his fingers from you, and you fought the urge to whine at their absence. His eyes never once left you; if they were not entangled with yours, they were tracing your figure, as if committing your shape to memory. He swallowed, unable to bring himself to speak, ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest and fighting the way his mind tried to force him into thoughtlessness as it usually did when he had someone like this.
“Grish.” Your voice brought him back, your legs wrapping around his waist, and the expression on your face wordlessly asking for him to be closer. You were here, you were laid bare before him. Everything he could have wanted, the stability he needed, the vindication he sought.
He would give you every part of him if you asked for it. And you had. You were. He sat back to pull his pants down and off.
You took a breath to take him in. He was bigger than you were expecting, not particularly girthy, but longer. Precum already leaked from the head of his cock as it jolted in the cool air of the apartment.
Grisham sought your approval again, his hand almost shaking as he lined himself up with you, “And this..?”
“I want this, Gris.” You repeated, the new nickname for him came out of you naturally, softly, “I want you.”
“Tell me if I should stop. Please.” He breathed, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds, gathering you slick before lining himself up at your entrance, “Ready?”
You nodded.
He entered you achingly slow, watching your face for your reaction as you felt every inch of him move deeper into you, pausing when you winced. Once. A flash of concern on Grisham’s face, an unasked question that you silenced quickly by angling your hips up again, inviting him deeper. Your body formed to him, enveloping him in a comforting heat that Grisham was losing himself in if he hadn’t already.
Grisham exhaled when he bottomed out in you, the tail end of it shaky as he held his position, waiting. Instead, you reached out your hands to his face again, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen out of the way. He leaned down, moving with you as you guided his face to yours, capturing his lips in a reassuring kiss. You could taste yourself on him; it sent a jolt through you. Grisham reacted by pressing into you, meeting your moan with one of his own.
He set a cautious pace when he pulled away from your kiss, instead resting his forehead on your shoulder. Your fingers carded through his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp down to his neck, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as you held him to you. As if scared he might pull away from you, as if trying to say many things at once.
You could tell that Grisham was holding back, that the pace he set for himself was slowly building his own release; the way his hips stuttered as if begging to move faster told you that much. His moans were cut short, throaty and deep set in his chest. You wanted to hear more of him, feel more of him. You pulled him closer, tightening your legs around his waist and digging your nails a little harder into his back.
He responded to your silent request immediately, picking up the pace and intensity, leaving intentional and hot kisses on your shoulder, collarbone, and neck. His hands wandered you, tenderly caressing your face one moment, palming your breasts the next, clinging to your rib-cage the moment after that, then steadying on your hips. Angling you to him.
Your back arched, pressing your body to his as your lips buried themselves in the crook of his neck, moaning and gasping against his skin when he thrust into you just right. It didn’t take long for him to send you tumbling over the edge, his name bleeding between the cries you tried to keep quiet for the sake of his neighbors.
Grisham said something in the middle of one of your moans, you didn’t catch it at first. You thought it might have been your name.
Then he said it again, stuttering and struggling with forming the words between breathy moans and deep, hard thrusts. Finally managing it through a gasp.
“I love you.”
You almost froze, almost said something in return, you might have. You wanted to.
He loved you. He loved you. He loved you.
You said it back. Stumbling over the words in the midst of your own pleasure, but he heard you. He heard you, and he turned his head and captured your lips in a heated, searing kiss. His hands cradled your face, sliding down your shoulders and chest and around your sides, holding you close to him as if scared you might leave.
His hips stuttered, drawing close to his release. A hand flew down between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing lopsided, almost overstimulating circles. He was trying to say your name, blissed out desperation stumbling out instead as his hips stuttered again and he tipped over the edge. You could feel his release spill inside you, hot and sticky in ways that felt right.
There was now a stillness between the two of you, chests heaving, heads reeling, breaths heavy but slowly easing themselves back towards normalcy. Grisham’s breath hitched, the exhale shaky, and that’s when your eyes focused on him. Without thinking, your hand reached out to his face, your thumb wiping his tears away.
You whispered words of comfort, your voice raw but grounding. You drew him into your embrace, careful not to move too much as you comforted him.
Hesitantly, Grisham slipped from your grasp, then out of you. He inhaled sharply, swallowing hard, “I should clean you up.”
He stood, moving towards the bathroom. You lay back on the couch, eyes trained on the ceiling as they’d been earlier that night, pleased and satisfied with what had happened. Though… something did linger in your chest, a question weighing itself upon your heart as the rest of you fluttered.
Grisham returned not too long later, bringing a warm, damp hand towel with him and setting himself to the careful task of cleaning you. His hand traced along you, tender and softer than before, bringing you down from your high. You studied his face as he cleaned you. He had wiped his tears away, but his eyes were red-rimmed and irritated. The question nagged at you, but you pushed it aside.
“Are you alright?”
“I should ask you the same.” Grisham shrugged, then softened, reaching over to give a reassuring squeeze to your hand, “I’m alright, promise. It was just… a lot, but I’m alright.”
“And I’m alright too.” You reassured, squeezing his hand back, “More than alright.”
Grisham smiled, hummed a pleased note, and leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead. He stood when he pulled away, offering you both his hands to help you stand.
“Come on. There's not enough room on the couch for both of us.”
He steadied you when you stood, your legs briefly straining to find stability. When you were ready, Grisham led you across the apartment to his room, and you realized you’d actually never been in his bedroom before. You couldn’t see much in the low light, just enough to make out the bed.
"Is it really okay that I stay?"
"I want you to."
Grisham pulled you to him quietly, letting your head rest against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist. You could hear his heartbeat, settled, pleased, hopeful, all at once. You could feel his fingers drifting up and down your shoulder, his lips pressing soft, momentary kisses to your forehead and crown.
You could feel yourself relaxing into a long silence. Sleep would greet you soon enough if you let it.
Grisham stilled, and for a moment, you thought that he, too, was starting to drift to sleep.
“I’m not used to people staying.” He admitted in a whisper, a comfortable cadence as if he’d only whispered it to himself and not you.
“I’m here.” You whispered back, sliding your eyes closed, “Not going anywhere either.”
You couldn’t see his relieved smile.
The question nagged at you again.
“I love you.” You whispered, testing the waters.
Grisham sighed, a deep exhale that relaxed across his body.
“Love you too.”
You laid in silence, listening to his heartbeat and knowing you had heard it jolt a hair when you’d spoken. You adjusted yourself, relaxing against Grisham. He was warm, and he smelled of vanilla and cedar, and now you. And he was safe.
“What does this make us?” You asked, unsure if you’d said it loud enough.
Uncertainty left you standing at the edge of a cliff. Everything had changed, but it didn’t feel wrong. You hoped it wasn’t wrong; you didn’t want it to be a mistake.
“We’ll figure that out in the morning,” He answered after a long moment of thought, “but, for now…”
His embrace shifted, settling into something more comfortable.
Various pokemens reactions to you squirting for the first time? I ask for Ivor to be included at the very least 👉👈
I haven't done a multi-pair fic like this in a hot minute. I forget how much fun (and exhausting) they are to write. It was a nice needed distracted with how this week went (and then we got our dog's ashes today and I kind of fell apart). But I was already working on this the moment you sent this ask in. Yes, Ivor is included in this, haha.
Strap in everyone, it's long. I did both men and women, so hopefully there's something for everyone...? Also, I did the bare minimum of editing, so mistakes might be there (I'm sorry).
Characters: Giovanni, Lance, Clair, Nanu, Guzma, Ivor, Phillipe and Corbeau, Grisham and Griselle, Urbain, Vinnie, Mable, Lysandre, L, Sycamore, Adaman Melli, Ingo, Volo, Milo, Kabu, Gordie, Piers, Raihan, Leon, Rika, Hassel, Brassius, Larry, Grusha, Steven Stone, Cheren, Alder
CW: men, sex with men, female reader, f/m, f/f, f/f/m, m/f/m, threesomes, squirting, nsfw, smut, dubcon in some situations, MDNI
Giovanni
(warning: dubcon, noncon, forced orgasm)
You never thought you’d end up like this. Pinned beneath Giovanni himself, the infamous boss of Team Rocket, his hand crushing your wrists above your head on the mattress with a grip that brooked no argument. The luxurious hotel suite was dark and silent but for your own ragged breaths and the measured, almost clinical, sound of Giovanni’s voice—a low, smooth command that left no room for protest.
He loomed over you, still impeccably dressed: tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled, the crisp edge of his suit jacket brushing your ribs as he used his weight to keep you utterly helpless. His eyes were dark and glinting, drinking in every flicker of your expression, every arch of your back as his free hand worked between your thighs, his fingers thick and merciless as they plunged into you, wet and relentless. He watched your face with a calculated, almost cold fascination, as if you were another rare prize, a specimen to be dissected and claimed.
“Look at you,” Giovanni murmured, voice like velvet edged with steel, “squirming so beautifully. You’re far more responsive than anticipated.” His thumb circled your clit, slow and precise, every movement calculated to wring more gasps from your lips.
You tried to twist away, breath coming in stuttering sobs, but his grip at your wrists only tightened, holding you flat and open for his pleasure. The pressure built, sharp and overwhelming, and you whimpered, desperate for release but terrified of what would happen when you finally broke. Giovanni only smirked, leaning down to brush his mouth along your jaw, his words a quiet growl against your ear. “You’ll come for me now. That’s an order.”
He pressed his fingers deeper, thumb unrelenting, and your body snapped, orgasm tearing through you as your hips jerked up into his hand. A gush of slickness splattered across his palm and the sheets. You sobbed, mortified, shaking as you realized what had happened, your face burning with shame.
For a split second, Giovanni stilled, eyes widening, then the sharp curve of his mouth deepened, the glint in his gaze turning feral and pleased. “Well, well,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “aren’t you full of surprises?” He drew his hand away, holding it up, slick and gleaming, inspecting you like a rare, valuable find. “I do appreciate a woman with hidden talents.”
Before you could even recover, he released your wrists only to drag your hips down, pinning them beneath his own. He undid his belt with one hand, the other still slick from your release, and lined himself up, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance.
“You belong to me now,” Giovanni said quietly, his voice pure command, pure possession. “And I intend to enjoy every last secret you have to offer.” He thrust inside you, hard and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs, his body heavy and inescapable, his hands bruising at your hips as he fucked you slow and relentless, savoring every moan, every helpless clench.
The last thing you saw was his dark eyes fixed on yours, triumphant and utterly in control and delighted by the way you shattered for him, already plotting how to make you break again.
Lance
Lance was always composed. Even now, with his cape draped over the chair and his sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair as wild and striking as ever, he brought that same steady intensity to the bedroom. You lay back on cool linens, thighs parted for him, his dark eyes focused, mouth set in a small, intent line. He knelt between your legs, his long fingers stroking up your inner thighs, featherlight and deliberate—making sure you felt wanted, cherished, and never rushed.
He pressed a kiss to your knee and then, with a gentle confidence, slid two fingers inside you, thumb circling your clit. His movements were precise, strong, never rough but never hesitant either. He watched you closely, reading every arch, every shiver, letting your pleasure dictate his tempo. When your hips jerked, he only hummed, pushing deeper, curling his fingers just right, intent on making you come undone for him.
You felt the pressure building, the pleasure cresting sharp and overwhelming, your breath coming fast as you reached for his shoulder. “Lance, it’s—” you tried to warn him, embarrassment prickling at your skin, but he didn’t falter, only pressed his thumb a little harder, watching your face with that knight’s focus.
Your orgasm hit, a rush so intense it left you shaking. And then, suddenly, you gushed, liquid spurting out in a hot, uncontrollable wave, soaking his hand and the sheets below. You froze, mortified, heat burning up your cheeks, your hand flying to your face as you gasped, “Oh my god—Lance, I—”
He stilled at first, eyes widening, his hand still inside you. Surprise flickered over his face, quickly replaced by curiosity and a low, pleased smile. He slid his fingers free, running his thumb through the slick mess, considering you thoughtfully. “That was…impressive,” he said softly, voice steady and calm as ever. “Did you know you could do that?”
You shook your head, cheeks blazing, unable to meet his eyes. “No, I—I’ve never—” You wanted to melt into the mattress, half from the intensity, half from embarrassment.
Lance leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soothing. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You trusted me, and I’m honored by that.” His hand, still wet, rested on your hip, thumb tracing slow circles. “I didn’t expect to see that, but I’m… glad I did.” There was a faint flush to his cheeks, a rare crack in his composure, and his eyes were bright with pride and a touch of awe.
He brushed your hair from your face, voice low with affection and a hint of mischief. “Next time, let’s see if we can make it happen again. I’d like to watch you lose control like that for me.” He pressed another kiss to your lips, the promise lingering calm, confident, and quietly delighted, just like everything Lance did.
Clair
Clair’s pride had been wounded in the gym, her fierce blue eyes still smoldering with the sting of defeat even as she pressed the Rising Badge into your hand. But the way she stared you down didn’t speak of resentment. It was hunger, hot and electric, a storm barely chained beneath her skin-tight suit and the sweep of her cape. Your victory was still fresh, your heart thudding with adrenaline as she guided you—no, herded you—through the winding corridors behind the Blackthorn Gym’s arena, the click of her boots sharp on stone.
It wasn’t until you were in her personal quarters, the heavy door thumping shut behind you, that Clair’s control snapped. She spun, grabbing you by the wrist and pushing you against the wall, the force of her body pinning you there, her long blue ponytail flicking over her shoulder. Her lips caught yours in a bruising, possessive kiss, all fire and teeth, her gloved hands already tugging at your clothes with impatient, practiced skill.
“You think you can just stroll in here, beat me, and walk away? You've got some nerve,” she growled, breath hot against your mouth, her voice a low challenge. “I like that.” Her hands were everywhere, stripping you down, dragging your jacket off, peeling your shirt above your head until you were left shivering, all your bravado gone under her predatory, dragon-tamer gaze.
She pushed you to the bed, straddling your hips, her gloved hands spreading your thighs with no gentleness, her bodysuit clinging to every muscle as she pressed her knee up between your legs. She watched you squirm, her mouth twisting into a sly, self-satisfied smirk. “Let’s see how tough you are now, girl.”
Clair’s fingers, still gloved, were surprisingly skilled. She slid two inside you, working you open with a confidence that made your cheeks burn. Her thumb found your clit, circling mercilessly, her other hand pinning your wrists above your head, her cape trailing over your skin in cool, silken waves. Her teeth grazed your collarbone, tongue flicking across your pulse as you writhed, breathless and helpless, under her control.
“Aw, you blushing already? What, did you think I wouldn’t get revenge?” she taunted, her voice smoky, breath hitching as you clenched around her fingers. “I could get used to this—seeing you all soft and begging for me.” She fucked you with her hand, relentless, until your whimpers turned to cries, your thighs trembling, pleasure building sharp and high.
When your orgasm hit, it was fierce. Your body arched, hips jerking, and all sense of pride and rivalry burned away by the heat she’d stoked in you. And then, unexpected and overwhelming, a gush spilled out of you, soaking her gloved hand, splattering your thighs and the sheets beneath. For a split second, you froze, mortified by the mess, but Clair’s surprise only made her grin widen, eyes flashing with wicked delight.
“Well, well,” she purred, voice full of gleeful triumph. “Looks like you had another surprise for me, didn’t you?” She held up her soaked glove, inspecting the wetness with a mixture of curiosity and pride before dragging it down your body, smearing your own slick across your skin. “You’re full of secrets. I love that.”
She leaned in, her mouth finding yours again, deep and claiming. “You’re mine tonight, babe,” Clair whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and satisfaction. “And I’m not letting you go until you beg for mercy—or for more.”
And with that, she slid down between your thighs, intent on wringing every last drop of pleasure from you. She delighted in every shudder and every cry, your victory now nothing but another reason for her to conquer you all over again.
Nanu
The cuffs dug cool and certain into your wrists, binding you to the headboard, the old iron creaking every time you so much as shifted. The lamp on the nightstand threw Nanu’s face into half-shadow, his sardonic mouth quirked in that familiar deadpan, red eyes unreadable as he watched you squirm beneath him. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, his dark shirt open, the silver of his Z-Ring glinting as he traced idle circles along your thigh.
He took his time, lazy in the way he touched you—fingers slow, almost teasing, voice a low, dry drawl as he taunted you, soft and wicked. “Gonna keep you like this all night, sweetheart. Guess you should’ve thought twice before mouthing off to a cop.” His thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, maddening circles, two fingers working inside you, curling just right until you were gasping, legs trembling, helplessly spread.
When you came it was sharp and white-hot, your body snapping tight, pleasure cresting so hard you couldn’t even breathe before it broke. And then, suddenly, a hot wet gush pulsed from you, splattering across his hand, his wrist, the sheets. For a heartbeat, you both froze, your face burning with mortification.
Nanu blinked, brow arching, and then let out a low, surprised whistle. “Well, that’s new.” His gaze was steady, cool, and clinical—maybe a little impressed—and then, that lazy grin tugged at his mouth, sly and knowing. “Guess I’ve still got it, huh?”
You tried to twist away, embarrassment flooding you, but the cuffs held you fast. “I’m sorry–I didn’t—”
He cut you off, moving between your legs, his cock thick and hard, eyes sharp with sudden hunger. “Don’t worry about it. Looks like I found a new favorite trick.” He lined himself up and thrust into you, slow at first, then deeper, letting you feel every inch. The wet mess beneath you only seemed to spur him on, his hands gripping your hips, pace picking up as the headboard thudded softly against the wall.
“Gonna see if I can make you do that again,” he murmured, voice gone dark and rough, more turned on than you’d ever seen him, his every thrust deep and relentless. He watched your face, drinking in every twitch and tremor, every gasp as you writhed for him, the cuffs clattering overhead.
His mouth split in a crooked, dangerous smile. “Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight, sweetheart. I’m not lettin’ this go.”
And as he fucked you harder, you felt the embarrassment melt away, replaced by a shivery anticipation for what Nanu might drag out of you next. Because you knew, now that he’d seen you break like this, he’d make damn sure to see it again.
Guzma
Guzma had you spread out on the bed, his big, rough hands everywhere, filthy praise spilling from his lips as he worked you open with his fingers, tongue, cock—always greedy, always hungry for more. The room was thick with heat and the scent of sweat, his chain clinking softly as he shifted, his gold watch flashing at your thigh. You were already fluttering, nerves sparking, hips jerking into his hand as he coaxed you higher, relentless.
He grinned down at you, white hair wild, dark eyes burning low. “C’mon, babe, you gonna fall apart for me? That’s it, fuckin’ take it—” His thumb pressed just right, his fingers curling, and then it happened—sudden, electric, your orgasm hitting so hard your thighs snapped shut around his wrist. A shock ran through you, and then you felt it—liquid gushing, splattering his hand, the sheets, your vision going white as you sobbed his name.
Heat flooded your cheeks, mortification prickling as you tried to squirm away, stammering, “Guzma, I—I didn’t mean to—”
For a split second, Guzma froze, caught off guard. Then his grin split wide, wicked and hungry, and he let out a bark of delighted laughter. “Well, shit! Look at that.” He stared at the slick mess coating his hand, then at you, eyes gleaming with something hot and possessive. “Damn, babe… didn’t know you had it in you.”
He cut you off with a rough, hungry kiss, his hand still sticky and wet, smearing your own slick up your thigh, owning every inch of what you’d just given him. “You kiddin’ me? That’s the hottest fuckin’ thing I ever saw.” He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wild with pride and hunger. “Shit, you squirt for me now? You know I’m gonna make you do that every time, yeah?”
His fingers slid back between your legs, already working you open again, coaxing more slick from your trembling cunt. “Don’t get shy on me, babe—bet I can make you do it again. And again. Gonna see how many times Big-bad-Guzma can wring you out before you can’t even remember your name.”
He kissed you, deep and filthy, his cock hard and throbbing against your thigh, his hands greedy as ever. “Fuck, I love you like this. Messy, desperate, and all mine.” The embarrassment melted under the heat of his praise, and you found yourself arching into him, hungry for whatever chaos Guzma wanted to drag out of you next.
Ivor
You barely had time to process what was happening. Hips jerking, body shaking, Ivor’s big hands bracing your thighs wide as he knelt between your legs, all energy and praise and stubborn, determined devotion. He’d been working you up for ages, mouth hot and hungry, fingers unrelenting, grinning every time you gasped, like he could win medals for making you come apart.
And then you came. A sudden, sharp, burst of pleasure that turned your world white, your body arching as you cried out. You felt it then. A gush, hot and uncontrollable, slicking Ivor’s hand and splashing his bare chest. You froze, mortification lancing through you, eyes wide as you tried to clamp your thighs shut, but Ivor was still holding you open, blinking down in surprise at the mess between your legs.
He stared for a second, mouth hanging open, blond hair wild around his face. Then he looked up at you, utterly bewildered, like he’d just witnessed a new evolution. “Whoa—did I—did you just—? Was that supposed to happen?” His amber eyes were huge, confusion and a weird, innocent awe mixing in his expression.
Your cheeks went up in flames, hands scrabbling for a sheet to hide behind. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s—it’s a thing, sometimes, it just—” You trailed off, mortified, words tripping over your tongue as you tried to explain, heart pounding. “It’s called squirting. It’s not… it’s not pee, or anything, it’s just… some people, if it’s good enough, it just—happens.”
Ivor’s jaw dropped a little further, then snapped shut with a clack. He stared at you, then at his soaked chest, then back at you, and suddenly he broke into a huge, beaming grin. “That’s AMAZING! Babe, I made you do that? That’s—! I didn’t know that was even possible!” He wiped his hand across his chest, then flexed his arm, pride swelling in every line of his body. “I DID THAT!”
You groaned, flopping back, covering your face with both hands. “Ivor, please, don’t make a thing out of it—”
He just laughed, delighted, and leaned in to nuzzle your cheek, all warmth and muscle and earnest, excitable affection. “No way! I have to figure out how to do that again. You gotta teach me everything about this squirting thing, babe. Next time, I’m gonna see if I can make it happen twice—no, three times! You just wait!” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, already plotting, already hyped for your next round.
You groaned, equal parts embarrassed and endeared—because you knew, without a doubt, this wasn’t the last time Ivor was going to chase that particular victory.
Corbeau and Philippe
You were spread wide and trembling, thighs braced against Philippe’s thick, warm body as you leaned back against his chest. His girth was buried deep inside, your back arched, breasts pressed into his broad palms. Philippe’s breath was warm and steady at your ear, each upward thrust making your whole body rock, your fingers gripping his thick forearm for balance. His hands weren’t gentle, but they weren't rough either, kneading and squeezing at your breasts, rolling your nipples until you whimpered and squirmed in his lap.
Corbeau lounged at your side, a dark silhouette in silk and shadow, his tailored jacket tossed aside for once. One of his long, elegant hands was between your legs, the other bracing your thigh open as his thumb circled your clit with devastating precision. He leaned in, lips teasing at your jaw and throat, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he nipped, sucked, and bit, all calculated menace and controlled hunger. The contrast of Philippe’s relentless, heavy thrusts and Corbeau’s sharp, strategic touch had your senses spinning, your whole body tense with the threat of release.
Philippe thrust deep, the thick head of his cock grinding against your sweet spot, his rough fingers pinching your nipple just as Corbeau’s thumb pressed harder, his mouth closing around the pulse point at your neck and sucking until you gasped. The pleasure built sharp and sudden, your body tightening, thighs shaking as you felt yourself teeter on the edge.
Then it hit. A burst of white-hot pleasure, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that made you sob, hips bucking helplessly between the two men. You felt the gush, sudden and uncontrollable, slicking Corbeau’s hand, splattering your thighs and Philippe’s lap. For a split second, Corbeau’s cool composure cracked; he blinked, startled, then a sly, pleased smile broke across his lips.
“Well, well, Philippe,” he drawled, voice velvet-smooth but full of wicked amusement. “It appears our favorite do-gooder has a new trick. She just drenched us both.” His hand didn’t falter, fingers still stroking you through the aftershocks, his gaze flickering with something greedy and proud.
Philippe’s grip on your hips tightened, his own breath catching as he gave one last, deep thrust, hips grinding up into you. “You’ll have to let me have you to myself for that next time, doll,” he groaned, thick voice rumbling in your ear. “I want to experience it when it’s just the two of us.”
He pulled out slowly, leaving you fluttering, your cunt aching and dripping, your whole body still trembling from the force of your release.
Corbeau slid in close, brushing sweat-damp hair from your cheek, his glasses low on his nose, eyes burning with intent. “Up, angel,” he murmured, helping Philippe guide you gently down onto all fours. Philippe pressed behind you, lining himself up again, while Corbeau knelt in front, undoing his belt, his cock flushed and hard, tip already leaking.
Philippe’s big hands settled on your hips, steadying you as he pushed inside again, stretching you open, the thick weight of him making you whimper. Corbeau cradled your face, thumb sliding over your lips before guiding his cock to your mouth. “Take us both,” he commanded, voice low and calm, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his lips as he eased himself past your lips.
The room was thick with heat, the sound of your moans muffled by Corbeau’s cock, Philippe’s hand stroking your hips as he drove into you, both men working you in perfect, practiced rhythm—hungry, possessive, and proud.
“Let’s see how many more times we can get you to do that, doll,” Philippe murmured, his voice a low promise in your ear, Corbeau’s fingers stroking your cheek as they both claimed you, eager to see you shatter again and again, every edge of embarrassment erased by how much they wanted you.
Grisham and Griselle
Griselle lay stretched out on her back, her sharp blue eyes glinting up at you, glasses gone, half-lidded and wicked as she tugged your hips down over her face. She had you open and needy, her tongue lapping and sucking at your clit, making you moan and buck, thighs trembling on either side of her head. Every time you tried to shy away, she just gripped your hips harder, a muffled sound of satisfaction vibrating right through your cunt.
Above her, you braced yourself against Grisham’s hips, his cock thick and flushed as you took him into your mouth. He knelt in front of you, elegant as ever but undone by the sight. His glasses were slipping down his nose, his orange-streaked ponytail a wild banner behind him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other steadying himself on the headboard behind him.
The pleasure built fast, Griselle’s tongue tormenting your clit, every shudder running up your spine. You moaned around Grisham’s cock, his hips twitching at the vibration, his quiet, measured praise rumbling through the low light. “Very good,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, thumb stroking your jaw as he looked down at you. “You’re handling me so well, darling.”
You felt yourself hurtling toward the edge, thighs trembling, Griselle’s grip bruising as she sucked harder, fingers thrusting, voice muffled as she teased, “C’mon, let’s see you make a mess for us.”
Her tongue flicked hard, and you felt the orgasm hit like a lightning bolt. Your eyes fluttered, mouth going slack around Grisham’s cock as your whole body tensed. You tapped Grisham’s hip frantically, and he—ever the poised gentleman even with his cock twitching in your mouth—immediately withdrew, letting you suck in a breath.
The pleasure crested sharp and sudden, and then you broke with a strangled cry, a gush of wetness spilling over Griselle’s lips, splattering her chin and cheeks. She gave a triumphant, greedy noise, lapping at you as you shuddered, body jerking, desperate for air. When it was over you were panting, eyes dazed and cheeks burning.
Griselle laughed, moving your lower half briefly so that she could sit up, her face slick, and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth with a dramatic, smug flourish. “Oh, fuck yeah! Gris, she squirted! All over me,” she called up, her voice delighting in your mortification.
Grisham’s eyes flickered with interest, mouth curving in a rare, wicked little smile as he leaned forward, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Did she now?” he replied, voice smooth, warm, and low. “I’ll have to swap places with you next time. I’d like to see that up close.” His gaze dropped to your flushed face, and he nudged his cock against your lips, a gentle insistence. “But for now open up for me again, darling.”
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and wild pride all at once, but you obeyed, lips parting as Grisham slid back in, his hand stroking your hair with quiet, controlled affection. Behind you, Griselle was already strapping on a harness, her grin sharp and promising as she slid her hands over your hips, lining herself up. “Ready for round two, sweetheart? Let’s see how many times we can wring you out tonight.”
Urbain
Hotel Z’s bedsheets were already a rumpled mess, the city lights of Lumiose seeping in through the curtains, painting the room in lazy stripes of gold and blue. Urbain was sprawled at the foot of the bed, tousled platinum hair falling into his royal blue eyes, broad grin flashing as he dragged his mouth up your thigh. His hands were warm and restless, palms splayed on your hips, thumbs tracing teasing circles as he dipped his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss right over your clit.
He’d been at it for a while, all eager sloppiness and relentless, high-energy tongue, humming little praises against your skin. “C’mon, babe, lemme hear you.” He winked up at you, then flicked his tongue in a way that made your toes curl, his grip tightening when your hips bucked up against his face.
Your thighs trembled, breath coming in shaky little gasps as the pleasure built sharp and bright, your hands clutching at the sheets. Urbain’s tongue was everywhere—broad strokes, then quick flicks, then a greedy suck that pushed you right to the edge. You tried to warn him, voice barely more than a whimper. “Urbain, I—oh—!”
It hit you all at once, a white-hot rush, your body tensing, and then a gush of liquid spurted out, splattering across his chin, his cheeks, wetting his shirt collar. Urbain jerked back, blinking, his mouth still parted in surprise, blue eyes comically wide. There was a beat of stunned silence.
He wiped at his face, blinking again, then broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Yo, did you just pee on me?” he teased, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Kinda impressive, not gonna lie.” His words sent a bolt of mortification through you, your cheeks flaming as you scrambled to cover your face, groaning into the pillow.
Urbain just laughed harder, flopping over and grabbing the comforter, using it to swipe the mess from his cheeks. “Hey, it’s okay! That was actually kinda hot. Didn’t know I had it in me to make you lose it like that.” He tossed the comforter aside, crawling up the bed and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in for a tight, playful squeeze, his nose nudging at your cheek.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” Urbain murmured, lips brushing your temple, his voice suddenly softer, earnest. He settled in beside you, letting you hide your burning face in his chest, his hand stroking your hair, content to hold you close while the city hummed quietly outside, both of you tangled up in the glow of embarrassment and something a lot sweeter.
Vinnie
You’d begged for this, desperate after too many nights spent alone while he worked late, your body aching for his hands, his mouth, the heavy weight of him pinning you down into the mattress. Now, with your legs hooked over his hips and his cock buried deep, he was giving you everything you’d been craving. Every rough, relentless thrust a promise, every low, rumbling grunt a reminder of just how much he wanted you, too.
He had one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open and helpless as he pounded into you, his eyes dark and intent above the sharp line of his beard.
“God, I missed you, Vinnie,” you gasped, nails raking his back, your body burning up under the intensity of his focus.
Vinnie’s mouth curled in a rare, crooked smile, his pace never faltering. “You could’ve said something sooner,” he growled softly, voice all gravel and affection, “Urbain would’ve let me clear my schedule for you.” His hand slipped down, thumb pressing against your clit, grinding just right, making your hips buck up to meet his every thrust.
You felt the climax building, sharp and urgent, the pressure mounting until you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your whole body tensed, a cry ripping from your throat as you shattered—cunt clenching, heat rushing through you. And then a gush, sudden and wet, splashing across his lower abdomen and the sheets.
For a heartbeat, everything went still. Vinnie blinked down at you, lips parted in shock, his hand still between your legs. Then his expression shifted, that rare, boyish smile breaking out, eyes lighting up with smug delight. “Hmm,” he hummed, tone warm and teasing. “Never made anyone do that before…not even my ex-wife.” He wiped a hand across his stomach, then leaned in to press a slow, rough kiss to your lips, pride and affection radiating off him in waves.
Before you could catch your breath, he hitched your hips higher, cock sliding back in, harder, deeper, chasing his own release now with a ragged breath. “I’m not done with you yet,” he growled, voice rough, every thrust claiming you all over again. “We’re gonna make up for lost time… and then some.”
Mable
Mable’s apartment was cluttered with books and half-sorted files, the light from her kitchen spilling over the battered couch where she’d pulled you down, her lab coat half-off her shoulders and her teal hair mussed from your fingers. She was all sharp edges and dry wit even like this, her lips quirked in a smug little smile as she worked you open with her clever scientist’s hands, her eyes, clear of her visor glasses, watching your every twitch and gasp.
She didn’t bother with soft, flowery words. “Relax,” she murmured, voice low and pragmatic, “I know what I’m doing.” Her fingers stroked you with cool precision, thumb circling your clit in a rhythm that was just clinical enough to be infuriating, just skillful enough to be devastating. The pleasure built, sharp and fast, your hips rolling up against her hand, your breath stuttering out in quick little whimpers.
You tried to warn her, but she just arched a brow, cherry lipstick quirking. “You look like you’re about to—” And then you broke, body tensing and a gush of liquid splashing over her hand and the couch cushion. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what you’d done. You froze, mortified, your hands flying up to cover your face. “Oh, no. Mable—I’m—”
She didn’t even flinch. If anything, her smile widened, and her eyes flicked from her soaked hand to your burning face with amused interest. “You really thought I’d mind?” she drawled, flicking her gaze up to meet yours. “Honestly, it’s not even pee. It’s mostly clear fluid from the paraurethral glands—completely normal, if you’re wondering.” She wiped her palm on her thigh, then reached up to tug your hands away from your face, pinning your wrists above your head. “Actually, you should be impressed. Most people can’t manage that.”
You stared at her, still crimson, and she rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation before leaning down to kiss you—lipstick smudging slightly against your mouth, her kiss deep, thorough, and utterly unbothered. When she pulled back, she was grinning. “So, are you done being adorable and embarrassed? Or do you need a minute before we go for round two?” Her hands slid down your body again, already hinting at the next experiment, her voice teasing and smug as ever. “Because I’d kind of like to see if I can make you do it again.”
L
The quiet of your Hotel Z room felt charged, night pressing close beyond the rain-flecked windows, city lights blurred and distant. You and L sat close on the edge of the bed, knees brushing, the air thick with a gentle anticipation you’d both let build for weeks—months, even. His white hair fell forward, the fur collar of his worn black jacket framing his solemn, striking face. The scarred lid of his left eye remained closed, but his right—clear, steady, and a little nervous—never left yours.
You’d undressed each other slowly, savoring every new reveal, every soft brush of skin. L’s hands were gentle but eager, the rough pads of his fingers betraying a life spent working, wandering, healing. He kissed you, slow and searching, mouth lingering at your cheek, your brow, your jaw, as if he wanted to memorize you. There was a reverence to the way he touched you, the hush of a man who’d lost and found so much in one lifetime.
When you laid back, L knelt beside you, his hand sliding down your belly, fingers circling your clit in careful, coaxing strokes. His kisses grew hungry, trailing down your throat, his lips brushing your pulse, your collarbone, the top of your breast. You arched into him, breath coming quicker, every nerve alight beneath his touch. He watched your face, reading each gasp, each flutter of your lashes, as his fingers slipped inside.
The pleasure crested sharp, your thighs trembling. L’s thumb pressed harder, his fingers stroking in a rhythm that sent you spiraling. Tears pricked your eyes, pleasure burning hot and ragged, and you let go, hips bucking, liquid suddenly gushing, slick and uncontrollable, coating his hand and the sheets beneath.
For a heartbeat, you froze, mortified, but L was transfixed. His lips parted, both eyes opened wide, taking in your shuddering and the mess you’d just made. The moment stretched, silent but for the sound of your gasping breaths, and then L’s expression softened into something luminous. He smiled, slow and awed, a gentle wonder lighting his face.
He brushed his hand along your thigh, slick fingers trembling, gaze locked on you, not the mess. “You’re…breathtaking,” he whispered, the words rough with feeling. “I never want you to hide from me. Let me see you like this, always.”
Then, as if something inside him broke free, L shed his jacket, his shirt, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. He pressed you back into the pillows, his own hunger now unleashed, hands gripping your hips with a need that surprised both of you. “I want you,” he said, tone low and reverent, his body trembling with anticipation. “Let me see you come apart for me again.”
He eased himself over you, kissing you deep, his bare skin hot against yours, his cock hard and insistent at your thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close, the world shrinking to his warmth, his breath, his whispered promises. There was no shame, only the fierce joy of being wanted, being seen, as L moved inside you—slow at first, then harder, his hand finding yours, his mouth never far from your skin.
He watched you with that single, burning eye, hunger and wonder mingling as he chased your pleasure, desperate to see you shatter for him again. And when you did, body arching, crying his name, coming undone beneath him—L followed, his own release crashing through him, both of you clinging together.
Lysandre
Lysandre’s bedroom was all golden lamplight and decadent shadows, the city’s pulse muffled by thick velvet drapes. The king-sized bed was dressed in sheets as dark as his suit, silk sliding cool and luxurious beneath your skin as he pressed you back, his large hands framing your face with a possessive gentleness that made your heart thunder. You could still taste the wine from dinner, feel the ghost of his aristocratic charm lingering in every careful touch—a mask worn so well that even now, undressed from his public persona, he radiated a kind of dangerous, magnetic beauty.
He was so close: his lips meeting yours, then tracing your cheek, your jaw, his mouth hot and open against your neck. Lysandre was all intensity, his spiky mane of orange-red hair brushing your cheek as he kissed and nipped, greedy yet controlled, savoring every sound that fell from your lips. His gloved hand slid down your body, fingers slipping between your thighs, spreading you open for his touch. He was methodical, almost reverent, two fingers sliding in deep, curling until you gasped, his thumb finding your clit and circling with a maddening, relentless precision.
He drew back just enough to watch you, blue eyes bright and unblinking, his gaze fixed on your face as he worked you open. The intensity of his focus, the way he drank in every shiver, every stuttered breath, made you feel almost worshipped. “You are more beautiful in this moment than any vision of perfection I’ve ever known,” he murmured, voice a low, burning promise. “Do not hide from me.”
Pleasure built fast, sharp and overwhelming, your thighs trembling as Lysandre’s fingers pressed harder, his mouth finding your throat, his teeth scraping gentle warnings into your skin. You tried to hold back, embarrassment prickling as the urge rose, but he coaxed you higher, voice coaxing, commanding: “Let go. I want to see everything you are.”
The orgasm hit hard, your body arching, mouth falling open in a choked moan as a gush of wetness spilled out of you, slicking his hand, soaking the sheets. For a moment you froze, mortified, but Lysandre only watched in awe, his eyes wide with a kind of stunned delight. He brought his slick fingers to his lips, tasting you with a slow, savoring purpose, his expression softening into wonder.
“Magnificent,” he breathed, voice trembling with something almost like reverence. “You are never more exquisite than when you are undone.”
Before you could retreat into your embarrassment, Lysandre rose, stripping off the last of his suit with elegant, practiced ease until he was as bare as you. He drew you up and over him, guiding you to straddle his hips, his hands large and sure on your waist. “Ride me,” he commanded, voice thick, eyes burning with hunger and admiration. “I want to see you—every shudder, every flush. I want you to know, here, in this bed, you are beauty itself.”
You sank down onto him, the stretch and heat overwhelming, Lysandre’s hands never leaving your body as you moved together, every thrust and gasp woven with his praise, his need, his unyielding devotion to your pleasure. He watched you like you were art, something rare and precious, his hands stroking your thighs, your waist, his lips finding your breasts, your jaw, his voice a rough, reverent whisper: “Let me see you shatter again for me. There is nothing in this world as beautiful.”
Sycamore
Professor Sycamore’s office always seemed to radiate a certain warmth: sunlight spilling through tall windows, the faint smell of coffee and old books, the distant rustle of Gogoat hooves below on the avenue. But tonight, the only light came from the city, and the only sound was the gentle creak of his chair and the low, delighted hum of the man himself.
Sycamore had you perched on the edge of his desk, legs spread wide, his sleeves rolled up and lab coat tossed carelessly over a stack of research notes. His curly hair was tousled, blue eyes bright and fixed on you as he knelt, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other working deftly between your legs. The air was thick with the scent of you, the sound of your breathing, every soft moan and gasp echoing off the old walls.
He was a man of curiosity, always chasing the next discovery, and tonight was no exception. His fingers moved with a careful, eager rhythm—two sliding deep, curling just right, thumb teasing your clit in slow, experimental circles. He watched every twitch, every shiver, cataloging your reactions with the quiet wonder of a man stumbling on a new phenomenon.
You felt the edge coming fast, pleasure spiking hard and bright, your hands clutching at the edge of the desk as your body tensed, then broke, your orgasm crashing over you in a sharp, shuddering wave. And then, before you could even process it, a gush of wetness spilled out of you, splattering Sycamore’s hand, his wrist, the edge of his desk.
There was a split-second of stunned silence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Sycamore only looked up at you, eyes wide, a slow, delighted smile blossoming on his lips. He let out a soft, amazed laugh, flexing his fingers as if to make sure it was real. “Fascinanting!” he breathed, eyes shining with genuine joy. “What an absolute wonderful surprise! I’ve read about this, but I never—ah, well, you truly are remarkable.”
You tried to hide your face, mortified, stammering an apology, but he rose in one smooth motion, catching your chin in his hand, his expression warm and bright. “No, no, don’t be embarrassed,” he soothed, voice soft and teasing. “You’ve just taught me something new. I do hope you know what you’ve started, ma chérie. Now that I know you can do this…” His thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze turning hungry, playful. “I’m afraid I’ll be compelled to see it again. For research, of course.”
He kissed you then, slow and deep, laughter rumbling in his chest, his hands already wandering back down your body—curious, eager, and absolutely thrilled by the prospect of further study.
Melli
Melli was in one of his moods. The kind that made you want to throttle him and kiss him in the same breath. The lantern light in his quarters flickered over his pale hair and haughty, perfect features as he lounged back against a pile of furs, his Diamond Clan tunic in a careless heap on the floor. You straddled his lap, lips bruised from biting, your own clothes half-off, the air thick with the heat of too many arguments turned into something else entirely.
He had you open and squirming, his long fingers working you with a practiced arrogance, thumb circling your clit as if he was proving a point. “Really, you should count yourself lucky to have my attention,” Melli drawled, voice dripping with smugness, eyelashes fluttering as he watched you struggle not to give him the satisfaction of moaning.
“Stars above, you’re such a—” you snapped, only to break off on a gasp as he curled his fingers just right, your hips jerking up into his touch.
He smirked, sharp and unbearably pleased with himself. “A what? Beautiful? Astoundingly gifted?” His lips brushed your jaw, his hand moving faster, intent on dragging every sound out of you.
You hated how good he was at this. How the friction, the heat, the push-pull between you made everything sharper, needier. Your thighs trembled, breath hitching as you tried to hold back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he wouldn’t let up. “Go on, then,” he taunted. “Let’s see if you can even handle it.”
The orgasm hit you hard and sudden, shattering through all your resistance. Your body clenched, hips jerking, and then a gush of liquid, hot and wet, splashed his hand, his pelvis, and the furs beneath you. For a moment, everything stopped. Melli’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in offense and disbelief as he stared at the mess you’d just made all over him.
He recoiled, lips curling in dramatic distaste. “Oh. Oh. Disgusting—absolutely disgraceful!” he declared, drawing his hand back and holding it up as if you’d just committed an unspeakable crime. “Honestly, I come to you, I give you the privilege of my touch, and THIS is how you thank me?”
Your face burned, mortification crashing through you, but just as fast, Melli’s expression shifted into something sly and calculating as he looked you up and down, gaze lingering on the wetness glistening on his fingers. “Though…I suppose if anyone were to do such a thing to me, it would be you. Typical.” He wiped his hand on the furs with a haughty flick, but there was a spark of something new in his eyes: curiosity, even a grudging respect.
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You realize you’ll never hear the end of this from me.” He grinned, all sharp teeth and wicked delight. “But don’t worry—I’ll just have to see if I can make you do it again. For research, obviously.”
You groaned, half mortified, half aching for him to try.
Warden Ingo
Night pressed gently against the walls of your shared quarters, the faint hush of wild Hisui broken only by the distant calls of nocturnal Pokémon and the quiet, steady breaths you shared with Ingo in the lamplight. His battered coat was folded on the chest at the foot of the futon, hat placed with careful reverence atop it—his small rituals never abandoned, even after all he’d lost and all he’d found with you.
You’d started slow, the warmth between you patient and unhurried, his kisses shy at first, the brush of stubble against your thigh sending a shiver through you. Ingo’s touch was always meticulous and deliberate, his hands smoothing up your sides, his mouth gentle as he tasted you, reverent in the way only a man who’s fought for every small comfort could be.
He settled between your thighs, tongue working you open, slow and searching at first, then more intent as you relaxed for him. His hands, large and steady, anchored your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he found the rhythm that made your belly tighten, your voice grow breathless with want. He watched you as he worked, gray eyes dark and intent and searching every twitch of your body for the signs you were close.
When your breath grew ragged, your hips lifting from the futon, Ingo slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just so, thumb pressing firm and sure against your clit. His mouth moved up to your belly, then your chest, murmuring soft encouragement, his usual formality melting into something raw and hopeful as he coaxed you higher.
The pleasure climbed sharp and sudden, your whole body tensing, and then it crashed through you, your thighs shaking as you came hard. Hot liquid spurted out, soaking his hand, your thighs, the bedding. For a split second, Ingo went utterly still, eyes wide in shock, lips parted as he took in the sight of you undone and the mess pooling beneath his fingers.
He blinked, surprise flickering across his features, and then, for the briefest moment, the frown that so often haunted his face broke into a flash of his old, bright self: a boyish, triumphant smile that vanished almost as quickly as it came. “That…was unexpected,” he murmured, voice rough but colored with awe. “Did I truly cause that response?”
You covered your face, embarrassment prickling your skin, but Ingo reached up, stroking your cheek with the hand not slick from your release. “Please, do not hide from me. I am…honored. I would like—” His voice caught, determination overtaking his usual reserve, “—to see if I can bring you there again.”
He shrugged out the rest of his clothes, his movements quick and purposeful, driven by new resolve. He settled between your thighs, lining himself up, the heat of his body driving away any lingering chill. “Allow me,” he said, voice low with a fervor you rarely heard, “to do my utmost. I wish to witness you unravel for me again.”
Adaman
Adaman’s haori was already tossed aside, the blue silk crumpled in a careless heap on the floor. The room was thick with the scent of summer grass and his skin, the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window, painting lightning-bolt shadows across your bare thighs as he settled between them. He pressed a quick, teasing kiss to your hip, eyes glinting with that restless, good-humored energy that never seemed to leave him.
“Relax, time’s ours tonight,” he murmured, breath warm where it ghosted over your skin. His hair, wild and blue-streaked, brushed your belly as he ducked his head, tongue flicking over your clit in a rhythm that was both eager and maddeningly skilled. He grinned when you squirmed, broad hands holding you open, thumbs circling slow, coaxing you higher and higher. Every so often he’d glance up at you, sharp eyes full of playful challenge. Daring you to let go, to give him everything.
You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sounds he pulled from you, but Adaman just hummed, the vibration sending sparks straight up your spine. His tongue worked you faster, one hand slipping down to press two fingers inside, curling just right, his other hand stroking your thigh in steady, grounding sweeps. The pressure built, hot and sharp, and you gasped, hips bucking, thighs tensing as the orgasm crashed over you.
It hit all at once, your whole body arching, and a gush spilled out, splattering across his jaw, his cheekbones, dripping down his neck. Adaman jerked in surprise, blinking, then broke into a stunned laugh, his face shining with slick, blue eyes wide. “Whoa—didn’t see that coming,” he said, voice ragged and delighted. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his abandoned haori, grinning up at you, utterly unbothered by the mess.
Embarrassment flared hot in your chest, but Adaman just crawled up the bed, catching your face in his hands, peppering you with quick, reassuring kisses. “Hey, hey—don’t go hiding now. That was amazing. Seriously, never had anyone do that for me before.” He nuzzled your cheek, laughter still in his voice, his hands gentle but insistent on your hips. “You’re adorable when you get all shy, but don’t be. It makes me want you even more.”
He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours as he lined himself up, cock thick and hard against your entrance. “Now, let’s see if I can make you do that again while I’m inside you, yeah?” he whispered, tone low and hungry. “Hope you’re ready, ‘cause I’m not letting up until you’re shaking.”
Volo
(warning: dubcon, noncon, forced orgasm)
The forest pressed close, dusk filtering through the ancient Hisuian trees, the air thick with moss and secrets. Your wrists were bound tight above your head with Volo’s silk merchant sash—soft, but unyielding, the knot cinched expertly around the rough trunk. Bark dug into your back, your legs trembling in the grass, your breath shallow and quick as Volo’s tall, lean form loomed over you, gold hair wild in the wind, eyes gleaming as if lit from within.
He looked at you the way a collector gazes at his rarest artifact: hungry, obsessed, every ounce of his attention pinning you in place as surely as the bindings. His fingers traced up your bare thigh, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing over your skin, his smirk half-mad, half-delighted.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice dripping with a twisted sort of affection. “Arceus’ chosen one, reduced to this. Not so divine now, are we?” He pressed his palm between your legs, fingers finding your entrance, sliding in slow, then curling deep, thumb circling your clit with cruel precision.
You gasped, hips bucking, the humiliation and heat tangling until you could barely tell them apart. Volo’s other hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him, his eyes locked to yours as he worked you, relentless, unhurried. “I’ve dreamed of ruining you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear as his fingers pumped harder, faster. “Making you beg, making you break. All that power, and here you are—mine.”
Pleasure built hard and sharp, the rough bark at your back and the silk at your wrists only making the sensations sharper. You tried to twist away, but Volo’s grip only tightened, his mouth at your throat, teeth grazing your skin.
Your orgasm crashed over you, sudden and violent. A cry tore from your lips as your body tensed and then released, a gush of wetness pouring out, soaking his hand, splattering his wrist and the moss below. For a heartbeat Volo froze, surprised, then threw his head back and laughed, wild and victorious.
“Well, well!” he crowed, voice ringing through the trees. “So the divine has a mortal’s weakness after all.” He let go of your chin, holding up his slick, shining hand, inspecting it with wicked delight. “Disgraced and beautiful. I’ll never let you forget this.”
You tugged at the tie again, desperate to free yourself, face burning, but he was already stripping off his robes, his cock hard and flushed, eyes dark with triumph and want. “Don’t look away now,” he purred, stepping between your shaking thighs, the silk at your wrists creaking as you strained against it. “I want to watch you fall apart again—this time, while I’m inside you.”
He lined himself up, thrusting into you in one hard, claiming motion, the rough bark at your back and his body pinning you to the tree. Every thrust was deep, relentless, Volo’s hands everywhere—on your hips, your breast, your throat, his voice a constant taunt in your ear. “Arceus’ chosen, brought low for me. You’re mine now, every last trembling, ruined inch.”
And as he fucked you, chasing your pleasure–and his—with ruthless, obsessive focus, you knew this was just the beginning.
Volo would never stop until you were completely, utterly his.
Milo
Milo’s bedroom was all soft edges and earthy scents—fresh hay drifting in through the open window, the gentle creak of wood, a quilt patterned with green leaves pulled halfway down the bed. He was a gentle giant, massive arms and broad chest out of his Turffield jersey, freckles scattered across his nose, green eyes bright with affection as he knelt between your thighs. The lamplight painted him in gold, making his peach-colored hair glow, his smile warm and easy.
He’d been so careful with you, big calloused hands stroking your hips, slow kisses pressed to your belly and thighs. His mouth was soft, tongue tracing lazy circles over your clit, fingers parting you with a patience that melted every bit of shyness from your bones—at least, until the pleasure built so sharp and sudden you couldn’t hold it back. Your legs trembled, toes curling, hips bucking up into his face.
The orgasm crashed over you, fierce and unexpected, and you felt it—hot, slick, gushing out, splattering across Milo’s chin and cheeks, wetting the quilt beneath. You froze, mortified, breath catching in your throat as your face burned. “Milo, I—oh, I’m so sorry—” you stammered, hands flying to your cheeks.
But Milo just blinked, surprised for a moment, then broke into one of those big, sunny grins that could make even the wild Wooloo settle. “Hey now, no need to fret,” he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand, utterly unbothered. “I’ve been mucked up by Mudbray, a yamper covered in poop jump on me, and had a Wooloo sneeze in my face. This? This is just…well, it’s you. And I like every bit of you.”
He leaned up, pressing a kiss to your knee, then to your hip, his hands gentle and grounding as he pulled the quilt aside and grabbed a towel from the nightstand. “Let’s get this tidied up, yeah?” he said, voice low and soothing. He cleaned you and himself with easy, practiced care, never once making you feel awkward, the embarrassment easing as his big hands stroked your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles until you relaxed beneath him.
Once the bed was fresh and you were settled into his arms, Milo nuzzled your hair, his voice a happy rumble in your ear. “You’re beautiful, you know that? All of you. You don’t ever need to hide from me.” He kissed your temple, pulling you in close, his body warm and solid and safe.
And as the night deepened, Milo’s patience and gentle, steady affection made it easy to let go again, to let him love you slow and sweet, until all you remembered was the sound of his laughter and the quiet, honest joy of being wanted exactly as you were.
Kabu
Kabu’s body was a furnace beneath you, sweat glistening on his scarred chest, every muscle taut as he lay back against the sheets, eyes dark with heat and focus. His hands gripped your hips, firm and encouraging, but he let you set the pace, just as he always did when you took charge, trusting you to push him to his limits. You were riding him, except your feet were planted flat on either side of his powerful thighs, and leaning back on your palms for leverage. The stretch in your body was electric, your back arched, breasts thrust toward the ceiling as you rode him, every movement sending sparks of pleasure through your core.
Kabu’s gaze was fixed on you, mouth open, breath coming fast, towel long discarded somewhere beside the bed. “That’s it,” he rumbled, voice thick with approval, his accent a deeper growl. “Show me your power. Don’t hold back.” The encouragement was steady and burning. He was always pushing you, always wanting you to take what you needed, always trying to learn from every moment together.
You found a rhythm, grinding down on him, shifting your hips back and forth to ride him deep, sweat sliding down your spine. Kabu’s hands roamed, gliding up your thighs, thumbs circling where you stretched around him, every touch stoking the fire higher. You looked down, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there nearly undid you. So much pride, so much respect, all of it for you.
The pleasure built fast, sharp and overwhelming, your thighs trembling as you ground harder, chasing the high Kabu’s body promised you every time. He watched you, chest heaving, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold back, to let you have this moment. His endurance was a point of pride, and his determination to withstand whatever you gave him was absolute.
You came with a cry, hips jerking, body tightening as the orgasm surged through you, and then—a hot gush splattered across his lower abs, pooling just above the hard lines of his hips. You froze, mortified, your hands slipping from the sheets as you tried to catch your breath, eyes wide with embarrassment.
Kabu just chuckled, low and amused, wiping a broad hand through the mess on his stomach, utterly unfazed. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, voice soft beneath the heat. “That just means you’re giving your all. I couldn’t ask for more.” He sat up, strong arms wrapping around your back, pulling you close for a slow, grounding kiss.
Without missing a beat, Kabu pushed you onto your back, his movements fluid and practiced, cock still snug inside you. He pressed your knees wide and looked down at you, his eyes burning with fresh determination, a rare smile softening his features. “Let me finish what you started,” he murmured, his voice a promise.
And then he began to thrust into you, deep and sure, his pace steady but relentless, every movement full of the same discipline and passion he brought to every battle. Kabu’s hands were everywhere as he drove you higher, determined to see you undone all over again. Under his guidance, you forgot every hint of embarrassment, lost in the heat and pride of being loved by a man who respected your strength, and wanted nothing more than to see you shine, no matter how messy or wild.
Gordie
Gordie’s room was still humming with the frustration of defeat, his gym jacket carelessly draped over the back of a chair, and his sunglasses tossed on the nightstand. You’d found him sprawled on the bed, still brooding, and the moment you straddled his hips, his mood shifted and his hands found your thighs, and his eyes lost their edge, replaced with hunger and the need to be reminded he was wanted, still a champion in someone’s eyes.
You rode him slow at first, easing onto his cock, the stretch delicious, your hands braced on his chest. Gordie watched you, blue eyes fixed on the way you moved, his hands sliding up your thighs to cup your hips, pulling you down as you started to bounce and grind. The tension in his jaw softened, replaced by a cocky, crooked smile as you worked yourself on him, your back straight, hair falling down your shoulders.
“You look so good like this,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough, his confidence creeping back with every roll of your hips. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
You grinned, letting yourself take the lead, moving a little faster, his cock hitting just right inside you. “Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check, superstar,” you teased, though a breathless moan slipped out with your words. “Bet your fan club would lose their minds if they saw you now.”
As you bounced, you sat up a bit, dropping a hand between your thighs, circling your clit, chasing the pleasure that was building hot and fast. Gordie’s grip tightened, his hands moving to wrap around your legs, pressing your knees together, holding you snug and tight around him. “Hold still,” he growled, his voice suddenly intense, “Let me take over for a bit.” He thrust up into you, deep and purposeful, his arms locking your thighs together, every movement grinding you down onto his cock.
You felt the orgasm building, sharp and breathless, your body tensing as your fingers rubbed faster, and Gordie’s thrusts getting rougher, needier. The climax hit hard, a surge of slick heat pulsing through you, warmth flooding between your bodies as you squirted, the tight press of your legs keeping it pooled slick and hot between you. You gasped, mortified, trying to pull away, but Gordie just held you tighter, his hands strong and reassuring.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” he teased, voice full of lazy amusement as you tried to stammer an apology. He caught your wrist, pulling you down into a deep, hungry kiss, his cock still hard inside you. “You think something like that’s gonna scare me off? Not a chance.” His confidence was back in full force, the smirk in his tone warming every inch of you.
He rocked his hips, making you moan into his mouth, then grinned up at you, eyes sparkling with challenge. “I haven’t finished yet, love. So don’t you dare go running off to clean up.” With a smooth, practiced motion, he rolled you onto your back without pulling out, settling between your legs, the mess of your release forgotten in the urgency of his need.
He thrust back in, driving deep, his hands finding your wrists and pinning them above your head, his mouth hot and insistent on your neck. Gordie’s movements were hungry, his confidence fully restored as he fucked you through the aftershocks, determined to finish what you’d started—and to remind you, just as much as himself, who the real winner was tonight.
Piers
The room was dim, the only light spilling in from the neon glow outside Spikemuth’s battered windows. You were flat on your stomach, sheets twisted beneath your hips, Piers pressed along your back, his weight comforting and grounding. His long, spiky hair fell in a black-and-white curtain over your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, holding you perfectly still as he thrust deep and slow, unhurried, every movement measured and intense.
He was quiet, as always, just the low, ragged sound of your names murmured against your neck, the punk’s voice gone soft and reverent in the dark. His hips snapped forward, cock hitting just right, and you gasped, fingers curling in the sheets, your body arching back into him as he picked up the pace. You lost yourself in the rhythm. His skin warm against yours, his breath stuttering every time you clenched around him, the world shrinking to the heat and press of his body, the slow burn of building pleasure.
It crested, sharp and overwhelming, your body tensing, a cry slipping out as you came hard, waves rolling through you, everything tightening, then releasing. The world went white for a moment, your mind blank, and you let yourself float, boneless and spent beneath him.
You only realized what had happened when you finally started to move, rolling your hips and feeling the wet, sticky warmth pooled beneath you, slick on your thighs and soaking into the sheets. You blinked, confusion fading to mortification as you twisted to look back at Piers, your cheeks burning. “I—um—did I—?”
Piers stilled, then let out a low, surprised whistle, a slow, crooked grin breaking through his usual gloom. “Damn. Didn’t know you had that in you,” he said, voice full of pride, a little rough around the edges. “That’s actually… kinda brilliant.” He leaned down, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, the hand on your hip squeezing, his confidence blooming in the dark.
Before you could protest, apologize, or even think of getting up to clean, Piers hooked an arm around your waist, yanking you back down beneath him. “Nah, don’t go anywhere yet,” he murmured, voice gone husky as he nuzzled behind your ear. “You made a mess—’s only fair I get to enjoy it a bit more, yeah?”
He slid back inside, the wet heat only spurring him on, hips rolling as he chased his own pleasure, his body wrapped tight around yours. The sheets might be ruined, but Piers was nothing but impressed, his pride and hunger written in every slow, deep thrust, ready to see what else you could surprise him with, over and over again.
Raihan
Raihan’s room at the Hammerlocke Gym was as bold and lived-in as the man himself. Dragon memorabilia on the shelves, gym uniforms tossed over the back of a chair, the glow of city lights slanting through the blinds. He’d dragged you onto his bed the moment the door closed, hoodie gone, headband half-askew, his mohawk wild from your fingers. The air was thick with heat and anticipation, laughter and challenge in his cyan eyes as he sprawled between your thighs, big hands bracing your legs open.
He was relentless and cocky, two fingers sliding inside you with practiced confidence, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit in a rhythm that had you gasping, arching up against him. Raihan’s laughter rumbled low in his chest as he watched you struggle to keep your composure, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “C’mon, babe, don’t hold back on me,” he drawled, tongue flicking over his fangs. “I wanna see everything.”
It snuck up on you, the pleasure coiling tight, his fingers never letting up, his thumb slicking over your clit until your thighs started to shake. You tried to muffle your moans, but Raihan just leaned in, eyes locked on yours, daring you to let go. When you finally did, your body tensed, hips jerking, and then a gush splashed out, slick and hot over his hand and wrist, dripping down onto the dark sheets.
Raihan paused, startled just for a heartbeat, then his grin went feral. “No fuckin’ way—did you just—?” His eyes gleamed with pride and challenge as he swiped his tongue slowly, deliberately over his wet fingers, tasting you with a hungry, appreciative hum. “Hell yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”
You were still catching your breath, face burning in embarrassment, when he was already ducking down, his mouth hot and hungry as he licked through your folds, tongue lapping up every bit of your release. He groaned, hands spreading your thighs wider, the pressure of his mouth and fingers insistent, determined to draw it out of you again. “C’mon, princess,” he murmured between licks, “Show me that one more time. Bet I can make you squirt all over my face if I really try.”
Raihan’s enthusiasm was infectious, his focus absolute, and as he worked you with tongue and fingers, relentless, shameless, and greedy for every reaction. You could feel yourself climbing right back to that edge, his praise and hunger making it impossible to hold anything back. He wanted all of you. Every mess, every cry, every wild, unrestrained finish. And you knew he wasn’t stopping until he had it.
Leon
Leon had you spread out on the bed, his signature cape tossed carelessly over a chair, purple hair a wild, tangled mane as he moved between your thighs. The room still hummed with the afterglow of your last laugh. He’d gotten lost even getting to the bedroom, taking a wrong turn and nearly barreling into the closet before you’d tugged him back with a giggle and a kiss. But now he was all focus. Confident and competitive, that famous Champion’s grin flashing up at you from between your legs.
His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue working your clit in slow, swirling motions, hands stroking your thighs, then gripping them, pinning you open as he devoured you like a challenge. Every flick and suck was deliberate, his amber eyes bright with that same intensity he brought to every battle. Every move meant to bring you right to the edge and then push you over, again and again, until you could barely remember your own name.
You could feel it building, sharp and overwhelming, your hips bucking up into his face, fingers tangled in his hair. Leon just hummed, the vibration making your toes curl, his grip tightening as he sucked harder, tongue flicking fast. “That’s it, love, don’t hold back,” he murmured, breath hot against your slick skin. “Show me what you’ve got.”
The orgasm hit like a bolt, your body arching, a cry torn from your lips as a gush spilled out, soaking his chin, his cheeks, the sheets beneath. For a split second, Leon froze. Then a wild, delighted grin spread across his face, licking his lips with a shameless, greedy satisfaction. “Bloody hell, that’s Champion-level, right there,” he laughed, wiping his mouth with his wrist, eyes gleaming with pride and hunger.
He sat back on his knees, stripping off his shirt in one smooth motion, tossing it aside before remove his pants and underwear, and then crawling back over you, cock already hard and eager against your thigh. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, tasting you on his tongue, his hands sliding under your hips to drag you closer.
“I’ll show you a real Champion Time,” Leon growled, voice low and cocky, that unmistakable swagger in every word.
Rika
Rika’s room was dim, the only light a muted golden wash from the bedside lamp, striping the sheets and catching in the low arch of her green ponytail as she pressed up behind you. You were curled in her arms, tucked into the broad, steady warmth of her chest, her long body fitting perfectly to your back in a tangle of limbs. One strong hand wrapped around your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek, the other already sliding down your belly, slipping between your thighs.
She nuzzled into your neck, her breath warm and slow, lips dragging along your pulse as her words curled wicked in your ear. “You’re so damn cute when you squirm for me, y’know that?” she murmured, her voice low and rough, the hint of a smirk coloring every word. “Bet you’re gonna make a mess for me tonight, huh? Let’s see if I can’t coax it out of you, babe.”
Her fingers found your clit, circling in lazy, practiced strokes that grew faster, more demanding as she ground her hips forward, the heat of her body pressed snug to your back. Her mouth never left your throat, sucking, biting, marking you in slow, possessive nips, her words a constant stream of praise and teasing filth. “Just let go, baby. I wanna see you lose it all over my hand.”
You moaned, hips rocking back into her, your own hand clutching at the forearm that held you steady as her pace grew merciless, her thumb pressing harder, two fingers rubbing tight, wet circles over your clit. The pleasure rose sharp and bright, your thighs shaking, breath stuttering as she drove you higher, her voice a gruff, hungry encouragement.
You crested, body arching, a cry spilling out as you came and a gush pulsing out, soaking her hand and the sheets beneath. Rika’s laugh was soft and delighted in your ear, her hand never faltering, only slowing once you’d shuddered through the aftershocks, her palm slick with your release. “Fuck, that’s hot,” she whispered, nuzzling into you, her pride unmistakable. “Look at you, makin’ a mess for me. Knew you could do it.”
Before you could catch your breath, she pulled your jaw up, angling your face for a deep, hungry kiss, fingers still stroking lazy, possessive circles over your clit, her hips rocking against your ass. “Don’t get shy now,” she murmured against your lips, “I’m not done with you yet. Gonna see how many times I can wring you out tonight, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
Hassel
Hassel’s studio was awash in golden light, filtered through the tall windows of the Academy’s private quarters. Canvases and dragon statuettes scattered around, all forgotten in the heat of your bodies tangled together on the wide bed. His jacket and cape had been shrugged off, his long blond hair loose, falling in wild waves over his broad shoulders. He held your legs high, feet nearly at his shoulders, the butterfly position laying you open beneath him, every line of you visible, every tremor and flush on your face illuminated for his hungry, artist’s eye.
He moved inside you with a slow, reverent intensity, every thrust careful and deep, his hands warm and sure on your calves. Hassel’s golden eyes never left your face, drinking in every quiver of your lip, every flutter of your lashes, every helpless gasp. The soft, emotional man you knew lingered in his gentle words, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your ankle, his praises whispered between kisses at your knee. “Beautiful, my love…you’re so beautiful like this, my muse, my masterpiece…”
But as you began to unravel beneath him, pleasure tightening in your belly, something in him shifted. A flash of something ancient, something wild, a glimmer of his dragon tamer blood. His grip tightened, the pads of his gloved fingers digging into your skin, his breath growing rougher as you bucked under him.
You came hard, thighs trembling, back arching as your orgasm hit, wetness spilling out, splattering between your bodies, soaking the bed under your hips. The sight, the sound, the scent of it seemed to snap some final restraint in Hassel. His eyes flared, almost feral, and a low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he folded you tighter, pressing your thighs closer to your chest, hips snapping forward with a new, relentless pace. The soft passion of before gave way to something deeper—raw, instinctive, and unstoppable. “Again,” he growled, voice breaking with hunger, “I want to see you fall apart for me again…more, give me more—let me see it, let me feel you lose yourself, show me all of it, all of you—”
He fucked you harder, driving into you with the full force of his need, his hands guiding your body, his mouth finding your throat, your jaw, biting and sucking, marking you as his. The bed creaked, your moans echoing off the studio walls, mingling with his ragged praise, “So perfect, so alive, you inspire me, you undo me—”
Every thrust, every desperate plea pushed you higher, Hassel’s dragon-blooded passion igniting something wild in you. He chased your pleasure, his own composure long since shattered, until you broke again, another rush of wet heat pulsing out, his name on your lips, your body shuddering as he spilled himself inside you, lost to the storm you’d created together.
Afterward, he held you close, tears bright in his golden eyes as he pressed kisses along your brow, whispering how proud, how utterly inspired he was by every part of you—mess, cries, beauty and all—the artist, the dragon, the lover, undone by the masterpiece you became in his arms.
Brassius
Brassius’s bedroom was a study in shadows and moonlight, the soft outlines of unfinished sculptures and scattered canvases lending the space a dreamy, chaotic energy. The scent of turpentine and wildflowers still clung to the air, but all Brassius could focus on was you—pressed against him in the bed, your bodies tangled in a lover’s sprawl.
He lay behind you, his wiry frame curled protectively around yours, one hand splayed over your throat, thumb under your jaw, guiding your head back so your neck was bared for his lips. His breath was warm, his mouth reverent as he pressed slow, worshipful kisses to your skin, lingering at the pulse that fluttered beneath his lips. The other hand slipped down, sliding over your belly and between your thighs, fingers seeking out the slick heat at your center with a sculptor’s precision.
His cock slid into you from behind with a languid, rolling thrust, his hips rocking in time with the desperate strokes of his hand on your clit. Brassius breathed you in, every sigh and shiver you gave him feeding the storm of passion in his chest. “Oh, my love…my muse…you are my living canvas,” he whispered, voice tremulous, each word thick with awe and hunger. “Look at you—so vivid, so alive! Every gasp you make is a brushstroke…every shudder, a new color I have never seen before.”
He worked you with a feverish intensity, his fingers relentless on your clit, his cock grinding deep into you, all rhythm and reverence. The pleasure built bright and sharp, your body arching back into him, your hands clutching at the sheets as his mouth found your ear, whispering praise and promises in a voice hoarse with need. “Let go for me—show me something avant-garde, something the world has never dared to witness before…”
It hit you all at once, a wild, crashing wave. Your thighs trembled, hips jerking, and a hot gush pulsed out, soaking his hand and the sheets, slick and uncontrollable. Brassius stilled, then gasped, his eyes wide and shining in the moonlight, lips parted in astonished delight. “Magnificent—incredible!” he breathed, the reverence in his voice turning almost frantic. “You—my inspiration, my surrendering Sunflora—look what beauty you have made of me!”
He let himself get swept away, folding you tighter into his arms, his hips driving into you harder, chasing the high of your pleasure, desperate to see it, feel it, taste it again. His mouth traced frantic, worshipful kisses down your neck and shoulder, his words a feverish litany: “You are art—this is art—never have I seen anything so raw, so true—”
Brassius lost himself in the moment, letting the wildness of your release and the beauty of your abandon drive him, both of you tangled in the sheets, breathless and shining, the world outside forgotten in the storm of color and sensation you’d created together.
Larry
The hotel room in Medali was quiet, golden city light filtering in through the blinds, painting stripes across the plain bedspread. Larry lay back against the pillows in his usual work clothes, suit jacket shrugged off, tie loosened, shirt half-open at the collar. Even here, with his face relaxed and his eyes half-lidded, he radiated a tired kind of contentment, like a man who wanted nothing more than to just drift for a while.
You straddled him in reverse cowgirl, your back to his chest, hands braced on his thighs, taking the lead with slow, rolling movements. Larry’s big hands rested on your hips, fingers splayed warm and wide. He didn’t say much. Just a quiet, appreciative hum, a subtle squeeze, the rare, barely-there smirk ghosting across his lips as you rocked yourself on him. The only real sound in the room was the gentle slap of skin on skin and the faint rustle of sheets, punctuated by Larry’s steady, measured breathing.
He let you do most of the work, his hips rising occasionally to meet you, the tip of his cock hitting deep inside. Every now and then, he’d murmur something soft, barely audible, but undeniably pleased. “You’re doing well. I…really like this.”
The pleasure built slow and steady, a warm, lazy buzz curling through you as you ground your hips in tight circles, your hands gripping his knees for leverage. The angle was perfect, the depth just right, and you felt the heat coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure building until it was almost too much.
Your orgasm crept up on you, sudden, sharp, and overwhelming. Your thighs trembled, hips jerking as you came, a hot gush spilling out, soaking the sheets beneath you. Larry, with you facing away, couldn’t see, but you felt it. Flustered, you paused, cheeks burning, suddenly all too aware of what had happened.
You started to move, shifting to climb off him, stammering, “Um—sorry, let me just—” but Larry just sighed, a gentle, low sound, reaching out to wrap an arm around your waist and tug you down beside him.
He didn’t look annoyed or bothered in the least. In fact, he pressed his forehead to your temple, his voice as dry and unhurried as ever. “We can wash the sheets tomorrow. It’s fine. Come here.” His hand settled on your hip, rubbing slow, easy circles, coaxing you to relax.
You curled up beside him, tucked into the crook of his arm, the two of you basking in the quiet aftermath. Larry’s breathing slowed, his eyes drifting closed, a faint smile softening the tired lines of his face. “Let’s just rest. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”
Grusha
The wind howled outside the window, rattling against the frosted glass of Grusha’s apartment, the world outside a white blur of snow and moonlight. Inside, everything was warm—thick blankets, a nest of pillows, and Grusha’s long, slim body curved between your legs, his pale hair falling forward, scarf gone. He’d been tense all evening, shoulders tight with the pressure of running Glaseado Gym, and you’d coaxed him into bed with soft kisses and whispered reassurances, letting your hands slide under his thick puffer coat, feeling his muscles slowly unwind beneath your touch.
Now, he had you in the G-whiz position—your legs raised and pressed back, knees by your shoulders, Grusha kneeling between them, holding you open. His touch was careful but growing bolder, the icy blue of his eyes warming as you rocked your hips up to meet him. His cock slid deep with every thrust, filling you perfectly, his breath hitching every time you gasped his name. Your hands clung to his forearms, grounding yourself, and he leaned in, hair brushing your cheek, his lips finding your jaw with a rare, shy kiss.
“You’re beautiful,” Grusha murmured, voice a little breathless. “You know that, right?” The words were awkward. He still struggled to let go, to let himself be vulnerable. But you smiled, reaching up to brush his hair from his face, matching his gentle honesty with your own.
“You’re enough, Grusha. More than enough. You’re doing amazing… as a gym leader, as yourself. And you’re doing amazing right now,” you told him, arching up to meet his next thrust.
A faint flush rose in his cheeks, and his rhythm stuttered, his grip tightening on your hips. You worked your own hand between your bodies, circling your clit as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent, the tension in his shoulders melting away as you coaxed him to let go.
The pleasure built, a white-hot knot in your belly, and Grusha watched your face, his eyes wide and focused, reading every flicker of sensation. When your orgasm hit, it was sudden and fierce—your body tensing, thighs trembling, a gush of wet heat pulsing out, soaking the sheets and Grusha’s thighs. You gasped, cheeks flaming, mortified at the mess.
For a moment, Grusha froze, eyes wide in surprise. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched up in a rare, mischievous smile. “Well, look at that,” he teased, his voice low but undeniably pleased. “I guess I’m not the only one who needed a little encouragement tonight.”
You tried to hide your face, stammering, “I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” but he silenced you with a soft kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands gentle as he stroked your hair.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Grusha said, his tone softer than you’d ever heard. “That was… incredible. Honestly, I’m a little jealous I can’t do that.” His thumb traced your cheek, a shy chuckle slipping out.
You laughed, tension draining away as he wrapped you up in the blankets, pulling you close against his chest. The snowstorm howled outside, but inside, all was warm—Grusha’s arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, your bodies tangled and sated beneath the covers.
Before you drifted off, Grusha nuzzled your hair, whispering, “Next time, I want to see if I can make you do that again. Again and again.” His words were a promise, full of newfound confidence, and you fell asleep smiling, safe and cherished in the arms of a man learning to shed his chill, one sweet, messy night at a time.
Steven Stone
Rain tapped gently against the canvas of Steven’s tent, the world outside a blur of wet stone and lush, emerald green. The air inside was thick with heat and the mingled scents of earth and sweat. Steven’s steel-blue eyes were fixed on you, sharp, earnest, and hungry in a way that made your breath catch. You’d run into each other purely by chance in the wild, both of you drawn by curiosity: him, always searching for rare stones and secrets, and you, after elusive Pokémon in the dense Hoenn undergrowth. The meeting had been a spark; the fire, inevitable.
Now he had you flat on your back in the tent’s small space, legs spread wide in an eagle position, his elegant hands braced on your inner thighs, holding you open with the same reverence he reserved for his most precious finds. Steven moved inside you with a deep, rolling rhythm, his body pressed close but his gaze never leaving your face, drinking in every gasp, every flush of heat as he filled you over and over.
His jacket was draped over a pile of gear, his white shirt already half-untucked, one hand, free of his rings, slipping down to stroke your clit in tight, practiced circles. Every motion was deliberate, fueled by the same patience and intensity he brought to his expeditions. His explorations of you were just as methodical, as passionate, as his search for a flawless sapphire or a perfect shard of meteorite.
You arched up, your back sliding against the mat, pleasure cresting as Steven’s thumb pressed firmer, his hips rolling with controlled power. He leaned down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and intimate. “You’re incredible like this,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver through you. “Every discovery with you is better than the last.”
The climax built, sharp and unstoppable, your body tensing as you came apart with a sudden, wild rush, a gush of wetness spilling out, slicking Steven’s hand, his wrist, and the bedding beneath. You gasped, half in shock, mortification flooding your cheeks as you realized what had just happened.
Steven stilled, his eyes wide for a heartbeat. Then he smiled, soft and utterly delighted, as if you’d just handed him a rare gem plucked from the heart of the earth. He didn’t tease, didn’t make you feel small. Instead, he brushed his fingers through your release, examining it with gentle fascination, then looked back at you, eyes full of warmth. “A remarkable new discovery,” he said, his voice full of quiet awe. “I had no idea you could do that. I’m honored to witness it.”
You let out a shaky laugh, still embarrassed, but Steven only leaned in to kiss your cheek, his hand gentle on your thigh. “You know, I think I may need to bring you along on more of my expeditions,” he teased, a rare, playful glint in his eyes. “With results like this, I’d be a fool not to.” His smile deepened as you rolled your eyes, equal parts amused and horrified.
He shifted, settling between your legs again, his cock twitching inside of you, his tone turning low and inviting. “Besides, there’s so much more I want to experience with you. So many more things to discover.” His hands slid up your hips, pulling you close as he began thrusting in you again, his kisses deepening as the rain pattered down.
Cheren
Cheren’s office was bathed in afternoon sunlight, stacks of lesson plans and Poké Balls relegated to the far end of the desk, the door locked for your visit. You barely had time to catch your breath before Cheren had you on all fours atop the narrow cot tucked against the wall, a rare break from his routine, his careful facade slipping away with every rough, needy thrust. He held your hips tightly, hands trembling with effort, glasses slipping down his nose as he tried, with all the determination he was famous for, to keep his composure.
The sounds of sex, Cheren’s soft, desperate grunts, and your own stifled moans filled the room. He wasn’t the most practiced, but he was passionate and earnest—his cock driving into you from behind, his body pressed close, his tie askew, shirt rumpled from being hastily tugged from his slacks. You could feel how hard he was trying to hold himself together, his rhythm faltering every time your back arched, every time you let out a cry that made his breath catch.
He reached around, hand clumsy but determined as he found your clit, fingers rubbing quick little circles, his other hand steadying himself on your shoulder. “I want—I want you to finish first,” he panted, his voice strained, every word thick with effort. “Please—I want to see it—just once—”
Your orgasm built fast, your body tensing, pleasure cresting as you rocked back on him. Sensing you were close, Cheren abruptly pulled out, trying desperately to stave off his own release, his breath ragged as he gripped your hips and pressed his forehead to your back.
It all happened at once: your body spasmed, a gush of wetness spilling out, soaking the sheets below. Cheren froze, startled, glasses askew, as he stared at the mess you’d just made. You went rigid, mortified, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to stammer an apology, but Cheren’s shock faded quickly, replaced by wide-eyed fascination.
He knelt behind you, breathless, a slow, delighted smile spreading across his face. “You—” he began, pushing his glasses up, “You actually—? I’ve read about this, but—I never thought—” He looked at you with a mix of pride and disbelief, his analytical mind already racing, but for once, he was just happy.
Then, with a surge of newfound confidence, Cheren grinned, squeezing your hips. “I did that? I made you…? That’s—amazing.” His tone was warm, a little smug, the flush of triumph lighting up his usually serious features. “I want to see if I can do it again.”
He slid back inside you, still hard, hips snapping as he tried to chase your pleasure again, his hands bracing you steady as he thrust with a determination that was all Cheren: unwavering, hopeful, and eager to make you fall apart again. But the sensation, the pride, the excitement proved too much. He groaned, shuddered, and came deep inside you, losing himself with a helpless moan.
Afterward, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his heart pounding beneath your cheek. “Next time,” Cheren promised, a rare, soft laugh breaking through his careful calm, “I’ll last longer. And—I’ll make you do that again. Maybe more than once.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, pride and happiness written all over his face.
Alder
Alder’s powerful arms wrapped you up from behind, the world reduced to the heat of his broad chest pressed to your back, the wild brush of his long, fiery red ponytail against your shoulder. You were splayed out in his lap in a double-decker: thighs spread, feet braced against the mat, his thick cock filling you deep—stretching you wide, making you feel every inch as he pumped up into you with a practiced, steady rhythm. The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat and Alder’s wild, earthy scene, the hum of late afternoon Unova sunlight filtering through the window, dust motes swirling in golden beams.
His hands were everywhere. One snaked down your front, the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit in slow, teasing swirls, while the other cupped your breast, fingers squeezing, rolling your nipple with a gentle pinch. You could feel the strength in his hands, the promise of restraint and raw power as he coaxed you closer and closer to the edge. Alder’s mouth found your neck, lips trailing up to your ear, sucking, biting, the scrape of his teeth sending shivers racing down your spine.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rumbled, voice low and warm, tinged with a playful delight that was all Alder. “Let yourself feel it. I want to see you come apart for me.” His hips rolled, cock dragging slow and deep, the hand at your clit working faster, guiding you toward the crest.
Pleasure built sharp and fast, your body tightening, breaths coming in quick, desperate gasps as you ground back into him, every sensation amplified by the closeness, the strength, the affection in his embrace. You felt the heat gather, the tension winding tight, and then it snapped—your body arching, legs trembling, as you came hard, a gush of wetness pulsing out to coat his thick fingers, your thighs, his cock.
Alder stilled for a heartbeat, feeling the rush of slick on his hand, then let out a low, delighted laugh, his voice rough with pride and approval. “Well now, would you look at that? You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He pressed a kiss to your temple, the hand at your breast moving to your hip, steadying you as you shuddered through the aftershocks.
Before embarrassment could take root, Alder shifted his grip, both hands firm on your hips, his cock still rock-hard inside you. “Don’t you dare get shy on me now, girl,” he growled, all gentle encouragement gone hungry and wild. “That was beautiful. Now hold on tight, because I’m not letting you go until I get mine.”
He drove into you harder, hips snapping up, his powerful body caging yours as he chased his own release, the sound of skin on skin and your mingled moans filling the room. Alder’s hands were all reassurance and possession, grounding you as he fucked you through the afterglow, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from you before finally letting himself fall, spilling into you with a triumphant, satisfied groan.
i would LOOOOVE to do more of these so if you guys maybe wanna leave me some requests in my inbox and i’ll do them as soon as i get around to them 🥹🥹🥹 i would like that
i will be back yapping endlessly soon y’all i promise, i’m getting to the end of my degree so there are deadlines EVERYWHERE and i’m bashing through them 💪💪💪
Word Count: 1391
Pairing: Corbeau x Female Reader
Warnings: explicit sex, cursing
Summary: Corbeau wakes you from a dream
Corbeau x Reader Masterlist
finally got out of my writing slump but I didn't proofread this so if you see mistakes, no you don't
The dream was hazy. You knew you were in Corbeau's office, on one of the couches, and that you were straddling his lap. You couldn't tell what state of dress either of you were in, but you could feel the hot, aching need between your legs and that his face was pressed into your chest.
Corbeau turned, pushing you until you were lying on your back and he was hovering over you. You moaned his name as his teeth grazed your neck, and one of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling your knee up and -
You blinked into the darkness of Corbeau's bedroom, and you didn't have time to process the fact that you had been dreaming before you realized you were still throbbing. You were on your side, Corbeau's body pressed along the lines of yours, and he was leaving soft kisses on the back of your neck. His hand gripped your hip, fingers squeezing hard enough that you knew his knuckles would be white.
"Sorry, angel," he whispered into your ear. His voice was low and gravelly, and the feeling of his hot breath sent a shiver down your spine. "I didn't mean to wake you, but you kept grinding against me."
Corbeau pushed his hips forward, pressing the length of his hard cock against your ass to punctuate his point. "And you were making the prettiest sounds..."
Your head spun, sleep still fogging your brain as your skin tingled. You slid your hand over Corbeau's on your hip, squeezing it before pulling it down between your legs. "And then you said my name..."
He ground against your ass again, sucking in a sharp breath through teeth that were grazing your earlobe. You couldn't help but whimper as he pressed his fingers over you through your underwear, the pleasure and relief that accompanied the pressure on your clit making your thighs squeeze together.
You pressed your hips back to meet his, and the deep groan that left his throat and went directly into your ear cleared the rest of the fog from your mind. Quickly, you turned over, hooking your knee over his hip and wrapping your arm around his shoulder, pulling him into you as you crashed your lips into his.
Corbeau went willingly, and he kissed you with a hot, messy need as he pressed you back into the mattress, throwing the covers off and not leaving any space between your bodies. You could feel him hard and hot against your core, despite the clothes still separating you.
You reached down, pushing his boxers as far down his hips as you could at this angle, and you took his cock in your hand. It was already leaking, and you weren't sure how long you'd been teasing him in your sleep, but the moan that passed from his lips to yours told you it had probably been a while.
"Tell me," Corbeau said, kissing down your jaw to your neck as he pushed his hips into your hand. You stroked the length of him, drinking in the delicious sounds of his heavy breathing.
"What?" you asked, confused by the demand if only because his lips on your neck were making it hard to comprehend any thoughts at all.
"Your dream," Corbeau said, hooking both hands under your knees and pushing them open the way he wanted them. "Tell me about your dream."
"Oh," you said, both in understanding and at the feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit again. You squeezed his dick again, trying to not lose your focus as heat sparked an sweltered inside you. "We were in your office."
Corbeau slid his fingers under your panties, not bothering to take them off, and just pushing them aside instead. You were slick with want, and Corbeau took his cock from your hand, pressing the head of it between your folds and letting it slide through the wetness there.
"On my desk?" Corbeau asked, his lips finding yours again for another rough kiss before he leaned his forehead on yours.
"On- on the couch," you told him. He continued to rub slow strokes from your entrance up to your clit and back down. It was maddening, and you gripped his shoulders as you rolled your hips with his. "I was on top." You kiss him again. "And then you pushed me back and - and you were about to..."
You trailed off, losing your train of thought as Corbeau held the head of his cock against your entrance. You squeezed your eyes shut, the anticipation making you twitch and tighten. Your skin was already on fire when Corbeau put his lips to your ear again.
"About to what?" he asked. You knew he knew the answer, and you knew he wanted to hear it anyway.
"Fuck me," you breathed.
You clung to him as he pressed inside you. He slid in easily, bottoming out with a groan. You gasped at the familiar, filling stretch of him, and he didn't waste a moment before he was setting a relentless pace, the drag of him inside you making you see stars.
Corbeau sat up, hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling them further to the side so his cock could slide in and out of you unhindered. Wet slapping sounds echoed in the dimly lit room, and you could hardly see, but you could feel the bed shaking with each of Corbeau's hard thrusts. Your breasts bounced inside your tank top and you gripped the sheets below you tightly as pleasure tightened and grew inside you.
"You want me to fuck you in my office?" he asked, and you could only respond with a moan. "Where anyone could walk in? You want them to see how you open your legs for me and hear how you moan my name? You want them to see me making you mine?"
Corbeau punctuated the last word with an even harder thrust, and you cried out as it sent a bright spark shooting through your body. You felt his hand slide up your stomach and sternum until he was grasping the neckline of your top, pulling it down until your tits popped out of it. You heard a few threads snap and tear, but you didn't have the capacity to care as Corbeau used the leverage to pull your body against his and fuck you even harder.
"Beau..." you moaned, the pleasure almost reaching its peak now. You grabbed the hand on your chest with both of yours. "I'm... I..."
"You gonna come for me, angel?" Corbeau asked, and you gasped as he pressed his thumb firmly against your clit. He held it there as he continued to fuck you, the movement of your hips enough to draw hot, molten pleasure out of the nerve.
Before you could respond, the pleasure snapped. You gasped as it exploded inside you, catching every muscle in a vice-tight grip as wave after wave rolled through you. Your back arched and your body shook as Corbeau continued to fuck you through it, your nails digging into his skin where you still held onto him.
The moment your orgasm released you, Corbeau pulled out of you, and you were still catching your breath as he jerked himself off, coming in thick ropes over your stomach and your half-covered pussy.
"Fuck," Corbeau breathed, falling forward onto his hands and pressing his forehead to yours again. You tilted your chin up to kiss him lazily as you came down from your highs together. You slid your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, slowly finding your way back to reality as if were mapped out on his skin.
"What time is it?" you asked as your heart finally slowed. Corbeau glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sat up, pulling you with him so you didn't fall asleep before you cleaned up.
"Almost three-thirty," he said, and you frowned as you tucked your face into his shoulder, not quite ready to stand up and walk to the shower yet.
"Do you think you can go into work a little late? Sleep in with me?" you asked, and Corbeau chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your hair.
"It's Saturday, my love," he said softly. "We can sleep in as late as you want."
Trying out some new experimental techniques (with my silly ych, using lasso tool and border efx) to make it easier on my hands 😅 I hope these will be/are comparable to my usual work!!
Uwu experimenting with these two hehe 🥰❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥 Corbeau is gonna get that info from Grisham one way or another uwu
A commission! 💕 For the wonderful @wegotfoodathome , a commission for their cutie Corbeau Fankid, Marcel!! 💕💕💕💕💕And their mega cutie mabosstiff!! 🥰💖💖💖💖💖💖💖(And a tiny lil yellin’ Corbeau 😆)
Mega thank you for letting me draw your cuties!!!! 🥰💕💖💕💖💕💖💕🙏 and thank you for coming to me for a commission!! Always super wonderful to draw your cutie characters!!
