I Have a Crush On You
I have a crush on youuuuuuu~~And now you're mine!~~
Leave it to @greatpretending to have these cute, silly ideas.
Premise: Plza guys reactions to you telling them you have a crush on them, but you guys are already in an established relationship.
Update on how I'm feeling: My throat isn't in as much pain (it's still scratchy sometimes and feels weird to swallow, but not much pain. Now, I'm dealing with a stuffy nose XD
also tagging: @vanillianbean @van1shiro @clawshots @kuonhotachii @hakuaclovers @reizamoon @misabelle717 @happinessismagicc @ena-the-eepy @grisham-enjoyer @anotherpokemonfanaccount @probably-definitely-a-bard @averysmolkirbo @kociokwiksstuff @asteora @bigguscheesius
Corbeau (tailored specifically for you, Sydni)
The restaurant was absurdly expensive.
Low lighting, impeccable service, the kind of place where Corbeau didn’t even look at the prices when he ordered—just glanced at you and said, “Trust me.”
You were halfway through dessert when it slipped out.
“You know,” you said casually, spoon hovering over the plate, “I think I might have a crush on you, Beau.”
Corbeau paused, just for a fraction of a second—but you caught it.
Slowly, he set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, studying you with open amusement. “A crush,” he repeated, like he was savoring the word.
You nodded solemnly. “Yeah. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
His mouth curved into something dangerous. “Is it.”
“Well,” you continued, committed now, “you’re charming. And annoying. And I keep wanting your attention. So.”
Silence.
Then, Corbeau laughed—soft, low, delighted.
“Oh, this is excellent,” he said. “Please, go on.”
You frowned. “You’re not even surprised?”
“Angel,” he replied, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You live with me. You steal my clothes. You kiss me like you own me. And you have a very…"
His eyes traveled from your face, to your neck, and down the front of your dress, stopping a second at your cleavage.
"...convincing way of reminding me who I belong to.”
He tilted his head, eyes glittering.
“Well,” you said defensively, “I just thought you should know.”
His eyes flicked briefly to your lips, then back to your face. “I do know.”
He reached across the table and brushed his thumb along your knuckles, intimate and unhurried.
“But if we’re confessing,” he added lightly, “I should probably admit that I’ve been rather taken with you for some time.”
You narrowed your eyes, flustered but determined. “Keep talking, and I’m leaving you here with nothing but your ego and an empty wine glass.”
He smiled like he was enjoying this far too much. “You're the one telling me now. Right here. In this 5-star restaurant on our dinner date.”
He kissed your fingers gently, gaze warm.
Whelp, so much for having the upper hand.
“Finish your dessert,” he said softly. “Then we’ll go home… and you can explain your ‘crush’ properly.”
You absolutely did not miss the way he ordered another bottle of wine afterward—clearly intending to encourage your little crush.
==========
Urbain
You were leaning against the side of Café Nouveau Truck No. 1, nursing a drink while Urbain paced nearby, half-focused on whatever he and Grisham had been discussing. Griselle was stationed at the window, arms crossed, radiating judgment at passersby.
It was…peaceful.
Which, honestly, made it the perfect time to ruin everything.
“Hey, Urbain, I don’t know if you know this,” you said casually, cutting in, “but I have a crush on you.”
Urbain stopped.
Like—stopped stopped.
He turned to you slowly, blinking once. Twice.
“…You...you do?” he asked, genuinely startled.
You nodded. “Yeah. Kinda bad, actually.”
His brain visibly blue-screened.
“Oh—” He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean—that’s—wow. I dunno what to say, haha.”
Grisham, from behind the counter, paused mid-pour.
Griselle squinted at Urbain like she was watching a car approach a wall in slow motion.
Urbain gestured vaguely between the two of you. “I just—when did this—how long have you felt like that?”
You stared at him. This was not going the way you were hoping.
You sighed. “…Urbain.”
“Yeah?”
“We’re dating.”
Silence.
The realization hit him like a truck.
“Oh…OHHHH!”
His face went bright red.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “We are, aren’t we. Dating, that is. I totally forgot we were—oh no.”
Griselle snorted loudly. “Unbelivable.”
Grisham cleared his throat. “Impressive, really.”
Urbain looked up again, flustered but earnest. “I just—when you said ‘crush’ my brain went straight to, like, middle school? I panicked.”
You laughed. “Yeah, you did. You panicked, hard.”
“I thought I was about to have to figure out how to ask you out,” he admitted. “I was already rehearsing.”
Griselle leaned out the window. “For the record, if you’d actually tried to ask them out again, I would’ve intervened.”
Urbain opened his mouth to respond—
Then seemed to decide words were no longer his strongest asset.
Instead, he stepped closer, hands warm and sure as he caught your face and pulled you into a kiss—quick, confident, and smiling into it like he’d finally caught up to reality.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Still,” he said softly, grin wide and sincere, “I’m really glad you have a crush on me.”
Griselle gagged. “I hate it here.”
Grisham sighed, already turning back to work. “Please, you two. We have more customers to serve.”
Urbain just laughed, still holding you, like he’d won something important.
And honestly?
He had.
==========
Grisham
Grisham’s break was never long.
That was the thing about Café Nouveau—there was always another order, another customer, another thing that needed doing. But he’d carved out ten minutes anyway, sitting with you near the side of Truck No. 1 with a cup of coffee and a croissant he’d split without even thinking to ask.
Like it was natural.
You watched him as he stirred his coffee, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed in the rarest way—still composed, still Grisham, but softened around the edges in a way the rest of the world didn’t get to see.
And because you were hopelessly in love with him, and because peace never lasted long around Café Nouveau…
You decided to ruin it.
You took a sip of your coffee, keeping your expression perfectly casual.
“I don’t know if you know this, Grisham,” you said, as if you were mentioning the weather, “but I have a crush on you.”
Grisham paused.
His eyes lifted to yours, quiet and assessing—like he was checking for sincerity and finding it immediately… along with the joke.
Across the truck, Griselle—stationed at the window like a guard dog with eyeliner—snorted.
“Oh my god,” she gagged dramatically, one hand to her throat. “I’m gonna throw up right into the tip jar.”
You ignored her.
Grisham’s mouth twitched. Then, slowly, an amused smile appeared, subtle but unmistakable.
“A crush?” he repeated, like he was tasting the words.
You nodded, still innocent. “Yeah. It’s a little embarrassing, but I thought you should know.”
Grisham leaned back slightly, eyes still on you. “I see.”
“Yep,” you said, committing fully, “because I keep thinking you’re… you know. Attractive. And kind. And I like being around you. Not to mention you’re rank B in the battle royale.”
Griselle made another retching noise, louder.
Grisham didn’t even glance at her. He just watched you, warm amusement settling into something softer.
Then, he leaned in. It was controlled, deliberate, like he was letting you feel the distance close one inch at a time.
Close enough that you caught the faint scent of coffee on his breath.
Close enough that your heart started acting stupid.
“Then, I should tell you something,” he murmured.
Your mouth went dry. “Yeah?”
His gaze dipped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“We’re dating,” he said simply.
You blinked. “…We are?”
His smile deepened, almost fond. “Yes.”
“And,” he added, voice quieter now, “I’m aware of your crush. Because it just so happens that I have a crush on you.”
Before you could react, he kissed you.
He tasted faintly of coffee and croissant, warm and familiar, and the kiss felt like him—steady, grounding, intentional.
It lasted just long enough to make your cheeks warm and your thoughts scatter.
Then—
“Sir,” Griselle’s voice snapped from her place near the window, “you’ve been here long enough that I’m gonna start charging you by the minute. Order whatever gross drink you want, or leave.”
A customer stammered something apologetic.
Grisham exhaled through his nose. The kiss broke, but he didn’t move far. His forehead hovered close to yours, like he was reluctant to fully pull away. He brushed his thumb lightly against your hand—one last small touch before duty reclaimed him.
“Dinner is still on tonight?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” you said.
Grisham nodded once, satisfied, then turned—
“Griselle,” he said, tone even, “please remember how to address our customers.”
She didn’t even look at him.
“Please stop flirting at my workplace,” she shot back sweetly. “I’m trying to run a respectable business, and you’re out here acting like you’ve never kissed a person before.”
Grisham stared at her for a beat.
Then he sighed again—deeply, tragically.
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you for your feedback.”
Griselle smirked. “Anytime.”
And Grisham, still faintly tasting of coffee and you, went back to work like he hadn’t just let you get away with the dumbest, cutest confession imaginable.
==========
Ivor
You caught Ivor at a quiet moment—gear set aside, posture relaxed, attention fully on you in that way that always made you feel seen.
Perfect timing.
“Hey, Ivor. I don’t know how to say this,” you began carefully, already smiling a little, “buuuuut, I have a crush on you.”
Ivor blinked. Then frowned—not upset, just…thinking.
“A crush?” he repeated.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head. “But…aren’t we already dating?”
You paused. “…Yes?”
“So,” he continued, genuinely puzzled, “wouldn’t that mean you’re supposed to like me?”
You tried again. “I mean, yeah, but—this is more like—feelings. Extra feelings.”
He considered that, brow furrowing deeper. “More than usual feelings?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
You stared at him. “That’s it?”
He shrugged, calm as ever. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”
You laughed, a little defeated. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I don’t understand the game,” he admitted plainly. “But, I’m glad you like me.”
You sighed dramatically. “You know what? Never mind.”
Before you could step back, Ivor moved.
One moment you were standing there; the next, you were lifted clean off your feet, pulled into a crushing hug that knocked the breath right out of you. He laughed softly as you yelped, arms wrapping around his shoulders by instinct.
“I may have a crush on you, too,” he said warmly. “Better?”
“…Yes,” you admitted, laughing now.
He lowered you just enough to kiss you—gentle despite his size, careful and sincere. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with warmth and adoration.
“I have extra feelings for you, too,” he added, like an afterthought. “A lot of extra feelings.”
Your heart melted completely.
Somewhere nearby, Gwynn absolutely pretended not to see the whole thing.
==========
Philippe
Philippe’s lunch breaks were never rushed.
Even with the Rust Syndicate headquarters looming only a few streets away, he walked with you through Lumiose like time wasn’t pressing down on his shoulders—hands in his pockets, stride easy, attention entirely on you.
You’d just finished eating, paper bags folded under your arm, when the thought bubbled up and escaped before you could stop it.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you said lightly, eyes forward, “but I think I have a crush on you.”
Philippe glanced down at you. There was a faint, knowing curve of his mouth. Amusement, warm and unmistakable.
“A crush,” he echoed.
You nodded. “Mm-hm.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his arm slid around your waist, smooth and unhurried, hand settling there like it had always belonged. He gave a gentle squeeze—just enough to be felt, just enough to make your breath hitch in surprise.
You looked up at him.
He was still smiling.
As you continued walking, he subtly guided you closer to the building line when a group passed, positioning himself so no one brushed against you. When you slowed to look at a shop window, he slowed too. When a street vendor caught his attention, he stopped—and returned a moment later with a small bouquet tucked under his arm.
“For you,” he said simply, handing them over.
Your heart did a stupid little flip. “Thank you, but…you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he replied, eyes steady on yours.
Every touch was deliberate. Every movement said the same thing, over and over, without a single word: you’re with me.
By the time the Rust Syndicate headquarters came back into view, your chest felt light and buzzing, cheeks warm with something dangerously close to giddiness.
Philippe stopped just outside the entrance, turning toward you. He leaned down, one hand still at your waist, the other brushing your cheek as he kissed you—soft, lingering, familiar.
“I like you too,” he murmured. “Very much.”
You smiled, dizzy.
“I’ll see you after work,” he added, already straightening, professionalism slipping back into place like a tailored jacket.
And just before he stepped away, he gave your waist one last gentle squeeze—enough to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
Lunchbreak over.
Your heart, however, was absolutely not ready to calm down.
==========
Vinnie
You found Vinnie in one of Quasartico’s quieter common areas, jacket off, sleeves rolled, already halfway through paperwork when you slid the container onto the table in front of him.
He looked up, surprised—and then smiled.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, even as he set the tablet aside.
“I wanted to,” you replied, opening the lid. Homemade. Familiar. Clearly made with care.
He took a bite, nodding in approval. “It’s good.”
You sat across from him, watching him eat for a moment, then—casual as anything—
“Did you know,” you said, “that I have a crush on you?”
Vinnie paused. Slowly, he lowered his fork and looked at you over the rim of the container, unimpressed in a way that was deeply familiar.
“…Again?” he asked.
You grinned. “Just checking.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve pulled this before.”
“Have I?” you asked, sweetly.
He leaned back in his chair, studying you with that fond, teasing look that always meant he was about to say something annoying but true.
“You know,” he said, “if I didn’t like you back, I wouldn’t let you bring me lunch like this.”
You opened your mouth—
“And,” he continued calmly, “I wouldn’t eat it. Or sit here with you instead of working.”
That shut you up.
He stood, crossed the small space between you, and cupped your face gently before kissing you—soft, familiar, grounding in the way only he ever was.
“We’re already together,” he reminded you quietly against your lips.
Then he kissed you again, just to make sure it stuck.
When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb along your cheek and smiled. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
You laughed as he turned back to the table, neatly packing everything away. He reached for a pokéBall and pressed it into your hand.
“Take Lopunny,” he said. “My daughter wants her at pickup today.”
You glanced down at the pokéball, then back up at him, surprised. “She doesn’t want Grandpa Drampa? Or Houndoom?”
Vinnie’s mouth tightened immediately.
“…Don’t call him that.”
You smiled innocently. “Grandpa Drampa.”
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “He’s not a grandfather. He’s just Drampa.”
“And Houndoom?”
“Houndoom has,” he said carefully, “too much enthusiasm for a school pickup.”
From one of the other pokéball in his pocket, Houndoom's ball rattled, as if personally offended.
You snorted.
“She specifically asked for Lopunny,” he added, nudging the pokéball toward you.
Then, he grabbed his jacket, leaning in one last time to kiss your temple.
“See you when I get home,” he said.
And just like that, your stupid little confession had turned into lunch, kisses, and Pokémon babysitting—
Which honestly felt very on brand for your relationship.
