Work Text:
No matter how many times you polish a plate, it’s still a plate.
Approximately 45 minutes into scrubbing with all of your might, the scuffed rag in your hand is already on its last legs. The plate itself was already heavy enough to prompt you to surrender it to the ground in favor of bending over to clean it instead, and now your knees were equally as destroyed. While you were well aware of the existence of a significant number of ancient plates out there somewhere, ripe for a collector’s taking, you couldn’t help but count your blessings that Volo had only been fortunate enough to find six. Given your current state of affairs, even six was proving to be too many.
While Volo typically leaned towards doing his own cleaning and restoration of artifacts he’d uncovered, some particularly mischievous whim today had prompted him to rope you into his mess. At his insistence, you’d been kind enough to grace him with the plates you’d gathered thus far for his research--and for, admittedly, less things to carry around when gallivanting from camp to camp. Even though he likely didn’t mean any harm, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was simply finding an excuse to shirk his own efforts in favor of watching you toil. Taking a closer look, the plates weren’t even that dirty. Even so, he’d insisted, stating his frivolous plate-shining had long since become a “weekly ritual”.
You scoffed inwardly, fingers aching from the constant friction of cloth against skin. It wouldn’t even be so bad if he would simply shut up on occasion. Instead, he’d been prattling for those same 45 minutes of agony, absolutely non-stop, about his favorite topic--and, frankly, the only topic that ever seemed to come out of his mouth.
“You know,” he mused, stretching out comfortably against the grass, “they say Almighty Sinnoh is a benevolent God, but I fail to see why impurity would pervade this world in its grasp. Not to doubt its power, of course, but still, why choose to encourage the follies of man? Even for all the beauty it brought to this earth, so much pain and suffering could have been avoided. And even now, they say it lives out there, somewhere beyond space and time, watching and waiting for--”
“Its moment to return,” you finished, a twinge of irritation clinging to your words. “I know. I’m aware. We’ve discussed this. Do you think you could lend me a hand now?”
“Nonsense. You’re doing a spectacular job. I knew I could trust one of the brightest stars of the Galaxy Team to help me out.”
You rolled your eyes. There were so many other things you could be doing, even on your day off. It wasn’t that you were entirely ungrateful for his company, especially in the vast expanse of the Obsidian Fieldlands, but an ideal day with Volo would’ve involved doing literally anything else besides menial labor. You’d long since worked up the nerve to ask him for a simple walk in the Floaro Gardens, maybe even entertaining a bit of a hand-in-hand stroll, and yet your efforts had been for naught. Here you were, instead, wasting the sunshine and breathtaking scenery on a series of colorful weathered rectangles, scraping your skin to the bone with what little polish he’d been willing to provide your pitiful self.
On your right, a string of Wurmples shambled by in a small parade, wobbling with every tiny step. It was a struggle to shift out of Work Mode, but you made a conscious effort to resist the urge to draw out a Poke Ball or two. Honestly, anything would suffice to take your mind off the monotonous task at hand.
“I really, really thought we were going to have a nice and relaxing day today,” you hissed, still mid-scrub. By now, you’d switched to flattening your palms against the rag instead, moving with your body weight rather than risk rubbing your fingers clean off of your hands.
Volo grinned devilishly--an expression you hadn’t quite decided whether or not you hated. “Oh, but I am having a nice and relaxing day. Have I told you how grateful I am for your help?”
You groaned. The palm-scrubbing method wasn’t going so well, either. “You’ve mentioned it. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I wanted to have a nice and relaxing day too? On my day off? You know, the first one in a week and a half?”
He rolled over lazily, shifting himself to face you as he fiddled absentmindedly with a blade of grass. “They say repetitive tasks can be quite relaxing, you know.”
“This is not relaxing. Me scrubbing these things until my hands fall off is the exact opposite of relaxing. How am I even supposed to know when they’re clean? They’re weathered! They’re going to look gross regardless!”
Volo threw his hand over his heart, his face twisted with mock hurt. “How dare you! That weathering is a blessing, and a testament to their tremendous ability to withstand the test of time.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” you spat through gritted teeth. “How am I supposed to know when I’m done?”
He smirked again, much to your dismay. “Who knows? Perhaps never.”
“Volo,” you warned sharply.
“y/n,” he mused back, his tone teasing. You resisted the overwhelming urge to sheathe your frustration--you hated when he said your name with that playful tone of voice. You hated how beautiful it sounded on his lips.
“Can I please stop now? I’ve been scrubbing for almost an hour. Unassisted, mind you.”
“But I’ve already enlisted your assistance. What image would it give the Galaxy Team for one of their own to shy away from a mission?” he teased.
“This isn’t a mission. This is your own weird vendetta to watch me suffer,” you muttered.
“I do enjoy suffering from time to time,” he answered. “Especially when it’s y/n.”
You stilled, ceasing your scrubbing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” he mused, propping himself up on one elbow. “Just that it’s fun to watch you squirm once in a while.”
Suddenly, there was no comfortable conversation. What was left over, emotionally, was just barely short of aggravation. “Did you seriously bring me out here just to see me get pissed off? Is that your game?”
He didn’t answer. Your heart ached a bit. You’d never taken Volo for the backstabbing type.
“Is that what this is? Some sort of weird hate thing for me?” you asked, voice laced with just a smidge of hurt.
“Not at all,” he murmured. Even in the face of your pain, shown plainly on your face, he maintained his smooth cadence. “You’re quite cute when you’re in a tight spot.”
You flushed, dropping the rag in the grass suddenly. “Excuse me?”
“There’s just the tiniest bit of me that likes the faces you make when you squirm,” he continued. By now, he’d slipped into that same devilish smirk that may as well have been plastered to his face. You blushed.
“You’re a sadist. I shouldn’t have come out here if you were just going to mess with me.”
“Now, now, you’re the one who asked for my company,” he teased. “You’ve been such a good boy up until now, following my orders.”
Your heart leapt up into your throat at the sudden pet name. “O-Orders? Don’t say it like that. It was a favor.”
“Oh? Would it be so bad to take orders from me?” he continued, practically sing-songing as he spoke. One look at his face indicated that he was having a bit too much fun watching your reactions.
Even so, shelving your emotions was impossible. “Don’t say it like that,” you repeated.
His tone dropped dangerously low. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Your heart pounded hard against the walls of your chest. “I-I don’t need to,” you murmured softly. You kicked yourself for your sudden shyness under his gaze--the one you’d long grown accustomed to, until today.
“If you’re so adamant about stopping, I have a proposition for you,” he spoke confidently, pushing himself off the grass and up into a sitting position. You hated the stupid way he crossed his legs together like a child.
You raised an eyebrow, still willing your heart to slow down. “Anything is better than this.”
“Anything?”
His tone, though teasing, was outright menacing. You gulped. Suddenly “anything” didn’t seem like such a good idea coming from Volo. “T-Try me,” you stuttered, your hesitation betraying your false confidence.
By now, you couldn’t stand the sly face he was making, filled with smug self-assurance. He seemed to know exactly how to press your buttons, and it was almost humiliating to be read like an open book. He leaned forward, crawling on all fours towards you as his guild clothes scraped against the ground.
“I want to play a game with you, but you’ll have to trust me,” he purred, guiding your hands away from the plates with his own. You recoiled at the sensation of his fingertips against your own. You could only pray he couldn’t hear your heartbeat, for how loud it had become in your ears.
You knew, logically, that the correct answer should’ve been to shoot him down. You should’ve told him you wouldn’t trust any “game” of his creation, especially after his earlier comments. You should’ve stood up, brushed yourself off, and found refuge back at a campsite instead. Maybe Rei was free. Maybe you could spend time with someone who didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. Maybe you could spend time with someone who didn’t make you blush hard enough to throw up.
Instead, something buried deep in your id resisted that call, delving into places it shouldn’t. “What game?”
He chuckled, a low, deep sound just barely tinted with malicious intent. You shuddered. He didn’t answer with words, but rather with touch, inching closer to you as his silky hands slipped up your arms. “You’ll see soon,” he whispered.
When his touch rose higher, his fingertips brushing against your shoulders, you winced. He’d moved even closer, his body flush against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation of his breath against your neck. You knew the right reaction, here, too--you should’ve told him off, backed down, agreed to scrub plates for the next several hours. And to your credit, you tried.
“What are you doing? Stop it,” you asserted, painfully aware of the way your voice cracked in the process. Your face only reddened, instead.
“Now, now,” he purred, “you already gave me permission, remember? Don’t resist. Be a good boy for me.”
The pet name had returned, and it was making you sweat. With his sweet words curling against the nape of your neck, his breath had every hair in your body standing on end. You clenched and unclenched your fists helplessly, dragging your fingers against the grass for grounding. Anything, anything to keep your mind off the fact that your body refused to reject his touch.
“Good boy,” he repeated, feeling your shoulders relax somewhat. His hands dipped lower, sliding down over your chest and veering dangerously towards your stomach. You had a vague idea of what his “game” would entail, and it made you panic.
“V-Volo,” you stuttered, again mortified by your inability to be coherent.
“Hush,” he commanded. Soft as it was, his words were enough to make you bite your tongue. You could only watch in horror as his smooth hands descended ever lower, slender fingers coming to rest at the very hem of your skirt. A slight pause was all he blessed you with before his fingertips began to creep up your tights. You bit your lip.
“It’s a very simple game,” he began, your skirt bunching up against his wrists. By now, he’d maneuvered himself to pull you into his lap, his legs splayed out on either side of your body. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” You couldn’t stop yourself from trembling--whether with fear or anticipation, you hadn’t decided.
Without explanation, one hand came to a stop at your thigh, resting comfortably as he kneaded his fingers in place. The other, however, continued its venture high into your skirt, prodding against your tights. He hooked his fingernails into the fabric and pulled, and you yelped at the frustrating tearing sound that followed suit.
“Volo! Those are my work tights! What are you--”
“Shut your pretty mouth,” he hissed into your ear. You stifled a moan--why were you moaning?--as his lips brushed against your earlobe. “Be a good boy.”
By now, that pet name had you powerless. Volo’s fingers had wormed their way into the torn hole in the crotch of your tights, making their way beneath your panties ever-so-tantalizingly-slowly. You clawed at the grass for dear life as he finally slid two fingers beneath the flimsy fabric, your body betraying your feeble words. You couldn’t help the way you dripped against his fingers.
“Oh? Your body is so honest. Were you expecting this, perhaps?” he cooed against your ear. This time, you couldn’t stop your moaning no matter how hard you tried.
“We’re…out in the open,” you protested, suddenly reminded of the cool, earthy sensation beneath your trembling hands. “We can’t do this here.”
“I said hush,” he repeated, his tone somehow severe yet smooth. He punctuated his words with a push, his fingertips gently slipping up between the lips of your pussy. Your body ached for more. Even your pride couldn’t stop you from bucking against his hand.
“Better,” he murmured with approval at your response. “You want it that badly?”
You bit your tongue once again, but that did nothing in the face of a body you couldn’t control. You half-expected him to make you beg, but to your surprise, he blessed you yet again, easily hilting his fingers deep inside the walls of your pussy instead. You moaned openly, against your best wishes.
“Take it, then. Be a good boy and take it,” he whispered, his voice against your ear driving you crazy. “Submit to it.”
By now, you couldn’t resist even if you wanted to. Your hips moved in earnest against his fingers, which painfully refused to move on their own. You were well aware of the volume of your voice, but even you knew the Floaro Gardens was deep enough territory that not a soul would be around for miles. The Survey Corps, seasoned as they were, instead had delegated the task of dealing with the alphas in the area to you out of fear. Where you had once scoffed at their cowardice, you now thanked them silently in your head. Somehow, this environment only turned you on all the more. You throbbed around his fingers.
“Yes, boy, please yourself as much as you’d like. It’s all up to you, I’m simply the vessel for your pleasure. I’ll be nice and still for you,” he whispered. Your blood burned at the sensation of something pressing hard against your lower back--you had a vague idea what. You had half a mind to beg him to move, but something about this was intensely erotic, too. You flushed under his gaze, wondering if he relished the way you moved your body so frantically against his touch. You wondered if he enjoyed this as much as you did, and the pressure against your back gave you a vague idea.
“The game, then,” he continued, still mere inches away from your ear. “Just one very simple rule.”
He hesitated, pausing for emphasis in a way that made your heart pound with anticipation. By now, you groaned each time you rolled your hips against his palm, cupping your pussy tenderly as you rode his fingers in earnest. You were distressingly self-aware of the way your juices leaked against his skin. Slowly, the coil in your stomach began to tighten as you neared the point of no return.
“Do not cum.”
You froze, forcing yourself to frustratingly come to a stop against his palm. “Huh?” you sputtered.
“Do not cum,” he repeated in a purr, his tone simultaneously teasing and demanding. “Pleasure yourself as much as you’d like, but you must not cum.”
Your hesitation had relaxed the tight sensation, and, under his rules, you were safe to bounce your hips against his hand yet again. “W-Why not?” you breathed out in between your helpless panting.
“Hmm? Because I said so, of course,” he murmured. “Be a good boy and do as you’re told.”
You arched your back in pleasure, moving your hips faster. By now, each mention of that pet name made you throb even harder, your pussy clamping tightly around his fingers. You wanted him to say it more, even if you’d never tell him. Regardless of your morals, your hunger for his voice briefly, ever so briefly, led you to consider breaking your own rule. You didn’t need to.
“Good boy,” he soothed, slowly rubbing your thigh. “Such a good boy.”
You swore he could see through you like crystal. Knowing he was enjoying this was enough to make the coil in your stomach tighten once again. Delicious as the pleasure was, his touch was dangerous. You were not fond of losing games, especially not to him. It took all of your willpower to slow your movements, steeling yourself against his seduction. He couldn’t keep you from cumming forever. He wouldn’t have challenged you if that was his goal. More importantly, you doubted he would’ve expected you to keep yourself accountable.
“Oh, that just won’t do,” he murmured maliciously. With his lips pressed firmly against your ear, you could practically feel the way they turned upwards, knowing he was slipping into that same agonizing smile once again. Without delay, he began to move on his own, pumping his fingers swiftly in and out of your pussy. You couldn’t hold in your moaning, as loud as it may be. This was, perhaps, far more dangerous. Your body, powerless as it was, was absolutely not helping, your hips betraying you as you resumed grinding against his palm involuntarily.
“Mmm, much better,” he teased. “Can you withstand my assault?”
Even when you opened your mouth to answer, nothing came but moan after moan, pouring from your throat as you drowned in the pleasure of his touch. He was far too good at this for this to be his first time. As you pushed yourself frantically against his fingers, you couldn’t help but wonder what else he was good at. Despite every stop you screamed at your body, you were, once again, rapidly nearing the point of no return--and he delighted in it.
“Y/n,” he breathed, drawing out each letter of your name, “you can’t cum, remember? Are you going to be a good boy and do as you’re told?”
You could scarcely breathe. The pleasure was too intense. With his ministrations quickened, rapidly pistoning in and out of your pussy, you were self-conscious of the way your juices splashed against his hand. You clawed helplessly at the ground below, dirt caking beneath your fingernails futilely. With your own quarters courtesy of the Galaxy Team, you’d been blessed with a safe place to relieve your stress each night--and you considered yourself to be fairly good with your hands. But Volo? His speed was on another level, unmatched by anything you could ever do to yourself. His touch reached places you’d never been able to.
“Then again, you could always be a good boy and simply submit to me instead. Give in to my touch. Surrender yourself to me,” he cooed, his voice absolutely divine as it echoed through your head. That option sounded better. You wanted that option. Your body craved it. Submission was good. Whatever let you explode in his hands was good.
“Make your choice, y/n,” he teased, never ceasing his movements. “There are no wrong answers.”
He was sly, and some part of you despised that he was getting exactly what he wanted, despite your best efforts to keep victory out of his hands. Instead, his hands were exactly what would bring him his prize--watching you squirm. You couldn’t resist, especially not with his voice this close to you. Throwing caution to the wind, you surrendered yourself to his touch, bouncing fervently against his palm in a desperate race towards release. Your pussy throbbed around his fingers, clutching them tightly as they curled against your walls. By now, his angle of approach had left you slamming your hips down against your own G-spot. It was too much, and you were already seeing stars. The blood in your ears was so loud you couldn’t hear your own moaning, but you knew it absolutely was not quiet.
“Oh, good boy,” he whispered. “What a good decision. Let me see my good boy surrender.”
That was enough. The coil in your stomach snapped at last. You spasmed irresistibly around his fingers, relishing the feeling of your juices dripping down onto his hand as you orgasmed. He quite literally had your pleasure in the palm of his hand, and you knew he was drinking in the sight of you thrashing around, rolling your hips hard against his palm as you greedily milked your orgasm for all it was worth. The sounds of pleasure that poured from your throat were unrivaled--sounds you’d never made before in private. Somehow, being watched only made you cum harder. Even with the best orgasm of your life crashing over you like waves, it wasn’t enough. Your body already craved more.
“Volo,” you whimpered pleadingly, your voice wavering. You didn’t get to finish your sentence.
“I know, y/n, I know,” he responded, swiftly withdrawing his fingers with a speed that made you yelp. In seconds, his hands had departed your skirt. In one quick movement, you were suddenly face-to-face with the ground, falling forward onto your hands and knees. You didn't need to say a word. You knew he knew exactly what you wanted.
You whined at the sensation of the fabric of your tights being torn wide open, the cool breeze rippling against your wet thighs in a way that made you shudder with pleasure. With your skirt bunched up around your hips, something about knowing Volo was staring directly at your sopping wet sex was unbearably arousing. You couldn’t hide from his gaze if you tried. You knew he liked that, too. On all fours, you were already having difficulty keeping your hips still, struggling to resist the urge to hump the air desperately.
“Oh no, it looks like y/n’s lost our little game,” he sing-songed, clapping his hands against either side of your thighs. You couldn’t stifle another yelp as he pulled against them hard, slamming his own hips against your pussy. The clothed bulge that pressed against you, with the head pushing deliciously against your clit, drove you insane. There was no keeping your hips still now. Already, you were dry-humping against him in a frenzy, your body insatiable. You needed him, and you needed him now.
“Perhaps a consolation prize is in order,” Volo teased, his voice still as saccharine as ever. With one hand dropping from your thigh, he skillfully undid the zipper of his pants, his own apron crumpled up against your lower back. You knew what was coming, and you panted with anticipation.
“Please,” you begged, your own self-imposed rule long since broken. “Volo, please.”
Even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew exactly the look he was giving you. “But of course, my dear. A good boy deserves a reward, does he not?”
He didn’t waste any time, immediately thrusting his cock as deeply as he could. You almost screamed at the speed with which he hilted himself, the head of his dick bumping up against your womb on the very first thrust. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, and your limbs shook badly enough to make propping yourself up on all fours difficult. It was all you could do to keep yourself steady as he pounded into you again and again, his speed unmatched by absolutely anything you could ever do to yourself. If the pleasure from his hands alone was dangerously intense, then this was blindingly unbearable. You throbbed tightly around him, squeezing his cock from every direction as you moaned uncontrollably. By now, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d scared away every Pokemon within a mile’s radius with your volume. The reality of being fully exposed hit you once again--anyone could walk by and see you being dominated by Volo, powerless to resist. Anyone could see the blissed-out expression on your face, humiliating at worst and brain-fryingly erotic at best. The thought only excited you further. Volo had you as vulnerable as you could be, and he knew it.
“Ohh, y/n, I had no idea you could possibly be this tight. Why on earth would you ever hide that from me? Such a delectable fucktoy right under my nose, and I never would’ve known if you hadn’t been honest with me. Good boy,” he punctuated, his cock slamming into you again and again. The pleasure was as painful as it was heavenly. You wondered if you’d black out.
“Voloooo,” you moaned loudly, your head filled only with thoughts of the hellish pleasure he was putting you through. Your mouth felt distressingly empty--some part of you wished there were two of him, just so you could fill your throat with his cock. That thought, too, only served to make your pussy ache. Just minutes ago, you’d been coherent, confident, and relatively aggravated over some silly plates. How time flew. The coil in your stomach had begun to tighten yet again, and this time there was absolutely no room for resistance.
“You’re getting awfully tight, now, aren’t you?” he moaned himself. The sound of his moans lit a fire in you, knowing your body was bringing him incredible pleasure. You wanted to please him further. He knew your body belonged to him at this point. How could he not, with the way your pussy fit perfectly around his cock like it was tailored just for him. How could he not, with the way you completely crumbled under every swift thrust of his dick against your womb. How could he not, with his name tumbling absentmindedly from your lips with every empty thought that left your mouth. You were under his control, and knowing he knew drove you ballistic.
“Maybe I’ll lose our little game, too, just for fun,” he teased with a chuckle, groaning heavily as he, somehow, grew even rougher. Your body jerked forward with each thrust, threatening to throw you off balance as he drilled his cock into you again and again. Slick as it was, your pussy was wonderfully full to bursting, stretched wide as it struggled to accommodate the relentless rhythm of his already very-sizeable dick. By now, your moans could almost be classified as screams in and of themselves. Your arms finally gave out, sending your upper body crashing to the ground. The cool dirt against your face was the only relief as he never stalled, ravaging your pussy in ways you never would’ve thought someone of his demeanor would be able to.
“Why don’t we both do it together? I can feel how close you are. Why don’t you be a good boy and surrender to this pleasure with me?”
“Yeees,” you groaned incoherently, your capacity for thought long since gone. If there had been any rationality left in your mind, he had long since fucked it out of you. There was nothing else but Volo. Volo’s voice. Volo’s body. Volo’s cock. Volo’s cock. Volo’s cock, again and again and again. Pleasure is good. You needed more pleasure. You needed to feel good with Volo. There was no alternative. No resisting. Good boys don’t resist. Good boys submit. Good boys surrender. You relished the way his dick had begun to throb inside you, bouncing against your walls with each thrust. The thought of him pumping every ounce of him cum deep inside of you had you insatiable. Even with his rhythm, you’d resumed your own contributions, frantically throwing your hips against his own in a desperate failed attempt to match his motions.
“Good boy,” he moaned loudly. “That’s the correct answer. Be a good boy and submit to my cock. Give in to me,” he repeated again. “I’ll give it right back.”
As before, those few sweet words were enough to take every bit of your control away. The tension gave way, and once again, you were losing yourself around his cock, your body jerking and spasming with great force as you orgasmed. You’d never squirted in your life until now, spraying your juices forcefully against his hips while you came. Even while cumming, he never stopped, fucking you so hard your vision began to blur. You were vaguely aware of the sound of your own screaming. You were vaguely aware of the way your pussy wrapped wonderfully around his cock as it burst, greedily clinging to the thick, creamy ropes of semen that pumped into you again and again. You were vaguely aware of your name leaving his lips, dripping with satisfaction and affection, as you blacked out.
In your last moments of consciousness, you heard his voice echoing in your head. It wasn’t as annoying as you thought it’d be. You’d never complain about doing him favors again.