Dojoshipping Week Day One, Mochi! I Like To Think They Take Breaks And Eat Out For Lunch Or Something

Dojoshipping week day one, mochi! i like to think they take breaks and eat out for lunch or something together a lot. just chat and hang out. bonding over food <3

good luck understanding most or any of this! neighhoot!

piquant

Minors DNI 18+

Pairing: Silverfox!Warden Ingo x Reader

Tags: AFAB!Reader, Slow Build, Age gap (but it's not really obvious), hand fixation, oral fixation, drool, teasing, teasing, TEASING, potty-mouth ingo again the more he comes undone, over stimulation, 69

Notes: This is a direct sequel to handsy. It is not necessary to read the previous fic, but it is recommended! I'd also like to thank @omophorion for requesting this and sharing their big brain ideas for how this was going to go (and for the Warden Ingo hand food tskr tskr tskr-)

🍡🍡🍡

Let’s be honest. You’re nervous. Astonishingly nervous.

It’s just that it’s not everyday you get to perform in front of a wide audience. Today, you stood in front a crowd of Galaxy Corp’s finest Expeditionists to showcase your talents in One-On-One Pokémon Battling. You humbly admitted that it was not your forte, you only had a good basic grasp on it - the weaknesses and strengths of each Pokémon, the importance of how balanced their move sets should be and to take advantage of boosting their best stats according to their Nature. All Elementary stuff. At least, you guessed you learned that kind of stuff in Elementary.

And what better opponent to face than the local Pearl Warden, Ingo? The other resident Faller who had taken temporary lodging in Jubilife to assist Zisu at managing the Training Grounds. Ever since he volunteered, the improvements from the Galaxy staff in handling their Partner Pokémon have risen a good deal. Ingo took great pride and joy in conducting challenges for those who wished to hone their skills, giving evaluations afterward and seeing the burning determination in the youngsters eyes to return for training the next day.

Yes.

Definitely not because at the end of the day, he’d seek you out. To quietly slip into your dorm. For you to greet him demurely with mugs of hot green tea at the table that the two of you would never touch for the remainder of the night. The gentle press of his soft lips against the back of your hand or how his lashes rested on his cheeks before fluttering open to reveal his piercing white gaze to meet yours. How his palms slid down your back as he pulled you closer still, the dips and the curves that shaped you, etched into his memory. The nights at Jubilife were warm with his company, but alas, Ingo cannot be seen spending the entire night with you if the both of you wanted to keep your reputations fairly respected.

Rumors spread like embers here in the village and it seems that the hottest news here was that a certain Warden had begun courting you. Which was fine and it was true, you both do have a special interest for each other and you're both seen frequently having lunch together at Beni's cafeteria. It’s just that nobody needs to know you succumb to a scandalous amount of fucking together. Given how Hisui conducts itself with such a strict, reserved culture, it was imperative that no one knows how often you two give into your desires before tying the knot.

So you played the role. Two Fallers bonding over a lost past, a young woman who had melted the heart of the withdrawn and stoical man of the mountains. (If only others knew that Ingo was not as closed off as they thought he was.)

Therefore, with your given chemistry, it made sense when Zisu and Cyllene put this event together. Not only were your skills as Battlers commendable but also because they knew you two would be in sync with each other to show the very best of your abilities. They just didn’t factor in that you might have a bit of performance anxiety.

“Your talent in Pokémon training is very strong,” Ingo reassured you before the battle while the crowd of Galaxy members bunched together into groups. “I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.”

You wrung the hem of your tunic like a wet towel. “But what if I–”

“Worrying about possibilities that have not happened will do you no good,” the Warden stopped you before you brought forth a string of imaginary dilemmas. He watched you turn to the ever-growing audience of our fellow peers. You recognized some of them, they waved at your direction and some gave you a thumbs up in encouragement, but it did little to soothe your butterflies.

Ingo hummed. “I have an idea.”

You looked over to him. “What is it?”

“It’s perfectly simple,” The corners of his lips turned up in a small, muted smile. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

You gave him a pointed stare. “That’s it?” you questioned him. “I’ll still be able to see them in the corner of my vision or something.”

Ingo dipped his hands in the pockets of his coat, his right hand fished for something that he kept hidden from view. “Oh, my dear, I’m confident that you’ll forget they’re even there.”

Before you could get a word in, Zisu came up to the front of the dojo to gather the attention of the audience with her loud, commanding voice. Formal introductions were made, as well as a brief review and the basic etiquette in sparring between team-mates. Once two or three questions were answered, you and Ingo took your places on the wide, dusty training field. Just as Zisu stationed herself at the side as a referee, Ingo brought out something from his pockets.

A pair of clean, white cotton gloves.

While the red-haired Dojo Mistress went over the conditions and rules of the battle that will take place, Ingo took his sweet, sweet time tugging on the gloves over his worn, weathered hands. He had gotten this particular pair from the local Clothier. Anthe had just procured a few things from abroad after a bit of trading with some merchants and something about these gloves just felt natural to purchase. He pulled at the hem of his new hand wear, making sure the cloth was snug with a wiggle of his fingers. Ingo looked up at you to find you in a trance-like state, your pupils dilated, and your lips parted slightly, bewitched with this new addition to his uniform.

That's right.

You had a thing for his hands.

It was something you've been embarrassed about for the longest time, having such an obscene attraction for Ingo's hands. You never realized it until you first met him, but you always judged one's first impressions from their handshake. Laventon's were pudgy and soft from staying indoors for his research the majority of the time. Adaman's were firm, his greeting quick and almost abrupt, a no-nonsense leader who wastes no time. Melli's were unbelievably silky smooth when he finally allowed you the honor to shake hands with him. You later learned where he regularly gets his manicure done.

And then there was Ingo.

The first time you shook hands with him, it felt as though a puzzle piece of your former self was restored. You were suddenly reminded how obsessed you can be over a person's hands you're attracted to. And that person just so happened to be the Sneasler Warden. Living in the mountains and the harsh cold conditions of Pearl Clan, Ingo's hands have become weathered and calloused. His palms were wide, and his grip was strong enough to pull him up the face of a mountain with unassuming strength. Yet when he took your hand in his for the first time, his touch was featherlight as if he held something precious in value and his hold around you was homely.

The sexual tension afterwards drove you mad for days, the two of you constantly plaguing each other's thoughts, and then one fateful day, he offered you something you couldn't refuse; a massage for your sore back after weeks upon weeks of hard expedition work. A chance for his hands to roam along your tired body and more. Indeed, more happened afterward, which explains why you both began seeing each other more often. You both were happy, you both were content, but god does the man sure love to tease.

Ingo smirked. You really were not as subtle as you thought with your ogling. You were practically drooling for him on stage. He raised a finger to his chin and tapped it. The sight made you immediately snap your mouth closed before you turned to look away from him, red in the face.

"Ready?" Zisu suddenly bellowed. You straightened up, your right hand searching your belt for the first Pokéball to throw.

Battle Start!

"Let's go, Infernape!" Summoned in a beam of red light, a blur of white fur and scarlet pelt somersaulted out of its containment, landing on the sandy floor with a proud shriek. Infernape, bounced on the spot with his fists drumming the dust beneath him with a hearty whoop before glancing back at you with a spirited grin.

"Be ready to depart, Machamp!" Ingo called forth his own partner, tossing the Pokéball forward with casual confidence. The four-armed butch of a beast stomped out from the beam of light, punching her multiple fists together with an enthusiastic smirk of her own. 

So it was going to be a Fighting-type match, wasn't it? Already Ingo was at a disadvantage, given your Pokémon's Primary Fire-typing and his Machamp's movesets. With a quick readjustment of his cap, Ingo pointed forwards so quickly, he could slice through the air with his index finger. You openly gawked and Ingo had to suppress a chuckle when he gave the first command. "Begin with Ice Punch! Aim for the navel!"

With little need to prepare, Machamp launched herself like a rocket, bringing her fist back which quickly surrounded itself with freezing molecules of water.

"Dodge it!" You blurted out before it was too late. Infernape jumped out of the way and you barreled to the side as well, just in time for Machamp to swing down onto the ground, shards of ice scattering from the impact. As soon as you heard Infernape land on its feet again, you issued your next command with growing confidence. "Infernape, use Swords Dance!"

"Eeen een!" He shrieked with a frenzy as he hopped and taunted around the Machamp, his wide, navy blue feet circling around his opponent in a heated battle dance. Power surged within its veins before you shouted your next order. 

“Overtake your opponent with Agile-Style, Mach Punch!”

"Ee ee!" Infernape twisted his body at hyper speed that could not possibly be avoided, but Ingo was sharper.

"Counter it with Close Combat!" He immediately conducted with a swing of his right arm and Machamp connected Infernape's punch with a fury of her own swings. The contact between the two Pokémon sounded across the village like a thunderclap, the force sending shock waves across the crowd as they exchanged blows.

The two Fighting-types were quick to back off from each other, both significantly weakened from each other's attacks. You bit your lip. If you can just get Infernape to do another Sword Dance, you might have this match in the bag–

"Machamp, Full speed ahead with another Close Combat!"

You staggered backward with widened eyes. Again? That doesn't make any sense, he'll leave himself vulnerable early in the match! "Flare Blitz!" You squeaked unthinkingly in the midst of your panic, anything to counter the next brutal rain of punches. Infernape gave a high-pitched screech, flashing his long fangs and gums before he suddenly combust into flames, meeting Machamp in the middle once more to clash fists.

The impact was more explosive than the last, the battlefield ignited with a blaze that left both Pokémon severely burned. Sparks of embers flew to both sides, and a bit caught onto Ingo's gloves.

"Ingo–!"

Before you could worry, Ingo had already put it out with a swish of his hand. Fortunately, he was uninjured. His clean, white glove however, had been singed, the back of the palm charred and ruined. You decided you'd buy a new pair for him to replace it and–

Your jaw dropped when Ingo suddenly brought the glove to his mouth. His teeth bit gently on the tip of his middle finger, the cloth stretching as he pulled away. Slowly and deliberately, he stripped himself with the professionalism of a burlesque king right there for you and all to see.

In that small window of time, nothing else registered to you. The world could be burning down into ashes and an Alpha Pokémon could be trampling it all to the ground, yet you wouldn't even care. The sight of the soft, white fabric peeling so intimately from the Warden's skin, revealing his tanned complexion underneath while he bared his teeth at you.. how could you not ogle so disrespectfully?

At that moment, you realized what Ingo meant that you'll be quick to forget that you even had an audience. And at that very same moment, you were the one who was open and vulnerable.

Infernape staggered backwards, the last of his flames from the Flare Blitz attack licked at his cheek, the recoil from setting himself on fire was clear. With his bare hand, Ingo pointed at your Pokémon once more.

"Finish this!" Ingo thundered. "This is your final stop. Machamp, Strong-Style Bullet Punch!"

A guaranteed first-turn move even after sacrificing speed for power. As if Ingo had pulled the trigger of a gun, there was no time to shout out an order once Machamp swung her fists at your Infernape square into his face. A critical uppercut to the nose, Infernape was sent flying across the dusty, burnt field before landing with a dull thud beside you. Fainted.

An awe of silence settles amongst the crowd, the warmth of the blazes from the match slowly dissipating. All of them still stupidly unaware of the flames that continued to burn your cheeks from Ingo's debauched display from earlier.

"Match over!" Zisu barked from the side. "Warden Ingo wins!"

A cheer resounded from the crowd and an applause rippled before Ingo recalled his Machamp back into her Pokéball. The beam of light reminds you to do the same for your poor Infernape and to stop staring at the Warden's hands already before someone notices. As soon as Infernape was tucked back in his containment, Ingo was suddenly right in front of you. With a knowing smile, he reaches his hand out for a handshake. For, you know. Sportsmanship.

The flush on your cheeks deepen. Anyone from the crowd could mistake it for embarrassment or frustration from losing, but honestly, the two of you knew better.  You held your hand out, your fingers taking his grip in yours and he shook you the same way he did when you first met.

Only this time his thumb suggestively brushes over the back of your palm.

Your lips part with a shock, forming various shapes with your mouth while a complacent smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Before you could get a word edgewise, Ingo was already pulling away to greet the crowd of expeditionists who had questions about the battle that took place.

___

Zisu had treated you to some tea at Beni's cafeteria before she needed to go run some errands. A few of your peers stopped by to say hello and to compliment you for your performance during the match, even if you lost. You still put up a pretty good fight! And to be able to handle a Pokémon as quick-tempered as an Infernape? They had nothing but praises for you. The conversation with them flowed until Ingo made his appearance once again.

"That was an exciting afternoon, wasn't it?" He asked as he quietly set something on the table. It looked like a bento box wrapped in cloth for easy transport. Your co-workers gave a respectable bow to him before scuttling away, exchanging cheeky glances and giggles like school girls. Enjoy your alone time with your suitor, is what it felt like they were saying.

"What do you have here?" You asked, tugging lightly at the green patterned cloth Ingo brought with him. He lifted it up to show you its weightiness.

"Miss Cyllene's gratitude to us for taking part in the lecture," he explained partly. “A collection of wagashi she acquired from the Ginkgo merchants. I hear they obtained these from the neighboring region."

"Oh!" Your eyebrows rose. Wagashi was a rare treat here, knowing how time intensive they can be when making them. Considering how these hailed from a whole other country too made it extra special. "That's nice of her. Wanna have them at my place?"

Ingo looked down at you, his pale glowing eyes glinted from the shadow of his hat. "Actually," he divulged slowly. "I was thinking about us having them at my place."

Oh.

You grip the mug of tea in your hand. Warmth seeped up to your neck and flooded across your cheeks. Ingo watched how you bit your bottom lip with telling keenness from the implication of his invitation, the look in his eyes darkening with an unreadable expression.

“It’s not too much trouble for you, is it?” Ingo tilted his head to the right inquisitively with feigned innocence for the eavesdropping passersby. Hidden from all was the small smile that traced his lips, one that hid ulterior motives that you are all too aware about.

You gave the mug of tea one last swig. “I’m looking forward to it,” your attempt to reply coolly was ruined by how stammered so clumsily. A hand was offered to you then, palm facing up to reveal the deep lines that ran across it, the veins of his slender wrist peeked from his long, dark, tattered sleeves. The temperature in your ears grew by several more degrees.

“Then shall we depart from this station?” With one hand carrying the generous bento of sweets and his other with your hand, he walked you gently out of Jubilife to the Highlands beyond.

He was burning.

___

Your lips were met with his own the minute you stepped into his yurt, his one hand quick to toss away his hat from his head and to snake around your waist.

“Fuck–”

“Language,” His whispers melted against your tongue as he gave you a firm squeeze down your hip. Right, you remembered, Ingo hasn’t cut loose yet. He was still in control as he crowded you against the locked door of his quiet, secluded home, his eyes half-lidded just so he could watch you shiver in his arms as he swirled his tongue around yours. Just as your hand climbed up to his shoulders to bring him closer, he suddenly pulls away. A thread of thick saliva bridges the gap between the two of you. Ingo licks his lips before lifting the bento box in his hands.

“Aren’t you curious about these?”

You blinked.

“Because I am,” he continued, removing his shoes from his feet, leaving them by the door to make his way to the small dining table that rested on the tatami mats. He shirked off his coat, laying it on a small chest where he kept his belonging before he stationed himself at one of the small, dark cushions at the table. He pats on one of them for you to take a seat. “Come here.”

In your trance, you followed him to the table, your legs crumpling underneath you as you sank into the cushion. Beside you, Ingo delicately unwrapped the cloth that wrapped around the dark, polished surface of the bento box. The lid was pried open with a crisp click to reveal six meticulously shaped wagashi sweets you’ve ever laid eyes on, all in different shapes and flavors. One of them was wrapped with soft mochi, concealing the sweet red bean paste within in the shape of a Cheri Blossom flower. There was one that resembled a fallen leaf in autumn, brilliantly red and orange and gold.

The two of you admired them for a moment before Ingo reached in to pluck one up between his thumb and index finger. Inspired by the Cherubi, this one was round with a striking pink mochi surrounding it, contrasted with the edible forest-green sweet-bean stem. He pulls the ‘berry’ part of the wagashi, before holding it up to you. You raised a hand up to take it, but Ingo leans back.

“Open your mouth.”

You widened your eyes. “I can feed mysel–”

“Open your mouth,” Ingo repeats steadily, his pale mercury gaze boring into you.

Before you could say anything, Ingo takes your chin with his other hand and gently pries your jaw apart. “You certainly had no problem leaving it open earlier during our match,” he smirked, his thumb rubbing over the soft curve of your chin. Waves of heat washed over your cheeks with your mouth agape for him to see. You’re still fully dressed, yet you feel so defenseless. You watch with your jaws dropped for him as he takes half a bite of the mochi, savoring the flavors and the texture before bringing the other half to you.

Although the two of you have frenched countless times at this point, there was still something racy about indirect kisses like these. He releases you once the wagashi was placed between your teeth. You chewed with your mouth closed, your jaw working on the soft, bouncy texture of the mochi skin, giving way for the burst of cherry-flavored filling that spreads across your tongue. It tasted tart and sweet, like summer. All the while, Ingo watches you intently with the same unreadable expression you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he asked taking another wagashi between his fingers. It looked like a piece of Combee Honeycomb.

You nodded. “Yes, it’s..” your voice trailed off when Ingo raises it to your mouth again. “It’s good.”

Before you could say anything more, he presses the mochi against your lips. You part them, giving way for the wagashi to be fed to you. It was small enough to take in one bite, but you weren’t expecting Ingo to press on until his thumb glided over your bottom row of teeth. You whimpered as his digit felt your warm, wet mouth, swiping against the tip of your tongue to capture the moisture there before languidly tugging at your bottom lip softly.

He pulled away, resting his elbow against the table, his hand cupping his cheek, his eyes never once left you to watch you chew on the second treat. You were oh so delightfully red in the face, still in surprise, still so ignorant about how playing with your mouth left him harder than a rock. He arched a brow when your eyes suddenly widened and a dribble of thick, golden goo oozed from the edge of your lips. Ingo immediately caught the hand you meant to use to cover your mouth when your tongue darted out to catch the stray liquid and your cheeks went ablaze.

“Ingo..?” you mewled after you swallowed down the honey-stuffed mochi.

He lets go of you. “Ready for the next one?”

How many was he planning on feeding you? You gulped. Maybe just one more.

“Let’s make it a surprise,” Ingo scanned the remaining wagashi in the box. “Close your eyes and say ‘ahh’.”

Sinnoh above, you huffed, but you did as you were told. Your mouth parts for him with a soft, “Ahh.”

There was a pause. “Stick your tongue out more, please.”

Your brows furrowed with shame but you complied, your wriggling pink tongue, still sticky with honey, reached out as far as it could.

“Hm,” Ingo hummed raptly. “I see you have your ticket.”

You sat there dumbly. What’s he on about this time?

You can feel Ingo lean closer to you with how his body heat seeped into yours, how his octave voice felt intimate in your ear. “Allow me to give a thorough check before you can board this car.”

With gentle digits, he captures your tongue between the gaps of his fingers. Your eyes flew open with a jolt. “Nngh?!” You try to turn away, but Ingo uses his other free hand to cup your cheek, to hold you steady. The rigid frown on his lips had parted from each other, his breathing increasingly heavy as he ran his fingers slowly up and down your tongue, massaging it between his digits. The deeper he reached into your mouth to trace the length of the fleshy, slimy muscle, the more you were forced to widen your jaw for him to see everything. He peered into you, studying how your pearly whites were organized perfectly, protruding from your pink gums. The rib-like walls of your upper mouth, the twitching of your uvula. 

“So, so beautiful,” he murmured under his breath.

“Nngoh..” Was all you could muster before a soft yelp ripped from your throat when the flood gates at the bottom of your mouth broke.

You began to drool.

Not like earlier on stage when you were gawking at him, no. You were literally slobbering all over the damn place.

You really tried to turn away this time, to clean up, or anything before you could stain the cushions or Ingo’s lavender tunic. But his strong hands kept a firm grip on you. “Stay still,” he mumbled, the hand that cupped your cheek trailed down slowly to your shoulders, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles on your collarbone. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”

Let it all out?! You whine like a dog as globs upon globs of thick, honeyed saliva coated his hand, dripped down messily on his black, thermal sleeves and everywhere on the tatami mats and cushions. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your entire body up in flames from filthy, slutty shame at this new sensation. Has Ingo always been into this, whatever this was? As soon as his entire palm was coated in your viscosity, he pulled away again, relieving you. You took this time to catch your breath, to wipe away the–

“Be a good girl and don’t wipe it off,” came Ingo’s firm command before you could even try. You dropped your wrist back to your lap in defeat and all you could do was gape at how Ingo examined his hand before.. Before putting it close to his face..

Bringing it to his mouth.

“I-Ingo..?” You stammered. “What are you..?”

His glowing gaze throws a glance at you, a faint, cheeky smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The kind that tells you that he was up to something again. His tongue peeks out between his lips.

A wheeze slips out of you, your hands gripping your trousers in horror when he brings his digits closer to himself.

To give his own fingers a lick.

“Ingo–” you flustered, goosebumps running up your neck and shoulders and to your scalp. What was he doing?! Why does he make it look so lewd?! So good?!

“Mm,” Ingo appraised your flavor bringing his wrist to his lips this time to catch the droplets of your essence escaping there. “I must say my compliments to the chef.”

You were reeling as he licked his lips once more, savoring your taste, bringing his hand - his handsome, windswept hands with those long, thick fingers to you once more. “Aren’t we a messy eater, though?” he crooned innocently. “Won’t you help me clean up, my dear?”

His fingers slipped between your lips and you readily take them into your mouth once more. This time, you clamped around him, carefully not to bite down with your teeth, and suckled him tenderly. Your hands rose to hold his hand and his wrist in place, feeling the sliminess of your drool coated there against your palms.

The hairs at the back of Ingo’s neck stood on end, his nerves massaging his scalp from the heated tightness of your small mouth sent his eyes rolling backward. His head tilts backward by an inch, the goatee upon his chin pointed high before he willed himself to straighten back up. He sees you studying him with heavy eyelids, sees you slowly understanding the picture.

Understanding his own special tastes.

Testing your hypothesis, you open your mouth, revealing how the sticky strings of drool that weaved between his fingers. His mouth parts, almost mimicking yours when your tongue slips between them, the tip licking at the interdigits that bridged them together. You put on a show for him with how your tongue danced across his skin before finally taking him down to the knuckle. The shiver that took hold of his being reverberated to the tips of his fingers and his chest heaves as a contented sigh escapes his lips. The ache in his groin tightened, his dark trousers suddenly a size too tight.

Ingo pulls away again, groaning at the cold air that seized him. The whine of protest you made only made his manhood twitch upwards in attention. “I’ve underestimated your mouth,” Ingo grunts as he pushes himself up. You would’ve followed him, had he not kept the hand on your shoulder to make sure you hold your place, your nose pointing directly at the zipper of his trouser. He unbuttons himself, then pauses. “I’d like to see how you’ll fare with this,” A wide palm, soaked in your drool, combs through your hair. “Take me out, my dear.”

Your hands crept up but he tuts at you. He stares down his nose, down at you at his feet.

“Use your pretty little mouth for your Warden.”

With teeth clenched, you stared back up at him, mortified and humiliated and incredibly, achingly aroused. Your lips, still coated in your saliva, parted to take the small, silver handle of the zipper. Your nose nuzzled against him, your chin brushed against the crotch of his pants and Ingo lets out a low, carnal purr as you carefully dragged the zipper down with a dip of your head. You can smell the heady alkaline scent of his pre-cum and sweat that stained his boxers, all the while Ingo continuously stroked and played with your hair, his touch loving, encouraging, praising.

But someone as accommodating as Ingo can also grow impatient. As soon as the zipper was lowered, Ingo assisted you with his boxers, tugging them down with his thumbs. His shaft stood high and proud, bouncing slightly from how quickly it was freed from its cramped confinements, the bulbous head pink and pulsing with need. Ingo gave it a few pumps, the sight of you entranced by him was almost enough to tempt him to paint your face, but no. No, he was always the type to bide his time. He presses the slick tip against your lips, the fourth treat you’ll have for today. His brows rose when you dipped your lips lower, seems like you had other plans. Apparently, your mother always taught you to savor your food.

Itadakimasu.

He lets out a long, deep moan that shook him from his core at the first kiss you planted on his balls, heavy with his seed. Then up along his reddened length with the same tenderness, the same adoration that he showed you with his touches, kiss after kiss. Your eyes flitted between his cock and back up to his features, how he’d close his eyes with brows skewed together in ecstasy, holding himself back from bursting then and there.

“Safety check,” you suddenly simpered beneath him. “How are you feeling?” You mimicked his intonation that day. The day he first took you on his futon. When he grinds his teeth in silence, you closed your mouth around the bundle of nerves at his tip to slip your tongue out for a taste. The pre-cum on your lips tasted metallic, tasted savory, tasted like Ingo.

“Good– oh, bravo–” He gasped, chest heaving as he sucked in gulps of air. “Superfuckingbravo, my dear girl, oh GOD–” His train of thought was cut off just like that when you slowly engulfed him, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your hot, wet mouth. Every fiber in Ingo’s being hummed with life, threatening to explode, crash and burn as you sank deeper and deeper down the tightness of your throat. “God, you’re tight!” His voice strained, and his hip makes a single, shuddering buck. Your whimpers were muffled, breathing was slightly difficult when you felt this full and your nose buried against his silky, silver pubes.

Then you began to bob your head. In and out, in and out at a slow and comfortable pace, the calm before the storm. Your hands fluttered to his thighs for support while Ingo cupped the underside of your chin while the other stayed vigilantly in your hair, his fingers entwining around the strands. The yurt was soon filled with the guttural howls he could never fully unleash at your dorm, the salacious wet slaps of his pre-cum and your drool that dribbled down your chin against his balls and the occasional crude slurp that escaped from the vacuum of your whorish mouth that clamped around his girth.

“Fuck,” Ingo growled, the hand in your hair suddenly tightening into a fist, effectively holding you in place. With a flex of his hips, he slams himself down your throat, fucking your throat with his flesh, full steam ahead. Your gag reflex reared its ugly head but you force it down, steadying your breathing through your nostrils and you steeled yourself by holding on to his dark trousers. Your ears tingled at the profane mantra he whispered, words that no one would dare imagine that the Warden would ever utter. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck– Oh, my dear, darling–” 

“Fmmph–”

“Taking my fucking cock in her harlot of a mouth– Such a good girl, just for me–”

“Nnmmph!”

“God, Sinnoh above, I love how you bite your lip at me– your throat, your tongue, your everything– Ah!”

With a tight jaw, Ingo pulled you away, saliva smothering along his length and down his testes. He wasted no time for either of you to rest, seating himself back down to undo your expedition trousers. You help him out too, wiggling them off before they were tossed unceremoniously to the side. Then he lies on the tatami mats, pulling you close by the wrist to follow him with a guiding hand. 

“Lie down on me,” he instructed you, his voice as syrupy as the honey you drank earlier. You did as you were told, facing him, but he corrects you with a swirl of his index finger in the air. He wants you to turn around. You quivered, your limbs clumsily maneuvered above him until you were face to face with his cock and your ass pointed directly to his face.

“Good girl,” your Warden praised you lowly as he gently conducted you to lower yourself against his nose. “That’s right. Let me take a good look at you.”

You keen when he spreads you apart with his thumbs, exposing the pink, glistening petal-like flesh you hid inside. Ingo quickly licks the pads of two fingers (completely unnecessary given how dewy you were already) before sinking them into your creamy center.

“Ingo, oh god, please,” you whined. You can hear him chuckle at how your thighs trembled like jelly around him and he turns his head to kiss them. Your knees threaten to give, then Ingo spoke up again.

“Don’t let me have all the fun,” he purred to you. His cock, erected and edged from earlier, bobbed up at you in earnest.

Your mouth opened up once more to take him in and he lets out a tremulous sigh. His hips bucked upwards unconsciously, before he willed himself still, allowing you to set the pace for him once more. He assumed wrongly, that you’d start slow again. So when you suddenly continued the savage momentum he fucked with you earlier, he gave a yell.

“Oh, you–” Ingo withdrew his fingers, the grumbling whine around his cock almost staggering him, quickly replacing your complaints with eye-rolling gurgling when he pulls your ass closer to shove his own tongue deep into your slit. 

“Mmmfuh–!” You couldn’t say much, how would you anyway with a mouth full of his fat prick? Your pace stuttered from the vengeful onslaught of the wriggling, slippery muscle that invaded inside your walls, your legs spreading wider and your juices drenching his goatee.

“So warm,” Ingo snarled against you, ripping a cry from your throat when he reached up to thumb your clit. No more teasing from here out. Ingo was a man on a mission and that mission was to make you come so hard that it blows your brains out. “So fucking warm– you taste divine, mmph–” Better than any sweet from across the land, he’d say as he drank you down like he lived in the desert rather than the mountains. Your hips gyrated against his face and he moans at that alone, his cock twitched inside your mouth and his balls clenched, ready to spill.

The grip you had on his legs tell him that you were close too.

“Come in my mouth,” Ingo babbled between your legs, his thumb unyielding against your erect, pink nub. “Come in my mouth, my dear, you can do it–”

When your entire being stilled as pleasure overtook you, numbing your mind, your thoughts, you let out a cry of frustration when you couldn’t continue your own ministrations. Ingo once again assisted you, pistoning his hips upward to the point his balls slapped against your bruised lips.

“Going to drink every drop from you,” Ingo panted as he sucked on the flesh of your folds in his mouth, pulling and pushing them with feverish kisses. “So make sure you drink–”

His eyes shut tight, his voice growing tight in his throat. The image of his seed flooding down your throat drove him to the ceiling.

“Every drop–”

You let out another cry as you tip over your edge, how his tongue assaulted your flesh, the vulgar things he uttered inside you and his how he was still mercilessly strumming your clit like a man gone mad.

“From me–!!”

Like a bowstring that’s been stretched too far, your core disintegrates with a snap and your knees buckled. Your entire body convulsed as you were violently coming undone. All you could see was pale, pale white like the snow-capped mountains of the Highlands, like the glint in his striking eyes before giving in to sit squarely on your Warden’s face, limp and boneless.

“MmMFUCK–” Ingo devoured your clenching, spurting walls with knotted brows, his toes curling beneath him as his hips gave one final thrust upwards as high as it could go up your throat before dousing your mouth with his white-hot spent. You almost coughed, but Ingo knew you’d be good for him, to make sure you wouldn’t dare let a single leak escape from your tightening lips.

And as you faithfully swallowed him, the two of you floated back down, basking in the light of your matching afterglows. Once his vision returned, Ingo rested the back of his head against the tatami mats, his mouth agape as he swallowed breath after breath to still the hammering heart against his chest, one of his hands lazily running up and down one of your thighs. Meanwhile, you..

You were still sucking on it?!

You were still there. Your lips around his slowly shrinking shaft. Perhaps you were waiting for it to finally slip out of your mouth. Or perhaps you–

“Wait–” Ingo threw his head back, his back arched up so high at the over stimulation that it could fix his posture, his nerves shooting up from his core and to the top of his skull. “Oh dear– Wait, slow down, brake–!!!”

Your lips tortuously suckled on him, your tongue running along the tender muscle while you pulled away sluggishly. “My turn,” you laughed weakly at how he quickly hardened from the whimsical note in your voice despite having just climaxed. Had all the fucking around you did with him trained your endurance? Or was it the adrenaline from your orgasm? He groans as you pulled away to hover above him again, repositioning yourself so that you now straddle his hips, facing him. If there really was a god here in Hisui, she’d look like you.

“I’m sure I didn’t travel all the way here to be treated to sweets,” your grin lopsided as you stared down at him. What in the world got you so riled up? You would never tell him. “Let me handle you this time.”

Ingo covered his mouth with one of his hands, the other reached out to intertwine with yours. You bent down by the waist to meet your lips with his, tasting and savoring each other with a synchronized groan as you took him in again. 

Sweet Sinnoh above, he will never be the same.

this will happen in the dlc right

baby arc bigger. the arcs/wheel will connect where they typically do, eventually, but this is a not quite mature design. i like to roll w "pla protag is dppt protag" bc i think it is fun, and this arceus went with akari when she went back to the future. they are wearing akari/dawns survey scarf :)

arceus and his favourite and his unfavourite