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Someone is bathing in the hot spring.
You inhale sharply, pressing yourself up against the cliffside to avoid detection. Then, carefully as you can, you ease slightly closer to assess the situation: the human figure submerged up to the shoulders and the unmistakable Ginkgo Guild backpack. A folded-up yellow and blue uniform, currently being used as a makeshift pillow.
You narrow your eyes. Volo? Again?
It already feels absurd for the merchant to be wandering through the Icelands as if they’re not the most dangerous place in Hisui. But that’s nothing compared to falling asleep, separated from her pokémon and supplies, alone in the dead of night. Does she really hate her job so badly that she has a death wish?
Volo sighs contentedly, as if to mock you for your state of heightened stress. You cringe at her peaceful disposition, which reminds you of one of those nature documentaries about baby animals being mauled by vicious predators. And make no mistake, Volo would be the prey in that situation—she’s tall and likely fit under her uniform, but her pokémon training is still on-par with that of the average Hisuian. She isn’t a member of the Survey Corps, nor did she put up a particularly good fight during her two battles against you. Her ace is a togepi, for Arceus’s sake. The pokémon out here in the Icelands would have that thing for breakfast, and then its foolish trainer for lunch.
You lean against the cliffside, trying to get somewhat comfortable. It isn’t actually a question whether or not you’ll put aside your original plans to defend Volo until daybreak. But it definitely still feels weird to stand here, silently, watching a naked woman sleep.
Snap!
The noise comes from across the hot spring. A moving figure flashes within a nearby cluster of pine trees.
You carefully reach for the pokéball at your hip.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite customer.”
The pokéball slips from your fingers. Now you feel like prey as Volo gives you a lazy wave.
“What are you doing out here?” you ask in a harsh whisper.
She looks down at her body, submerged up to her shoulders. “Is it not obvious?”
“Yeah, it is obvious,” you huff. “Like, the only way to be more obvious would be to put up a sign that says, ‘I’m Nice and Hot, Come Eat Me.’”
Volo releases a sharp laugh and you consider leaving her to die.
“You know what I mean,” you grumble, leaning down to retrieve the pokéball. “Now shut up, I think you’re being stalked.”
Volo’s smirk is audible. “Yes, it seems I am.”
Something moves again in the trees. You crouch as you approach the water’s edge. From this new position you manage to make out the shape of the nearby creature: an Alolan vulpix. Not threatening at all. You can only hope that Volo has not yet noticed this herself.
“I’ve got it,” you say, quickly swapping your ace pokémon for an ultraball. You toss it at the first sign of movement, successfully catching the vulpix with a perfect back strike.
“What was it?” Volo asks, ever-curious, as you trudge towards the trees. “Something absolutely dreadful?”
“Yep,” you respond, shoving the pokéball into your satchel.
“How lucky, then,” Volo says, “that you were here to protect me.”
You take a deep breath as you face the forest. “I’ll leave you alone,” you say. “Just try not to fall asleep again.”
“You’d leave so soon?” Volo asks with a familiar teasing lilt. “Perhaps you’d like to join me, instead.” She suggests it with the casual smoothness of a saleswoman who has already met her quota—as if she’s giving you the opportunity to profit.
This… is unexpected. Volo has always been supportive, speaking to you in a way that feels just shy of flirtatious. But she’s working retail, you typically remind yourself, and is clearly invested in your adventures. You haven’t assumed for a second that she’s actually interested in you.
“You’d bathe with another woman?” you hear yourself ask, tracing the woodgrain of a nearby tree with your eyes.
“Certainly,” says Volo. After an uncharacteristically long pause, she adds, “It is a common activity between friends.”
Friends. Of course.
“You work so tirelessly for the Survey Corps,” Volo continues. “Allow yourself to rest.”
As the merchant’s cloying tone grows thicker, you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the trees. Why are you even hesitating, anyway? It’s obviously a cultural norm here for people to bathe together in the nude. And Volo basically said herself that she isn’t interested in this becoming an erotic scenario. For all you know, she’s only requesting your company in the water so she can sell you a dry towel.
But she is right—you do work hard. It would be nice to take a rest, especially in such good company.
You turn around to face the merchant. Volo has not moved from her original location, still submerged in the admittedly tempting hot spring. Besides the obvious absence of a large jacket covering her shoulders, she’s also missing the Ginkgo Guild hat. It’s amusing to see her hairstyle fully uncovered, with the flipped-up part above the bun that seems too precise to be unintentional. It’s amusing in an entirely different way to see her bare shoulders, pale skin glowing in the light of the moon.
“Is everything all right?” Volo asks, tilting her head. You look away.
“Yeah,” you mutter, walking to the water’s edge. You sit, remove your boots and socks, and carefully lower your feet into the hot spring.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Volo muses, motioning to the dark water.
You nod. “Not worth getting yourself killed over, though.”
“And why are you so certain that I’d get myself killed?” There’s a hint of genuine irritation in Volo’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” you stammer, “I didn’t mean—”
You’re interrupted by a burst of laughter, followed by the fond utterance of your name. Volo smiles at you warmly and places a hand on your knee. “Oh, I’m teasing! It’s all right, my friend, I know you’re just doing your job. Rest assured, I appreciate your efforts greatly.”
Your muscles stiffen. What is she doing?
“I wasn’t just doing my job,” you tell Volo. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Her adoring smile does not waver. “All the sweeter, then.”
Your mind races. For all that Volo has praised you in the past, she’s never come on this strong. But if she is just interested in being your friend, what reason would she have for acting like this?
“Listen,” you say, “I’m not your customer right now. If this is just another transaction, I want nothing more to do with it.”
Volo blinks. “Whatever could you mean?”
“Like,”—your frown deepens—“you’ve never shown interest in… friendship… outside of work before. So if you’re just acting like you’re interested because I showed up to help and you feel like you owe me something…”
Volo removes her hand, now frowning too. “I’m sorry—do you seriously believe that I am making advances simply because you protected me from a wild pokémon?”
You feel light-headed, far too distracted by her implication to actually answer the question. “You’re making advances?”
It takes her a moment to process what’s just happened. Then she just sighs, shaking her head. “I apologize. I may have been allowing myself some fun at your expense.”
“Fun?” you exclaim, staring at her in bewilderment.
“As in, just playing around,” Volo says, not nearly as sheepish as she probably ought to be. “But I understand that you cannot return my affections.” The way she says it, it’s like a foregone conclusion. “I will stop if it pleases you.”
Your heart flips in your chest. “I think we might misunderstand each other.”
Volo raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” Her surprise seems genuine—even hopeful. Or maybe that’s just you.
You nod, meeting her exposed grey eye with intention. Ironically, you don’t think words are necessary to get your point across.
Volo exhales softly. “I see.”
“Yeah.”
Something crosses over the merchant’s face. For all of her grandeur, you can tell in this moment that she’s been humbled. “I didn’t think—”
“Me neither,” you admit. Although that’s not entirely true. She is rather androgynous. And you’ve never seen her interacting with men in the village. And she really does seem to spend the majority of her time traveling alone through the wild, uninterested in the conventional lifestyle for a woman of this era. But those observations have always felt more like a reflection on your own inclinations since arriving in Hisui, a place where you’ve struggled to picture yourself actually belonging.
And honestly, as much as you’ve wondered about Volo, you’ve just tried not to get your hopes up.
“But you’re not doing this because of my work,” you say warily, “or because of the—” You point to the hole in the sky.
Amused, the merchant shakes her head. “As simple as it may sound, it’s mostly been because I find you charming.” Unmistakable intrigue flashes in her visible eye. “Especially now.”
She studies you like an ancient ruin. A chill runs down your back.
“Rest assured,” Volo tells you, “I am acting on my own desires tonight.”
You can hardly believe it. You think back to your previous encounters with the merchant, and it thrills you to imagine that for at least some of those, Volo had wanted you in the same way you’d wanted her.
You take a deep breath and wiggle your toes in the water. “Okay.”
Volo leans her head towards you, her eye half-lidded. “Okay?”
“I’m interested too.”
A smirk spreads onto Volo’s face. She lifts her arms and rests them behind her head, giving you a purposeful view of cleavage. “I do so enjoy our negotiations,” she says in a near-hum. “Now, are you planning to undress yourself, or would you prefer that I simply rip the clothing off of you?”
You cough, disrupting the surface of the water with an involuntary leg spasm. “I—I’m not sure.” After some unproductive consideration, you ask, “Do you have a preference?”
Volo regards you thoughtfully. You suddenly feel eager to remove your thick winter coat and snow pants. “I’ll do it,” you decide in her stead. “You’re already in the water, anyway.”
“A reasonable plan,” Volo commends, doing absolutely nothing to hide her interest as you get to your feet. Even in the dark, with only one visible eye, the merchant’s gaze feels piercing.
Without further discussion, you pull your coat and thermal shirt over your head. The air is cold against your bare skin, immediately prompting gooseflesh.
“Leave that on,” Volo instructs, hungrily regarding your chest. In lieu of a modern bra, you’ve taken to securing your breasts with cloth wraps.
You nod and take a deep breath, removing your heavy snow pants. You hesitate, though, at the thermal leggings beneath them.
Volo raises an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I’m all right,” you say. “Just… a little nervous.”
“Say no more,” says Volo, placing a palm over her exposed eye. “Does this help?”
It actually does, while simultaneously reminding you that Volo is an exceptionally thoughtful person. You nod and then remember that she can’t actually see you. “Yes, it does. Give me a second.”
Before you can second-guess yourself, you quickly remove your leggings and undergarments. You then shiver, unused to this degree of bareness outside of your own home. “Cold,” you say, brilliantly.
“You really ought to join me, then,” purrs Volo. “I promise I don’t bite.”
“Oh, you can bite.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “Shit, sorry—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Volo interrupts, a smirk forming beneath her hand. “Now come here.”
You do. “I’m here,” you say softly, stepping into the hot spring. The water feels almost healing on your bare skin, deepening past the edge where Volo sits. Standing, it’s just about up to your ribs. You assess Volo in the dark, trying to calculate where it would reach on her taller body while standing. The woman has nearly a foot of height on you, and isn’t that just something to consider—
“May I look?” Volo asks, with the politeness of a prince and the irony of a rake.
“Yeah,” you say. “You can.”
The merchant lifts her hand. Her appraisal is as swift as her words are decisive. “You are delightful.”
You look down at her breasts, average in size and mostly still submerged. “You too.”
Volo chuckles and puts her hands firmly on your sides. You startle at the sudden contact, not used to being touched.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head and Volo pulls you into her lap.
It feels bizarre to be this close to another person. Especially a person without clothing, her bare skin soft and warm to the touch. You look slightly down at Volo’s face and feel your own cheeks burn. She is beautiful. Her lips look so soft, and her expectant smile is the most alluring thing you’ve ever seen.
Your heart pounds against your chest as you lean in for a kiss. Volo is breathtakingly confident with her response—inquisitive even, as if every touch provides valuable information. You open your mouth and allow her to enter it with her tongue, feeling butterflies as she hums softly with approval.
Her approval sets something off in you. You lean in, humming back, pushing into Volo’s mouth. You grip the merchant’s shoulders and pull her towards you, eliciting a moan as you begin to grind against her thighs.
True to her word, Volo bites you. Not too hard, just on the lip, but it still makes you whine. You can feel the corners of Volo’s lips turn up at that reaction. You decide to bite back, startling her, and then lave your tongue over the tender spot.
Volo pulls away, eyeing you curiously. “You’re quite tenacious, aren’t you?”
You think of everything you’ve done since arriving in Hisui: joining the Galaxy Team, surviving the wilds, quelling the Nobles. You’ve done everything they’ve asked of you and more.
“Whatever,” you say, and kiss Volo again.
Kissing quickly turns to biting and you are not going to complain. It hurts a little when Volo leaves the deeper marks, sucking the delicate skin of your throat, but you’ve experienced far worse pain on duty for the Survey Corps. Volo is imposing in her own way, but she’s still harmless compared to an alpha pokémon.
You release a moan and run your fingers through Volo’s hair. With glee, you undo the bun and watch long blonde locks fall over her shoulders. With the merchant still latched onto your neck, you place a kiss on the top of her head.
“Hm?” you think you hear Volo say, her lips still pressed against your skin. Perhaps she’s surprised by the act of tenderness. She wouldn’t be the only one.
“It feels so good,” you say, your free hand venturing beneath the water. You palm at one of Volo’s breasts and sigh. You can’t believe you’ve gone so long without touching someone like this.
Volo squeezes your sides, keeping her head where it is. She almost seems shy, as if she’s hiding. “Yes,” she mutters into your skin, the furthest thing from suave. You wonder how long it’s been since Volo has touched another person like this. The thought, for some reason, just makes you sad.
You find yourself circling her nipple with your thumb. Volo clears her throat in response, pulling away slightly. She seems to have collected herself, her eye lidded in a manner that could only be described as seductive. “I believe it is most honorable to ask: are there any limits to your tenacity?”
You aren’t expecting a question like that, especially when you’re already in the merchant’s clutches.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ll tell you if I find one.” After a pause, you ask, “Do you have any limits?”
Volo releases a sharp laugh.
“It’s not funny!” you insist. “What you want matters, too.”
The merchant glances bitterly towards her uniform and backpack. Then she turns back to you. Her expression is unreadable now, wholly unfamiliar in its ambiguity. Under her searing gaze, you realize what exactly made you nervous about disrobing in her presence. The merchant is the first and only person in Hisui to see you this vulnerable.
“You are too soft for your own good,” Volo says, sliding her hands up and down your waist. It’s not an insult, that much you understand—but you understand nothing else.
“What?” you barely manage to ask, because those words in that tone from her mouth are almost unbearably erotic.
Volo sighs, replacing her strange demeanor with something more familiar. “Precious,” she declares. “You are just… precious.”
There’s still something off about the way she speaks. It tugs at the edges of the praise, far more complex than mere adoration.
“Tenacious,” Volo continues in a near-purr, “and precious.” She indulgently squeezes your waist. “And so very soft.”
“Hey,” you warn, because surely that’s an insult.
Volo seems surprised by your reaction. She squeezes your sides again, her strong fingers sinking into the soft flesh. “I will admit that I have wondered about the body beneath the uniform,” she admits, shamelessly examining your bound chest and bare torso.
“I could say the same about you,” you reply, putting your hands on her shoulders. You can feel the muscle there and it thrills you.
“You truly are a sight to behold,” Volo says as she cups your breasts. She squeezes them in their bindings, examining them in a nearly academic manner. But the primal lust in her eyes is unmistakable. “It’s—” The merchant cuts herself off, then clears her throat. “You must understand, there is a certain scarcity to my life.”
“Yeah?”
“But you are not scarce,” Volo says, as if that serves as a complete explanation. And you suppose it does, when you consider the thinness of Volo’s own form, the heaviness of her pack, the way she peddles her wares just to survive. Members of the Ginkgo Guild, unlike the Survey Corps, do not receive unlimited potato mochi.
But there’s something more figurative to it, too. There’s always a hunger in Volo’s eyes when she regards the things that interest her—ancient ruins, potential customers, you—and you can’t help but wonder where that burning desire comes from, and what would happen if she were ever to truly indulge it.
“That’s… thank you.” You smile at her. “I think you’re beautiful too.”
Volo raises her hands to the wraps around your breasts. You nod before she can even ask, allowing her to remove the bindings with vigor. There’s that hungry look again—her eye wide, her pupil enlarged, her lip bitten.
You tuck the curtain of hair behind her ear and lean in for a kiss. Volo hums against your lip as she cups the back of your head, palming a breast with her free hand. Eager for more contact, you duck into the crook of Volo’s neck, encouraging her to relocate her hand to your other breast.
You sit on Volo’s thighs as she squeezes and massages, shuddering from the full-body chills the merchant’s actions prompt. Volo absolutely ravishes you with calculated gestures—small circles around your nipples with her pointer and middle finger, large circles with the flat plane of her palm, and a few cheeky plucks with her pointer finger and thumb.
You moan against Volo’s soft throat, marking it just as she’d done to yours. You can feel the pulse beating beneath her skin. Some primal, insane part of you feels the urge to devour it, the phantom taste of warm blood spilling onto your tongue.
Then Volo is pulling you upwards, positioning you upright on your knees between her legs, so that her face is level with your chest. Understanding Volo’s purpose, you are more than happy to tolerate the awkward position. Volo puts her mouth to a nipple and leaves her hand on the other breast, laving the former with her wet tongue. She proceeds to suck and then bite—she really does enjoy biting—and you cry out, mooring yourself by gripping her hair.
Volo grunts when your fingers pull. She redoubles her efforts, moving to the other nipple, and you feel your cunt tighten.
Your body seems to know what it wants before your brain does. Trying not to disturb Volo’s activities, you shift yourself to straddle the merchant’s left thigh. Nervous, you look down at her face—her lips still wrapped around a nipple, she smirks.
Volo lifts her thigh slightly, tensing the muscles that press up against your entrance and clit. You gasp.
Volo’s eyes meet yours and she pulls off the nipple. “Go on,” she says. “Take your pleasure.”
You are in no position to argue. Nervous but determined, you start to grind down against Volo’s thigh. Evidently pleased, Volo resumes worshipping your chest. Your hips rock and your vision darkens, as if all senses but touch have been dimmed by pleasurable sensation. You think you hear yourself whimper.
“Good girl,” Volo mutters against your breast. She kisses each nipple once and then pulls away, disrupting the very comfortable position you’ve been enjoying. Her words of praise are a fine consolation, though.
Volo guides you back into her lap, gently opening your thighs as you straddle both of hers. Her hand brushes over your pubic hair and she smiles.
“There you are,” she says, and you feel so overwhelmed that you attempt to cover your face. Volo is there to stop you, though, her hands flying out of the water and gripping both of your wrists—not tight enough to hurt, but too tight to escape. She seems to notice your fluster and she chuckles. It’s an act of dominance that makes your mind short-circuit and your heart soar.
“Trouble does seem to follow you everywhere, doesn’t it?” Volo asks thoughtfully. “Hero.”
It isn’t a particularly odd thing to say, coming from her at least. But for some reason it feels different. Personal.
“Trouble isn’t the only thing that seems to follow me,” you subtly accuse. It feels like getting even.
Volo narrows her eyes. You’re so entranced by her unreadable expression that you fail to notice the thumb sliding upwards towards your lips. Once you feel it reach its destination, you yield to it almost immediately. You have, not an insignificant amount of times before, imagined this woman’s fingers in your mouth. And you can’t really blame yourself, can you, when the merchant so often sticks them in your face?
“Good girl,” Volo says once again, and you have a feeling that she might have experienced the same fantasy from a different perspective. You suck slightly on the tip of her thumb, allowing her to press more of the finger inside your mouth. You suck again, harder. Volo’s thigh tenses beneath the water and her eyes darken as she stares.
You force yourself to look right at the merchant, laving your tongue around the digit. You nibble, just a little bit, and Volo pushes it even deeper in response. You’re embarrassed to realize that you’re drooling, but the way Volo regards you is so laser-focused that all you can do is breathe in through your nose and hope Volo’s thumb isn’t long enough to trigger your gag reflex.
As you dutifully suck, Volo reaches her free hand under the water. You inhale sharply as Volo finds her prize, your mind blurring between the overwhelming presence of one thumb in your mouth and the other on your clit. Every time Volo rubs, you feel yourself suck. Every circle Volo makes, you replicate with your tongue.
All the while, neither of you have broken eye contact. Not even for a second.
“You look so lovely like this,” Volo says quietly. “Just a sweet, eager thing.”
You whimper around her thumb.
“You present yourself as tough,” Volo continues. “So very strong. A hero patrolling the night, protecting a defenseless merchant like myself.”
She rubs you harder.
“But I see something else,” says Volo. “I see a woman desperate to be loved, to be held, to be touched.”
On each emphasized word, she delivers a new wave of pleasure.
“But more than anything else,” Volo concludes, “I see a woman who wishes to be seen.” She’s smug but not unkind as she says, “There is no reason to pretend with me. I see exactly who you are.”
You’ve stopped sucking. Between her honeyed words and uncanny skill with her fingers—always the fingers with her—you’re completely at her mercy.
“Arceus’s chosen,” Volo scoffs, using her thumb to move your head side to side. You show no resistance. “No, certainly not. It is a mistake that you are here.”
And she’s right. You’ve always known it. You’ve resented the creator from the moment you arrived in Hisui and received your holy mission.
“But you are here,” Volo says tenderly. She kisses your forehead and it feels like a blessing. “And so very precious to your god.”
Your eyes go wide. Volo removes her thumb from your mouth and leans in towards your ear.
“I want you to come,” she whispers. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” you immediately whine.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Volo.”
She hums in your ear, satisfied. “My hero, sent from the heavens.” The pressure on your clit increases. “It’s almost as if you were made to cry my name.”
You can only nod as the sensation consumes you. It all becomes very simple, in this moment: you will come for Volo, and it will feel good.
It does.
Volo pulls your limp body against her own, pressing your head against her chest. “Good girl,” she coos, and you nuzzle against her breast. But when you expect her to stop touching your clit, she begins again.
“Hey,” you say weakly.
“Hush,” Volo tells you. “You can give me another.”
You’re overstimulated, but you’re not a quitter. You moan as she plays your body like an instrument she’s tuned herself. Idly, you mouth at her nipple. She inhales but does not let up.
“You know,” Volo says, “I couldn’t help but notice the way you caught that poor harmless vulpix.”
Your eyes widen. So she’d noticed.
“You’re a good shot.” Volo’s finger circles your entrance. “I’ll give you that.”
Her tone has changed, almost cruel in its bittersweet condescension. It feels tender—not in the way that soothes, but like pressure on a wound.
Your body stiffens as a single finger ventures inside. It’s jarring, but not painful.
“And one must never underestimate the element of surprise,” says Volo. You whimper as she pushes even deeper.
“What are you—”
“Then again,” Volo interrupts, shoving another finger inside of you. It’s far less gentle than the first. “I believe that you learned that particular technique from me.”
She pauses for a beat, and you realize that she’s staring down at you expectantly. All movement beneath the water has ceased. If you wish for her to continue, you immediately understand, you will need to give her what she wants.
“That’s correct,” you say.
Volo smirks. “That’s right,” she tells you, beginning to scissor her fingers inside of you. With her free hand, she pets your hair. You lean into her touch as your thighs tense. It feels good to be full, especially with long and deft fingers like hers. And while her conduct seems a little harsh for your first time together, you know that it’s only turning you on more.
“Perhaps you ought to have more faith in my ability to defend myself,” Volo says, almost chiding as she begins to circle your clit again. Her fingers reach far inside, hitting all of the right places at once. “And reconsider the presumption that I would reward my unnecessary savior’s efforts with such intimate acts.”
You frown, pulling back to meet her eyes. “That’s not what I—”
She stops you with a kiss. It’s passionate like the others, but in a way that feels chaotic. Unpolished. Nearly violent. Volo bites your lip and you taste blood.
“Ow!” you exclaim, but you don’t pull away.
“Forgive me,” Volo soothes, licking at the small wound. Is she purposefully consuming your blood? “But I wish to know the taste of the divine.”
You remind yourself that she’s always been intense about her interests. This behavior is not entirely unanticipated.
“I’m just a person,” you argue, biting her right back. You get her tongue, which you know must hurt. “You said that yours—ah—yourself.”
Her fingers pick up speed beneath the water. “Yes,” Volo says, sounding almost manic. “Of course I did. Your trustworthy local merchant, only here to help.”
It’s like she’s just saying anything. She must be more worked up than she lets on. Delirious, or something like it.
You grip her hair and force her to meet your eyes. “Whoever you are, I need you to make me come. Please.”
Volo moans. She is single-minded in her subsequent worship, ushering you to orgasm once again. This time, she doesn’t attempt further stimulation. She simply holds you against her heart and waits for your breathing to calm.
Eventually, you look up at her. You’re not sure what you were expecting—embarrassment, maybe, for the strange things she’d said in the heat of the moment. But the way she stares at you is no different from the other times you’ve caught her watching before. She studies you with a kind of curiosity that makes you feel like the most important thing in the world.
“Is everything okay?” you ask, curling up in her lap.
She blinks, returning to a more familiar version of herself. “Yes, I—” She shakes her head as if to clear her own thoughts away. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn in the heat of the moment. I simply find you fascinating.”
“I get it.”
“And to be entirely honest,” Volo continues, “it has been… quite some time since I’ve enjoyed these sorts of pleasures.”
You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Me too.” You take a deep breath and run a hand through your hair. “Speaking of which—I haven’t done anything for you yet.”
You see the flash of interest in her eyes, if only for a second. “I expect nothing in return.”
“I want to make you feel good,” you insist, pushing yourself off from her body. “You deserve to feel good.” You remember something that seemed to have worked very well the first time. “Please?”
A shadow crosses over Volo’s face. But then she wags her finger and grins. “You truly are full of surprises, my dear!”
My dear—the term of endearment echoes in your head. You could get used to her calling you that.
But then you shake it away. For all you know, this is just one night of debauchery. And you need to taste this woman before sunrise.
“Can you sit up on the edge?” you ask, floating backwards to give her room. Volo seems to hesitate for a moment before rising out of the water, giving you a view of her body above her thighs. It’s as beautiful as you imagined, and your mouth nearly waters at the tuft of blonde hair between her legs.
“Arceus,” you remark under your breath. Volo narrows her eyes. In a much louder voice, you amend, “Volo. You’re…” Breathtaking. Glorious. Unreal. “Really fucking hot.”
That makes her smile. She regards you with amusement as she sits. “Well then,” she purrs, slowly opening her legs. “Come eat me.”
You know she means it ironically, not actually intending to be suave—a reference to what you’d said upon first encountering her in the hot spring. A Freudian slip (does she know about Freud?), hinting not-so-subtly at your true desires.
And now here you are, living them. Thank Arceus, finally something is going your way.
No. Not Arceus.
Thank Volo.
You take your time as you make your approach, kissing up the insides of her pale thighs. Her legs are somewhat tense as you rest your hands on them, revealing a very human sort of vulnerability. For all of her posturing, she clearly craves gentleness too. Thankfully, that is something you know you can provide.
She jolts slightly when you reach her apex. If just a slight exhalation elicits such a response, you’ll have to be extremely careful with your approach. And so you are—slow and strategic, making sure to keep your nose away from her clit. Your tongue, meanwhile, licks pretty much everywhere else. She tastes incredible and you are rewarded by a strong hand in your hair.
“That’s good,” Volo says, moving your head slightly to the left. “You can—yes.”
You can’t help but smile. You allow her manipulation but refuse to relinquish control. As she rubs your face against her cunt, you allow yourself a tiny kitten-lick of her clit. Once again, she responds instantaneously.
The part of your brain that still works marvels at the contrast between your approaches: Volo’s heavy pressure and intentional overstimulation, compared to your excessively gentle approach. What you’re learning, in this moment, is that giving less can sometimes be more powerful than giving more. Whether she likes it or not, Volo is hanging on your every move to chase her pleasure. It makes you feel powerful. It makes you feel useful.
But as you worship between Volo’s legs, you realize that you don’t just feel useful.
“Good girl… oh, you precious thing.”
She is the only person on this godforsaken island who makes you feel treasured.
It isn’t long before she comes. You lick her gratefully, and in your delirium you think you might understand what she meant about tasting the divine.
Afterwards, you sit beside the merchant on the water’s edge. You’re back in your winter clothes, although your bare feet still soak in the hot spring. Volo, meanwhile, wears only her Ginkgo Guild coat.
“That was nice,” you say, because it was.
Volo nods, looking up at the night sky. You worry for a moment that she might be ignoring you, but remind yourself that she might just really like the stars.
“Unexpected,” she replies.
“Well, I’m glad we understand each other now. It’s been hard, to feel so alone here.”
Volo looks at you inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
You sigh. “I appreciate the hospitality I’ve been shown by the settlers and the clans, but I still don’t really feel like I belong.”
“It’s only natural that you would feel that way,” Volo says. “You are not from this time and place.” You’re not certain, but you think you sense a hint of remorse. Of course she would be the only person here to empathetically view your situation—not with a ‘sorry I made this happen,’ but with a ‘sorry this happened to you.’ Meanwhile, if that hole in the sky got any scarier, you were pretty sure the villagers would banish you without a second thought.
“Sometimes I wish I could go back,” you tell Volo. “But other times… I don’t.”
“Why not?”
You frown, biting your lip. “I’m not sure if I really felt like I belonged in my old life, either.” Your next words feel foolish, but if anyone could understand, you’re pretty sure it would be Volo. “It’s like I wasn’t made for this world. Or this world wasn’t made for me. And I just wonder sometimes… what it would be like, if I was given more of a say.” You meet Volo’s eyes directly. “Like, for all that Arceus tells me what to do, it never asks me what I actually want.”
Once again, she studies you. Your gaze shifts to the ArcPhone, cast aside with her Ginkgo Guild backpack.
“What even is the point of a god,” you ask, “if it doesn’t care for the desires of its subjects?”
Volo is silent for an uncharacteristically long period of time. Eventually, though, she clears her throat. “I’ve been conducting some research that aligns with your mission.”
You smile. “I can tell.”
“I would appreciate your continued assistance. Specifically with locating the Plates of Arceus.” Before you can agree, she adds, “I believe that we both would benefit from the outcome.”
You lean your head against her arm. The contact startles her, but then she seems to relax.
“Of course I’ll help,” you tell the consummate merchant. “That’s what friends are for.”
You use the term intentionally—a test of future waters. Volo glances at you for a moment before lifting your hand to her lips, sealing the future with a kiss.
“Thank you... my dear.”