wish granted 🧞 tbh i was sweating when i wrote this plz enjoy.
(You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one, but you like, can if you want. I’ll reiterate that this isn’t explicit (& still follows my Rules of no NSFW), but i’ll give it an unofficial T+ rating since the imagery is more vivid than some may be comfortable with. If you don’t like reading about non-explicit suggestive themes/or being the focus of some champion fantasies, don’t read past the line :) )
Part 1: Steam
~~
A Few Degrees Hotter (LeonxReader)
Why the bloody hell was it his job to tell you that you can’t run around with your rubbish athletic wear that was much too tight in all the right wrong places? Your clothes were too tight in the places that they shouldn’t be too tight for when you were at your job, and he was the bloody Champion, not the secretary at some Galarian prep school.
‘The image of Wyndon Stadium is reflected by your trainers, Leon,’ Oleana had said coldly. ‘It is your responsibility to deal with such matters.’
What was he supposed to do? Slap your ass wrist?
So here is Leon, storming across the pitch, fuming with each stomp at the fact that he is the one who has to tell you that you can’t dress so provocatively for your evening training. You knew what you were doing, he knew you knew, because ever since he stupidly confessed how attracted he was to you in the public showers, you had been eyeing him like he was your favorite type of candy and it had been too long since the last time you tasted sugar.
You’ve been unbearable this entire week. No, you haven’t spoken since Leon’s mortifying shower confession (Leon made sure of that), but it’s the way your gaze latches onto him, the way you unabashedly drink in every inch of him, the way you stare into his eyes like you haven’t eaten in days – it’s all he can think about at night.
Every night.
Every single night he fantasizes about he’s plagued by the memory of your eyes and your lips and your body. And, what he didn’t see in those showers, his imagination eagerly unfortunately fills in.
Every single night.
The tension in him has been building dangerously, unfortunately unresolved no matter how hard he trains, no matter how hard he clenches his fists, and no matter how vehemently he ignores you. Perhaps by the time he finishes stomping towards you, he’ll feel as tension-free as the steam in the showers that night.
You’re waiting for him, and even though you’re facing away (purposefully showcasing one of your greatest assets, and Leon knows you’re doing that on purpose), your head is tilted enough that he knows you know he’s coming. That’s when you stretch, when your shirt lifts a few inches, and frustration spikes in his jaw.
And a little lower than his jaw.
And the tension within him grows.
“You know that is not uniform regulation,” Leon barks. You turn, sweetly batting your eyes at the fuming Champion before you.
“Pardon?” you ask. “What’s not?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Leon spits. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, still gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Bullshit, and yet no one knows it but him.
“Cut it out,” he growls dangerously. He is not in the mood to play these games with you, although you have every intention to play and to win.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong with my outfit?” you ask.
Leon glances around to see a few other of your fellow trainers snickering, raising their eyebrows, and one even has the gall to wink.
“You all want to stay late tonight?” he barks at them. “Since I don’t think it’s in your contract that we pay you to stand around.”
The handful of chuckling trainers dissipate, and Leon realizes that your unfortunate shower run-in was not kept secret between the two of you.
“You can’t wear that,” Leon says again. “It’s too… you’re too… you can’t wear it.”
“Fine,” you say in return, and you start to peel off your shirt. Leon quickly lunges at you to catch your hands before you lift them any higher, and you offer him a smile. His fingers tremble against your hips, and memories of his fantasy from a few nights ago flashes in his mind.
Just the two of you.
Alone on the pitch.
He would peel your shirt off for you, press his thumbs into your hips.
Leon’s hands unconsciously squeeze a little tighter.
He’d straddle you, let his hair drape over your bare skin, let the strands tickle the most sensitive parts of you.
Even with the stadium lights glinting and the empty stadium watching, you would beg him to-
Leon yanks his hands off of you and jolts backwards.
You grin, he scowls, and quickly reaffirms that showering next to your stall that night was the best worst thing that’s happened to him recently.
“Wear something appropriate tomorrow,” he growls, unable to meet your eye. He quickly turns, hoping that you didn’t catch the blush that’s creeping into his cheeks. How do you have this effect on him? Why do you have this effect on him? You haven’t spoken in days, and yet a brief conversation with you has him reeling.
Despite your teasing, he ignores you for the rest of training, and it isn’t until he’s packing up his things that you approach him again.
“I’m off to shower, if you’d like to join me,” you say.
Your voice isn’t teasing, but rather low and meaningful. When Leon meets your gaze, something dangerous flares deep in his stomach. Everything in his mind is screaming not appropriate not appropriate not appropriate but everything else in him is craving you you you.
He waits for you to leave.
He waits for everyone to leave.
Then he gathers his things and lets his body move past the rationale of his mind in favor of you in the public Wyndon showers.
You.
Wet.
Dripping.
Panting.
His fantasies from each and every night this week are swirling in his mind, fogging his senses, beating his heart harder and his pulse faster with each step towards the showers.
He hates loves it.
He loves how you’re genuinely surprised when he comes in, how you’re wet, dripping, panting from the steam of your shower, how your towel is loosely wrapped around you. You motion to make some sly comment, only for your breath to catch when Leon pushes you against the lockers and his fist slams beside your head, rattling both the doors behind you and the air around you.
“I’m sick of your attitude,” he growls, low and gravely. “I’m sick of what you do to me.”
You take a moment to process, to pause, and your smile returns.
“What’re you going to do about it?” you risk, coy as ever. “Didn’t think the Champion was so timid.”
Leon’s fists clench beside your head and he leans in, just as you were hoping he might. His golden eyes are murky, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You’re sticking to the lockers behind you from the steam that’s wafting in the room. It’s like an adhesive in your lungs, thick and warm.
“Are you calling me a coward?”
“Not outright,” you hum.
You risk it. You reach out that inch, delicately press the tips of your fingers against Leon’s stomach. He’s firm, or perhaps he’s just tense, and your eyes flick back up just in time to see Leon clench his jaw. Your gaze trails down his jaw, to the line of his throat, the sharp crease of his collarbone, his chest, down his stomach, then even lower. It’s as if your gaze is a magnet, and each inch lower your eyes travel, an inch closer Leon leans. He’s pressing you against the lockers until he’s the only thing in your line of vision.
“And if I think you’re wrong?” Leon whispers in return. His voice rumbles through you, low and dangerous.
Your eyes flick to his, dark and lidded.
“Prove it.”
You had every intention to be in control of this situation, but the second those dangerous words slide from your lips, something in the air shifts.
Another clang reverberates through the room when Leon pushes his knee between yours, then up between your thighs, and you let out a squeak of surprise. He’s gripping your hands, slamming them beside your head, intertwining your fingers together. His body pressing against yours is the only thing keeping your towel up. You only have half a second to process those things, because Leon is suddenly pressing his lips against yours, hot and desperate, frustrated and hungry, all at the same time.
Your cockiness is overrun by shock at how Leon quickly takes control of the situation, and you wonder for a split second if he was guiding it the entire time. Your distraction takes precedent when he kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue across your lips, pushing it between them and into your mouth. You let out a ragged breath, a soft moan slips, and Leon pushes his hips against yours.
You gasp at the sudden pressure, and again when Leon snaps his hips against yours again. The lockers rattle and shake at the force, as do you.
“Shit, Leon,” you manage out, but his lips are slamming against yours. He doesn’t grind on you again, and instead focuses on your lips and your tongue. Either he’s done this before or he’s imagined doing this before at least a thousand times, because each kiss and each movement is tinged with a desperate heat you didn’t think possible.
He kisses you and he kisses you and he kisses you, deep and intense and much too hot. You’re trembling and quaking beneath him and the tension that’s coursing from him to you, barely relieved even though you’ve both wanted this for so long. There’s lips and teeth and tongue and heat again and again and again, and longer you kiss, the greater the tension grows. He’s pulling an embarrassing amount of moans and gasps from you, as if he knows exactly where to touch to make it happen.
“Does your offer still stand?” he whispers against your skin. You’re both already breathing hard from the mix of the heat of the room and the adrenaline between you.
“What offer,” you breathe in return, unable to process anything other than how Leon is desperately trying to kiss and nip and suck every inch of your skin. He leans up, and his breath is hot on your ear.
“I know that shower is your favorite,” he breathes. “But mine private one is fixed. You should come see for yourself. I guarantee you’ll like it more than this one.”
He nips your earlobe, your neck, your shoulder, and it takes you a few breaths before you can respond. His teeth leave indents in your skin like a hot and desperate branding iron, and he seems intent to litter you with as many as possible. You guide his hands under the hem of your towel and you lean your head against the lockers behind you when he takes the time to explore wherever he wants. His hands are rough, warm, and much too slow compared to what you were hoping. You try to quicken their pace and Leon’s chuckle slips out between his kisses.
“Eager, are we?” he barely whispers into your skin.
It’s your turn to blush, not something you were planning to do tonight.
“What made it obvious,” you mumble. “I was ready to strip on the pitch for you.”
“How about we do that in my private shower,” he suggests.
“I’ve already showered,” you say stupidly, and Leon kisses you again anyway.
“I haven’t,” he says against your lips. “You can help me get all the spots I can’t reach.”
You quickly nod, rush to grab your things, and Leon leads you by the hand to his personal shower. The spots you helped him reach – you had a feeling he could have gotten them himself, but you didn’t mind offering him a helping hand.
Okay!! So this is an idea I had already asked of another but I would very much appreciate to see your own take on the idea!! After a match Leon is just getting ready to head out when a Nickit shows up and swipes his hat. The pokemon runs off with it and Leon will follow where he eventually runs into gn!reader who is one of the staff working at the stadium! Reader’s job is typically to clean up any stands and find lost items to put into lost and found, and their Nickit helps!
Yes, I did see that!! I hope you enjoy this rendition :)
~~
Bleacher Trash (LeonxReader)
Leon is an easygoing guy, that much is obvious, but there is one thing he can’t stand: people swiping his hat.
Most of the time it’s girls trying to flirt, or kids that are starstruck, so he normally lets it slide, but that doesn’t mean there’s never a pang of frustration whenever it happens. The purpose of having a hat is for it to be on his head, and not in the hands of a giggling fan. If he wanted to showcase his sweaty scalp and eternal bedhead, he would have by now. And, after intense training days like today, the thing probably smells rancid anyway, so it’s really best for everyone that it stays put.
Leon returns Charizard to his Poke Ball, offers a ‘good luck next time’ to a Pokemon League staff that begged to battle him after hours, and cracks his back through a satisfying stretch. He really needs to stop adhering to these requests… He could be in bed with a cup of tea by now. Oh well, that League staff member had some interesting tactics that Leon tucked away for later, and he knows a bit more about his staff that works in Wyndon Stadium, which is always nice.
He saunters to his bag that he tossed onto the stands and kneels to rustle through the contents. Should he stock up on more full restores before he heads home? Or did he have some at home anyway? Maybe he could stop at the Pokemon Center on the way o-
Is it drafty in here?
The circumference of his head where his hat normally sat is suddenly a little chilly. Leon pats his head, only to pat dried sweat and the purple hair plastered to his forehead.
He whips his head up at the sound of claws scratching against steel only to see a flash of red disappear under the bleachers.
“Hey, wait a second!” Leon yelps as he scrambles to stand.
He follows the quiet tink tink tink of claws as best he can, though the clunk clunk clunk of his shoes on the bleachers drown out the sound pretty well. He reaches the end of the bleacher section, and that flash of red darts into the dark.
Leon nimbly swings around and behind the bleachers, following that flash of red through the occasional sliver of light that speckles through. He crouches as best he can as to not smack his head on the steel beams above him, and he grimaces at the trash that litters the grimy ground. He has never been under the bleachers of Wyndon Stadium, and he hopes he never will again.
“Where’d you go…” he mutters. The lines of light from the spaces between the bleachers create a trail to follow, until Leon’s eyes finally meet that flash of red again.
A Nickit? What is a Nickit doing here?
The Nickit’s tail is gleefully flicking back and forth, and when Leon glances to see what it is so happy about, he flinches back in shock.
A person? What is a person doing here?
He quickly puts two and two together when he notices the broom in one hand and a bag in the other – how late did staff work in Wyndon Stadium? He really needs to know more about the people that work for him.
Leon wishes he could stand straight and properly introduce himself to you, but he has to settle for crouching uncomfortably with his bangs plastered against his forehead. He motions to take a step closer, only to pause when you let out a quiet hum.
“Squeaky-clean,” you mumble in a singsong. “Getting these bleachers squeak-y clean.”
Leon’s mouth opens in surprise, then quickly shifts to a sly grin. Your lyrics aren’t exactly Piers-level, but Leon is sure it helps pass the time.
“Gonna pick up the trash from the trash people that leave trash,” you hum again. “Gotta make my money so I don’t have to eat trash.”
Leon unsuccessfully holds back his chuckle, and you freeze. His cover is blown, so he steps closer to you to introduce himself as properly as he can given the circumstances. He grins again when the lines of light from between the bleachers highlight your wide (and what’s that other expression? Terrified?) eyes meet his. He’s used to this though, and it’s probably not great that you’re alone under some dark bleachers, so he tries to open his posture to exude friendliness. His sweaty head probably humanizes him too, so now he’s not so frustrated at the thieving Nickit.
“Hi,” Leon says. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”
You open your mouth, close it, open it again, then cough when a bug flies in.
“Muh-m-muh,” you stutter. Leon raises an eyebrow, but that doesn’t help your suddenly sparse vocabulary. “M-Mr. Leon! Mr. Champion Leon, sir, h-how long have you been standing there?!”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Leon chuckles. “Please, continue your song. What happens to the trash people that leave trash?”
You can’t stop your mouth. You can’t stop it from telling the Champion the rest of your terrible lyrics.
“They…” you mumble. “They turn into Garbodors.”
“Interesting,” Leon laughs. “Then what?”
“I… I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” you confess as a blush stains your cheeks. “Normally I just sing those parts over and over.”
“Well, sorry I interrupted,” Leon says. “But I think your Nickit has something of mine.”
You glance to your Nickit, who stands triumphantly holding its prize in its teeth. You gasp and offer a sheepish grin to Leon.
“Sorry,” you say. “I normally have my Nickit help speed up the process. I… I thought this was just some merchandise…”
“It’s the real deal,” Leon chuckles. “Clever to have a Pokemon help you. You work here?”
“Yes,” you mumble. You wonder if you’ll still have a job after your Pokemon stole the Champion’s hat. “Though I’ll probably get fired after this.”
Leon’s laugh resounds against the steel of the bleachers, and your tense shoulders ease.
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Leon says through a smile. You’ve never been this close to the Champion before, and that smile is just as dazzling up close. “And you know what? I’ve got a ton of other hats anyway.”
“Huh?” you ask stupidly.
“Keep it,” he says with a wink, and you nearly topple over. His charisma is overwhelming, blasting against you like some typhoon of charm. You need to think of something alluring, and fast.
“Oh, no,” you splutter out alluringly. “I couldn’t, it smells really bad.”
Leon’s jaw drops, as does yours, when your words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. Well, guess it’s time you find another job. Or another country to live in.
His laugh resounds through the bleachers again, and the slivers of light dance to the sound.
“You’re funny. I can’t deny that it’s pretty disgusting after a battle,” he says. He plucks the hat from your hands when you guiltily offer it to him, and he sets it back securely on his head. “What’s your name?”
Is he going to turn you in? Throw you at the feet of your supervisor? Maybe you should give him a fake name. Instead, you tell him your actual name, since you can’t seem to lie to those golden eyes.
“Well,” Leon says. “This has been an eventful evening for the both of us. How late do you work?”
Is he going to wait for you? Wait for you to pull on your coat just to throw you in the dumpster after stealing his things and insulting him? You accept your fate and tell him your shift ends soon.
“I’ll help you then,” he says kindly. “I can even help you make up some new lyrics.”
“Okay,” you say as alluringly as possible, though really it just comes out monotone and robotic. You squeak at the end when Nickit flicks its tail against you. That makes Leon smile though, so maybe your influx of awkward is alluring in itself?
Leon continues to talk with you, tries to make you laugh, and does so successfully when he smacks the bill of his hat against the bleachers a few times. You show him a few tricks you’ve picked up to not constantly smash your head against things, and he offers a few new song lyrics in return.
Leon wonders why he’s never seen you before. Perhaps training late wasn’t so bad, and perhaps getting his hat stolen wasn’t so bad either. The next day, he accidentally leaves his hat on the bleachers, and accidentally leaves a few treats underneath it as well.
Ugh okay self indulgent as hell but... reader having early morning cuddles with Leon? with a side of yearning and being a flustered mess 👉👈👀
homie if u want indulgent leon cuddles like honestly im just going to send you this link to Dappled Grove (my leonxreader fic) like i’m not saying this to be ‘ooohooo look at my fic hee hee’ like there is literally so much cuddling in this fic its embarrassing. Everything you asked for:
cuddles
Yearning
flustered leon
snuggles in the morning
snuggles in the night
seriously the Yearning
and also dumb himbo leonx30000
like honestly if this story does not satiate your appetite for morning snugs with leon i will gladly write you a drabble here lol just remind me that you were the one that sent this ask somehow lol
