Evatori

guess im a hobby writer now? i write Pokemon! (as of right now)

[evatori]

Writing Masterlist

I'm more of a lurker on here, but if you'd like to chat, feel free to!

SFW:

A Path Through Ash - Griselle Three Simple Words - Grisham x F!Reader x Corbeau Pumping Steel - Philippe x GN!Reader Zhi Yin - Corbeau x Grisham

NSFW:

Fuck, Marry, Kill - Volo x F!Reader Go for a Ride - F!Reader x Grisham x Corbeau

AO3 Profile

[evatori]

Self-Immolation

Summary: self-immolation (noun) [ self-im·​mo·​la·​tion ˌself-ˌi-mə-ˈlā-shən ] : a deliberate and willing sacrifice of oneself often by fire (aka Grisham and passive suicidal ideation) Pairing: Grisham x Griselle or Grisham & Griselle CW: implications of suicide and self-harm inspired by the twitter post down below!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grisham knew he liked coffee. He liked working as a baristo for the most part, collaborating with his Pokemon to concoct drinks that bring fleeting comfort to Lumiose's disadvantaged. He enjoyed spending time with Griselle. He would read a novel while she watched TV., and eventually, she would be leaning against him, head on his shoulder, snoring while her unruly hair tickled his face.

He loved Charizard. An itty bitty Charmander now turned into a strong and noble companion, he cherished every single moment he had spent with him ever since they first met. He hated grooming Pangoro and Pyroar; they tested his patience to no end. Salamence enjoyed going for night flights with him and Charizard, and having the most picky palate of his team, Malamar helped taste test new recipes for the cafe. Whenever his team wasn't competing in the Royale, they trained on the rooftop at night until Griselle came shuffling up the stairs, yawning as she commanded them to settle down.

Grisham liked, loved, and hated a lot of things, but whenever he thought about it, those things didn't seem to light a fire inside of him like things did for Griselle. She had passion, perhaps misguided at times, that burned like a bonfire inside of her. Under her thorny exterior, she was surprisingly earnest and sincere once you got to know her. She woke up late everyday, always cursing him out without fail for how early he set the cafe's hours, but regardless, she got up anyways. If she had a good dream last night, she would hum to herself while brushing her teeth. If not, she would glare at him, toothbrush buzzing away in her mouth while he prepared a simple breakfast.

He never understood why, but she liked watching Galarian League matches, especially Kabu's whenever he battled against Leon. He caught her full on yelling at the referee on screen one day when he came back from the grocery store. Griselle mildly hated coffee, preferring energy drinks that made his stomach ache from the sugar, but she tolerated a roast anyways whenever Grisham saw that she was about to nod off in the slower afternoons. She liked the smell of coffee more than the taste, even after he added a horrendous amount of sugar and cream. On their days off, she wore his stolen basketball shorts until he was left to choose only between boxers or joggers in Lumiose's famous heat waves. He opted for joggers most of the time. Whenever they got drunk in their apartment, she would tipsily tell him to "lighten up" and "come out from backstage more often". He would usually stare at her dumbly before pressing his flushed cheek against the faux marble countertop.

Grisham wasn't sure what Griselle was to him. They referred to each other as comrades, but it was something deeper than that. Was it romance? He didn't really know anything about that. From the moment he was conscious of his own existence, Lysandre had whisked him away into the Team Flare dorms. He would be groomed into the perfect Flare admin eventually. His friends would elbow him whenever they caught someone ogling him, and while he'd give them a practiced smile, he wouldn't engage with them. His friends would then groan and say that he was a Skitty, too busy chasing his own tail to have any fun. It wasn't until he was 17 that he had his first kiss when his friends were already hooking up with others, and even then, he wasn't sure if he liked it. While he felt pulls to certain people, he never pursued anything, convinced that there was no point.

Grisham would never admit this to anyone, but back then, he wasn't sure he'd make it to his 21st birthday. So imagine his surprise when Griselle gifted him a new set of chef's knives and a hearty pat on the back. That night as he laid in bed, his consciousness gave him another present, the gift of dread of what was to come next. He hadn't planned for this to happen, for him to be here for so long. The lack of a reason for being here scared him, so he quickly latched onto one: find AZ, make him pay, redeem Flare Nouveau. Spite is a powerful motivator, and it gave him something to do for a while, becoming the newest hotshot to rise up through the ranks of the Royale.

Still, he found himself training harder and harder with his team, until the burns and scrapes left behind no longer bothered him. In a reversal of roles, Griselle would chide him as she bandaged up his back, the only place he couldn't tend to himself. "Don't kill yourself over this business. It's not worth your life." So instead, he began attending the Royale more frequently, staying out later and later even after he'd accumulated enough points for challenger's tickets. As for his baristo duties? The main truck always opened at 7 AM, and he never missed a day. The extra money helped though, and after paying off the bills, he was able to buy Griselle a high end Wooloo wool sherpa blanket. She always complained of being cold at night despite sleeping cuddled up to her Pyroar. "What's this?" she said, eyeing the package suspiciously, but upon tearing it open, she had squealed so loudly that Talonflame came screeching into the room.

Grisham liked seeing the various wounds and ever-growing dark circles when he looked in the mirror. The knowledge that he was being useful brought him peace. If he was the only piece of tinder left in the woodshed, why wouldn't he set himself on fire to keep Griselle warm? When the Royale app showed that Team MZ newcomer as his next promotion match, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost over. After taking Floette and subduing Ange, Grisham could just… let go and rest. Be at peace forever after.

Instead he lost his match, and something about that loss was different from the ones he suffered during his time as a Team Flare grunt in the field.

A couple weeks after Ange's rampage, Griselle wakes up on her own for once. Smelling coffee from the kitchen, she pads out into the living room. Grisham is on the balcony, leaning on the railing, sipping from a mug as he stares at the grey overcast sky. It's going to rain very soon; Griselle can smell it, but she joins him. "Good morning," he says, finally looking at her with a soft smile. There's something different about him, something shining in those crimson eyes. She's not sure she's ever seen him this way before; it's a new side to him, one that she is very glad to see.

He turns his gaze back on the ruined tower, taking another sip. "I was thinking, should we visit Ambrette Town for my birthday? We could close down the cafe for a week." A week? Who is standing before her, and what have they done with Grisham? She eyes him suspiciously but after seeing that he's being sincere, she says, "I'd love to. Never got to go see the ocean before, and that sounds like fun." He nods. "It's settled then. Don't worry about arrangements. I can make them." Griselle heads back inside to brush her teeth, and after another glance at the Lumiose skyline, Grisham does too.

The sliding door closes shut with a soft squeak just as the first drop of rain begins to fall.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

wrote this on paper and then typed up without spell-check, so I'll go back later and edit. also i know twitter sucks but some of the pokemon fans there are incredibly passionate and die-hard fans of certain characters, and I can only hope someday to understand a character to the depths they do

[evatori]

had a dream this morning that may or may not have inspired this one. although technically i didn't get to see the end, so a bit of a fix-it fic if you will. thank you so much for that REM sleep...

also two in a row? im on a roll

NSFW

You and Grisham were lounging in bed just before bed time, warm light washing over you from the lamp on the nightstand. He was sitting up half-way against the pillows, legs splayed out in the way that all men seemed to instinctively know when man-spreading, wearing only boxers, as he watched a video on his phone floating in front of him. One hand was behind his head, the other playing with your hair as you drew circles on his stomach with a finger, eyes half-lidded as you tried not to succumb to the warmth and soothing sensation lulling you to sleep.

You were lying in the crook of his arm, one leg thrown over his leg, cuddled up against his side. After a few minutes, your eyes drooped shut, finally ready to slide into sleep when he shifted on the bed, unintentionally pressing the side of his thigh right up against the apex of yours. Your breath hitched just the slightest bit, but he didn’t seem to notice, shifting again right up against where you wanted him. You were wide-awake now; how could you not be?

Carefully, you rolled your hips a little against his thigh, watching his face to see if he noticed, but when he looked away from his phone and quirked an eyebrow at you, you threw caution to the wind and sat up, moving down to straddle his thigh properly.

The comforter around your shoulders formed a little tent around you as you ground down, and Grisham didn’t say anything, instead, lying back among the pillows, video abandoned, watching you roll your hips, affection and something hungrier shining in his eyes.

You moaned quietly, pleasure roiling through you as you moved back and forth, and he bit his lip at the sound. “Does that feel good, my love?”

You nodded.

“Take what you need then. I’m yours to use.” You shifted further down his leg, grinding right on his knee, and oh lord, that felt even better.

He crooked his leg upwards, pressing his knee even harder up against you, and your stomach jumped as your clit rubbed up against it. You planted both hands on his thigh, gripping onto it and rode his leg faster, grinding down even harder against him, and after a few more minutes, you were coming with breathy little moans, soaking your underwear as you threw your head back and squeezed your eyes shut.

When you came down from your high, you hoped he couldn’t feel how wet your underwear was now, but when you saw the look in his eyes, you knew he definitely could.

Feeling boneless now, you collapsed onto him between his legs, noting the bulge you could feel against your side, but elected to bury your face into his stomach. He pet your head for a little bit before hauling you back up into the crook of his arm by his side, kissing your forehead gently. “Was it good?”

You grumbled something in assent, eyes shut, before he kissed your forehead again and whispered, “Care to finish what you started?”

You slid a hand down his torso and into his boxers.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

drafting out a Grusha x Reader fic right now so why is this guy showing up in my head again ???

[evatori]

Prism Tower

Summary: Having lived in Lumiose all his life, surely Corbeau now understands what it's like to be the base of the this city's most luminous tourist attraction Pairing: F!Reader x Corbeau x Grisham CW: NSFW, sucking strap, spit roasting, eiffel tower position (at the very very end whoops)

A/N: hehe finished it!

This is meant to be an alternate or extra scene to Ch. 2 of "Kiss and Make Up" on my ao3, but this can be read stand-alone. No vital context or anything, but the gist is it's Corbeau's birthday, and Reader has a strap-on. That is all.

There was something deeply erotic about seeing Corbeau open up for them on both ends.

Grisham placed his hands on Corbeau’s waist, admiring the way his tattoos shifted from side to side as the man in front of him shivered in anticipation before he began sliding in tortuously slow. She was kneeling in front of them, cooing and petting his hair as he took Grisham’s cock in inch-by-inch, and after both men let out shaky breaths when Grisham finally bottomed out, she bit her lip at the sound, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“This is one of the best ideas you’ve ever had” she sighed, cradling Corbeau’s cheek as he nuzzled into her palm. Grisham smiled at that, leaning down to kiss Corbeau’s shoulder as he waited for permission to move, “I’m afraid I have to concur.”

He pressed his tongue to the small of Corbeau’s back, licking a long stripe up his spine across the art etched in his skin, tasting musk and salt before pulling back to blow cool air across the trail of saliva left behind. He hid a smirk at the way his muscles jumped when Corbeau jolted at the sensation, turning his head into his shoulder with a hiss. Leaning down again, he murmured into his ear, “Oh my love, are you ready for us to take you apart tonight?”

The man underneath grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck me already” before he spoke up anyways with a cocky smile, “Do your worst.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned, sitting back on her calves and nodding at Grisham to move, content to watch for now. He started out slow, drawing his hips back and thrusting forward as he experimented with the angle, but when he managed to wring out a loud keening moan, he knew he found Corbeau’s sweet spot. Making sure to keep the same angle, Grisham began a steady rhythm, watching Corbeau’s head drop forward and his spine arch with pleasure. He was looking down, enamored by the sight of Corbeau split open beautifully around his cock, when he heard a “tsk” and looked up.

“Don’t you dare muffle your noises,” she scolded, bringing up her hand and hooking two fingers in his mouth, forcing him to keep it open. With that adjustment, Corbeau was singing for them, not unlike the bird he was named after. His sweet moans fueled the fire in Grisham’s stomach, and he began fucking him harder, suddenly desperate to hear Corbeau when he was caught in the throes of pleasure. No matter how long it had been or how long it would be, Grisham would never tire of hearing him at his most vulnerable.

At a particular hard thrust, Corbeau bit down onto her fingers in an attempt to clamp down a loud keening noise. She hissed in pain and pulled her hand out of his mouth to tilt his chin up, but when her pupils dilated even further and she sucked a breath in at what she saw, Grisham had to laugh. “Fuck,” she whispered, “So hot.”

He was drooling, and she pressed a finger back onto his tongue, his spit pooling around the tip before she tilted his head forward and let it run out the corner of his mouth. Her other hand came up to gather the liquid on her fingers before rubbing it on the strap-on between her legs, coating the dildo in his saliva until it was shining with slick. Sitting up on her knees, she tapped the tip against his lips and grinned down at him, “Suck my dick,” before she was sliding into Corbeau’s willing mouth, watching his lips, swollen from kissing, part around the silicone until he reached a depth he felt like taking at the moment. She let him set the pace for now, threading a hand through his hair and tugged gently. Corbeau moaned at that and began sucking with a renewed fervor.

“Which of us do you think he’ll come for?” Grisham mused, slowing his hips down and running a hand across his forehead to push back the sweaty strands of hair stuck there. “Hmm, no idea,” she hummed as Corbeau gagged, “Surely you don’t think it’ll be you?”

Grisham grinned, “No comment,” and he began pounding into him. The strap-on slipped out of Corbeau’s mouth as he dropped his head and groaned. “Pl-ease, please!” he begged, “Nngh… fu-ck.” She cradled his chin, “Just look at you, taking him so well. I want to see you take me too, can you do that for me? I know you can.”

Corbeau squeezed his eyes shut and gasped, but he opened his mouth again anyways, and soon, the sound of slurping filled the room again, mixing with the loud slapping of skin against skin. She stared down at him, eyes shining with affection, praising him as Corbeau swirled his tongue around the head before taking the length down his throat again. “So good, you’re doing so good. I bet Gris wishes he could clone himself right now so he could be where I am. He’d be able to feel you suck him off while he fucks you at the same time.”

That tore a guttural groan out of Grisham. Arceus, now that was a fantasy if he ever had one.

With the way Corbeau’s moaning was growing in volume, he knew he was close, but he was getting close too, his orgasm threatening to wash over him before Corbeau came. Grisham squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing back to a controlled tempo, holding back the tidal wave threatening to drag him away.

“Aww, can’t handle all that, can you?”

Oh, he could hear the snicker in her voice. It Was On. There was no way he’d let her have bragging rights in this little impromptu competition.

Not to be outdone, he reached around Corbeau’s hip and wrapped a hand around his cock. It only took a couple jerks of Corbeau’s dick and several more hard thrusts before Corbeau was crying out, the dildo slipping out of his mouth when his wrists gave out and he collapsed onto his forearms. Grisham could feel it twitching and spasming in his hand as hot cum spattered onto the sheets below, and then he was reaching out towards her, finally letting himself run towards his own peak. She held out a hand questioningly, taking his hand before he yanked her forward into a bruising kiss. He moaned at the feeling of soft lips against his, as she brought her hands up to cradle his face, deepening the kiss, and after a couple more frantic thrusts, he was coming too, spilling into the condom, hunched over as blissful pleasure stampeded through his body.

When the tremors subsided, he pulled out, Corbeau collapsing fully onto the bed, and tied off the condom, tossing it in the trash can before letting himself fall onto the bed next to Corbeau. He had rolled over onto his back, panting with a hand over his eyes, as he laughed quietly to himself. “I think that was the hardest I’ve ever come.” She sat cross-legged behind them, leaning down to look at them affectionately as they caught their breath.

They stayed there for a little bit like this: her combing their hair with her fingers until their breathing slowed down to a regular pace. “You did so well. Gris, if you can run a bath, I’ll clean up here, and then join you.”

“Wait, you didn’t get a chance to come.”

She waved a hand as she undid the harness and pulled it off. “Don’t worry about me. It was hot enough watching you both.”

Grisham frowned, but when she began pulling the sheets off the bed and gathering them up into an unruly ball of fabric, he helped Corbeau limp to the bathroom. When the bathtub was filled with hot water and soothing bath salt, Corbeau slid into the water with a drawn out sigh, leaning back against the lip of the tub. “Let me wash your hair,” Grisham murmured, cupping some water into his palms and pouring it over him. Corbeau opened one eye to peer at him before closing it and grumbling in assent. When she came back, Grisham was massaging suds through the dark strands.

“I’ll do that, you get in the tub. I’ll wash your hair as well.”

He protested weakly before she jabbed him in the side with a finger and a “you put in a lot of work too” before he gave up and got in the water as well, letting the heat sink into his tired muscles. The three of them sat in contented silence as she rinsed the foam out of Corbeau’s hair and began pouring water onto Grisham’s head.

“So who do you think won?”

Grisham’s eyes were closed, but he smirked. “I’m afraid it’ll have to be me.”

“No, you cheated,” she argued, scraping her nails suspiciously against his scalp just a tad too hard. “You took advantage of the fact that you had access to his dick. I didn’t have that kind of opportunity.”

Corbeau chuckled from where he was resting against the side, “I can’t believe you’re fighting over this. Can’t you just agree that you both put in good work and shake on that?”

Water pouring down his face, Grisham spoke up, “Bragging rights are of the utmost importance.”

“Exactly. Beau, tell us who you think should win.”

When Grisham opened his eyes, Corbeau was looking at them with a mischievous grin on his face. “And if I say it was pretty boy here who won, what are you gonna do about it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fuck you.”

“Mm, you both just did.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this is my first time posting anything related to KaMU on here, should I post the others too? hmm...

[evatori]

sneak peak!!!!! NSFW

this is meant as an alternate or extra scene (haven't decided yet) to ch 2. of "Kiss and Make Up" on my ao3, so if you want a smidge of bonus context to this, go read that if you'd like

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grisham placed his hands on Corbeau’s waist, admiring the way his tattoos shifted from side to side as the man in front of him shivered in anticipation before he began sliding in torturously slow. She knelt in front of Corbeau, cooing and petting his hair while he shuddered as he took Grisham’s cock in inch-by-inch. Both men let out shaky breaths when Grisham finally bottomed out, and she bit her lip at the sound, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Such a good boy,” she sighed, cradling Corbeau’s cheek as he leaned into her palm, “This is one of the best ideas you’ve ever had.” Grisham smiled at that, leaning down to kiss Corbeau’s shoulder as he waited for permission to move, “I’m afraid I have to concur.” He pressed his tongue to the small of Corbeau’s back, licking a long stripe up his spine across the art etched in his skin, tasting musk and salt before pulling back to blow cool air across the saliva left behind. He hid a smirk at the way his muscles jumped when Corbeau jolted at the sensation, dropping his head into the sheets below with a muffled hiss. Leaning down again, he murmured into his ear, “Oh my love, are you ready for us to take you apart tonight?”

-------------

At a particular hard thrust, he bit down onto her fingers in an attempt to clamp down a loud keening noise. She hissed in pain and pulled her hand out of his mouth to tilt his chin up, but when her pupils dilated even further and she sucked a breath in at what she saw, Grisham laughed. “Fuck,” she whispered, “So hot.” Corbeau was drooling, and she pressed a finger back onto his tongue, his spit pooling around the tip before she tilted his head forward and let it run out the side of his mouth. Her other hand came up to gather the liquid on her fingers before rubbing it on the strap-on between her legs, coating the dildo in his saliva until it was wet and shiny. Sitting up on her knees, she tapped the tip against his lips and grinned down at him, “Suck my dick.” With that, she slid into Corbeau’s willing mouth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

having a rotation of WIPs is making me feel slightly insane and guilty like i feel like an emperor with a harem who's trying to keep them all "happy" until one of them decides it's in their best political interest to stab me with a poisoned dagger

[evatori]

greetings my fellow countrymen. I am still alive, and I want to write sooooo bad, but finals season be upon me, and I am ready to PERISH. my birthday was last Sunday though, and as a treat, sneak peek be upon ye

[evatori]

Zhi Yin (知音)

Alternate Title: I would know you even if I were blind

Summary: Corbeau comes across a certain busker one day. Who are they? And why do they remind him of a certain someone? Word Count: 2.1k Pairing: Corbeau x Grisham

This is set before the events of PLZA, but about a year or two after X/Y.

long author's note at the bottom, sorry y'all. I'm just a big yapper, so feel free not to read it. TLDR for the AN: my reason for writing this piece and my thoughts about headcanons for Grisham and Team Flare in here

@godserene (enjoy!)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something about the way the busker on the street up ahead played piano seemed awfully familiar to Corbeau as he wove his way around the groups of teens huddled together giggling in front of the stores.

He was incognito today: messy hair, contacts in, and suit jacket nowhere to be found since he wanted to do a personal inspection of the grunts that were stationed in this area right by the mall. So far, most had passed with flying colors, but he was going to have a little chat with Philippe later about one of them. It seemed like one had decided to pointlessly guard the nearby holovator instead of following his orders. When Corbeau reached where the busker was sitting, he paused, intrigued by their getup.

Usually, the buskers that performed in Lumiose were loud and proud of their identity, setting up signs with their socials and dressing up in flashy clothing and costumes. While it bordered on the point of obnoxiousness, he couldn’t fault them. Rent in Lumiose was disgustingly expensive, and Corbeau knew what it was like to starve. Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out an entry point into manipulating the housing market yet. It was a delicate operation that required subtlety, perfect for the way he liked to do things, but he was unwilling to fail in this regard. There were too many livelihoods riding on it.

In comparison to the other buskers that usually flocked to this area, this busker seemed like they were instead doing whatever they could to hide their identity. They wore a nondescript dark gray windbreaker, a face mask, and a baseball cap pulled low over their face. He couldn’t even see their hair color. There were no signs or anything, and the only other thing they had besides a keyboard case, propped open for donations, was a generic black backpack.

They were good though, amazing even. Corbeau never learned to play piano, nor did he play any other instruments, but he enjoyed classical music, and if he had to say so himself, he had built up quite a discerning ear for it over the years.

This busker played beautifully: with dramatic yet masterful dynamic control, gorgeous shaping of phrases, and while Corbeau was only vaguely familiar with this piece, he could tell that they had molded it to their personal style. It was artistry in action right in front of him. He would never disparage any musician, but unlike the other buskers who roughhoused with their music like a Skitty with a yarn ball, this busker moved as one with it. It was clear that they had significant training and experience.

They transitioned to another song, a jazzier piece this time, and as Corbeau stood and listened, something arose in the back of his mind, triggered by the skillful way their fingers moved over the keys. It was the memory of spying on Grisham playing piano in the ballroom through the ballroom’s cracked doors.

He had been snooping around late at night through Lysandre’s countryside mansion that doubled as the secondary Flare headquarters when he heard quiet piano notes coming down the hall from where the empty ballroom should have been. He snuck over and peeked through the slightly cracked doors, expecting to see Lysandre, but to his surprise, it was Grisham with his hair down and in his pajamas. The white streaks in his hair were dyed completely red once again. He must have done it recently because the last time Corbeau saw him in the Flare school’s hallways, about two days ago, the roots of his hair were showing white again.

He was playing a piece that Corbeau recognized from his lectures with Lysandre about the importance of promoting the classical arts, but his heart didn’t seem into it. His fingers wandered like a drunkard over the keys, his posture stiff and rigid, and after a couple more half-hearted notes, he slammed his hands down. Corbeau jumped at the discordant noise, but thankfully, Grisham still hadn’t noticed his presence. He scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering something Corbeau couldn’t hear before he started up another piece, this time swing jazz.

Now, his hands danced playfully over the keys rather than stumbled, and he was swaying with the pulsing rhythm. The liveliness in his hands was hypnotic, but when Corbeau dragged his gaze away from Grisham’s fingers, he was struck by the sight in front of him, his heart skipping a beat at the content expression on Grisham’s face illuminated by the soft, silver moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains.

A nearby shriek of laughter startled him out of his musings, and he shook his head to clear his mind. Why did this anonymous player remind him of that time? He hadn’t seen Grisham in years now, and he wasn’t sure if he still played piano. Years before, he attended Grisham’s last recital when Grisham had stood up abruptly halfway through the set list and stormed out, screaming at his parents. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure he was still in Lumiose after everything with Team Flare came out to the public.

Corbeau’s phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and when he didn’t check it immediately, the Rotom inside shocked him. He pulled it out and swore. Time had gotten away from him, and there was a nasty amount of text messages from Philippe about a meeting he needed to be at in less than forty minutes. Corbeau shoved his phone back into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed some money into the propped open piano case. The busker acknowledged the tip with a bow of their head.

He came back whenever he could, sometimes with Philippe, but most of the time he went alone.

Philippe had complimented them multiple times on their artistry. He was also a fellow piano player and was even trying to get Corbeau to let him teach him the basics. The crowd milling outside the mall ignored him whenever he was in his incognito getup, but when he stopped by after a meeting one day wearing his usual suit, everyone had given him a wide berth. Even the busker had stiffened up, an almost imperceptible tension in their shoulders and playing when he strode up to the spot he usually stood at. Corbeau always left money though, and regardless of whichever skin he decided to wear that day, the busker acknowledged him every time with that same polite bow of their head. They remained frustratingly anonymous in all other aspects however, and while Corbeau had wanted to ask if there was any other way he could support their art, he couldn’t bring himself to breach a wall that they obviously were adamant about keeping up.

There was one day, however, when he had caught a glimpse at the artist underneath. During a break on a sweltering summer day, they leaned down to pick up their water bottle. They had traded the windbreaker for a baggy t-shirt with a loose collar, and when the baseball cap shifted just the slightest amount forward, he saw ginger and white hair, a color combination he only saw once before. Whoever they were, took a swig, and Corbeau watched a droplet of water bead up at the corner of their lips before sliding down their jaw and down their sweaty neck, feeling disoriented and ashamed of how much he wished that bead of water was his lips. He couldn't figure it out. Why was he so fascinated with them?

That image clung to him even as he laid on his silk sheets, staring up at the ceiling trying to calculate what tomorrow's plans would require from him. His dreams were hazier than usual that night, and when he woke up, glimpses of long, nimble fingers and fiery-red hair were the only remnants of whatever his wandering consciousness had decided to conjure up.

A few weeks later, he and Philippe were strolling down that avenue together, discussing the mall’s latest realty developments and a new small business, in desperate need of funds, that had come looking for a loan. They saw the busker again and stopped as usual.

By now, the busker had come to anticipate their presence, and Corbeau swore that they always brought out the best pieces in their repertoire whenever he and Philippe came around. The type of music they played seemed to have evolved the more they spent performing in the streets. In the beginning, it was all classical pieces that Corbeau recognized, but by the end, funky-sounding jazz pieces and even covers of pop songs were the main rotation. They had even started taking occasional requests from onlookers.

Corbeau and Philippe stood there and listened attentively as usual when there was a loud commotion off to his side. He heard a woman shout, “Someone stop him!” before a man bowled through, knocking aside Corbeau and slamming into the busker. There was a loud thud as the keyboard hit the ground.

“Fucking Flare freak,” the man shouted, “Coming into our mall and ruining it with your presence.”

The busker, now on the ground, pulled down on their cap, but when they saw the man kicking away the keyboard and piano case, plastic skittering across the concrete, they scrambled to get up and throw themselves in between, abandoning their efforts to hide.

“What made you think we want your kind here,” the man sneered, “Trying to crawl your way back into society after what you people did to my family in Geosenge. You make me sick.”

The busker began apologizing and pleading repeatedly for him to stop, shrinking back as the man began crowding into their face.

“Step foot at this mall again, and I’ll fucking kill you; I swear it. You’ve taken everything from me, and I’m going to take everything from you," the man ended with a loud shout.

Corbeau, having regained his footing thanks to Philippe, was fumbling through his suit jacket for Scolipede’s ball to break apart this fight when he heard an ear-piercing slap. When he looked up, he bit down on his tongue to hide a noise because the busker’s cap had finally fallen off.

It was Grisham; It had to be because he remembered those crimson eyes and that distinctive hair color pattern. While Grisham didn’t have his glasses on, deep down Corbeau knew it was truly was him, despite not having seen him for four years. It all made sense now; no wonder their playing had reminded him of that night in the ballroom.

Corbeau released Scolipede and with his partner and Philippe in tow, strolled up to the man, a knife turned human. “I suggest you step back and calm yourself before I have to get involved,” he said, smiling coldly, “I have little patience for people like you, and you best remember that.”

He leaned in and grabbed the man’s collar.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to call the police, and you’ll be turning yourself into their custody if you don’t want to find out what happens when the Rust Syndicate comes knocking.”

Corbeau let go, and the man stumbled backwards, protesting that he “wasn’t looking for trouble" however Corbeau had already turned away and knelt to help Grisham up. Grisham was turning his face away, trying to hide even after what he had just gone through. At the edge of his face mask, there was an angry red hand print on his cheek. Corbeau kept his tone as soft as possible, “Hey Grish, long time no see. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Grisham looked up at him with a suspicious look in his eyes but nodded. Corbeau helped him stand up, but to his disappointment, he immediately pulled away from him as soon as he was on his feet, hurrying towards the keyboard and overturned piano case.

Corbeau helped Grisham gather the scattered money and his things before he got up and strode over to Philippe, speaking to him quietly, “Can you stay and make sure Officer Jenny takes this man into custody? I’m going to bring Grisham to my apartment for first aid. I’ll take the car, and when everything’s handled here, I’ll have one of the grunts pick you up.”

Philippe acknowledged him with a tilt of his head, and he walked back to Grisham’s side, picking up the keyboard case for him.

“Come with me to my apartment. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Title Explanation: here

Zhi Yin or 知音 is one of my favorite words in mandarin, and I just love that concept of knowing someone so deeply that you can tell it's them just by the way they play music. I'm aware that the original story behind this term has the two people knowing each other very deeply from the beginning, but there's just something so tasty about Corbeau unknowingly pining from the start and knowing Grisham from his music alone even if they weren't super close before.

Anyways, I actually am not a fan of piano music, so if the piano playing descriptions are bad, woops. I was in drumline in high school, and I've played a Chinese harp called guzheng for more than a decade now. Aside from being a cool premise, this piece was also written as a love letter to the feeling of playing music in general because while I loved music, I wasn't ever really good at it despite wishing I was. I haven't dabbled in music since high school band, and while I aspire to learn drumset on my own someday, I also miss being in a performance group. Practicing alone is nice, but it doesn't match the feeling of being in an ensemble together.

I don't personally have any headcanons for any character, but I like to dabble around with them in writing because it's fun to incorporate them. Piano player Grisham is a fun one, and I feel like busking is such a natural extension of that. Considering how he and Griselle were most likely struggling for money after Team Flare was disbanded, I can imagine him taking it up as a way to supplement their income.

I also feel like Team Flare and Lysandre would be elitists? In their pursuit of a perfect world and beauty, classical music would definitely be the "proper" way to play music, which is why I hope it comes across that Grisham enjoys more modern, "chaotic" styles of music in comparison to his parents who want him to solely focus on classical music. I can definitely see him as a prodigy with strict, overbearing parents who eventually cause him to burn out and lose his passion.

[evatori]

Zhi Yin (WIP?)

definitely not proof-read, but it's 2 AM, and I feel gross about myself and my writing, so have my ramblings as a treat. I'll definitely go back to edit and re-write this when I have time, and while it's kinda complete in this form, I might add more on later.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something about the way the busker on the sidewalk up ahead played piano seemed awfully familiar to Corbeau as he wove his way around the groups of teens huddled together in front of the stores.

He was incognito today, messy hair, contacts, and suit jacket nowhere to be found, since he wanted to do a personal inspection of the grunts that were stationed in this area right by the mall. So far, most had passed with flying colors, but he was going to have a little chat with Philippe later about one of them. It seemed like that one had decided to pointlessly guard the holovator instead of following his orders. When Corbeau reached the busker’s keyboard, he paused.

Usually, the buskers that performed in Lumiose were loud and proud with their identity, setting up signs with their socials and dressing up in flashy clothing. While it bordered on the point of obnoxiousness, he couldn’t fault them. Rent in Lumiose was disgustingly expensive, and Corbeau knew what it was like to starve. Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out an entry point into manipulating the housing market yet. It was a delicate operation, and he was unwilling to fail in this regard. This busker, however, wore a nondescript dark gray windbreaker, a face mask, and a baseball cap pulled low over their face. He couldn’t even see their hair color. They were good though, amazing even. Corbeau never learned piano nor did he play any other instruments, but he enjoyed classical music, and if he had to say so himself, he had built up a discerning ear for it.

This busker played beautifully: dramatic yet masterful dynamic control, gorgeous shaping of phrases, and while Corbeau was only vaguely familiar with this piece, he could tell that they had molded it to their personal style. It was artistry in action right in front of him. He would never disparage any musician, but unlike the other buskers who roughhoused with the music like a Skitty with a yarn ball, this busker moved as one with it. It was clear that they had significant training and experience.

They transitioned to another song, a jazzier piece this time, and as Corbeau stood and listened, something arose in the back of his mind, triggered by the way their fingers danced over the keys and the way they played. It was the memory of spying on Grisham playing piano in the ballroom through the cracked doors.

He had been sneaking late at night through Lysandre’s mansion in the country that doubled as the secondary Flare headquarters when he heard the soft notes coming down the hall from where the empty ballroom should have been. He snuck over to the door and peeked through the crack. It was Grisham with his hair down and in his pajamas. He was playing a piece that Corbeau recognized from his lectures from Lysandre about the importance of conserving the elegant art of classical music, but his heart didn’t seem into it. His fingers wandered drunkenly over the keys, and after a couple more half-hearted notes, he slammed his hands down. Corbeau jumped at the discordant noise, but thankfully, Grisham still hadn’t noticed him. He started up another piece, swing jazz if Corbeau was remembering correctly. This time, his hands danced over the keys rather than stumbled, and when Corbeau dragged his eyes away from Grisham’s fingers, his heart skipped a beat at the content expression on his face.

A nearby shriek of laughter startled him out of his musings, and he shook his head to clear his mind. Why did this anonymous busker remind of that time?

He hadn’t seen Grisham in years now, and he wasn’t sure if he still played piano. Last time, he attended one of his recitals, Grisham had stood up abruptly halfway through the set list, and stormed out, screaming at his parents. He wasn’t even sure he was still in Lumiose after Lysandre had tried to end the world. Corbeau’s phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and when he didn’t immediately pull it out, the Rotom inside shocked him. Little bastard.

He pulled it out and swore. He had lost track of time, and Philippe had bombarded him with text messages about a meeting he needed to be at in less than an hour. Corbeau shoved his phone back into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed some money into the propped open piano case. The busker acknowledged the tip with a bow of their head.

He came back a couple more times, sometimes with Philippe, sometimes with Paxton, but most of the time he went alone. Philippe had complimented them multiple times on their artistry; he was also a fellow piano player and was even trying to get Corbeau to let him teach him, but Paxton had winced and said piano music wasn’t really his thing when Corbeau asked him what he thought.

The crowd milling outside the mall ignored him whenever he was in his incognito getup, but when he stopped by after a meeting one day, everyone had given him a wide berth. Even the busker had clammed up, an almost imperceptible tension in their shoulders and playing when he strode up to the post he usually stood at.

Corbeau always left money though, and regardless of the form he took, the busker acknowledged him every time with that same polite bow of their head. They remained frustratingly anonymous, and while Corbeau had wanted to ask if there was any other way he could support their art, he couldn’t bring himself to breach a wall that they obviously were adamant about keeping up.

However, there was one day where he had caught a glimpse at the artist underneath. During a water break on a sunny day, they had leaned down to pick up their water bottle. They were wearing a baggy t-shirt today, and when the baseball cap shifted just the slightest amount forward, he saw ginger and white hair, a color combination he only saw once before: on Grisham. Whoever this was took a swig, and Corbeau watched a droplet of water bead up at the corner of their lips before sliding down their jaw and down their sweaty neck, feeling disoriented and ashamed at how much he wanted that bead of water to be his lips. His dreams were even more hazy that night, and when he woke up, he could only remember seeing glimpses of long, nimble fingers and fiery-red hair.

A week later, he and Philippe were strolling down that avenue together, discussing the mall’s latest realty developments and the new small business that was in need of funds that just opened up. They saw the busker again and stopped like they usually did. By now, the busker had come to anticipate them, and Corbeau swore that they always brought out the best pieces in their repertoire whenever him and Philippe came around. They stood there and listened attentively as usual when there was a loud commotion off to his side. He heard a woman shout, “Someone stop him!,” before a man bowled through, knocking aside Corbeau and knocking down the busker and their keyboard.

“Fucking Flare freak,” he shouted, “Coming into our mall and ruining it with your presence.” The busker, now on the ground, pulled down on their cap, but when they saw the man kicking away the keyboard and piano case, they scrambled to throw themselves at the man, abandoning their efforts to hide.

“What makes you think we want your kind here,” the man sneered, “Trying to crawl your way back into society after what you did to my family in Geosenge. You make me sick.”

The busker pleaded with him, shrinking back as the man began crowding into their face.

“Step foot at this mall again, and I’ll fucking kill you, I swear it. You’ve taken everything from me, and I’m going to take everything from you.”

Corbeau, having regained his footing thanks to Philippe, was bringing out Scolipede’s ball to break apart this fight when he heard a loud slap. When he looked up again, he hid his gasp. The busker’s cap had finally fallen off. It was Grisham.

It had to be because he remembered those eyes and that distinctive hair color. While Grisham didn’t have his glasses on, deep down Corbeau knew it was him, despite not having seen him for three years now. It all made sense now; no wonder their playing had reminded him of that night in the ballroom. Corbeau released Scolipede and with his partner and Philippe in tow, strolled up to the man, a knife become human.

“I suggest you step back and turn yourself in before I have to get involved,” he said, smiling coldly, “I have little patience for people like you, and you best remember that.”

He leaned in and grabbed the man’s collar, “I'm going to call the police, and you're going to turn yourself into their custody if you don’t want to find out what happens when the Rust Syndicate comes calling.”

Corbeau let go, and the man dropped to his knees in shock, however Corbeau had already turned away and knelt down to help Grisham up. His cap was on the ground, and he was turning his face away, trying to hide even now. Under his face mask, there was the edge of an angry hand-print on his cheek.

“Hey Grish, long time no see. Are you okay?”

Grisham nodded.

Corbeau helped him stand up, but to his disappointment, he immediately pushed away from him as soon as he was on his feet, hurrying towards where the keyboard and overturned piano case. Corbeau knelt down and helped Grisham gather his things before he got up and strode over to Philippe, speaking to him quietly, “Can you stay and make sure Officer Jenny takes this man into custody? I’m going to take Grisham to my apartment. I’ll take the car, and when everything’s handled here, I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

Philippe acknowledged him with a tilt of his head, and he walked back to Grisham’s side, picking up the keyboard case for him.

“Come with me to my apartment. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Title Explanation: here

Zhi Yin or 知音 is one of my favorite words in mandarin, and I just love that concept of knowing someone so deeply that you can tell it's them just by the way they play music. Anyways, I actually am not a piano fan, so if the piano playing descriptions are bad, woops. I was in drumline in high school, and I play a Chinese harp called Guzheng. I've played guzheng for almost a decade now, and I really want to learn drumset in the future since I enjoyed drumline but got so burnt out from it. It's been years since I've gotten to be in a proper performance group, and I miss it a lot, so part of my reason for this grisbeau piece was just to reminisce on how fulfilling it is to play music. Practicing alone is nice, but it doesn't beat feeling like you're a part of something bigger.

[evatori]

Go for a Ride

Summary: you're riding Grisham when Corbeau calls Pairing: F!Reader x Grisham (x Corbeau) CW: NSFW, riding, praise kinkish

"I wanna ro- I wanna rock your body"

"I wanna go, I wanna go for a ride." - "Rock That Body" by Black Eyed Peas

@godserene apologies for the tag but i have a feeling you might enjoy this one?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grisham looked lovely as ever, illuminated by the lamp on his desk as he calculated Nouveau Cafe’s expenses for the month.

You leaned against the doorway, having finished your own work hours ago, and admired him from where you stood before slinking over to the back of his chair and sliding your arms over his shoulders. He looked up at you with tired eyes and a small smile, and you took the opportunity to kiss him.

It was innocent at first, simply letting him get a taste of the Pecha berry you ate a few moments prior, but it quickly turned heated as you slid a hand down into the neckline of his shirt. He moaned quietly, and when you pulled off of him, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed, “I want you and Beau so badly right now, but he’s at the office, and you’re busy. Ignore your work, and just fuck me already.”

Grisham groaned at that as you moved your mouth down to nip at his neck, but he protested, “My love, I need to get these expense reports done by the end of the week, and I won’t have any time to do them tomorrow or the day after.”

“Big deal, just get Beau to help you. He has to be disgustingly well-versed in that sort of thing now.”

“Just give me twenty more minutes.”

You palmed his dick over his soft, grey sweatpants. “But what if I want you now?” you whined, pressing down harder as his eyes fluttered shut, “You sure seem like you want a break.” His eyes opened again into a heated glare, “Be good, and I’ll give you everything you want after."

You made your way between his legs and straddled his lap as you brought your mouth right next to his ear and whispered, “I’ll be good if you let me go for a ride, pretty boy.” Grisham’s only answer was to bite down on your neck and snake a hand into your soaked underwear.

Hell yeah.

________________

Unfortunately for you, Grisham’s hold on his composure was iron-clad, even more so when you were trying everything you could to rile him up. You panted with exertion as you dug your fingers into his shoulders and alternated between bouncing and grinding against him, chasing your pleasure and doing your best to make him do you instead. You occasionally flicked your eyes up to his face to watch his expression, and while the sounds of writing and his focused eyes made him look like he was zeroed in on the papers in front of him, his clenched jaw told you everything that you needed to know.

“Gris, please” you moaned against his collarbone, trying to work him up as you sped up the pace of your hips and sank your teeth into his skin. He didn’t shift his focus, instead cooing, “You’re so beautiful like this, using my body to chase your pleasure. How good do I feel inside you, my love?” Your thigh muscles burned, and you slowed down, rolling your hips against his as you tried to catch your breath. It felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him to shove you onto the desk and pound you until you screamed.

“Please,” you begged, “I need more. I’ll suck you off as you work if you just fuck me already. You can even fuck my mouth if you want. Please, please!” Grisham’s eyes finally made their way back to you as he smirked and snaked a hand between your bodies to lazily rub a thumb over your clit.

“But you feel heavenly around me like this already. You can do it, I believe in you,” he encouraged as his eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall, “Just make it ten more minutes.”

He resumed writing as you rolled your hips, trying to reach your high. Occasionally, Grisham would rub your clit and then make you to suck your juices off his finger, but other than his teasing and the groans he let out, he remained frustratingly focused.

Just then, his Rotomphone rang, and when he saw the caller id, he grinned as he gently pushed your head down into the crook of his neck. “Shh, pretty girl. Wouldn’t want Beau to know we’re doing something behind his back, do we?”

You dug your teeth into the fabric of his shirt to muffle your moans as he answered the call.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Grish. I still have a mountain of work to do, and it might take about two more hours or so until I can get back to the apartment. How are you two doing?”

“We’re doing fine right now. Our love here even decided to go for a ride.”

You could hear the laugh in his voice, and you bit down hard, relishing the way he choked at that. Cruel bastard.

“This late at night? Also what was that sound? Are you okay?”

Grisham coughed before answering, “Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Would you like me to make some food for you when you get back? We still have leftovers, but if you’d like me to cook something, I can do so.”

The conversation faded into background noise, but before long, a loud gasp escaped you before you could muffle it, Grisham’s dick inside of you hitting a spot that sent pleasure racing up your spine. Corbeau stopped talking at that sound, and as Grisham tried to reassure him that truly nothing was wrong, he brought his hand back to your clit and rubbed it oh so slowly. Evil man.

You gave up your mission of trying to get your orgasm out of him and focused on taking him apart instead. How awful of him to be so put together in this situation when you were doing your damned hardest to get him to fuck you properly.

You shifted to solely bouncing up and down on him, and the sound of your hips slamming against his filled the room. You hoped Beau could hear it. Maybe if he did, he’d want to get home right away and fuck you as well.

Grisham looked significantly less composed now, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to hide a whimper as Corbeau talked at him. You brought your mouth right up to his ear to moan into it, and when he let out a quiet groan in response, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Gris, baby, please! I’ve been so good, please let me come already.”

Corbeau went silent, and when he spoke up again, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Well, I see what’s going on now. Does Grish feel good inside of you? How cruel of him to leave our angel wanting like this.”

“Yes, he feels so good, but he won’t ignore his work and fuck me," you sobbed.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he cooed condescendingly, “Why don’t you keep making him feel good, and I’ll talk you through it. I’ll make you feel good that way, okay?”

You whined in assent and nodded even though he couldn’t see you. Grisham pushed the phone over to float by your ear as he moved his head to suck on your neck and began rubbing your clit faster. It sent sparks through you, and you gasped as you felt the knot inside you spiraling tighter and tighter.

“You’re doing so good,” Corbeau praised, his tone silky and dark, “Such a good girl, letting out all sorts of pretty noises for us.” You squeezed your eyes shut as the rhythm of your hips began to break down.

“Please, I’m so close; I just want to come. I’ve been craving both of you all day, but you were both busy, and you’re at the office so far away, and Gris is cruel and mean and is making me do all the work," you babbled.

“I know, darling, I’m sorry I had to stay in the office overtime. I’ll take care of you when I’m back, but right now, I want to hear you come on Grish’s cock. Can you do that for me?”

“Ahh- fuck,” you moaned out, “keep t-alking.”

With one final circle of Grisham’s thumb on your clit, you came as Corbeau continued to praise you. You shuddered on his lap, shockwaves rocking your body and vision whiting out, as the waves kept coming while he tried to prolong your orgasm. You fell forward, panting into his chest, when you came down from your high. “Thank you, Beau,” you croaked out.

“No thank you for me?” Grisham quipped, brushing stray strands of hair away from your sweaty face.

“Fuck no, you were incredibly mean to me.”

Corbeau laughed, “I agree, he wasn’t very nice leaving you wanting like that.”

“You should’ve heard her begging before you called though. It was delicious, and it took everything in me not to give in.”

“You truly are a cruel man.”

“Ugh, enough,” you groaned as you snatched the phone out of the air, “Finish your goddamn work already and come home. If you don’t hurry, I’m tying Gris up and having my way with him until he’s milked dry, and then we’ll both be too tired to have fun when you do get back.”

“Don’t you dare-”

His voice cut off as you stabbed the disconnect button and tossed the phone back onto the desk.

Grisham raised an eyebrow, “Oh, he’s going to be furious with you.”

“I fail to see how that’s a problem,” you sighed as you slid to your knees, “Considering that it’s my turn to be mean now.”

His only response was to lick his lips.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ok this one's lowkey drivel and also a lot freakier than what I usually write for smut, but I need the practice anyways so whatever. also I needed a break from a day of school work.

barely proof-read or edited as of right now, will also post on ao3 later maybe idk. dirty talk is quite hard to write for me.

[evatori]

Fuck, Marry, Kill

AO3

Summary: It's been centuries since Volo has seen you, and yet, he still wants you badly. On lonely nights like tonight, he can't help but remember you, but unluckily for him, he has to decide if he wants you carnally or out of his way. Only time will tell. Pairing: Volo x Reader Word Count: 1.7k Content: NSFW, masturbation, choking kink, thoughts of strangulation, rough sex, possessive/obsessive behavior, thoughts of harming reader

First NSFW piece here :P finally finished the Volo battle, and inspiration hit me like a truck, so here we are. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Volo hated that he loved you.

He hated that he desired you. Craved you even.

Hundreds of years had gone by since that fateful day when all his meticulously laid plans were shredded before his very eyes, and yet, you stayed in his mind long after you had returned to wherever you were plucked from. It enraged him, the fact that Almighty Arceus itself chose you and the fact that you left him despite all the shared time together. It didn’t matter that he believed that you had loved him too.

You who had accompanied him on surveying expeditions to the various historical ruins littering Hisui. You who had joined him in his quest to reveal the mysteries of this world. You had indulged all his questions about what fascinating nuggets of Hisui you found without him and even listened to him attentively whenever he found himself going on a tangent about his own research. He always found it endearing the way you flinched whenever he surprised you before you beamed with a wide grin at the fact that he was now here. He even remembered the first time he kissed you, when you sought him out for comfort the night Jubilife Village barred its doors to you. Deep down, he had even wondered that despite not being from this time, maybe you would want to marry him and stay.

Perhaps it was for the best you had disappeared.

He likely would have strangled you the next time he saw you out in the wilderness, but even that delicious fantasy was tinged with his wretched pining for you. No matter where he went or how long it had been, the loneliness of late nights transformed the image of his hands wrapped around your neck into something not unwanted. It always began with him gleefully watching the last shreds of life leaving your pleading eyes as you gargled under his grip, and it always ended with you writhing under him, a hand carefully pressed down on the sides of your throat while he pressed himself deep within you, drinking in your moans of ecstasy.

Tonight was no different.

His Pokémon settled down around the campsite, curling up in little balls and burying noses into limbs, as he extinguished the fire and buried the coals before entering his tent and stripping down to his undergarments. Even his original Pokémon, the useful weapons that they were, had left him for they had not received the same boon of immortality that he now possessed. Volo sought out his original team composition but was unable to find a Hisuian Arcanine to fit the set. It seemed they had gone extinct as more and more people settled in Hisui. He replaced that slot instead with a red and blue serpent with a cream-colored body, a Milotic according to the used Pokédex he purchased a while ago.

Idly, as he sorted his knapsack, he wondered if you were still doing survey work in your time. Surely the Professor Laventons of the future needed your talent and honed expertise. A sharp pain in his palm brought him back to his senses, however, and he looked down at his hand and swore. Against his will, his thoughts had drifted towards you once again. The full revive he had been holding had been crushed into pieces with how tightly he had clenched his fist. He hurled the shards away into a far corner of the tent and laid down on his bedroll instead, raking his nails across his face. The pain grounded him, reminding him of your betrayal and your absence.

Oh, how he longed for the day he saw your face again.

He would do what he should have done when you first fell from the sky: stopping you in your tracks. Again, that phantom image of tightening his hand around your throat reared its lovely head in his mind, bringing with it that familiar intoxicating rush of excitement and power not unlike the one he felt when he first stumbled upon Giratina. But again, like always, that fantasy morphed into memories against his will.

He could feel himself growing harder as he recalled the sounds and sensations of the first night you ever shared with him when you were banished. Your whimpers when he first sank his fingers into you before his mouth found its way between your legs. The feeling of your heated skin against his as he pressed his sweaty chest against your back, driving himself with a fervor into your wet heat. The soft snores you let out as you slept within his arms, tucked into his chest as he tucked his chin onto your shoulder.

There were filthier nights too. The pathetic expression on your face as you debauched yourself begging on your knees for him to choke you for the first time, and the sound of you panting afterwards when he released his grip on your throat. Your sharp whine when he reached up and tugged your head back by your hair while you rode him hard. The gasp you let out whenever he yanked you by your shirt into a hungry kiss. He had wanted to devour you back then, make sure that you were his and would remain his when he remade the world, but instead you stood against him, denying him his glory, destiny, and even yourself in the end.

Volo wanted to snarl at the bitter realization that he was painfully hard at this point. Each time this happened, he asked himself if he still craved you, and to his fury, the answer each time was still yes. He tore off his clothes and sighed with relief as he wrapped his hand around his weeping length, imagining it was yours, rough from carving apricorns and tumblestones, slowly working him over as he dug his teeth into the flesh of his palm to prevent any sounds from escaping. It wouldn’t do, giving you that satisfaction of knowing you still had a hold on him. He swiped his thumb over the tip, and for a moment, he could picture that it was your tongue laving over the slit.

He could see it now.

You would look up at him imploringly, hollowing your cheeks even more to encourage him to go deeper. His hips bucked up before he could stop himself, fucking his fist now as he imagined pushing your head down and making you take whatever he deigned to give you. Tears would prickle beautifully at the corners of your eyes, and he would coo condescendingly as he wiped them away for you, “Can Hisui’s hero not handle the heat? I was under the impression that Almighty Arceus’s champion was chosen for better things than crying with my cock in your mouth.” He brought his hand off for a second to spit on it and twisted in a new direction, mind-numbing pleasure arcing through him. In his imagination, he was pulling you off of him before shoving you onto your back and caging you in with his body. He would slide into you as you tried to writhe under him, hands pulled up above your head and wrists pinned with one hand while he hooked a leg over his hip and over his shoulder. Your moans would fuel him to go harder, faster, taking his anger out on you as he held you down and watched your face contort with pleasure.

Volo was fully fucking himself now, and his hand fell away from his mouth. There was no point anymore. It felt so fucking good, and he hated it. This desire, this lust made him to act in such a humiliating way, damning him to many lifetimes of chasing you. He sought other lovers after your betrayal, ones who looked like you and talked like you, and for the course of a night, sometimes he could pretend it really was you, but there was always something to break the immersion. Their cries were never as delicious as yours were. His imaginary self moved his hand up from holding onto your thigh to sliding up your torso to rest at the base of your throat. His hand around his cock tightened as he imagined tightening it instead around your windpipe.

This was it.

All Volo had to do was squeeze with all his might, and all of his problems would be over. Almighty Arceus would lose its little champion, and he would be rid of this obsession. After that, he would have the rest of eternity to claw his way up to the heavens until he could overthrow his cruel god, but this was the point where he always realized that he still loved you. He could never do it, couldn’t bring himself to tip over that cliff edge where dizzying pleasure met fatal pain.

Instead, he saw himself press down just enough to watch your eyes roll back into your head, groaning loudly into the empty tent as he imagined your walls clenching around his cock as you neared your end. He could hear it now as he neared his own release, the knot inside his guts threatening to unravel at any moment. You would scream his name, walls fluttering and pulsing, as you came apart under him when he released your wrists and brought his hand to your clit, rubbing it with his middle finger in small, tight circles.

His choked groans mixed with your cries inside his head as he came all over his hand and over his stomach, white ropes shooting up onto his chest. He laid there, panting and seething with self-hatred, for a few moments before sitting up and cleaning himself off with a rag. What a waste.

In his head, he had shoved himself deep within you and gifted you each drop. Maybe that was how he would stop you from leaving him if, no when, he found you in the future. He wouldn’t give you the chance to run away again for it was only a matter of time.

No matter how many years it took, Volo would find you and claim you for his own. Only then would he be able to bring an end to this fantasy that tormented him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

having finished Legends Arceus, I lowkey want to start chewing on this man. he's such a good character: banger fight and banger OST, and he's honestly a little tragic in a way? maybe i'll write a character study on him, i have some ideas so far

[evatori]

AO3/WIP Update

might be shouting into the void here but this is also a way to keep me on track. I'm lowkey on the verge of a mental breakdown thanks to school (don't worry it's not super serious i'm just mega stressed), and as a result, suffering from a little bit of writer's block.

So for now, some things are getting put on hiatus for now. I'll still be writing bits and pieces when I can, but not having that hiatus status update was stressing me out lmao

Kiss and Make Up - CH3: on hiatus for now, struggling with narrative direction Prism Tower - unreleased NSFW WIP, alternate scene for KaMU Cigarette - unreleased NSFW WIP, all I can say rn is Grisham on his knees :P Unnamed Royalty AU - might post, might not, it's lowkey cringe but i like the lore I came up for it ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Wrapped Up in Embers - on hiatus, i'm having a tough time figuring out where i want the story to go and i also don't have much inspiration for it as of right now

RIght now, my focus is going to be on "To Finding" for as long as that inspiration lasts me, but "Prism Tower" and "Cigarette" might be released sometime soon as well.

[evatori]

WIP for Corbeau

Still working on Floette's piece for my series, "To Finding", which a "A Path Through Ash" is a part of, but I'm also writing some other characters in parallel. Here's a little snippet of Corbeau's that I'm slowly chipping away at as well

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Up in the Rust Syndicate’s tower, Corbeau is an elevated man, far removed from his humble beginnings down below. However, it’s in his weaker moments during late nights in an empty office where Corbeau willingly lets himself fall back into the dirt. With the help of the premium whiskey he imports, he thinks about his parents sometimes as he gazes up at the moon through his sparkling clean windows.

His father, a high-profile politician. His mother, a prostitute forced to sleep with him before finding out she became pregnant from that night. She gives Corbeau up for adoption as a mercy, wanting him to have a better life than he would with her. Or maybe both of his parents were poor, hungry construction workers, killed in a tragic accident and leaving behind an orphan who was loved till the very end. Or maybe his mother was a violent, abusive drunkard. His father, unable to escape her abuse, sneaks Corbeau out of the household to keep him safe.

Corbeau invents these stories as a way to escape the truth he knows deep down: he simply wasn’t wanted.

Each time he looks in the mirror, he wonders: what percentage of my mother and father am I? Those piercing yellow irises, are they from his mother or father? Who had the dark purple hair? Who was the short one? Which parent gave him his anger issues? He could look it up, could probably find a study on how much genetic material comes from one’s father and one’s mother on average. At the very least, he knows his mitochondria are from his mother, and his Y-chromosome is from his father. He can’t remember his parents now. The fog of time has obscured those early memories until only the ones where he is first turned out onto the street remains. The earliest fact he remembers is that he was at an orphanage before being left to fend for himself at the young age of eleven.

________________________________________

He opens the file folder and spreads the papers inside across his desk. It quite literally is just the paper trail of his life, but as he picks each sheet up and glances over it, the memories of each take shape in his mind.

The day he signed the contract with Philippe, shaking the thick, calloused hand of a man he’s come to known as his loyal right-hand. The invoice of a visit to a specialized veterinarian for Scolipede, the first bill he was able to pay off in full by himself without worrying about groceries for the rest of the month. The deed for a loan from Lysandre for Corbeau’s first business, Lysandre’s elegant signature scrawled across the thin paper. A faded picture of him and Lysandre showing Giovanni around Lumiose. His first check from the internship he took at the Aether Foundation, signed by Lusamine herself; he never cashed it in, choosing to keep it as a memento of the first paycheck he ever received. A copy of the truce that he was able to broker between Team Aqua and Team Magma in exchange for providing Team Flare with the results of their research on Primal Reversion. Debating the ethics of Pokemon ownership at a cafe with that strange green-haired man in Unova. Meeting with Team Galactic’s Cyrus about obtaining some very illegal items under the table before Corbeau decided that it was way too risky for even him to get caught up in Galactic’s business. After all, there’s a reason why he’s survived as the boss for so long. Sharing a meal with a fellow Hisui enthusiast he met at the museum when he was still on that business trip in Sinnoh. That man looked suspiciously similar to Champion Cynthia, a secret sibling perhaps? He had made a mental note to investigate the mystery but forgot all about it until today. At the very back of the folder is his formal adoption papers, also signed by Lysandre.

It’s a thick, fat folder when he puts everything back in it, and there’s a hefty thump when he tosses it back onto his polished mahogany desk. He should get rid of it; he has too many enemies for such valuable insight on him to be floating around, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s a lofty man now, of the likes to rival the SBC, but unlike them, he still has a foot planted on the ground. The SBC, the mayor, and even Quasartico’s Jett are like mistletoe. Without roots to feed them nourishment from the earth, they feed on the people of Lumiose instead. Corbeau knows he can’t say that he hasn’t trampled on others to reach where he is now, but he remembers where he came from. To destroy that file is to pull up those roots, and without reminders of his humble beginnings, he fears becoming like them, bloated off the suffering of people like his younger self before Lysandre plucked him off the streets. Besides, it would be a disservice to the former Corbeau, the one who dreamed big and talked even bigger. Never did he imagine back then that he would ever reach such heights.

“Philippe,” he calls, tugging on his jacket, “Ready the car.”

“On it, Boss. What destination do you have in mind?”

“The little diner I showed you earlier yesterday. The one in that shady-looking back alley. We’ll have lunch there, my treat.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

also I forgot who came up with it, but that headcanon where Corbeau has had dealings with all of the evil team organizations makes me laugh, so I incorporated it in here.

[evatori]

A Path Through Ash

This is gonna be a multi-series with others I have planned. Sneak peak: the next one is going to be Floette who was originally meant to be the first one I was going to write.

AO3

Summary: Griselle's turn to be psychoanalyzed (sorry I couldn't come up with an evocative summary yet) Pairing: Grisham & Griselle Word Count: 3.1k AN: Some of the details in here are headcanons from @/wegotfoodathome and @/purplespacefairy. Also bonus points if you can guess which song viral on social media inspired this series. No peeking at the AO3 description.

It’s 3 AM now, and Griselle still can’t fall asleep.

She lies in bed, staring up at the stained popcorn ceiling of their ratty apartment as she listens to the faint sound of snoring coming from the door opposite her room. She’s glad that Gris is finally getting some sleep because her insomniac comrade already misses enough rest with his participation in the Royale, but damn him for being able to sleep so soundly tonight while her mind spins in circles with no end in sight. It’s pissing her off because she knows that he’s going to bully her out of bed at 6 AM so the truck can be open at 8, but no matter how many Camerupt she counts in her head, sleep continues to elude her. Another twenty minutes pass and finally fed up, she sits up and swings her feet over the edge of the bed.

She dresses quietly in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, pinning her hair in a scraggly bun before stealing out of the apartment, making sure not to wake Gris. Maybe a walk and fresh air will clear her head, so she can at least get an hour of rest before she does need to be up. She releases Pyroar as she sets off down the street, and her sleepy lion makes his complaints known as he butts her shins, but he accompanies her anyway, claws clicking on the concrete as she wanders down the empty streets, occasionally stroking his plush mane while listening to the faint sounds of battling in the distance. Lucky for her, their apartment hasn’t been fenced into the battle zones tonight. Her feet carry her to Lysandre Cafe out of habit, and she stands before it, gazing at the ugly, crumbling storefront. Well, she’s awake now, so surely a trip down memory lane won’t hurt as she unlocks the door and steps inside. She opens the secret passageway to the labs after a moment’s hesitation and descends the steps into the lab-turned-catacombs. Usually, they’re both wary of coming down here alone as it’s easy to be rushed down by a horde of wild Pokemon no matter how strong their teams are, but at this late hour, they either ignore her or stay away thanks to Pyroar’s intimidating glare. With no particular destination in mind, she wanders through the lab, hoping not to find traces of their shameful past before Nouveau Cafe, but luck is not on her side tonight.

Griselle picks up an old, tattered blanket on the ground inside one of the abandoned, dusty offices of Lysandre Labs. She remembers this rag: she and Gris had shared it one night, huddled together with Pyroar and Charizard for warmth when the lab’s dilapidated heating system finally gave out in the dead of winter. She also remembers wrapping it and her arms around his shoulders when he broke down sobbing one afternoon in a rare moment of weakness. Everyone in Team Flare was immediately arrested after the news broke of Lysandre’s attempt at genocide. Separated from their parents and the other adults, all the Team Flare children spent about a month or so in jail as they awaited their trials. Griselle and Gris’s parents were sentenced to life, and to this day, they’re both still too afraid to reach out to them. As the oldest kids in Team Flare, they got lucky, just on the cusp of being tried as adults, Grisham especially. If he was two months older, he would’ve been locked away as well. Instead, they were let go with warnings and a probation period. No financial support or anything else. So, they made do.

Lysandre Cafe was left to crumble when the public began avoiding anything associated with him or Team Flare, and they moved in, living in the labs underneath for two years as they tried to find a new path forward. It was actually Gris’s idea to open a cafe. They had experience working at Lysandre Cafe, he had his passion for baking, and opening a small business was the only option they had. Whenever they applied for anything else, they were always rejected for that one reason: the background check warning of “Former Team Flare member”. And so, Nouveau Cafe and Team Flare Nouveau were born.

In another room they used as a makeshift office, she finds an old, wrinkled group photo of the former Flare kids altogether. Each person beams at the camera. All twenty of them with bright, orangey-red hair except for two: Grisham and Corbeau. Gris was meant to be the pride and joy of Team Flare’s younger generation. He would’ve made the perfect admin with his natural red hair if not for the white streaks running through it: poliosis. Everyone else had to dye theirs to get that bright red color, and each month, Griselle had to waste time touching up her roots and any fading spots. Griselle’s parents had whispered about Gris when they thought she wasn’t listening.

“Such a shame his hair is marred with those streaks. He would’ve been the perfect successor to Lysandre; he has the strength, patience, and charisma for it. Maybe he can dye them away, and no one will be able to tell.”

Those words, when she heard them, filled her with nauseating jealousy.

They never praised her, instead constantly admonishing her for her tendency to get into spats with others. Corbeau... he also stood out like a purple sore thumb back then since he was the only one who wasn’t born to Team Flare parents. She remembers Corbeau before he drifted away from their little family into the den of Philippe’s gang. Honestly, if he hadn’t left, Griselle and him would’ve been best friends, both sharing a hair-trigger temper and affectionate disdain saved for loved ones. They were acquaintances toeing that border of friends. They might’ve run in different circles among the Flare kids, but their shared habit of annoying Gris, who in their eyes was a teacher’s pet, brought them together. She smiles at the memory of a particular prank they pulled on him: threatening his usually loyal Charizard with a month’s worth of treats to drop him with his uniform on into a nearby pond. Secretly, Griselle hated Gris back then. The almost perfect Team Flare member destined for prestige and the admiration of others while she picked fights and in turn was shunned for it. Thinking back on that hatred makes her feel sick; the only saving grace is that she’s pretty sure that Gris couldn’t stand her either. It’s funny how her feelings towards him have changed. Survival has a way of bringing people together.

She spies a set of footprints trailing through an adjacent corridor. Fresh ones, judging by the way they’re only covered in a very thin layer of dust in comparison to the thick layer on the floor that kicks up with each footfall. She follows it, and the trail leads her to another office space, this time with signs of someone being down here recently. When Griselle inspects the tables and walls, it’s clear that Gris has been scheming in the labs without her. Ugh, that loser! She loves a good plot, and how dare he leave her out of it! Something about this space seems familiar, and when she steps back into the doorway to look it over, it hits her. This is where he took his Royale photo. There’s a corkboard on the wall and pinned on it are several notes about AZ, Eternal Flower Floette, and the Ultimate Weapon. The notebook on the desk is titled: “Royale Strategies”. She flips it open, admiring his neat, concise handwriting. It’s his observations on his Royale opponents, and it seems like he’s already started planning strategies for his Rank A promotion match. Water-specialist, Bug-specialist, Fairy-specialist, he has plans for it all, anticipating what sorts of Pokémon he’ll be up against.

Gris is so close to his goal, their goal, and Griselle will do anything and everything to help him achieve it because on the outside, she might rag on him for being a bit of an airhead and a sentimental fool, but deep down, she knows that he understands her gratitude towards him for choosing to carry the crushing burden of redeeming their name. She or anyone else would’ve cracked under the pressure already, lashing out at the world and digging them into an even bigger hole, but ever-patient Gris takes it all in stride with steady conviction and unrelenting drive.

To be honest, he’s her soulmate in a sense.

Not romantically mind you; she’d rather experience her Talonflame bowling her over with a scorching Flare Blitz, but she can’t think of another word to describe their relationship. After all that time spent surviving together through hungry nights, angry customers, and even messy breakups, Griselle can’t picture a future where he’s not in her life, and she’s not in his. Yeah, she calls his coffee quote unquote “nasty”, but why is it that when she asks him to make her a cup to combat the midday urge to nap, it’s empty when she lowers it from her lips? Why is it that when she splurges on a drink from the fancier coffee shops in Lumiose, she tires of the taste halfway through?

Pyroar startles her out of where she’s lost in thought with a headbutt that almost knocks her over. “What is it, boy,” she whispers to him, and he whines loudly. Griselle sighs, “Alright, we’ll go back to bed, you oversized diva.” She checks her phone as she leaves the labs and locks the cafe. It’s 4:30 AM now anyway. They re-enter the apartment, and Pyroar curls up on the living room carpet, breathing slowing down into a lazy, deep rumble. Seems like it’s just her who can’t sleep tonight. Griselle changes into her pajamas again before laying down beside him on the floor instead. If she can’t sleep, she’ll spend the time cuddling with her living heater of a lion. Pyroar even shifts for her, folding her body into his and letting her rest her head on his stomach. She closes her eyes, listening to the crackly purr below her cheek.  

A hand gently shakes her awake, and Griselle sits up groggily, disoriented by the change in surroundings. Gris’s frowning face appears in her blurry vision before it sharpens when he hands her glasses to her. He’s dressed for work already, hair pulled back into a clean ponytail while she’s sure hers looks like a Rattata crawled in and died.

“It’s 6:30 already, and we’re going to be late if you don’t get up now. I’ve already let you sleep in. Why are you out here?”

“Fuck off. None of your business,” she mutters, but she prepares for work, grumbling the whole time.  

Today is as mundane as ever. Those Team MZ kids come at lunchtime for a bite before leaving again to do Arceus knows what. A man comes in shouting about his croissant, demanding a refund before Gris pacifies him with a promise to remake it alongside a drink free of charge. Her hand itched to sic Talonflame on him, but she kept it under control, choosing instead to stare angrily at Prism Tower while Gris took care of the situation. The most exciting part of her day is when that new Team MZ kid comes by looking for her promotion match opponent. As that girl (Harmony is it?) talks to him, she can feel burning anger simmering under her skin, a volcano of emotion threatening to erupt. Why is he bothering to try and explain their motives to her? She’s on AZ’s side for Arceus’s sake!

Griselle can’t stand Gris when he gets like this. He should adopt her philosophy: burn them before they can burn you, but she cools her jets for his sake. His patience has always been his greatest virtue, and it wouldn’t be Gris if he didn’t exercise it. So instead, she plots, waiting for the perfect moment to challenge AZ’s newest brat. She takes it when they bring Harmony to Lysandre Cafe, but to her surprise, even her Mega Pyroar falls to Lumiose's so-called newest prodigy. Harmony is strong, impressively so, and Griselle begrudgingly respects her for that. This is a city that thrives on battling after all, and everybody knows to respect strength when they see it but underneath that respect is a tiny growing ember of desperation. She’d be the first to admit that Gris is stronger than her, but she can still keep up with him whenever they train. If Harmony beat her this easily though... Griselle refuses to entertain that train of thought.

However, when he steps outside for a second to take a call, she makes a decision. Griselle begs, “Please, Harmony. Let Grisham win, and I’ll give you free coffee on the house for the rest of your life. Just let him be the one to save us.”

It sickens her to even be in this position, but again, for him she’ll do anything. Harmony is silent, only flicking those unreadable eyes to hers before turning around and descending into the depths of AZ and Lysandre’s sins.  

A few nights later, Harmony returns with a challenger’s ticket, and the two of them face off near the truck. Griselle watches them duke it out. As Gris calls out commands and his Pokémon faint one-by-one, her stomach sinks a little more. To her surprise though, he looks happy? It’s strange to see such elation on his face when normally he wears his stoniness like armor, and she can’t remember the last time she saw him this relaxed when not in private. It’s a close battle in the end, and for a moment, she almost believes that Harmony’s ace is the one to faint first, but when the dust clears, it’s Charizard who’s returning to his ball. Griselle finds Pyroar’s ball where it hangs off the belt under her apron and gives it a sympathetic rub. So, this is it then. She approaches them, and she knows that she should be roaring with anger, but inside, she feels dull and dead. The fire inside her is ashes now, and there are no banked embers to reignite it.

Griselle is tired.

She loves this city, but she is tired of it all. Team MZ will be the one to receive the glory of saving Lumiose, and Team Flare Nouveau will continue to hide in the shadows.

Arceus, she wants to stay; she really does, but she can’t fathom the idea of wasting the rest of their young adult youth in this way, being harassed and spit upon by the public for something they had no say in. Resignation consumes her now instead of rage. She’ll pack up and leave once this whole mess is over. She’ll convince Gris to let them take their business elsewhere, and if he doesn’t want to, then she’ll send him postcards from wherever she decides to settle. He can follow her trail when he’s ready to give up this foolishness.  

The night of Ange’s rampage is the lighter that provides the spark to rekindle hope in her chest. As she fights alongside Harmony for the first time, she realizes why he looked so happy during his promotion match despite the looming loss. Battling is exhilarating, even more so when she’s doing it as a part of the group effort to save the city.

Her city.

Gris’s city.

Corbeau’s city.

Even that haughty Jacinthe’s city.

Their city.

Maybe this is the path forward to redemption and hope for Team Flare Nouveau. Instead of dragging others down on the crawl to the top, they work together to reach the light of salvation instead. They all had their parts to play, including even Lysandre, no L, who was the one to bring their true savior: Zygarde, the legendary Order Pokémon. Gris puts his hand on her shoulder in a rare lull in the waves of rogue Megas, his eyes asking her how she’s doing, and Griselle looks back at him and nods. She understands him now, understands his drive to stay here and make Lumiose beautiful in the way that Lysandre and Team Flare couldn’t.

A Mega Heracross charges her, and she dodges out of the way, ordering Pyroar to use Flame Thrower. Both of their aces are looking worse for wear, and she wants to give them a chance to recuperate, but the waves are unrelenting. A giant boom shakes the city, and she risks a glance at the tower, doing a double take when she sees Zygarde in a strange new form.

“Pay attention,” Gris yells at her, yanking her out of the way at the last second. She squeezes his hand in thanks before turning back to her opponent, but to her surprise, the Heracross is back to normal now, slumped onto the ground. Around them, the other Rogue Megas lose their evolution as well. Griselle scans the area for signs of more danger before weakly sinking to the ground with Gris by her side. They lean against each other as they watch Zygarde’s strange beam of light burning away the rest of Ange’s creeping vines. Harmony did it then. She saved the city. She admonishes herself, “No, we all saved the city.”

Pyroar collapses in front of her, and she reaches down to scritch her spoiled cat’s chin for a job well done. “Hey Gris, can we take a month’s worth of PTO?”

“The city needs to be rebuilt still, so unfortunately, we cannot as tempting as it is.”

Griselle groans loudly in response. 

To her chagrin, they are full-time participants in the rebuilding effort, but as Gris puts it, “it’s good publicity for Flare Nouveau, and it’s our purpose for being here.” 

She’s even gotten the chance to catch up with Corbeau, the two of them awkwardly reminiscing throughout the week where the Rust Syndicate and Nouveau Cafe are working in the same area. The rebuilding operation winds down at the bottom of the mangled remains of Prism Tower, and everyone is invited to celebrate a fruitful day of good, hard work at the Nouveau truck. Gris bakes a bucketload of pastries ahead of time and even manages to find time to make two cakes as well. 

As she wipes down the coffee tables while Gris cleans the espresso machine, exhausted from today’s cleanup efforts and the party, she notices the trail of pastry crumbs. By morning, it’ll be gone, picked off by the Fletchlings and Pidgeys that constantly pester their customers for food, unconstrained by Quasartico’s fancy barriers, but right now, as it meanders through the area in scattered circles and broken loops, Griselle pictures again the hustle and bustle that happened just hours earlier: groups of people from very different walks of life sharing a drink, food, and good cheer in the shadow of the ruined tower, all brought together by their love for this city of light. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm always a little scared when I do these character studies that I'm misinterpreting or misrepresenting a character, so I hope this one still reads like her :(

[evatori]

Three Simple Words

AO3

Summary: A study of Grisham's thoughts on the words, "I love you," and the two ways he's heard them during his relationships with his two exes. Pairing: Grisham x Corbeau, Grisham x F!Reader Word Count: 3.1k AN: One of my favorite pieces that I've written honestly. I will eventually post all my NSFW pieces here, but I'm a little more insecure about the writing quality of those ones, so I want to rewrite them first.

“I love you.”

Why is it always difficult to say those words?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three little words that grow like kudzu when affection is poured into the roots: “I love you, and I want you to be in my life forever.”

Three simple words that burn the mouth when attempting to escape through reluctant lips.

Grisham thinks back to the first time he ever said them: when he and Corbeau snuck up to the rooftop of Lysandre Cafe to watch a meteor shower.

“I’m telling you, Mr. Stone really did say that! If you’re extremely lucky, you might catch a glimpse of Rayquaza among the meteors. He also said that Devon’s researchers can predict where Rayquaza is at any given time, but he might be lying about that one.”

Grisham had rolled his eyes but smiled anyways, entranced by the shimmer of city lights reflecting off of Corbeau’s glasses.

"...Did you know Mr. Stone said Rayquaza might be able to evolve?”

“What?”

“It’s true! I overheard him talking about it to Mr. Lysandre. He said something about it being a theory that the Devon Corporation was researching. I think he called it Quaternary Evolution. No, Meta Evolution. Mega? Apparently, it happens because all Rayquaza eats is meteors.”

Grisham scoffed, “You’re just making that up, so you can keep saying you're the smartest kid around.”

“I’m not making it up! I swear on my Venipede’s life that I heard him say it.”

“Wow, you’re serious then, even bringing Venipede into this.”

“Of course I am! I might lie to the other kids, but I’d never lie to you.”

“Okay, fine, fine. Let’s just go find Mr. Stone next time and ask him ourselves.”

He turned his face up towards the night sky, eyes searching for any falling streaks of light, and leaned his head against Corbeau’s. After months of being in Lysandre’s care, his scrawny frame was beginning to fill out, but weirdly enough, he didn’t seem to be growing any taller. Grisham already had half a head’s worth of height on him. He even pointed out a couple constellations that he knew, reveling in Corbeau’s excited chatter about them. Half an hour passed, and the stars began peeling off the fabric of the night sky and plummeting towards the ground. It was a breath-taking sight to behold. 

Looking back on that night, Grisham can’t remember whether they did see a green flash among the meteors. But what he can remember is:

What he can remember is the yellow flash of Corbeau’s eyes when Corbeau leaned over and kissed him.

What he can remember is the first time Grisham ever uttered the words, “I love you, I always will,” against Corbeau's cracked lips.

However, years later, he learned just how devastating those words could be. How sometimes, love can’t restore a rusting relationship back to pristine steel.

“I’m leaving, I don’t want to be here when Lysandre eventually does something awful.”

“What do you mean? Lysandre’s completely fine, he’s just stressed about how the masses don’t seem to appreciate what Team Flare is doing for them.”

“Don’t you listen to the adults around us? How they’re whispering about some sort of ultimate weapon? How a guy named AZ is the key to whatever plan they’re keeping under wraps?”

“Where are you going to go then?”

Corbeau averted his eyes.

“You remember that guy I kept fighting with on the streets? Philippe? We worked out a truce, and he offered me to take me as his assistant in the Sabi Gang. I’ve done a lot with Lysandre’s help, but I can’t keep going on like this when all he ever talks about is ‘creating a beautiful, perfect world’. Don’t you see, Grish? He wasn't so arrogant before. All he used to talk about was saving Kalos!”

“Creating a beautiful world is a part of saving Kalos. You’re just mad he doesn’t have time to personally tutor you anymore.”

Corbeau huffed with frustration, turning his eyes back to Grisham’s and pleaded again. “No! You’re not listening to me! I was snooping around the lab and overheard Xerosic asking Lysandre about using you as a test subject for some suit thing he was creating. That guy is so fucking creepy, and I don’t want you to be a part of his sick experiments!”

“You said you’d never lie to me, so why do you sound like you're lying to me! I know Xerosic isn’t the most pleasant guy to be around, but there’s no way Lysandre would stoop so low as to letting him perform human experimentation.”

Corbeau opened his mouth and then closed it, exhaling slowly. His shoulders slumped. “You’re not listening to me, and nothing I say is going to convince you, is it. I’m leaving Team Flare while I still can."

"Wait."

"I love you, Grish, I think a part of me always will, but if you won’t come with me, then this is it for us.”

“Wait, no, no! Come back... No, Cor! Come back!”

And just like that, Corbeau was running down the street and out of his life, watery poison slipping through the fingers of Grisham’s outstretched hand.

The worst part was Corbeau had been right. About all of it: AZ, the Ultimate Weapon, Lysandre’s descent into madness.

He spent a year alone after that: flirting with customers, going on blind dates, but he couldn’t utter those words again. The flings never lasted anyways. None of them were him. But then he met her.

And Grisham thinks this is the second most significant time he ever said, “I love you.”

She had booked them a month-long vacation in Unova for their six-month anniversary. For the first time in months, no one on the streets looked at them funny.

There in Unova, they were just two regular tourists seeing the sights rather than as an ex-Team Flare member and a hostage. They challenged Elesa; Grisham won his match, she lost hers. They tried the world famous Casteliacones, got hopelessly turned around in Pinwheel Forest, and even made their way up the Celestial Tower where she caught her Litwick. At the end of the month, they returned to Nimbasa City with a newly evolved Chandelure. A stray encounter with a smuggler ended up with a Salazzle of all things entering her party, and Grisham could still remember how disgruntled the poacher looked when Officer Jenny led him away.

They ended up challenging the Battle Subway’s Super Multi line as well. Ingo and Emmet had commended them on their teamwork and a well-fought battle although it had been close. She had insisted on pitting her Chandelure against Ingo’s for some reason, saying that it was “funnier” and “more poetic this way.” He didn’t mention to her that this decision almost had him pulling his hair out in the Battle Car.

When they got off onto Gear Station’s platform after their Super Multi win, she pulled Grisham into a run, laughing all the way while he stumbled after her with an uncharacteristic grin on his face. Her usual reserved demeanor was gone, replaced with giddiness over a victory against The Subway Bosses. They ended up in a Ferris Wheel car. He was watching her while she was leaning her head against the glass on the other side of the car, observing the people milling around on the ground below.

The words just— slipped out of him: “I love you.”

He flushed.

“What?” Her head turned.

“I— I love you,” he repeated.

She got up to sit next to him, kissed him, and they went around and around like this, leaning against each other, watching the colorful lights of Nimbasa City dance on the rain clouds above. Half a year passed by after this, and Grisham began to believe he was finally repairing his broken heart. But looking back, not even the kintsugi of new love could save it.

They started arguing more. Over his past relationship, over his refusal to stand up for himself. And eventually, over the littlest things. He was cracking under the constant pressure of trying to redeem Team Flare Nouveau’s reputation and the harassment that came from it. He refused to abandon Lumiose and the rest of Team Flare like Lysandre had, but she couldn’t understand why he was so resolved to stay on this sinking ship.

His traitorous heart began to wander.

Corbeau would understand since they had grown up in Team Flare together. He would’ve understood why it was so important that Grisham redeemed Team Flare’s name. If not for himself, then for Griselle.

For all the other kids of Team Flare who now had to limp their way through the world with an undeserved criminal record and label of "terrorist" chained to their ankles.

The end of their relationship was his fault.

When they were arguing yet again, he snapped and told her that Corbeau would’ve understood and supported his actions and that if she wasn’t going to, then maybe he should go find him instead.

“Fine. Let me move out then,” she said dully, “I love you so much that I’ll set you free. So you can chase another ghost.” It was the second time he’d ever heard “I love you” said in the face of so much pain.

He spent another two and a half years alone again. This time, it was even more agonizing than when he and Corbeau broke up. It was also made worse when he found out later that they had gotten together.

Without him.

The first time he saw either of his exes at all again was through the window of a restaurant sitting across from each other. This was at the beginning of the year. When he spotted them— obviously on a date —he tore his eyes away and hurried off, unwilling to deal with the possibility that the only two people he ever said “I love you” to were now a thing. A couple months later during an unusually hot summer, he saw them together again in Wild Zone 5.

She was dancing around the alpha Whirlipede, laughing brightly as Salazzle scuttled around her feet while Corbeau had his Scolipede out trying to stop the oversized bug from running her over. However, it wasn’t until they showed up at Nouveau Cafe’s main truck that Grisham realized he had to get over them and fast.

Griselle gave him an uncharacteristically soft, knowing look when she came up to the window to give him their order. He turned around to prepare two croissants, a Fire Blast Roast, and a Wooloolong Tea, and he felt sweat begin to bead up on his overheated skin as he imagined them glaring at his back in the truck. Finishing their order, he brought it to Griselle then moved over to sit down in a far corner of the truck away from the sight lines of the tables.

After a while, he heard Griselle yell, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Corbeau? He’s still fucking heartbroken that you ran out on him. And you, I know it’s not your fault that Grisham here is a damned idiot who can’t get over his stupid, shitty ex-boyfriend, but he’s not over you yet either, so you need to get out of here too.”

Grisham groaned and put his head in his hands. He could hear Corbeau start to protest before his ex-girlfriend murmured something to him, too low to make out what it was. Griselle opened the door a few moments later and stopped when she saw Grisham hiding. She sighed.

“You’re pathetic, you know that right? Arceus, you need to see a therapist, and I don’t know, get laid or find a new fling or literally do anything other than mope around for the rest of our miserable lives.”

“Griselle, not here please. Not right now.”

“Fine, I’ll be nice to you for today, but you better figure it out fast because they will definitely be back, and if you don’t stop being a love-sick loser, I’m gonna force Charizard to help me dunk you in the river repeatedly until you’re over them.”

He flipped her off.

The next few times they tried, Grisham managed to duck behind the counter just in time as Griselle chased them off, but the second time they managed to catch him, he wasn’t so lucky. Griselle had taken a sick day, so it was just him manning the truck. Charizard was at Griselle’s apartment keeping watch over her, and he knew she was definitely trying to convince Charizard to dunk his trainer in the river in between fits of coughing and napping. He wanted to let Pyroar out instead for some company, but considering her temperament, he wasn’t sure she’d be good while interacting with customers.

The bell dinged on the counter.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” Grisham called out. When he turned around, irises the color of molten gold greeted him. He plastered on his customer service smile as Corbeau nervously wet his lips.

“Hey, Grish”

“Good morning, sir, what can I get for you today?”

“Two Burn Up Roasts, please.”

Grisham turned around and began preparing his coffee. He heard Corbeau suck in a breath behind him as the espresso machine whirred.

“Are you… are you free at all this weekend?”

“Unfortunately, I already have plans with Griselle, and they will take up the entire weekend.”

“What about next week then?”

“I will have to let you know as I am far too busy to be entertaining propositions by customers to get to know me personally,” came Grisham’s clipped reply.

He turned around, slid Corbeau’s coffees over to him, and bid him a good day. Thankfully, Corbeau took the hint and left without any further questions. Letting out a shaky breath, Grisham crouched behind the counter, heart pounding with both anxiety and excitement at the fact he'd gotten the chance to talk to Corbeau again after all those years.

The third time he got cornered, Griselle was gone yet again. She was out on a supply run, but thankfully this time, Charizard was here with him. To his surprise, though, when the bell dinged, she was at the counter, fidgeting with her sleeves.

“Good afternoon, miss, what can I get you today?”

“Hi Gris… I hope you’re doing well. Can I get a chocolate croissant and Roserade Tea?”

He prepared her order in silence, and when he turned back around to give it to her, she had slid a plain envelope and a napkin with something scribbled on it across the counter. “I’m sorry about Beau,” she tried again, “We were… hoping to talk to you about something actually. There’s details in the letter there. If you’re willing to hear us out and you’re free at all, just text one of us— both our numbers are written on the napkin— and we can set something up.” She took her order and left before Grisham could say anything in response.

He leaned out the window to glare at Charizard.

“Didn’t Griselle order you to keep them both away?” he hissed. His usually dutiful Pokémon met his eyes and snorted loudly before turning up his snout. She and his Charizard had been thick as thieves back then. Grisham ground his teeth in a momentary bout of frustration before pocketing both items. He would read the letter later when he wasn’t in danger of Griselle catching him in the act.

Later that night after his shower, he sat at his desk and opened the envelope.

“Hey Grisham,

I hope you’ve been well all these years, and I hope Team Flare Nouveau is doing great or at least better too.

I’m really sorry for how Corbeau and I tried to corner you at work. It was his idea if you can believe it or not, and I already chewed him out for it. He doesn’t know about this letter, only that I went there to give you our numbers and ask if you were willing to talk to us. I'm writing this while he's asleep by the way. He snores an awful lot. The truth is, the both of us aren't over you, and we wanted to ask if you would be willing to give us a second chance. This time with all three of us together.

I never forgot about you since we broke up, and I know Corbeau hasn’t either. I'm sorry for how I treated you at the end of our relationship, and I'd like to apologize to you in person. Corbeau really wants to apologize as well. I’ll write our numbers on a napkin and give it to you along with this letter. If you’re willing to hear us out, we’ll do everything in our power to drop everything and be there immediately. We'll give you a week, and if you don't contact us, we won't bother you ever again. No matter what you do, I'm sorry again, and I hope you're happier these days.”

Grisham dropped his head onto the table with a thunk and groaned, picking up the napkin and his Rotomphone as anticipation and fear warred in him. 

“Does Cafe Soleil at 10 AM this Saturday sound good?” he texted her, sighing. Griselle was 100% going to rip him a new one, murder him, and then dump his body in the sewers if and when she found out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month later, Grisham is laying in his bed at night, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and thinking about how he finally said those sacred words again: “I love you.”

This time with a “two” tacked on the end instead of the all familiar “too”.

Ugh. He’s reminiscing yet again, the taste of sweet and bitter memories swirling on his tongue in a familiar storm of regret and hope.

Grisham can’t figure out if his problems are a result of him loving too much or not loving hard enough to hold someone close. Or maybe it's because he keeps leaving things unsaid, letting them fester until his chest cracks under the pressure, and everything floods out of him. Or maybe he's simply just a stupid fool who doesn't know how to use his ears to properly listen to the people around him. 

Regardless, he thinks he won’t ever stop hearing “I love you”, whether it’s spilling like water out of his lips or theirs.

It took awhile for him to feel comfortable exposing himself in this way again— prying his own ribs open, removing a beating heart from the safety of its cage, and setting it upon an altar as a willing sacrifice to two gods— but if Arceus itself deigns to be merciful on him, Grisham prays that those three simple words will grow wild and uncontrollable in his chest once again, covering up and reinforcing the metallic-lacquered cracks of his once-broken heart.

[evatori]

Pumping Steel (Philippe x GN! Reader)

first post woah. I don't see myself using my tumblr for anything other than lurking, but I've decided that I'll try and post my ao3 works on here as well since ao3 can be a bit of a black hole in terms of finding things. This piece has the honor of being first because I think it's one of my favorites that I've written, but eventually everything else should be up. Apologies for formatting, I don't know how to use tumblr.

Philippe x GN! Reader Word Count: 5.1k Summary: You're Philippe's partner and a researcher working on Operation RSQI, and one day after complaining about your current gym, Philippe invites you to use the Rust Syndicate's gym instead. And what do you know, it's the best thing that's ever happened to you aside from meeting Philippe.

AO3

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my,” you breathe out as you look around the Rust Syndicate’s gym.

“Like what you see?” Corbeau smirks as he and Philippe move to stand by you as you take it in.

It’s so very different from the dingy room Machamp Fitness calls a “gym”. The 24/7 gym you currently go to only has two racks of dumbbells, some treadmills, and two bench presses and squat racks each, and it’s… sufficient, but you can’t help but miss the well-equipped gym from your home town. As much as you love Lumiose, rent is incredibly expensive, and you can’t afford anything better at the moment. You battle in the Royale occasionally for pocket change and to stave off the urge to punch your knucklehead coworkers in the face, but your budget is stretched thin from items for battling, caring for your Pokémon, and your weakness for sweet treats and boutiques.

“This facility is open to anyone in the Rust Syndicate, and we spared no expense. Philippe and I are here often, but amusingly enough, I think our grunts seem to have caught wind of it, so everyone scrambles when I’m here at least,” Corbeau explains. “‘Course, as an honorary grunt, you’re welcome to use the facility any time you like, but I can’t guarantee that none of the others won’t check you on your big three or challenge you to an arm wrestle.”

Philippe chuckles as he takes in your ecstatic reaction to that. “The boss’s schedule isn’t the most regular since he’s handling so much, but my schedule’s like clockwork. If you need a gym buddy, I’m your man.” You give him a fist bump and a grin.

Corbeau places a hand on your shoulder before turning around. “I’ve got more work to do, but feel free to explore. We’ll be in my office if you need anything. Go nuts, kid.”

You grin at him at well, but your eye twitches at the moniker. This man is asking for it, huh? You’re five years older than this guy, but ever since you started working as a researcher for Operation RSQI, he keeps calling you that despite your complaints. Your hand itches to smack him; all in playful fun of course. He’s actually been a big help and a fantastic leader, and it’s great getting to work alongside someone who’s sharp and competent for once. Not that you’ll admit it to him. You’ve promised yourself that you’ll hold off on decking him until much later because you’re using his facilities after all, and Arceus forbid you get banned from the most beautiful gym you’ve ever seen.

After you promise Philippe that you’ll meet him after work to coordinate splits and workout schedules, Corbeau leaves with your partner by his side. 

You and Philippe actually met a couple months back before Prism Tower went rogue. As a software engineer in Quasartico’s research division, you don’t have many chances during your working day to escape your desk’s harsh, artificial lighting. However, one day, feeling fed up with eating there, you decided to take your lunch out in a nearby park, so you and your Skarmory could get some fresh air. Philippe, who had been handling some business in that area, spotted the flash of green steel, and before long, you two were sitting next to each other on a park bench, bonding over Skarmory care and how pretty your shiny Skarmory was. Coincidentally, your Skarmory and his eventually became a bonded pair, and it wasn’t long until the two of you followed suit.

Everyday, you and Philippe would meet up at a cafe after work, trading notes about each other’s workday while the two lovebirds chased each other around in circles above your heads. One day during your post-work debrief, you were complaining animatedly: your code wasn’t working yet again, someone had rolled over your foot with a shopping cart at the grocery store, the agony you felt having to use the subpar amenities of your current gym. Philippe had chuckled at this and extended an invitation to use the Rust Syndicate’s facilities, stating that because you were pulling double duty on Operation RSQI during the Hyperspace Lumiose crisis, you were basically a grunt already.

So here you were: in gym rat heaven. 

Monday: Pull Day (Back, Biceps) Pull-Ups Lat Pulldown Cable Hammer Curls T-Bar Row Barbell Bicep Curls Back Extension

Your first excursion into the Rust Syndicate gym is for your first pull day of the week. To your great sadness, Philippe’s schedule doesn’t align perfectly with yours, so for a majority of the week, you’ll be on your own. It’s quite depressing not getting to workout with your boyfriend, but it’s no big deal. You’ve been going alone anyways, and it is very convenient having the freedom to do whatever you’re feeling at the moment. The gym is mildly busy when you get there, and oddly enough, everyone seems to still be wearing their Rust Syndicate sunglasses?

“What a bunch of weirdos,” you think, aware of the fact that you’re pretty much one of those weirdos now as well. You put your things away in the locker room, peeling off your outer layers until you’re down to your tank top and shorts. Putting your headphones on and grabbing your water bottle, you weave through the room, searching for something. 

Hell yeah. Today’s your lucky day because the assisted pull-up machine is free which is surprising considering how many people are here right now. You pick a weight, slide the pin in, and then kneel on the pad, letting your shoulders and lats stretch upwards in an almost dead-hang. After adjusting your grip to your liking, you pull your shoulders down and back in preparation.

A deep breath.

You pull your elbows down towards the ground, keeping your chest up. That’s one.

Another: two.

When you finish your third set of pull-ups, you decide to try something again. You unlatch the pad and then wrap your hands around the grips. The last time you tried an unassisted pull-up, you were able to get up about three-quarters of the way there. You pull your elbows down again, fighting against gravity to try and get your chin to where your hands are at. Damn it, only a third of the way this time.

Frustration wells up in you as you bend down to gather your things. You’re not making any progress at all, and each time you try, it seems like you’re taking steps backwards instead. You turn up your music instead to drown out the unpleasant buzz of self-criticism as you sit down at the lat pulldown station. You’ve got the rest of your workout to finish though, and this is no time to be wallowing in your failures. Pull day isn't for beating yourself up over a notoriously difficult movement after all. It’s for building big biceps and juicy back muscles, so you can think to yourself, “Damn, I look good” when you flex in the mirror.

“How was your first time at the Rust Syndicate gym?” Philippe asks as you flop down onto the cafe bench at the end of the day. Your Skarmory hops over to his Skarmory, and the two birds push off into the air, trilling at each other.

“It was great!” you say, sipping your tea. Somehow, Philippe's the one who usually gets off work first, and like the gentleman that he is, he always has some sort of tea and dessert ordered for when you get off. “It’s so nice getting to do pull-ups with an actual machine now instead of with resistance bands. Band-assisted pull-ups terrify me, but it’s my only option at Machamp Fitness.”

You cut your dessert, tiramisu this time, in half as you talk, grabbing Philippe’s plate before placing a slice on it and pushing it over to him. He pushes it back with no hesitation. It’s a daily ritual at this point, forcing him to partake in your sweet treat while he tries his hardest to let you enjoy all of it by yourself. He’s never been able to win this little game though, and before long, he gives up, picking up a fork to take a bite.

“Also my program actually worked with little fuss today! Only spent two hours banging my head against it instead of my usual three or four.” Philippe laughs at your giddy expression, leaning his head on his palm as he listens to you ramble about that strangely fruitful debugging session. “Oh yeah, how was your day?”

“Mine was also good. The boss was in a surprisingly pleasant mood today; he must’ve gotten a visit from that Team MZ prodigy before I came in for work.” Well, this is news to you. Who knew the great and powerful Corbeau had a lovesick side? You file this information away for later in your mental blackmail filing cabinet.

You and Philippe continue to chat until just about sundown. At one particular moment, you glance up at him again and your heart twists in your chest. For a second, you stutter as your train of thought crashes at the sight of golden hour bathing Philippe in an ethereal light. Arceus, you love this man so much, and you don’t even know if he knows it.

When it’s time to head back to your apartment, you call for your Skarmory, “Cilli! Time to go!” Cilli, short for Penicillium, squawks at you before reluctantly flying down to land in front of you. You both recall your birds into their balls. Philippe always insists on walking you home, but secretly, you don’t mind despite your half-hearted protests. You get the chance to spend more time with him, and it also gives you an excuse to hold his hand. What more could you want?

He leaves you at your apartment door, giving you a hug and a kiss before he leaves. You blow him a kiss goodbye as he waves at you. You cook dinner, clean the kitchen, and after you’re done oiling Cilli’s joints right before bed, you crawl wearily into the sheets, a smile on your lips as you fall asleep to the memory of the sun’s rays on Philippe's skin. 

Tuesday: Push Day (Shoulders, Chest, Triceps) Incline Bench Press Lateral Raises Tricep Pushdowns Chest Flies Face Pulls Diamond Pushups

For the first time in forever, you decide to do abs and cardio after your push day today. 

A sweaty woman with the Syndicate's signature purple sunglasses plops down on the mat next to you as you’re resting after a circuit. Another grunt by the looks of things. You offer her an easy smile when she glances your way, and she strikes up a conversation. You learn her name, Maria, and in-between crunches, planks, and flutter kicks, the two of you gossip about working for the Rust Syndicate.

“Okay, just humor me for a second. Is it in your contract to always have the sunglasses on because even at the gym you guys are wearing them.”

Her eyes dart around before she leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “Technically yes, but I’ve been told that it’s only there because it was an old bet between Mr. Philippe and the Boss, and they still haven’t resolved it."

“Man, the two of them are just so strange, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I get paid too much to care. I’ll wear these silly things all day and night if it means I get work-life balance, great health insurance, and a chance to help Lumiose.”

At the end of your workout, you walk out with her into the courtyard as you exchange numbers. Apparently, she also misses having a gym buddy to deadlift with, and you promise her that you’ll join her on the days you’re not working out with anyone else. She’s turning to leave before she turns around again.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yeah, just wanted to say goodbye to my boyfriend before I have to go back to Quasartico for work today.”

“I’ll wait with you then.”

You’re telling her about a fantastic restaurant just outside of the city that specializes in Sinnohan cuisine when Philippe steps out into the courtyard. Maria’s eyes widen as she glances past you, and she drops into the Rust Syndicate pose, barking out a "Hello, Sir!"

Philippe chuckles as he draws closer, “Don’t worry, Maria. I’m not here to chastise.”

You wrap your arms around him in a hug. “Hey, handsome! That new cafe I found online a day ago, can we go there today?”

“Of course, love.”

You pull out of his embrace, finally remembering that Maria is behind you. Feeling embarrassed now, you settle for a goodbye squeeze of his hand instead of the usual kiss, and he lumbers back inside. When you turn around to look at Maria again, her mouth is open in shock.

“You– so you’re Mr. Philippe’s partner? Oh my gosh, how did I not know? Xerneas save me, we all placed bets on if it was going to end up being him and the boss or if he was going to find someone outside of the Syndicate.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh no, pretend you never heard that from me. You two are such a cute couple.”

You look at her in amused bewilderment, and the only thing you can offer in response is a sheepish, “Sorry for not mentioning it?"

You finally finish processing her words though. "Wait, hold on a minute, what do you mean by 'end up being him and the boss'?” 

Thursday: Rest

It’s almost 2:30 AM, and Corbeau’s yet again getting on your nerves even as you and him are pulling an all-nighter in the office to process the data from Team MZ’s skirmish with rogue Mega Tatsugiri. Philippe is home already; Corbeau having finally persuaded him to leave after telling him that at least one of them needed to be lucid to hold down the fort the next day.

“Quit calling me kid, I am literally older than you!”

Corbeau smirks and pretends to think about it before he simpers back, “Nah. It’s just too much fun riling you up like this. Besides, this is my revenge on Philippe for finding someone else to obsess over other than me.”

You give him a withering look.

“You know he doesn’t know about our little feud right? Keep being infuriating, and I might go hunt down Team MZ and reveal to them how you really feel about their ace. Don’t think I don’t see that happening.” You study his face in hopes of catching a tasty reaction, and to your delight, Corbeau’s ears redden, and he whips his head away from you. “You’re the worst.”

“Right back at you, mafia man.”

He looks back at you with a smug smirk on his face. “Fine, as the mafia man, how about I cut you a deal? You leave my feelings alone, and I promise to help you plan your marriage proposal to Philippe in the future if he’s still hopelessly in love with you for some reason. Stopping me from calling you ‘kid’ is not up for negotiation though.”

Incredibly tempting offer, but man, this guy drives a hard bargain. Curse him for not putting the one thing you want on the table.

You squint suspiciously at him. “This deal doesn’t come with putting me into a million Pokedollars worth of debt, right? I’m just a dumb software engineer turned amateur data scientist; I don’t have that kind of money. I’m also sure as hell not becoming your lackey like your favorite do-gooder did either.”

He holds out his hand for a handshake. “Make it and see. Isn’t that the fun in life? Taking risks? Partaking in under-the-table business?”

“.......Fine.”

You shake his hand anyways, and he looks supremely satisfied as he focuses on his laptop again and picks up another piece of sushi with his way-too-fancy chopsticks.

Maybe you should watch your back for the next few years.

Saturday: Push Day (Shoulders, Chest, Triceps) Bench Press Lateral Raises Tricep Pushdowns Chest Flies Rear Delt Fly Dumbbell Tricep Overhead Extension

Saturday is Philippe’s push day, and considering how you’re the one who doesn’t have work (intimidating businessmen and giving out shady loans is 24/7 work apparently), you decide to move your second push day to Saturday as well.

It seems that the grunts are much more comfortable with Philippe as several of them come up to him to say hello throughout your workout. Neither of you talk much, choosing instead to save it for the post-work cafe visit, but he’s encouraging as ever, pushing you to do just one more rep on your final sets even as your muscles scream in protest. The real highlight of push day with Philippe is getting to bench with him though. Sure, there’s a massive strength difference; he can bench two plates while you’re still struggling with 25’s, but you will never give up the chance to watch him grunt with exertion as he moves 225 pounds like it’s nothing. Seeing how massive his upper body is when he’s doing overhead extensions is also a runner-up moment.

Damn if it doesn’t make your knees weak. 

After Philippe’s shower, you walk him up to Corbeau’s office, and just to mess with the boss, you plant a goodbye kiss on Philippe’s cheek in front of him, and Corbeau fake-gags as you do it. You glare out of the corner of your eye, lips still pressed to his face, but deep down you know you want to laugh. Arceus, if you knew how childish the Rust Syndicate leader could be under his intimidating public persona, you would’ve stayed far, far away from getting caught up in Philippe’s business.

To make a great day even better, Philippe’s able to leave early today, and you invite him over to your apartment for dinner and a movie. He arrives as you’re preparing to get your protein shake in for the day. You stare down at your blender bottle, having filled it with water and protein powder and shaken it until it’s now a cloudy white liquid. “Everyday I drink vanilla-flavored radioactive sludge in the name of muscles,” you announce to no one in particular.

Philippe snickers as he pours his own protein shake into a cup. Except it’s a lovely smoothie of pecha, peanut butter, nanab, and the chocolate protein powder he prefers, fitting for the foodie that he is. He always offers to make one for you as well, but you’re of the mindset that protein powder tastes awful either way, so sugarcoating it won’t help.

Ah well, you’re a glutton for punishment anyways.

You clink your blender bottle with Philippe’s cup in a mock toast and down the hatch it goes. When there’s no more liquid, you lower the bottle to cough and gag, catching Philippe’s eye as he takes a long sip from his smoothie.

“Don’t say anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” 

Sunday: Legs (Unilateral) Bulgarian Split Squats B-Stance Romanian Deadlift Hamstring Curls Single Leg Leg Press Calf Raises

Today, it’s just you, Philippe, and Corbeau. For some reason, within half an hour of Corbeau joining your group, the entire gym cleared out leaving just the three of you.

You and Philippe share a bench, one on each end as you do split squats. Philippe’s holding a whopping 60 pounds in each hand while you have your good ol’ 15 pounds. Across the room, Corbeau is doing pull-ups. When you’re both done with your first set, you sit down on the bench to catch your breath and turn around to admire Corbeau. For a guy who overworks and only trains 2 or so times a week, he’s got a gorgeous back. While Phillipe’s back is mouthwateringly thick and broad, Corbeau’s physique is leaner but no less impressive, muscles rippling as he pulls himself up with a 45 pound plate dangling between his legs.

You subconsciously ball your hand into a fist at the sight because no matter how long you’ve been lifting weights or how many negative pull-ups you do, you still can’t do a proper pull-up without assistance. Even Philippe struggles with them, but at least he can do them unassisted.

“Eyes on me, love,” Philippe teases, turning his head to watch Corbeau as well. You lean against him with a groan, trying not to let him see the frustration on your face. “It’s just so unfair. I’ve been bodybuilding for years, and his physique is still better than mine. Yours is too.” He turns to focus on you, placing a large hand on your knee, and his gaze softens.

“Don’t compare yourself. I’d admire you in the gym all day if you’d let me.” You snort, “And let you ignore your Syndicate duties? Let’s not get too silly now.”

You drop your head to stare at the two sets of dumbbells on the floor. Despite Philippe’s reassurances, you can still feel tears beginning to prickle at the corners of your eyes. Your 15 pound dumbbells looks measly next to his 60’s, and when he squats, his reflection in the mirrors is sturdy and powerful. You just look stupid wobbling next to him. Philippe wraps an arm around your waist when he notices your forlorn expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head and move to stand up. “Later. It’s been long enough, and we still have two sets left.” He frowns but doesn’t push it. You set up your feet again, and when you begin the next set, you tell yourself to push all negative thoughts away, choosing instead to focus on counting reps and the satisfying burn in your quads.

Later after dinner, you’re laid out on the couch, feet dangling off the side as you borderline begin to doze off. Philippe outdid himself this time, and you were about to enter a food coma after trying the many tasty dishes he made. Technically, your one-year anniversary is next Tuesday, but since you’ll both be busy, you opted to celebrate today. Your Skarmory’s on his little bed that Philippe keeps for him in his apartment, head tucked into a wing and snoring softly. He looks perfectly mold-colored as ever, still shiny from the polish you applied to him a day ago to maintain his metal plumage. You can hear Philippe’s Skarmory chirping intermittently from the balcony in response to soothing murmurs as Philippe polishes Skarmory’s beak and sharpens talons. The balcony door soon slides shut, and the bird clacks into the room before plopping down next to Cilli with a clank.

Philippe sits on the couch next to you and picks up your head to rest on his thigh, combing his thick fingers through your hair in long, soothing strokes. You open your eyes to admire his jawline and striking mutton chops before he speaks up. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

You groan and cover your face with your hands, feeling embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Love, the way you looked earlier suggests it’s not ‘nothing.”

You sigh and uncover your face, training your eyes on the ceiling instead. “Okay, fine. I don’t know, I just– Look, I know I shouldn’t compare myself to other people, but every time I see you or Corbeau, I just feel so insanely jealous. Did you know I was super insecure of my body when I was younger? Going to the gym and bulking up helped my body image a lot, and most of the time, I love how I look.” Philippe hums in response as you take a breath and continue.

“But it feels like it’s not enough sometimes. Sure, I might look like I have some muscle, but what good is it if I don’t have any strength to go with it? I barely even look like I go to the gym, I still have problems with my weight, I still can’t do an unassisted pull-up, and for Arceus’s sake, you can bench and hip-thrust my body weight, but I can’t even do that for you. On top of that, I don’t even look bulky in the incredibly sexy way that you do, I just look fat.”

To your horror, you feel water start to run down your face, and you close your eyes.

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Philippe begs, hands leaving your hair to gently wipe away your tears. You turn over onto your side and bury your face into his stomach, and he gives up on trying to stop your crying, stroking your hair instead. He sits there in silence as you sob quietly before he speaks.

“Y’know, I used to deal with body image issues too. Still do if I think about it. Was a heavy-weight boxer when I was younger but never managed to lose my belly throughout the years, and as much as my bulk helped sell the Syndicate Boss look, I used to hate myself for the way I used to intimidate kids on the street. I’m a hell of a lot better with kids than the boss is, but for some reason, they're always too scared to talk to me.” He laughs somewhat bitterly.

He falls silent again before whispering, “Sometimes I wonder if you’d want someone who looks like the boss instead. Someone with less belly and more charisma. Or maybe someone with washboard abs and a hell of a lot lower number on the scale.”

Oh hell no.

Arceus itself will have to strike you down before you let Philippe talk about himself like that ever again. You stop your wallowing and shoot up to kneel on the couch, cupping your hands around Philippe’s face and looking straight into his steely eyes.

“If you ever say that about yourself again, I’m going to, I’m going to… steal your Skarmory and fly off into the sunset with him. Or, or! I– I’ll take that stupid scale of yours that's under the bathroom sink and drop it off the roof of the Rust Syndicate, so that it hits Corbeau on the head and smashes him into a purple pancake.”

He looks flabbergasted, and amidst your warring anger and sadness, you smother a giggle.

“Your boss is extremely annoying by the way. I’ve never met a more infuriating man, and I will never understand how you put up with him. If it weren’t for the fact that he owns the Rust Syndicate gym, I would’ve punted him into Arceus’s domain, so it can deal with him already.” You huff loudly before continuing, “Ugh, not the point! My point is, never say that about yourself again. You are the handsomest, sweetest, most heart-throbbing man I have ever met, and not once have I ever, ever! wanted you to look like someone else.” You stare him down, and to your surprise, he looks away from you and blushes a violent red.

“R— really?” he squeaks out.

You turn his head towards you to press your forehead against his, eyes boring into his grey ones. “Really. Truly. From the bottom of my jaded, spiteful heart.” You kiss him softly, and he melts into it. When the two of you pull apart, he’s looking away again while scratching his beard bashfully with a finger.

“I wasn’t aware you felt so strongly about my appearance like that,” he mumbles.

You snort, “Clearly, I’m not doing a great job of making my man feel appreciated then. I’ll be crystal-freaking-clear. You are the hottest person I have ever seen, and every time I watch you lift, I wish it was me that you were manhandling instead. If you ever tried powerlifting or olympic weightlifting, I think I’d have to jump your bones right then and there.” Philippe finally laughs at that and wraps his arms around you in a giant Ursaring hug.

“Noted,” he says, smiling against your skin. He pulls away after a moment to hold you in front of him. “Don’t you think I’ve forgotten how you talked about yourself earlier though. Why are you allowed to talk about yourself like that if I can’t?”

You wince and look away, suddenly feeling ashamed. He turns your head back, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s different; You’re better-looking than me,” you protest weakly, trailing off as he raises an eyebrow.

“Let me turn your own words back on you then. You’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen, and every time I watch you lift, I wish it was me that you were manhandling instead. ‘Course, I think I might be too heavy for anyone to do that, but the sentiment still stands.”

His voice softens as he lifts your body until you’re sitting sideways on his lap, cradled against him.

“It breaks my heart whenever you talk like that. Strength isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon, and we all start in different places. It doesn’t matter how far behind you think you are because I will always be right there with you each step of the way.” You bury your face into his shoulder and sniffle.

“Thanks. I love you,” you mumble into his shoulder when you're able to compose yourself. Philippe kisses your head before standing and sweeping you up in his arms into a princess carry. You squeak in surprise, your own arms shooting upwards to fling themselves around his neck.

“Where are we going?”

“Making sure I get a good, long night of appreciating my beautiful partner in crime and reminding them exactly how I feel about their body.”

You blush in response to his smirk, choosing instead to lay your head against his broad chest and accept your fate.

“Also doll, what’s with the grudge against the boss?”

“Don’t ask. Trust me, you don’t want to know.” 

Monday: Pull Day (Back & Biceps) Pull-Ups Lat Pullover Hammer Curls Dumbbell Row Cable Bicep Curls Back Extension

Monday rolls around, and it’s pull day! Ah, your favorite day. It’s also your lucky day because both Philippe and Corbeau are able to join you for your workout.

Much to your amusement, everyone else in the gym– including your new friend, Maria –scatters in the first twenty minutes again when Corbeau shows up. During your sets, Philippe and Corbeau continue to talk business as you pretend not to eavesdrop, and during Philippe’s sets, you and Corbeau bicker lightheartedly while Philippe tries his hardest not to laugh at the yammering from both sides.

You force both of them to take a pump pic with you at the end of the session.

Your Rotomphone floats in front of the mirror as you direct them. Philippe's standing with his back to the camera, head turned to the side to catch his side profile in a back double biceps pose. You and Corbeau stand closer to the camera. You’re on Philippe’s right side; Corbeau’s on his left. You flex as you bring your left arm up in a javelin pose, Corbeau mirrors you, and the two of you frame Philippe in the middle with your arms up. 

Click!

You smile as you set the photo as your phone’s wallpaper.

Damn, y’all look good.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Happy Valentine's Day!