I should be doing my crapload of homework, but did I? NO. I procrastinated and this was born. THIS IS IT. I'm gunna stop writing Wishfulshippings (for now), and write some other Pokémon couples. Maybe some Crystalshipping.

This is way, way after Best Wishes. Dent and Iris are 20-something years old.

I have so much crap for this couple—fanfictions and art. I need to finish it. All of it.

The Evolution of Love

A now older Dent stared at his first and only love: Iris.

She lay beside him, her eyes closed, her jaw open as she softly snored. He reached up with his hand, placing it under her jaw, and gently pushed her mouth closed. And with that same hand, he touched her long (not as long as it used to be; it was now down to her chest) soft hair. She was so beautiful. He moved his body closer to his in some primal human instinct, taking in the warmth of her body, the scent of her hair and body, and he let out a pleased sigh.

Who would have thought that one star-lit night would bring them all this way?

On that star-lit night, so many years ago when they were innocent teenagers, they sat together silently on a grassy knoll, staring up at the stars, having a deep heart-to-heart chat about themselves. There was laughter, story-telling, blossoming feelings. He remembered looking at her, focusing all of his attention on her and what she was saying. They shared a glance, and they instantly blushed. To release the confusion and tension, they laughed. But when the laughter subsided, they stared at each other again. He did not know who moved first, but their lips met in a chaste kiss.

Things from that night snowballed from there.

Soon, more kisses were shared. However, they were done in secret. When Satoshi was not looking, she would come up, kiss his soft cheek. Dent would make little chocolate-covered fruit desserts for her. It was completely innocent for the first five to six months. But, something stirred inside of him. He wanted more. He was young—he did not know what was happening to him, what he was feeling, but all he knew is that he liked what he felt. When she would look at him, kiss him, talk lovingly to him, he felt those stirrings inside of him. What he did not know what that she felt it as well. Both had tried to put words with what they felt—Dent trying his hardest to figure out what he was feeling; trying to put rational labels to his feelings. But realization hit him like a brick wall one night when he had a dinner-date with her; the words fell from his mouth:

"I love you."

He remembered Iris staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her heart fluttered, and she was so happy.

"I love you too."

Dent nearly cried in happiness, in fact, he did. Iris reached up, drying his eyes with her thumbs and leaned over to press sweet kisses to his tear-stained cheeks. It was so wonderful. Love. It was such a beautiful word and emotion. Every night since that night was like being in a wonderland of pure, untainted innocence. Nothing stood in their way—they were invincible; free. She was his rock as he was hers. If she needed a pair of arms to hold her tight, he was there. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, he would offer his shoulder. If she needed someone to talk to, he would lend his ear to her, and she did the same for him.

A year into their love, the physical need for each other reached its limit (no more touches on top of clothing; there was a hunger for more). Dent remembered that his hands shook like leaves in a windstorm. Her hands gripped his, guiding his trembling hands to her shirt, helping her remove it from her body. Soon her hands reached for his clothing, and she slowly removed them. He looked into her eyes, reading the emotions that he could see: love, fear, innocence. He remembered smiling, and giving into the emotions that bombarded his heart. Their first time was clumsy; somewhere in there some tears mingled, moans filtered in the atmosphere, soft touches were made—someone cried a name, arms were wrapped up, holding the other close; Iris lost herself and bit him, but he did not care for what she did was beautiful. They did not know what to do. Both were innocent, both were virgins, both were scared and confused—but both were in love. He remembered trembling as he touched her, so worried that he would do something wrong and displease her. But she reached for his face, looking at him with utter love in her mud-brown eyes, and he knew he could do no wrong with her. When it was all over, Dent wanted her all the more.

She was his queen.

Yes, they were young. They did not know about life all that much, but what they did know was that he loved her and she loved him. Their relationship had its ups and downs; they fought, they had conflicts, but every time, they would make up with a hug or a kiss. Some said that they would never make it; that they were two stupid horny teenagers that would end up breaking apart from each other. Dent and Iris proved them wrong. Every time Iris would hear that, she would take Dent's hand, and scream:

"We'll show you all! We may be young, but we love each other!"

He admired her courage.

When they were adults (and Satoshi achieved what he wanted all his life), Dent and Iris went for another one of their common date-nights, but this one was different (towards the end it would be). It was a night with pure romance—a romantic dinner with each other, walking together downtown, and he brought her to a park where he wanted to ask his question. He remembered Iris gasping as he kneeled down on one knee, opening a small black box with a gold ring, and proposed the question:

"Will you marry me?"

She squealed in joy, jumping into his arms as she accepted his offer. And soon, they walked down the aisle as husband and wife, and now this is where they were now. They were in the same bed, same home—same life that they would share for the rest of their lives. Iris said it was fate that brought them together; he had nothing to say when it came down to that. But whatever it was—luck, chance, fate, God—he didn't care; he was happy that he was with her.

He slipped his hands down, which came to rest on the growing bulge of her belly, Dent smiled. Their lives would be complete soon, and he could not wait to spend the rest of his life with such an amazing woman.

He was the luckiest man on the face of the Earth, and he knew it.

Dent gave his wife a final tender kiss on the cheek, his hands still on her protruding and still growing stomach, and he allowed sleep to overpower him. After all, he had to get some sleep. Who else would paint the baby's room? Certainly not Satoshi. Not by himself, anyways.