pokémon -- reverse english, daddy's girl
title: reverse english
wordcount: 1199
rating: PG
prompt: "Gold/Kris - making out. Exactly what the title says. Lip-biting, hair-pulling… All that good stuff."
notes: Written for the Pokanon kink meme. God, I am so embarrassed.
synopsis: Reverse English: the sidespin applied to a cue ball that favours the opposite direction of its natural path.
The first time he tries to kiss her, everything goes horribly wrong.
It is only during the aftermath of the Guile Hideout catastrophe that he finally makes his move, once the whole trifling issue of saving the world is out of the way.
“So, how about a celebratory-”
The rest of his innocent question goes unanswered when she treads warningly on his shoes, presumably hoping against hope that the light pressure will persuade him to keep his mouth shut.
“Not in front of them,” she hisses, subtly indicating the two trainers from Hoenn, who look on with matching expressions that border on bemusement. At her words, they exchange looks and glance hurriedly away, both turning a brilliant scarlet that he is sure will put traffic lights around the world at envy. Thankfully, the de-petrified senior Dex holders are far out of earshot, standing at the balcony of the Battle Dome and admiring the view of the horizon, blissfully unaware of what is going on some distance away.
Gold grins through his haze of pain. “Does that mean a later, the-?”
His question is left hanging in the air when she abandons all pretences and promptly steps on his foot, sneaker-shod feet grinding down mercilessly upon his toes.
“No,” she reiterates, placing unduly vehement stress upon the single syllable.
As soon as he recovers from the painful throbbing of his maligned foot, he proceeds to kiss her anyways, right before the eyes of the two juniors - mostly just for the heck of it, but also because he’ll never get one if he keeps waiting around like this - and hopes fervently that she will just appreciate it and just live in the moment, like any normal girl would.
He’s quite proud of the way he does it, too-it’s the whole she-bang, sweeping her partially off her feet and cradling the back of her head against his arm, swooping down right over her as he kisses her right on the lips.
It’s the kind of thing which happens in the movies that has all the girls swooning. He should know, since he’s watched enough of those movies - and tried to pick up some techniques too, while he’s at it.
For a single glorious moment, she’s frozen too still to react and only blinks up at him with something approximating owlish, vaguely homicidal bewilderment.
Then, she splutters a single incoherent word - which sounds suspiciously like his name - and reaches up to slap him on the side of his head.
Gold nearly drops her then and there - though in all fairness he shouldn’t be that surprised, seeing as how this sort of reaction is only to be expected from a stuffy, prudish bookworm like that.
Which, of course, makes it all the more appealing to pursue her.
“H-hey!” Crystal sputters, her reddened complexion putting Ruby and Sapphire’s to shame. “Wh-what was that for?”
He rests his cue stick on his shoulder and smugly rubs his nose. “I figured someone had to start something!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the two younger trainers edging away towards the glass doors, where the rest of their number continue to gawk at the sunset - which, he is certain, cannot be anywhere near as interesting as what he is experiencing now. Oh well, their loss, he grins to himself, but stops when confronted with Crystal’s disapproving frown.
“What? You didn’t like it? Come here, I’ll do it better this time, I swear!”
“Nghhh,” she mumbles ineloquently back, and makes a half-hearted attempt to move away. Perhaps the fact that there’s nobody left to witness their antics helps his case somewhat, for which he is quite grateful.
This time, she doesn’t protest - much - when he shepherds her towards a wall and bars her escape routes with his arms. She only nibbles on the inside of her cheek and scowls half-heartedly at him, though he is met with little resistance when he presses his lips to hers.
It’s definitely something, he thinks with great exhilaration, to finally be where he’s wanted to be for quite a while now. She tastes of mint and tropical fruits, summery and fresh, with a hint of blackcurrant. Interesting, that. The more he probes, the more intrigued he is by what his senses offer him, and he is more than a little taken aback when her hands snake up his back and wind themselves in his hair, knocking his cap askew in the process.
He minds none of this, even if he spent several hours in the morning fixing and gelling his hair up to perfection in all the right spots.
“Mmm, well, isn’t this a change of heart?” he chuckles, but swiftly shuts his trap when she yanks sharply at the back of his head.
“You talk too much,” she mutters into his mouth, and kisses him again, with surprising eagerness.
“S-sorry,” Gold laughs, but is silenced when her fingers push gently but insistently against the back of his head, pressing them closer together with the motion.
Oh, it’s awkward all right, the way their noses bump against each other and their teeth scrape against one another, the way half the time he ends up biting her lip - how embarrassing, he isn’t as good a kisser as he thought, then. The fact that they can barely see what they’re doing and what they’re knocking into does not help matters any, what with the fading sunlight, but all of this is inconsequential in the face of what is happening.
In some far-off part of his mind, at the very back of his consciousness, Gold is somewhat mind-boggled by this turn of events, but there’s no way he’s not enjoying this.
As his wandering hands slip further south, he is rewarded by a brisk slap on the wrist before she guides them back up.
Ah, well. There’s more time for that in the future.
Just when he’s getting comfortable - this is definitely something he can get used to - the sound of voices cuts through his blissful reverie like a hot knife through butter.
Crystal gasps and unsuccessfully tries to shove him away, embarrassment written over her features. They glance up as one to catch the rest of the Dex Holders making their way back indoors, driven back to the warmth of the building by the chilly evening air.
“Oh-” Red’s greeting dies before it is even voiced when he catches sight of them, tangled up in a mess of limbs against the wall like a pair of red-handed teenagers - which they are - caught in the act.
In the ensuing stunned silence, a discreet cough could be heard from someone in the group, and Gold almost swears he can hear a few Kriketune chirping in the background.
“Um,” Gold begins unhelpfully, but Blue is the first to react, grabbing the arm of the person closest to her as she proceeds to drag them off.
“Well now!” she begins brightly, as she tugs Yellow towards the exit. “Why don’t we just leave them to continue where they left off?”
Crystal’s stammered objections go unheard as the rest of the group try - and fail - at attempting to fit simultaneously through the door.
title: daddy's girl
wordcount: 1383
rating: PG
summary: She can do everything a son should be able to, and more.
notes: Written for the Pokanon kink meme as well.
prompt: Koga/Janine: "But they don't love you like I do." Doesn't necessarily have to lead into sexy times, I just want something that tastes like diabetes. ♥"
She cannot help but think that all along, her father had always wished for a son.
A son to be his heir, to carry on the family name. A son he can spar with, a son upon whom he can bestow the secrets of life. A son to bring the clan honour, a son to make him proud.
All of this, she is not.
So she trains, trains and pushes herself, tests her limits and breaks them just to see how far she can go. Look at me, Papa, she yearns to say, look at me. Are you proud of me?
Of course, she never expresses any of these. Everything soft and feminine - her emotions, her fears, her dreams, all half-formed and half-realised - are banished to the back of her mind, never to see the light of day as she struggles to live up to the elusive image of whatever her father expects her to be.
She can kick harder than any of his acolytes, throw shurikens further and faster than any of his apprentices. She can disguise herself better than a Kecleon, seamlessly blending into whatever scenario he throws at her, altering her face, her voice, her mannerisms to suit the situation at hand. She can rouge her cheeks, let down her hair and put on airs and graces and pretend to be a beguiling maiden, or bind her chest and adopt a confident swagger and guttural accent to pass as an uncouth fisher-boy. She can move as quietly as a ghost, making less sound than falling leaves. She can awaken from the deepest slumber in the blink of an eye, ready for anything that can possibly happen. She can meditate on her head for longer than anyone else can, long after the boys have passed out from dizziness, long after they have given in to the savage pounding of blood rushing to their skulls.
When she takes his place as Fuchsia gym leader, she likes to think it is more because of her skills than her lineage, the blood-ties which dictate she should get ownership of his gym due to her being his successor. To reinforce this, she learns to fight better than any of her clan-kin who patrol the inner halls, learns to brew the most potent toxins and learns the names of all their antidotes. She learns how to daub a Crobat’s wing-edges with poison so that they can unleash powerful attacks that will cripple even the most well-prepared opponents; she learns how to milk an Arbok and Seviper for their venom and dilute them to different concentrations for different uses.
She learns to make pellets of poison and smears needles with her concoctions, learns to conceal these subtle weapons about her person and use them even when she is physically incapacitated. She can hide them between her teeth, spit venom like a snake or slide toxic darts under an assailant’s skin, leaving them paralysed - or worse. The whole world, in turn, learns never to underestimate her, Janine of Fuchsia, daughter of Koga.
She can do everything a son should be able to, and more.
But yet, she cannot stifle the vague idea - tentative, uncertain, weakly persistent - that her father wanted a son, a rough-and-ready boy-child he will never have to be wary of breaking.
When they train together, he always falls back to make sure she’s coping, to make sure she can keep up. Can you go another four miles, lotus? he asks, the implications in his stern voice ringing in her ears, and she flinches away from his term of endearment for her. As much as she welcomes it, it is everything she strives not to be, an embodiment of female delicacy and frailty, and she wants none of it.
Yes, of course I can, she responds as stoutly as possible, despite the shortness of her breath, the fatigue which burns slowly and sluggishly in the coils of her aching muscles. Despite the weariness of her bones, the throb of painful knuckles swollen from gripping a chain-scythe for too long, she forces herself to go on, just so that at the end of the day, she will be rewarded by a gruff nod and a near-imperceptible crinkling of his eyes, an acknowledgment of her efforts from her father.
Another thing she wishes for - selfishly, perhaps - is to be the only female in his life.
It is a while before he can bring himself to distance himself from memories of his wife, and Janine feels guilty for wanting to deny her father the chance to feel the touch of a woman again.
But she wants to be his princess - no matter how foolish that sounds - and wants to be able to know that she’s the only one who matters.
Blood is thicker than water, after all.
She tries to hide her disapproval of the women her father brings home, elegantly-coiffed ladies brimming with confidence and self-assurance, all in possession of a natural, airy grace and poise which she herself lacks. She is graceful in an entirely different way-when they walk, it looks as though they are floating; hers is the more functional kind of grace, the sort that allows her to land on her feet no matter how she falls, the sort which makes her sure-footed and confident even as she flits silently over ramshackle tin rooftops.
Their hands are soft and smooth and delicate, telltale signs of a life of leisure, whilst hers are rough and calloused from handling weapons and training Pokémon, marked in a thousand places by the scars of initiation of their clan.
One night, after his latest date has left for the evening, she makes her way towards the room where they receive guests and sits quietly alongside her father, a companionable silence settling between them like falling feathers.
“She seems like a pleasant one,” Janine begins hesitantly, weighing each word carefully as she speaks.
Her father nods, a slow, regal dip of his head. “Better than some,” he concedes evenly, as he takes a sip of his tea. He replaces the cup upon the table, and they watch as steam drifts forth from its contents, rising to the air in languid spirals.
“But-” She bites her lip, chewing ruminatively on the words which squirm in her mouth. They linger tentatively on the tip of her tongue, struggling to be voiced despite her misgivings, despite the beginnings of shame which stirs in the pit of her stomach.
Koga raises his eyebrows at her, a simple motion which she knows is meant to be her prompt to continue.
“They don’t love you like I do,” she blurts out, and is utterly mortified by what she says.
For an instant, she wishes for the floor to open up and swallow her whole-anything, anything, to be saved from her father’s cold, impassive scrutiny. The image she has painstakingly tried to build up over the years is shattered with those seven simple words, seven little words which will remind her father of the fact that she’s not a boy.
But she doesn’t regret saying what she did. Nobody can possibly hope to emulate the bond they share, the blood ties which bind them closer than physical ties can ever hope to. After all, they are really all one another have left in the world.
She is unprepared for the smile which curves across his lips, shearing years away from his face. His expression softens and the lines across his forehead smooth out, and he bows his head, gently brushing his knuckles against the line of her jaw.
“I know, little lotus. I know.”
Emboldened by this, she swallows, clears her throat, and raises her chin and meets his gaze squarely, with as much determination as she can muster. “Are you proud of me?”
She is aware of a fleeting glint in his eye, a momentary glimpse of something she has never seen before. Then, the veneer of impeccable calm slides back into place, and he leans forth to kiss her on the forehead.
“Nothing could make me prouder than being able to call you my daughter,” he says quietly. “And I want you to know that no matter who you grow up to love in the future, nobody will love you like I do.”
back to index.
wordcount: 1199
rating: PG
prompt: "Gold/Kris - making out. Exactly what the title says. Lip-biting, hair-pulling… All that good stuff."
notes: Written for the Pokanon kink meme. God, I am so embarrassed.
synopsis: Reverse English: the sidespin applied to a cue ball that favours the opposite direction of its natural path.
The first time he tries to kiss her, everything goes horribly wrong.
It is only during the aftermath of the Guile Hideout catastrophe that he finally makes his move, once the whole trifling issue of saving the world is out of the way.
“So, how about a celebratory-”
The rest of his innocent question goes unanswered when she treads warningly on his shoes, presumably hoping against hope that the light pressure will persuade him to keep his mouth shut.
“Not in front of them,” she hisses, subtly indicating the two trainers from Hoenn, who look on with matching expressions that border on bemusement. At her words, they exchange looks and glance hurriedly away, both turning a brilliant scarlet that he is sure will put traffic lights around the world at envy. Thankfully, the de-petrified senior Dex holders are far out of earshot, standing at the balcony of the Battle Dome and admiring the view of the horizon, blissfully unaware of what is going on some distance away.
Gold grins through his haze of pain. “Does that mean a later, the-?”
His question is left hanging in the air when she abandons all pretences and promptly steps on his foot, sneaker-shod feet grinding down mercilessly upon his toes.
“No,” she reiterates, placing unduly vehement stress upon the single syllable.
As soon as he recovers from the painful throbbing of his maligned foot, he proceeds to kiss her anyways, right before the eyes of the two juniors - mostly just for the heck of it, but also because he’ll never get one if he keeps waiting around like this - and hopes fervently that she will just appreciate it and just live in the moment, like any normal girl would.
He’s quite proud of the way he does it, too-it’s the whole she-bang, sweeping her partially off her feet and cradling the back of her head against his arm, swooping down right over her as he kisses her right on the lips.
It’s the kind of thing which happens in the movies that has all the girls swooning. He should know, since he’s watched enough of those movies - and tried to pick up some techniques too, while he’s at it.
For a single glorious moment, she’s frozen too still to react and only blinks up at him with something approximating owlish, vaguely homicidal bewilderment.
Then, she splutters a single incoherent word - which sounds suspiciously like his name - and reaches up to slap him on the side of his head.
Gold nearly drops her then and there - though in all fairness he shouldn’t be that surprised, seeing as how this sort of reaction is only to be expected from a stuffy, prudish bookworm like that.
Which, of course, makes it all the more appealing to pursue her.
“H-hey!” Crystal sputters, her reddened complexion putting Ruby and Sapphire’s to shame. “Wh-what was that for?”
He rests his cue stick on his shoulder and smugly rubs his nose. “I figured someone had to start something!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the two younger trainers edging away towards the glass doors, where the rest of their number continue to gawk at the sunset - which, he is certain, cannot be anywhere near as interesting as what he is experiencing now. Oh well, their loss, he grins to himself, but stops when confronted with Crystal’s disapproving frown.
“What? You didn’t like it? Come here, I’ll do it better this time, I swear!”
“Nghhh,” she mumbles ineloquently back, and makes a half-hearted attempt to move away. Perhaps the fact that there’s nobody left to witness their antics helps his case somewhat, for which he is quite grateful.
This time, she doesn’t protest - much - when he shepherds her towards a wall and bars her escape routes with his arms. She only nibbles on the inside of her cheek and scowls half-heartedly at him, though he is met with little resistance when he presses his lips to hers.
It’s definitely something, he thinks with great exhilaration, to finally be where he’s wanted to be for quite a while now. She tastes of mint and tropical fruits, summery and fresh, with a hint of blackcurrant. Interesting, that. The more he probes, the more intrigued he is by what his senses offer him, and he is more than a little taken aback when her hands snake up his back and wind themselves in his hair, knocking his cap askew in the process.
He minds none of this, even if he spent several hours in the morning fixing and gelling his hair up to perfection in all the right spots.
“Mmm, well, isn’t this a change of heart?” he chuckles, but swiftly shuts his trap when she yanks sharply at the back of his head.
“You talk too much,” she mutters into his mouth, and kisses him again, with surprising eagerness.
“S-sorry,” Gold laughs, but is silenced when her fingers push gently but insistently against the back of his head, pressing them closer together with the motion.
Oh, it’s awkward all right, the way their noses bump against each other and their teeth scrape against one another, the way half the time he ends up biting her lip - how embarrassing, he isn’t as good a kisser as he thought, then. The fact that they can barely see what they’re doing and what they’re knocking into does not help matters any, what with the fading sunlight, but all of this is inconsequential in the face of what is happening.
In some far-off part of his mind, at the very back of his consciousness, Gold is somewhat mind-boggled by this turn of events, but there’s no way he’s not enjoying this.
As his wandering hands slip further south, he is rewarded by a brisk slap on the wrist before she guides them back up.
Ah, well. There’s more time for that in the future.
Just when he’s getting comfortable - this is definitely something he can get used to - the sound of voices cuts through his blissful reverie like a hot knife through butter.
Crystal gasps and unsuccessfully tries to shove him away, embarrassment written over her features. They glance up as one to catch the rest of the Dex Holders making their way back indoors, driven back to the warmth of the building by the chilly evening air.
“Oh-” Red’s greeting dies before it is even voiced when he catches sight of them, tangled up in a mess of limbs against the wall like a pair of red-handed teenagers - which they are - caught in the act.
In the ensuing stunned silence, a discreet cough could be heard from someone in the group, and Gold almost swears he can hear a few Kriketune chirping in the background.
“Um,” Gold begins unhelpfully, but Blue is the first to react, grabbing the arm of the person closest to her as she proceeds to drag them off.
“Well now!” she begins brightly, as she tugs Yellow towards the exit. “Why don’t we just leave them to continue where they left off?”
Crystal’s stammered objections go unheard as the rest of the group try - and fail - at attempting to fit simultaneously through the door.
title: daddy's girl
wordcount: 1383
rating: PG
summary: She can do everything a son should be able to, and more.
notes: Written for the Pokanon kink meme as well.
prompt: Koga/Janine: "But they don't love you like I do." Doesn't necessarily have to lead into sexy times, I just want something that tastes like diabetes. ♥"
She cannot help but think that all along, her father had always wished for a son.
A son to be his heir, to carry on the family name. A son he can spar with, a son upon whom he can bestow the secrets of life. A son to bring the clan honour, a son to make him proud.
All of this, she is not.
So she trains, trains and pushes herself, tests her limits and breaks them just to see how far she can go. Look at me, Papa, she yearns to say, look at me. Are you proud of me?
Of course, she never expresses any of these. Everything soft and feminine - her emotions, her fears, her dreams, all half-formed and half-realised - are banished to the back of her mind, never to see the light of day as she struggles to live up to the elusive image of whatever her father expects her to be.
She can kick harder than any of his acolytes, throw shurikens further and faster than any of his apprentices. She can disguise herself better than a Kecleon, seamlessly blending into whatever scenario he throws at her, altering her face, her voice, her mannerisms to suit the situation at hand. She can rouge her cheeks, let down her hair and put on airs and graces and pretend to be a beguiling maiden, or bind her chest and adopt a confident swagger and guttural accent to pass as an uncouth fisher-boy. She can move as quietly as a ghost, making less sound than falling leaves. She can awaken from the deepest slumber in the blink of an eye, ready for anything that can possibly happen. She can meditate on her head for longer than anyone else can, long after the boys have passed out from dizziness, long after they have given in to the savage pounding of blood rushing to their skulls.
When she takes his place as Fuchsia gym leader, she likes to think it is more because of her skills than her lineage, the blood-ties which dictate she should get ownership of his gym due to her being his successor. To reinforce this, she learns to fight better than any of her clan-kin who patrol the inner halls, learns to brew the most potent toxins and learns the names of all their antidotes. She learns how to daub a Crobat’s wing-edges with poison so that they can unleash powerful attacks that will cripple even the most well-prepared opponents; she learns how to milk an Arbok and Seviper for their venom and dilute them to different concentrations for different uses.
She learns to make pellets of poison and smears needles with her concoctions, learns to conceal these subtle weapons about her person and use them even when she is physically incapacitated. She can hide them between her teeth, spit venom like a snake or slide toxic darts under an assailant’s skin, leaving them paralysed - or worse. The whole world, in turn, learns never to underestimate her, Janine of Fuchsia, daughter of Koga.
She can do everything a son should be able to, and more.
But yet, she cannot stifle the vague idea - tentative, uncertain, weakly persistent - that her father wanted a son, a rough-and-ready boy-child he will never have to be wary of breaking.
When they train together, he always falls back to make sure she’s coping, to make sure she can keep up. Can you go another four miles, lotus? he asks, the implications in his stern voice ringing in her ears, and she flinches away from his term of endearment for her. As much as she welcomes it, it is everything she strives not to be, an embodiment of female delicacy and frailty, and she wants none of it.
Yes, of course I can, she responds as stoutly as possible, despite the shortness of her breath, the fatigue which burns slowly and sluggishly in the coils of her aching muscles. Despite the weariness of her bones, the throb of painful knuckles swollen from gripping a chain-scythe for too long, she forces herself to go on, just so that at the end of the day, she will be rewarded by a gruff nod and a near-imperceptible crinkling of his eyes, an acknowledgment of her efforts from her father.
Another thing she wishes for - selfishly, perhaps - is to be the only female in his life.
It is a while before he can bring himself to distance himself from memories of his wife, and Janine feels guilty for wanting to deny her father the chance to feel the touch of a woman again.
But she wants to be his princess - no matter how foolish that sounds - and wants to be able to know that she’s the only one who matters.
Blood is thicker than water, after all.
She tries to hide her disapproval of the women her father brings home, elegantly-coiffed ladies brimming with confidence and self-assurance, all in possession of a natural, airy grace and poise which she herself lacks. She is graceful in an entirely different way-when they walk, it looks as though they are floating; hers is the more functional kind of grace, the sort that allows her to land on her feet no matter how she falls, the sort which makes her sure-footed and confident even as she flits silently over ramshackle tin rooftops.
Their hands are soft and smooth and delicate, telltale signs of a life of leisure, whilst hers are rough and calloused from handling weapons and training Pokémon, marked in a thousand places by the scars of initiation of their clan.
One night, after his latest date has left for the evening, she makes her way towards the room where they receive guests and sits quietly alongside her father, a companionable silence settling between them like falling feathers.
“She seems like a pleasant one,” Janine begins hesitantly, weighing each word carefully as she speaks.
Her father nods, a slow, regal dip of his head. “Better than some,” he concedes evenly, as he takes a sip of his tea. He replaces the cup upon the table, and they watch as steam drifts forth from its contents, rising to the air in languid spirals.
“But-” She bites her lip, chewing ruminatively on the words which squirm in her mouth. They linger tentatively on the tip of her tongue, struggling to be voiced despite her misgivings, despite the beginnings of shame which stirs in the pit of her stomach.
Koga raises his eyebrows at her, a simple motion which she knows is meant to be her prompt to continue.
“They don’t love you like I do,” she blurts out, and is utterly mortified by what she says.
For an instant, she wishes for the floor to open up and swallow her whole-anything, anything, to be saved from her father’s cold, impassive scrutiny. The image she has painstakingly tried to build up over the years is shattered with those seven simple words, seven little words which will remind her father of the fact that she’s not a boy.
But she doesn’t regret saying what she did. Nobody can possibly hope to emulate the bond they share, the blood ties which bind them closer than physical ties can ever hope to. After all, they are really all one another have left in the world.
She is unprepared for the smile which curves across his lips, shearing years away from his face. His expression softens and the lines across his forehead smooth out, and he bows his head, gently brushing his knuckles against the line of her jaw.
“I know, little lotus. I know.”
Emboldened by this, she swallows, clears her throat, and raises her chin and meets his gaze squarely, with as much determination as she can muster. “Are you proud of me?”
She is aware of a fleeting glint in his eye, a momentary glimpse of something she has never seen before. Then, the veneer of impeccable calm slides back into place, and he leans forth to kiss her on the forehead.
“Nothing could make me prouder than being able to call you my daughter,” he says quietly. “And I want you to know that no matter who you grow up to love in the future, nobody will love you like I do.”
back to index.