i'm trying to find motivation to write so here is the kind of Pokemon gym leaders I think the LIs would be!
To get the low hanging fruit out of the way. Zayne: Ice. Rafayel: Water. Xavier: Fighting. Sylus: Dragon. Caleb: Flying.
If you wanted to go strictly off of evol then I think it'd be. Zayne: Ice. Rafayel: Fire. Xavier: Electricity. Sylus: Dark. Caleb: Psychic.
BUT I think we can do better. Walk with me.
Zayne: Is a Normal type gym leader. Now I know that sounds boring but hear me out. Zayne never intended to become a gym leader. He was just a normal doctor doing normal doctor stuff, probably took some pokemon veterinary courses back in undergrad. Randomly he comes across hurt pokemon and patches them up. They're usually just local little guys, rattatas, pidgeys, furrets. And these little guys that he would just come across while having lunch outside adopt him as their trainer. Next thing he knows he has a whole crew of pokemon that need enrichment so he sides as a gym leader on weekends. The cuddlier guys also double as therapy pokemon at the hospital, change my mind.
Xavier: Is a Ghost type gym leader. Xavier's reason for being a Ghost type gym leader is kinda morbid and it definitely has to do with his long life span. He started as a pokemon trainer in his youth with a little bit of everything, but pokemon age faster then he does, way faster in comparison. And anyone that has pets understands how sad that is, now amplify it by like ten. So Xavier started collecting ghost pokemon, who are not immortal but have much longer lifespans compared to other pokemon. Xavier ended up becoming a kind of urban legend, the gym leader that never ages and whose pokemon never die. Some people think he's a ghost just like his pokemon but no one who's ever battled him can say for certain. Has a greavard that follows him everywhere and takes up all the room on his bed when he's trying to sleep.
Rafayel: Is a Poison type gym leader. Now Rafayel is an assassin, he's also the target for malicious attacks more often than not. And what better way to get rid of someone than with poison? He started surrounding himself with poison type pokemon, exposing himself in small doses to their poison to build a tolerance in case anyone tried to hurt him using a pokemon like that. He loves his pokemon though, finds a strange beauty in their toxicity and tries to capture the look of their poison on canvas when building up his immunity. Opened a gym because his house was becoming uninhabitable for literally anyone else because of the residual poison lingering everywhere. Records all the battles to use for inspiration for art afterward.
Sylus: Is a Steel type gym leader. Sylus is an engineer and pokemon that are the combination of life and machinery is exactly what interests him most. He started collecting steel type pokemon initially because of his interest in engineering, seeing if there was anyway to optimize or improve them like you would a regular machine, ethically of course. He isn't out here dissecting live pokemon even if they are more machine than animal. Wanted more data on how they fought so opened a gym to see how they attacked and how their powers manifested. His signature pokemon is a corviknight that always sits on his shoulder but that is not his most powerful. The pokemon that he praises the most for their strength and is an absolute monster on the field is his tinkaton that he nicknamed Sweetie, after someone very close to him.
(Also this is an actual entry from the pokemon scarlet pokedex about tinkaton: "This intelligent Pokémon has a very daring disposition. It knocks rocks into the sky with its hammer, aiming for flying Corviknight." Even as a pokemon the MC insert is beefing with pokemon Mephisto!)
Caleb: Is a Bug type gym leader. Caleb was 100% one of those kids that loved to go bug hunting when he was little. He was out there every summer with his net and his mesh bug cage catching everything he could get his hands on. As he got older he switched to catching bug pokemon. He was a great pokemon trainer and had the chance to be a pokemon master, traveling to different gyms to win battles and tournaments. He didn't want to leave those that needed him at home though and instead opened a gym. He likes to give lessons to younger trainers about how to train their pokemon and does mock battles with them to help raise their confidence before sending them off in the world. The only downside is his girlfriend doesn't like bugs and runs away anytime he brings one home. Except for snom. Everyone loves snom.
♡ ≈2.2k words ♡ daa!caleb x reader ♡ 18+ mdni ♡ divider ♡
after months away, caleb comes home to find you waiting for him in the one place you've always felt safest—his bed, in his clothes...
cw/tags: mdni, mostly fluff no smut just suggestive, slightly yanderelight caleb if u squint, voyeurism (also if you squint), daa!caleb, sleepy reader, caleb loses it over u in his clothes.
author's note: it's been a while, oopsies. n e way i bought caleb merch and wrote a self-indulgent fic about it. *runs n hides*
The house was too quiet.
Caleb noticed the moment he slipped his key into the lock, that there was an the absence of the familiar hum of the television, then a lack of Mrs. Josephine's warm greetings from the kitchen. He had checked the driveway before even approaching the door, and it was empty, no car. Shamefully, he felt relieved.
She's probably at the doctor, or grocery shopping.
Either way, it meant he could finally be alone with you.
The DAA didn't give many breaks. The ones they did grant were short and so precious— usually seventy-two hours at most—before they shipped him back to Skyhaven for another grueling cycle of combat training and zero-gravity drills. He had spent the entire Coelum Express ride home thinking about you. About the last time he'd seen you, standing in this very doorway, waving goodbye with that sleepy smile, and a brave face he couldn't even pretend to buy.
He had forgotten his shirt that day. His black DAA training tee, the one with the small embroidered insignia over the heart. He hadn't realized until he was already on the transport, and by then, it was too late to turn back.
The stairs creaked under his feet as he climbed, moving as quietly as he could. The door to his old room, the one he'd grown up in before the academy had taken him away, was slightly ajar.
He pushed it open with one finger and stopped breathing.
You were asleep in his bed, the sheets he'd left behind still unchanged from his last visit it seemed. You had burrowed into the center of it like a small animal seeking warmth, your dark hair spread across his pillow, your lips slightly parted in sleep.
And you were wearing his shirt.
The black fabric swallowed you whole. It slipped off one shoulder completely, baring the delicate curve of it to the cool bluish afternoon light filtering through the curtains. The hem had ridden up during your sleep, bunching around your hips, and he could see the edge of your pink lace underwear. One bare leg was hooked over the blanket, toes curled against the mattress.
Caleb's hand tightened on the doorframe.
Did she miss me?
He knew you did. You always did, you were his girl, had been since you were small enough to fit in the crook of his arm during thunderstorms. but seeing you like this, wrapped in his clothes, buried in his bed, waiting for him without even realizing it... Something shifted in his chest.
He blamed himself, sometimes. For raising you, being the one who taught you how to tie your shoes and ride a bike and look both ways before crossing the street. It was his fault for holding your hand through every scraped knee and broken heart and nightmare. He had poured so much of himself into making you feel safe, and making you feel loved, that he had never stopped to consider what it might do to him.
And now you were grown. Now you were beautiful—so beautiful it hurt to look at you sometimes—and you had absolutely no idea. You moved through the world with that same obliviousness you'd had as a child, unaware of the way your smile made people stumble over their words, unaware of what you did to him.
He stepped into the room, letting the door close softly behind him. The click of the latch made you stir, just slightly with a small sound of protest. Your face scrunched up briefly before smoothing back into sleep.
Caleb crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached out, slowly, and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek.
Her skin... is so warm...
"Sweetheart," he murmured.
You didn't wake. You never had been a heavy sleeper, but something about his room, his bed, his shirt seemed to have pulled you into a deeper rest. Trust. That's what it is.
His fingers traced down the side of your face, softly along your jaw. His eyes followed the path of his touch, lingering on the curve of your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, the way his shirt on you gaped open to reveal...
Fuck.
He closed his eyes and breathed. He counted backward from ten like they'd taught him at the academy when the G-forces threatened to pull consciousness from his grasp.
When he opened them again, you were looking at him. You were half-awake, still swimming in the haze of sleep, but looking. Your eyes blinked slowly and unfocused, trying to make sense of his presence.
"Caleb...?" Your voice was rough with sleep, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It's me."
You just looked up at him with that sleepy, trusting expression.
She really doesn't understand, he thought. She has no idea what she does to me.
"I'm home," he continued, his voice dropping lower. His hand was still on your face, thumb stroking gently across your cheekbone. "Came back for a few days. Didn't want to wake you."
You made a small, pleased sound and shifted, turning toward him instinctively, your face rubbing into his hand. The movement made the shirt ride higher, exposing more of your thigh. More of that soft, pale fabric at your hips.
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"Josephine's not home," he said, and he wasn't sure if it was a warning or a promise. "It's just us, pipsqueak."
Something flickered in your sleepy eyes—awareness, maybe, or the first stirring of something more. But you were still too drowsy to fully grasp the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze.
"It's been too long," you mumbled, reaching for him with one hand. Your fingers found his, curled around them.
Caleb let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He lifted your joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
"I missed you too, pips." His voice was gentle. So gentle. But there was something else, something that made the air in the room feel heavier. "More than you know."
He leaned down, close enough that his breath ghosted across your forehead. Close enough that you could see the way his eyes had darkened, the way his restraint pulsed off of him in waves, held in check by the thinnest of threads.
"You're in my shirt," he murmured. "In my bed. Waiting for me." He laughed, "Did you miss me that much?"
His free hand found the hem of the shirt—his shirt—where it had ridden up your thigh, and let his fingers rest there, warm against your skin.
You were awake now—fully awake, looking into his eyes. The look in them told you that the boy who had raised you, who had protected you, who had left for the academy and come back different—harder, more controlled—was looking at you like you were something he intended to keep.
"Say it," he whispered, still gentle, still soft, and still Caleb. But the hand on your thigh was warm and still and waiting. "Tell me you missed me."
The house was quiet. Josephine wouldn't be home for hours.
And Caleb was finally alone with you.
The sheet came up in a ridiculous, flustered motion—like that would do anything when he'd already seen you, when you were literally wearing his clothes in his bed.
"It's obvious," you mumbled against the cotton, voice muffled. "And also, why didn't you tell me you were coming, dummy?"
Caleb's lips twitched.
The sheet did nothing. You had pulled it to your chin like a scandalized Victorian maiden, but the damage, if it could be called that, was already done. He had catalogued every detail the moment he walked through that door. The slope of your bare shoulder. The pale fabric at your hips. The way his shirt had molded to your body in sleep, soft and worn and yours now in a way that made his chest ache. The color of your pretty panties.
Dummy. You still called him that. Same as when you were seven and he wouldn't share his dessert. Same as when you were twelve and he teased you about how you barely knew how to kiss. Same as now, when you were twenty-something and blushing at him from inside his bedsheets.
He didn't bother hiding his smile.
"Didn't tell you because I wanted to surprise you, pipsqueak. And..." he started cheekily as always, "looks like it worked. Got to see you all soft and sleepy in my bed, wearing my shirt..."
He let the sentence trail off, watching the way your cheeks flushed darker.
You peeked at him over the edge of the sheet. "You're insufferable."
"And you're adorable." He said it simply. Like... the sky was blue and water was wet and you were adorable in his clothes, in his space, in his life.
"Come here." He tugged gently at the sheet.
You resisted for approximately two seconds before the sheet crumpled and you were moving toward him, sleepy and warm and pliant in that way you only ever were with him. Your forehead found his shoulder, and your fingers found his shirt.
He wrapped himself around you like he always had, folded into you, his other half.
"Missed you," you whispered into his collar. "Next time, tell me. I want to—I don't know. Make sure I'm not dead asleep when you get here. Or like, wearing your stuff without permission."
Caleb's arms tightened.
"You don't need permission." His voice was low, breath against your cheek. "Anything of mine is yours. You know that."
He could feel your breath against his neck, warm and steady the rapid flutter of your pulse where your wrist pressed against his side. You fit against him like you had been made to be held by him, like all those years of looking after and being close to you had been leading to this exact moment. It always felt that way with you.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. Really look at you. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing the shape of your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth.
"Actually," he said slowly, "let's make a trade."
You blinked up at him. "A trade?"
"Yeah." His thumb stilled. His violet eyes held yours—warm, dark, terribly sincere.
"I'll tell you next time I'm coming home. I'll give you a heads up, send a message, whatever you want. Promise."
"That's... not really a trade, that's just being considerate—"
"I'm not done."
You fell silent. Something in his voice had shifted then.
"In exchange," he continued, "you have to promise me something."
You turned to look up at him, your head still on his shoulder, curiosity spiked. What stupid favor could he want now? When he was so close...
"You have to promise," he began, his voice steady, but his heart frantic, "that you'll always be happy to see me."
You stared at him.
"No matter what," he added, quieter. "No matter when I show up. No matter how long I've been gone. Just... always be happy that I came back to you."
Because I'll always come back to you, he didn't say. Because you're the only thing worth coming back to. Because if you weren't happy to see me, I don't know what I'd do.
He tried to keep his expression easy, but you'd always known him. And before he realized it, you were laughing. That bright, bubbling sound he'd been chasing since you were kids. It had always made everything worth it.
"Caleb," you said, still giggling, "sometimes you're no better than a puppy."
And then you hugged him. Arms around his neck, face pressed into his shoulder, legs tangled with his on the too-small bed. You hugged him like you meant it, like you were happy, like his stupid vulnerable near-confession hadn't scared you off but had instead made you want to hold him closer.
He sat there for a moment, frozen before his arms came up and wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair.
"You didn't promise," he murmured into the mess of it.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were soft. Full of that easy affection you'd always had for him, the kind he'd spent years convincing himself was just a childhood habit.
"I promise," you said simply. "I will always happy to see you, dummy. For 100 years or until we die." You squeezed his cheek, giggling again as his face scrunched in put-on protest. "Now can we nap, Cay? I'm still tired and you're warm."
Caleb laughed, surprised and overjoyed as he let you pull him down into the pillows.
You curled against him immediately like a little Russian doll, one hand fisting in his shirt, face tucked under his chin. He could feel your breath evening out, already drifting back toward sleep, completely at ease in his arms.
Always happy to see me.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips soft and lingering there for a moment.
Good, he thought. Because I'm never letting you go. I'll be holding you even if I'm in Skyhaven.
Outside, the afternoon light slanted through the curtains. The house was still quiet. Josephine wouldn't be home for an hour, maybe two.
And in that light, Caleb held you in his bed, in his shirt, in his arms, and let himself imagine a future where you stayed there forever. For hundred years at least.
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