Chapter 96: Patricia Trains
The practice fields stretched empty in the gray predawn light.
Patricia stood alone at the edge of Field Seven, her breath misting in the cold air. The stadium loomed behind her—a dark silhouette against the lightening sky, its spires catching the first hints of gold. Somewhere inside, the League officials were preparing for the opening round. Somewhere inside, Briv was probably still asleep, tangled in sheets, dreaming of battles.
She hadn't slept.
She'd tried. She'd lain in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city. But her mind wouldn't quiet. It kept circling back to the same thoughts—the League, the pressure, the weight of expectation. Everyone expected her to do well. Everyone expected her to win.
She was tired of expectations.
So she'd gotten up.
She'd pulled on her training clothes—black leggings, a fitted blue jacket, her hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She'd grabbed her bag, her pokéballs, and she'd slipped out of the athlete's village without waking anyone.
Now she stood on the field, alone.
The silence was nice.
She needed silence.
---
She released Roselia.
The Grass type materialized in a flash of light, its slender body gleaming under the pale sky. It looked around the empty field, then up at Patricia. Its red and blue roses tilted—a question.
"Training," Patricia said. "We're training."
Roselia nodded.
It didn't ask why they were training before dawn.
It didn't need to.
---
They started with basics.
Stun Spore. Poison Powder. Leech Seed. Roselia executed each attack with precise, practiced movements—its roses glowing, its body swaying in an elegant dance. The powders drifted through the air, settling on training dummies, coating them in shimmering particles.
Patricia watched.
"Good. Again."
Roselia repeated the sequence.
"Faster."
Again.
"Tighter."
Again.
---
The sun rose slowly.
The field transformed—shadows retreating, colors sharpening, the gray giving way to gold. In the distance, Patricia heard the first sounds of the city waking up—vehicles, voices, the clatter of construction. The League was coming alive.
She ignored it.
She focused on Roselia.
---
They moved to offensive drills.
Magical Leaf. Sludge Bomb. Energy Ball. Roselia launched each attack with increasing ferocity—its roses whipping through the air, its body spinning, its eyes burning with concentration.
The training dummies took hit after hit.
They held.
Roselia didn't.
It stumbled after a particularly intense Energy Ball, its body trembling, its breath coming in ragged gasps. It caught itself before it fell, but Patricia saw the weakness.
She called a halt.
"Break."
Roselia collapsed onto the grass.
Patricia knelt beside it.
"You're pushing too hard."
Roselia looked at her.
It shook its head.
"Yes, you are. You're trying to prove something."
Roselia's roses drooped.
Patricia touched its head.
"I know. I feel it too."
---
They sat together in silence.
The sun climbed higher.
The city woke up.
---
"You're strong," Patricia said. "You know that, right?"
Roselia didn't respond.
"You've won battles. Important ones. You've beaten Pokémon twice your size."
Roselia looked at her.
"But you're not satisfied."
The Grass type's eyes flickered.
"You want more. You want to be better. You want to be the best."
Roselia nodded.
Slowly.
Patricia understood.
She felt the same way.
---
She reached into her bag.
Her fingers brushed against the Shiny Stone—the one Zachary had given her yesterday, along with the XP Candy. She'd used the candy on Floatzel. She'd forgotten about the stone.
She pulled it out.
It glowed in her palm—a smooth, iridescent gem that pulsed with soft, shifting light. It was beautiful. It was powerful.
It was for Roselia.
---
She held it up.
Roselia stared.
Its eyes widened.
It knew what it was.
"Zachary gave me this," Patricia said. "He said to use it wisely."
Roselia didn't move.
"But I think I know what to do with it."
---
She held the stone out.
Roselia reached toward it—slowly, reverently, its roses trembling. The moment its petals touched the surface, the stone flared. Light erupted—not just brightness, but color. Every shade of green and red and silver swirled around them, wrapping Roselia in a cocoon of radiance.
Patricia stepped back.
Shielded her eyes.
Watched.
---
The light grew.
It pulsed.
It sang.
A sound filled the field—not quite music, not quite noise, but something in between. Something alive. Roselia's form blurred inside the glow, stretching, shifting, transforming.
The light exploded.
And when it faded—
Roserade stood before her.
---
Patricia stared.
The Pokémon was taller now—much taller, standing with a regal, almost aristocratic bearing. Its body was sleek and elegant, green and white, its arms ending in bouquets of red and blue flowers. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence. Its posture radiated confidence.
It looked at Patricia.
It smiled.
Patricia smiled back.
"Holy shit."
---
Roserade moved.
It was fast—faster than Roselia had ever been. It crossed the distance between them in a blur of green and color, stopping just inches from Patricia. It looked down at her, its flowers swaying gently.
Then it bowed.
A formal, graceful bow.
Patricia laughed.
"Okay, okay—you're beautiful. I get it."
Roserade straightened.
Its expression was smug.
It had earned the right to be smug.
---
They trained for another hour.
Roserade was transformed—not just physically, but in every way that mattered. Its attacks were sharper. Its movements were fluid. Its control was absolute. It launched Petal Dance after Petal Dance, each one more devastating than the last, the petals swirling around it like a storm of blades.
The training dummies didn't stand a chance.
Neither would her opponents.
---
Patricia called a halt.
Roserade stopped immediately—no hesitation, no frustration. It turned to face her, its flowers bobbing.
"Good," Patricia said. "Really good."
Roserade nodded.
"Are you ready?"
Roserade's eyes flashed.
It didn't need to answer.
Patricia felt it.
---
They walked back to the athlete's village together.
The sun was fully up now—bright and warm, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Trainers were emerging from their rooms, stretching, yawning, preparing for the day. The air smelled like coffee and anticipation.
Patricia found Briv sitting on a bench outside her building.
He looked up.
His eyes widened.
"Is that—"
"Roserade," Patricia said.
He stood.
"Holy shit."
"That's what I said."
He walked toward them, his gaze moving over Roserade with obvious appreciation. The Grass type preened under his attention, its flowers tilting coyly.
"When did this happen?"
"An hour ago. I couldn't sleep."
"You evolved her alone?"
"I didn't plan it. It just... happened."
Briv looked at her.
He smiled.
"I'm proud of you."
She felt warmth spread through her chest.
"Thanks."
---
They sat together on the bench.
Roserade stood beside them, watching the courtyard with calm, knowing eyes.
"You okay?" Briv asked.
"Yeah."
"For real?"
She considered the question.
"I think so."
"Thinking about the League?"
"Always."
He took her hand.
"You're going to do great."
She leaned against him.
"You don't know that."
"I know you."
She closed her eyes.
---
The others found them eventually.
Dariana arrived first, her Gallade at her side, her dark eyes bright with excitement. She stopped when she saw Roserade.
"Oh my god."
"Roserade," Patricia said.
"She's gorgeous."
Roserade inclined her head.
A queen acknowledging a subject.
---
Nicola arrived next.
She didn't say anything.
She just looked at Roserade—studied her, analyzed her, cataloged every detail. Her expression was unreadable.
"Congratulations," she said finally.
"Thanks."
Nicola nodded.
She walked away.
Patricia watched her go.
---
Samuel arrived last.
He was carrying his guitar—a battered acoustic thing covered in stickers and scratches. He sat on the grass beside the bench, strummed a few chords, and smiled.
"Roserade," he said. "Beautiful."
"Thanks."
"Powerful?"
"Very."
"Good."
He played a soft melody.
Roserade swayed.
---
The morning passed.
The League was coming.
Patricia felt it—the anticipation, the pressure, the weight. It pressed down on her shoulders, demanding attention.
She pushed it aside.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready to face it yet.
---
She found Nicola in the courtyard.
The other woman was alone—sitting on a low wall, her Magnemite hovering at her shoulder. She was staring at the sky, her expression distant.
Patricia approached.
"Hey."
Nicola looked at her.
"Hey."
Silence.
Patricia sat beside her.
"Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been... off. All morning."
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
Nicola turned to face her.
"What do you want, Patricia?"
"To know what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Bullshit."
---
Silence.
Magnemite hummed.
Nicola looked away.
"I'm not... I'm not like you," she said finally.
"What does that mean?"
"You have Briv. You have Roserade. You have everything."
"I don't have everything."
"You have enough."
Patricia considered that.
"Maybe."
"I don't."
---
Patricia didn't know what to say.
She'd known Nicola for years—had fought beside her, trained with her, watched her grow. They weren't friends, exactly. Not enemies either. Something in between. Something complicated.
But she understood.
She understood the emptiness.
"I have Floatzel," Patricia said. "And Gliscor. And Lopunny. And Cranidos. And Magby. And Roserade."
Nicola looked at her.
"Those are Pokémon."
"They're partners."
"Same thing."
"No. It's not."
---
Nicola didn't respond.
Patricia stood.
"You're stronger than you think, Nicola. You've always been stronger than you think."
She walked away.
---
The afternoon came.
The opening ceremony was hours away.
Patricia returned to her room.
She sat on the bed.
She thought about Roserade.
About the evolution.
About the power she felt coursing through her partner's veins.
She thought about the League.
About winning.
About losing.
She thought about Nicola.
About the emptiness in her eyes.
She thought about Briv.
About the way he'd looked at her when she'd walked into the courtyard.
Proud.
Happy.
Loving.
She smiled.
---
A knock on the door.
She opened it.
Briv stood there.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
She stepped aside.
He entered.
---
He sat on the bed.
She sat beside him.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated.
"Everything."
He took her hand.
"Talk to me."
---
She looked at him.
"I'm scared."
The words came out before she could stop them. She'd been holding them in all day—all week, all month—but now they spilled out like water from a cracked dam.
"I'm scared of losing. I'm scared of winning. I'm scared of what happens after."
Briv squeezed her hand.
"I know."
"You do?"
"Everyone's scared."
"You don't seem scared."
He laughed.
"I'm terrified."
She stared at him.
"Really?"
"Really. I'm terrified of failing. Of proving that last year was a fluke. Of letting everyone down."
"You don't show it."
"I'm good at hiding."
She leaned against him.
"So am I."
---
They sat in silence.
The city hummed outside.
The League waited.
---
"Roserade is beautiful," Briv said.
"She is."
"You trained her well."
"She trained herself."
"That's not true."
Patricia smiled.
"Maybe not."
---
He kissed her.
She kissed him back.
It was gentle—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that said everything without saying anything. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. She leaned into him, her body relaxing against his.
The kiss deepened.
---
He pulled back.
"Patricia."
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happens tomorrow... whatever happens at the League... I'm with you."
She looked at him.
"Me too."
---
He stood.
"I should go. Training."
She nodded.
"Okay."
He walked to the door.
He paused.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"Roserade's going to destroy whoever she faces."
Patricia smiled.
"I know."
---
He left.
She sat on the bed.
She thought about the League.
About Roserade.
About Briv.
She felt lighter.
---
The sun began to set.
The city blazed with color—gold and red and orange, painting the crystal towers in fire. The canals glowed. The bridges hummed. Aethelburg was beautiful.
Patricia stood at her window.
She watched the light fade.
She thought about tomorrow.
About the battles.
About the victories.
About the losses.
She thought about Roserade.
About the power she'd witnessed.
About the transformation she'd caused.
She smiled.
---
They gathered in Dariana's room.
The others were already there—Briv, Samuel, Axel. Nicola sat in the corner, her expression unreadable. Dariana was sprawled on the bed, her Gallade standing guard by the door.
Patricia entered.
Roserade walked beside her.
Everyone turned.
"Wow," Dariana said.
"Yeah," Patricia said.
---
They talked strategy.
They talked opponents.
They talked about everything except what they were feeling.
Patricia listened.
She contributed.
But her mind was elsewhere.
---
She thought about the League.
About the battles to come.
About the trainer she'd become.
About the trainer she still wanted to be.
She thought about Roserade.
About the evolution.
About the power.
She thought about tomorrow.
About winning.
About proving herself.
---
The night deepened.
The others drifted to their rooms.
Patricia stayed.
She sat in the corner, Roserade beside her, and she closed her eyes.
---
The morning would come.
The League would begin.
She would face her first opponent.
She would fight.
She would win.
Or she wouldn't.
Either way—
She was ready.
=====
The courtyard emptied as trainers drifted toward their quarters, their voices fading into the labyrinth of the athlete's village. Lanterns flickered to life along the walkways, casting pools of amber light across the cobblestones. Aethelburg's crystal towers caught the last rays of sun, burning gold before surrendering to the violet dusk.
Nicola didn't go to her room.
She walked.
Her feet carried her through the village, past the dining hall, past the recreation center, past the rows of identical dormitories. Magnemite hovered at her shoulder, its single eye scanning the shadows. The Electric type hummed—a low, questioning vibration.
"I know," Nicola said. "I'm not tired either."
She found the practice fields.
They were empty now—the daytime crowds gone, the training dummies standing silent in the darkness. Floodlights cast harsh white beams across the grass, creating islands of brightness in the surrounding black.
Nicola stepped onto Field Twelve.
She stopped in the center.
Magnemite floated before her, waiting.
---
"Let's train."
The words felt hollow.
She'd been training for months. Years. Every day, every hour, every moment she could steal. She'd pushed her Pokémon harder than anyone—harder than Briv, harder than Patricia, harder than anyone gave her credit for. She'd sacrificed sleep, food, relationships. She'd sacrificed everything.
And for what?
A qualification she'd earned a dozen times over.
A shot at a title she might never win.
A chance to prove herself to people who would never be satisfied.
She shook her head.
"Stop it."
Magnemite tilted.
"Nothing. Let's work."
---
They started with Thunder Shock.
Magnemite's magnets crackled, electricity arcing between them in sharp, controlled bursts. The attacks hit the training dummy dead center—precise, efficient, exactly as Nicola had taught it.
"Good. Again."
Again.
"Faster."
Again.
"Wider spread."
Again.
---
The drills continued.
Thunder Wave. Sonic Boom. Mirror Shot. Magnemite executed each attack with mechanical precision—no wasted movement, no unnecessary flair. It was a machine, and Nicola had built it.
She watched.
She critiqued.
She pushed.
---
An hour passed.
The moon rose—a pale crescent hanging in the star-scattered sky. The air grew colder, sharper. Nicola's breath misted before her face.
She called a halt.
Magnemite drifted lower, its eye dimming slightly. It was tired. She could see it in the sluggishness of its movements, the way its magnets drooped.
"Break," she said.
Magnemite settled onto the grass.
Nicola sat beside it.
---
She stared at the sky.
The stars were bright tonight—thousands of them, scattered across the black like spilled diamonds. She'd never been good at constellations. She'd never had the patience for that kind of wonder.
She'd always been too busy.
Too driven.
Too angry.
---
"Why do I do this?" she asked.
Magnemite looked at her.
"I mean... why? What's the point?"
The Electric type didn't answer.
It couldn't.
"I've been fighting my whole life. Fighting to be noticed. Fighting to be respected. Fighting to be something."
She paused.
"And I'm still not."
---
Silence.
The wind whispered through the grass.
Magnemite hummed.
---
"Briv did it," Nicola said. "He won last year. He proved himself. And everyone still doubts him."
She laughed—a bitter, hollow sound.
"So what chance do I have?"
---
Magnemite moved closer.
Its magnets touched her arm—gently, almost tenderly. A static shock passed between them, sharp but not painful.
Nicola looked at it.
"You're the only one who gets it."
Magnemite's eye flickered.
"You don't care about any of this. You just want to be strong. You want to fight. You want to win."
She paused.
"Maybe that's all that matters."
---
She stood.
"Let's go again."
Magnemite rose.
---
They trained for another hour.
Nicola pushed harder this time—faster commands, sharper corrections, no room for error. Magnemite responded, its attacks growing more powerful, more precise, more devastating. The training dummy shuddered under the assault. Its sensors flickered red, then green, then red again.
"Thunderbolt."
Magnemite charged.
The attack erupted—a massive bolt of electricity that slammed into the dummy and sent it skidding backward. The sensors screamed. The dummy's shield flickered, failed, reformed.
"Good."
Magnemite hummed.
"Again."
---
The second Thunderbolt was stronger.
The third was stronger still.
Nicola watched, her eyes narrowing. Something was happening. Something she didn't understand. Magnemite's body was glowing—not with the light of an attack, but with something deeper. Something internal.
"Stop."
Magnemite didn't stop.
"Magnemite—stop."
The glow intensified.
---
Nicola stepped back.
The light was blinding now—a bright, electric blue that pulsed with raw power. Magnemite's form blurred inside the glow, its shape shifting, stretching, multiplying. Nicola shielded her eyes.
Her heart pounded.
"What the—"
---
The light exploded.
A shockwave ripped across the field, flattening the grass, rattling the training dummies, sending Nicola stumbling backward. She caught herself on a fence post, her vision swimming.
When she looked up—
Magneton.
---
Three Magnemite, fused together.
They hovered in the center of the field, connected by magnetic fields, their combined form crackling with electricity. Each unit had its own eye, its own consciousness—but they moved together, thought together, fought together. A single entity made of three.
Nicola stared.
She couldn't speak.
---
Magneton turned to face her.
All three eyes locked on.
It hummed—a deep, resonant vibration that she felt in her bones.
Nicola stepped forward.
"You evolved."
The words felt ridiculous.
Magneton didn't respond.
It didn't need to.
---
She walked toward it.
Magneton lowered itself, its three units tilting in what might have been curiosity. Nicola reached out—slowly, carefully—and touched its central unit.
The shock was instant.
Electricity surged through her fingers, up her arm, into her chest. It didn't hurt. It was warm. Alive.
Magneton hummed.
Nicola smiled.
It was the first real smile she'd worn in days.
---
"Okay," she said. "Okay."
She pulled her hand back.
"Let's see what you can do."
---
They trained until midnight.
Magneton was transformed—not just physically, but in every way that mattered. Its attacks were three times as powerful. Its coordination was perfect. Its reactions were instantaneous. It launched Thunderbolt after Thunderbolt, each one more devastating than the last, and Nicola felt something she hadn't felt in months.
Hope.
---
She recalled Magneton.
She stood alone on the field.
The moon was high now—bright and silver, casting its pale light across the empty practice grounds. The city hummed in the distance. The League waited.
Nicola closed her eyes.
She thought about tomorrow.
About the battles.
About the opponents.
About everything she'd sacrificed to get here.
She thought about Patricia.
About the pity in her eyes.
About the words she'd said.
You're stronger than you think.
Nicola opened her eyes.
---
"Maybe," she whispered.
She walked back to her room.
---
The door clicked open.
The room was dark—just the faint glow of the city filtering through the curtains, just the hum of the ventilation system. Nicola stepped inside, her body heavy with exhaustion.
She didn't turn on the lights.
She didn't need to.
She knew this room. She knew every corner, every shadow, every silence.
She sat on the bed.
Magneton's pokéball rested in her palm—cold, metallic, alive.
She stared at it.
---
A knock on the door.
Nicola's head snapped up.
"Who is it?"
Silence.
Then—
"Briv."
Her heart stopped.
---
She opened the door.
He stood in the hallway, his brown hair disheveled, his eyes tired. He was wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants—casual clothes, the kind he wore when he couldn't sleep.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
She stepped aside.
---
He entered.
The door closed behind him.
---
Silence.
Nicola stood by the window.
Briv stood by the bed.
The space between them felt like miles.
---
"You evolved Magnemite," he said.
She looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Patricia told me. She saw you training."
"Of course she did."
---
Silence.
Briv sat on the edge of the bed.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"Is it... is it Magneton now?"
"Yeah."
"That's huge."
"I know."
---
He looked at her.
She looked away.
---
"You okay?" he asked.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because you're not."
She turned to face him.
"What do you want, Briv?"
"I want to know what's wrong."
---
"Nothing's wrong."
"Bullshit."
---
She laughed—cold and sharp.
"You sound like Patricia."
"Maybe she's right."
"Maybe she's not."
---
Silence.
The city hummed.
The night deepened.
---
"I'm tired," Nicola said.
"I know."
"I'm tired of pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That I'm okay. That I'm fine. That everything is fucking perfect."
She stepped toward him.
"I'm tired of watching you and Patricia play house. I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything. I'm tired of being the one who's always on the outside."
Briv stood.
"Nicola—"
"Don't."
She held up her hand.
"Don't tell me you understand. Don't tell me it's complicated. Don't tell me any of the things you always tell me."
---
He stopped.
She stared at him.
Her chest heaved.
---
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"I wanted to check on you."
"Why?"
"Because I care."
---
She laughed.
"You care."
"Yes."
"You care about me."
"Yes."
"Then why?"
"Why what?"
---
She stepped closer.
"Why won't you just... be with me?"
The words hung in the air.
Briv stared at her.
"Nicola..."
"I'm not asking for forever. I'm not asking for a relationship. I'm not asking for anything except what we already have."
She paused.
"Except more of it."
---
Silence.
Briv's jaw tightened.
"You know why."
"No. I don't."
"I'm with Patricia."
"I know."
"Then why are you—"
"Because she's not enough!"
---
The words exploded from her.
Briv froze.
Nicola's eyes burned.
"She's not enough," she repeated. "She's not enough for you. And you know it."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie to me."
---
Briv stared at her.
His chest heaved.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about."
She stepped closer.
"I've been watching you. Both of you. The way you look at each other. The way you touch each other. The way you pretend everything is perfect."
She laughed.
"It's not perfect. It's never been perfect."
---
Briv's hands clenched.
"You don't get to say that."
"Why not? Because I'm the other woman?"
"Because you don't know—"
"I know everything."
---
She was close now—close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to smell the soap on his skin. She looked up at him, her brown eyes blazing.
"I know you want me."
His breath caught.
"I know you think about it. I know you dream about it. I know you wake up hard and think about my ass and wish you were buried inside me."
"Nicola—"
"I know."
---
He grabbed her.
His hands closed around her arms—firm, demanding, desperate.
She didn't resist.
---
"You don't know anything," he said.
His voice was rough.
"Then prove it."
---
He kissed her.
Not gently.
Not sweetly.
He kissed her like he was starving.
---
She responded in kind.
Her hands tangled in his hair. Her body pressed against him. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, tasting, claiming, demanding. He groaned—a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her chest.
She pulled back.
"Fuck me."
---
He stared at her.
His eyes were dark.
"Say it again."
"Fuck me."
---
He lifted her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her arms circled his neck. He carried her to the bed and threw her onto the mattress.
She bounced.
She laughed.
"Come here."
---
He didn't need to be told twice.
---
He crawled onto the bed, his body covering hers. His lips found her neck—biting, sucking, marking. She gasped, her head falling back, her fingers clutching the sheets.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He didn't respond.
His hands moved to her shirt.
---
He tore it off.
Buttons scattered across the floor. She didn't care. She reached for his shirt and yanked it over his head. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving red trails on his skin.
He hissed.
"Bitch."
"You love it."
---
He grabbed her breasts.
His hands were rough—kneading, squeezing, thumbing her nipples until they were hard and aching. She arched into him, moaning, her body demanding more.
"Bite them."
He did.
His teeth closed around her nipple—sharp, sudden, perfect. She cried out, her back bowing off the mattress.
"Again."
He bit harder.
She screamed.
---
He worked his way down her body.
Kissing. Licking. Biting. Her stomach. Her hips. The waistband of her shorts. He grabbed the fabric and pulled them down her legs—taking her underwear with them.
She was naked now.
Completely.
Completely exposed.
Completely his.
---
He stared at her.
His eyes moved over her body—her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, the wet heat between them. She spread her legs, giving him a full view.
"See something you like?"
He didn't answer.
He just lowered his head.
---
His tongue touched her clit.
She bucked.
"Fuck—"
He licked again.
Slower this time.
Her hands flew to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. She pulled him closer, urging him on.
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
---
His tongue worked her clit—circles, patterns, pressure. His fingers found her entrance, pushing inside, curling, stroking. She was dripping. She was burning. She was coming apart at the seams.
"Briv—"
He added a second finger.
She gasped.
"Briv—fuck—"
He moved faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
---
She came.
Her body convulsed. Her thighs clamped around his head. Her screams filled the room—raw and uncontrolled and utterly shameless. He didn't stop. He kept licking, kept fingering, kept pushing her through wave after wave of pleasure until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel.
---
Finally, she pushed him away.
"Stop," she gasped. "Stop."
He pulled back.
His face was wet.
He smiled.
---
"Now," she said. "Fuck me now."
He stood.
He pulled off his pants.
His cock sprang free—hard, thick, dripping. She stared at it, her mouth watering.
"Come here."
---
He crawled on top of her.
His cock pressed against her entrance.
She whimpered.
"Do it."
He pushed inside.
---
She screamed.
Not from pain—from relief. From satisfaction. From the feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He didn't move.
He just stared down at her.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"Tell me you want it."
"I want it."
"Tell me you need it."
"I need it."
"Tell me what you need."
---
Her eyes locked on his.
"I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. I need you to split me open and make me come."
---
He moved.
---
The first thrust was brutal.
The second was worse.
By the third, she was screaming.
---
He fucked her like he hated her.
No—like he loved her.
No—like he didn't know what he felt and he was trying to figure it out through the language of their bodies. Each thrust was an accusation. Each moan was a confession.
She matched him.
Her hips rose to meet his. Her nails raked down his back. Her teeth found his shoulder and bit—hard enough to draw blood.
He laughed.
"Wildcat."
"Shut up and fuck me."
---
He did.
---
The bed slammed against the wall.
The headboard cracked.
The neighbors—if they were listening—heard everything.
She didn't care.
He didn't care.
Nothing existed except the two of them. Except the heat. Except the friction. Except the way his cock stretched her and filled her and made her feel things she'd never felt before.
---
"Harder," she demanded.
He complied.
"I said harder."
He grabbed her hips.
The angle changed.
She screamed.
---
"Right there," she gasped. "Right there, right there, right there—"
He hit the spot again.
Her eyes rolled back.
"Fuck—I'm gonna—"
"Do it."
"Briv—"
"Come for me."
---
She did.
Her body clenched around him—violent, involuntary. Her vision went white. Her voice broke. She was nothing but sensation—pleasure and pain and everything in between.
He didn't stop.
He kept fucking her through it.
Kept pounding.
Kept claiming.
---
"Where do you want it?"
She could barely speak.
"In me."
"You sure?"
"Fucking do it."
---
He did.
His hips slammed forward one last time. His cock buried deep. His release flooded her—hot, thick, endless.
She felt every pulse.
She moaned.
---
He collapsed on top of her.
They lay there—sweaty, panting, spent. His weight pressed her into the mattress. She didn't mind.
She wrapped her arms around him.
"Don't move."
"I wasn't planning to."
---
Silence.
Breathing.
Heartbeats.
---
"Briv?"
"Yeah?"
"You're still going to be with her."
It wasn't a question.
He didn't answer.
---
"I know," Nicola said. "I've always known."
She closed her eyes.
"I just... wanted this. One more time. One real time."
---
He lifted his head.
Looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
She smiled.
"It means I'm done."
---
He stared.
"Done?"
"Done waiting. Done hoping. Done pretending that someday you'll choose me."
She touched his face.
"I love you. I've always loved you. But I can't do this anymore."
---
His mouth opened.
She pressed a finger to his lips.
"Don't say anything."
---
He didn't.
---
She pushed him off.
She stood.
She walked to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut.
---
Briv lay on the bed.
Staring at the ceiling.
The sound of the shower filled the room.
---
He closed his eyes.
---
The city hummed.
The League waited.
And somewhere in the darkness—
Magneton's pokéball glowed.