Glass, Steel, and Shadows
So I did something stupid and write a fanfic on a character that hasn't been out yet.
This is a Romantic Drama of Y/A and Corbeau from Pokemon
Lumiose City was never quiet.
By morning, trams rattled along their tracks, neon signs flickered even in daylight, and holo-ads bloomed like bright fungi across the sides of skyscrapers. Prism Tower rose above it all, gleaming through the haze of rain.
Wild Zones punctuated the sprawl, carefully curated slices of nature meant to remind residents that Pokémon and people could coexist. Pidgey perched on streetlamps, Skiddo grazed on manicured patches of grass, and children played under the watch of Furfrou, clipped to the latest fashion trends. For most, the city was exhilarating. For me, it was suffocating.
I worked on the twelfth floor of the Cadenza Building, an office front for Corbeau’s “assessment business.” In truth, the paperwork on my desk wasn’t normal.
Steel shipments weighed less than they should. Double-billed invoices for “hazardous waste removal.” Wild Zone expansion projects signed by names I’d never seen before. Every file hummed with lies.
My job was to finalise them. Quietly. Precisely. Without question.
Across the room, Corbeau reviewed another document, his posture severe in the glow of the monitors. Hair the colour of dark violet caught the light. Orange eyes sharp, unblinking. His tailored coat cut a perfect silhouette, the kind worn by someone who never tripped, never faltered.
Beside him, Arbok lay coiled, hood pulsing faintly with each breath. Its scales shimmered in rhythm with the light—a silent threat draped across the office.
I jolted at the sound of his voice.
His eyes never left the screen. “Line thirty-two. A digit out of place. You paused before correcting it.”
My chest tightened. “It’s fixed now.”
“Good. Precision is not optional.”
Silence pressed heavier than the noise outside. By the time Corbeau dismissed me with a slight nod, the city had already shifted into neon-lit night.
Rain slicked the streets. Advertisements promised progress and prosperity in glowing letters overhead. Crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder, spilling into alleys where wild Pokémon prowled in shadow.
My apartment block sagged between newer towers, its stairwell reeking faintly of mildew.
And John the landlord was waiting.
He leaned against the doorframe, grin crooked, shirt collar stained. The stink of alcohol clung to him.
“Rent’s going up again,” he said. “City’s expensive. You understand.”
John’s grin stretched wider. His eyes lingered, invasive. “Next week costs more. Unless you’d rather negotiate… differently.”
“No.” I shoved past him, fumbling with the lock.
His laugh followed, sharp and mocking. “Fine. Don’t expect the lights to stay on.”
The door slammed. Silence pressed in.
Two cages. One of ledgers and Corbeau’s orange eyes. One of rent and John’s grin. And both were closing tighter.
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When Corbeau closed the office early, I thought it was a mistake.
But then he said, simply: “Come.”
No explanation. No room to refuse. He led me down the busy streets, where neon gave way to crimson lanterns and the city’s roar softened into whispers. The exclusive club hid itself there, unmarked.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and perfume. A jazz trio played slow, aching notes. Crystal chandeliers dripped fractured light across marble floors. Velvet curtains drowned sound and shadowed secrets.
Syndicate men in pressed suits filled the booths. Merchants in fine clothes laughed too loudly. Women in dresses glittering like gems leaned close to whisper into ears.
And Pokémon prowled. A Seviper coiled around a column, tongue flicking. Crobat flitted above, wings slicing smoke. Liepard sprawled on a sofa, tail twitching lazily. Drapion shifted in the dark by the bar, claws flexing in silence. Not companions. Warnings.
Corbeau walked through like a blade. Heads dipped. Conversations hushed. I trailed after, pulse racing. We slid into a booth drowned in shadow. A server appeared instantly, setting down a bottle of whiskey older than I’d ever seen. Corbeau poured, amber liquid glinting. He slid a glass across.
I hesitated. The whiskey smelled sharp—smoky, rich. But beneath it lingered something faintly metallic, faintly floral. Refusal was impossible. The burn hit instantly, spreading into a strange clarity. Sounds sharpened, lights glared brighter, even my own heartbeat echoed too loud.
Corbeau sipped, calm. His lips curved faintly. “You’ll learn.”
Time blurred. The lounge’s noise dulled. Only Corbeau’s gaze cut through—bright orange, steady. “Do you know why you are here?” he asked softly.
“To… file paperwork. Assess reports,” I murmured.
His lips curved again. “No. Anyone could do that.”
Then, without warning, he leaned across the booth’s shadow. The kiss was deliberate, slow, unyielding. Whiskey burned between us, intoxicating and sharp. It was not tender. Not cruel. Something worse. A mark. When he drew back, his eyes glowed in the dim light.
“You belong here. With me.”
The words sank heavier than the drink. Outside, the Syndicate men parted in silence. Neon burned too bright, the streets too loud. But I couldn’t shake the heat of that kiss, clinging like fire under my skin.
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Y/N scrolled through spreadsheets that no longer bothered to disguise their deceit. Steel imports underweighted. Duplicate charges. Permits without signatures. The lies weren’t accidents. They were the structure.
Corbeau’s gaze never left them. “You hesitate,” he said one afternoon. “You see too much.”
“You are precise. But conscience interferes. Discretion is as valuable as accuracy.”
Y/N nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
The message was clear: see everything, but speak nothing.
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That night, John was waiting again.
The stairwell smelled of mildew and beer. He leaned against the banister, grin too wide. “There you are,” he said. “Busy little worker bee. All that money, and somehow you’re always late with rent.”
John said. “And this week’s different. Prices rise. Quasartico’s buying everything. You’ll be out on the street unless you… make arrangements.”
His eyes lingered. His breath reeked.
Y/N stiffened. “I’ll pay what I owe. Nothing more.”
His grin hardened. “Cold. You think you’re untouchable. But this is my building. My rules. And one way or another, I always get what’s mine.”
The stairwell light flickered. Y/N forced the door open, locking it fast.
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The next morning, Y/N’s fingers trembled.
“You are unsettled,” Corbeau said.
“No.” His orange eyes locked on theirs, unblinking. “You are not.”
Everything in this city is seen. Everyone accounted for. His words fell like iron.
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Y/N trudged home, exhaustion weighing heavy. John was there, waiting by the stairs.
“You can’t hide from me,” he said, voice low, grin crooked. “Not in my building. Not in my city. You’ll pay — one way or another.”
Y/N said nothing, slipping past into the apartment. The lock clicked twice.
That laugh came again, muffled through the door. “No one’s coming to help you.”
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The next evening, the hall was empty. John’s office shuttered. His mail piled. His smell gone. Neighbors speculated: Quasartico, debts, police. But no one looked too closely. And Y/N knew better than to ask.
Because the next morning, Corbeau’s gaze lingered a moment too long.
“You understand discretion now,” he murmured.
Y/N nodded. Relief mingled with dread. John was gone. But the cost was clear.
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Work grew darker. Invoices came half-filled, signatures missing, lies scrawled openly. Y/N filed them all. Because silence was survival. One evening, Corbeau rose from his desk, eyes glowing in the sterile light.
“Good. Fear binds. And yet, you are still here.”
His lips curved faintly. “Because you won’t.”
Corbeau stepped close, eyes bright as neon fire. The kiss that followed burned fierce, consuming. It was no longer just a seal. It was hunger, possession, passion sharpened into precision.
Y/N trembled, breath ragged when he pulled back.
“You belong to me,” he whispered.
And they knew it was carved too deep to deny. Outside, Lumiose roared — neon, steel, Wild Zones, endless life. But in the shadows of the Rust Syndicate, Y/N had been claimed.
And the mark of Corbeau would never fade.
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Okey it is time to hide as I bet Corbeau is nothing like this in the game haha
turnnoffyourmind
dededos
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
