Corbeau's (Not So) Secret Admirer
Rating: General Audiences Tags: Corbeau x (completely undescribed, no pronouns) reader, fluffy nonsense, secret admirer shenanigans, Philippe is in on our nonsense, my first x reader fic, I had so much fun with this :) Word Count: 1360 Also readable on AO3.
When Corbeau walked into his office on what started as a typical morning, he came to a sudden, sharp halt as soon as he was out of the elevator. He had his routines, usually strictly adhered to - but this time, the routine was thrown off. This time, by a distinctly overzealous amount of flowers overcrowding a simple vase, front and center on his desk - and Philippe staring straight ahead, stone-still, outwardly even more serious than usual.
His jaw was clenched in a manner that only Corbeau knew him well enough to know came of the furious effort not to laugh.
Corbeau didn't need to ask or investigate to know, with some detail, what was going on. If this were some sort of threat - not the most bizarre he'd received - Philippe wouldn't be struggling not to laugh, pointedly not making eye contact to aid in keeping his composure. He took even non-serious threats too seriously for that. Aside from potential enemies, there weren't many who'd dare do such a thing, and few among those who would dare would bother.
That mostly left you. You, who still managed to surprise Corbeau so often with your bravado and your good heart. You, whom Corbeau knew all too well, would pull this sort of stunt, and really, the only one whom neither his grunts nor Philippe would prevent from doing so. He'd given you free access to his office long prior; it would only follow that you alone would have the access to know when he'd be out, and to be there and gone out of his sight. You, brash, brave, with a spark that drew him in, yet all too visibly affected by the things he said in jest or just to spark your reaction. You, who'd caught Corbeau's attention far too much for your own good in his eyes, for all that you never seemed to take the danger behind him seriously. He hadn't expected this from you - and yet, in retrospect, this was just like you.
Corbeau took a deep breath, eyes locked on the flowers before him, considering them carefully. The bouquet was dominated by roses grown to look like Roserade flowers, housed in purple water for a while to dye the petals that bright shade - some even dip-dyed where the colored water hadn't made a strong enough color. A couple of real Roserade flowers - a choice that betrayed more than a bit of investment - took center stage. There were also smaller flowers and other colors that meshed well with the main event, so it wasn't all lurid purple. Corbeau looked closer: every bloom was poisonous, or at least toxic to some animals or PokĂŠmon, even the smallest of them. Gifted to almost anyone else, such a precisely-made, dangerous bouquet would be an elegant threat. Gifted to a poison specialist such as Corbeau, it was pretty thoughtful. No doubt the work of a rather proud florist, and not a cheap gift nor one that'd be quick or easy to prepare.
Corbeau strode up to his desk, his strides long for his height, hand landing on the desk before the vase, fingers drumming against the expensive wood.
"Philippe, how did these make their way into my office?" Corbeau asked, stern as ever despite the flattered amusement in the back of his mind.
"Sorry, boss. No idea," Philippe answered in a clipped, rehearsed tone, eyes somehow more intently fixed on the elevator than before.
"No idea, hm? You've been here a while. The office has had cameras on it and was locked all night. What, did they just appear from nowhere?" Corbeau pressed, voice sharper.
"Might as well have," Philippe agreed serenely, trying not to laugh so hard that Corbeau almost worried he'd crack a rib.
Corbeau raised an eyebrow. Another person, feeling what he felt, might have laughed. Corbeau wasn't the type.
"Surely, though, someone delivered them. You saw nothing?"
Philippe shrugged a lopsided shrug.
"Someone must have snuck in and dropped them off without my seeing," he reiterated, barely glancing at Corbeau.
Corbeau sighed, deep and heavy and exaggerated, covering the smile that broke briefly through his composure with a hand - even lacking an audience past Philippe, he valued his demeanor as it was. You, however, had an uncanny ability to break his composure. Corbeau sat in his chair more heavily than usual and studied the bouquet again. It was bright, too bright against the carefully curated, dimmed room. Utterly unlike him or his organization, clashing with every impression Corbeau worked so hard to make. Just as you did every time you showed up, never taking him seriously, making that intimidating aura he tried to project crack. It should've driven him mad.
And so, of course, he loved it.
Corbeau knew already what was going on, and that Philippe was fucking with him - the only person other than you who was allowed to. But all the same, Corbeau wanted to see for himself. Both to ensure the obvious and for his own amusement. It was no trouble to find all the evidence - and entertainment - he needed. Philippe hadn't bothered to delete the security footage of you sneaking in (taking the elevator) and dropping them off without being seen (making direct eye contact with a smirking Philippe the entire time).
Not laughing was, frankly, a Herculean task. Not smiling was a lost cause.
There was really only one course of action for Corbeau to take: vengeance, though not quite in kind. Matching your gesture with his own would be easy with the resources Corbeau had at his disposal, but it felt like a minimum he was determined to exceed: merely matching you wasn't enough. He needed to do you one better. To that end, he had something else up his sleeve: your number. Obtained for the sake of emergency, and frequently used (or misused), especially by you. Corbeau generally at least tried to have a business-related justification for calling - this morning was a rare exception. Though the flowers at least gave him an excuse.
Corbeau called your number, knowing you were probably just starting your morning. Sure enough, you answered, always quick to pick up when he called.
"Morning, sunshine," he started as soon as you picked up, knowing it would make you pause, just as it had last time.
"I got those flowers you dropped off," he hummed, and you stuttered something about how it totally wasn't you, and how did he even know - you meant, why'd he even think that - anyway.
"Sure, kid," he interjected with a huff of poorly-disguised laughter, the type you always managed to draw out of him.
"It's thoughtful. But next time, I'll be the one buying the expensive gift," Corbeau added, then paused for a moment, feeling another smile tugging at his lips as he spoke again.
"You should come by my office later, alone. I'll be sure to repay that thoughtfulness of yours," Corbeau added.
And with that, he hung up to let you stew in your surprise, unsure why you thought he wouldn't know exactly who'd left him such a gift. Corbeau was hardly blind, after all. He'd do better to get even later, to take you up on your reciprocation of his rather unsubtle interest. But for now...there was work to be done.
The flowers sat pristinely on his desk for the rest of the day, and no one dared comment. The gossip amongst the Syndicate employees would, doubtlessly, be legendary - but all was well worth it. They deserved the entertainment value anyway. But most of all, Corbeau looked forward to seeing you again. He had plans in the back of his mind, occupying him through his work: far from least of which, how to reciprocate on that gift of yours. Corbeau was a thorough man, after all, and nothing less than the best would do. Not just a gift, no - he intended to take things further. And thus, as he conducted his meetings, regardless of who he was intimidating or what he was doing, you were in the back of his mind - constantly threatening to make Corbeau smile, even as he kept those feelings to himself.
