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awesomerextyphoon · 2 years

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Ravenous

Summary: You’ve lost so much, but with Bucky’s help, maybe you can make something beautiful.

Pairing: Bucky x Eldritch-Enhanced Black Female Reader

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 6.4K

Warnings: Smut, Oral (f and m receiving), ‘Tentacle Job’ (I’m making it a thing), Fantasy Gore, Cannibalism (sort of), Body Worship, Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions of Torture, and a lot of Angst

A/N: This is my entry for the amazing @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms’s Cassie’s Make It Badass Challenge. This might be the darkest one-shot I’ve done so far in terms of violence/gore/angst. You have been warned. Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Thanks to @bamposworld and @saiyanprincessswanie the beta.

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“And done!” you huffed as you wiped your forehead of sweat.

You had just finished making a feast of Bucky’s favorites. Heaps of: Baked Ziti, Honey-Tenderized Boeuf Bourguignon, Creamy Mashed Potatoes with Savory Mushroom Gravy, Five Herb Roasted Cornish Hens, Coq au Vin, Three Cheese, and Spinach Ravioli, Rosemary Braised Lamb Shanks with Polenta, Spinach Quiche, Chicken Pot Pie, Beef Stew, Hearty Beef Lasagna, Southern Peach Cobbler, Limoncello Ricotta Cake, Plum Cherry Galette, and Chocolate Cherry Brownie Layer Cake.

The colossal table groaned under the weight of the decadent dishes. You chuckled to yourself hoping you didn’t go overboard.

Your moment of triumph was interrupted by your ravenous appetite. Again.

“I know, I know, “you grumbled rubbing your voracious tummy. “I do hope Bucky comes home soon,” frowning at how you got to this point

You were on your way home from sending a package to the Post Office on behalf of your cousin Ngozika who was busy getting ready for Erinma’s, your younger sister, birthday party. You wanted to take a shortcut through the park so you could help with the decorations happy that you and your cousin were able to convince her to invite at least ten people; five said yes.

You were halfway past the grove behind the west playground when you felt a ping and the back of your neck as your world faded to black. The last thing you saw was three sets of shoes.

You woke up to a dingy, bare, windowless room with 12 other women aged 18 – 25. An eerily delighted voice announced that you passed the first round of Operation Hellcat. Later it was slipped that there were 50 at the start, but the others were not as lucky.

You spent ten years in that hellhole.

Every day you were pricked, probed, and prodded by perverted and sadistic scientists. All of you were constantly fondled by the guards whenever they had the chance. One scientist, Dr. Tomlin, mused that only you and another survived the fifth year of the project.

Sometime later, when the admins decided to throw you a bone, you met the other survivor. Roxana was a little timid with some fire left in her eyes; you smirked when she gave a guard a right hook after groping her ass.

You talked a few times, avoiding additional disapproval from your captors. You learned that she was the youngest of six who was on her way to a spring festival when they kidnapped her. Roxana would crack a few jokes offering what little levity one could find in your situation.

You talked about what you would do once you saw the outside. Roxana wanted to see her siblings again hoping they wouldn’t worry too much, especially after her parents died in a car crash. She talked about wanting to become a marine biologist regaling you with anything and everything she remembers reading growing up. You talked about your dream of becoming a travel writer backpacking through Europe and South America.

You gave each other hope, hope that was blissfully crushed.

It was the morning of September 28, 2008 (Ngozika’s 38th birthday), when you were both, dragged out and brought before a man in front of the usual row of scientists who went by the name of Braddock. He looked over the two of you with a menacing eye smirking as he molested you and Roxana. He turned to the former head scientist, Dr. Beecham, who nodded to the newcomer and grinned sardonically.

With that, Braddock announced it was time for the operation.

The guards dragged you past a set of double doors to a new hallway. The hairs on your arms raised as you felt Roxana’s fearful expression trying her hardest not to cry. You reached out your hand to grab hers, but a guard slapped it away.

One last set of bolted steel doors led you to a ghostly white room with two beds inside a pod connected to an arc belonging to a zany sci-fi novel and in front of the portal was a podium with a glowing electric blue cube.

The scientists and Braddock hid on the other side of the one-sided mirror, like the cowards they were.

Braddock motioned for the guards to strap you to the beds as he made some deluded declaration of HYDRA’s greatness.

Roxana smiled weakly reminding you to think of your family and your dreams while you did the same. You both hoped to see the outside, together.

Braddock bellowed to open the portal thinking that the results would lead HYDRA to greater heights.

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

The cube started to levitate as the lights dimmed. A beam of light shot into the gateway creating a portal. Braddock ordered the guards and workers to get back, but it was too late.

You and Roxana could only watch in horror as black mist filled the room and giant midnight purple tentacles, tendrils, paws with extended claws and talons erupted from the portal. They tore into the guards and workers who were still in the room. All of their body parts (impaled or otherwise) were flung into what looked to be a mouth in the center of the portal. You tried your best to block it out, but you could still hear the crunches, squelches, and cracks of bodies along with their muffled screams.

As the last of the not test subjects were devoured, a golden orb traveled up the beam, through the cube, and split into two. The beds disintegrated as both of you were forced upright and facing each other with the orbs between you. Tendrils of golden light ebbed out feeling your souls deciding which one it will choose. Two of the tendrils paused in front of your eyes before glowing an ocean blue while Roxana’s glowed crimson red.

You shrieked as tendrils from both orbs shot into you. Their hooks pierced your skin through your fingers, eyes, mouth, toes, ears, and nose as the orbs shrunk to nothingness.

Roxana cried out to you in terror as rays of deep purple surged from your eyes and mouth and enveloped your form. The appendages deluged from the portal into the light. Your eyes became the abyss as several of the tentacles grabbed Roxana.

You didn’t register your dear friend’s screams until it was too late. All you could think of was hunger.

Once the mist dispersed and the remaining guards rushed in, all they found was you in the middle of the room tears streaming down your cheeks cradling Roxana's detached face. Everything else was gone.

You shouted at the guards to stay away from them only listening when your shouts turned into a legion of roars and tentacles shot out from your midsection capturing the guards.

Braddock commanded the restraining cuffs to be administered via magnetic force fields.

You didn’t fight back at that point. All that was on your mind was the anguish of devouring your only friend and the loneliness that will surely follow.

They moved you to a new base (you think) deep underground where they experimented with your new powers.

They found that you can manipulate various types of matter and energy. Braddock was pleased to find that Operation Hellcat wasn’t a complete waste.

Unfortunately, they could only get you to do damage control.

Though later, they found that you could turn various materials like limestone or plastic into something ‘useful’ such as gold, silver, moonstone, tungsten, uranium, titanium, and even a weird metal called vibranium after getting a starter sample from a man named Klaue.

They would ‘feed’ you once a month; usually, a target that needed to disappear. Fury was catching onto the disappearing bodies.

Not long after, you learned that you could absorb the memories and knowledge of those you devoured, but you kept that ability to yourself.

Your captors kept you well enough that the tentacles never came out. Made sense since they didn’t want a repeat of the time when you devoured ten guards when there was a lapse in the restraining cuffs. You chuckled when you overheard one of the guards saying that being sent to your cell was a punishment.

Two years into your ‘arrangement’, Braddock thought you deserved a ‘reward’ so they modified the cuffs to let you move around your cell. Though you guessed it was so that you would be less likely to lash out and devour more scientists.

You decided to redesign your prison into an amalgamation of your father’s home and what you glean from Roxana’s memories.

It was five months later when you met him.

You were starving as usual. They made you trans-mutate truckloads of sand into gold, titanium, diamonds, and vibranium. The guards mentioned someone called the Asset would be dropping off your meal soon.

You waited for 30 minutes until the door opened revealing a tall, somewhat shadowy figure of a man. He had chin-length Ponzu-colored hair with Seal Brown and Chestnut highlights; it was grungy yet silky. He was broad yet lean in shape, the perfect specimen to be their weapon.

But the most striking aspect about him was his eyes; blue, like the winter sea after a storm. Beautiful, yet frightened and forlorn.

What little cask of your heart broke for he too was also a prisoner.

You snapped out of your musings to hear him explain that your meal was of some diplomats that got in HYDRA’s way.

The exchange was terse, but you found yourself doing something for the first time in a while; you smiled and waved as he was leaving, if only meekly. He stopped and stared for about 20 seconds before the loudspeaker shouted in Russian for the Soldat to leave.

You chuckled as your smile grew. For the first time in over two years you were starving, and you hoped to see him again.

Your mystery deliverer visited you a few more times. After the fifth time, you were able to touch his hand and he reciprocated. It was exhilarating. No one has touched or wanted to go near you in years.

He stayed longer with each visit. It took some time for him to talk; he didn’t say much, but he had a deep, smooth voice. You didn’t really care. You just needed someone who wasn’t out to fuck with your life to talk to you.

The two of you would fall into a routine of you rattling on whatever occupied your mind’s eye and him listening sometimes smiling or touching your hand ever so often. The best visit was when he let you hug him loving the forgotten warmth it brought.

Once again, they had to eviscerate any happiness in your life.

Six months after the hug, your mystery acquaintance dropped off your meal but quickly turned to the door without so much as a glance.

You rushed over to greet him but stopped at the sight of his bitterly cold glower. Another man, Rumlow, butted in stating that the Asset could no longer be distracted finishing off with a cruel laugh at the tears that threatened to pour from your eyes.

They both promptly left before the tentacles could attack them as you fell to your knees consumed by despair.

Why did this have to happen to you?!

Your heart raged as your tears dried. You couldn’t keep living like this.

You wouldn’t.

You got your chance three years later.

The base was in an uproar; Project Insight had failed. HYDRA was exposed and going down in flames. The control room was bedlam with everyone scurrying like mice failing to notice the lapse on the monitors.

All it took was a clink to rouse you from your partial slumber. Your eyes shot open with a vengeful sneer marring your face. You sensed no one outside the customary three layers of your containment unit.

It seemed that your captors feared the cops more than you.

Their mistake.

You blasted the doors to your prison. Black mist filled the base. All 100 inhabitants stopped their scurrying in abject terror.

It was loose.

The guards closest to your cell were the first to fall. One of them cried out for help on his phone, but one of your tentacles ripped off his arm, grabbed his torso, and pulled his terrifying form into your voracious maws.

A science assistant could only watch in horror as tentacles seemed to grow out of their colleague’s navel increasing in size as they split the body with a vile crunch.

One of the higher-ups threw his secretary into the mist only for you to respond with a cacophony of shrills and impaling him with various-sized tendrils.

Their screams could've probably been heard for miles.

Only after you had your fill of every loathsome creature at the base and felt the welcoming warmth of sunlight did you regain consciousness with a massive belch.

You screamed as you fell to your knees tears streaming down your face.

Yes, you were finally free, but at what cost?

You had devoured Roxana, your only friend in this hellscape. You didn’t know if anyone from your family was still alive; you didn’t put it past HYDRA to hunt them down.

You never knew what became of the Soldat, your Soldat.

You had one thing though, the need for revenge.

Based on the memories you absorbed, HYDRA leadership was no more due to the utter failure of Project Insight and Natalia Romanova info-dumping the entire HYDRA archives.

There were still others associated with the now ‘shelved’ Project Hellcat.

You needed to find them and end them. If nothing else, to make sure no one else has to suffer like you.

Now you needed to make a plan. You found the closet functioning computer on the base and did some digging.

You finally learned of your Soldat. His name was James Buchanan Barnes, a WWII vet born in 1917.

“James!” you beamed as the front door opened to reveal your Soldat. Flying into his arms he pulled you in for a passionate kiss.

“Is this all for me?” Bucky peered over your shoulder at the feast on the table.

“Of course, silly!”

“You didn’t have to, y’know.” He scratched the back of his head, not sure what to make of your efforts.

“Nonsense!” you playfully swatted his muscled pecs, “I wanted to return the favor, and because I love so darn much!”

“Well, your feast is in the warehouse. I got a special treat just for you. I hope you like it.” Bucky pecked your lips pulling out your chair before his own.

“Oh thank you, Bucky!”you pecked his cheek before gesturing towards the food, “Now dig in before it gets cold.” you insisted grabbing a large plate of some of his favorites despite his protests.

It only took one bite of lasagna for him to devour the food with a near animalistic vigor. You beamed with pride seeing something you made bringing some happiness again.

“How was your trip?” you inquired chiding Bucky to finish his food first.

Bucky stopped eating, placed his utensils down, and kept his head down. “I...I saw Steve again.”

Your smile faltered.

You knew Steve Rogers was a sore subject to James. He nearly killed him multiple times during HYDRA’s fall. Bucky didn’t think he was worthy to talk to Steve again.

You didn’t believe that for a second, though you didn’t have room to talk.

“It still surprises me how much that punk’s changed and somehow still remains the same.” Bucky chuckled as you gently squeezed his flesh hand.

After Project Insight’s failure to launch, James went underground learning as much as he could about Steve Rogers/Captain America. He went to the Captain America wing of the Smithsonian. He could’ve sworn he saw a few toddlers recognizing him tugging on their older relatives' pant legs in hopes they’ll see a living legend.

Bucky tried to find his old neighborhood in Brooklyn only to find that it was either destroyed or renovated beyond recognition. It wasn’t until he went to a hole-in-the-wall bookstore that he found some respite in the form of an art book from one of Steve’s classes. That led him down a rabbit hole of picture books from the 20s to early 50s. There were pictures of activities he and Steve would do in their spare time as kids, Coney Island, the cinema across from old man Roscoe's Deli.

The tears nearly fell from his eyes in a deluge.

Memories of eating a sundae with his sisters and Steve at the local creamery, getting groceries for his ma while making sure she wasn’t carrying too much, pushing his sisters on the swings in the park, winning his first camera in a bet against the Desmond Boys, Steve convincing him not to sell said camera so he could score a date with Meredith, Becca first word being his name, finally getting Mason and his boys to leave Steve alone, and the blunder known as Rockaway Beach flooded Bucky’s mind.

James had to leave the bookstore before he was discovered.

He meandered down the street wondering what was left of his life. What happened to his sisters? Were they still alive? Did they have children or grandchildren? What became of his mother? How did she take the news of his death?

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to visit the cemetery.

James felt ashamed of himself. He wondered if his 40s self would’ve had a sick laugh at his present self’s expense.

One day, Bucky walked around his apartment block and saw a group of young children playing in a daycare playground.

They reminded him of you, his angel. Your eyes would glow with joy at the memories of helping your cousin with children at her office. He didn’t say much at the time, but he smiled and held your hand.

You were the final embers of light in his life.

Life was relatively quiet albeit filled with nightmares until he started to feel eyes on him. Several HYDRA fragments found him, so with a heavy heart, Bucky was once again on the run.

James was in London when it happened.

He decided to take the fight to HYDRA and tracked down a task force to a warehouse a few miles outside the metropolitan area. Fifteen ops surrounding him led by one of the head guards of Operation Hellcat. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Dark gray mist filled the warehouse followed by a storm of black, violet, red, and gold mists concealing the source of the tempest of beastly roars and otherworldly wails. The unearthly sounds gave way to cracks, squelches, crunches, gargles, and screams of the men filled his ears all the while focusing on a familiar warmth around his waist.

The storm subsided to reveal his angel hugging and kissing his face with tears streaming down her face.

You finally found him.

Gently tilting up your chin, he sighed into a kiss that was every bit as wonderful as he imagined and more.

You were together at last.

“He’s still looking for me.” Bucky croaked unable to conceal his sorrow any longer.

“I know, James. I know.” you consoled as you pulled him into your arms kissing away his tears.

The sad thing is that part of Bucky wanted Steve to find him. But another part of him wanted to stay hidden. He didn’t know how Steve and the rest of his team would treat you once they discover what HYDRA did to you. Would they accept both of you with open arms? Or would they turn you into the authorities? Would they take you away from him?

He couldn’t bear you getting hurt like that again.

“Umm,” you started annoyed at your stomach’s insistent growling and the voices were getting louder demanding that you feed them, “Could we finish this later? I’m starving.”

“Of course, angel. Don’t worry about the dishes.” Bucky kissed your forehead, “Now go enjoy your feast.”

You strolled out of the brownstone towards the warehouse. The whole place was a reconstruction of the base that held you prisoner.

<<LET US FEED>>

‘Not yet.’

Opening one of the side doors, you entered and flipped on the lights. Spread out in a multilayered heart pattern were: 12 freshly dead cows, 10 freshly dead bucks, six freshly dead moose, five dead horses, a preserved hippo’s body, and 50 humans bound, blindfolded, and confused.

Smiling to yourself you made a mental note to thank Bucky for such a feast.

After removing their bindings with a wave of your hand, the living occupants of your meal stumbled and scurried around like fragile mice. You recognized most of them as upper HYDRA scum who managed to evade imprisonment, political figures with serious HYDRA ties, and several scientists involved with Project Hellcat including Drs. Walters, Beecham, Tomlin, Lamberti, Kumar, Mertens, and Wagner.

Lastly, standing in the middle of the arrangement was none other than Braddock.

They all seemed to stop moving when their eyes landed on you. Good. You wanted them to know that you’d be the last thing these scum see.

Black mist seeped in from the ground as you walked towards them. Several of the bastards, knowing this song and dance, tried to distance themselves from the group eyeing the walls for any possible exit.

One of them, a politician, stepped forward, “You look like a reasonable woman. I’ll give you anything! Money, power, you name it!”

You pressed your forefinger to your chin and pursed your lips, “Hmm, I want you,” you began disintegrating your clothes. Somehow the politician got aroused which made you feel even less for what’s next, “to feed me!” you grinned revealing your elongated fangs.

The royal purple and gold waves of your stomach tattoo started to rotate. Barbed black tentacles, tendrils, and claws swirled out covering your body and you became one with the mist.

The horny politician ran as he howled to the heavens in despair his fingers bleeding as he scraped the concrete floor. He gave in to his fate when he saw no one move to help him.

Why hasten their own demise?

His shrieks of terror were soon drowned out by crunches, cracks, and squelches as well as your moans of finally eating something filling.

You returned to the rest of the desperate souls licking your fingers, rubbing your ‘food baby’. Everyone saw the man’s face screaming in your belly before a tendril sliced it in half.

“Whew, that hit the spot!” you exclaimed after a loud belch, “But not nearly enough! So who’s next?”

Everyone else was in complete chaos. Some pushed each other forward, four almost fainted, and the rest screamed and begged to be released. You could’ve sworn one of them pissed themselves.

You sighed and tried again, “Okay, I’m gonna level with y’all. Anyone who makes it out these doors,” you gestured to the open exits, “by the time I count to ten gets to live. Alright?”

Everyone shut up and nodded.

“Okay, then.” your body already halfway blended into the mist.

“One…”

It didn’t take long to eat the rest. It was easy once you pulverized their legs.

You noticed Braddock wasn’t moving, so you created a light above his person. He was coughing blood but refused to move. He thought he was going to face death with dignity.

Pompous Idiot.

“Was it worth it?” you asked sauntering up to him in your human form.

His response was to spit in your face,” HYDRA would’ve ruled this world for all time if it weren’t for your pathetic feelings! Such power is wasted on you!!”

Braddock’s mind snapped and screamed as you transformed into your other form.

“Better to be an emotional monster than a fascist piece of shit!” you retorted as you gleefully devoured him delighted to be rid of him.

“Are you satisfied?’

<<VERY>>

“Good.” you winced gently pressing your knuckles into your overstuffed belly. You belched a few more times loving how full you were. Whether it was the voices or the pessimism that came with being held hostage and starved for 20+ years or the fact that you could finally eat your heart's content, feeling full always made you feel like everything was going well, if only for a mere moment.

You chuckled to yourself. Never did you think that you wouldn’t care if anyone heard or saw you do such things.

Guess it might be because you didn’t really have anything left to lose.

It took several months after securing your freedom to get an independent hold on your powers keeping the cuffs around just in case. You started hearing voices in your head as if they were a legion. They took pity on you and offered to lend you their powers as long as you kept them fed.

In time, you learned more about what you gained. You could: teleport through your mists, manipulate all kinds of materials, manipulate various forms of energy and even use it to satisfy your hunger (though the voices didn’t like it), and comprehend a lot more at a rapid rate.

You could even manipulate reality to an extent.

Though all of that couldn’t make up for what you lost.

You couldn’t eat ‘normal’ food as everything turned to ash after a few bites. You were always hungry having to consume the biomass of at least two large bucks and a cow every day to keep the voices at bay.

You couldn’t be in public for long lest you start seeing everyone as food. You dreaded the signs: your eyes would glow gold as your stomach would growl and drool would escape your mouth while the voices demand that you feed.

One day when you felt you had a good grasp on your powers, you tried walking in a park. You smiled and waved to children running around without a care in the world content to share in their joy.

You only lasted five minutes before your stomach growled and voices came back. You cried yourself to sleep that night feeling like an abomination wondering if everyone would be better off with you gone.

It always felt like there was a barrier between you and everyone else gleefully reminding you of what you’ve lost.

You trudged back to the brownstone once your ‘feast’ was digested.

You were happy to finally be rid of Braddock and his ilk as they could no longer destroy any more lives, but it just felt hollow. You were still bound to a being outside of time and space, and you couldn’t see your family without wanting to devour them.

You found Bucky in bed flipping through a vintage album of his old neighborhood.

“Thank you so much for the feast, love!” you gushed as you changed into a Delicate Sunshade Lace Kimono and thong.

“Had to return the favor after you said you were gonna make a feast of my favorites, sweetheart.”

“How did you find them?”

Most of the people digesting in your stomach were on the run once word got about your feedings. Some tried moving off the grid. One even got plastic surgery.

Braddock was the oddest. Bucky found them in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere hoping to die before you could find him.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re better off in your tummy making sure my angel is stuffed and satisfied.” he cooed in your ear kissing and rubbing your tummy for emphasis.

You giggled and playfully swatted him away loving how outgoing and playful he became once he was free of HYDRA’s control.

It was hard for you at first since he was a little stunned to see you after the initial kiss. You discovered that he was funny, caring, and thoughtful. It did take some time to have any physical relations though you were over the moon when your body didn’t see him as food.

If anything, he seemed to silence the voices for a bit.

Nine months passed before you had time with Bucky. It was amazing, even more so when you didn’t get hungry for five days.

“Have you talked to Erinma?” Bucky paused his playful demeanor.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your heart rate sped up.

You finally had the courage to seek out your family three months ago hoping to reconnect with them.

Unfortunately, both your father and Ngozika were dead.

Your father died in 1997 when his body gave out after suffering two strokes compounded by diabetes. The doctors figured the stress of losing may have played a part.

They tried everything they could to find you. The police gave up only after two weeks and the PI stopped after 14 months. Though you wouldn’t put it past HYDRA to quash the investigation.

Ngozika was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006. It would’ve been caught soon had the country cared to get universal healthcare. Her remission didn’t go as well as everyone hoped with her lasting about 3.5 years.

She died without ever knowing if you were alive or not.

You spent two nights mourning the loss of your father and surrogate big sister at their headstones. You would’ve stayed longer, but you had to feed.

Erinma did achieve her goal of becoming a pulmonary surgeon spurred on by the deaths of your father and Ngozika. Granted it did also land her $80K in student loan debt. She was forced to sell her childhood house and father’s motorcycle to come close to breaking even.

She even had twins, a girl and a boy named Kamharida (I shall not fall) and Ikemefuna (I shall not lose my strength).

You laughed bitterly. While you were truly happy for your sister, everyone thought you would be the one to have children, including yourself. Now it was a cruel fantasy.

You’ve entertained the idea of seeing your sister again as you desperately wanted to see her and be part of your niece and nephew’s lives. But you were terrified of your sister calling you a monster, though you couldn’t blame her for all the things you’ve done.

“I dialed her number...but I couldn’t say anything.” you sobbed.

What could you say? You were kidnapped by a decades-old white supremacist organization that tortured and experimented on you for decades. You were bound to a being that requires an ungodly amount of flesh to keep you from becoming a berserker of gluttony.

Sure, you were able to divert the lion's share of HYDRA’s assets to shell companies to supply yourself with the necessary biomass, but--

“Stop being cruel to yourself. You are incredibly kind, selfless, caring, and most definitely NOT a monster.”

“Never cry for you are my beautiful angel, my magnificent goddess sent from above.” He cooed as he kissed your tears, cheeks, forehead, and jaw with each affirmation. His thumb ran across your lower lip as his face broke out into a breathtakingly handsome smile.

It was so pure you could cry.

You hugged Bucky inhaling his smoked cedar, citrus, and aged leather scent. Once his scent calms you down, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him for a kiss.

James groaned as you part your mouth for him delighting in the sonata of flavors he’s feasted on, though a little saddened that’s the only way you can taste them.

You play with his silky locks as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck and jawline sporadically leaving love marks on your skin.

His calloused yet gentle hands undid the bow holding the kimono in place kissing your shoulders and upper arms. You gasped when he lightly grazed your skin with his canines encouraged by your whimpers and moans.

“My beautiful angel,” he rumbled sending shivers down your spine as he bit the juncture between your neck and shoulders.

Bucky was about to unhook your bra when you grabbed his wrist, pushed him down onto the bed, and tied his wrists to the headboard with black tendrils.

“Relax, love,” you instructed as you kissed your way down his jawline, neck, shoulders, chest, and upper arms. You gazed upon Bucky’s beautiful form wondering how lucky you were. Most men who looked like him were jerks to you in the past especially when they learned of your parents' accents. You still remembered the way some people looked at your mother at stores.

You narrowed your eyes as you lowered one hand towards his boxers and disintegrated them. Your fingers morphed into tentacles and tendrils of varying sizes wrapping around his jaw-dropping length giving it little pulls and tugs along the shaft. One tendril wrapped around his tip and squeezed scooping up the precum into your drooling mouth.

“Hmm!” You moaned at the taste: salty, tangy, and a little sweet.

Numerous smaller tentacles and tendrils slithered out of your mouth. Their pulls from their varied cups send jolt after jolt of pleasure. You felt his cock harden, but decided to draw it out by retracting right as he was about to go over the edge wanting to tease him from last time.

You finally let him cum after 20 minutes of teasing and five minutes of begging.

Bucky came with a roar as his eyes glowed red.

“Wanna do that again?’

You took his chuckle as a yes.

You got two more out of Bucky before he decided to switch growing impatient with your teasing.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to punish you for that, angel,” he warned giggling as he flipped you over; his eyes glowing gold and his fangs elongating.

The sight of those never failed to make you wet.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart, “he growled as you pouted. He usually loved your bratty behavior in bed, but not now.

Bucky absorbed some of the tendrils from your skin and shot them back out gently spreading your legs.

You cast him an accusatory glance.

“Is that so? Then why are you wet for me?” he tsked licking his lips at the sight of you huffing in defeat.

Bucky grinned as he kissed and nipped your thick, plush inner thighs relishing in your moans. With his eyes locked with yours, he licked your slit while a small tentacle creeps from his mouth, its suction cups teasing your clit. Three more dive into your folds moving back and forth in a scissoring motion.

You moaned raking your nails along his scalp and the planes of muscle on his back.

James chuckled loving how you taste; so sweet with notes of honey and citrus. He could get drunk on this.

He alternated between eating you out and kissing/nipping your inner thighs while messaging the globes of your ass and the softness of your waist. He added to your sweet torture by sticking two of his fingers past your folds along with the tendrils still inside. He chuckled when you threw back your head in a moan mixed with a sob.

You grew frustrated with Bucky wouldn’t let you come even after 15 minutes of blinding pleasure.

“James, please!” you begged as he circled your clit again.

Bucky raised his head and murmured, “Let me adore you like the goddess you are, huh?”

You almost came at the spot when Bucky ordered you to look at him. His hair tie was long discarded with several clumps sticking to his face. His hooded eyes were black with lust, and his tongue was circling your clit with three of his fingers in your folds.

Bucky finally let you come after 45 minutes of teasing with a whisper.

You cried out as the dam of pleasure was finally released while he made sure to lap up every last drop of nectar.

Bucky smirked as he lifted you up and grabbed some pillows, “Turn for me, angel?”

You whined in protest not even recovering from the last orgasm.

He kissed both your cheeks, “Relax for me, okay? I promise this is gonna feel good. I'll take it from here.”

You moaned as his fingers dug into your thick thighs secretly loving how sensitive you were after the orgasm.

Bucky grunted as he situated himself between your thighs groaning at the sight of your blissed-out expression.

“Fuck, I’m glad you came into my life.”

“Are you ready, angel?” you nodded as he slowly entered you.

You hissed as your walls stretched for him never getting used to the size.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well!” Bucky praised you as he rewarded you by playing with your clit.

You cried out and he groaned. You from the sensations of Bucky playing with your clit plus stretching out for him, and Bucky from how tightly you were squeezing him.

Bucky looked down and saw: your hooded eyes staring back at him with love and lust, your full, plump lips forming a pleasure-filled ‘O’, and your coils framing your face like a halo.

“Bucky, please!” you begged as what little pain you first felt faded into pleasure.

He caressed your face with one hand as he started moving with slow, shallow strokes, only picking up his tempo once you gave the go-ahead.

Bucky left open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, stomach, breasts, hands, anywhere he could reach murmuring sweet praises with each kiss. You thought your heart would burst from feeling so loved.

You practically squealed in pleasure when Bucky reached your sweet spot. He stayed at that pace for another 30 minutes holding out so that the moment would last.

You were a sobbing mess blind to the world outside the two of you.

You both came at the same time, you with a moan and Bucky with a growl.

As you both lay in bed, glowing with a sheen of sweat, Bucky cradled your head in his hands. “You will always be an angel to me.”

You nodded and bit your lower lip, “Can I be on top for round two?”

Bucky laughed as you flipped him over.

After Bucky carried you over to the tub to wash off, he cupped your cheeks, “Never call yourself a monster,”

You smiled as he gently wiped your tears away from your eyes with his thumbs.

You were about to thank him when your phone rang. Lumbering to the dresser you cautiously answered leaping with joy when you heard your sister’s voice on the other end.

Bucky beamed lazily at the scene before him glad that you were finally able to connect with your sister. He hoped better things will come.

He was about to rest his head against his pillow when he saw his own pulse with a text.

Bucky’s heart filled with dread.

It was Steve saying he was coming to bring him home.

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 2 years

Text

The Thieving Jester

Pairing: gn!Detective!Reader x Art Thief!Nikolai

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: crime?, film noir themes, fluff

Word count: 1.5k (there is a cut)

Warnings: smoking, brief swearing, alcohol, very lightly implied nudity and nsfw

Sketches

Paintings: Monet's Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies; Rembrandt's The Denial of Saint Peter; Gyokudō's Parting Spring; Reni's Saint Sebastian; Renoir's Bal du moulin de la Galette; Botticelli's Venus and Mars

Extra Info: The National Gallery in London; At Night; Floor Plan

Notes: This fic has been in development for a while, and I figured why not post it for his birthday! Also, please note that the art mentioned has not been stolen in real life, they are simply pieces I am fond of! Finally, Nikolai plays the role of both 'the dame' and 'the criminal', while the reader is 'the detective'!

Read it on ao3!

This fic is sponsored by no sleep, blueberry coffee, and The Pink Panther Soundtrack (especially 'Royal Blue' and 'Champagne and Quail'). I hope you enjoy it! ;)

~~~

The smoke from your cigarette filled the dimly lit office around you. Files piled onto the desk, books scattered across the floor, a half-empty glass of bourbon, and an ashtray almost full. You loosened your tie and sighed, looking down at the open file in front of you. The photo of an aberrant man dubbed ‘The Thieving Jester’ stared back at you.

You had followed him around the globe many times before, and it seemed the chase would not be ending soon. New York, Amsterdam, Tokyo, Rome, and Paris; all capitals that he has led you to.

Putting out your cigarette and rising from your seat, you gathered the files and put them in your briefcase. Donning a trench coat and hat as you left the office, you put up your umbrella and made your way into the rainy streets of Paris.

The grand Gare du Nord station was still draped in wet as your commanding steps approached its doors. Your team was waiting for you in London where they suspected the thief would be travelling to next.

As you sat on the train, you remained idly focused on the dull environment now surrounding you. The light and dark greys, the unimpressive passengers. Your face remained unapproachable and your eyes critical. A man coughed, breaking you out of your small haze. You decided to continue reviewing the Jester’s thefts before you reached London. Opening your briefcase, you pulled out the manila folder holding his crimes.

He started by stealing Monet’s Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

Then he moved onto Rembrandt’s The Denial of Saint Peter from the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.

Followed by Gyokudō’s Parting Spring from the National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo.

Before going back to Europe for Reni’s Saint Sebastian from the Capitoline Museums in Rome.

And Renoir’s Bal du moulin de la Galette from the Musée d’Orsay in Paris.

It was suspected he would steal a Botticelli next, so the forces were doubled near Room 58 of London’s National Gallery.

The train came to a stop, successfully pulling you from your work. You followed behind the people shuffling from the train's exits, bumping into them during your rush. You called a cab as you exited the St Pancras International station, asking the driver to take you to the Metropolitan Police building along the River Thames.

Clouds hung heavily over the bustling city, but people walked and smiled nonetheless. You felt a peculiar longing in your heart; one for the days of old when you had the vibrancy of life in your veins. Journeying around the globe for a man you have only seen in a photo had taken much of the light from your eyes. The frustrations of being a detective compiled with your depressing personal life created a bitterness in your demeanor that caused many to walk by you without a second glance; writing you off as a person in the slums of life.

It seemed this driver was the same, you thought, as he dropped you off from a quiet ride with no words exchanged.

You checked your watch before entering the building; it read midnight, an hour before the thief was expected to strike.

A woman with short and wavy light brown hair rushed by you as you entered the offices; it was Amelia, one of the investigators on your team.

“Where are you running to?” you asked.

“The Jester has already struck!” she exclaimed, rushing across the square.

“Fuck.” you whispered, following after her.

Sirens echoed across Trafalgar Square as police covered the scene. Sprinkles from the fountains landed on your trench coat as you briskly walked by, ignoring the glances from the officers. Your powerful steps echoed throughout the Gallery as you approached an investigator.

After asking him where Room 58 was, you got into the lift and went up to the second level. The room was located in the middle of the Sainsbury Wing, and as you entered the area you were greeted by a large empty space on the left wall.

“He stole Botticelli’s Venus and Mars.” William, another investigator from your team, informed.

You hummed as you ducked under the caution tape.

“Did he leave behind his signature?” you questioned.

“Of course.” William replied, handing you the small paper.

The Thieving Jester’s signature was a small white card, similar to that of a business card, that had a sketch of a top hat rimmed with black and white triangles. It was signed with his dubbed name, although the n was always circled.

“Let’s continue looking.” you stated.

Entering the dimly lit bar, your mind sighed with relief. The long day of work had plagued you on your walk, but the minute you sat on the brown bar stool, your worries washed away. Gentle piano accompanied by soft chatter echoed throughout the calm space. You asked the bartender for a scotch on the rocks, and soon it arrived.

Your eyes drifted to the figure sitting to your left while you continued analyzing the cozy bar. He had a slightly buff build, something you could easily tell due to the tightness of the white dress shirt he wore. His black trousers fell perfectly down his toned legs, and his long, wavy white hair glimmered in the delicate light. His golden eyes seemed transfixed on his thoughts as an unlit cigarette hung lazily from his lips. You decided to retrieve the lighter from the pocket of your coat and present the flame to the man.

A hint of a smirk made its way onto his face as he accepted your offer. As you got a better look at his features, you noticed a scar along his left eye; one that reminded you of the photo of the Jester. Albeit the photo was of the thief when he was younger, this more mature man still bared a striking resemblance.

Smoke flew into your line of sight, breaking you from your thoughts. Your eyes held traces of suspicion; traces that the man seemed to pick up on.

“What are you thinking, Detective?” his smooth voice asked.

You lifted a brow in shocked response.

He chuckled, “I could tell from the moment I saw you. Of course by what you wear, but the exhaustion in your eyes reminds me of one I once knew.”

“You’re quite observant, Jester.” you replied.

It was now his turn to raise a brow in response.

A beat of silence passed when you received another drink. As you took a sip, he spoke once more.

“Will I meet my fate tonight?” he asked.

“Of course not.” you smiled. “Tonight is simply a night for us to converse over cigarettes and drinks. When the morning comes, however, you will face prosecution for your crimes.”

He sighed, almost in defeat. “That is fine with me. I would love to share my last night of freedom with good company.”

You lifted your glass and held it between the both of you. “To a night of finality.”

He nodded and clinked his half-empty glass to yours.

“What is your finality, Detective?”

“Please, call me Y/n.” you began, “And I will be retiring after your case is finished.”

He smiled, “Really, Y/n? What will you do with your spare time?”

You hummed, “I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe I’ll spend my days tending to crops and animals somewhere.”

He laughed; a lovely, boisterous sound. “That sounds awfully dull. Wouldn’t you rather do something exciting, like travelling the world?”

You chuckled at the irony, “I’ve already been following you around the world, Jester.”

“No need to use the media’s name, simply call me Nikolai.” He put out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “And why not continue following me around the globe, as a partner this time? Abandon this lifeless job and explore the criminal world! It’s quite exhilarating.”

You took a large sip of your scotch before tilting your head in contemplation. Would you be so easily swayed by this thief’s words? one side of you asked. The other responded, Why not? To go on such a freeing journey with such a dashing man would be a fulfilled fantasy.

“It seems when the morning comes, that we will be leaving London.” you smirked.

He beamed, and you reciprocated the action.

You sat silently in the bed of Nikolai’s beige hotel room, where the only light came from the moon through the sheer curtains. Said man laid peacefully sleeping, his muscular figure curled comfortably into your side. It was almost reminiscent of how Venus and Mars were depicted in Botticelli’s painting; one appearing relaxed and alert while the other was fast asleep. You turned on the bedside lamp, causing Nikolai to stir.

“It’s time to go.” you whispered.

The mist of the Atlantic Ocean flew into your face, but it created a welcoming feeling rather than an irritable one. The long-haired man stood to your side on this boat headed back to France. A sense of solace slowly washed over you as land came into view. After so many years dedicated to this case, you never would have imagined turning into a criminal yourself; much less after being so easily swayed. But it seemed that this charming thief and his past returned to you, an adrift detective, the vibrancy of life in your veins.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd nikolai #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd gogol #bsd fanfic #bsd fluff #bsd detectives #bsd thieves #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd nikolai gogol x reader #coff writes for bsd🥂

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bukojuiice · 3 years

Text

are you feline what i’m feline? — todoroki shoto

ೃ pairing: cat boy! ┃pro hero! todoroki shoto x fem pro hero! reader

ೃ tags: smut 18+ (the rest of the tags are below the cut!)

ೃ warnings: nsfw

ೃ wc: 3k words

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ blessed with a quirk that can temporarily transform any human being into any living thing they want through the means of potions and concoctions, you brew up a cat girl potion to surprise shoto for your second year anniversary. however, some accidents and mishaps happen, and you’re welcomed home by a handsome cat boy instead.

ೃ dedicating this fic to the lovely and amazing @todosweetheart bc her cat boy! shoto art is the reason why this fic exists. thank u for the content u feed us val! 🥰💓

additional tags: use of natural aphrodisiac, cat boy! kink, overstimulation, fingering, kitten/cat play, rough but loving sex)

You had just recently moved in to a new neighborhood with your boyfriend, Todoroki Shoto.

Your blissful domestic life with him was just about to begin and life couldn’t get any better than this. and yet...

sometimes you wish you could do more for him.

The two of you met when you were hired to work at his father’s agency, stealing glances at him by the reception area whenever you came in for work, and coincidentally getting into the same elevator as him. Not knowing that he was woefully smitten with you too. It was only through the probing of your co-workers that you had drunkenly confessed to him at a company party and he had (soberly) confessed to you too.

That was where everything started.

That was how you and the No. #3 Pro-hero got together.

Sometimes, it made you think if you were even worthy of his love.

You were just a hero with a support quirk; with it being used for more science and field-related work as your powers made you manifest and create drinkable liquids that could change the physical appearance of a person (make them invisible, turn them into an animal, or even turn them back into a child or into an elderly person) for a limited time and depending on how strong or weak the solution. This means that through your quirk, you are able to tamper with a person’s DNA through these concoctions without any consequences. It was a powerful quirk, just like magic, yes, but can it be used for offense? Sadly not.

Shoto’s quirk was the exact opposite. Bearing the quirk of fire and ice, he was the definition of perfection. The perfect quirk, the perfect combination of two exact opposite elements, and how adept he is at using both of them. Often praised and hailed by the public for not only being extremely powerful, but also for how painstakingly handsome he is. You were just waiting for some controversial tabloid to talk about the No. 3 Pro Hero and his girlfriend who was way out of his league.

Shoto constantly reassures you not to worry about them, never failing to calm you down with his gentle I love you’s and forehead kisses whenever he sees you tensed up and nervous, and never failing to tell you that you are the light of his life and his strength to continue fighting. and yet, it still worries you sometimes.

Today marks your 2 year anniversary.

The two of you decide to go out on a simple date tonight at one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the neighborhood as the two of you were busy with throwing out the moving boxes and unwrapping your furniture, combined with the hero work that the two of you do during the day. Completely ruling out the possibility of being able to plan an elaborate anniversary date.

But, it was alright. As cheesy as Shoto makes it sound, no day can ever become the worst, as long as he’s spending it with you.

“Ah~ Those crepes were super yummy! Plus, the cafe was really cute!” You beam with a satisfying yawn, the two of you walking side by side, hand holding the other, and his arm wrapped around your shoulder for that extra warmth against the cold summer night.

“Yea. There was a classy vibe to it. That was my first time trying a galette, and I must say that was tasty.” He remarks, turning to you. Your radiant and lively energy was infectious and he can’t help but smile. “Leave it to Mina and Sato to know all the best restaurants, I suppose.”

You nod contentedly and the two of you continue to walk back home in silence. Shoto looks around, taking in the sight and wondering if he could point out any small details about your surroundings that could make you laugh or smile. He notices a small shadow perk up from beneath a bush and he casually points at it. “Hmm? (Y/N), look over there.”

You follow Shoto’s gaze and also notice the small shadowy figure. “Oh?”

The quiet sound of a purr could be heard from the bush. The two of you wait a little bit for the creature to reveal itself. A black cat pounces out of the plant, it’s beautiful green eyes staring back at you. “Meoooow.”

The cat walks up to you and you crouch down, putting your hand out, and wait patiently. Sure enough, the cat nuzzles against it.

“Ahhh she’s so cute.” You observe the cat a bit more and notice it’s femme feline features. Shoto crouches down next to you and pats it’s head. Clearly the kitty seems to enjoy all this attention as she’s purring up a storm. “She is.”

You glance at Shoto and notice how his eyes glimmered a different blue-grey light as he continued to play with the kitten. Pure bliss present in his face. His handsome and soft features make you blush, with the heat rising up to your cheeks, you quickly turn away before Shoto could notice you.

Bingo.

What if you turned into a Cat Girl and made Shoto… ya know…

It was a simple formula after all. You could whip up a concoction, sprinkle in a little bit of natural aphrodisiac and that’s it! The recipe to the sexiest and kinkiest night of your life! Maybe you could show your love to Shoto in a different way than most girlfriends do to their boyfriends no?

“AHAH!” You suddenly jump up from the ground, your boyfriend perks up a little bit in surprise too. You then bring out your phone and begin scrolling through your notes. “Sho-kun! Come on! Let’s get home!” You grab his hand and drag him away. He adjusts his running to your pace, smiling at your sudden burst of eagerness and excitement. “Alright alright, love. Be careful so we don’t trip.”

That night, you told Shoto to not wait for you as you had to brew up some potions for tomorrow as specially requested by a hero from your agency. Although reluctant at first to leave you, he intently watched you work your magic at the little science lab in your house. The smell of the strong chemicals waft around the living room, prompting him to retreat back to your bedroom, but not without a quick kiss (that was about to turn into a make out session) before bed.

“Happy anniversary, Love.” Shoto holds you by the waist, resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you swaying slightly to the non-existent rhythm and this makes you almost want to go to bed with him. “Shall we continue this tomorrow?” He peppers kisses down your neck, you giggle in response.

“We shall.” You turn to him and deliver a kiss to his lips. You pull away before you could even begin to think of yearning for more. “I’m sorry if we had to cut our anniversary short. It’s your day off tomorrow right? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He nods first before giving you one last kiss, this time on the forehead. “Goodnight (Y/N). I love you.”

“I love you too.” He pulls away. you watch him leave your lab first and make sure he’s out of sight before you get back to work.

After a few more hours of solving the formula and crafting the recipe for a potion that doesn’t necessarily turn you into a cat, but rather, give you only cat ears and a cat tail, yu bring out a thermos bottle from the cupboard and pour in the liquid solvent along with the natural aphrodisiac. You stir it a little bit before using your quirk to add the finishing touch and to make it a viable and an actually working potion.

“Can’t wait to drink this tomorrow.” You snicker to yourself, as you pour all of the liquid onto the thermos, storing it in the fridge and then proceed to go to your bedroom and finally hit the sack.

“AHH I’M LATE!” You rush out of the bedroom, messy bedhead hair, your hero suit not even fully zipped up, mismatched socks, and your bag tossing and turning, most of the contents falling out, your thermos being one of them. “I’M LATE FOR WORK! BYE! I LOVE YOU!” You greet Shoto who was eating his breakfast in the kitchen, planting him a farewell kiss on the cheek as you dash your way out of the house.

“I l-love you too.” He bids goodbye with a wave, but you weren’t even there to hear it anymore. Shoto’s eyes cast downward, a bit disappointed that he wasn’t even able to greet you properly this morning and how your anniversary date felt so short even though you promised each other you would spend more time together later today.

He then notices your water bottle on the ground. A sticky note that was labeled “Drink me!” was attached to it and of course as every other person would react once they see a note like that,

Shoto thought that was for him.

“SHO! I’M BACK!” You call out to him, closing the door behind you. “Sho~?” You sing-song, peering through the kitchen and the living room but your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. “Where are youuu?” You continue to traverse through your house, looking for him. You grind to a halt when you notice your thermos bottle on top of the dining table… All empty.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

“Shoto!” You call out, your voice cracking with nervousness. You rush to your bedroom, hoping and praying that he was there. Only… for the lights to be out.

“Sho?” Your hand reaches out for the light switch. But, you hesitate. What if a demon had kidnapped your boyfriend and you had to save him!? What can your quirk even do to save him!?

“(Y/N)...” He finally responds. Although his tone was soft and still a bit suspicious, you breathe a sigh of a relief and finally turn on the lights.

The lights illuminate the room to reveal your boyfriend in his usual turtleneck fit that you always ogle at. You look up and down, noticing that this is still the same man you know and love and nothing bad actually happened until…

You look up and behind him.

He’s still the same man you know and love.

Just this time however. he’s a cat boy.

“I drank the potion that you made.” He says ever so casually, nothing ever fazes him as usual. “It had a “drink me!” sticky note attached to it and I thought it was for me.” He continues to speak plainly. You thought you could get out of this situation scotch-free and you didn’t have to explain to your loving boyfriend what had happened to him. That was until he crossed his arms, his feet tapping the ground, and his cat tail waving behind him. “Please explain to me why I am now a cat boy.”

“Well…” You began twiddling with your fingers, trying your very best not to make eye contact with him or else you would end up squealing in delight because of how adorable he looked. “You see, I made this potion to turn me into a cat girl so that I can… ya know… please you and stuff. I saw how affectionate you were with the cat we saw last night so.. I guess you can consider this as my late anniversary gift to you?” You laugh sheepishly, still trying your best not to look at him as his gaze intensifies.

Shoto’s black and white cat ears twitch as he tries to stifle a laugh. “Fine. I forgive you. This will wear off eventually right?” You nod in response and Shoto’s shoulders slump down in relief. He was about to approach you and envelop you in a hug, until his legs wobbled midway and he practically fell down onto the floor.

You rush to him and help him stand up, propping himself on the bed. “Sho… are you alright love?”

He starts breathing heavily, cat ears twitching once again, fingers trembling, lips quivering, and his face as red as a tomato. “(Y/N)... what was even in that potion you made?”

You suddenly remember the aphrodisiac you added to the recipe.

Oh no no no no (2)

Shoto suddenly turns away from you before you could notice the bulge rising in his pants. He covers his face in embarrassment, refusing to look at you.

“I also added some aphrodisiac and some catnip into the potion ahahaha…” You scratch the back of your neck. Shoto turns to you again, his eyes glowing like that of a cat and giving off a smoldering feeling. He shifts your position, gently yet somehow arduously pinning you down on the bed. He steps closer, hands moving up your sides, going around your back, pulling you flush against him. Shoto nips at your earlobe, sending sparks through you.

You bite back a moan as he kisses your neck, his tongue hot, the gentle scrape of his teeth (slightly sharped like that of fangs) leaving you shivering.

The two of you stop for a bit. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. Tension coils around him, barely contained energy. As if Shoto is preventing himself from showing you his animalistic and feline hunger wanting to ravage you.

“C-can I-”

Before Shoto could even utter another word, you grab his face and pull him back into a desperate kiss, capturing his gasp and the throaty moan that follows. You capture his mouth with yours, and he responds eagerly, his kiss fervent, all his restraint crumbling at your touch.

He kisses your chin, and you tip your head back as he trails his lips down your neck, murmuring praise.

He lays you down, hiking your shirt up, tossing it to the floor, then deftly unhooking your bra, and exposing your breasts. You giggle and reach for his pants, unzipping the fly and getting a little thrill when you see the huge bulge in his boxers.

You push up his turtleneck sweater to admire his abs and Shoto smiles back at you seductively.

“Like what you see?” He says teasingly, a little quip that he barely does when the two of you make love, his husky voice makes your stomach swoop.

“I can only tell you if you purr first.” You tease back, running your fingers over his cat ears. Shoto feels the tickling sensation build up inside of him, slowly about to give in to his raw animal instincts. While you continue to run your fingers through his cat features, he begins to suck and nibble on your breasts. You feel yourself get lost in his gentle caress, barely even notice him pulling off your panties and sliding them off between your legs. Shoto’s fingers slowly slide into your womanhood, as if testing out the waters. He works them in and out for a bit, then pulls them out, brings them to his mouth, and licks them.

Like a kitten licking its milk.

“Sho…”

You feel the last of Shoto’s restraint break as his cat ears twitch again, you can practically feel the energy crackling around him, and the hunger in his eyes more evident than a while ago. Shoto then braces his arms beside your head, as he slots his hips between your thighs. You rise up to meet him, a low moan spilling from your lips.

“(Y/N)... I’m going to put it in now…”

You bite your lip and nod in confirmation.

Shoto gently sets a slow pace, your head spins at the sensation and the arousal coursing through you, your hips rolling to meet the movements of his cock. As he enters, the thrilling sensation courses through you again and your mind feels like it just melted.

You gently rub his cat ears again, and his cock twitches inside of you, the enthralling reaction resulting in a shudder of pleasure shooting through your body, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. And that pleasure transmits to Shoto loud and clear from your pussy.

Meanwhile, his breathing was ragged, more wild and animalistic than normal. Which is to be expected due to the potion but… this hot and intense feeling radiating off of him was different.

And you love it.

“I-I feel like I’m losing control…”

As Shoto speaks, he slams his cock into you, making your legs shake and you moaning louder than you should. Everything seems more intense, from his thrusting to the look on his eye.

At this point, it’s getting harder and harder to form a coherent sentence.

“Is it alright if I go faster?” Shoto says softly, you hold his hand in reassurance, unable to respond properly as every intense emotion running inside of you makes you let out hitched and breathy moans instead.

Shoto pulls out halfway, then slams back inside of you, making a loud sticky sound.

The two of you were acting like animals in heat.

“A-ah! Shoto!” You mewl out, each of Shoto’s thrust hitting an undiscovered part of your insides. Spurred on by your voice, his pace further increases, until you’re both moving frantically. You gasp at his intensity, at the weight and heat of his body pinning you down.

“(Y/N)! I’m going to-”

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, and his fluffy tail briefly brushes against you. Shoto’s body tenses up as he prepares to unload inside of you.

Shoto’s body spasms- including his tail. Waves of pleasure flood over you as his semen shoots full-force into your depths.

The two of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute before he slowly lays himself next to you, his feline features slowly disappearing as you try to catch your breath.

“L-look they disappeared with one whoosh.” You say in between pants and giggles, Shoto covering the two of you with your bed duvet, chuckling along with you/

“Next time, please label things properly and tell me if you added any sort of ingredient that could increasingly highten my sex drive.” He says with an exasperated sigh, yet satisfaction plastered all over his face as he looks at you lovingly. “I love you (Y/N). Happy anniversary… nya~” He whispers the last few words, shooting you a wink.

Your eyes widen, your mouth forming into an O like that one Chris Pratt meme. “Y-you just said…”

“Let’s h-have a nap and just have some late dinner instead.” He shushes you by planting a kiss on your forehead.

You were about to protest, but as soon as Shoto shut his eyes, you didn’t bother doing so anymore.

You plant a kiss on his knuckles, snuggling closer to him. “I love you too Sho. Happy anniversary.”

#shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shoto todoroki smut #todoroki smut #shoto smut #bnha smut #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x y/n #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki x reader smut #shoto x reader smut #todoroki x reader smut

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charlotte-headcanons · 3 years

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Charlotte siblings' attitudes to marriage: Part 2 (Oven, Daifuku, Galette, Flampe, Opera)

Headcanon-heavy, NOT x reader! This is just our take on these characters. If you enjoy it, follow us for more. Feel free to request which siblings we should include in Part 3!

Oven is married, with five children, and takes his role of a husband and father very seriously. It doesn't matter that his marriage was arranged; he has the utmost respect for his wife and is completely loyal.

Even though as a pirate and minister he doesn't have lots of time he can devote to his family, the time he does spend with them is always meaningful. The children love him, and his wife would be lying if she said she didn't develop some feelings for him too. Himself, he first saw this marriage as a responsibility, but grew to like it over the course of time, and now he'd die protecting his family if necessary.

Just like Oven, Daifuku is married, but unlike him, he doesn't really give two shits about his arranged marriage. It was forced on him, fine, he had to accept the ceremony and have a few kids, fine, but that doesn't mean he's gonna allow it to change his life, hell no.

Essentially, he still lives like a bachelor and views the whole marriage deal as a pure formality. So of course he doesn't constrain himself with staying faithful, doesn't spend too much time with his wife, and doesn't even remember her birthday date, that's how little he cares. He'd much rather devote attention to his blood family and friends than a near-stranger he just had to wed; and can you really blame him?

Galette would like to get married one day, but she'd like to be able to choose who she wishes to spend her life with. Having observed some of her older siblings, she's scared of becoming stuck in an unhappy marriage, and she'd rather avoid a fate like this.

Unlike Lola, though, Galette doesn't feel like she has it in her to disobey her family and become ostracized for wanting the wrong person. Thus, ideally she'd like to marry someone who both she and her family like. Life isn't perfect though, and she knows this: thus, she is ready to marry whoever Mama tells her to, even if she dreams of real love deep down.

Flampe would love to marry someone in the future but she has Expectations™️. Her idea of marriage and of herself is just so idealized, hardly anyone could possibly make it through the dating stage and not 'disappoint her' effectively ruining the entire relationship. Flampe doesn't give second chances and she doesn't settle for anything less than perfect. Thus, surviving a relationship with her long enough to get to marriage would certainly be a feat few can accomplish.

If Big Mom wanted her to marry someone she dislikes, Flampe wouldn't just oblige, oh no. She likes her family, she likes Totto, but the moment she'd be forced to tie herself to someone uncool or unpopular (even after trying to argue her way out of it) would be the moment she'd start packing her bags. It's not beyond her to pull off a Lola, running away from a wedding, even if she knows the consequences of such a move.

Despite being way past the age when Big Mom tends to marry her children off, and not so useful to get a pass on staying single, Opera never got married. He was supposed to, of course, and he didn't oppose the orders he got; it's just that no prospective candidates found him desirable enough.

After three instances of various people running away from an arranged marriage with him, despite the risks, Big Mom just gave up, seeing Opera as a lost cause. He's painfully aware of this, and it doesn't help that he does wish for love. He's a good person at heart and after the initial awkwardness, he certainly wouldn't be a half bad husband, but his looks and shyness mean that he's usually not given a chance to let his personality shine. Sometimes, he regrets having agreed to getting a Devil Fruit and ponders if without it, someone would have chosen him already.

#one piece #charlotte galette #charlotte oven #charlotte daifuku #charlotte opera #charlotte flampe #headcanons #whole cake island

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

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a double shot for me (with a splash of you)

also known as a coffee shop au no one asked for, but i wanted. aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader.

word count: 8628

rating: teen, for lots and lots of coffee consumption, baked goods, and falling in love one cup at a time.

Penelope sees it first.

Ever since JJ left, cases fall on her more and more. Those pesky paper files that the FBI insists on keeping around. Dark manila folders embossed only to be thrown away. It’s a shame, but those are the ones she has to take up to Hotch’s office.

She makes the climb, moves to his door with purpose. Reaches out to knock, clutching one of her more muted pens in case Hotch needs one to sign. Not likely, but the last time she had one with a fuzzy pink thing on a spring, and the visual of Hotch signing one of their cases with that much... fluff made her eyes cross.

Anyway. She’s up and in, Hotch giving his permission, and the files in her arms get placed in his box.

“Just a couple of signatures,” she informs him.

“Are these finished consults?” he asks, and she fills him on what details she can. It’s while she’s filling him in, though, that he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips.

It’s a new mug. One that she’s never seen on his desk before. Definitely different, because the ones he usually chooses are the kind that the FBI keeps as standard issue, the ones that get stolen and restocked because they’re convenient and... just okay, as far as mugs goes. They hold coffee effectively enough, is what she’s saying.

But this is a mug. A kind of cute mug, with a logo on the front of some coffee shop. It’s white, too, almost a shock on the more somber mahogany of her boss’s desk.

“Garcia?”

She realizes then that she stopped talking. Hotch is staring up at her, mug still poised halfway up to his lips, and she blinks, mouth falling open a little.

“I’m - I’m sorry, sir. I was just admiring that mug you have. Is that place any good? It opened up pretty recently, right?”

He glances at it. Seems to notice it for the first time as well, and his face softens. That’s the only way Penelope can describe it, as if looking at the mug makes him think of something... good.

But when he talks, it’s like any other conversation. As if that little moment she spies doesn’t happen. Nods, face just on this side of neutral.

“Yeah, I like their coffee. Fair prices, too, even with the knowledge that a building full of FBI agents are here to overcharge.”

She chuckles, but it’s for more than the joke. It’s at the fact that Hotch seems that close to smiling himself, and she pulls back from his desk with a little grin. “All right, sir. Thank you.” Her head dips a little.

“Thank you,” he shoots back, and when she leaves, she thinks that maybe she’ll let that place be all his.

The first time Aaron-With-Two-A’s comes into your coffee shop (distinguishing him from Aron-With-One-A and Aahron-With-An-H), you’re pretty smitten with him. You can’t tell if it’s the fitted suit and tie, the jawline, or the small smile he gives you when he orders, but by the time you serve him with an extra bright smile that he kindly returns... well, you’re in love. He could be the love of your life. Especially when he drops a tip in the jar.

An exaggeration, of course. It’s not love.

Maybe.

Anyway, you see him walk out the door and at that point you know that you’ll never see him again. This isn’t the part of town that usually gets the suits, and there are shops closer to where they gather that he’ll probably use next. Your luck is shitty anyway, so anyone like that who brings you a little bit a joy would, of course, never return. You’re already a late bloomer, and known for your bad decisions, so while you’re very thankful for your job you know it’s not luck that landed you where you are.

But you suck it up, of course. You can’t afford to get distracted. You’re the only one working a shift in the afternoons, and that time is used for cleaning and second-guessing every decision you make, along with doing your best to make damn good coffee.

But he comes back. More than once. Get his same order, a very plain black coffee with a couple of sugars, and you hand it over across the bar each time, sometimes going out of your way to put it in his hands. Smiling, your handwriting the scrawl on the cup that spells out his name.

A-A-R-O-N.

He’s becomes a regular, and you feel comfortable calling him that. It isn’t every day he comes in, not even close. Sometimes he’s gone for three weeks at a time, but he always trails back in, bright and early for a hot cup. Soon, you’re adding smiley faces to the end of his name, and the first time you do it you can’t help but peek out behind the pastry case to watch him see it.

He smiles. You smile. It’s a win.

Slowly small talk develops. It’s weeks, pulling little tidbits from him each time you take his order. Basically, what happens is you ramble for too long, he smiles and responds, and the process repeats.

But he seems to enjoy himself, and you definitely are, and as long as the line isn’t held up, you don’t really mind.

Of course, the days aren’t all peaches and cream (though the peach galette you sell always tastes like it). One day, a slower Tuesday, you’re trying to hide the way your chest aches, after a particularly brutal phone call with your mother that brought tears to your eyes.

Why are you wasting your time on this – this coffee shop? she had asked. Mocked. You gave up a lot for that dream of yours, and you’re just scraping by –

And you’d tried to explain. You really had. What it meant to you, to start this on your own, to get away from your past, your bad decisions, your spouse. From what was holding you back. But she snapped, and she scolded, and as you closed your eyes and hung up there had been nothing you could do but gasp for air.

Her words overwhelm you behind the counter, and you close your eyes tight at the memory, not realizing that at the same time, the coffee cup you’re holding overflows.

The coffee scalds you. Because it’s fucking coffee. You let out a cry, dropping the cup all over the floor, grateful it’s only a cardboard one for to-go orders. It splashes your no-longer-clean jeans, and at that moment you’re done. You’re just done. Your hands are shaking, and burned, and you push to the sink in a gasped sob. Your hair falls in your eyes, gets shoved back, and once it falls forward again you reach up to pull at it overwhelmed.

Your name is called out, but you wave the hand that isn’t stinging, splashing water without meaning to when the faucet gets going. “I’m fine, just - just give a minute, I’ll get it right out.”

“Are you okay?”

It’s an innocent question. And you should be more put together, it’s a goddamn customer, but your already shitty day just peaks and you whirl around to snap before even processing who’s in front of you.

“Do I fucking look - oh. Oh, my god.”

It’s Aaron. With two As. The coffee you spilled? His. The voice. His? The look of concern, one that makes your cheeks flush with a red you haven’t felt in a long time? His.

Of course. The one time you yell at a customer, and it just happens to the one you have a raging crush on.

“I’m - I’m so s-sorry,” you stammer. “Like I said, it’ll be right out, I just...” You don’t even know how to recover, instead choosing to turn back to your hand, which luckily is not blistering. It’s just bright red, inflamed. The cold water over it helps, but you can still feel the undercurrent of the sting. However, you still have a job to do and you force yourself to pull way, moving to grab another to-go cup. “I’ll get you a fresh one, okay? Give me a minute.”

“Put your hand back under the faucet.” It’s not an order, but his voice carries the weight of one, and you blink a few times to stop the tears before moving back to the sink, whimpering as the cool once more rushes over your skin. “Do you need me to go get anything? Is there anyone in the back to help you?”

You can’t help your snort. It feels snotty with the tears that you’re just barely holding back. Why is he being so nice? You just make the coffee.

“No. It’s just me this morning. Just my luck, right?” The crushing loneliness of that statement floors you, and you find yourself staring at the running water to avoid his eyes.

The water is the only noise in the room, besides your occasional sniffle. After a moment, you force yourself to pull back from the water, eyes closing tightly as the pain ramps up again. And Aaron is still there, his eyes holding an intense kind of pity, and you realize his hand is reaching for yours.

He clears his throat as you raise a brow at the gesture. “I’m not a doctor, but I have a third-grader at home. Burns are nothing new to me.” You give him a weak smile (of course, he’s a father), and he takes your hand gently, looking over it with that classic intensity. He’s furrowing his brow at it for a while, and the whole time he’s just... holding your hand.

“Your professional opinion?” you ask in a shaky voice, and he hums, turning it over to look at your palm. He looks up at you again, and when he speaks it’s deadpan, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. I think we’ll have to cut it off.”

There’s a beat, and then you’re sputtering out a laugh before you can stop yourself. He smirks before letting you pull your hand back. The pure shock of the statement brings you back from the edge, and the tears in your eyes seem to vanish as you realize you’re giggling, a hectic kind of sound. He doesn’t seem to mind the horrific noises coming from you, though, because he’s still watching you, one hand sliding into his pocket as his face relaxes.

“You’ll be okay. It’ll heal on its own – just make sure if any blisters appear you don’t pop them.”

He gets a playful glare for his efforts, and you reach for a clean washcloth, soaking it in cold water and wrapping it around the affected hand.

“Any other advice?” you ask him, and his eyes glance toward the coffee on the floor.

“No. Fresh out, but. Let me help you clean up.”

You huff out another laugh. Was he serious? “And ruin your suit?” You gesture to his whole outfit. Hell, he’s got a tie on that screams expensive, shoes that surely are the cost of a full day’s profit. “Trust me. Coffee smell stays with you. And once it’s bad, it’s bad. I’ll get it, after I make you another coffee, one you can actually take with you.”

He doesn’t seem too convinced. For a moment, he looks almost like he’s going to ignore you, take off his jacket, and grab the mop. But no matter how much you would love to see that, you shake your head, and emphasize it again. “No. I’ll do the cleaning.”

Your stern tone gets him to lift his hands, in surrender. You smile, then, a real one, without much snot, and he starts moving towards the door.

“You’ll have a good day, all right?” He says it so… so confidently, so assuredly. And smoothly pulls out his usual two-dollar tip from his wallet, dropping it in the jar.

“You don’t want your coffee?” you call out, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. And then he’s leaving, and you’re trying to think of what to say. Something, anything, to thank him for his kindness.

“Wait!” you cry out. You must sound desperate, because he stops and when he turns back to you, you’re rummaging around behind the counter. You almost completely disappear for a moment before you’re popping back up, your prize in hand.

“Here.” The gift is thrust forward. “To say thank you. Really. You didn’t have to stay, and you did. And. I think my day will be better because of it.”

He takes it from you, turning it over in his hands.

“A coffee mug.”

Suddenly, the gesture feels stupid, and your face flushes as he keeps turning it over in his fingers. “Yeah, I - I would’ve given you a ticket or something, for a free coffee and pastry, but I only printed those for the week of the grand opening. I’m sorry, really, it’s dumb, I can take it back, and we can pretend this never happened -”

But when he looks up at you, you stop talking. The earth has stopped spinning, as far as you’re concerned. His eyes have wrinkles at the corners, because you suppose that’s what happens when he grins. You find yourself tracing them, unable to pull your gaze away. In this light, he looks brilliant. The shine of the early morning sun is dancing on his features, and you feel like an idiot for even thinking it but it’s all you can think.

“I can just… I owe you,” you finally say, and to that he shakes his head.

“No. This is – this is great.” And he means it, chuckling with it.

With a lift of the mug, he turns and goes out the door, leaving you a little agape as the world starts turning once again. And in that moment, the coffee smell is worth it, just so you can watch him disappear from view.

Rossi notices because he notices Aaron.

After all, the man’s life is… pretty routine. There are parts about the job that have him yanked all over the place, but the days that they’re at home, it’s methodical. A comfort in a way, knowing that some things never change.

At work before everyone else. Working the day away. Coming down for lunch (or not, depending what he (or Jess) managed to make at home for him and Jack in the evenings). Going back up, and working until everyone else leaves. He takes phone calls and meetings in his office, and every so often one of the team ventures up to interrupt, but. All in all, a pretty straightforward schedule most days of the week.

Dave doesn’t like to burn the midnight oil unless a book’s got him hooked, or get up too early unless there’s something in it for him, and so he’s always trailing in behind him, still before the others but at a time that’s sane.

Until one day. Aaron comes in a little later, later enough to catch the same elevator, and there’s a look on his face that’s a little… hurried.

There’s a cursory scan – no rumpled clothing, no identifying marks. And Aaron knows that he has eyes on him, because he ducks his head, not looking in his direction. Besides, Hotch isn’t exactly the type for one-night-stands, and so Dave rules it out with a nod and a press of the elevator button.

“Dave,” the unit chief acknowledges, and then steps off of the elevator once they arrive.

So. Something’s up.

Dave doesn’t confront him immediately, though. Just lingers, watches. Hotch knows that eyes are on him, but Rossi’s good enough that that doesn’t matter, especially when it happens again. Another elevator ride together,

“So,” he asks his friend, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s got you running late?”

There’s not an immediate answer. Hell, the guy almost looks chastened at it, like Rossi’s scolding him for coming in at 7:45 instead of 7:15. How dare he make it in only fifteen minutes before eight in the morning?

“There’s this… coffee shop I like to hit before work. Stumbled into it one morning, and…” Hotch murmurs. He pauses, and the numbers keep climbing.

“Yes?”

If anything, Hotch’s face seems to flame, working his jaw for a second as he considers telling Dave what he already figures. “The barista. Think they own it, too, and makes good coffee in the mornings.”

Rossi doesn’t say anything at first. Just chuckles, shaking his head a bit.

“Well. Have you gotten this owner’s number?”

The silence is very telling, and Rossi just laughs.

“Come on, Aaron. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Well, a rejection, for one,” Hotch replies with a look shot Dave’s way, but the older man just shakes his head again.

“Rejecting a handsome FBI agent who frequently pays the bills? Nah, I think you’ve got it,” he says, with a hand reaching to smack Aaron on the back. It’s that he leaves him with, along with another call over his shoulder.

“Y’know, once you get the number, you probably won’t have to spend so much on coffee!”

The days continue to pass by. Slowly, and surely, your little place seems to get some attention. More customers, more regulars. You manage to remember the names of your people most of the time, too, when the late nights keeping books and thinking of new bakery ideas don’t run away from you. And with those days, Aaron remains.

He still comes in the morning, at the asscrack of dawn. Of course, you don’t call it the asscrack of dawn in front of him, but often you’re still yawning when he comes in and asks for his order. And with it, since he’s so early, he stays to chat more and more. Sometimes, you see him glance at his watch, and excuse himself in a rush, and you can’t help but feel a little thrill at the thought that he just… likes talking to you that much.

There’s worry with it, too. What if he just feels so obligated to stick around? Are you forcing him to stay back longer than he needs to? But those fears are squashed by the way he always looks back to wave at you, lifting the cup of coffee you made him.

Of course, right after that he’s gone.

It’s like he vanishes. No sign of him in the mornings, and you feel a little bit of sorrow over the loss. But of course, immediately there’s a bit of embarrassment with that sorrow. You barely knew the guy, was he really worth a bit of mourning? But he truly just disappears, and for a moment your head comes up with crazy explanations as a way to cope without your early morning conversations, deal with the continued exhaustion that weighs on you as your business grows.

All hope is not lost, however, because it’s another late night into early morning balancing books when you see Aaron next.

It’s been a couple of weeks. You don’t exactly know what he does, but you know it’s something that requires the suit and tie, so you figure it’s important. Maybe a business trip, or something else that kept him away from your shop, but either way, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s back, and he gives you a little smile when you take his order, even when you can only yawn your way through it. The conversations even flow, like they did before, another source of incredible joy.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, on the tail end of yet another jaw-popping yawn. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Your hands lift above your head in a stretch, and his gaze drops to the tip jar where he deposits his normal amount: two dollar bills.

“We all have those mornings,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s not a problem.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have a morning like this,” you tease. Your hands move easily, even in your exhaustion, making his usual order with a flourish. Two sugars, in a little to-go cup, coffee over the top to make sure it’s mixed in. “What’s your secret? Don’t tell me you’re an energy drink fanatic. I’d feel like you were going behind my back.”

“No, no. Just your coffee,” he returns, and it’s easy. Comes out of him without any thought. If you blush, you hope he doesn’t notice, because your face is turned to his cup to make sure it doesn’t overflow.

“You’re too kind.” Lid on top, secured tightly, and when you turn back to him and hand it over, he doesn’t turn away. His comment makes you feel bold, too, so the name you write on it has a winky-face instead of a smiley-face. “Don’t stay away too long, my good days always come when you’re my first customer,” you add, and something seems to… shift.

Because Aaron doesn’t turn away. Smiles at you, at the coffee cup, and then glances back behind him. There’s no one else in the shop, there never is this early – it becomes known around the city as a good place to get a quick bite later in the day, set up and do some studying for a while since the black cups of coffee can be bottomless. But he checks anyway and then passes his coffee cup from one to the other, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little card.

“I was… politely encouraged by a coworker to take the leap,” he admits, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re offered the little white cardstock, and when you look at it, you see his full name. It feels like a momentous occasion, Aaron-with-two-As shifting to Aaron Hotchner. “And if you’re willing, I would love to go on a date with you. Get to know you more.”

Then there’s a pause, and there’s a cloud of… something. You watch it come and go, and the whole time you just offer the same smile, a smile that seems to rouse him of whatever he’s thinking about.

“But, if you don’t want to, I understand. My work life is pretty hectic, as I’m sure you can guess, and I know you know I have a son –“

“I would love to.”

It’s the easiest thing to say, because you feel it with every fiber of your being. Because Aaron Hotchner seems like a really sweet guy, who works in Quantico and still comes by your coffee shop every morning he can.

“Really, Aaron. I would. As you can guess, my schedule’s pretty routine, but I do close as of right now, so, our dinners might have to be later rather than earlier –“

“Dinners?” he says it with a small smile, and you flush at the slip.

“I didn’t mean to… assume anything, but. Whatever we get a chance to do, or keep doing, I would love to. Just. Give me a second.”

You don’t wait any longer. Your fingers move to your phone, input his number, and immediately send him a text, with your name. When his phone buzzes, you smirk.

“Now you have mine, too. Easy as pie.”

When he leaves, that day, it feels like something special. You don’t know what, just yet, but it feels new, and bright, and good.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I hope we get to do at least a couple of dinners.

Emily notices next.

It’s a later night. The whole team has their nose buried in something, whether it be a consult or a report or, God forbid, something for Strauss. There’s work to be done, and unfortunately the jet life is only a small part of it.

She’s working on a report that particular evening. This case ended a few days ago, but since shots were fired it’s taken longer to sort through. Positioning, discharge time, how many shots, where, at who, with who. A nightmare, but incredibly necessary, and she’s done with it soon enough.

Her coat mocks her as she rises to her feet. So close to picking it up, dressing, and heading out the door. But she mentally promises to be right back, that home is just a little visit to Hotch’s office away.

She climbs the steps, and is glad to see the door is cracked open, that warm lamplight is filtering out from the open blinds. It means that when she knocks, he’ll let her in.

A couple taps of her knuckles. She waits a beat, two. No response.

Huh.

Another tap. Tries to peek in, but the door is just open enough that she can only glance in with one eye. She’s not usually one to snoop without the pushing from Derek or Penelope, but her eyes are tired and she’s ready for a night in with Sergio.

Is he... is he on his phone?

His cell phone?

And smiling?

Her eyes widen a bit, and she pulls back immediately. At this point in the night, Hotch is nothing but business. Tired, like all the rest, and if he’s bent over anything, it’s a file he needs to sign off on. Maybe Jack. Maybe he got a picture from Jess…

But he’s... distracted. And she knows Hotch’s smile when he’s looking at Jack, and what she had seen is not that.

She knocks again. A lot louder, and when he responds, it’s quick. But not quick enough. There’s a beat, and she narrows her eyes.

“Come in.”

She pushes into the room, file in both hands. Immediately her eyes drop to his desk, but his cell is gone. She looks up at him, and he’s looking at her, like nothing’s the matter, like he wasn’t just smiling at his phone –

“Prentiss?” he asks. Brows furrowed at her, their permanent state.

She’s brought back to reality. Because that’s what this is, reality. He was probably just... looking at a picture, or a video, or… something. “Right. Sorry. Just finished up my report for the Douglass case. Wanted to drop it off before I headed out.”

“I’ll sign off on it tonight,” he tells her, and he bends over an open file on his desk. Like nothing ever happened. “Thank you, agent.”

She thinks on that, jogging down to her desk. Glances behind her at the shine of the light from his office. Pulls her coat on, flicks her hair over the collar.

Huh.

Getting to know Aaron Hotchner is a joy.

It’s a little complicated, finding a date that works for the both of you. Not because of anything other than clashing schedules, and it’s a good learning experience to realize that Aaron Hotchner is always on call. But there are points when he’s home, and free, and you finally are churning enough profit for someone else to close in the evenings, so the nights are what work the best.

And dinner is… great. It’s fantastic, really, and you get to know Aaron Hotchner as that, not just Aaron with the great smile and lines at the corner of the eyes. Well, he definitely still has the great smile, but now you know the whole person.

He tells you about his job, what it means to him, and it feels like you’re truly getting to know him. You can tell he’s passionate about what he does, helping people, and you find yourself enthralled by the way he speaks about his position, his team.

“Sometimes it hurts, knowing what we’re leaving behind when we fly back,” he tells you. “But. I also know there isn’t any other group of people I could this with. None of us are perfect, but when we’re together I know we can get the job done.”

Aaron doesn’t get animated, exactly. His passion is a quiet one, simmering deep within him, right where his heart is. He doesn’t talk with his hands, gesticulate or raise his voice. No, he talks with his eyes. In the way he locks gazes with you, looks up at you from the meal, in the way they crinkle with his little smiles and get warm when he mentions his son.

You’re captivated.

And he gets to know you, too, a little. A lot, really, and you feel like you’re rambling, but you’ve got his full attention, a little smile behind his clasped hands as he listens to you wax poetic about the inherent romanticism of owning your own café.

Well. Not really, but it feels like it comes pretty close to that lecture (a different lecture, for a different time).

After all, it’s your place. It’s a place for the college kids in the mornings and the evenings who suck down your cold brew incessantly. It’s a place for the workers at after sunrise, who just want a quick treat before sitting down and doing real jobs. For the curious in the afternoons, who run their fingers over your bookshelves and sit down for a place to think. It’s a place for the nerdy, and the lazy, and the studious, and the dreamers. It’s yours, and it’s kind of romantic.

“I know it’s not a lot of people’s dreams, to open a café. It’s… childish, as my mother would say,” you tell him. “But it’s more than just a shop to me. It’s owning a business, running something on my own, creating new things for people to try. It’s perfecting my bakes, and now, teaching others to. Coming up with recipes is one of my favorite things, even more than the latte flavor of the month. Giving people a place to come and be comfortable, y’know?”

You’re rambling again, and you find yourself hiding behind a sip of your wine, but he’s nodding. Like he gets it.

“I don’t think it’s childish at all,” he tells you, in a tone that makes your heart swell. “A dream is a dream, isn’t it? We all have them.”

And maybe you’re putting a lot on Aaron Hotchner, but it’s nice to get to know someone who understands, even just a little.

One date turns into two, and then three. They’re spread out, over a couple of weeks, the two of you stealing a few hours when you can. It’s the dating life of two very busy people, but neither of you mind. Each pairing of dinner and drinks is full of life and laughter and a little bit of something else.

You feel so guilty when the next time you’re meant to spend time together, another late evening, has to get pushed back. Aaron had warned you that the first cancellation would probably come from him, but it’s you texting at 5:30, letting him know that your usual closer bailed because of the flu.

It’s not a problem for me to take over, but it means that I’m going to be here until 10:00 or 10:30 cleaning up and prepping the dough for tomorrow morning. :(, you say, and add the frowny face for effect. You prefer them over emojis, just because you can’t draw emojis on coffee cups.

Frowny faces are pretty serious, he quips, but your little chuckle is weak when you read it in between orders.

I’m so, so sorry, I know it’s last minute.

Don’t worry, he texts back, quick as can be. I promise I understand. We’ll just do next week.

You’re sure? I can try and find someone to cover for an hour, at 7:30 or so.

Don’t put that stress on yourself. Next week, and it’ll be extra special to make up for it.

So that’s that. Your heart breaks a little knowing you won’t see him, but his words make you feel a little less guilty. Only marginally, really, but you have other things to focus on, like the onslaught of cleaning that comes after the doors are locked.

At 9:30, you’re sending the last stragglers away, which gets you a late start to cleaning up. Your stomach is rumbling, too, because dinner at your home didn’t end up happening.

But at 10:00, when all seems lost, and you’re realizing that 10:30 is going to be more like 11:00, Aaron’s there.

At first you don’t even realize it’s him. You’re so focused on scrubbing and cleaning the espresso machine that the person standing outside isn’t even a thought. But then your phone buzzes, and when you look over, it’s him, with a bag of something that looks like food.

You going to leave me out in the cold?

You snort at the text, shaking your head, lifting your hands and showing the suds to him through the glass. “Two minutes,” you mouth over, and he smiles at that. At you.

You’re hurrying to wash and dry your hands on the towel at your waist, and when you make your way to the door he hasn’t stopped smiling at you. The door unlocks with a clank, and when you pull it open the cold air rushes in, along with Aaron Hotchner. Of course, it’s hard to acknowledge him, when you can smell what he brought you.

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be making it up to you?” you remind him, but there’s something weak in your voice when you feel him pull you into a hug. With it, you feel his lips gently press against your hair.

It’s exactly what you needed. A break, some food, and him. And even though it’s only for a short moment, fifteen minutes while you scarf down what he’s brought you, knowing he was there is what pushes you through the end of the night.

And the fact that Aaron sticks around to stack the chairs, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up?

It helps a little bit, too.

Derek’s embarrassed, but he’s the last to catch on. And only because it’s right in his face.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly looking. There were other things to worry about, bigger fish to fry, and Hotch’s love life wasn’t exactly top of the list. But Emily mentions the possibility, and then Garcia, and then even Rossi makes a comment that gets him a dirty look from the boss.

Coming together to gossip about Hotch’s love life is at the very least entertaining and watching the team watch their boss becomes Derek’s pastime. Emily swears that he’s always texting someone with a grin on his face, and Garcia informs them of Hotch’s newest mug and his eyes as he did so (yeah, his eyes). Rossi doesn’t play along as much as the others would prefer, but he has a glint in his gaze when they bring it up.

Derek even does his best to spy, peek around corners when he knows Hotch is close, but even with his best efforts, he comes up empty-handed. For a minute, he almost thinks the team is pulling a prank on him, but his girl insists that something’s up.

“Baby, the look on his face. I’ve never seen such a wistful look at an innocuous cup of coffee before.” The two of them are lingering in her office after a long day, his offer of a ride home keeping him behind while she finishes something on her screens.

His snort comes with a shake of his head. “I’d believe it was indigestion at this point, over… what? A fling?”

“It’s Hotch,” Garcia laughs. She reaches up, poking Derek in that arm. “You really think he’s the type of have a fling? No. Whoever it is, they matter, and matter enough that he has not let that mug come off of his desk. He uses it every day, Derek. Every. Day.”

Point taken, but Derek is still skeptical. It’s a coffee mug.

He takes the bait, though. He watches and waits. Observes. But Hotch is often a door that stays closed.

Until everything seems to go to shit one day and he has to open up.

It’s a really bad case, and the jet is a last-minute decision. The whole team thinks they’re going home, after just landing back, and end up with thirty minutes to pack for a plane back to Nashville. Sure, Derek understands, but he has plans he has to cancel, too (plans that Emily teases him relentlessly about once it all calms down). Overall, not the best way to end the week.

Everyone goes to make their respective phone calls, or at least, those that need to. But before Derek can put his phone up to his ear, moving to the conference room for some privacy, he hears him.

Hotch.

He’s just on the other side, and talking softly, but the sudden shift means not much else is happening besides last-minute packing. So Derek hears, and he eavesdrops.

And he listens.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you. I know that there wasn’t any warning –“ Hotch immediately starts, but whoever is on the other end must him off. He follows it up with the slightest hum and it’s… warm. It makes Derek’s eyebrow lift, but he keeps his distance, tries to glance around the corner.

Hotch is sitting, leaning on the edge of the round table. His legs are crossed, and his face is tilted downward. He looks pained, with the furrow in his brow, but the person on the other end seems to be talking sense. After all, Hotch lifts his hand and wipes, and the furrow is gone, and he’s smiling again.

“I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

There’s some more words from the person on the other end of the line. Hotch smiles, a small private thing and Derek sees, in that moment, what Penelope means. About it being… different. And in that moment, Hotch is thrown back to Haley, and it looked like for his boss to get to talk to her.

There’s an echo of that here.

“I owe you, really. Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can… Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then… Perfect. Okay. Have a good night, yeah?”

Derek’s gone, before Hotch finishes his conversation. His hand is holding his phone up to his ear, walking down towards the stairs. But there’s no one on the other end, and all he can think about is how Penelope is going to say how much she told him so.

Three dates turn into ten. There are dinners and lunches and time stolen when the two of you can. There’s coffee in the mornings and decaf in the evenings. He teases you for it, your downright addiction, but a couple of kisses that taste like French vanilla follow it.

It’s sweet. And you like the way he tastes even without the coffee on his lips.

However, you know it’s more than just sweet dates. There’s layers to Aaron Hotchner, ones that get peeled back alongside yours. It’s opening up to each other, on walks after dinner. Those are good, the two of you, side-by-side, because it’s an even playing field. No bar between the two of you, no coffee shop, no badge. Just. You both.

You tell him about home, and what it meant to leave. He’s seen the impact of your mother, the way she winds you up and leave you hanging, but you tell him about the tan line on your ring finger. The way you were left broken and nowhere to go but away to follow a dream, because the dream was the only lifeline you had left. What else could you do, with a hobby and a throwaway degree in business admin?

He tells you about Haley. About her laugh, about her smile. About the way they would poke and prod and teach each other until the two of them were rolling on the floor. You see how much he loved her, how much he loves her still. And when he talks about Jack, well, there’s nothing that can stop him from absolutely gushing, and you don’t want him to. Seeing this just affirms that Jack’s the luckiest kid in the world to have a father that cares about him so much.

There are layers, to each of you. But like a good chocolate-filled croissant, the insides are worth it.

And you get to meet Jack, and Jess. Finally, it feels like, after hearing so much about each of them. The four of you end up going to the zoo, on a weekend, an outing with Aunt Jess and Dad’s new friend, and by the end of it you’re smitten with all of them. Because Jack gets a lot from his father. A fierce protectiveness, a kind heart, incredible perception, and a love of chocolate ice cream.

“Do you like chocolate?” he asks you, suddenly, as the four of you eat your scoops from the vendor. Hotch and Jess are chatting, so they don’t hear the question.

“I like chocolate a lot,” you tell him. “What about you?”

He seems to ponder it a second, before shrugging, taking a long lick of his cone. “It’s all right. Second favorite to mint chip, but above cookie dough.”

You laugh a little, seeing the logic. “I see. I think if you switch cookie dough and mint chip, we’re on the same page there, buddy.”

He nods. “What about my dad? Where does he go?”

It’s a jump you can’t connect, and you raise a brow at him, stopping in your tracks and Jack doing the same.

“On the list. Of things you like. Where’s Dad go?”

“Oh.” Your cheeks are flushing, and you realize that Jess and Aaron have stopped their conversation, are watching the two of you. But there’s only one true answer, and you smile at him. “Well, he’s at the top of the list, Jack. I really like your dad, and… I hope I can keep spending time with the two of you. And Aunt Jess, of course.”

There’s a beat. Jack takes a long lick of his cone, getting some on his nose, and then shrugs again, a little bashful as he looks at you again.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. I like talking to you. And Aunt Jess doesn’t like chocolate, so I like that you’re on my team.”

You try to ignore the warmth that immediately floods you, especially when you look back behind you and Aaron is watching, his head ducked behind his cone so you can only see the edges of his smile. “I like being on your team, too,” you agree, leaning forward to offer a napkin, and Jess just chuckles, the four of you continuing on your merry way.

Things push forward. And some days are harder than others.

It’s complicated, after all. The more you learn about Aaron’s job, the more you realize how much he gives to it. And some of those days leave him worn down. You do your best to support him, to support all of them. And in return, they do the same for you.

The call comes in the middle of the day, and when you see it’s from Aaron you immediately smile. Your hands are elbow deep in a yeasted dough you’re kneading for fresh cinnamon rolls, but you’re able to lean down and answer it with your nose.

“Just a second, sweetheart.” You pull your hands from the mess, move to lift your phone to your shoulder and trap it with your ear. You feel a crick in your neck immediately, but it’s worth it. “Hey, sorry. I’m at the shop. Didn’t want to put you on speaker.”

“It’s okay,” he returns, and he sounds tired. Even in two words, it seems like he has to take a breath, to steady himself. “How’s the day going?”

You shrug, humming as you continue to work the ball of dough under your knuckles. “It’s all right. Ashley is running the register and Ben’s helping her work the front. They’re doing a good job. Makes it easy to focus on the good stuff.”

Aaron chuckles, just a little. It’s reserved. “You should bring some samples home to Jack, then. He loves taste-testing for you.”

There’s a pause, both in your hands and your response.

“Just Jack, then.”

His breath comes out again. Long and low. “Yeah. The case… we thought we had it solved, and then. Something came up. We’re flying back again, waiting for the jet to refuel.”

You know what that means. Even if he doesn’t often tell you, directly, outright, you know that it means another body. Another life lost. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I had already called Jess, told her I’d be picking up Jack. Would you mind going to get him? I don’t want to jerk her around.”

“Of course.” It’s immediate, and you glance at your watch, blowing off remnants of flour. “He gets out at 4:00?”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry to do this to you, I know there wasn’t any warning –“

You click your tongue. “It’s not a problem. You know that. Besides, this dough rests overnight, and I can do some experimenting using your incredible oven, hmm?”

Aaron just lets out a little chuckle. There seems to be some relief there, but you can’t tell right away. “I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

You nod, giving your neck a little stretch as you lift your shoulder to carry the load of the phone. “I know. It’s hard for him, and for you. But it’ll work out, okay? Just promise me you’ll be safe, for all of us.”

“I owe you, really,” he tells you. “Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can…”

“She doesn’t need to rush. We’ve got it.”

And with that, you know it’s a load off of his mind. One you can take from him. “Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then…”

“I’ll make sure he’s available,” you reassure him, and his little sigh is… just what you needed to hear. To know that his head will be where it needs to be when he flies.

“Perfect. Okay. Have a good day, yeah?”

“I will. I love you.”

It comes out. Automatically. Your hands stop working again, and you feel color on your cheeks. Aaron doesn’t say anything either, and the two of you seem to sit in a kind of dangerous limbo.

But then he just chuckles. A sound on the receiver, like he’s standing to his feet. “I love you, too.”

“Be safe.”

It’s a gentle farewell, and you can’t help but stare at your phone as it resumes its place on the countertop, staring at the screensaver you have. The two of you, and Jack, looking up at the camera.

It works. It’s complicated, and comes from nowhere, but it works. The three of you, working together to build something special. You’ll never replace Haley, but you don’t to. It’s new, and brilliant, and happy, and you find that you have another dream taking shape, one that has the Hotchners front and center.

(And Reid? Well.

Spencer’s not unaware. Spencer actually puts all of the pieces together before almost anyone else, including your identity.

“I think you’ll find that I’m what you would call perceptive. Very perceptive.”

That’s what he says to Derek, at least, when he asks him how he already knew who the mystery date was. Dave offers Hotch a plus-one to a night over at the Rossi mansion for the team and their significant others, and Hotch actually takes him up on it. That’s when they meet you, for the first time, but Reid’s the only one who doesn’t seem to be surprised who walks through the door.

But no one else has been to the coffee shop that’s on the mug, or has seen the person that Hotch has been texting and calling, and… well.

Spencer has had the pleasure of doing both all in one morning. Because next to the coffee shop you work at is a bookstore specializing in rare editions, and one day Spencer decides to go before work.

He adds a little eyebrow wiggle to his words for Derek’s sake, too, which gets him punched in the shoulder.

It’s worth it.)

“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

It’s a little firm, especially since you now know that Aaron’s drives have been fifteen minutes longer to stop at your place. The direct route to the FBI Headquarters breezes right by you, and getting off and stopping is definitely out of the way.

But he doesn’t care. And truly you don’t, when it’s him and you realize that the bag he has contains one warm sausage roll, and a glazed donut, fresh from the shop by his place. that melts when you bite into it. “I know you didn’t eat anything, and you hate trying to snack on the stuff you have yet to sell in the morning,” he says. Shrugging, as if it’s that simple, because to him, it is. “And I wanted to.”

“Did you get something for yourself, too?” you ask him.

“I wasn’t the one who had to leave in a hurry, was I?” he teases. His eyes are deep and dark, and you get caught in them when you catch his meaning.

Your face turns a crimson that he smirks at, leans forward to make it brighter with a kiss on your cheek. “Well, I wasn’t the one who was insisting on some last minute… affection,” you shoot back, but all that elicits is a low chuckle from him, all bass and gravel. “Besides, Mr. Profiler – question with a question. You didn’t eat, did you?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to lean against the countertop you’re sitting on, watching as you pull out the two treats and placing them on some napkins you have right at the front. But his non-answer is definitely a ‘no,’ and you give him a look.

“One day I’m going to teach you to take care of yourself as well as you take care of others, okay? Here. We’ll split ‘em.”

You snag a plastic knife, and get to work, and soon there are two perfectly portioned plates of pastry in front of the two of you. It’s early enough that customers aren’t exactly a problem, and so you don’t feel guilty sitting on the counter when you know you’ll wipe it down, or leaning down to kiss some glaze off of his lips since there’s no one to see or an order to distract you from.

Of course, neither of you notice the eyes that happen to glance in the window. Not when Hotch is standing between your legs, facing away from the glass, and not when you pull back just to look into his eyes, and in the end it doesn’t matter that a tall and lanky fellow profiler managed to sneak a peek.

Because that’s when you start to feel that your luck has really changed. The early morning before the workday, when the world just starts to come alive. There, in your shop, before the sign has even been flipped to open.

And there, in your coffee shop, as you sit on the counter, you realize that Aaron-with-two-As, standing between your legs, could possibly be the love of your life after all.

tag list: @emilyxprentiss // @genevievedarcygranger // @quillvine // @falcon-arrows // @afuckingshituniverse // @sercyan // @sparklingkeylimepie // @kianagilder-blog // @alexxcorona113 // @mandyandy22 // @thedeaddrop // @angelsbabey // @lolychu // @icyprincess // @gabbygabbie // @cevanswhre // @roses-and-grasses // @mayaaaa // @baadmaxx // @ssaic-jareau // @mooneylupinblack // @rachelxwayne // @greenie128 // @dilaudidwinchester // @stylesboy // @grandpascurtains // @softbibxtch // @winterscaptain // @hurricanejjareau

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #gender neutral reader #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #fluff #coffee shop au

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 11 - It’s a TRAP!

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Extra Note: this is really my attempt in writing a big case, so shout out to the awesome @crikeygatormate, @alisakagi and @elisanice for their suggestions :) @marydragneell - here is the latest update

It's a TRAP!

…

[It is proposed that poltergeists are actually the emotions of troubled individuals – built up during times of stress. This theory, known as Spontaneous Recurring Psychokinesis suggests that this built-up stress then unconsciously projects outwards in the form of mental energy, which effects the physical environment and produces the phenomena attributed to poltergeists.] … …

The next day, you head to Wyndon Police Station to meet Graves.

You enter the busy establishment, glancing around. Inside, various policemen and women are seated at desks, busily serving people. You tell reception you’re here to see the Chief Inspector and they let you enter and you pass a young male officer of average height standing near the vending machine with a Grapploct, Growlithe and a Herdier in police hats and corresponding uniforms. He glances at you with a grin, chewing on a Lumiose Galette.

"Back again, kooky girl?" he says with a thick brogue, “Heard you solved the Giant’s Seat case. What kinda weird hoodoo did you do this time?”

You ignore him, heading to the Chief Inspector’s office and rap lightly on the door with your knuckles.

“Come in,” says a gruff and stern voice, and you subsequently enter the room.

Manectric sleeps in his basket near the coat stand whilst Arcanine sits in another corner, biting on a chew toy, and a disgruntled-looking Graves sits at his desk, going through some files. He swerves his eyes up to you when you step in and then returns to rifle through the papers before settling them down.

Graves' office is very bland but messy and as Chief Inspector, he is neck-deep with all sorts of cases so you are quite thankful he has made time for you this afternoon. You take the black leather seat opposite him and look at his desk, glancing at the Newton’s Cradle beside a small berry planter where all the leaves are dead and the soil is dried up. There is also a shiny gold plaque with his name and job title on it which thoroughly reminds you again of the authority he holds here.

He scans your face briefly before he says, “You okay, kid?” His mouth keeps moving as you nod in response. He must be chewing gum. “Did you bring it?”

“Yeah,” you delve a hand into your bag and lift out the Dusk ball with Froslass inside; you look at her capsule in your hands before hesitantly placing it on the desk. You are parting ways with her, and you wished you had more time to study and keep her. “...Promise me she won’t get hurt.”

Graves sighs as he takes the capsule and swivels round in his seat, dragging it over to a metal cabinet and pulling out one of the drawers in the middle, dropping it inside. “You know I can’t. There are rules for pokemon that kill, it's out of my jurisdiction.”

“Tell them it’s not her fault,” you protest and he slams the drawer shut, causing you to wince at the loud noise.

“We are not going to debate about this,” Graves grunts as he returns to his desk, the wheels rolling loudly, “You know the drill; the top’s asking for an explanation for the official report. I’m gonna say Leon got taken by a Froslass, you were in the vicinity and since you’re buddies with Leon, you and Charizard followed his trail, leading you to the den. That sound ‘bout right?”

“Yeah.”

Graves nods, picks up his pen and begins signing the forms one by one. “You are aware that you’re not going to get any credit for this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want any credit.”

With eyebrows raised, Graves then says, “Magnolia gave me an earful the other day. And I should’ve known better too; I shouldn’t have given you that information. She doesn’t want you to work on these cases anymore and neither do I. And stop talking to that homeless guy.”

“That homeless guy is my mentor.”

“That homeless guy is an ex-convict who was charged with the murder of his wife and kid.”

“He didn’t kill anyone, a demon possessed-”

With that, Graves groans audibly with frustration, rubbing his temples, “Arceus, enough with this mumbo jumbo supernatural talk about ghosts and demons, you’re giving me a helluva headache.”

“You’re the one who let me help out with this case.”

“I know, and I bloody well regret it now. What was I thinking? Things are different, you could’ve died back there - both you and Leon, and then I’d have ten dead bodies on my hands, not eight. I’m serious. Just promise me you ain’t gonna do this anymore. Nobody asked you to and nobody expects you to. You’re just a kid. You should be doing the gym challenge or doing something young people are doing these days. Like doing makeup tutorial videos and posting them online. Anything but this.”

“But-"

He interrupts you hastily. “You ain’t one of us so stop acting like one of us. Stop pretending. You ain’t some private investigator and you ain’t some homicide detective. You don’t have the shiny badge, the gun or the right qualifications. If you really wanted to, you’d do it officially, sign up and take some exams or something. You'd get paid a hell lot more too.”

“Graves, I know what I’m doing and I know what I’m getting myself into. I don’t want to join the force and I don’t need to. ”

“Don’t you get it? One day you’re gonna end up dead. The next body we find is gonna be yours and I don’t want that.”

You sit in your seat with a frown, crossing your arms, “If you believed me those years ago, you and I won’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, I’m your goddamn godfather,” Graves barks, his thick brows knitting tightly, his annoyed gaze pinned on your weary form.

“If you had just listened to me all those years ago when I came to the police station then my mum and dad-“

“Goddamnit! How many times do I have to tell you? They’re dead!” he snaps at you, slamming his fist on the table and the papers fly and his pokemon look up.

Upon realization of his harsh tone and his acute frown, he stops, his expression clearing up and dissolving into a remorseful one. Graves plops backwards in his seat with an agitated sigh, fists loosening and his face becoming flushed as he sweeps a large palm through his messy hair before he emits an exhausted groan.

“Look, kid, I…I’m sorry, I ain’t good at these things…and I-I didn’t mean…you’re a good kid, I know you mean well but…this is dangerous, you know?”

“….They’re not dead,” you say quietly before you get up from your seat and head to the door.

As Graves lets out a helpless, exasperated sigh in response, your mind is hazy, filled with unspoken rage and before you know it, you have left Wyndon Police Station.

You’re in a foul mood yet you still have a meeting with Rose in an hour. Taking deep breaths, you head to Wyndon Café to buy an extra large coffee and attempt to cool off by sitting at the fountain and drowning yourself with copious amounts of caffeine.

It’s not often you have an argument with Graves but when you do, it’s usually about the questionable existence of your family.

Your wristwatch blips, indicating that it’s almost the time of the meeting so you quickly finish the rest of your drink and head to the Rose of the Rondelands, the glamorous five-star hotel to the left of Wyndon Stadium.

“This better be worth my time,” you grunt under your breath as you tiredly scrub your face with your hand.

You wonder what this meeting would encompass when you speak to reception and are directed to the tea lounge. Leon has said something to Rose about you. Couldn’t this have been done over email? Your mood improves after you're seated down on one of the plush, cosy red settees whilst being served an array of fancy tea and scones by the well-dressed waiting staff. A pianist plays the Wyndon City theme in an eloquent and tranquil pace whilst regular customers chat over their fancy three-tiered cake trays. The ambience is disturbed as footsteps approach you and you look up.

It’s Chairman Rose and Oleana.

“Good afternoon,” says Rose, who promptly looks at you from head to toe. He’s assessing you already, masquerading whatever opinion he’s already formed in his mind about you with a light smile on his face. He holds his hand out and you stand up and firmly shake hands, “Thank you for coming.”

You have only seen Rose on TV or when he’s in his civilian disguise so seeing him in person and so close is quite the surreal experience. He's shorter than you thought. His assistant is tall and beautiful, and commands an equally empowering presence with her slender frame, complete with a disciplined quietness you haven’t seen elsewhere. In fact, she seems almost…robotic.

They seat themselves down on the couch opposite yours after the formalities are over; Oleana has a designer briefcase with her, which she nestles behind her back. A waiter arrives shortly with a tray carrying a wine glass which he settles in front of Rose on the low coffee table.

Chairman Rose thanks him, picks up the glass and the meeting starts, “Leon’s told me so much about you, I had to meet you myself. First of all, I want to thank you for everything you have done.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” you reply, as Rose takes a sip whilst Oleana sits rigidly in her seat whilst keeping her monotone gaze pinned on your form. Her lips are tightly pursed together, so tiny, that they look like red dots on her face; she resembles those porcelain dolls.

“The work that you do has come to my attention, so I’ve asked you to meet me here today. I’d like to hear more about your experiences. I’m fully aware that you study ghost type pokemon and you deal with the paranormal.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” you reply, and you proceed to tell him briefly about yourself and what you do.

Rose nods as he listens, seemingly pleased with everything you’re saying, and his smile widens, “Wonderful, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear for I have a request. I’m about to open a brand new art gallery soon. The grand unveiling was delayed as it’s come to my attention that it may be ‘haunted’. The staff complain incessantly of hearing odd noises and seeing objects moving at night…I’d like you to investigate. Ghost or not, I want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."

This sounds right up your alley so you nod, “Of course.”

“Thank you, you will be rewarded handsomely. Oleana will handle this initial consulting fee, your remuneration and paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Yes, we’ll need you to sign some papers.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Take all the time you need and you’re welcome to bring along any assistants as long as they sign the papers too.”

“No problem,” you reply, “I should be able to get it done in one night. When would you like me to start?”

“Today, if possible. I can’t afford to delay the deadline any further.”

“Understood.”

Rose smiles widely and you continue to engage in small talk such as The Pokemon League, the Giant's Seat Incidence, Leon, Macro Cosmos, before Rose checks his silver, expensive wristwatch for the current time. “I have another meeting at half four so I’ll take you to the gallery right now. Unfortunately I won’t be able to show you around for long."

“That’s fine,” you say and with a plan in mind, Rose and Oleana rise from their seats, gesturing and allowing you to exit first. You’re somewhat nervous and just before you leave the hotel, Oleana fishes out a white tracksuit, cap and sunglasses from the briefcase which Rose puts on quickly.

She nods after he thanks her but remains silent as Rose treks outside in his half-civilian disguise with you beside him. Regardless, the Chairman takes you around the back of the hotel that leads to a dirty and smelly alleyway which consists of a linear path straight ahead that connects to various buildings on the same street. There are a few smokers lurking outside but they don’t pay attention to you.

“This is the quickest route. Please excuse the smell,” Rose says with a chuckle; you’re stunned a man of his calibre is happy to walk through this trashy street in his expensive shoes.

The walk to the art gallery is relatively quick; it’s a few blocks from the hotel and once you have arrived at the steel door of a building that resembles the hotel, with the same red-brick exterior, Oleana takes over, fishes for the key in the briefcase and proceeds to unlock the huge door which opens with a low creak.

A long and narrow corridor with linoleum flooring lies ahead. It's a fire exit, you realise. Your group enters and Rose abandons his disguise and sweeps his fingers through his hair. “This way.”

He leads you through the corridor that splits off to another branching corridor that leads to various staffrooms and the basement, but Rose leads you directly up the stairs and finally, pushes another set of doors and you appear at the visitor’s hall which is a large and spacious, brightly-lit room. The windows are massive and the walls stretch high above your heads. It resembles the typical museum format and layout with many long and huge posters with Pikachus and pictures of legendary Pokemon outlining the various exhibits and a giant plastic Wailord hanging from the ceiling.

“Wow, this is amazing,” you say as you gawk at the Wailored display and Rose chuckles. The art gallery is beautiful...how could it be haunted?

“Thank you,” he says, and your group make their way towards the direction of the visitor’s desk where you see a member of staff manning the desk alongside a familiar figure who glances over at your direction.

You’re stunned to see that this familiar person is none other than Leon; you were getting used to seeing him in casual wear, in a thick woolly jumper or his black sweats. Donned in the tight Champion's shirt, white leggings and the majestic cape, Leon has turned into an entirely different person...

Whilst the receptionist bows her head at Rose, the Chairman looks surprised to see the Champion. “Leon? What are you doing here?”

Leon’s honey-coloured eyes settles on you briefly and you freeze on the spot, your heart begins thumping hard all over again and you inwardly kick yourself in a vain effort to stop. Luckily, Leon quickly averts his gaze to the Chairman and smiles warmly, “Hello Chairman Rose, I just wanted to stop by and make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thank you, Leon, that’s very generous of you. Everything’s fine, your friend here has agreed to help so I’m going to quickly show her around,” Rose says jovially in response; he's scrapped the introductions since he's aware you are both well-acquainted. “Well then, let’s begin, shall we?”

You wonder if Leon’s listening because he returns to stare at you and your heartbeat soars to an astronomical rate as you sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye and you see that he has not stopped; your cheeks grows warm as you contemplate the fact that he is staring at you continuously but Rose and Oleana appear oblivious to this tension between you and the Champion.

Rose heads over to a set of double doors with the sign ‘Right Wing’ above them. You muster the bravery to fully glance at Leon briefly and when your gazes meet, his mouth moves a fraction but ultimately, he is silent, deciding it's best not to say much in the Chairman's presence especially because this is essentially, business. You cannot help but feel Leon is different once he dons the Champion cape and uniform.

He’s distant, painfully so.

Nevertheless, you follow Rose and Oleana inside the right wing with Leon trailing behind and Rose throws open the doors and it’s then you see the true extent of the art gallery’s size and the many treasures he has gathered over the years.

“We have an insect emporium, butterfly exhibit, gems display, antiques section and modern art exhibit,” Rose says proudly, and he continues rambling, going on about the other exhibits in the left wing but as you stare at your new surroundings, your chest clenches and your breathing grows laboured.

A darkness has settled within this very building.

Hoping no-one had noticed your change in demeanour (except Leon, because suddenly he appears worried for you), you turn to Rose and ask, “This is a brand new building?”

You’re aware Leon is watching you and your nerves soar through the roof, but you try your best to focus on the task at hand.

“Yes, but it’s actually smaller compared to other galleries such as the museum in Pewter City. It's only one floor."

“Did you have any problems during construction? For example, any accidents onsite?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of."

"And did you receive any warnings beforehand about the land you were building on?”

“None whatsoever. It went swimmingly,” Rose replies and you slide your gaze to the ground, to your feet.

At least Rose was smart and didn't build anything on top of ancient burial grounds. But that means there's nothing wrong with the building itself and it's to do with something inside. What is this...feeling? There's something...

Leon observes your reaction until you look up and spot a sign in the corner that says: ‘Dedicated to Edward Rose’.

“Who’s Edward Rose?”

“Excellent question, Edward Rose was one of my ancestors,” Rose says, “He was a lover of art and an avid treasure hunter himself, so the majority of these extravagant items on display were curated by him and I've decided to release them on display to the public. He was a great man."

You lift Rotom out to do an online search on Edward Rose to see what else comes up but there is limited information available.

Rose snaps his fingers and on cue, Oleana hands you several documents from the briefcase which you unfurl properly to study them carefully. It’s a map of the art gallery and several marketing leaflets containing all the exhibits. “Sir,” she says, “Your meeting will begin in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Oleana. I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now,” Rose says, “I look forward to the results of your investigation.”

“Leave it to me," you assure them.

Rose and Oleana exit after you exchange goodbyes, leaving yourself and Leon in the right wing. Leon, having maintained a distance from you since you had arrived, finally walks up to you and stops by your side as you let your eyes wander over the papers before you fold them back up.

“What do you think?” Leon asks.

You wish he wouldn't ask you this question because you're actually not too sure. For certain, a distinct dark and foreboding presence lingers somewhere in the art gallery but you're not entirely sure where.

"Give me a minute," is all you say, before you begin to wander through the various displays and exhibits and Leon joins your side, falling in line with you, step by step. “The guards are right. There’s something here,” you utter as you glance around and he follows where you are looking but you are moving too fast for him so he has a hard time catching up.

You are purposely attempting not to look at him and he ends up following you through the right wing and all the way to the left wing, and back.

Unfortunately, you come to one drastic conclusion: “I can't tell right now. Entities are more active at night so I will need to come back when it's dark.”

Your brief investigation is over, so you and Leon exit the art gallery and onto the large stone steps. Once you’re outside with the Champion, you see that the art gallery is stationed on a cosy-looking street of Wyndon, far from the crowds. It’s more of a suburban area that is filled with quaint cafes and souvenir shops.

Glancing behind you to the building, the art gallery is very normal; it is a large and extravagant building in plain sight. A billboard stands to the left, just before the grand staircase, outlining the unveiling date and where to sign up for RSVP.

“How are you anyway?” you ask, as you stuff Rose's papers into your bag.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks for asking.”

You don’t think it is wise to ask him why he didn’t reply to your message which you think he is aware of, because he looks sheepish all of a sudden.

“I met Ezra at the soup kitchen,” he adds and you quirk a brow, “he wanted me to give you this. He said it needs one more spirit and that you'll understand.”

He takes out the Odd Keystone from his pockets and hands you the smooth stone.

"Thanks.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Leon asks quietly, but you shake your head and deposit the stone in your bag then scoop Rotom out, typing a quick message.

“There’s no need, I’ll ask Jace for help,” you utter under your breath.

“Jace…?” Leon murmurs, and he throws his gaze to the side.

He sounds hurt.

“Yeah, so…I better get ready for tonight. I don’t want to take up any more of your precious time either. Bye Leon,” you say quickly, before you hop down the stairs and towards the Corviknight taxi ranks.

“Ah, right…goodbye,” he says, but you didn’t hear.

You wonder if you had unintentionally made Leon feel bad.

…

It’s almost night-time and much preparation is needed for the case.

Although preparation in your books, is getting as much sleep as possible before you woke up later on in the evening to get ready and head out.

Along with the leaflets, Rose has sent you an extremely confidential pdf file that contains the list of all the displays and exhibits inside the gallery so you have an electronic copy. Overall, it’s a lot to go through, so you move onto the transcripts of the hauntings taken down by the terrified staff.

It’s the usual: doors opening and closing, knocking on the walls, grunting, growling and to top it all off, moving pieces of furniture.

Sounds like poltergeist activity which isn’t unusual in your books, and you finish packing your bag with your essentials.

You go through the papers Rose wants you to sign and it’s all legal affairs. If you are injured on premises, Rose and Macro Cosmos bear no liability. If you break anything in the art gallery, you’re also fully liable. No pokemon battles are allowed. If you steal, you will be prosecuted.

After skimming through the main points, you sign them and then send a copy to Jace to sign.

You’re meeting him at Wyndon at the agreed time and you’ve briefed him on the investigation. He is eager to accompany you and when you arrive, he hastily waves you over.

He insisted on matching outfits to make a statement, so here you are both dressed from head to toe in all manners of black clothing.

“Jace, thanks for doing this. What have you brought with you?” you ask, gawping at the black rucksack that’s hanging off his shoulders. He’s also got Joltik’s capsule stuck to his belt.

“Glad you asked!” he exclaims as he loops the bag off himself and unzips it after settling it on the ground. Jace reveals that he has packed a headlight, night vision and heat vision goggles, a tripod camera, heat detecting monocular, digital voice recorder and EMF recorder.

It's basically everything you don’t need and don’t use.

“At least take the headlight,” he moans when you tell him this.

“No thanks, I’m fine with my trusty torch. But you should definitely use those," you say, gesturing to all his equipment.

"Alright..." Jace pouts and packs his bag back up; he keeps his headlight on and EMF recorder in hand.

You’re supposed to meet Rose’s delegate at the ticketing booth, so you both head up the stairs, arriving at the main entrance where you and Leon stood a few hours ago in the daylight.

A security guard can be seen sitting in the booth along with a Clefki hanging from one of the hooks on the wall. You knock on the window and he looks up from his magazine.

“Oh, are you the pokemon researcher?”

“Yep, that’s me. And this is my assistant, Jace.”

“Hi.”

“Great,” says the security guard, “the more the merrier. Thanks for coming, I'll be your guide.”

“No problem.”

The security man leaves the booth along with Clefki before he grabs a flashlight from his pocket and switches it on. “Come with me.”

You and Jace trail after the man as he wanders to the front door with Clefki who promptly sticks one key inside and unlocks it.

The lights are switched off inside and you realise it’s worse when it’s dark, and as the man shuts the doors behind you, he beckons you to follow him once again.

“My name is Horace,” he says, “I called Ms. Oleana the other day and I didn’t think they would take me seriously, but it turns out I wasn’t the only one. The cleaners, the other security guards, they all came forth and said the same thing.”

“Which is what?” Jace asks.

“I’m pretty sure Mr Rose was warned, but there’s something evil in there,” Horace says with a slight shiver, and you’re aware that he is incredibly uncomfortable speaking about it, “He has a hell lotta old stuff and it’s all in there on display….I’m certain some of them are cursed or something so that’s where we need your help along with…uh, these guys.”

You see two young men standing at the visitor’s desk; the brunette is holding a camera whilst the blonde is tapping away on his phone.

“Rose wanted a second opinion so you’re not gonna be alone in this. He’s asked these guys for help too.”

You and Jace exchange incredulous glances before you settle your gazes on the two men. You weren’t aware of this arrangement at all.

The blonde has a tattoo of a Machamp on his neck and the brunette has a thick beard and bandanna. Both are donned in warm coats and they’re both carrying rucksacks that rattles noisily with equipment.

“Oh, if it isn't the Witch of Wedgehurst,” says Machamp-tattoo man as he looks up and eyes you head to toe. You spot a red and black checkered shirt underneath his coat and a gold necklace around his neck.

"The what?" you say, stunned.

"You know that's what people call you, right? I know who you are, I recognise you; you're the ghost-type researcher."

"Yes, but I've never heard people calling me the Witch-"

"Oh, well, you have now," he says, and as you do a double take he adds, “I’m Tanner. This is my camera man, Cole.”

“Hi,” says the bearded one, as he balances the large and hulking, black camera on one shoulder as though it weighs nothing.

“We’re the Ghostbunkers,” Tanner says with a grin.

“Ghost…bunkers??”

“Yeah, have you heard of us?” he asks, and you shake your head. His eyes bulges with disbelief. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“Um…”

“Okay, okay, to fill you in, we visit allegedly haunted places and debunk it, okay? Ghosts? No, it’s just a pokemon or something,” Tanner says, “Most of the time, it’s ninety-nine per cent nothing to do with ghosts at all.”

“So what about the remaining one per cent?” Jace asks, and it’s a perfectly logical question but Tanner merely laughs.

“Well, that’s not our forte.”

“Fair enough.”

Tanner’s focus averts to you. “Well, this is the first time I’ve had to collaborate with someone without being told,” he then grumbles sourly. “Cole, remind me to double Rose’s rate.”

“Got it, T.”

“Rose didn’t tell you guys that we were coming either?” you ask, brow raised and Tanner nods. Pondering to yourself, you slip in a quick and polite, “Please excuse us.”

Whilst Horace the security guard and the duo look at you with unamused looks, you and Jace hurry to a corner.

"Jace, people call me a 'witch' behind my back," you murmur. You have to admit; you're not too surprised about this. You already get called a kook, what else? “This can’t be happening. Have we been played?”

“What do you mean?” Jace whispers back.

“I thought we would be the only ones here,” you reply, “And these guys? The Ghostbunkers??? What the hell?”

“He said his name was Tanner, right? And his BFF is Cole…” Jace says, before he pulls out his phone and begins searching online. “Aha! Found them…”

You both huddle over Rotom’s tiny screen where Jace has found Tanner’s ‘Ghostbunkers’ website. It appears they are also from Galar. The brief description mentions he has ten years of extensive experience of the supernatural and hunting ghosts but he created this channel one year ago.

“Arceus, ten years. That’s more than me,” you croak out whilst Jace rolls his eyes, “and he has his own channel... he has a theme song. He even gets fanart.”

Next, you see dozens and dozens of comments from his fans, declaring their support and love for him and his work.

Your blog hardly has any views, you only have a sparse number of followers, you rarely get comments and you've never received fanart. Your face falls with gloom at this thought; your esteem has being whittled away into nothingness in an instant.

“So what?” Jace is quick to cheer you up, but you give him an exasperated look and continue to look at the information provided.

Tanner’s videos channel received fifty thousand views on average. His most popular upload is a video with one million views where he spent one entire night in Lavender Tower. The next most popular upload is a video where he traversed through the Old Chateau in Eterna Forest. He’s debunked a lot of allegedly haunted places all over the world, attributing it to ghost-type pokemon.

“You gotta be kidding…he’s a skeptic, which is the last thing we need,” you grunt under your breath. “Damn, I should’ve known. I had this weird feeling about Rose, like it was too good to be true. This isn’t surprising of him at all.”

“Now what do we do?”

“Well, we’re already here…let’s see this through.”

Jace gulps. “Okay.”

You return to the men and the security guard briefs you on the recent happenings but the dynamic duo decide to set the camera rolling and before Horace can say anything, the camera is focusing on you.

“Hey, do you mind if we collaborate?” Tanner asks.

“I don’t really collaborate…”

“Suit yourself then,” Tanner looks mildly displeased with the rejection. “Well, we’re going to be filming anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.”

“Great!” Turning to Cole, he says, “Let’s begin.”

“Got it,” Cole replies, and he fixes the camera appropriately, a little red light goes on. You assume it’s recording now.

Tanner clears his throat and tidies his hair before he puts on a huge grin. “Hello fellow debunkers!! And welcome back to my channel. How are ya? Tanner here tonight, with another exciting ghost-bunking mission!” Tanner exclaims, and you can’t help but inwardly groan as you watch him. “Tonight, we’ve been invited to an art gallery that’s rumored to be haunted. As usual, it’s just me and my best friend Cole – but we actually have a few guests with us today.”

On cue, Cole swiftly navigates the camera to focus on Horace who blinks blankly at the duo. “Oh, uh…hello, hi.”

“This is Horace. Horace, do you mind telling us what you do and can you share a few words about this place and what’s been going on?”

“Yeah, so… I’m one of the security guards here. Last night…maybe around two am, I was making rounds and I heard this weird banging noise on the wall, in there-“

He points to the doors behind you, where you’re supposed to be investigating.

Horace says, “I went in and checked the whole area but nobody was there. It didn’t stop, it just grew louder and louder and it moved, like it started at the end of the hall and it came closer to me. Then a chair flew across the room. Whatever it is, it’s mean and angry."

Tanner thanks Horace for the introduction and the information, the camera still rolling.

“Well, this is where I’m supposed to leave you guys.” Horace adds, “I’m the only one on watch duty tonight but I’m going to be outside so I don’t bother your investigation. You can reach me using this walkie talkie so keep this on you at all times so you can contact me,” he proceeds to hand you and Tanner each a small and sleek black device. “I’ve kept it tuned to mine but if you’re worried, the channel is eighty-two, got it?”

“Things just got interesting, folks.” Tanner says to the camera with a wink.

“I need to keep the building locked though because we don’t wanna let anyone else in, you know, in case of burglars…some of the stuff here is worth millions...so let me know when you want to leave and I’ll unlock the doors for you.”

With that, Horace wishes you luck and excuses himself and you watch him pad towards the entrance with Clefki, watching the light of his torch gradually disappear and you and Jace and the Ghostbunkers are standing in darkness.

Cole stops recording and Tanner finally drops his smile, turns to you and says, “Are you really an exorcist?”

“I’m not an exorcist,” you reply with a shake of your head.

“What with Bob the Builder?” Tanner gestures to Jace and his getup.

“Bob the-?! What?! I’m her assistant,” Jace barks, pointing to himself.

Tanner focuses on you again. “Are you some kind of spirit medium? A clairvoyant?”

“No, I’m just a ghost-type researcher.”

“Oh good, at least we’re on the same page,” Tanner says, “It’s most likely a pokemon that’s behind this, don’t you think?”

“It’s too early to say.”

Tanner sighs audibly under his breath, “Well, the art gallery is pretty big. Cole and I can take the left wing and you and your friendo can take the right wing. That means we can get things done quicker. How does that sound?”

You nod. “That sounds alright.”

“As long as you two don’t get in our way, we’re good,” Tanner replies; despite the words, he delivers them with a rather crooked smile.

You and Jace exchange brief looks before you begin to head to the direction of the two double doors that will leads to the right wing.

Meanwhile, Cole focuses the camera on Tanner who eagerly begins speaking to the camera, outlining his steps and what equipment he has tonight with great detail and vigor whilst you and Jace stop at the doors.

“I have a bad feeling about those guys,” you whisper as you switch on your flashlight and unfurl the map.

“If this place is really haunted, I hope the ghost grabs them first,” Jace murmurs under his breath.

"Ready?" you ask.

"Ready," he confirms.

You push open the door; it swings open with a low creak and slowly swings on its hinges. You shine your torches into the dark abyss of the art gallery, your gaze sweeping over the many displays. You will be here for the remainder of the night.

"Good luck!" Tanner yells, a fraction before you step inside, "You're gonna need it."

#leon #leon x reader #Leon x you #reader #reader insert #jeralee #comfort in despair #fanfic #fic #archive of our own #pkmn #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword #marydragneell

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