Fictional people my beloved(s?) @skittles-selfships - Tumblr Blog

Multi-Pairing Prompt with @clawshots

A while ago clawshot reached out to me about a prompt she saw (this post) and asked if I wanted to go in on it with her as she wanted to try her hand with multi-pair writing.

OF COURSE, I said yes!

CW: smut, nsfw, MDI, Minors Do Not Interact

Characters: Urbain, Ivor, Adaman, Volkner, Hassel, Brassius, Larry, Rika, Leon, Raihan, and Piers

Taglist: @vanillianbean @houndenny @wegotfoodathome @hakuaclovers @reizamoon @averysmolkirbo @bigguscheesius @probably-definitely-a-bard @anothernarutofanaccount @anotherpokemonfanaccount @a-snoozyangel @kociokwiksstuff @kuonhotachii @van1shiro@aki-i-guess @misabelle717 @flagmuncher @blossom-adventures @themoonwalkingbeatle @grisham-enjoyer @xxfmamfxx @dianyx @bigpinkstink @potatoesquad @simptiersuren @butchered-cherry @happinessismagicc @hoenndreamer @juuyeah @godserene

Urbain

Urbain was already flushed before you even started teasing him.

It didn’t take much. One slow grind of your hips, one brush of his tip against your slick entrance, and he was already whining, grabbing at your waist like you were the only stable thing in the world.

“Babe—babe, please—” he babbled, already breathless. “You’re—you’re messing with me. You’re literally messing with me.”

You smiled, palms braced on his chest as you lowered your hips again, letting just the head of him slide in before pulling up.

Urbain threw his head back and covered his face with both hands.

“Ohmygod—I can’t do this! You’re evil—I mean you’re hot, but you’re evil!”

“Urbain,” you teased, leaning forward until your lips brushed his ear, “I’m barely moving.”

“That’s the problem!” he yelped, hands flailing before gripping your thighs again.

You bit your lip to hold in a laugh.

He really was too cute.

You sank down just a little, letting him feel the tight warmth of you hugging the first inch of him.

He whimpered. “Ohhhh—oh, babe, please, I’m dying, I’m straight-up dying. I’m not built for this. ”

“Magic words,” you murmured, slow and steady, lifting again.

“What—what words?!” he demanded, half crying, half laughing. “How am I suppose to think when you’re moving like this!”

“You’ll figure it out,” you said sweetly.

“NO I WON’T—!”

You slid down another inch and he arched up so sharply the mattress squeaked. His hands flew to your hips, not stopping you, just hanging on like his soul was escaping his body.

“Okayokayokay—okay! Phew! I can do this. I’m a grown man. I’m the CEO of Quasartico. I can— ngh—!”

You rocked your hips in one slow circle and he broke.

“I love you,” he gasped. “Oh my god— I love you so much! I didn’t mean to say it out loud but—”

You slammed down onto him, burying him fully inside you.

Urbain cried, hands flying to your waist like he needed to hold on or he’d fall off the planet.

“OH MY GOD! BABE—BABE I—”

You rode him hard, chasing your own pleasure now, his love confession burning hot in your veins. Every thrust sent him deeper, knocked another sound out of him, all needy and frantic.

“You feel—you feel so good—” he moaned, hips jerking up to meet yours. “I’m—I’m so close—!”

“So am I,” you panted, bracing your hands on his chest as you ground down hard.

His blue eyes went wide, pupils blown, mouth falling open.

Then he went rigid beneath you.

“WILLYOUMARRYME?!”

He blurted it as he came, deep, and hard, spilling into you in thick pulses that triggered your orgasm instantly.

You clenched around him, your moan cracking as the pleasure tore through you. His hips bucked helplessly as you squeezed him, drawing out every last shuddering wave until you collapsed on his chest, both of you shaking.

A long moment passed. Just breath, heartbeat on heartbeat, warm skin against warm skin.

The room was quiet now.

You laid on your back, staring at the ceiling, Urbain’s proposal replaying in your mind. Meanwhile, Urbain had rolled over onto his stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair a disaster, breaths still uneven in that post-orgasm “my soul left my body” way.

“…So.” You turn your head. “Marry you, huh?”

Urbain froze like a Pidgey spotting a predator. Then, slowly, he lifted his face off the pillow, blue eyes wide, pupils still blown, cheeks flushed from exertion and pure embarrassment.

“Okay,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “in my defense? I was, like, actively dying. You were killing me. I had—zero brain cells. Negative brain cells, actually.”

You folded your arms. “That doesn’t change what you said.”

He groaned, burying his face again, kicking one leg weakly like a frustrated Growlithe pup. “Ughhhh, babe, don’t make me relive it—”

“You literally proposed to me while we were having sex.”

“Stooop,” he whined into the pillow. “I knowww.”

Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable, but charged—because right now, you could see him thinking. And Urbain thinking was a dangerous, adorable thing.

He shifted onto his side to face you, propping himself up on one trembling elbow. His hair was a mess, his grin was lopsided and sheepish, and his eyes—still warm, still earnest even through the mortification—met yours.

“…But, uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just so you know. I…I was gonna ask you. Eventually. Like, for real. With a ring and everything. Not, y’know.” He gestured helplessly toward the bed. “Not while losing my mind.”

Your heart did something traitorous in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, a little arched brow, just to watch him squirm.

“And,” he continued, voice softer now, “since I kinda accidentally let the Meowth outta the bag…”

He took a breath and looked at you with that open, hopeful, golden-retriever sincerity.

“…I still want your answer.”

Ivor

Ivor had tried to follow your lead. He really had.

You were on top, thighs trembling around his hips, easing down just enough to feel the thick head of his cock press into you before pulling up again. You were supposed to be the one in control. That was the whole point.

But Ivor was strong. Really strong. So what followed shouldn’t have surprised you, really.

Every time you tried to lift your hips, his big hands wrapped around them, accidentally holding you down, keeping you from escaping the heavy weight of him nestled against your entrance. He wasn’t trying to ruin your rhythm, but Arceus, the man was built like a Titan. And the moment he felt the slick heat of you he forgot everything except more.

“Ivor—” you gasped, pushing against his chest, “you have to let me—move.”

“I’m trying!” he whined, his voice cracking adorably as he dragged in a breath. “But you— you’re—oh Arceus—you’re so warm—!”

You finally managed to lift off him an inch with a grunt, and he lifted his hips immediately and chased you.

You yelped. He groaned. You both nearly lost it right then and there.

“Ivor!” you scolded, half-despairing, half-laughing even as your body shook with need. “At the rate we’re going, it’s all going to be over before we know it!”

“I don’t know what’s happening!” he blurted, looking panicked and blissed-out all at once. “My hips moved on their own! I swear, on the Fist of Justice, I didn’t mean to!”

You dropped back down just the barest centimeter to steady yourself, and he bucked up without thinking and nearly slammed inside you.

You caught yourself on his shoulders, panting. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work,” you said, struggling to move your hips away from him. “You’re—you’re going to make me lose my mind.”

“I think I lost mine already,” he whispered hoarsely, amber eyes glassy. “Please—please, my love—I need—”

You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look up at you. “Magic words,” you breathed.

His brows knit. His thighs trembled under you, massive muscles flexing as he fought not to thrust.

“I don’t—I can’t think—just tell me what to say—!”

“No,” you whispered, leaning closer. “Tell me what you want.”

He made a strangled, helpless sound, half-groan, half-whimper. “I feel like…if you don’t take me right now I’m gonna—gonna explode—!”

“Ivor…”

He swallowed, hard. Then, when you finally lifted off him again, denying him his prize—he snapped. In one fluid, overwhelming motion, Ivor grabbed your hips, lifted you as if you weighed nothing, and slammed you down onto him.

Your cry hit the air at the exact same moment as his.

He surged up into you, voice cracking on the force of the sensation.

“I LOVE YOU!”

The confession tore out of him as he bottomed out, his whole body bowing beneath you like he’d been struck by lightning.

You froze.

He froze, mouth open.

Both of you wide-eyed.

But you clenched hard around him. Not intentionally, not controlled, just a raw, instinctive reaction to the sudden, overwhelming fullness of him.

And Ivor lost it.

“—oh shit—!” he choked, hips snapping up into you with wild, desperate force. His strength surged in a way he couldn’t have contained even if he tried. “My love—! I—can’t—!”

He thrust into you with abandon, huge hands clamping down on your hips to use you, to chase that feeling you’d accidentally given him. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his massive body shaking as he rutted up into you like he was fighting for his life.

“Ivor! S-slow down—!” you gasped, but it was already too late.

Ivor’s rhythm broke apart into frantic, deep thrusts.

“I—love—you—!” he cried, voice cracking beautifully as he slammed up into you one last time, burying himself completely.

His orgasm ripped through him, hot and overwhelming, his release pumping into you in heavy pulses that sent your own climax crashing down on you before you could stop it. Your vision blurred, your body clenched around him helplessly, drawn along by the sheer intensity of his pleasure.

Your cry merged with his, bodies locked together, shaking through it.

Eventually, his strength eased, slowly. His hips settled, and the frantic energy melting into something soft, exhausted, reverent

You collapsed onto his chest, breaths tangling together.

And then slowly, his large arms wrapped around you, warm, enormous, and protective. One big hand stroking up and down your arm with surprising gentleness.

“Um,” he panted after a moment, voice small for a man his size, “I…might’ve been…a little too strong.”

You let out a breathless laugh against his throat. “A little?”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean to throw you around like that—I just, when you moved—and then you were so soft—!”

You lifted your head and poked his chest. “You also didn’t say the magic words the way I asked.”

His ears went pink immediately. “S-Sorry! Do you want me to do it right now?” he asked hopefully, squeezing your hips gently as if bracing for instructions.

You exhaled hard, exhausted in the best, boneless way, and let your forehead thump against his chest.

“Ivor,” you mumbled, too tired to even lift your head, “it’s too late.”

He froze. Then he pouted, full lower-lip tremble. Brows scrunched. Eyes big and wounded.

“But—but I can! I can say it now! I can do it right this time!” he insisted, sitting up a little, all earnest muscle and desperate desire to please. “Just tell me! Was it ‘please’? I knew it was ‘please’—!”

You cracked one eye open at him.

“…Next time,” you said, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “You can try again next time.”

Ivor brightened instantly, like a Growlithe whose trainer just told him he was a good boy after all.

“Okay!” he beamed, leaning down to kiss your forehead with sudden, overflowing affection. “I’ll practice!”

You groaned into his chest. “Arceus help me…”

And he wrapped his arms around you, still grinning like he’d just passed some test he didn’t understand but was proud of anyway.

Adaman

Adaman was used to you riding him. He loved it, actually. Loved the pace you set, loved the way your hips rolled, loved letting you have control and using him for your pleasure.

But this? This was different for him. And judging by the way his fingers twitched against your hips, the way his jaw clenched when you only let the tip of him slip in before pulling away again—he was trying very, very hard not to flip you over immediately.

You could feel the restraint vibrating through him as you eased down just enough to make his breath hitch before lifting again.

“This is cruel,” he muttered, voice already rough as he watched you sink down just enough to let him feel your warmth. “You know that, right?”

You lifted your hips again, slow, teasing, denying him the full slide of you around him.

“Don’t tell me you can’t take it,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. “I thought you told me you could handle it.”

His brown eyes flashed, hot and electric, a spark under the surface that promised trouble.

“I can handle anything,” his breath broke when you sank just a hair deeper. “But you’re speaking like you’re not the one in danger here,”

You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. “Magic words, sir.”

That glint sharpened instantly. “Magic words?” he repeated, voice dropping. “That what you want from me right now?”

You nodded, lifting your hips again, dragging a groan out of him.

“Say them,” you whispered.

He exhaled slowly. Too slowly. And when he met your eyes again, there was nothing submissive in his expression.

“I love you.”

Your breath caught, sharp and startled, your hips faltered before you could think. He said it so casually, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

In one fluid motion, Adaman took advantage of your shock, grabbing your waist, rolling you underneath him, and slamming into you in one deep, devastating thrust that forced a cry out of your throat.

“Adaman—!”

“I warned you,” he groaned, thrusting again, deeper, harder, making your back arch. “You put me on my back too long and I’m gonna take it back.”

And he did. He fucked you with that signature decisiveness he was known for. Every thrust purposeful, hungry, impatient like the man didn’t have a second of his life to waste.

You clung to him, your nails dragging down his back as he pounded into you, hips snapping with a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

“You feel incredible,” he panted against your neck, voice breaking. “You’re so—tight—Almighty Sinnoh, you’re squeezing the hell out of me.”

“I’m also the one who started it,” you gasped, lifting your hips to meet him, chasing each thrust.

“Yeah?” he grinned against your skin. “Then finish it.”

His balls slapped against you with each thrust, heat building low in your stomach, his breath ragged as he buried his face against your shoulder.

“I’m—Arceus—I’m close—” you moaned, fingers gripping his arm.

“Good,” he growled. “Come with me.”

One deep, hard thrust.

Then another.

And another.

Until you felt him lose rhythm, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oh—fuck—I’m—I’m—”

His hips jerked, his whole body shuddered, and he came with a strangled groan, burying himself deep as his climax hit him like a tidal wave. And the heat of him spilling into you, the way his cock throbbed, the way he moaned your name, it pushed you over instantly.

Your orgasm ripped through you hard, clenching around him so tightly he gasped, hips stuttering as your pleasure pulled out the last few pulses of his.

He collapsed over you, breathing hard, chest pressed to yours, sweat slicking both your bodies.

For a long moment, you just lay there, catching your breath.

“…That,” you said, voice hoarse, “was dirty.”

Adaman lifted his head, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he’d done.

“You knew those weren’t the words I wanted,” you accused weakly.

“Yeah,” he said smugly, dipping down to kiss your jaw. “But they were true words.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Adaman—”

“And,” he added, kissing the corner of your mouth, “we both got what we wanted out of it.”

You rolled your eyes right before he kissed you deep, slow, claiming, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek.

He pulled back just enough to gaze into your eyes.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, voice dropping, “I meant every part of what I said.”

Volkner

(Ohhhhh, bet you didn't see him coming, did ya??)

You and Volkner had agreed, half-joking, half-dead serious, that if you didn’t do something soon, your sex life was going to fall into the same category as Sunyshore Gym: temporarily closed due to ongoing maintenance and severe boredom.

So, when you got the idea to edge him, really edge him, take him apart in a way that forced a reaction out of the man who acted bored by everything, Volkner had only raised an eyebrow and said, in that flat, electric hum of a voice:

“…Sure. Might be interesting.”

That was how you found him now, sitting back against the headboard, shirt pushed up, hair already mussed, breath uneven from your mouth working him slow. Volkner wasn’t expressive at the best of times, but now? His blue eyes were barely open, lashes low, fingers loosely tangled in your hair as if even lazily guiding you took too much energy.

But his body told the truth.

His thighs tensed every time you bobbed your head. His breath hitched every time your tongue dragged the underside of his cock. And his hips gave tiny, involuntary jolts. Barely noticeable unless you were watching for them.

And you were watching.

You pulled back just enough to hum against the head of his cock.

“C’mon, Volk, Say the magic words.”

Volkner blinked down at you slowly, expression somewhere between intrigued and exasperated.

“…Magic words?” His voice was low, calm, the same tone he used when explaining electrical grid failures. “You’re really committing to this.”

You gave him a slow stroke. He inhaled sharply despite himself.

“Just say it, Volkner.”

He took a breath, long, steady.

“Mm. No.”

You glared. He didn’t even pretend to look apologetic.

“C’mon,” you said, kissing your way down his length. “Play along, please?”

He tilted his head back against the wall with a soft thunk.

“You wanted a challenge,” he murmured, voice edging into a faint, wicked smile. “Aren’t I giving you one?”

You sucked him deep, humming around him just to spite him.

That got him. His breath fluttered, barely, but the electricity in the air changed. His fingers tightened in your hair. His hips pushed shallowly forward, instinct overriding apathy for a split second.

Good.

You pulled off again, stroking him slow enough to make him shudder.

“~Say the magic words and I’ll let you come~.”

He stared you down, chest rising, pupils dilated. A single eyebrow lifted.

“…Make me.”

You opened your mouth to retort but Volkner was already on the move.

He leaned forward, grabbed your waist, and lifted you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. You didn’t even have time to gasp before he had you below him, his body pinning yours with cool, quiet confidence.

He looked different now, hair falling into his eyes, breath heavier, something alive crackling beneath his skin. That faint electricity he always carried hummed where his hands gripped your hips.

“This,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to your throat, “is much more interesting.”

He didn’t give you a second more warning before sliding into you—slow, deep, grounding you to the mattress with a groan so low you felt it more than heard it.

Your breath stuttered as his lips brushed your jaw, hips pressed fully against yours, sinking him to the hilt.

“See?” he murmured. “Already better than the last five ideas you came up with.”

You grabbed his shoulders. “Volkner—move.”

And he did. He thrust with controlled, devastating precision: steady at first, each movement deliberate, testing your reactions like he was calibrating a machine.

Then your nails dug into his back, and that’s when he changed pace. He sped up, smooth, strong, and relentless, each snap of his hips sending heat spiraling through you until you were gasping with every thrust. Volkner watched you with half-lidded eyes, drinking in every reaction with a focus he rarely showed outside a battle.

“Good,” he breathed, thrusting harder. “Keep making those sounds. Been missing that…”

You clung to him, pleasure cresting sharp and bright.

“Volkner—Volk, please—!”

His nose brushed yours, soft but intense.

“Say it.”

Your breath broke. Your back arched. And the words spilled out in a desperate rush.

“I love you!”

Volkner inhaled sharply like the confession hit him straight in the chest. Then, his forehead rested against yours, his voice dropping into something warm, grounded, and real.

“…Yeah. I love you too.”

He kissed you hard, deep, and then he finished you, hips pounding, rhythm tightening, the electricity of him shimmering under his skin as you came with a cry he swallowed in your mouth. He followed with a low, shuddering groan, thrusting deep as pleasure tore through him, his grip on your waist firm and shaking.

When he finally collapsed beside you, chest rising heavily, he looked bright and awake. Satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with boredom.

You nudged his shoulder. “So…did our little experiment fix the ‘we’re getting stale’ problem?”

Volkner exhaled slowly through his nose, almost a laugh.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, sliding an arm beneath you and pulling you against him. “We’re definitely revisiting that.”

You grinned into his chest.

“Magic words and everything?”

He smirked—small, tired, smug.

“After that? I’ll say whatever you want.”

Hassel

Hassel had been trying so valiantly to stay composed. It would’ve been admirable if it wasn’t also incredibly arousing, the way his gloved hands gripped your hips with trembling restraint, the way his breath shuddered every time you sank down just enough for the heat of him to press against you…but not quite inside.

You had kept him right at that threshold, lowering only to the tip before lifting again, slow and deliberate. He had met every movement with that deep, disciplined inhale, the kind he probably used to steady himself before Elite Four battles.

“Please,” he had managed, voice roughened to something beautifully unrefined. “My dear…you cannot expect a man to remain composed under such—such conditions…”

His eyes, normally warm and thoughtful, had gone molten with strain.

You leaned forward, steadying your palms on his chest, your voice low and soft—not commanding, but knowing. “All you have to do,” you murmured, rocking down to barely let the tip breach you, “is say the magic words.”

His breath caught. His brow furrowed, almost pained with wanting.

“—you know I am not accustomed to—to speaking so carelessly.”

“One little word,” you coaxed. “Just one.”

He swallowed hard. His hands trembled around your hips as you lowered yourself again, your hot wet sex kissing his tip, before lifting again, denying him more than a few centimeters of warmth.

He broke.

“I love you.”

The words escaped him like a crack in porcelain: unplanned, unshielded, startled out of him by the sheer desperation of wanting you.

You both froze.

Your eyes snapped down to him, his widening in immediate horror. His hands tightened on your hips, not in lust but in stunned mortification.

“Ah—I…that was…I did not intend—” He looked like a man who wanted to sink into the earth. “I beg your forgiveness. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

You were still staring at him when you shifted, the burning in your arms demanding some relief from holding yourself up. And as you did, you sat back slightly, causing your hips to drop. Not far, but far enough. You sank down around him in one sudden, devastating slide.

Hassel’s breath ripped out of him. Not a gasp, not a moan, but something deep, primal, and dragon-blooded. His composure shattered like brittle ceramic.

His hands clamped around your hips, not painful, but decisive, claiming.

“My love,” he growled, a voice rich and dark with instinct, “you cannot tease a dragon and expect it to remain gentle.”

Before you could respond, he surged upward, flipping you onto your back with startling strength. His hair fell forward, golden strands framing a face transformed by desire.

Then, he thrust. Deep. Full. And unrestrained.

Your breath punched out of you. His gloved hand slid beneath your thigh, lifting it, angling you perfectly as he drove into you again, harder this time, the wet sound of impact echoing between you.

“Hass—” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging lightly through the fabric of his vest.

He groaned, head bowing to your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You plagued me,” he panted, each thrust sharper, stronger, “with restraint. With temptation. With your warmth just out of reach—”

His hips snapped against you, deep enough to make your vision blur.

“—and now I cannot—”

Another thrust, your back arching.

“will not—hold myself back.”

He rolled his hips, grinding into you, dragging a cry from your throat that made his eyes darken further.

“You feel,” he rasped, kissing a line from along your neck and to your jaw, “exquisite, my dear. My muse…my downfall…”

You tightened around him, and he groaned, a wrecked, reverent sound, before bracing his forearm beside your head and pushing into you with a force that shook the bed.

Your climax built fast, tension coiling, the drag and pressure overwhelming.

“Hass—I’m—”

“Yes,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yes, my heart. Let go for me.”

And when you did, when your body clenched around him in a rush of heat, his control snapped entirely. His thrusts faltered, deepened, then he came with a low, guttural sound against your throat, fingers digging into your hips as if anchoring himself to you.

His release throbbed inside you, warm, pulsing, his body shuddering through the intensity of it.

For a long moment, he stayed above you, chest rising hard, eyes softening from feral to tender as the aftershocks passed.

“…I am,” he whispered, voice ragged, “so very sorry you had to hear that confession in such a state.”

You stared up at him, breath still unsteady, your body still humming with the aftershocks of him.

Hassel looked down at you as if afraid to move, golden eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you had never seen. A man who had just revealed far more than he’d ever intended.

Slowly, your expression softened. You reached up, cupped his cheek, and pulled him down into a gentle, lingering kiss that was warm and sure, sealing the moment rather than shying from it.

When you drew back, your lips brushed his as you whispered:

“I love you too, Hassel.”

Hassel’s breath stilled. A soft, stunned sound escaping him, almost like the beginnings of a joyful sob he refused to let fall. His hand cupped your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of moments before.

But then your smile tilted, warm and mischievous. “You know, I asked for one word,” you murmured, brushing your thumb along his jaw, “And you gave me three.”

He laughed softly against your lips, still flushed from your teasing, still visibly in awe that you’d said those words back to him. His hand slid from your cheek to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking your temple with an almost absent-minded gentleness.

“My dear,” he said, voice rich with affection and embarrassment all at once, “when it comes to you restraint has never been my strong suit.”

He brushed his lips against your temple.

“Besides,” he added quietly, “you deserved all three.”

Then he bent down again, brushing his mouth over yours in an opened mouth kiss that was soft and fleeting, ending before you could even process it.

His mouth hovered over your briefly.

“I love you.”

And he kissed you again, hard, and deep, pouring every ounce of feeling he had into the press of his mouth against yours.

Brassius

Brassius had never looked less like the stoic, brooding Gym Leader of Artazon and more like a man being undone stroke by stroke by pure inspiration. Or in this case, by the slow, torturous slide of your sex lowering only to the tip of him before lifting again.

You were on top, steadying your palms on his chest as he lay sprawled beneath you, hair mussed, cheeks flushed a faint, artsy rose. His usually sharp, critical gaze was foggy, unfocused, like he was looking at something too beautiful to comprehend.

“My heart—” he rasped, voice cracking, “th-this is… I cannot—you must allow me—!”

You rocked your hips down just barely enough to let him feel you, hot and slick and right there, before lifting again in one smooth motion.

Brassius choked.

“Avant-garde—!” he gasped, head tipping back into the pillow. His hand slapped blindly against the sheets like he needed to reach for a paintbrush, a canvas, anything to ground himself.

You bit your smile back. “Brassi,” you murmured, guiding his wandering hand back to your hip, “you’re going to have to focus for me.”

“I am focused!” he protested, voice cracking again, face twisting as you lowered just a little too slowly. “I am…intensely focused…soo focused—! This sensation—! It is—”

You lifted again and he let out a sound that was not remotely dignified.

“Hush,” you said softly, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “Say the magic words.”

He blinked up at you, breath shaking, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. “Magic…? My inspiration—I cannot—formulate—!”

“Try,” you coaxed, rocking your hips in a lazy, maddening circle. “Just say what you want.”

His fingers dug into your hips, not rough, but almost pleading. His gray eyes fluttered open— desperate, molten, and undone.

“I want…I desire…I need—” he stammered, every attempt collapsing under the force of sensation.

You lowered again, just to the tip.

He broke.

“I…LOVE YOU!”

The words ripped out of him like a man hurling himself dramatically off a windmill. Helpless, dramatic, and unplanned. And so very Brassius.

And then he went still. Horrified. Absolutely mortified. His eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his own mouth like he could somehow shove the confession back inside.

“I— that—that was—!” he sputtered, voice muffled behind his glove. “Please disregard that entirely—! It was— it was a lapse of judgement! A moment—a—a shattering of artistic composure—!”

But you? Your breath hitched. Because hearing him say it raw, earnest, and unpolished, lit a spark low in your stomach and flooded heat straight through you.

You sank down onto him in one decisive glide.

Brassius cried, a beautiful and strangled sound, his hands flying to your hips as he arched up into you.

“My muse,” he gasped, eyes rolling back for a moment, “oh—oh heavens—!”

You set a rhythm. Deep, rolling, taking him fully, each movement drawing a breathy moan from him that sounded like praise and prayer in equal measure.

He clutched at your waist, then your thighs, torn between guiding you and worshipping you.

“You—are—exquisite—!” he panted, thrusting his hips with each word.

The frantic rhythm of his hips met yours with surprising strength. The more you rode him, the more his dramatics dissolved into pure, unfiltered desire.

“Oh, my love—” he groaned, catching your hands and lacing your fingers together as you moved, “you ignite me—you set every part of me alight—!”

You clenched around him, and Brassius nearly folded in half.

“Please,” he begged, beautifully and shamelessly, “allow me—let me—come with you!”

Your body tightened, pleasure surging through you hard and fast. You rode him harder, faster, losing yourself in the way he trembled beneath you, in the raw devotion written across his flushed face.

“Brassius!”

“Yes—yes, my heart!”

Your climax crashed through you like a sudden burst of color on canvas, sharp and overwhelming. Brassius followed instantly, thrusting deep, voice breaking in a gorgeous, breathless cry as he came inside you, fingers gripping yours tight enough to tremble.

The moment the peak passed, your body softened and you folded forward, collapsing onto his chest. Brassius let out a shaky exhale, half-whimper, half-laugh of disbelief, and immediately wrapped his arms around you. One hand slid up your back, while his thumb swept slow, soothing strokes along your arm as if grounding both of you in the same breath.

“…My muse,” he whispered shakily, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “You make art of me.”

Larry

Larry was exhausted. The kind of exhausted that lived in his bones, in the slump of his shoulders, in the way he loosened his tie like the action took actual effort. He’d come home mumbling something about overtime and deadlines and “the boss said—” before sighing deeply and sinking onto the bed like a man twice his age.

You, on the other hand, were very awake. Very aware of him. Very aware of the way he looked sitting there in his suit pants, hair mussed, glasses slightly crooked, tie undone.

“I really… don’t have anything left in me tonight,” he mumbled into his hands. “Work was…a lot.”

You knelt in front of him between his legs.

“That’s fine,” you murmured, unbuttoning his slacks with deliberate slowness. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Larry blinked. Slowly.

“…Oh. I see.”

A pause.

“I’m not sure this is in the schedule,” he said, flatly.

“Then we’re rewriting the schedule.”

Another slow blink. The tired man’s version of surprise.

“…Alright.”

You took him into your mouth before he could think of another reason to protest. His hands hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before one landed, hesitantly, on the back of your head. Not guiding. Not pushing. Just...resting.

“Mmnh—hold on…” His breath caught, quietly. “You don’t…you don’t need to do that just because I’m tired.”

You hummed around him and he shuddered.

“…Okay. Maybe you do need to do that.”

You smiled around him and kept going, slow and teasing, edging him carefully because you refused to let the tired salaryman get away with zero reaction.

Larry tried valiantly to stay neutral. He was the Medali Gym Leader, Elite Four member, and professional suppressor of emotions. He was hard nut to crack emotionally, but physically? Very responsive. His thighs tightened under your hands, breath quickening despite how stoically he tried to sit still.

And you were talented, and determined. And it helped that he was tired. Tired men have very little defense against skilled mouths and warm hands.

You pulled away briefly, stroking him slow, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Say the magic words.”

Larry blinked down at you.

“…Magic…words?”

“Yep. Say them.”

He stared at you with the flattest expression imaginable.

“I’m…not sure I know what you want from me here.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He let out a sigh that sounded like corporate despair.

“I swear I was better at this when I was younger…”

You took him back into your mouth, and Larry’s breath cracked, the closest he ever got to a moan. His hips jerked despite his best efforts not to moved, and his hand, still on your head, tightened just a bit.

“That’s…that’s enough—wait—I have a meeting in the morning—”

You swirled your tongue and Larry’s head fell back against the wall with a quiet, helpless groan.

“I can’t—I can’t think— hold on—”

You edged him harder—and suddenly, you were being lifted—awkwardly, tiredly, but determinedly—and placed onto your back. Larry climbed over you, hair mussed, tie crooked, breathing much harder than he probably wanted to admit.

“I did genuinely try not to do this…” he muttered as he lined himself up, voice strained. “Really. I’m exhausted. I have paperwork. My supervisor sent three messages. But you—”

He pushed into you in one deep, shuddering thrust.

“—you keep doing things that make it impossible to be responsible.”

His hips started moving—steady, strong, unhurried but intense. Larry didn’t have the wild stamina of a younger man, but what he did have was control. Precision. Purpose. Every thrust hit exactly where it needed to, sending pleasure tearing through you.

His breath warmed your neck between each movement.

“Feels…too good…” “You’re going to make me stay up later than I should…” “…This is reckless… but I don’t want to stop…”

You wrapped your legs around him and his breath stuttered hard.

“Please…Larry…”

His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

“Don’t say it like that,” he muttered, pumping into you faster. “I’m too tired to have self-control.”

Your climax built sharp and fast, gripping around him, and Larry groaned—quiet, strained, and incredibly hot—as he thrust deep and came with a shiver that left him weak in the arms.

He slumped over you, panting, tie dangling crookedly by your cheek.

After a moment, you stroked his hair. “You never said the magic words,” you murmured.

Larry froze. And slowly, so slowly, that it was like watching a Snorlax wake up, he lifted his head to look at you.

He stared for a long moment.

Then, he shifted tiredly onto his side, pulling you in against his chest with an arm heavy from fatigue. He pressed a gentle, exhausted kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice soft, low, half-asleep. “Please let that count.”

You smiled into his shirt.

Larry was already out cold.

Rika

You didn’t even remember how your back hit the mattress. One moment you were on your knees, edging Rika slowly with your mouth, savoring every shaky breath she let slip—and the next, you were flat on your back, thighs spread, vision swimming as her tongue dragged a long, devastating stroke up your soaked cunt.

“Rika—” you gasped, hips jerking.

Your thoughts scattered the moment her mouth sealed around your clit. Pleasure slammed through you, hot and fast, wiping out any attempt at understanding how she’d flipped the tables on you so quickly, so effortlessly.

You clawed weakly at the sheets, breath breaking into helpless moans.

Rika hummed low against you, pleased, confident, and smugly aware of exactly what she’d just done to your brain.

Then she tapped your thigh. Just a light, purposeful flick of her fingers.

“Hey,” she murmured, lifting her eyes to yours with a lazy, wicked smile. “Stay with me, babe.”

It grounded you, barely. Enough for you to breathe, not enough for you to think.

Her lips returned to you immediately, her tongue stroking you with deep, slow, obscene intention.

“Rika—!”

“Oh, I know,” she purred against your clit. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Her hands slid under your thighs, lifting your hips a little higher as she licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You tried to catch your breath. Tried to remember you were the one who started edging her. And failed spectacularly.

Her tongue circled your clit, slow, deliberate, then pulled away just before the pleasure could crest.

“Rika, please…”

She chuckled, a warm, low, maddening sound.

“Please, huh? That what you wanted to hear from me?” she teased, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Funny. You sure don’t sound like you’re the one in charge right now, babe.”

You clenched your fists in the sheets as you sputtered for a retort.

“What were those words you were wantin’, again?” she asked sweetly, blowing a cool breath over your soaked folds. “Go on. Ask me again.”

You keened, the sound embarrassingly high, and she moaned softly at the noise, hooked on it instantly.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she murmured. “Say somethin’ else like that, and I might forget my manners.”

Her tongue returned, lapping slow circles around your clit, never touching it directly, and keeping you trembling right on the edge.

“Rika—I’m—I need—I can’t think—”

“Mmh.” She moaned right into your cunt. “I love when you get all dumb on me.”

Her statement would have been hilarious if your thighs weren't shaking.

“Rikaaaa—!”

“Hm?” She looked up at you through her lashes. “What were those words you were wantin’ to hear from me earlier. Remind me. My head’s all fuzzy down here.”

You tried to swallow the sob in your throat, but it came out anyway, raw and helpless.

“I—I love you—!”

The effect on her was instantaneous.

Rika’s pupils dilated as her grip tightened on your hips. Her smile gentled: not smug now, but soft, warm, and full.

“I feel the same way,” she said, then her mouth sealed around your clit.

You shattered and your back arched; your hands flew to her hair as your orgasm tore through you, your cry echoing off the walls. Rika drank every sound you made, every tremor, tongue working you through it with slow, steady devotion before crawling up your body and capturing your lips.

You tasted yourself on her mouth and whimpered into the kiss.

You barely had time to breathe before her hand slipped between your legs again.

“Rika—!”

“Mmhmm,” she murmured against your throat, already pressing just right, rubbing you back up with obscene precision. “I know. I know. Gimme one more.”

She sucked and pressed soft kisses to your neck, before lightly grazing her teeth over your skin.

“Come on,” she hummed. “Lemme see you fall apart one more time, babe.”

And you did. Harder. Longer. With your hands tangled in her hair and her name broken on your tongue, your nails digging into her back as she sucked and kissed along your neck, her adoration almost dizzying.

When the second orgasm left you limp and trembling, Rika finally eased her touch, stretching out beside you with a satisfied sigh. She gathered you in, tucking her chin over your head, nuzzling into your hair like she had no intention of letting you go for the rest of the night.

“Hey,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You good?”

You managed a dazed little noise.

“Mmm. Too good.”

She laughed, low, warm, and teasing.

“That was the idea.”

You buried your face in her chest.

“Well that wasn’t my idea. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all,” you grumbled, “Arcues, Rika, it’s unfair how attractive you are.”

She snorted softly and tightened her arm around you.

“Unfair?” she teased, kissing the top of your head. “Babe, you’re the one who jumped me. I’m just…y’know.” A smug grin against your hair. “Talented.”

You rolled your eyes groaned into her shirt, and she just laughed again, content, relaxed, absolutely delighted with herself.

“C’mere,” she murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. “Lemme snuggle my girl.”

Leon

Leon lay beneath you with that soft, slightly dazed smile he always got when you were on top — like he still couldn’t believe you chose him. His hands rested on your thighs, warm, steady, perfectly respectful…even though the muscles in his arms tightened every time you sank down just an inch and then lifted again.

He was trying. So hard.

“Love,” he said through a shaky breath, “I can’t—ngh—you’re teasing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

You dragged just the tip of him through your slick, puffy lips, letting it nudge against your entrance before pulling up again.

Leon bit his lip. “Please,” he groaned, voice low and reverent, “you’re going to make me lose it.”

“Oh? So even the Champion has limits?” you teased lightly, rolling your hips just barely enough to make him gasp.

His hands tightened on your thighs. Not to control you. Just to hold himself together.

“Tell me the magic words,” you said, in a sing-song voice.

Leon’s breath hitched.

Then something in his expression shifted. A spark. A glint. A champion’s decisiveness igniting behind his amber eyes.

He sat up in one smooth motion, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you in and captured your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss—the kind that stole air right out of your lungs. It hit you like a shock, your body melting, your mind blanking at how hungry, how passionate he suddenly was.

He kissed you until you forgot what you asked for. And then he said, voice low, warm, and devastatingly sincere:

“I love you.”

Your body faltered. Your breath stuttered.

And Leon moved. He grabbed your hips, lifted you effortlessly, and slammed you down onto him in one powerful thrust that punched a cry straight out of your chest.

You clutched at his shoulders as he lay back and took control, his grip firm as he snapped his hips up into you with a rhythm that was deep, precise, and utterly overwhelming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, amber eyes fluttering shut as he thrust again. “You feel—you feel incredible.”

“Leon—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing your throat between each thrust. “I’ve got you, love— just let go.”

You rode him back, bodies slapping together, pleasure building fast and hard. His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you down onto him with each deep push, meeting you thrust for thrust until the bed rocked beneath you.

Your climax built like fire winding tight in your stomach. His, too, you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his hips stuttered.

“Love—I’m—I’m so close—” he choked.

You wailed and clenched around him as your orgasm tore through you, your body arching and trembling. Leon’s eyes flew open, wide, and awed, before he thrust deep one final time and came with a broken, gorgeous moan, his release hot and pulsing inside you.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathless, shaking, glowing.

After a moment, Leon let out a dreamy little sigh.

“…That was incredible,” he murmured, stroking your back. “I mean, that was seriously…wow. That was like a final battle level. Wouldn’t you say it was a—”

“Don’t say it.” You lifted your head sharply.

He blinked. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

He cleared his throat. “I just meant the experience was—”

“Don’t say it, Leon.”

He smiled. Slowly.

“A—”

You glared at him.

“Champion time,” he grinned.

You groaned into his chest, mortified and fond at once.

He laughed, bright, boyish, and unbelievably in love, and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your hair.

“Admit it,” he said softly. “You like it.”

“…I tolerate it.”

“You love it.”

“…yeah, you’re right.”

He grinned like he’d just won another title.

Raihan

Raihan lay beneath you, hands behind his head like the cockiest bastard alive, cyan eyes drinking you in as you lowered yourself just enough to let the head of his cock slide inside before lifting again.

“Damn,” he drawled, smirking, “taking your sweet time, huh?”

“That’s the point,” you said, planting your palms on his hard chest as you lifted again, denying him.

He hissed through his teeth. “Cruel,” he muttered. “Real cruel. Getting bold on me today.”

You lowered again, slow, teasing. He flexed under you—toned thighs, lean torso, that stupid hoodie collar framing his neck as he groaned.

You lifted again and his hands shot to your hips.

“Nu-uh,” he said, voice dropping deliciously. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What—”

He gave you a slow, wolfish grin, before he thrust once—slow and deliberate—dragging himself through your slick heat until you clutched at his shoulders.

“R-Raihan—!”

“Yeah?” he hummed. “What was that about you being in control?”

You slowly breathed through your nose. “Say the magic words—”

He thrust again, just as slow. “These ones?”

Your breath stuttered.

He smirked wider. And then another slow, deep grind of his hips.

“These?”

“Raihan— stop— ngh—”

“You sure you want me to stop? ’Cause you’re squeezing me like you don’t.”

He had you pinned beautifully—his hands big and warm on your hips, holding you in place as he teased you right back, thrusting shallowly, using your own rhythm against you.

“C’mon,” he purred, thumbs spreading your hips as he rolled his length just against your entrance. “You said you wanted to be in control tonight. What happened to that, huh?”

You tried to steady yourself, tried to remember the smug plan you’d started with—edge him until he broke, make the unstoppable Raihan beg. And at first, you’d had him trembling, head tipped back, teeth gritted as you stroked him right up to the edge and kept him there. His voice had cracked. His hands had twitched. You’d had him.

“Shut up and just say the words,” you gritted out, trying to salvage some authority.

Raihan looked delighted.

“Oh, I had words for you.” He thrust all the way in, unhurried but devastating, until your moan broke apart in your throat. “Not the ones you wanted, though.”

“Raihan I swear to—” you gritted out, nails biting into his shoulders, but another slow thrust cut you off, this one angled perfectly, deliberately cruel.

“Magic words?” he echoed. “Baby, I am magic.”

You swore, loud, and he grinned like he’d just won a championship match.

“You wanted me delirious?” he murmured. “Look at you. You can’t even remember your own damn game.” His fingers slid to your waist, grip tightening, and lifted your hips just to his tip—then slammed you down.

You gasped, body jolting, as he pinned you from below, his thrust deep enough to make your vision blur.

And then you were on your back.

You didn’t even catch the moment he flipped you. You just blinked and Raihan was above you, hoodie hanging loose, grin sharp and pleased.

He braced one hand beside your head. With the other, he slid two fingers down between your thighs and flicked your clit.

You arched instantly, a moan breaking out of you.

Raihan leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Now, say the magic words,” he said, low and husky.

You resisted, refusing to have your own words used against you.

His fingers circled harder and your breath broke. He pressed his hips to yours, cock grinding against you, thick and hot and right there—

“Say it,” he coaxed, voice low and smug and dripping with triumph.

“I…” you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Hm?”

“I—”

“What was that?”

“Oh my god, I—I—I love you!!” you wailed.

For a heartbeat, Raihan froze. Not with reluctance, but with the sheer, consuming satisfaction of hearing you say it that raw, that desperate. Then heat surged in his eyes, darker and fiercer than anything he’d shown you before. His smirk returned, slow and victorious and he groaned like you’d just handed him the championship trophy.

“Good girl.”

Then he thrust into you with all the passion, all the fire, all the feral competitive drive he brought into a battle. His hips snapped forward again and again, relentless and breathtaking. He fucked you like he was proving something—like he was claiming something—like your confession had lit something molten in his chest.

“Shit, look at you,” he groaned, watching your face contort with pleasure. “Taking me so good. Fuck—I could watch you lose it for me all day.”

Raihan’s thrusts were fierce, fast, and perfectly controlled despite the wild intensity. His hands held your hips as he drove into you with a rhythm that made the bed shake.

You clung to him, matching his rhythm as best you could, the pressure coiling tight in your stomach every time he hit that spot deep inside you.

“Come on, babe,” he growled, kissing you hard, “come with me—”

Your climax hit first. Sharp, overwhelming, and drawn out by the drag of his cock and the force of his pace. Your body spasmed around him, squeezing him so tight he gasped.

“Fuck—!” he choked. “You’re—oh shit—”

He thrust once, twice, then buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural moan, hips grinding against yours as his orgasm tore through him.

The two of you collapsed together, breathing hard, skin slick and warm.

After a moment, Raihan rolled onto his back beside you, grabbing his phone like nothing happened, scrolling with lazy satisfaction.

You stared up at the ceiling, stunned and annoyed. You’d tried to edge him, but instead you’d been the one who’d been edged to oblivion.

Raihan glanced over, brow arched. “What’s with the face?” he asked, lowering the phone. “Don’t tell me I broke you. I mean, I am incredible, but—”

“Don’t ‘what’s with the face’ me,” you said flatly, “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were the one who was supposed to lose their mind. Not mine.”

He dropped his phone onto the sheets, then he slid an arm tightly around your waist, dragging you against him with a pleased hum.

“Oh, babe,” he said, “I always won these kinds of battles.”

You snorted. “Yet you can’t seem to beat Leon in a Pokémon battle.”

You felt Raihan freeze, then hear him growl as he nipped your shoulder.

“Say that again and I’m dragging you back for round two.”

You laughed, and Raihan grinned against your skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “that’s what I thought.”

Piers

Piers had been shaking under you long before you realized how close you’d gotten him. His thighs were tense, breath uneven, one gloved hand braced on the wall behind him while the other rested on the back of your head, fingers tangled gently in your hair. He looked wrecked in that uniquely Piers way—eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, bangs hanging into his face, voice dropping low every time you hollowed your cheeks around him.

You pulled back just enough to speak, licking the taste of him off your lips.

“Say the magic words,” you murmured, teasing, confident, stroking him slow with your hand.

Piers’s breath hitched so sharply he nearly doubled over.

“Bloody hell—don’t—” His head dropped forward, hair swinging. “Don’t play with me like that…”

You hummed and took him into your mouth again, slow and deliberate, edging him right back to where his hips twitched and his voice cracked.

He let out a strangled sound.

“Babe…please, you’re…killin’ me…”

You released him again with a wet pop, letting your thumb tease the sensitive underside just to watch his knees wobble.

“Then say it,” you whispered, licking a stripe up his length. “Say the magic words and I’ll let you come.”

His breath stuttered so hard his shoulders shook. He was so close it was almost unfair.

You smirked. “Come on, Piers. Say—”

His hand tightened suddenly in your hair—not painfully, but with a decisive, desperate force that yanked your breath away. Before you could react, he hauled you upright, voice low and ruined:

“…Enough.”

The word vibrated in your spine.

In the next heartbeat, your back hit the bed. Piers pushed you down with a strength that never matched his tired posture, his breath hot and uneven as he hovered over you.

His hair fell wildly around his face, eyes blown wide, flushed all the way to his ears.

“You’re really somethin’ else,” he muttered, voice rasping as he tore your clothes out of his way, “teasin’ me like that…makin’ me lose my damn mind…”

He didn’t give you a second to reply before his mouth was on your pussy—hot and hunger-driven. His tongue licked a slow stripe up your center, then wrapped around your clit with a precision that punched a gasp from your lungs.

You jerked beneath him. He held you there, fingers firm on your hips.

“Yeah…” he murmured against you, voice vibrating through your body. “That’s it…let me hear you.”

His mouth worked you with a rhythm that felt like music, steady and building, his breath hot and shaky every time you cried out for him. He edged you the same way you’d done to him—pulling back just before your climax tipped, licking you slow until your thighs trembled uncontrollably.

You were panting, desperate, nails scraping at the sheets.

“Piers, please—”

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, lips glistening, pupils dark and blown.

“Magic words, babe,” he murmured. “You wanted me to say ’em…now I wanna hear ’em from you.”

Your breath hitched.

His mouth descended again and you shattered—hips arching, voice breaking, pleasure ripping through you in waves you couldn’t fight.

“I—I love you!”

Piers froze for one stunned second, just long enough for you to see the raw emotion flicker through his gaze. Then it softened, intensified, and melted into something utterly devoted.

“…Yeah,” he breathed, kissing you so deep you tasted yourself on his tongue. “I love you too.”

And then he was pushing into you, slow and deep. So deep your whole body arched.

“Bloody—hell…” he gasped into your neck. “You feel—too good—!”

He started to move—rhythmic, powerful, driven by the same pulsing urgency you’d built in him. Every thrust landed perfectly, the bed creaking under the force of his hips, his breath hot and broken in your ear.

His voice stayed low, half-whispered, every word spilling out like a confession he’d been holding back for years.

“You’re drivin’ me mad…” “Can’t—stop—feels too good…” “Babe, you’re gonna be the end of me—”

Your climax rolled through you, hard and overwhelming, and he fucked you straight into it, groaning into your shoulder as he lost himself in you. When he came, it was with a low, raw sound that shook through his whole body.

He collapsed gently over you, catching his breath, then rolled to pull you into his chest, arm wrapped securely around your waist. His heartbeat thudded heavy and steady against your cheek.

You mumbled, dazed and boneless, “It’s unfair how stupidly attractive you are…”

Piers huffed a tired, affectionate laugh and nuzzled your forehead.

“Babe…have you looked in a mirror?” He kissed your temple, pulling you closer. “You’re the one who nearly knocked me flat.”

And with that, he tucked his head into your neck, still catching his breath, completely besotted.

skittles-selfships

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

#/pos