i have a desperate need to see how grisham and corbeau would handle seeing someone flirt with their s/o. like, grisham seeing it happen while he’s on the clock at the cafe and corbeau watching some new grunt shoot their shot
cw: jealousy,
characters: Grisham, Corbeau
🔥Grisham☕️
Nouveau Café had become a frequent haunt for you. It was a quiet place to collect your thoughts, and the coffee was simply wonderful. Griselle naturally had your order memorised and had it ready by the time you approached. Though, she hardly had a chance to bring it out to you. Rather, you went directly to the truck yourself and got it from the baristo. There was a light exchange between you both. If anyone paid close enough attention, they would see how his hand lingered on your own for a moment when you took your coffee.
Sitting on the couch, you sipped your coffee while looking at your phone. Your pokemon was across from you, snacking away on a croissant that had been prepared to its tastes. Grisham had been determined to make something your partner would enjoy. You unconsciously snuck a glance at him, watching him work for a moment. His movements were dazzling in how they never seemed to reflect any hesitation. Griselle gave a silent giggle at your obviousness.
Grisham was truly a sweet man. Your heart could not help but be captured by his gentle flames. Though, neither of you were too open publicly about your relationship, it was obvious to anyone who knew you both. Neither of you could get the other off your minds. You would sit here all day until they closed shop, but that would leave you too longing – Desperate for his warm embrace and loving kisses pecked along your jaw.
“Hello,” a voice snapped you from your thoughts. You turned to see a man at your side, holding a coffee in his hand. “Do you mind if I sit with you? All the other seats around here are taken.” A glance around confirmed that there were no lies in his words. You gave a nod, and he sat down across from you. His smile was polite. A light conversation followed, but it ultimately came to a natural end.
He scratched the back of his neck. A light colour had come across his cheeks. “Ah, you're pretty cute,” he mumbled to himself, “You seem like a tourist. Did you come here to find love by any chance?” The question caught you off-guard. Your coffee nearly choking you. Though, you struggled to speak now thanks to that. “I… I'm pretty familiar with everything,” he nervously shifted, “Would you care to join me for dinner—”
Griselle slammed down another plate in front of you, cutting him off. You could feel the rage emanating from her. As you thanked her, she shot a glare at the guy. He tensed, clearly unsure why she had an otherwise unexpected mood change towards him. Turning your head to look at Grisham, you noticed he was gone from the truck. Hands rested on your shoulders suddenly.
“Please do not make the other patrons uncomfortable,” a deep voice came from behind you, “We will have to ask you to leave if you continue.” You caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes were open, burning flames almost directed entirely at the poor fellow across from you. Charizard took cue from his trainer and stumbled over to glare down at him. The guy shifted.
“H-hey, how do you know they're uncomfortable?” he retaliated.
Grisham tightened his grip on your shoulders. You brought a hand to rest over one of them, an attempt to reassure him. His touch softened at that. “They're a regular,” he spoke carefully, “They are already in a relationship.” The guy's mouth hung open for a moment. He blinked. An apology came from him.
Quickly, he collected his stuff and got away from the café. It was only then that Grisham let out a breath. His eyes closed once more. Charizard leaned in, wanting a pet from you. A sigh left you at how surrounded you were.
Turning your head up to look at him, he gave a gentle smile. Then, he spoke lowly so no one else would hear.
“… I wish to claim you in a way that leaves no room for doubt that you're mine.”
Somehow, despite the coffee, you felt like you might pass out.
💜Corbeau💎
A call from a certain someone to come play was no longer anything uncommon. Rather, the days he did not call were the surprising ones. You tended to still pop in just to check on him, but it was often that he was away from the office doing something the poor receptionist refused to oust for your knowledge. Some small part of you was sickly curious, yet the majority of you knew that the information was better off unknown.
Today was a day he did not call. You felt a bit lost with what to do. Despite the likelihood Corbeau would be absent from the building, you stood in front of the headquarters. The days when he was gone left you oddly longing for his attention. Most of the time, you could hardly escape his hold – he tended to prefer you in his lap while he worked. Trying to peak the screen would have him slide a hand over your eyes. Any protests were silenced with kisses to wherever he felt most appropriate.
Your heart raced. He had not seemed the affectionate type at first, but as soon as he adjusted to being comfortable with you… A sigh left you. He never had space to do it with anyone else. Of course, he would surround you with his love. You reciprocated wholeheartedly – deeply in love with him despite everything. Light jokes about him trapping your friend in debt to just meet you were met with silent glares by him.
“Oi,” a deep voice called out, “You got business here? We don't appreciate loitering.” You glanced at who has snapped you from your reflective thoughts. A Syndicate Grunt approached you. Was he new? Most tended to do their weird bow to you and call you some high-ranking term. You stared at him blankly, a bit annoyed. Though, there was no need to be mean. He just did not know yet. Granted, there being no one else around was not helping.
You watched as his cheeks suddenly flushed with colour. “… Damn,” he mumbled under his breath, “You're pretty cute.” Your hand rested on your hip. That confirmed it. He really did not know. Before you could explain who you were, his hand caught your own. Sparkling eyes revealed themselves from behind his uniform sunglasses. “You caught in debt or something? I could help you, you know,” he gave a flirty grin, “I wouldn't mind helping someone so pretty.”
A sigh left you. Poor thing would be in deep shit. Though, no one else was around. You would just explain to him and tell him to not let a soul know he did this—
“You,” a controlled voice cut in the air, “Hands off them. Now.” The grunts tensed and instantly let go. He fell into a bow, calling out a title you can only imagine made him shake. Most held reverence and respect towards the man – but he also commanded fear.
“B-boss!” the grunt exclaimed, “I was just trying to do my duties as a guard—”
“And chase off my lover?” Corbeau seemed utterly menacing with how he stood over the grunt. You watched the grunts face twist in terror. “Apologise. Now.” The grunt fell to his knees and then into a deep bow, pleading for your forgiveness. You shook your head at the sight and accepted his words. Then, you shot a glare at Corbeau and mouthed for him to be nice.
“… Consider this a warning,” Corbeau strolled around to take to your side, “You're lucky they're so nice, you know. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened.” The grunt was shaking. With that, the man caught your shoulders with his arms and led you into the building. Everyone almost noted his mood instantly as he brought you into the elevator. It was silent while it rose to the office that had become all too familiar to you.
Stepping out, you hardly had time to react before he had you pinned against a wall. “Wear the pin,” he hissed, “You need to make it more obvious that you're mine.”
A sigh left you. Jealous Corbeau was not an easy beast to satiate.
Corbeau sat alone in his office, the night spilling in through the tall windows of Lumiose like a slow poison. He had sent Philippe home hours ago. The Rust Syndicate’s headquarters was silent, save for the low hum of the neon sign outside.
He told himself he was working. But work had dissolved into restless pacing, and pacing into sitting, and sitting into the slow, dangerous slide of his hand beneath his immaculate suit jacket.
He wasn’t a man prone to indulging in weakness. Not desire, not yearning, not need. Yet the moment he leaned back in his leather chair, loosened his tie, and finally allowed his fingers to trace the ache throbbing at the front of his slacks—he exhaled your name. Quietly. As though someone could hear.
You were out of town. Busy, gone, unreachable except through the little device on his desk.
He had told you he didn’t mind. That you should go. And he meant it. But the distance carved into him like a blade.
He pushed his slacks down his hips with one controlled, shivering breath, baring the flushed length of himself to the cool office air. His cock twitched desperately in his hand, already leaking, already betraying him. He wrapped his fingers around the rigid heat slow and deliberate. Because Corbeau didn’t do anything hastily, not even this.
His head tipped back, purple hair spilled like a wave across the chair’s high back. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, those sharp yellow eyes half-lidded, molten. The kind of look he never let anyone else see.
“Damn…” he muttered under his breath, voice low, quiet, dangerous. “Why is it always you who does this to me?”
His hand stroked again, firmer this time, and a hiss slipped between his teeth.
“I should…I should be above this.” His voice trembled, frustration bleeding into the edges. “I am a boss. A leader. I don’t have time for—mnh—this kind of…”
But the thought evaporated because he was already fucking into his own fist, hips lifting off the chair in slow, needy thrusts, eyes squeezing shut.
He pictured your hands. Your breath. Your mouth saying his name—soft, teasing, too far away.
He groaned before he could stop himself. A raw sound, and unpracticed.
His strokes quickened, the heel of his palm dragging over the sensitive underside, his thumb smearing pre-cum over the flushed head until he was shaking with it. Breath sharp, uneven, desperate.
“Ah—nn…Arceus—”
He caught himself. The realization hit him like a punch: He needed you. Not wanted. Needed. So badly it unraveled him.
He froze for half a moment, chest heaving, and then he grabbed his phone off the desk with his free hand, fingers trembling as he hit your contact.
The line rang once. Twice.
You answered, warm and unsuspecting. “Corbeau?”
He groaned your name so softly it almost seemed accidental. His hand didn’t stop moving. If anything, the sound of your voice made him stroke harder.
“I am…losing my composure, Angel,” he breathed, breathless in a way he never let anyone hear.
You exhaled, instantly understanding.
“Tell me, then,” you murmured.
Corbeau let his head fall back again, his voice dropping to that silk-soft, dangerous register except now it trembled with lust.
“I’m thinking about you,” he confessed, each word pulled from him like a secret he’d vowed never to speak. “Missing your hands on me. Your kisses. Missing the way you—ah—look up at me when you’re on your knees…”
Your quiet encouragement poured through the speaker, warm, intimate, devastating.
He stroked faster. Harder. The office chair creaked under the rhythm of his thrusts.
“I need you, Angel,” he breathed, the words shaking out of him. “I didn’t realize how badly until—until now—damn—keep talking, please—”
Your voice guided him straight to the edge, low and sinful and tender all at once. His breath stuttered, body tensing.
He grunted your name.
“—I—I’m—ngh—”
His release hit him in a hard, violent wave, spilling over his hand, his stomach, his tightened stomach muscles jumping under the force of it. His moan was harsh, bitten off at the end as though he could discipline the sound, but he couldn’t. Not with how good it felt to hear you in his ear, not with how long he’d been waiting.
He slumped back in the chair, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at his temples, your name still lingering on his lips.
There was silence for a beat. Soft. Intimate.
“…I miss you,” he murmured, quieter than you had ever heard him. The menacing, commanding boss of the Rust Syndicate sounded almost boyish for a moment.
“Come home soon,” he continued. “Please.”
Your voice softened, warm enough to make his eyes close. “I will,” you promised. “I’m coming home soon.”
Corbeau exhaled, long and slow, tension melting from his shoulders.
“Good,” he whispered. “I…look forward to it.”
And for once, he didn’t hide the smile that tugged, faint and rare, at the corner of his mouth.
Philippe
Philippe lay on his back in the broad bed that dominated his bedroom, staring up at the dark ceiling as Lumiose’s distant city lights bled faintly through the curtains. The room felt far too large without you in it. The sheets were cold where your body should have been, the quiet pressing in on him with a weight he didn’t know how to shake.
He had never been a man who struggled with silence. Years running with ruffians had taught him to live comfortably with solitude, with the heavy stillness of late nights and empty rooms. Even after he lost the Rust Syndicate to Corbeau, he remained steady, disciplined, rarely swayed by emotion.
But tonight his body refused to settle.
His broad hand drifted absently over the mattress where you usually slept, fingers pressing into the sheets as if the fabric might still hold your warmth. It didn’t. The emptiness only reminded him how long you’d been gone on your journey.
A quiet exhale left him.
“…Hmph.”
He shifted onto his side, one arm folding beneath his head. The other slid down his chest unconsciously, fingers grazing the buttons of his shirt before slipping lower across his stomach.
Philippe didn’t think about it. Not at first.
His thumb hooked beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, adjusting them slightly. A practical motion. A small comfort against the restless tension lingering in his body.
But his hand didn’t move away. Instead, it lingered there. Heavy palm resting over the growing warmth beneath the fabric.
His brows slowly knit together. He rubbed once, absently. The way someone might soothe a muscle without thinking.
The response from his body was immediate.
A quiet breath escaped him as the pressure sent a slow pulse of pleasure up his spine. His fingers tightened slightly through the fabric, testing the feeling.
“…Tch.”
Philippe shifted again, now aware of the firmness pressing against his hand. His silver eyes narrowed at the ceiling as though trying to reason with himself.
He hadn’t meant to start this, but the moment his hand slid inside the waistband and wrapped around his cock, thick and already half-hard from the slow building ache of missing you, his breath deepened.
His hand was large, warm, and firm. He stroked once, experimentally. The sensation rolled through him like a low hum of steel under tension. Another slow stroke followed, longer this time, his grip tightening around the growing heat of his length.
His chest rose and fell heavier against the mattress.
“…So that’s how it is.”
The realization settled in quietly. Not shameful. Not rushed. Just a simple acknowledgement of the truth.
He missed you.
His strokes became steady, unhurried, his thick forearm flexing as he moved his hand along the thick length of himself. Each movement deliberate, almost methodical, the same controlled patience he used in battle.
Yet the sounds escaping him betrayed the calm exterior. A slow breath. A deeper exhale. Your name murmured under his breath without him realizing it.
Philippe’s eyes flicked open. His hand paused halfway down his cock, thumb resting against the slick bead forming at the tip.
“…Ah.”
He stared at the ceiling for a moment longer. Then a low rumble of amusement escaped his chest.
“So that’s what’s been bothering me.”
His grip tightened again, resuming the slow rhythm, his hips lifting slightly into his palm now that he’d fully accepted what he was doing.
It wasn’t just desire. It was you. The absence of your body beside him. The way you’d curl against his chest when you slept. The way your hands would wander across his shoulders and arms like you were exploring the solid breadth of him.
He exhaled heavily.
“I suppose…this is what happens when you leave a man alone too long.”
The phone sat on the nightstand beside him. Philippe glanced at it.
His hand continued moving, slower now but heavier, the wet sounds of his strokes filling the quiet bedroom.
For a long moment he considered leaving things as they were, handling it himself. But another image of you surfaced in his mind—your voice, soft and teasing, the way you’d whisper his name when he had you beneath him.
His restraint cracked, and for a moment he considered calling you. Just to hear your voice. Just to tell you he missed you.
His hand slid down the thick length of himself again, spreading the slick wetness gathering at the head.
Philippe exhaled slowly. “…No.”
You were out on your journey. Busy. Focused. The last thing he wanted was to interrupt you just because he was feeling restless in the middle of the night. He could handle this.
He imagined the way your hand would wrap around him instead of his own. Smaller fingers struggling to encircle the full width of him. The way you’d look up at him with that soft expression that always made something deep in his chest tighten.
His strokes grew stronger. And his hips began pushing slowly into his hand. A quiet sound escaped him.
The thought of you beneath him, your body pressed into the mattress, your hands gripping his shoulders as he leaned over you, made his breathing deepen.
His strokes quickened, and the steady rhythm turned rougher now, wet sounds filling the room as pre-cum slicked his palm.
He imagined your voice. The way you’d whisper his name.
His hips lifted harder from the mattress.
“Damn…”
The tension built rapidly now, heat coiling tight in his abdomen. His grip tightened instinctively, stroking faster as his body leaned fully into the fantasy of you beneath him.
Your hands on his chest. Your legs wrapped around his waist. The breathy way you’d say his name when he moved inside you.
Philippe groaned deeply. A rough, helpless sound he rarely let anyone hear.
“Ah…if you were here, doll…”
His hand moved faster, powerful forearm working harder now as his hips thrust into his grip.
The pressure crested suddenly, and his breath caught.
“—fuck—!”
His body tensed as release hit him hard.
His cock jerked in his hand as he came in heavy pulses, spilling across his fingers and stomach while his hips stuttered against the mattress. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest as he rode out the wave, his grip loosening only when the last pulse faded.
For a moment he simply lay there breathing, slow and heavy. His chest rising and falling as the tension drained from his body.
Eventually he wiped his hand with a nearby cloth from the nightstand and settled back into the bed.
The room was quiet again.
Philippe turned slightly toward your side of the mattress, his large hand resting on the empty space where you normally slept.
“…Come home soon,” he murmured quietly into the dim room.
He closed his eyes, finally relaxed against the pillow.
“The bed is far too big without you.”
Grisham
Grisham returned to the apartment long after the streets of Lumiose had dimmed into their quiet evening glow. The soft clink of his keys echoed faintly as he locked the door behind him, shoulders relaxing just slightly once the world outside was shut away.
Work at Café Nouveau had stretched later than expected. Meetings, discussions, careful planning for Team Flare Nouveau’s next steps. The sort of precise, measured responsibilities he carried with quiet confidence.
But the moment he stepped into the bedroom, that composure wavered.
The bed was empty.
He stood there for a moment, glasses catching the soft lamplight as his gaze rested on the sheets. Your side of the bed remained slightly rumpled from the last morning you’d left. You had been gone on your journey for days now.
Grisham exhaled slowly as he loosened the collar of his shirt and removed his bow tie. The small piece of fabric landed neatly on the dresser as he approached the bed. He released his hair from its ponytail, the long strands of red-orange and white falling around his shoulders. He removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand, and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress.
The faint scent of you lingered in the sheets, and something warm settled low in his chest.
He leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing over the fabric where your pillow rested. His hand paused there as he leaned down, almost absentmindedly, pressing his face briefly into the pillow.
Your scent was unmistakable. Soft. Familiar. Comforting. His shoulders eased as he inhaled again, slower this time.
“…I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
You always lingered in his thoughts when you were away. Even during work his mind occasionally drifted to the memory of your smile, your voice, the quiet warmth of you leaning against him.
Still…the scent of you here was different. Stronger. Closer.
He shifted onto the bed, laying partially across the mattress where you normally slept, face turned into the pillow again. He inhaled again, and his body relaxed further into the sheets. And, without quite realizing it, his hips shifted. Just slightly. The pressure against the mattress sent a faint spark through him.
Grisham paused, and then shifted again. A small, slow movement of his hips pressing down into the bed. The warmth spread lower in his body.
His brows knit faintly as he inhaled the scent of you again, and his hips moved once more. Slow. Dragging against the mattress.
“…Mm.” The sound escaped him before he could catch it.
He shifted again, the subtle pressure building slowly as his body began responding to the friction. One leg bent slightly as his hips rolled into the bed again, the movement still absent-minded, more instinct than intention.
Your scent filled his senses, and the memory of you beneath him surfaced without warning. Your fingers gripping his shirt. Your voice soft against his ear.
His hips pressed harder against the mattress.
The movement grew heavier now, a slow grinding motion that pushed heat steadily through his body.
A quiet breath escaped him. Then another.
“…Ah…”
The sound startled him, and Grisham’s eyes opened. For a moment he simply froze there, chest rising and falling slowly as the realization crept in.
He had been grinding against the bed. Against the sheets that still smelled like you.
His face flushed faintly.
“…This is…”
He stopped moving entirely, clearly aware of the firmness pressing against the fabric of his slacks now.
His composure attempted to return, and he rolled onto his back. But the pressure remained. His cock strained heavily beneath the fabric now, fully hard from the slow, unconscious build of friction.
Grisham stared at the ceiling for a moment. “…How unexpected,” he sighed. The words were calm, measured. But the heat in his body was not.
His hand lifted slowly, resting on his stomach. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, it slid lower. His fingers pressed against the obvious bulge in his slacks, and a sharp breath left him. The contact alone sent a jolt through him that made his hips twitch against the bed.
His hand moved more deliberately now, unfastening his slacks and pushing the fabric down just enough to free the rigid length of himself. His cock sprang against his stomach, flushed and already slick at the tip.
He wrapped his hand around it, and stroked. The first motion was firm. Almost rough. And a low breath left him as his head tipped back into the pillow.
The sudden intensity surprised him.
His grip tightened and his strokes became harder, faster, his body reacting sharply to the sensation after the slow build that had started moments earlier.
His hips lifted slightly into his hand.
“Ah—!”
The sound slipped out before he could restrain it.
His hand worked faster now, slick pre-cum spreading along the length of his cock as he stroked with growing urgency. The quiet, composed man who normally moved with such calm precision now gripped himself with an intensity that bordered on reckless.
His breathing grew uneven. His hips began thrusting upward into his hand. The tension built rapidly. Too rapidly.
The pressure coiled tight in his abdomen, his body racing toward release before he had fully processed what was happening.
His eyes flew open as his hand froze mid-stroke.
“…No.” The word left him sharply.
His chest heaved once as he forced himself to stop. The sudden halt left him trembling slightly, his cock twitching angrily in his grip.
He swallowed and tried to control his breath.
Grisham exhaled and let his hand fall briefly to the mattress beside him, giving himself a moment to regain composure, the realization of what he had been doing settled over him fully now.
His cheeks flushed faintly again. “…You really do have quite the effect on me,” he chuckled.
After a few moments, his hand returned to his cock. But this time his touch was different. His fingers wrapped around the base of his length as he began stroking again, careful and deliberate now, rebuilding the tension that had nearly spilled over moments before.
His eyes closed and your face filled his thoughts easily.
He imagined you beneath him again, the way your hands would slide across his chest and shoulders. The way your body would arch toward him when he moved inside you.
His strokes remained slow and controlled, his thumb dragged lightly across the sensitive head each time his hand reached the top.
“…That’s better,” he murmured softly. His breathing steadied, and then the tension began building again, slower this time. His hips started moving with the rhythm of his hand.
He imagined the warmth of you around him. The quiet sounds you made when he moved deeper. Your scent still lingered faintly in the sheets beneath him.
His strokes gradually grew firmer. Then, faster. His composure began slipping again as the heat in his body rose higher. Your name slipped from his lips, and his hips thrust harder now, the slick sounds of his hand working along his cock filling the quiet room.
The restraint he normally carried began to unravel under the weight of the fantasy.
Your body beneath him. Your voice. Your hands gripping his shoulders.
His grip tightened sharply and his strokes became rough again, his hips lifting harder off the mattress as the pressure built rapidly once more.
A sharp breath tore from him as his body tensed, and the coil snapped.
Grisham came hard.
His cock jerked in his hand as thick spurts spilled across his stomach and fingers, his hips stuttering against the mattress as a strained groan escaped his throat. The release came in heavy pulses, stronger than he had expected after holding himself back earlier.
He leaned back into the pillows, breathing uneven for several seconds as the tension finally drained from his body.
Eventually he pushed himself upright.
“…That was…unexpectedly intense,” he breathed.
After a moment he stood and made his way to the bathroom, cleaning himself carefully at the sink.
The cool water helped steady him. But as he dried his hands, a small, thoughtful smile formed.
His mind drifted to you again. To when you would return from your journey.
“…Perhaps,” he murmured quietly, adjusting his glasses again, “I should prepare something special.”
The idea lingered in his thoughts as he returned to the bedroom, already considering exactly how he might surprise you when you came home.
Ivor
Ivor kicked the door to his apartment shut with the heel of his foot, dropping his training bag beside the wall with a heavy thud. The long day had left his muscles humming with that satisfying, deep exhaustion only a good fight and a few hours of drills could give.
“Haah…man,” he laughed to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good session.”
His body thrummed with the pleasant exhaustion of hard work. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking the sleeveless training top that stretched across his broad chest.
Which meant one thing.
A shower.
A few minutes later steam filled the bathroom as hot water poured down over his broad frame. Ivor let out a long, contented sigh as the heat soaked into his muscles.
“Ahhhh…yeah. That’s it.”
The water ran down his chest and stomach, tracing the deep lines of muscle built from years of fighting and training. His long golden-blond hair darkened under the spray, clinging damply to his shoulders and back.
He grabbed the soap and started scrubbing himself down, humming to himself as he worked.
Training replayed in his head automatically: A student finally landing a clean hit on him. A particularly good throw he’d demonstrated. The rush of movement, the rhythm of combat.
His grin spread as he washed his arms.
“Kid’s gonna be scary in a year.”
The soap slid across his chest, over his abs, down his stomach. His hands moved automatically, thorough and confident as he cleaned himself after a long day of sweat and effort.
Then his thoughts shifted to you.
You’d been gone for a bit now, traveling on your journey. And while Ivor kept himself busy there were moments when his brain finally slowed down enough to acknowledge that his life did feel a little empty without you.
His grin softened.
“Wonder how you’re doing out there…”
He grabbed more soap, lathering it across his torso again. His hands moved lower as he washed himself thoroughly, sliding across his hips and down along the powerful muscles of his thighs.
The warmth of the water relaxed him further, and your face drifted back into his mind: you, sitting on the edge of his bed one night, looking up at him with that mischievous little smile before pulling him down by the sash.
His hands moved across his hips, down his thighs, then around himself as he washed—
“…Oh.”
Ivor blinked down at himself under the stream of water where he was already getting hard.
“Well,” he chuckled, amused more than anything, “guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
You had that effect on him. Thinking about you for too long tended to make his brain go in certain directions.
His hand stayed where it was, just resting there for a second. Then he gave a slow stroke. Water ran down his arm as his hand slid along the thick length of himself.
“Man,” he muttered with an amused grin, “you’re not even here and you’re still have this effect on me.”
Another stroke and his breathing deepened slightly as the sensation spread through him.
Ivor wasn’t embarrassed about it. He was alone, relaxed, and the warm water plus a long training day had his whole body buzzing.
The rhythm felt good. Strong strokes sliding along his cock as steam curled around him in the bathroom. His head tipped back slightly, letting the water run across his face.
Your image filled his mind easily. The way you’d laugh when he flexed jokingly after practice. The way your hands would wander over his shoulders and chest.
His strokes sped up and his hips pushed forward slightly into his grip.
“Yeah…that’s—hah—”
The tension built quickly. His body was already wired from exercise, and the pressure climbed fast as he stroked himself harder.
Your voice echoed in his memory. Your legs wrapping around his waist.
“Ah—!” The first orgasm hit him suddenly.
His cock pulsed in his grip as he came with a deep groan, thick spurts spilling across his hand while the shower water washed everything down the drain almost immediately.
He leaned one hand against the tile wall, catching his breath.
But he wasn’t done.
His strokes slowed as the lingering sensitivity set in, each motion drawing a sharp breath from his chest. His hand moved carefully along the slick length of himself, easing back into the rhythm instead of rushing it.
He groaned at the feeling.
The slower pace only made the sensations stronger. The warmth of the shower, the steady grip of his hand, the memory of you still circling through his mind.
He pictured your hands instead of his. The way you’d look up at him with that teasing smile, and his hips began moving again, pushing forward gently into his grip.
The sensitivity gradually melted into pleasure again as his rhythm steadied. His strokes grew firmer, more confident as the heat in his body began building all over again.
Your name slipped quietly from his lips and his breathing deepened as the pace picked up. And before long, the pressure in his stomach was tightening once more.
The second orgasm hit him harder than he expected.
His cock pulsed in his hand again as he groaned deeply, thick spurts spilling over his fingers while his hips jerked forward helplessly into his grip. His entire body tightened for a moment as the release rolled through him, the hot water washing everything away almost immediately.
Ivor leaned forward slightly against the tile, breathing harder now. Then, a breathless laugh slipped out of him as the aftershocks faded, his grip finally loosening slightly as he caught his breath under the steady spray.
“Bet you’d be laughing if you saw this,” he muttered. You’d always teased him about his stamina. But you always tried your best to keep up with him.
Ivor stayed braced against the tile for a moment, breathing steadily as the second wave faded through his body. The hot water continued to pour down over his shoulders, steam curling around the broad lines of his frame.
“…Okay,” he muttered between breaths.
He ran a hand through his soaked hair, pushing the strands back from his face as he steadied himself. That one had hit harder than the first—his muscles still humming faintly with the aftershocks.
“Man…” He glanced down, and blinked.
He was still hard, and for a second he just stared.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
A baffled laugh escaped him, equal parts amusement and disbelief.
“Seriously?”
He gave himself a small testing squeeze. The response was immediate as his cock jerked slightly in his hand.
Ivor groaned softly and tipped his head back against the tile.
“What the hell…”
A crooked grin tugged at his mouth despite the confusion.
“Two wasn’t enough?”
He shook his head, half-laughing to himself.
“Man, you’re really messing with me tonight.”
Your face drifted back into his thoughts again. That teasing little smile you had whenever he got flustered.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “I know. You’d absolutely be laughing at me right now.”
His hand tightened around himself again.
At first his strokes were cautious. The lingering sensitivity made the first few motions pull sharp breaths from his chest, his hips twitching slightly as pleasure sparked through him again.
“Ah—okay…easy, easy...”
But Ivor had never been the type to quit something halfway. If his body wanted a third round? Fine. He’d give it one.
His hand began moving again, slow and steady under the hot spray. The rhythm gradually returned as the earlier sensitivity melted back into warmth, the familiar build of tension beginning to coil through his body once more.
Your voice filled his thoughts again. The way you’d cling to him. The way you’d whisper his name.
“I don’t even think you lasted three rounds,” he murmured with a breathy laugh.
His strokes grew stronger. Faster. His hips began pushing forward again, thrusting into his hand with renewed determination as the heat climbed steadily through his body.
His breathing deepened as the tension gathered faster than he expected.
“Damn—” His grip tightened instinctively, slick fingers sliding along the length of himself as the pressure spiked.
Your image in his mind tipped him over the edge. Your hands in his hair. Your walls pulsing wildly around him.
“—ahh!”
The third orgasm tore through him.
His body tensed hard as his cock pulsed in his grip again, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as another release spilled over his hand beneath the steady spray of the shower.
The intensity made his shoulders press harder into the tile as the wave rolled through him, his hips jerking slightly with each pulse before the tension finally drained away.
When it was over, he sagged back against the wall, breathing heavily.
For several seconds he just stood there under the hot water, and at last he watched himself begin to soften.
A quiet laugh bubbled out of him. “…Alright.” He shook his head, running a hand through his wet hair again. “Now I’m done.”
He let the water rinse him off properly this time, a satisfied grin lingering on his face. His amber eyes brightened as a new thought hit him.
“You know what?”
His grin spread wide.
“When you get back…we’re totally seeing who taps out first.”
Urbain
Urbain flopped back onto his bed the second the call ended, phone still clutched loosely in his hand.
“Man…” he groaned, staring up at the ceiling.
Talking to you had been great. Seriously great. Hearing your voice after a long day always made his chest feel lighter. But it also made the apartment feel way too quiet once the call ended.
He tossed the phone onto the pillow beside him and dragged both hands down his face.
“You gotta come back already,” he muttered to the empty room.
You’d laughed when he asked on the call, telling him his impatience was showing again. He’d tried to play it cool after that. Told you to take your time, enjoy the journey, battle a bunch of cool trainers, and all that.
But honestly? He missed you like crazy.
Urbain rolled onto his side, grabbing the pillow and hugging it against his chest with a dramatic sigh.
“Ugh…”
Maybe he could nap. A nap would help.
He kicked off his sneakers and stretched out across the bed, one arm draped over his eyes as he tried to settle down. The late afternoon sunlight slanted across the room, warm and lazy, making it the perfect time to crash for a bit.
Except his brain refused to shut up.
Every time he started drifting, your voice replayed in his head. The way you’d said his name. The way you’d laughed when he complained about how long you’d been gone.
He groaned again and rolled onto his back.
“Why do you have to be so far away?”
He grabbed the pillow again, pressing his face into it. It smelled faintly like you.
That didn’t help. If anything it made his chest tighten more.
He shifted restlessly on the mattress, trying to get comfortable, one leg bending slightly as he turned onto his side again.
His mind wandered to the last time you’d been here. You were sitting on this exact be, leaning over him with that teasing smile after he’d lost another battle against you.
The memory made warmth spread through his stomach.
He shifted again, then paused.
“…Oh.”
He was getting hard.
Urbain blinked at the realization, staring down at himself through half-lidded eyes.
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He adjusted himself through his sweatpants at first, intending to ignore it. But the pressure only made the warmth spread more.
Your voice drifted through his thoughts again. He thought of the way you’d said you missed him too.
“…Man…”
His hand slid inside his waistband almost absentmindedly, just to fix things.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
But the moment his fingers wrapped around himself, he let out a quiet breath. He gave a slow experimental stroke, and the feeling hit him immediately.
His hips shifted slightly against the mattress as his hand started moving without much hesitation now, stroking himself with an easy rhythm as he stared up at the ceiling.
He wasn’t overthinking it. Honestly, he rarely did.
Your face stayed front and center in his mind the whole time. The way you’d grin at him after winning a battle. The way you’d tackle him into hugs out of nowhere.
“Man, I miss you, so much…” he murmured softly.
His strokes sped up. The sensation climbed fast—way faster than he expected.
He groaned quietly as his hips began pushing into his hand, the rhythm getting sloppy as the pressure built.
“Mmngh—”
The orgasm hit him before he could even slow down.
“Ah—!”
His body tensed as he came in his hand, hips jerking slightly against the mattress while the release pulsed through him.
For a moment he just lay there breathing, chest rising and falling. He blinked at the ceiling, still catching his breath.
And realization hit him all at once.
“…Oh my god.”
He slowly glanced down, and his face flushed bright red. He dropped his arm over his eyes with a groan.
“Dude.”
A laugh bubbled out of him despite the embarrassment.
“Man…I really need you to come back already.”
Adaman
Adaman lasted four days without you before the gnawing hunger started pestering him every hour he wasn’t buried in work. He’d sworn he’d use the quiet to catch up on clan reports, finish mapping that wild ridge in Coronet Highlands, maybe even sand down the ridiculous driftwood sculpture he kept promising to gift you. Nothing stuck. He paced the length of his cabin again and again, glancing at the doorway as though you might appear despite riding patrols halfway to the Sea’s Legend. Every evening ended the same: sprawled across his futon, frustration humming under his skin with nowhere real to send it.
By the sixth night, rain thrummed on the roof in a steady beat and the air hung thick despite both windows propped wide. He stripped the top of his blue haori off, slung it over a chair, and dropped onto the futon in his sleeveless black jumpsuit. Humidity glued fabric to his lean frame, dampened the tips of his spiky half-ponytail. He didn’t even untie it. Waste of time. He had a sharper need.
He’d been hovering near the map table, staring at the corner where your satchel usually sat, when the memory hit hard—your knees bracketing his hips, the smirk you wore when you dragged nails across his chest. The mental image punched a groan out of him despite the empty room. It catapulted him backward to the futon before he knew he’d moved.
He seized the hem of his pants, yanked them down to his hips. Sweat already peppered his tawny skin as the fine blue diamonds inked near his collarbones caught lamplight. He sprawled out onto the bed, legs spread, one arm thrown over his head, the other hand wrapping around his cock before he even got comfortable. Oil slicked his fingers thanks to the small jar he’d grabbed without looking.
The first strokes were deliberate and slow, his head tipped back, throat long, breathing deep as he listened to rain hammer the roof. Every exhale sounded too loud and his impatience surged fast. His grip tightened until the motion bordered on rough. Wet noises filled the cabin, each drag feeding the ache.
“Where are you,” he muttered, tone ragged, head rolling against the pillow. “You swore you’d be back by the new moon.”
He pictured you straddling his lap, palms on his chest, taunting him for getting riled so easily. His hips lifted off the futon, chasing phantom weight. A low groan slipped loose, unfiltered.
“I need you home,” he said, voice rough. “Need you right now.”
The confession hung in humid air, simple and true. His hand faltered. His eyes opened. Realization flashed, bright and undeniable.
“Okay,” he breathed, laugh soft and amazed. “Guess I really do.”
He’d tossed out jokes before about you wrecking him. Saying it now, knuckles slick, cock throbbing, whole body shaking from restraint, carved it into bone. He needed the way you took him apart, the confidence in your voice when you pushed him onto his back and told him to keep up.
He rolled onto his side long enough to grab the pillow you’d slept on last. He dragged it between his thighs. The case still smelled like your hair oil braided with the sharp green moss you always carried. He groaned low as he ground against it, then wrapped his hand around himself again, no hesitation left.
And then everything sped up. He thrust into his fist with purpose, the pillow providing counterpressure while his hips snapped forward in rough, eager motions. Sweat slicked his temples, melting the blue line of shadow framing his eyes. His diamond earring swung wildly against his jaw as he bit his lower lip, and then released it with a hiss, shadows darkening across his nose as heat flushed his face.
He imagined you kneeling between his legs, mouth sealing around him until his good intentions shattered. He imagined you leaning in the doorway, telling him exactly how to stroke himself. Every pump matched that cadence, relentless and demanding.
“Come back so I can show you,” he rasped, voice cracking with effort.
That admission wrecked him. He pushed onto his knees on the futon, pumping harder, head tipped back until his throat went tight. The bed creaked and the rain hammered louder, wind slinging droplets through the window to speckle his bare shoulders. The bandages on his right arm flexed with each stroke, muscle standing out under taut skin.
A deeper groan tore out of him. “I’m gonna lose it if you don’t get here soon.”
The thought of you opening the door right then obliterated whatever self-control remained. His hips snapped, hand tightening hard at the base. His whole body seized.
Release slammed through him and he came in hot pulses across his abdomen, streaking the pillow, a few drops landing high on his chest. He kept pumping, riding each shudder, groaning through every spasm while the storm outside roared in rhythm. He didn’t stop until the last twitch faded, until aftershocks made him shake, until he collapsed backward, panting like he’d sprinted from the Mirelands to the Coastlands.
The air cooled slowly around him, and the rain softened. Annoyance crept in just as quickly as the satisfaction faded. He stared at the mess drying on his skin and huffed a laugh that sounded more like a curse.
“Damn it,” he muttered to the ceiling. “Should’ve been inside you.”
He wiped the back of his wrist across his mouth, amusement and irritation tangling. Coming on himself felt pitiful. He wanted you under him, full and clenching, voice breaking when he pressed your knees to your chest and pushed deeper. He ran a palm over his stomach, smearing the evidence, and groaned softly.
“Next time you walk through that door, I’m not letting you go,” he said, half a promise, half a threat. “You’re taking every drop. I’ll make sure it sticks.”
The empty room gave no answer. He smirked anyway, rolling his hips once more into the damp pillow before tossing it aside. “Yeah, laugh now. Wait till you’re stuck carrying it, sweetheart.”
He dragged the back of his hand over his eyes, breathing evening out, and stared at the doorway with that same impatient glint he saved for rival leaders. “Come home already. I’ve got plenty more saved up.”
Kabu
He had always treated longing like a thing to be mastered. Desire, impatience, loneliness, frustration—every one of them was meant to be handled the same way he handled a difficult battle or a setback in training. You acknowledged it. You endured it. And you turned it into fuel.
You did not let it rule you.
And for weeks, he had done exactly that.
He rose before dawn and ran until his lungs burned clean. He drilled with his team, adjusted strategy, reviewed challengers, corrected his posture, his breathing, his focus. He answered questions from younger trainers with that same calm gravity that made them stand up straighter without realizing it. In public, he remained exactly as he was known to be: composed, demanding, steady as banked heat under iron.
Tonight, Motostoke was dark beyond his windows, the low industrial glow of the city muffled by late-hour stillness. The gym had long since emptied. His team was settled. The last of his paperwork was done. He had showered, changed into a plain shirt and loose athletic trousers, draped his towel around his neck more from habit than need, and sat alone in his quarters with your latest message open in his hand.
Miss you.
He had stared at the screen for an embarrassingly long time after reading it. Long enough that his chest felt tight. Long enough that some deep, slow-burning part of him had turned greedy.
You would be back in a few days. He should have found that manageable.
Instead, he set the phone face down on the nightstand and exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like he was steadying himself before issuing a Pokémon command.
It didn’t help.
His room was too warm, or perhaps he was, and the air felt thick against his skin. He sat at the edge of the bed, broad shoulders taut beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, and shut his eyes for a moment.
This is foolish, he told himself. You were safe. You were well. You would be back soon. He was not a lovesick youth undone by a little distance.
And yet his body had already betrayed him.
Hard, heavy want throbbed low in his abdomen, insistent and increasingly impossible to ignore. It had been building all evening, sharpened by memory, by restraint, by your little message with its easy confidence, as though you had any idea what that one line did to him.
He planted his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, one large hand dragging over his face. The stubble at his jaw scraped against his palm, while the other flexed uselessly at his thigh.
He knew better than to indulge every urge the moment it rose. That had never been his way. Want was not command. Need was not weakness, but neither was it permission to lose structure.
Still, he sat there breathing harder than he ought to have been, and every thought he attempted to redirect came back to you.
The way you greeted him after returning from your travels, tired and windblown and grinning, only to melt against him the instant he touched you. The heat of your body after weeks apart. The little hitch in your breath whenever he put a firm hand at your waist and drew you closer. The way you looked up at him, playful one second and soft the next, and said his name as though it meant shelter, as though it meant home.
Kabu opened his eyes. He stood up and paced around the room like a caged animal. The movement stirred his blood further, made him more aware of the pressure in his clothes, the friction of fabric, the restless heat coiled in every inch of him. By the time he sat back down, his control had narrowed to a thread.
His hand went to his waistband with visible reluctance, as if he could still stop this from becoming what it already was.
“A poor showing,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and edged with self-reproach. But that did nothing to stop him.
His hand slipped beneath the waistband and closed around his cock, and the first real touch pulled a sharp breath out of him at once. His whole body tightened.
He had not expected to be this hard already. This heated and sensitive from nothing but missing you and thinking of you too much in all the quiet hours he could not fill. The skin of his palm against himself felt almost too good after so much restraint, and when his fingers tightened fully, a heavy pulse of pleasure went through him hard enough to make his spine stiffen.
He had meant for it to be brief. A practical release. A few firm strokes, no indulgence, no lingering, nothing he could not put aside afterward. Instead he found himself slowing almost immediately, because his body refused anything brisk or detached. He was too worked up for that. Too aware of every drag of his hand over the hard length of himself, too affected by the damp heat gathering there, too caught in the vivid memory of how much better your touch felt than his own.
Thoughts of you rose fast and mercilessly. Your legs opening for him. The warmth between your thighs. Your hands gripping his shoulders when he crowded close. The way your mouth brushed his neck while he fought to keep his pace steady, careful, controlled, even as desire pressed against his restraint from the inside like fire behind a closed door.
A rough sound slipped from him before he could hold it back, low in his chest, almost a groan, and his head bowed as though he could hide from the force of it.
He watched his hand move with grim concentration, forearms flexing, broad palm stroking slowly, steadily, the slick slide growing more obvious with each pass. His breathing had already lost its rhythm. His other hand was clenched hard in the bedspread, fingers digging into the fabric while he worked himself with increasing pressure, each stroke drawing another broken exhale from his mouth.
He imagined you straddling his lap, still in your travel clothes, impatient and affectionate and flushed from the journey. Imagined the weight of you settling over him, the way your body always softened and opened under his hands, the little noises you made when he kissed you slow at first, only to lose patience halfway through and start taking what he had missed.
A low groan pressed out of him.
His strokes turned messier after that. Less measured. He could feel control slipping, not all at once but by degrees, each one harder to reclaim than the last. His chest rose and fell under the cling of his shirt. A faint sheen of sweat had already begun at his neck, darkening the collar.
But his mind kept imagining.
The way you leaned against his side while he reviewed battle footage, pretending not to watch him instead of the screen. Your mouth opening on a gasp when he pinned you gently but firmly in place and told you to stay still. The look in your eyes when his restraint finally broke and you realized how much he had been holding back.
His hand moved faster.
Kabu’s eyes squeezed shut and he tipped his head back, throat working, and his breathing lost whatever rhythm it had left. His body was too honest now, betraying every need he had tried to school into silence. The room seemed smaller around him, the air hotter, his own pulse loud enough to drown thought.
His mouth parted on a ragged exhale.
“I need—”
The words came without thought. They startled him even as they formed, and his hand faltered.
For one suspended moment he sat there panting, body strung tight, every muscle in his shoulders and abdomen visibly locked. The sentence hung unfinished in the room, thick with implication.
I need you.
The realization landed hard. Not merely that he wanted you. Of course he wanted you. He always wanted you.
He needed you.
Not in the helpless way he would have scorned in his younger years. Not as a man incapable of standing on his own feet. But your absence had carved out a shape in his life that nothing else could fill, and in moments like this, in the bare privacy where all his discipline could no longer hide him from himself, the truth stood there without mercy.
He needed your voice. Your hands. Your bright, irreverent warmth upsetting the hard edges of his routine. He needed the certainty of your return so badly that he had built his patience around it.
A rough laugh left him then, disbelieving and a little bitter at his own expense.
“Look at you,” he murmured to himself, breathless. “At my age.” The reproach had no real force behind it. Only astonishment.
His grip closed more firmly around himself, deliberate and slow, as though he could somehow master the ache by pacing it. Each stroke dragged a fresh pulse of heat through him, made him harder, more sensitive, left his cock slick in his hand while his breathing turned rougher and less controlled.
He bent over himself with a strained, shuddering exhale, broad shoulders tight, abdomen tense, every movement of his fist pulling another broken sound from deep in his chest. Your name left his mouth once in a low rasp, then again, more ruined, followed by a hoarse murmur about needing you that seemed to shame him and drive him on in the same instant.
His lips parted, jaw loosening as pleasure hit harder and harder, his head dipping while he worked himself with mounting desperation. His strokes lost their measured rhythm, turning wetter, tighter, his hand sliding over his cock in a way that made his whole body twitch. A tremor ran through his thighs, and his shoulders shook.
Every breath came hotter than the last, breaking into harsh fragments, little guttural sounds, a stifled groan, a ragged “ah—hnn—” that he clearly had not meant to let out. He looked overtaken by it, by want, by absence, by the raw frustration of having only his own hand when what he craved was your body, your warmth, your mouth, your cunt taking him in instead of this lonely substitute.
By the time release finally hit, it struck him with enough force to wrench a deep, wrecked groan out of him. He folded forward slightly, fist still pumping through it as he spilled hot over his hand in thick pulses, his whole frame jerking with each one. There was no dignity left in it, no restraint to hide behind, only the helpless intensity of a man coming harder than he meant to because he had gone too long without you and could no longer pretend that was all this was.
He rode it out in ragged breaths and visible shudders, cock twitching in his grasp, hand slowing only when the strongest waves had passed and left him spent, flushed, and shaken by how badly he wished it had been you instead.
He stayed there afterward, bowed over his lap, chest heaving.
The room settled by degrees. The heat remained, but changed shape. Less frantic now. Heavy, spent, intimate. Kabu dragged his other hand over his face again, and sat in the quiet with the aftermath of both release and realization pressing close around him.
You would return in a few days. The thought should have soothed him.
Instead it made his whole body ache anew with anticipation.
He cleaned himself up with efficient motions born of habit, though there was a stiffness to them, a distraction he could not quite smooth over. When he was done, he sat once more at the edge of the bed and reached for his phone.
Your last message still glowed there. His gaze rested on it for a long moment. Then he leaned back, shut his eyes, and exhaled long through his nose, already bracing himself for the next few days of patience. It would be difficult. More difficult now that he had named the truth.
Still, he would endure it. That, too, was part of devotion.
And when you returned, he suspected all that hard-earned restraint was going to last only until the first moment you smiled at him and said his name.
Leon
Leon had faced roaring stadiums, roaring crowds, and Pokémon powerful enough to shake the ground beneath his feet.
None of that prepared him for loneliness.
The hotel room in Kalos was far too quiet. No stadium lights. No cheering crowds. Just the low hum of city lights beyond the window and the distant chatter of people enjoying the evening.
Leon leaned back against the pillows, long purple hair falling around his shoulders as he stared at the ceiling.
“Business trip,” he muttered to himself.
Chairman duties. Meetings with the League officials of Galar and Kalos representatives. Interviews. Promotional appearances.
Normally he thrived on attention. Tonight, though…
His hand drifted down his stomach, fingers brushing beneath the waistband of his sleep shorts.
He exhaled slowly.
“Man…I miss you.” The words slipped out before he even realized he’d said them.
His cock was already hard in his hand when he wrapped his fingers around it, thick and warm as he started stroking lazily. The sensation sent a shiver up his spine.
Leon tipped his head back with a quiet groan.
He’d tried to sleep earlier. Really he had. But every time he closed his eyes he pictured you. The way you laughed at him when he got lost. The way you tugged his cape down so he’d actually sit still for once. The way your body felt under his hands when he finally got home from long tournaments.
His grip tightened and his hips lifted slightly into his fist.
“Mm…”
The slow strokes turned quicker, his hand sliding slickly along his length as his breathing grew heavier.
“God, I need you, love…” The words came out hoarse.
Leon squeezed his eyes shut, imagining the picture. Your thighs around him. Your fingers in his hair. Your voice in his ear.
His hand moved faster, thumb brushing over the sensitive head with each stroke. A quiet groan escaped him as his hips rocked against his grip.
“I need you so bad…” He breathed the words like a confession.
His mind filled with the image of you beneath him warm, soft, and welcoming, and his cock twitched hard in his hand.
He was so close already. Too close.
His strokes grew frantic, breath hitching as pleasure coiled tight in his stomach.
“Need you—fuck—”
His hand froze as he slowed. Amber eyes blinked open as the words echoed in the quiet room. His chest rose and fell as he stared at the ceiling again, cock still hard in his hand.
Leon laughed softly under his breath.
“Well…shouldn’t be that surprised, eh, love?”
He’d said it instinctively. But the realization settled deep in his chest as warm as the afterglow of a hard battle. The Champion of Galar, the undefeated Monarch, the man who could face down any opponent without fear needed you.
Leon exhaled slowly and resumed stroking, slower now, savoring the heat of his palm as he pictured coming home. He pictured walking through the door, dropping his bag, and pulling you into his arms like he’d been starving.
His strokes sped up again, breath hitching as pleasure built rapidly.
“Just gotta make it through this trip…mmngh—!”
His hips bucked once, twice, and then he groaned loudly as he came, hot release spilling across his stomach while his hand pumped him through it.
His body relaxed back into the pillows, chest heaving.
For a moment he simply lay there, catching his breath. Then, he wiped his forehead and laughed again.
“Alright,” he said to the empty room. “Definitely calling you tomorrow.”
Because suddenly, those League meetings couldn’t end fast enough. And when he finally got back to Galar…
Leon planned on showing you exactly how much he needed you.
Raihan
Raihan had zero shame about masturbating.
You were out of town, the bed was empty, and he had a perfectly good phone full of pictures of you. Any sane man would make use of the situation. And Raihan was a very sane man.
Mostly.
The tall Gym Leader lounged back against the pillows in his apartment in Hammerlocke, hoodie long since discarded somewhere on the floor. His shorts hung low on his hips, pushed halfway down his thighs.
His cock was already hard. Again.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered to himself with a crooked grin. “I know. I’ve got a problem.”
His Rotom Phone glowed in his hand. On the screen was one of his favorite pictures of you. One he’d convinced you to send after an especially long day apart.
A little teasing. A little revealing. Just enough to drive him crazy.
“Damn…” Raihan breathed.
His free hand wrapped around his cock, warm palm sliding slowly down the length of it. He hissed softly.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me one day with these, babe…”
His thumb brushed over the head, spreading the bead of precum that had already formed there. His hips lifted instinctively into his grip.
He stroked himself slowly at first. Usually he’d tease himself for a while, drag it out, edge a little, maybe take a quick selfie afterward just to torment you while you were away and not with him.
But tonight felt different.
His eyes stayed locked on the photo as his hand moved steadily, and his breathing deepened.
“Arceus, I miss you,” he murmured.
Normally when he jerked off to you, it was playful. Easy. A quick way to burn off energy before bed. But the longer he stared at the screen, the more something in his chest tightened.
Your smile. Your eyes. The way your body looked when you were actually with him, not just pixels on a screen.
His grip tightened around his cock.
“Shit…”
His strokes sped up slightly and Raihan forced himself to slow down again.
“Nah,” he muttered, smirking to himself. “Let’s see how long I can hold out tonight.”
Competitive instinct. It never turned off. Even when he was naked in bed jerking himself off.
His hand slowed deliberately, dragging teasing strokes along his length while he kept staring at your picture.
“Gotta keep it together,” he breathed.
A minute passed. Then another.
His cock twitched in his grip. Precum smeared along his fingers as he stroked again, slower now, savoring the friction.
“Mm…yeah…”
He imagined it was you instead. Your hand. Your mouth. Your thighs around his hips.
“Fuck…” Raihan groaned softly.
His hips bucked once despite himself.
“Okay…okay. Hooo...” he panted, “Gotta…hold it together, now.”
He exhaled slowly and tried to ease the pace again, but the image of you kept pulling him deeper. The way you looked when you were underneath him. The way you clung to him when he made you come. The way you laughed when he got cocky about it afterward.
His hand sped up before he even realized it. His breathing turned ragged as pleasure surged through him.
“Shit, shit—I was supposed to—”
His hips thrust into his hand as his strokes became frantic.
“God—I miss you so fucking much.”
The confession tore out of him between gasps.
Raihan groaned loudly as his orgasm crashed over him, hot release spilling across his stomach while his hand kept pumping him through the peak.
His head fell back against the pillows. For a moment all he could do was breathe.
“…Well.” He glanced down at the mess across his abs, then at the picture still glowing on his phone.
He snorted. “Great job, genius. Lasted, what…a few minutes?”
He wiped his face with the back of his clean hand, still chuckling under his breath. But as he stared at your picture again, the humor softened.
“…Seriously though.”
His thumb brushed gently across the screen over your face.
“Come home soon, yeah?”
Because suddenly jerking off to photos didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he remembered.
Raihan grinned to himself, already imagining the moment you walked through the door again.
“Next time,” he murmured.
“Pretty sure I won’t be finishing by myself.”
Guzma
The hideout was loud earlier. Music blasting. Grunts yelling. Someone arguing about who stole whose soda. Normal Team Skull nonsense.
But now? It was dead quiet.
Guzma sat on the edge of his bed in the back room of the run-down mansion on Po Town, elbows on his knees, phone dangling loosely in one hand.
“…Tch.” He glared at the screen.
Your last message was still open.
“Miss you.”
Guzma scoffed. “Yeah, yeah…whatever.”
But he didn’t close the message.
He didn’t stop staring at it either. His jaw tightened.
The room felt way too damn empty.
Normally you were here with him. Sitting beside him while the grunts ran around causing chaos outside. Laughing when he got all worked up over stupid stuff.
You were the one person who didn’t treat him like some kinda unstoppable monster. You just…treated him like Guzma.
And now you were gone for a few days. Which meant Guzma was stuck alone with his thoughts.
And his very obvious problem.
“…Damn it.”
He leaned back on the bed with a groan, one arm thrown over his face. His other hand drifted down his stomach, because yeah, he was horny. Real damn horny.
You had a habit of doing that to him.
“Stupid…” he muttered. His fingers slid under the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapping around his already hard cock. The first stroke pulled a sharp breath out of him.
“Shit…”
His head tilted back against the pillow as his hand moved again. Slow and rough. Just the way he liked it.
“Yeah…that’s it…”
He squeezed himself tighter, thumb dragging across the head before sliding back down his length. His hips jerked slightly into his hand.
“Damn…you do this to me every time…”
Guzma usually acted like he didn’t need anybody. Didn’t care about anybody. Didn’t miss anybody. But the way his cock twitched when he thought about you told a different story.
His strokes sped up.
“God—” He bit the word off with a grunt.
His mind filled with memories of you instead. The way you looked at him. The way you touched him like he wasn’t some screw-up the whole region wanted to laugh at.
His hand moved faster.
“Fuck…need you…”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Guzma froze for half a second.
He kept going anyway. His breathing got heavier as his hips started pushing into his grip.
“Always messin’ with my head…”
His cock throbbed hard in his hand, slick with precum as he jerked himself off faster.
“Should be here right now, with me…”
He imagined it. You sitting in his lap, fingers tugging his hoodie, your sweet voice saying his name.
“Ah—shit—”
His strokes turned frantic.
“Need you so bad, babe…”
The confession came out raw. Not cocky. Not arrogant. Just honest. Because when the only good thing in your life walked out the door for a few days…you felt it.
His whole body tensed as pleasure surged through him.
“Fuck—!”
He came hard with a rough groan, hot release spilling across his stomach as his hand pumped him through it. His chest heaved as he collapsed back against the mattress.
“…Damn.”
For a minute he just laid there breathing. Then he grabbed a towel from the floor and wiped himself off.
His phone was still on the bed beside him. Still open to your message.
Guzma stared at it. His thumb hovered over the screen.
“…Whatever.”
He typed something quickly.
“Get back soon. Po Town’s boring without you.”
He stared at the message for a second. Then added another.
“…and I miss you. Don’t tell the grunts I said that. ‘Specially not Plumeria.”
After sending the message Guzma tossed the phone onto the bed and leaned back with a groan. But the faint smile on his face gave him away.
Because yeah. The “big bad boss” of Team Skull?
He was counting down the days until you came back.
Nanu
Night had settled over Ula'ula Island, and the police station was quiet. Too quiet.
Nanu leaned back in his creaky office chair, long legs stretched out across his desk, sandals hanging half off his feet. The dim light from the desk lamp cast lazy shadows across the room. A kendama rolled slowly between his fingers.
Click.
Miss.
“…Tch.”
He let the toy fall onto the desk with a dull clack.
Normally he’d just sit here half the night doing nothing, maybe napping, maybe pretending to work. That suited him just fine. But tonight something was bothering him.
Actually, not something, but someone.
Nanu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his tired red eyes drifted toward his phone sitting beside the lamp.
“…You should be able to handle a few days,” he muttered to himself. He was a grown man. A Kahuna. Former International Police. Dealt with criminals, Ultra Beasts, and more paperwork than any human should ever have to suffer through.
You being away for a few days shouldn’t be a problem.
And yet.
His hand moved almost automatically, grabbing the phone. Your photo filled the screen. Cute. Pretty. Way too young to be dating an old burned-out guy like him.
“…Hmph.”
He stared at it longer than he meant to. “Kid’s got bad taste,” he muttered under his breath.
Still. The empty apartment tonight had been…noticeable.
Nanu leaned back further in his chair, one hand drifting slowly down his stomach.
“…Only human,” he grumbled. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, wrapping around his cock.
He was already half hard.
The first slow stroke pulled a quiet sigh from him. His hand moved again, rough palm sliding along his length as he closed his eyes.
Nanu wasn’t a particularly excitable man. Everything he did was slow. Measured. Even this.
“Should be sleepin’,” he muttered, but his hand kept moving anyway, stroking his length. His thumb brushed the head, spreading the bit of precum that had already gathered there.
He imagined you instead. Your soft voice. The way you’d sit beside him on the couch while he pretended not to enjoy the attention. The way you’d curl up against him like you belonged there.
His grip tightened slightly.
“Damn kid…”
Another slow stroke.
“Got me missin’ you more than I should.”
He exhaled through his nose, hips shifting faintly in the chair as pleasure started to build.
Nanu had always prided himself on being detached. Didn’t get too invested. Didn’t let things get to him. But lately… that rule hadn’t exactly been working.
“…Troublesome.”
His strokes sped up just a little. Not much. Just enough to make his breathing deepen.
His cock twitched in his grip.
“Should’ve known better,” he murmured. But there wasn’t much conviction in it. Because the truth was simple. You made his quiet life a little less…empty. And now that you weren’t here, he felt it.
His hand moved faster. Still steady. Still controlled. But the tension in his stomach grew quickly.
“Mm…”
A low sound escaped him before he could stop it. The chair creaked softly as he shifted his hips again.
“Come back soon…” he muttered.
Another few strokes and his body tensed.
“…Hah.”
His orgasm came quietly, a low grunt leaving his chest as release spilled across his stomach while his hand worked him through it.
For a moment the room was silent again. Just the hum of the lamp.
Nanu leaned back in the chair, breathing slowly.
“…Troublesome,” he repeated.
He grabbed a rag from the desk drawer and cleaned himself off with the same tired efficiency he did everything else with. Then he picked up his phone again.
Your picture was still on the screen. He stared at it for a moment before muttering softly,
“…Get back safe.”
A pause.
Then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“…And hurry up already.”
Because apparently, even a lazy old Kahuna wasn’t immune to missing someone.
Larry
His room in Medali was quiet.
Finally.
Larry loosened his blue cloud-print tie and let it hang around his neck as he sat on the edge of the bed. His briefcase rested beside the nightstand, still closed. He hadn’t even bothered unpacking.
It had been a long day. Gym Leader duties. Then Elite Four paperwork. Then a meeting with the League. Then more paperwork.
Larry sighed. “…I would really like to sleep.”
That was the plan. Take a shower. Collapse into bed. Maybe dream about rice balls from the Treasure Eatery. A simple, peaceful evening.
Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas.
Larry stared at the ceiling for a long moment before rubbing his face slowly.
“…This is inconvenient.”
Because the room felt…empty. Normally when he got home late from work, you were there. Maybe cooking something. Maybe talking to him while he absentmindedly loosened his tie and collapsed at the table. Maybe just sitting nearby so the apartment didn’t feel so quiet. You had a way of making the end of his day feel…manageable.
And now you were gone for a few days. Which meant Larry was alone. With his thoughts. And a very annoying physical reaction.
He looked down at his lap.
“…I was hoping to ignore that.”
Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem interested in cooperating. Larry laid back against the pillows with a tired groan, one arm resting over his eyes.
“…This is ridiculous.”
All he wanted to do was sleep. Instead, he was thinking about you. Your voice. Your cooking. The way you smiled when he finally came home after overtime.
He sighed again.
“…Fine.”
His hand slid slowly down his stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of his slacks. He hesitated for a moment.
“…I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
His fingers wrapped around his cock. Already hard. Larry stared at the ceiling with the same tired expression he wore during battles.
“…This is not how I planned to spend my evening.”
Still, his hand moved. Slow. Deliberate. The first stroke pulled a quiet breath from him. He paused for a moment. Then continued.
Larry wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about it, but he wasn’t embarrassed either. Mostly he just seemed mildly inconvenienced.
“…This is happening because I miss you,” he muttered.
Another slow stroke. His thumb brushed the head of his cock, spreading the small bead of precum that had formed there.
“…And because my brain refuses to stop thinking about you.”
His grip tightened slightly and the motion became more rhythmic. His breathing deepened as his eyes closed and images of you filled his mind.
You greeting him at the door. You placing food in front of him with that patient smile. You leaning against him while he tried to unwind from work.
“…You’re very distracting,” he murmured. His hips lifted faintly into his hand, and despite his exhaustion, pleasure slowly built in his stomach.
“…I suppose this is unavoidable.”
His strokes sped up just a little. Still calm. Still controlled. But definitely more purposeful now.
“…When you get back…”
He paused for a breath.
“…we should spend more time together.”
His cock twitched in his grip.
“…Preferably without my boss interrupting.”
A quiet exhale left him as the tension finally peaked. Larry came with a soft groan, release spilling across his stomach as his hand slowed gradually.
He lay there for a moment afterward, breathing quietly.
“…Well.” He reached for a tissue from the bedside table and cleaned himself off. Then he adjusted his slacks and sat up slowly. “…That was efficient.”
Larry loosened his tie completely and finally laid down properly. His eyes closed almost immediately.
“…Still,” he murmured sleepily. “…I’d rather you were here.”
Because despite his tired, monotone demeanor, you made his long days feel a little less exhausting.
Tarragon
(for xxfmamfxx only because they keep asking for him. You’re lucky I like you)
Tarragon had been told—very firmly—by the nurse to stay off his back for a few days. Which, in theory, sounded reasonable.
In practice? It was torture.
The old construction boss of Lumiose City lay half-reclined in bed, pillows stacked behind him to keep pressure off his spine. His hardhat sat on the bedside table, the Key Stone glinting faintly under the room’s warm lighting.
“Bah…” he grumbled to himself. “Bad back, they said. Take it easy, they said.”
His large, calloused hands rested on his stomach, fingers flexing absentmindedly.
He’d spent decades working construction. Broken tools, busted scaffolding, Ground-type Pokémon kicking up rubble—none of it had slowed him down.
But one wrong twist hauling a steel beam at the Hotel Z renovation site and suddenly everyone treated him like fragile glass.
Tarragon huffed. “…Could be worse.”
But something else had been bothering him all evening. Normally when he got home from work, you were right there helping him peel off dusty gloves, laughing at his grumbling, and rubbing his back when he overdid it at the site.
Tonight, the apartment felt far too quiet.
His bluish-gray eyes drifted toward his phone on the nightstand.
“…Tch.”
He reached for it. A couple taps later, your picture filled the screen. A soft one this time. Not teasing, not overly suggestive. Just you smiling at him.
The old man’s beard shifted as he sighed.
“Miss ya, sweetheart…” His voice was softer now.
His free hand slid down his stomach slowly, fingers brushing beneath the waistband of his work pants. Even injured, the familiar ache of wanting you hadn’t gone anywhere.
In fact…
Being stuck in bed all day had given his mind far too much time to wander.
“…Hell with it.”
His large hand wrapped around his cock, already half-hard from thinking about you. The first slow stroke pulled a deep grunt from his chest.
“Mm…damn.”
His palm slid along his length again, thumb brushing the head as he exhaled slowly.
“Still works fine, at least,” he chuckled quietly at his own joke. But the humor faded quickly as his hand kept moving, slow and heavy.
His grip was rough from years of manual labor, but he stroked himself carefully, savoring the warmth of his palm.
“Wish this was you…” he muttered.
Another stroke.
Precum gathered at the tip, slicking his fingers as he worked himself a little faster. His hips shifted slightly before he winced.
“Easy, old man,” he grumbled. But the thought of you beneath him refused to leave his mind.
Your hands on his shoulders. Your voice whispering his name. Your body pressed close while he held you tight.
His strokes slowed again, turning thoughtful.
“…Huh.”
He stared at the ceiling. For a moment his hand stopped entirely, his cock heavy and hard in his grip.
Because the realization hit him all at once.
This wasn’t just him being pent up. It wasn’t just habit.
It was the quiet apartment. The empty bed. The absence of your voice filling the space around him.
Tarragon sighed softly. “…Damn.” His hand started moving again, slower now. “Didn’t think I’d miss someone this much at my age.” The admission came out rough, but sincere.
His grip tightened slightly as pleasure began building low in his stomach.
“Mm…there we go…”
His breathing deepened as he stroked himself steadily, picturing the moment you’d come home. You fussing over his injury. You sitting beside him. Maybe climbing into his lap despite his grumbling protests.
His cock twitched hard.
“Yeah…that’s the ticket…”
A few more strokes and his body tensed.
“Ah—” He came with a low grunt, release spilling across his stomach as his hand worked him through the end.
“…Hoo.”
Tarragon leaned back into the pillows, breathing out slowly.
After a moment he grabbed a cloth from the nightstand and cleaned himself up. Then he picked up his phone again, looking at your picture once more. A small, warm smile tugged at his beard.
“Better heal up quick,” he muttered. “Got someone I’m lookin’ forward to holdin’ again.”
And for the first time all evening, the quiet apartment didn’t feel quite so lonely.
Urbain’s jacket is very special to him… but you’re not going to be cold on his watch! Carefully drapes it over your shoulders. He’ll keep asking you if you’re warm enough, if you want him to buy you a hot drink or something. You assure him that the jacket is just fine.
Naveen will let you wear his, but why don’t you just let him make you your own instead…? Will take some pictures of you in it to promote his business. He delivers you a matching jacket a few days later. If you wear it the next time you’re out with him, he can’t help but smile.
Philippe’s jacket is the perfect blanket for naps. It’s big and heavy, and keeps you nice and warm. If you ask him nicely, he’ll let you use his lap as a pillow while he works. Plays with your hair until you fall asleep.
Corbeau will lecture you about not bringing your own jacket while he wraps you up in his. The inside lining is soft and silky. He told you it would be cold, he says, but he can’t be too mad when you look so cute wearing his. It lets everyone know you’re with him.
Ivor doesn’t wear a jacket… but if you’re someone who gets cold easily, never fear! He keeps a blanket in his bag just for you. It has a print of your favorite Pokémon on it.
Grisham will happily let you take his jacket. Buttons it up for you with a smile. It’s already warm from his own body heat, and the smell of coffee is practically ingrained into the fabric. You’ll find some Pokémon treats in the pocket, and Charizard will beg you for some.
Az’s jacket is custom-made for him, so there’s no dream of it ever fitting you… He’ll still lend it to you if you want, though. It’s rough and well loved, and probably the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn. The sleeves practically hang down to your knees. He’ll help you roll them up so you can still use your hands.
Corbeau, Grisham and Ivor getting turned on by watching you do something mundane
I'm trying to get back into writing fanfiction again, and I had this idea and immediately had to do it lol. For Corbeau's part the reader does have hair that is long enough to braid; I might reblog with an addition for my short-haired folks who might be reading, but it's like 10 PM here and I have work tomorrow so I can't do that right now. This is also a little bit spicy, but no actual smut.
Corbeau
(Braiding your hair after a shower)
Stepping out of the shower made you feel like a whole new person. It’s crazy how much grime you managed to pick up throughout the day, running through the city and digging around in Wild Zones, so finally getting to clean off at the end of the day was heavenly. Granted, it would have been even better if your boyfriend had been there too, given that it was his house, but Corbeau had to file some paperwork before bed. You smiled to yourself in spite of his absence, because you know how much he wished he could join you.
After toweling yourself off, you slipped on some comfy clothes. It was nighttime, and you were showering before bed so you wouldn’t be all sweaty while cuddling, so you changed into simple night clothes; just a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top. Then, you started on your hair. Combing it out thoroughly, you parted it into sections before delicately beginning to braid it. About halfway through, you finally noticed Corbeau leaning against the bathroom door, admiring you. The sheer love reflected in his eyes made you give him a quizzical look.
“Is there any particular reason why you’re looking at me like that?”
“Just admiring you, love.”
And he was. Having finally finished that damn paperwork, he was eager to have you in his arms again, especially now that you were clean. As soon as he reached the now-open bathroom door though, he couldn’t help but stop, the sight before him catching him completely off-guard.
You looked absolutely radiant. The warm bathroom lights reflected off your skin and hair, giving you an almost angel-like appearance, and watching your fingers expertly weave your own hair into a braid was mesmerizing. There were still wet strands hanging down, ones that you didn’t feel like bothering with, but they gave you a sexily disheveled look that he was slowly becoming addicted to. It made his heart beat faster to realize that he loved you so much that seeing you look messy was sometimes even hotter than you being all dressed up. The black tank-top was stained under the armpits from your deodorant, and your muscles flexed as you held your arms aloft to braid your hair. How couldn’t he stop to watch? It would be wrong to deny himself to sight of Arceus’ gift from above.
“You really are stunning, aren’t you?” He said as you finally finished, securing the braid with a small hair tie before Corbeau walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist.
“Corbeau, I’m literally just getting ready for bed.” You laughed.
“And the fact that you’re still stunning while doing that is a testament to your beauty, no?”
The way your shiny, clean skin blushed from his compliments made a large smile creep onto Corbeau’s face. One that you couldn’t help but replicate, knowing that only you got to see him smile like that. Corbeau leaned in to kiss your cheek, before his kisses began to trail across your neck.
“Come to bed, love. I can’t stand another minute without having you in my arms over here.”
“Don’t get me all sweaty right after I showered, love.” You smirked, the implication making a faint blush appear on Corbeau’s pale cheeks.
“I’ll try not to,” he said with a wolfish grin, “But whatever happens happens, you know.”
Grisham
(Baking bread for him)
Unsurprisingly for a professional cafe owner, Grisham was the main cook in your shared household. It was a title that he wore with the utmost pride, finding himself feeling giddy as he got out the ingredients for tonight’s meal. He had his technique down to a science at this point, and everything he made had you drooling before he even dished it up for you. It made him puff out his chest a little, filled with pride in a way he had never felt before. Being with you was truly a euphoric experience for Grisham, and how you managed to make his past mistakes all melt away with a single smile confounded him. With you, there was no past, there was just the blissful present and an exciting future. He wasn’t the ex-Team Flare grunt around you. He was just Grisham.
He had decided ages ago that he wanted to spend his life with you. He wanted to fold you into everything he did like a pastry, basking in your radiance for as long as he possibly could. That included folding you into his daily routines as well, so naturally the ideal couple’s activity would be teaching you how to cook! It was something that he had perfected, and teaching you how to do it was always a good time.
No matter how bad you were at first, Grisham’s patience never wavered. His hands rested over yours, gently, but still firm as he guided you through chopping the vegetables. Though, in all honesty, having his broad chest against your back and his voice in your ear meant that you never focused much on the vegetables in the first place…
Over time, you became quite good at it yourself! And, much to Grisham’s delight, you had started taking up new food-related hobbies of your own; namely, bread baking. Not only was Grisham a skilled barista and cook, but he was also an excellent baker too, so he enjoyed watching you dive into the hobby with an adorable level of enthusiasm. At first he helped you with it a lot, but now you had gotten so good that you would bake him bread before he even came home, surprising him with something to enjoy alongside whatever he happened to make that night.
Walking into the small apartment to smell fresh bread baking in the oven was always a treat after a long day of coffee orders and odd customer interactions. Though, this time he instead smelled the yeast that you were using to leaven the dough, meaning that you hadn’t actually baked it quite yet. You shouted a quick hello from the kitchen, which he warmly returned before going to the bedroom and changing into something far more comfortable.
He’s not quite sure why his reaction to seeing you in the kitchen was so strong, but it hit him like a truck anyway. He had seen you cook and bake things so many times now - he had taught you how to do it, for heaven’s sake! But still, he barely made it past the fridge before he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes suddenly glued to your every movement like a hold he couldn’t break out of.
You were wearing a bright red apron, which you had specifically bought in that color to make him feel less self-conscious about how similar his was to his time as a Team Flare grunt. You had clearly been kneading the dough for a while now, and the look of concentration in your eyes had him awestruck, noting the slight sweat that had gathered on your forehead. Still, your hands expertly worked the dough, your technique impeccable. He felt a little proud knowing that he had taught you so well. The traces of flour that clung to your forearms was also kind of adorable, and he reveled in seeing how much effort you were putting into your new hobby.
After taking a deep breath from the laborious work, you turned around and gave Grisham an amused look.
“Are you good back there? You’re staring.”
Startling a little bit, Grisham’s usually closed red eyes suddenly became even wider than before, his face flushing almost as red as his hair. Still, he attempted to cover his embarrassment with a cough, turning his face to hide the evidence of his current state.
“Just admiring your commitment to the hobby, darling.”
With a pleased hum, you finished rolling the dough and folded it in on itself before turning it upside-down and putting it back in the bowl, just like he had taught you. Watching the way your muscles flexed as you worked did nothing to help Grisham’s blush. As you clapped your hands together to get rid of the extra flour, before wiping them on your apron, the wry smile on your beautiful face flustered him even further.
“How was your day, handsome?” You said as you walked towards him, cupping his face in your hands. He instinctively melted into you, one hand coming up to caress your wrist, as if he could hold your hand to his face forever.
“Tiring.” He sighed before a smirk spread across his face, brows furrowing, “But coming home to my gorgeous partner always brightens it.”
Now it was your turn to blush, and Grisham delighted in watching your face redden, a genuine smile now replacing his previous smirk.
“Speak for yourself.” You managed to squeak out before Grisham pressed his lips against yours.
One of his hands came to cup the back of your head, gently threading his fingers through your hair, as his other arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer. While it started out as chaste, you couldn’t help but deepen it, both of you overcome with a mix of affection and arousal. Your fingers curled into his shirt as you reluctantly broke apart.
“You know… the dough still has to rise for another hour.” You smiled.
“Plenty enough time for me, my love.” He smiled before dipping in to peck your lips.
“Oh shit wait,” You said, pulling your hands away from his shirt, “I need to wash these off, I’m getting flour all over you.”
“That’s the least of my concerns right now.” Grisham replied before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom, smiling from ear-to-ear at your surprised laugh.
Ivor
(Lifting something heavy)
Despite having a boyfriend strong enough to basically dent steel, you still found the motivation to build your own strength too. Maybe it was just how adorably passionate he was about it that made you want to give it a try. Whether you were watching him train or watching another martial arts movie with him, Ivor’s passion for strength and exercise had inspired you to work out too. Obviously you weren’t nearly as good as he was, but Ivor was nothing but a devoted trainer and, for you, a doting boyfriend. No matter how badly your form sucked, or how light the training weights had to be, he only ever made you feel good about doing it in the first place.
And, evidently, it had been paying off! You were helping unload some new materials for the gym, most of which were, unsurprisingly, very heavy. The way Ivor was able to unload the huge machinery with ease never failed to stun you, but you helped in whatever way you could. At the moment you were stacking heavy cinder blocks in the corner of a room to rest some equipment against. When you stepped back, took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from your forehead, you caught a glimpse of your boyfriend nearby.
He was staring directly at you, like he had just seen a miracle or something. Ivor’s eyes were filled with light and warmth in a way that made you blush, especially given that they were focused solely on you. You could basically see the stars shining in them, and his mouth was slightly agape like he had something to say but couldn’t get anything out. The longer he stood there, just staring at you, the more worried you became.
“You okay, love?” You turned to face him, watching as Ivor stood up straight and looked away with a furious blush taking over his entire face. Despite his attempts to give his face with his fist, he was flushed right up to his ears, and even for such a gigantic man it was still adorable to see.
Was he embarrassed for staring at you like that? Yes. But could you really blame him? Your beauty never failed to catch him astound him. No matter how many times he told you about it, and there were many such instances, Ivor felt like no words in the world could ever grasp what he saw in you. And the way you looked right now, after showing off your newfound strength, had him utterly and completely smitten.
A small sense of pride sparked within him as he realized how much your training had progressed. Not just because you were actually able to carry something that heavy, but the way your muscles looked made him feel dizzy. He could see them flexing under your skin, shining and slick with sweat, and the way you were panting after setting the last cinder block down had him feeling far too aroused for a public setting. There was something undeniably sexy about it, scandalously so, and the effect you had on him shook him a bit.
Knowing he was caught red-handed, Ivor tried to find the words to excuse himself, or even compliment you, but nothing coherent came out. His brain was scrambled, all of his words disappearing as the image of your flexing biceps and flushed face replayed over and over like a broken record.
But soon you were right in front of him, waving your hand in front of his face, concern etched into your features.
“Ivor, are you okay? Did you overdo it?”
He gulped, looking down at your face and feeling his heartbeat start to pick up. He didn’t even dare open his mouth. It’s not like anything convincing would come out anyway.
Your hand hooked around his bicep then, and you began leading him to the locker rooms to get him a drink and see what was wrong.
‘Oh thank Arceus’ he thought to himself. If there was one thing he needed right now, it was to be alone with you. You two clearly had some private matters to settle.
Hi yes hello idk if you're taking writing requests or not but if you are I want you to please imagine reader showing up to their boy's (and/or Griselle's) place, hearing the shower running. Cool, reader can chill until they're done.
But then reader hears moaning. They're *jerking off* in the shower.
Maybe reader decides to get closer and listen to them... maybe reader risks taking a peek... maybe reader gets caught peeking, or maybe their s/o is none the wiser.
If you're not currently taking requests please feel free to enjoy the concept if you wish and I hope you have a great day 💜
Word Count: 2.4k
Content: Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, Fem reader, NSFW
Summary: Catching your SO having a good time in the shower, featuring Corbeau, Ivor, AND Grisham (Separately)
So, I do want to be up front that I don’t normally take requests. Not because I don’t want to, I just don’t have the bandwidth for them 99% of the time and I feel bad when I can’t fulfill them.
HOWEVER, evidently I can be persuaded with the right inspiration because this, my dear anon, inspired the fuck out of me. Totally derailed me from my other projects lmao. Thank you so much for sending this to my inbox, and for being so polite and sweet 🫶🏻
I hope you enjoy~
Corbeau 💜
You didn’t see Corbeau upon entering his penthouse, but this wasn’t uncommon. His flat was huge, and he could have been in any number of rooms. You checked his office first, but it was also empty. Next, his bedroom. He wasn’t there, but there was a new set of clothes laid out on the bed. Then, you could hear the running shower, and it was easy to tell where he was.
You started to get comfy, planning to wait for him, when you heard a muffled sound through the bathroom door. Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept forward and pressed your ear against the door. It was silent, aside from the sound of running water. Just as you were about to pull back, however, you heard it again; a quiet moan.
Heat flooded your face, and the rest of your body, when you realized what he was doing. You shouldn’t have peeked. You should have been good and waited for him to be done. But, you didn’t, slowly twisting the doorknob and pushing the door to hopefully not make any noise. You just barely stuck your head inside, trying to get a glimpse of what you were hearing.
Corbeau’s bathroom didn’t have a shower curtain. It was a fancy, open-concept shower set back into one side of the room. So, you could see everything. He had one hand braced on the wall, leaning forward a bit. His other hand was on himself, moving in slow, twisting strokes.
His face was flushed, mouth open and panting, and his eyes were closed as he jerked himself off. He was close, you could tell just by his body language. His shoulders were tense, muscles moving under his tattoos as he shifted uncomfortably. You didn’t even realize you had gasped when he cursed and moaned out your name.
His hand stopped, and your eyes flicked up to his face. Piercing gold eyes were looking back, glaring just slightly without his glasses helping him. You had been caught, and you didn’t know what to say.
You didn’t need to say anything, thankfully. His hand left his cock to curl his index finger towards himself, beckoning you towards him. You almost missed what he said while you watched his length twitch. “You want a peek so bad, sunshine? Get over here. Now.” He was trying to sound commanding, but couldn’t help but notice that he sounded wrecked.
You still obeyed, shedding clothes across the bathroom as you made your way towards him.
“Can’t even take a shower in peace,” he complained, without any real annoyance as he pressed you back against the cold stone tile as soon as he had his hands on you. It was a stark difference from his heated body pressing against your front.
He captured you in a bruising kiss, and you moaned into each other’s mouths at the feeling of him sliding against you. You adjusted your legs just enough for him to slide the tip of his cock between your thighs, and he didn’t waste any time before thrusting shallowly against your clit.
“Fuck, did you get that wet just spying on me?” He teased, grinning against your lips as he pressed himself harder against you. He was fully fucking your thighs already, each pass grazing your clit and entrance but never dipping inside.
“Maybe I was already wet for you,” you teased back, satisfied when he groaned and pressed his face into your neck. His hips moved faster, angling to press harder against your clit as he started pressing wet kisses over your shoulder and neck. He was already so close, so worked up, that it didn’t take long for him to come. He bit down on your shoulder as he groaned, pulling back to spill down the front of your thighs.
He hadn’t even caught his breath before he dropped to his knees. Your hands flew to his head, half out of surprise and half for balance, when he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. “What are you-?”
“I’m not fucking done,” he interrupted, matter-a-factly, as he pressed the tip of his tongue to your already sensitive clit. There would be all the time in the world to clean-up once he finally was done.
Ivor 💛
Ivor’s apartment was simple, but had a large open floor-plan with high ceilings on the top floor of the building. A necessary find for his stature, and it suited him well.
One step into the apartment told you what he was doing. You could hear his shower running, but you could easily hear his voice over the spray. Loud, breathy moans and exclamations filled the air. Curiosity and excitement filled you immediately, because he never took care of himself, so to speak. He had told you once that it just wasn’t something he typically thought about unless you were near him.
You didn’t hesitate to knock on the bathroom door, quietly calling his name. You heard him let out something between a yelp and a moan before he answered back. “D-Darling! I didn’t know you’d be here so soon! I’ll be just a… moment…”
You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as you heard him shuffling, and grumble when something fell to the ground. “No need to rush, Ivy! Actually, would you like some help?”
You could hear him sputter a bit before he finally groaned out a quiet “please.” You were shedding your clothes before you even finished opening the bathroom door. Pants were stepped out of as you walked, shirt tossed away to the side shortly after, fully naked by the time you reached him.
His apartment had a tall, wide shower stall with no tub. It fit him as well as it reasonably could, but he could still see over the shower curtain, and he had to bend down to wash his hair. You could see him smiling shyly over the top of the curtain, and he opened it up for you as you approached. His skin was flushed from his face to the top of his chest, but your eyes shot straight down. He looked painfully hard, red and nearly purple at the tip.
It twitched against his abs as you stepped into the shower with him, and his hands found your back. You ran your hands over his chest and stomach, looking up at him with curious eyes as the warm water sprayed over you. You opened your mouth to ask what got him so worked up, but he spoke first.
“I couldn’t do it without you,” he blurted out. At your confused face, he kept going. “I just… couldn't stop thinking about you, I couldn’t calm down. Yet, when I tried to… I couldn’t…” He gestured at his problem before returning his hand to your back, gently stroking from mid-back to shoulder.
“You couldn’t come without me,” you finished for him, leaning into his calloused, but gentle, touch. He nodded as he pulled you a bit closer to him, and you pressed a few chaste kisses to his pecs. “Oh, my poor man, must have been going crazy.”
“Yes,” he already sounded breathy just from the little touch. Pressing closer to him, you felt his dick jump against your stomach, and he groaned quietly above you. “I needed you.”
“It’s okay, I’m here to help now, honey. But…” You slid your hand down his abs, gently curling your fingers around his length. His stomach flexed and he inhaled sharply as you started stroking him painfully slowly. “...will you do something for me?”
“Anything!” His response was instant.
You smiled before sliding to your knees on the shower floor. He adjusted the shower head for you, making sure it wasn’t spraying onto your face. He stared down at you with wide, but excited, eyes as he waited for you to continue. You pressed a too chaste kiss to the tip of his cock before giving him your request. “Tell me what you were thinking about while you were trying to jerk off. What couldn’t you stop thinking about?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a groan as you wrapped your lips around him and bobbed down. His heavy hand found the top of your head, and just rested there. Not pushing, not gripping. Just steady and present as you slowly worked more and more of him into your mouth.
It was always a bit of a strain to your jaw with how thick he was, but thankfully it never took too terribly long in this position. You knew just how to work him up.
“I-I was…” He swallowed hard, resting his head back against the wall of the shower as he tried to make his brain work. You asked him for something so easy in exchange for something so wonderful, and he needed to do his part. “I was remembering how you looked yesterday morning. At the dojo, you were stretching… your shorts…!”
He trailed off, mouth falling open uselessly when your hand came up to wrap around what you couldn’t fit between your lips. He whined when you popped off of him, and you gave him a light scold. “Keep going, big guy. You can do it.”
“I wanted… I wanted to rip your shorts off of you,” he confessed, practically panting as he resisted the urge to thrust forward into your mouth. It only got harder to speak as you moved your hand and head faster. “I-It was uncouth of me, but I wanted to so badly…!”
He looked down at you when you tapped on his thigh, and that was it. The sight of you, wide eyed with your lips stretched around him, pushed him over the edge. He came with a choked moan of your name, unable to stop himself as his hips jerked forward.
You choked a bit at the sudden feeling of him spilling down your throat, having to pull off of him when it was too much. You kept working him with your hand instead, letting the last of it spurt onto your chest.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, pulling you up to hold you against his chest once he could think again.
“Don’t you dare apologize.“ You smiled as he adjusted the shower head again, letting the warm water spray over you and clean you off. He smiled back, leaning down to finally kiss you.
“Then, thank you, my darling,” he murmured against your lips, wrapping his arms tightly around your back, engulfing you. “I’m so lucky to have you to take care of me.”
Grisham ❤️
You actually had a feeling you would catch him in the shower, just based on the time you made it to his apartment. He would have just barely gotten home after closing down the truck, and he always showered before doing anything else. He had told you that it helped him to wash off the day so he could properly relax.
He didn’t know you were coming, wanting to surprise him with dinner. You entered his studio apartment quietly, takeout in hand, but froze when you immediately heard him moan out your name. Then, you heard it again. And again.
His bathroom door was open–a precaution he usually took to avoid mold in the cheap, older apartment building. It meant you could hear every single moan and whine he was letting out. You had rarely ever heard him so vocal, and you could feel yourself growing wet just from the sound of his pleasure.
Peeking through the open bathroom door, you stifled a gasp. The shower was a small one, basically just a box with glass walls. It allowed you to perfectly see his silhouette, slumped back against the wall, head thrown back and fucking his own fist desperately. Moan after moan, mostly of your name, were barely being muffled by his other hand over his mouth.
He was completely in his own world, not noticing your presence at all as he chased his orgasm. His hand was meeting every thrust of his hips, making an absolutely obscenely wet smacking sound even louder than the shower.
Actually, you felt a little jealous. He was always so gentle with you. Couldn’t he fuck you as hard as he was fucking his hand? The idea of his hips doing that to you made your knees feel a little weak, heat flooding straight between your thighs.
You knew Grisham too well, and knew he’d be mortified if you interrupted him. As much as you wanted to, you would be patient and let him have his time. As quietly as possible, you crept back to the kitchen to set the takeout on the stove. Then, you made your way to his bedroom, making yourself comfortable on his bed.
It was a small apartment, and you could still hear him as you stripped out of your own clothes, intending to give him a different kind of surprise.
You could tell when he came, a loud moan fading quickly into silence. You waited, excitedly and impatiently, as you waited for the shower to turn off. When it did, you had the thought to warn him, so he wasn’t too surprised by your presence.
Wetting your lips, your heart was pounding as you called out. “Hey, Gris, I’m here. Just so you know.”
You heard something clatter to the ground, but he was silent. The whole apartment was deathly quiet until he slowly crept out of the bathroom, looking for you. “Dear, how long have you been here…?” His breath caught when he saw you lounging on his bed. His mouth fell open, his eyes half-lidded as they roved over naked form.
He was still naked himself as he stepped fully out of the bathroom. He had his towel around his shoulders, hair damp and dripping onto his chest and shoulders. He didn’t pay any mind to the water dripping off of his body, entranced as he crawled onto the bed towards you.
“Did you have a nice shower?” you teased, watching him flush with embarrassment, but it didn't stop him.
“Baby…” he breathed, looking up at you with questioning, pleading eyes. When you let your legs fall open, knowing exactly what he was asking for, he groaned at the sight of your glistening folds. You could literally see his cock twitching to life again already between his own legs. "What are you doing here?"
“I came over to surprise you with dinner,” you explained, legs opening more to accommodate his shoulders.
“You're too sweet, my love. May I have dessert first?” He begged, hands coming up to stroke over your inner thighs. When you nodded, he barely got out a quiet thank you before burying his face between your thighs. As he ate you out like a man starved, his own hips humping against the mattress as he pleasured you, you could swear that he was moaning louder than you were.
---------------------------------------------
(FYI Ill also be writing one for Griselle later 👀)
Sorry yall chapter 3 of Nouveau Feu will just be the slightest bit more delayed, but I’m dedicating the rest of my Sunday to it 🫶🏻
Word Count: 1878
Pairing: multiple
Warnings: None!
Summary: Sometimes you just can't sleep
Merry Christmas from your secret santa, @littlesugarbug! This is for you, my queen of fluffing all things! I hope you enjoy :)
Tossing and turning was an understatement. You had been awake for what felt like hours, though you hadn’t bothered to check, for no reason other than your legs were a little too hot and your brain just wouldn’t shut off.
You kept your eyes closed, listening to the quiet sounds of the city outside the window. It was dark, nearly silent, and by all accounts you should be asleep any moment now.
Any moment now.
Nothing.
Frustrated, you turned over again, flipping your pillow and jamming your face into it. You huffed out a sigh, and felt a warm hand hit your back.
Corbeau 💜“What’s wrong?” Corbeau mumbled, his other hand rubbing his face.
“Can’t sleep,” you replied into your pillow. There was no way he understood that.
“What?” Yeah. You turned your face so you were no longer speaking directly into the fabric.
“Can’t sleep,” you repeated.
“Why?” Corbeau asked, his hand leaving your back to join his other in rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Corbeau was quiet for a moment, then he took a deep breath. You felt him move next to you, and you peeked one eye open to see what he was doing. He had pulled himself up on his elbows until he was settled just a little more upright on his pillows, and he flipped the covers down to his waist.
“Alright,” he said. “C’mere.”
“What do you mean?” you asked. You really, truly hoped he wasn’t expecting sex right now because as much as you always wanted him, that was kind of the last thing you wanted right now.
Corbeau didn’t respond, he just tapped your head a couple times and then tapped his own sternum. Catching his meaning, you pushed yourself up on your hands, sliding over to settle on top of him and lying your head on his chest.
You closed your eyes again, and Corbeau’s hands came up to your hair. He gathered it all, making sure to pull every strand from under your face and neck, and laid it all to one side, away from your face. He began running his fingers through your hair, gently pulling out all the tangles. When he reached for another section, he let his fingernails graze lightly on your scalp. Your scalp tingled with every touch, especially when Corbeau would finish with a small section of your hair and give it a tug, pulling just hard enough to feel nice.
Almost immediately, you felt all the tension leave your body, and as Corbeau continued to work his way across your scalp, you finally felt your consciousness starting to slip away.
When he reached the center of your head, he parted your hair right down the middle, and ran his finger from the nape of your neck, all the way up to your hairline, and then back down. He followed that same path for a few minutes, the repetition lulling you even further. Then he gently lifted your head and turned it the other way, setting it back down gently and starting the same process with the other side.
He wasn’t even halfway done when you fell asleep.
Grisham ❤️
Grisham’s hand was warm against your back, rubbing soothingly.
“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily. You just grunted into your pillow. “Can’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” you said, turning your head toward him.
“Alright,” Grisham said, sitting up. He climbed out of the bed, standing and stretching his arms over his head. You couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulder as he did. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” you asked, sitting up yourself. Grisham didn’t respond, he just waved his hand in a beckon for you to follow him, so you did.
He led you out to the kitchen, pulling out a chair for you at the dining table. You sat down, and watched as he put the kettle on, and quietly made you each a cup of tea. The only light came from the dim bulb that was tucked into the range above the stove, and other than the sounds of Grisham moving around in the kitchen, all was quiet.
When the tea was done, he set a mug in front of you, and then sat down in another one of the chairs.
“So,” he said, bringing his mug to his lips. “Tell me what Lida was so excitedly whispering about when you two came by the truck earlier.”
That’s where the two of you stayed as you sipped your tea, talking quietly. You gossiped, philosophised, laughed, and debated until your mugs were empty and your eyes were droopy. Grisham smiled softly as your eyes drifted shut, your head falling forward a little before snapping back up.
“Ready to go back to bed?” he asked softly.
You nodded, reaching your arms up in a silent question. Grisham stood, scooped you into his arms, and carried you back to bed.
You were asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow once more.
Ivor 💛
Ivor’s hand covered your whole back, practically pinning you to the bed.
“Why are you up, my love?” he asked. You flipped back over onto your back, taking his hand in both of yours and moving it over your face.
“I can’t sleep,” you said into his palm. He hummed, using his fingertips to gently push the hair back from your face.
“Would you like me to turn on one of my meditation tapes?” he asked earnestly. You sighed.
“I don’t think it would help, I just feel so…” you kicked your legs a few times, trying to shake the antsy feeling out of them. “Restless.”
Ivor was quiet for a moment, then he hummed thoughtfully again before rolling over on top of you. He held himself over you carefully, boxing in your arms and legs with his elbows and knees.
“Maybe,” he said, lowering his weight onto you slowly. “If you cannot move, you will sleep.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd feeling of him pressing you deeper and deeper into the mattress, until you started to feel the air being pressed out of your lungs. You reached a hand up to his waist to tap him out.
He lifted off of you immediately, and you gasped, not realizing just how much you hadn’t been able to breathe. You laughed again, and he joined you, flopping back over onto his side and bouncing you on the mattress. You squealed in surprise, laughing even harder as you settled back onto the bed.
“You,” you said to him, turning over and crawling on top of him. “Are going to pay for that.”
You reached up and pressed your fingers to his neck, in the spot you knew he was most ticklish. Ivor flinched away from your touch, wrapping both hands around your waist and lifting you straight into the air. Your limbs flailed helplessly, unable to find purchase.
“Hey!” you laughed, trying to wiggle free. “Let me down!”
“No tickling,” Ivor said, and you gave in, letting your arms and legs hang loose.
“No tickling,” you promised.
Ivor lowered you down, but kept you on his chest. It was quiet for a few moments, his hands resting on your back with a weight that was comforting and not crushing. And then you felt another laugh bubble up from inside you, unable to stop it from escaping your lips. And then Ivor laughed underneath you, which sent you into another full fit of giggles.
You laughed together at absolutely nothing, going back and forth setting each other off, for several minutes. You laughed until your belly hurt and few of your tears had fallen onto his skin.
At some point, you weren’t sure when, you fell asleep again, and when you did, you were smiling.
Urbain 💗
Urbain’s hand patted your back in what he probably meant to be a soothing way. You turned onto your side, and it didn’t stop until you grabbed his wrist and hit him in the face with his own hand. He had no reaction to this.
“What is happening?” he asked.
“I can’t sleep, and you decided to hit me about it,” you grumbled. Urbain sat up, jamming his fists into his eyes for a few seconds before looking around the room.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, searching the room like the answer must be in there somewhere.
“Dunno,” you replied, sitting up next to him.
“Hm,” was all he said for a few moments. And then he was scrambling off the bed with more energy than a child on Christmas morning.
“Where are you going?” you asked, as Urbain opened the hotel room door.
“Come with me,” he said. With nothing better to do, you followed.
Urbain took your hand and pulled you to the elevator, taking you down to the first floor. Then you stepped behind the front desk and back into the kitchen. He didn’t turn the lights on, and you could only see the vague outlines of the counters and appliances by the weak moonlight streaming in from the window.
Urbain guided you to the middle of the kitchen, and then sat down on the floor. You sat down with him, and then he laid back onto the tile. You laid next to him.
“What are we doing?” you asked. Urbain’s hands were folded over his stomach, and his eyes closed.
“Lying on the kitchen floor,” was all he said.
“...why?” you pressed, deeply confused.
“It’ll help,” Urbain promised. “Just wait.”
And so you waited, the cold, hard tile pressing into your back and skull in a way that you hated. But you were patient, and you stayed put as you waited for more direction from Urbain. When none came, you started to grow a little bored.
“This is really weird, Urbain,” you said after a few minutes passed.
“I know.”
His eyes didn’t open.
You turned your head back to the ceiling, watching the shadows of branches dance across it. You continued to wait, the kitchen floor growing more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. Just when you were about to call him crazy and ditch him, Urbain sat up.
“I think that’ll about do it,” he said. He stood up and offered you his hands, pulling you to your feet and leading you back to the elevator.
“Are you going to explain any of that?” you asked, stretching your neck as the elevator moved slowly upward. Urbain shook his head.
“You’re going to have to learn to trust me,” he said.
“I do trust you,” you said after the door opened and you stepped into the hall. “But I’d still like to know why we just spent ten minutes lying on the kitchen floor.”
Urbain didn’t respond, just brought you quietly back into his room. You practically flung yourself onto it, hugging your pillow and reveling in all the soft warmth. Urbain pulled the covers back up to your shoulders before settling back onto the mattress next to you. He put his arms up behind his head, closing his eyes and smiling contentedly.
“Doesn’t the bed feel so much softer and nicer now?” he asked quietly.
You couldn’t respond, sleep had already pulled you too far down.
In which reader tries to process everything that happened in the finale, and the fear that came afterwards, by finding comfort in their companion of choice. ZA SPOILERS!!!!
I’ve been sitting on this for a while, so I hope yall enjoy 🫶 a little sick of looking at it, lowkey lol!
Everything was over.
Ange was quelled, Taunie, Urbain, and Floette were alive and well.
You saved the day, with the help of your companions. of course. The high you felt from your victory was addictive.
You were on top of the world- untouchable. You were the strongest mega evolution user. There was absolutely nothing you could not do.
Then the adrenaline wore off.
Everything began to spin. Your stomach churned and your legs shook under every step. It was hard to breathe, as if something was crushing your lungs.
You were terrified.
That was the scariest thing you had ever done. You were lucky to be alive.
Despite your declining mental state, you were aware you were spiraling. You tried to keep yourself afloat, focusing on your breathing and grounding thoughts, but it wasn’t enough.
In a last ditch effort to keep yourself from losing it, you seek out comfort in the form of your companion.
Corbeau 💜
“Scolipede, move that rubble there.”
The Pokemon, ever obedient, let out a soft cry before doing as Corbeau commanded, pushing the rubble of the once grand Lumiose Tower into a pile on the corner of the rooftop.
Corbeau scanned over the ground from his vantage on the rooftop, looking over the work of the of his grunts who were scattered about, clearing rubble into piles out of the main walkways.
Corbeau was quick to put himself, and the rest of the rust syndicate, to work. He knew that, left only in the hands of the city, clearing rubble would take some time.
No, he wasn’t distracting himself from you stepping on him and then almost dying. Corbeau was not stressed out, and you were not circling his mind.
He’d considered, briefly, seeking you out, but he figured you were busy, and probably fatigued.
The last thing he expected was you to seek him out.
“Boss!” A grunt on the ground called up to him. Corbeau leaned over the rooftop.
You looked up at him from the ground, and Corbeau immediately clocked how tense you were, even from a distance. This was not how he’d seen you just 20-something minutes ago. Something was terribly wrong. Your weary eyes met his, and his heart sank.
Corbeau leapt off the roof, his rotomphone catching him before he hit the ground. He closed the distance between you two, motioning the grunt away to give the two of you space.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears pricked your eyes. You felt like a child telling the mob boss before you that you were scared, and you considered telling him to forget it in order to save some of your dignity, but you sought so desperately for his comfort that you revealed your fears.
As you explained yourself, Corbeau’s gaze softened. Though he didn’t speak right away, his expression was gentle, safe, and full of empathy rather than pity.
“Take a deep breath.” One his hands went to the small of your back, and he motioned you towards a bench nearby. “Sit down. You’re alright, I’ve got you.”
You took a deep, shaky breath, letting him guide you away from the majority of grunts. Corbeau’s hand never left you, moving to linger on your waist as you sat down on the cold bench.
“Just keep breathing. Good job.” His voice was low and soothing. Corbeau crouched so he was eye level with you. “You’re doing fine. I’m right here.”
Closing your eyes, you spent minutes focusing on your breathing, Corbeau’s coos doing wonders to bring your head level.
“I’m sorry,” You said.
“For what? Don’t apologize, you have nothing to apologize for.” He continued to look you in the eye. Corbeau’s expression was soft, but still deadpanned in a way that was painfully him. Nothing in his face gave even a hint at the worry he had swelling up inside himself for you. “You’re correct. This was scary. Any situation where you face death is more terrifying after the fact. Take it from me.”
If you had more energy, perhaps you’d pry context out of him, but you just took his advice at surface level.
“You did great, hell, fantastic. Perfect, even.” The corners of his lips raised into a lopsided smile. “Thanks to you, Lumiose is saved. You don’t have to worry anymore, you’re safe.” Corbeau squeezed your waist, “I’ve got you.”
You exhaled.
Leaning forward, you rested your head on Corbeau’s shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. He didn’t hesitate to hold you, wrapping one hand around your back and the other moving behind your head, pressing you deeper into the crook of his neck.
“See? I’ve got you.” He murmured.
“Thank you.”
“Any time, okay? I mean that. I’ve got you.”
You just nodded, tightening your hold on him.
It took everything in Corbeau not to confess his love to you that moment.
Having you in his arms cleared every cloudy thought he had within him and he knew you were exactly what he wanted.
It was torturous having you so close, without you technically being his. He wanted to keep you safe, for the rest of your life, but it would be cruel to put that emotional turmoil on you right now, after everything you’d been through.
Instead, Corbeau just tightened his hold on you, taking what he could get in that very moment.
You’d be his later, and you were safe now, and that was enough for him.
Grisham ❤️
“Here you are, ma’am. Please, stay warm.” The barista handed a coffee cup off to an older woman, who took it in one hand and balanced a child in the other.
Relief washed over her face. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Grisham smiled, “Please let me know if I can help you with anything else.”
The woman took a sip of the roast, disappearing off to the crowd of refugees from the earlier Ange incident. Everyone seemed alright, talking amongst each other in lowered voices, gathered around the Nouveau truck. It warmed Grisham’s heart.
A tap on his shoulder grabbed his attention.
You.
His heart burned at the sight of you, as soon as his eyes met yours. He found himself quickly swept away in his excitement.
You were here, and you’d even tapped his shoulder!
“Well, if it isn’t the city’s savior. What’s-“ Grisham stopped.
He looked you over again, really looking this time.
You looked terrified.
He had only ever seen you calm and collected, strong and brave, but here you were, hanging on by a thread. It broke his heart. “What happened?”
You explained yourself. As Grisham listened, he poured you a drink, and set it carefully in your hands. His hand brushed yours, and it took everything in you not to grab his hand and pull it back to you.
Instead you just focused on the warm drink in your palm, though it was nothing like the warmth from him.
Grisham nodded towards the back of the truck. “I’m so deeply sorry that you’re feeling this way, but it's over now. You can breathe. Come here, you need some space.” He leads you away from the crowd and around the truck, pulling over a cardboard box for you to sit on.
You sit down, placing the cup beside you. His gesture was kind, but you didn’t have the stomach for the drink.
Grisham kneeled down in front of you. He opened his eyes, gently scanning over your face. He wanted to hold you, but he didn’t know how you would take to the touch, so he kept his hands to his sides. “You’re alright. It’s okay to be scared. Please focus on your breathing. Will you breathe with me?”
Alongside Grisham, you breathed in and out.
In and out.
In and out.
You finally started to feel level headed.
“Great job, you’re doing great.” Grisham flashed you a warm smile. “You are amazing; you quelled Ange, and saved many lives in the process. You don’t need to do anything more. It’s over, and you can take it easy now, okay?”
You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He clenched his pant leg to avoid grabbing your hand. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”
“I..feel like I'm overreacting.”
“No, please do not feel that way. You braved a truly dangerous situation head on, things could’ve taken a turn for the worse at any moment.” His face hardened, a grim expression passing his eyes, but he shook it off before you. “You’re allowed to be scared after the fact. Even I was a bit shaken up once things settled down, I can only imagine how it must feel in your shoes.”
You were a bit stunned by his admission that even he had been scared. To think that someone as composed and levelheaded as Grisham was startled too…
“Please, don’t be too hard on yourself.” Grisham smirked. “I believe that’s something you told me, after our promotion match, was it not?”
A sense of relief washed over you, and you rolled your eyes. “Something like that.” You shook your head, smiling just a bit.
Grisham smiled. “Take your own advice to heart.” He hesitated before finally giving in, laying a hand on your shoulder. His grip was firm, in a comforting way. Gently, his fingers massaged at your shoulder muscle, drawing very tiny circles into the skin. “Let me know if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here for you.”
You melted at his words, his touch, the way his lips curled into a gentle smile. Without much consideration, just a want for more comfort, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You pressed your face into the side of his. He smelled like espresso.
Grisham hesitated, one second, two seconds, before wrapping you in a hug, arms tightly pulled across your back. He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes and leaning into your shoulder.
This hug would haunt him- drive him mad with want for more- but he had no intention of breaking away. Rather, if it were up to him, time would stop at this very moment and never resume.
Still, this moment was about you, above all else. “I’m here for you,” he whispered, lips so close to your skin he could kiss it. “I swear it.”
Imagine Corbeau peppering kisses over your face as soon as he sees you after even the tiniest of absences, holding onto you as tightly as he can while he promises to never let you go. He tells you he’s so happy to have you in his life.
Imagine Grisham lifting you up and twirling you around, so excited that you came to visit him during a lull at the cafe. It’s unprofessional, but he doesn’t care, especially not as the two of you stumble and hit the ground in a fit of laughter. He kisses your hand and tells you he loves you before pulling you off the ground.
CHRYS MY LOVEEEEEEEEEEE
Corbeau misses you even when you're there, like every sliver of distance is a threat, like moment not spent by your side hurts.
Like he's scared you'll vanish if he's not constantly holding you.
His arms are around you every chance he gets, he dresses you in his colours and kisses your face like every moment could be the last. You hold his hand and kiss him back hoping that it'll speak louder than your words in telling him that there is an entire future ahead of you both, one that you're going to welcome in together.
He's cuddlier than you ever expected, keeping you in his lap when you're in his office, one hand on your thigh and one on your waist. When you walk together, just holding your hand isn't enough. He needs to be closer, to have an arm over your shoulder, to have you so close against him that no part of his scared mind can convince him that it's just a dream.
At home, he doesn't leave you alone. If you have to get up, then both of you have to get up. His arms snake around your waist whenever he can't have you laying on top of him, and he follows you around like a lost duckling, hair falling out messy over his face in a way only you can ever see, that hardened expression vanishing like it was never there.
Even asleep, he doesn't let go of you. He keeps you squeezed tightly against his chest, and even the tiniest twitch is enough to wake him up.
When that happens, the first thing he does is to pull you close, almost in alarm. Like something tried to take you from him.
You kiss him and whisper that it's okay, that you're there and you're not going anywhere. You'll just get up for some water.
He gets up too, sleepily dragging behind you and draping himself over you as soon as you reach the kitchen, mumbling something about finally having something good in his life. About how you're not going anywhere without him ever again.
Grisham is so excited to see you his perfectly placed mask and flawless composure vanish like they were never there.
It almost scared Griselle a little, to see him switch up so quickly the first time. Usually, no one but her got to see that side of him. Not since the two of them were a lot younger and things were a lot more hopeful.
It was like you brought out a side of him that hadn't been burned down, that made him hope there was still some part of him that had survived team Flare, survived becoming a pariah, and showed him a glimpse of a future he never thought he'd have.
Grisham picks you up like you weight nothing, just a little feather compared to the heavy bags of supplies he usually hauls over his shoulders to carry all the way from Lysandre café to the truck. Making a show of it, you once told him, to make sure the clientele would be drawn by the sight.
Didn't Griselle say that once as well? That people came to café Nouveau for the sight? You sure knew which sight you were there for, and it was the one currently holding you against his chest like he was scared someone would try to pry you away.
His arms wrap around your waist and he lifts you in his arms, to rest your hands over his large shoulders. Grisham twirls you like you're the pair of young lovers he never thought he'd get to be with someone.
He laughs, a sound very few people are lucky enough to hear, and you think it's the most beautiful sound in the world.
Some people stop and stare, either cooing over how cute it is to see a couple so in love, or whispering about his ties to team flare. His ties to you now, too. The first, Griselle entertains with thinly veiled joy. The second, she shoos away with threats of throwing dirty coffee grounds in their faces.
And when you do fall, because Grisham got too excited to see you and twirled you one too many times, you fall on top of his chest barely able to hold your laugh. Because of course he held you as to brace your fall, of course even in the grass he looks up to you with the most endeared smile, like you're both just lounging in your bedroom and not in the middle of busy Lumiose.
And when you kiss him, you feel like there's no one else in the world.
