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deejadabbles · 4 years

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The House of Anubis (Atem X Reader Halloween Special)

Part One: The Manor

One //// Two //// Three (coming soon) ///

Summary: The house was large, a manor, really. Imposing, yet striking more aw with every turn of a corner. You had never thought you'd be dragged back into the family business, but your brother needed you, and so too did his latest project. It stood alone among the trees, yet, you never felt alone when inside. Hairs prickle on the back of the neck, shivers run down spines, and hands fidget with every unoccupied moment. And the thing- or rather, person, who simultaneously eases and worsens these feelings? Atem, a man who was just as mercurial as the house itself, all smirks and light comments one moment, then lingering stares and strange musings the next. So the real question remains, will you uncover the secrets both the man and the manor are harboring?(A Halloween mini-series inspired by the show 'The Haunting of Hill House' and the movie 'The Frighteners'. The Reader x Atem themes are, admittedly, light as this mostly focuses on a spooky haunted house story, but the romantic undertones are there. Gender-neutral reader.)

A. N. Just wanted to do a little something for a spooky season, I wanted to get this done before Halloween but that's probably not going to happen. So instead I'll post the first chapter now, hopefully have the next out on Halloween, and post the ending some time a week or two after. Hopefully you guys like this and if you want something scary that's already complete, please consider reading my yugioh themed CYOA 'House of Fears'

It felt like you were driving through a decrepit, long-forgotten tunnel, vines and weeds slipping through cracked concrete and lights that had died years ago neglecting to guide your path. At least, that’s what it felt like. You found yourself once again leaning forward to peer up through the windshield, trying to find any hint of sky between the heavy canopy of leaves. The forest on both sides was so thick, that you weren’t even sure what kind of woodland creatures could wander between the trunks. And how the branches had grown to make a choppy arch above the road, you had no clue. There was some sunlight at least, gracing the road with their bright rays here and there, but the enclosed effect of this road was still a bit unsettling.

You forced yourself to lean back in the driver's seat and let out a frustrated breath that was meant to calm itching nerves. Honestly, you didn’t even know why you felt a bit nervous. Maybe it was the isolation of not seeing another living thing on this tunnel-like road. Or, maybe the stresses of the past days were still settling.

It continued to haunt you a bit, the way your heart and breathing seemed to freeze the moment you heard a calm voice on the other end of the phone announce that they were a nurse at St. Florence Hospital...and that your brother had been brought in. The nerve-wracking way a thousand thoughts had raced through your head in that second-long pause in the nurse's words was haunting too: Was he in an accident? Did someone attack him? Did he cut off a finger working with that old sawzall you kept insisting he get rid of? ….was he alive?

You had even started tearing up with the frustrating thought that you were miles and miles away while your brother lay dying in some backwater hospital- when the nurse told you that he had suffered a heart attack, but had survived.

Apparently, as your brother had informed you a frantic phone call later, he was working on his latest project when, as unexpected as it sounded, he had experienced a horrible clenching around his heart. Just to pile on the horror of the situation, he had also been high atop a ladder when it happened, resulting in a broken leg and arm; one from getting caught between the ladder's steps as he fell, and the other from hitting the ground, respectively.

Thankfully, someone had been around to call an ambulance. Even still, he was lucky to be so young, because otherwise help still might not have gotten there in time.

Seriously though, a heart attack, at his age? Apparently it wasn’t unheard of, he was almost twelve years your senior, and you were already well into your 20s. Still, it was a worrying situation, especially with how severe the heart attack had been and the doctor had implored your brother to either go back to living in the house you and he sometimes shared, or have someone come out there and take care of him until he was better.

With those as his options and refusing to abandon his latest project, he had literally begged you to spend the next few months in the quiet town of Hartstown. You understood, even as you argued with him about his seemingly nonexistent self-preservation instincts. After all, he had told you all about this dream project of his, and how he had already sunk a lot of money into it, he couldn’t abandon it now. So here you were, in a town that had two restaurants but only one gas station, and driving through a forest so thick you were sure the sky could turn to nightfall without you even realizing it.

Your brother had sent you pictures about the hundred-year-old manor, gushing in texts about how he was going to make it beautiful again, then turn around and sell it to some rich yuppy who wanted a lavish country getaway. It really was a beautiful place, years of neglect not doing much to tarnish its splendor or the possibilities you could see in it. Then again, you had always appreciated old houses, you and your big brother had grown up in numerous ones.

Your parents had made their living flipping houses, especially restoring old ones to their original glory and big brother slipped into the business with ease, genuinely finding it to be his own passion. That made things easier after the accident, in a way, he had taken on their legacy with pride. You had tried too, for a while, years of helping your parents giving you most of the experience you needed, but you just didn’t take to it the way he did. He understood, and handled the family business on his own while you pursued your own wants and dreams.

Still, your history with the business made this decision much easier. The day you arrived in Hartstown, thoroughly scolded your brother for his poor health, and announced your plan, he had insisted that you didn’t have to do this, that the house could wait until he was better, and that he hadn’t dragged you out there to pull you back into the family business. You had waved off the insistence with ease; it wasn’t like you actually planned to spend all of the coming months just driving him to physical therapy and keeping his airbnb clean.

You had spent the first week here by your brother's side almost constantly. Apparently, the first week or two was the typical window of danger where other complications would make themselves known. But, now that that window was passing and you personally saw how well your brother was already doing, it was time to get to work.

You frowned down at the directions he had given you; surely you hadn't already passed the old street sign reading 'longhorn drive', right? No, you were far too attentive for that, desperate to get off this road and looking for your escape. The map app on your phone was useless, cell service being spotty at best on this road, as he had warned you.

At least when you made this turn it was only one mile until you got to this infamous manor.

Ah! There at last, you saw the oldest road sign you had ever seen, nailed to a wooden post at the corner of a turn that went into a road even more narrow than the one you were on. At least the trees seem to thin out a bit here, hopefully it would make you feel less trapped in the last leg of the drive.

It did, especially as the trees continued to get thinner and more spacious, the sun shining on the road like a guide. With that, the drive didn’t take long at all and before you knew it you were coming up on the iron gates you’d seen in your brother’s many pictures. They were open of course, the EMTs having other priorities as they rushed him out of the house, so you didn’t bother slowing down much as you made the turn. The gates were in good shape, one of the few things that wouldn’t need replacing and the wrought iron fence accompanying it wasn’t far behind in condition. The dirt driveway was narrow and weed-infested and you made a mental note to ask if some stylish cobble stone was in your brother's budget. There were more trees, tall ones that only let you catch glimpse of the house at first, but soon enough the dirt path ended, and the house crept into view on your left.

Pictures didn’t do it justice. It was a true mansion, made of stone, three stories high with turrets on the front corners, a wide oak front door, and spacious grounds on all sides. It’s style was rather unique, almost combining gothic elements such as many tall arching windows and at least two verandas and balconies, with craftsman style roofs and the first floor sitting high above the ground. It had been built in the 1920s, but apparently, the architect liked the styles of decades prior.

The faded wooden sign beside the grand front steps read: The House of Anubis.

Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god of death and the afterlife if you remembered right. You felt silly for it, but the name made you a bit uneasy- who would basically say their house was a gate to the afterlife? The Egyptian references did make sense though, the manor was built by an archeologist and professor who made it big during that hayday of excavations and exhibitions.

Eager to get started, despite the odd name of the place, you parked the car, killed the engine, and climbed out onto the still tall and weedy grass. The steps were those old narrow kind that made one feel unsteady, and that feeling wasn’t helped by the fact that they had several splits and cracks in them, even pulling apart where the oldest fractures lay. At least the stairs themselves weren’t anything special, shouldn’t be that costly to replace.

You were tempted to walk along the veranda first, taking in the golden and white tiles and worn down furniture that had only recently been set back into place. You could picture it now: sitting on the wicker loveseat, tea or coffee in one hand and book in another, occasionally lifting your gaze from the pages to stare out at the garden or forest without a care, feeling the cool breeze cross over your face just enough to soothe but shielded enough not to be bothered.

You shook your head, chucking at your own day dream, you really should just head inside first, there’d be time to wander later.

The front door was at least closed, but again, the EMTs wouldn’t have exactly been concerned with locking it on their way out, so you didn’t even have to use the key big brother gave you. The door creaked in a loud croone when you pushed it open and before you was an entry hall unlike any you had seen before. You almost did a double-take, wondering if ‘The House of Anubis’ had transported you to a pharaoh’s tomb. The walls were a bright pale color, almost like sandstone but with a more golden tint, and portraits of Egyptian people and hieroglyphs wrapped around the room. The wallpaper wasn’t too busy or cluttered though, the depictions of people spreading out just enough so one’s eyes wouldn’t be overwhelmed when looking at them. There were two pillars beside the grand staircase and more ancient patterns were painted on them. Some chairs, tables, and even a sofa sat along the walls, again in that style befitting a king’s resting place.

How had none of this been stolen or vandalized over the years? Your brother had told you that the manor was fairly well known in town, even though no one had lived in it for over ten years. Surely bored teenagers would have come knocking, it was odd to find any furnishings at all in houses such as these, but especially not ones in such good condition.

You had to shake off that uneasy feeling again, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth and moving on. Though, only after you shut and locked the front door behind you, finding yourself just a bit paranoid now.

After allowing yourself a moment to study the beautiful depictions of what you knew must be a goddess on the wall, you moved on to the tall pocket doors standing open on the left. This would be the drawing or receiving room and, as you had expected, you saw that big brother had set up his base of operations here. His workbench and draft table sat in the center or the large room, tools and even some lumber scattered about. As you approached the draft table you took note that this room followed a more Victorian look instead of the Egyptian tomb style: rosy wallpaper, a beautiful fireplace framed in dark wood, and a thick but faded rug spanning most of the hardwood floor.

The floorplans for the house were laid out on the table, pinned together with a clear sheet of plastic between each floor. As usual, the plastic was there so your brother could mark and note areas that needed repairs without damaging the actual floor plans. Currently the plans for the first floor were lifted, hanging off the table and opening the second floor plans for viewing. He had checkmarks beside a few of the notes, the repairs that had needed his attention first like plumbing issues and checking for mold. It was the same for the other two floors, as you saw when you flipped the pages; big brother had been busy in the six weeks he’d owned the place.

After scanning the blueprints thoroughly enough that you felt comfortable wandering through the house, you stepped back, deciding to check on some of those repairs he’d already made. Before you left the room, though, you almost tripped on a familiar device: his old boombox. Of course, he never worked on a house without it and you couldn’t deny the comfort of having music play while you worked. He even had his massive CD case propped up beside it, but you took a chance with whatever disk was already in there and pressed play before heading out of the room.

Some 80’s pop music echoed off the old walls as you wandered into the next area, the conservatory. Again you were left in shock with how well-intact the room was, only have two panes in its all-glass wall broken and your jaw actually dropped at the plants bursting to life around you. Most were likely weeds by now, but you still appreciated the timeless beauty, which was only accompanied by some more wicker chairs, delicate tables, and two statues sitting in the far corners. One was of a goddess, Isis, if you had to take a guess, and her companion was a god, maybe Ra, both made of onyx colored stone and painted with gold and turquoise that must have once been bright and shining. You would definitely have to map out how to return the status to their original glory once more urgent repairs were made.

Unfortunately the conservatory was only a bridge to your destination, as the double glass doors on the other side of the room led to the study. This was a room made of dark woods and moody red wallpaper. Mahogany desks and leather chairs would be right at home here, if it wasn’t for the fact that some animals had found their way in and made nests. You nodded in approval at big brother’s work, almost no sign of the nests remaining besides some scratch marks on the wood floor and walls that could be sanded down and covered at a later date. The door had also been replaced, it’s shattered panes the reason why animals had found their way inside in the first place. You were just making to cross the room to the next door- when a sound clattered not an inch away!

You choked back a gasp, then scolded yourself a second later. No, not a clatter, just your ring tone.

Shaking your head, you took your phone out of your pocket and answered it. “Please don’t tell me you’ve broken something else?” you said in place of a greeting.

“Oooh you’re so funny,” mocked the familiar voice on the other end, “Just taking my hour rest so my heart doesn’t give out, thought I’d check in on you. You got to the house okay right?”

“Yup, though that one road with the thick-ass trees went on for forever. You sure there’s not a faster route here?”

“Nope. As it is those roads are mostly just used by farmers going into town, we’re lucky it’s as direct to the house as it is.” Your brother paused for a moment before saying, “So, what do you think? Pictures don’t do it justice, right?”

“Definitely, this tomb robber really knew how to build a house, some rich history enthusiast is going to love it once we’re done.”

“I still wish you would have waited 'til I could come with you, I wanted to see the look of awe and wonder on your face,” he said with a sigh that was far too dramatic for the topic.

“Dude, they’re having you do an hour of physical therapy for each injury you managed to collect. I am not sitting around doing nothing for three hours three times a week.”

Honestly, it still shocked you how much they were putting on your brother’s recovery, when your uncle had had his heart attack, they only made him attend hour-long sessions of physical therapy. Maybe they expected more out of a younger specimen.

“Besides, with the chair they gave you it’d be really hard to get you into the house, at least until I can set up a temp ramp,” you pressed on, thinking of the large, clunky, motorized thing he was having to get by in, hopefully when his arm healed up he could switch to an easier wheelchair or maybe even crutches.

“Yeah yeah, call me an inconvenience, I see how you are,” he mocked, “So what are you doing now?”

“Oh, you know, just checking out the rooms.”

“….You’re looking over my work to see if I screwed up, aren’t you?” he accused, a disbelieving incredulity coloring his tone.

“No! I’m just seeing what’s been done, that’s all!” you answered, voice higher than you wanted it to be.

“Yeah right,” he mocked back and promptly blew a raspberry into the phone like a proper, mature adult. Someone in the distance on his end called out and he pulled away from the receiver to answer, then, “Alright, kiddo, I got to go, more breathing treatments and a test to run. Call you when I’m done.”

After a goodbye from your end, you hung up the phone, slipped it back into your pocket, and finally finished your short walk to the other side of the study. You turned the crystal-like knob of the old door opening into the library, the next room of the house most likely to impress you. Impress it did, with its two stories of built-in bookshelves, rail-guided ladder, cozy fireplace, and spiral staircase leading up to the second floor.

Unfortunately, what drew your attention more than the grandeur of the space, was the fact that there was blood on the hardwood floor.

Oh, this must have been where he had his heart attack. The tall metal ladder that had fallen near the dried smear of blood supported the theory. With a breath to calm yourself, you approached the spot, trying to assure yourself that the stain was smaller than it first looked. Besides, your brother was fine. Banged up and grumpy from lack of work, but fine, the blood meant nothing now.

With a sigh you started turning the work ladder back upright, noting the scuff marks on the floor where it must have been when he fell. After matching the legs with the marks, you looked up, trying to figure out what he had been working on. This was the only stretch of wall besides the fireplace where there weren’t any bookshelves. Instead a tall window stood there, allowing sunlight to peek in, shining directly on the fireplace, both to aid anyone cozied up in the room to read, but also to prevent sun damage from getting to the bookshelves. It took a minute to spot, but in one of the middle panes, there was a hole and spider-web cracks in the glass, he must have been trying to patch the hole with a temporary cover.

You made a note to get on that yourself after you cleaned up the blood, and began turning away, but something else caught your eye.

You squinted, peering up at the flowery wallpaper beside the window. There, just a hand-span from the broken window pane...were those tears in the wall-

“Hello.”

You let out a yell that bordered on a scream, clutching your heart as you spun around at the deep voice.

A man, a young man, stood leaning against the fireplace, taking in your startled terror with a raised brow. When had he..?!

“Where did you come from?” you demanded between still thundering heartbeats. “Who are you?”

Something flickered in the stranger’s violet eyes, “Apologies, I did not mean to scare you.” He shrugged off of the fireplace, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark pants. “My name is Atem, and you are?”

Now that your heart was finally starting to settle, you straightened a bit before giving him your name. “How did you get in here?” was the next question on your lips, the words still a bit snippy.

He paused a moment, eyes narrowing just a bit, as if your verbal approach greatly intrigued him. “The front door was open. Again, I apologize, I suppose I got too used to coming in of my own accord while your brother has been here.”

“You know my brother?”

He closed his eyes with his short nod, “Yes. In Fact, I’ve been worried about him. When I saw your car I was hoping you would tell me...is he alright?” The stranger- Atem, flicked his gaze to the bloodstain, something darkening in his eyes. “I was the one who called for help, but I haven’t heard any news of his health. I was worried.”

You didn’t answer, not right away. You thought about just pressing on with your questions but, the look in Atem’s eyes, the way his brows pulled down low, really did say that he was being truthful about his worry. Besides, wasn’t it nearly impossible to get word from the hospital unless you were related to the patient? Made sense that he hadn’t heard any news.

“He’s a bit beaten up, but alive. He’s actually doing pretty well considering how bad his injuries were,” you answered eventually, and were satisfied when Atem’s expression visibly softened at the news, relieved. “He said he was lucky that a friend started making the habit of dropping by the house to keep him company, I guess you’re that friend,” you hesitated again, somehow finding it impossible to let go of that last thread of suspicion you felt around this man. Still, you managed an honest, “Thank you. You saved his life, doctors said that even being as young as he is, he still might not have made it if they got here any later.”

Something shifted in Atem’s eyes again, something dark casting over them and he only held your gaze a moment before his eyes drifted up to the top of the ladder where you had been staring. “I only wish I could have gotten here before it happened.”

An odd statement, you thought, your brother would have had the heart attack regardless of someone being there. Well, maybe Atem just meant he wished he’d been here to see the signs of the attack before it caused the dummy to fall off that damn ladder.

Atem blinked then, as if remembering himself. He straightened and looked back at you with a small, polite smile. “I’m glad he’s alright though. Are you here to take over the manor’s renovations? Or, are you taking him home to recuperate? He tells me that you and he share a home when he’s not working on his latest project.”

You gave a dramatic sigh, “We do, it was the house our parents left for us, but he hardly ever stays there. And unfortunately I couldn’t convince him to recover there so, your first assumption is correct. Between keeping an eye on him, I’ll be taking over all of this-” you waved your hands to encompass the room and the house beyond, “-until he gets better.”

You noted how the friendly smile slowly slipped from Atem’s lips as you answered, and now he was almost frowning even as he nodded. “He has an almost admirable dedication to this house. At least he isn’t insisting on working himself just yet.”

“He has a dedication to every house he works on,” you said, almost absentminded and when Atem’s brow lifted in yet another silent question, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. “He’s just like that with every place he buys. Our parents taught us to see the hidden beauty in all houses, and how restoring them was a kind of...I don’t know, a kindness?- That’s not the right word. They used to say houses could love a resident just as much as the resident can love a house, and how, if it’s fallen apart or been abandoned, it withers like a plant without sunlight. Renovating it- restoring it, is like breathing life back into it, so it can properly love its next resident.”

The moment the small lament was out you found yourself flushing, especially at the way the corner of Atem’s lips quirked up and his eyes softened a bit.

You cleared your throat, “Sorry, just...I haven’t worked on a house with him in a long time. Brings back memories.”

“I understand,” Atem said, the other corner of his mouth lifting to another light smile. “You both get the same look in your eyes when you talk about homes like this. It’s quite lovely.”

The heat in your face flared up even more, and you cleared your throat again before turning, looking at the library at large. “Anyway I uh- better continue my tour of the house,” you took a step towards the door opposite the one you’d entered, then, “you can walk with me, if you want.”

The offer surprised you a bit, despite having said it. Much like the oddness of Atem’s sudden appearance, the mix of feelings you felt around him was a bit baffling. You still felt a slight uneasiness, one you hadn’t been able to shake completely since he first startled you. Despite that, however, you didn’t feel particularly endangered by him. Quite the opposite, to create an odd, almost giddy cocktail of emotions, the unease mixed with a slight need to keep the man in your presence, get to know him, work out the curious nature he seemed to exude.

“I would like that,” Atem replied simply, and took a few steps to join your side.

Together you two walked to the second of the three doors in the library, and this opened into a hallway of sorts. If you remembered the floor plans right, the door on your left was a closet, and a bathroom was on the other side of the wall on your right.

“So, you said you saw my car outside Odd, what with all the trees surrounding the house, do you live nearby?” you asked, not bothering to hide your feelings airing on the side of suspicion. Hey, just because your wariness was overshadowed by your curiosity didn’t mean you were pushing everything aside altogether.

He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he smirked at you as you two turned the corner on your right. “I often take walks in the woods and I saw your car through the trees. Several houses were built in the woods near the manor, so staff who worked here would have the option to live closer to the house and not have to travel from town.”

That made sense, despite the gothic appearance the manor was built in a time when having servants was falling out of style and becoming less commonplace, even among the wealthy. The professor who built the house might have had a cook and housekeeper, maybe even a butler, but not anything so fancy as to need live-in help. You could see the modest little houses in your mind now, but somehow, the idea of Atem cloistered up in one didn’t seem to fit quite right.

“So those houses aren’t part of the estate?” you asked as you two entered a longer, more narrow hallway; an open doorway on the left, and the hall stretching onward to your right.

“Not anymore. The second man to inherit the house, professor Arthur Hawkins, sold them. I think he did not want the hassle of upkeeping the rental properties.”

Choosing the doorway on your left, you entered the kitchen, a big, open room with white tile walls and gray floors. “You seem to know quite a bit about the house and its history,” you couldn’t help but look over at him, again making your suspicion and interest apparent.

“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a local historian. I’ve lived here a long time.”

Again, his choice in words struck you. I mean, the man looked no more than a year or two older than you, if that. Maybe he was just one of those old souls who liked to put on the air of being mature and more experienced than they were.

Deciding not to comment on it, you took some time to survey the kitchen. It was an impressive thing, plenty of countertops and an old oven fit for making extravagant christmas dinners. According to your brother's notes there was a bad leak in here that he had taken care of first and foremost, and the evidence of that was in the hole in the wall, exposing a new length of pipe and recently axed wood. That would probably be the first thing you patched up, something more simple to jump back into the family game.

“So, tell me more about the family history of the place. I know it was built by an archeologist in the 20’s, but that’s about it,” you asked as you turned around, heading for the swinging door that led into the dining room.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell. The house was built by Professor Alexander Hawkins, a man who made his wealth plundering the sands of Egypt.” The bitterness in his tone made you pause, but he continued on, “He built it with the intentions of keeping his family happy while he was away on digs, but, unfortunately, he and his wife died only twenty or so years later. Their son, Arthur, followed in his footsteps in some ways, taking an interest in Ancient Egypt.”

“Not surprising, considering he grew up in a house like this,” you added, noting the replica busts of a queen and pharaoh sitting on the mantel that looked better suited for a Cairo exhibit than a dining room.

Atem gave a nod, “Fortunately he was a bit more virtuous than his father, and made his living through more honest means. He too passed, and left the manor to his granddaughter, Rebbeca.”

Rebbeca, the woman who had sold the place to your brother. It was a story you had heard often; family home slowly losing its grandeur through the generations, until it finally passed to someone who just didn’t make enough money to afford a place so extravagant. Still, the fact that the house was still in such good condition continued to surprise you, especially given how much stuff was still here. Almost always the house was stripped of anything that was worth a dime before it was sold. Yet the granddaughter hadn’t even bothered to take the lovely dining table that sported carvings of eagles, hounds, cats, and other animals revered by the ancient Egyptians.

It was a small dining room, given the rest of the house, just big enough to fit the usual family of four and maybe a few guests. Beyond it, passed another set of pocket doors, was a lounge. Some more replicas of pharaonic treasures sat on tables and mantels, but the thing that caught your eye most were the once lavish settees and chairs, as well as the paintings hanging on the walls. They weren’t in the typical ancient Egyptian art style, rather the softer, more vibrant kind seen in the victorian era. All were depicting scenes of life that might have happened in those ancient cities forgotten in the sand; a diverse market bustling with eager shoppers looking at pottery and the work of weavers, a barge on the Nile river with women dancing on the deck and a couple kissing as they tipped their toes into the water, a pharaoh’s throne room filled with beautiful women and bowing courtiers all in awe by the king’s commanding presence atop his throne.

Not even these, the granddaughter had not even taken these? Odd, very odd.

“I thought these would catch your eye, they seem to catch everyone’s eyes.”

You jumped a bit at the sudden closeness of the voice, realizing Atem was leaning in almost near enough to brush your arm. How had you not sensed him coming closer?

He was looking over the painting of the Pharaoh’s court as he continued, “They are not particularly accurate, the colors and style of the clothes, the lightness of their skin, even the architecture is off. Still, I suppose they’re interesting to gaze at.”

“An Egyptologist yourself, are you?” you teased, even nudging him in the shoulder.

His smirk was back again, “I suppose you could say that.”

You couldn’t get too distracted, you didn’t have a lot of time left before you had to grab big brother from his therapy sessions. You would leave the inspection of the tower rooms for another day, and instead headed through the other set of pocket doors back into the entry hall.

“I should be going,” Atem began before you could make your way towards the grand staircase. “Thank you for easing my worry, I’m glad your brother is alright. It was a pleasure to meet you and... if you will allow me, I’d like to visit from time to time while you work, as I did with him.”

“That’s fine by me,” the agreement came easily to you, without a second thought. Despite his odd demeanor, you found Atem to be quite an easy person to get along with, his company should help keep this house from feeling too large and lonely.

At your reply, Atem’s expression shifted yet again, something close to interest or maybe even slight delight played in his eyes as they searched your face. “In that case, I will see you soon.”

His gaze lingered for another few heartbeats, long enough that you found yourself flushing again. You nodded your quick agreement before turning towards the stairs. A moment later you heard a soft click near the front door, but you actually paused when you didn’t hear a second. Looking over your shoulder, you found that the door was still slightly ajar. Little jerk, you’d have to remember to scold him for not closing the door properly the next time you saw him.

You only got halfway through your tour of the second floor before your phone when off, a reminder to start heading back to the clinic to pick up your brother. The clinic wasn’t in the little town closest to the house, rather a bigger town over half an hour away, but still close enough to justify you working while he was at his session. He was all eager to see you, despite how drained he looked from the exhaustion of physical therapy, and the moment he was packed into your car he was asking your options on the house.

You told him honestly how impressed you were with it, also voicing how odd it was that the place hadn’t been vandalized or stolen from given all the things left there.

“Yeah, took me awhile to get over that too,” he said from the passenger seat, fiddling with his phone in an effort to get directions to the pizza place he promised you dinner from. “I think the locals don’t give the house enough mystery to make teens interested in visiting it. Besides, there're several houses near the property, so maybe most assumed they couldn’t get away with breaking in- oh turn right at the next light.”

You did as instructed, then, “Speaking of that, who was the guy who called the ambulance for you that night?” You couldn’t help asking, you just needed to add a bit more credibility to your new friend before you relaxed around him more.

Your brother’s eyes went a bit wide, “Shit, I forgot all about Atem! I was going to ask you to find his place and tell him I’m alive. Dude’s probably been traumatized, finding me bleeding and heaving on the floor, I feel like such an ass now.”

“Well don’t worry,” you said, feeling satisfied now that you confirmed Atem’s claims, “he dropped by the house while I was there and I told him you were okay.” You found yourself biting your tongue on the words, considered for a moment, then spoke them anyway. “Something was a bit odd though, he just waltzed right into the house like he owned the place. I was looking over the library and he was just standing there, no knocking, no nothing.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw your brother scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, he kind of does that. I get the feeling he’s sort of appointed himself as the unofficial caretaker of the house, he showed up the first day I started working on it, guess I just got used to the way he just walks in, figured if he intended to steal from the place he would have done it already.” His protective mode must have been activated after he thought for a moment, because he was suddenly dropping that easy demeanor and looking you over with his brows drawn together, “He didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, did he? I can have a talk with him if he did.”

Again you found yourself biting your tongue, thinking for a beat before answering. “No, not really, just startled me a bit. Not used to strangers just walking in, you know?”

He nodded, easing back in his seat again, “Yeah, I get you. Atem’s a good guy though, never gets underfoot when you're working, but great to talk to. He’s a bit weird, but cool.”

“Right…”

The conversation trailed off into silence, and for some reason, even after you pulled into the pizza joint and sat staring at a parmesan shaker after you ordered, your mind kept drifting back to the strange man at the manor one way or another.

A.N. So, what do you guys think about our mysterious Atem? How about the odd house itself? Any ideas on what's going on that or how this haunted adventure might heat up? Let me know your thoughts in the comments <3

#atem x reader #yami x reader #yugioh #Yu-Gi-Oh #yu-gi-oh reader insert #ygo #Atem #yami yugi #series: the house of anubis

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 1 - 18.98Hz

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my Leon fic!!!!! Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

URL here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631500/chapters/62219596

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

Warnings: None! But dis fic be scary sometimes

18.98 Hertz

...

[18.98hz is the infrasonic signal reported to be responsible for ghost sightings]

...

Deep within the woodlands of the Wild Area, an abandoned manor sits undisturbed inside a secluded maze of overgrown fauna.

Rumoured to have been built during the eighteen hundreds, the architecture is undoubtedly Georgian, with a single door erected in the middle of the house and two rows of symmetrical, large windows. A proud Duke had built the impressive home for a beautiful princess he had fallen in love with. Unfortunately, a happy ending eluded the Duke as the princess was subsequently married off to another suitor and the Duke wasted away from a broken heart.

With no true owner, the house has been passed back and forth throughout several generations and archives reveal that the last recorded occupants dated back to the fifties - a young couple with small children - and they had stayed no longer than three months.

The family had been experiencing strange phenomena; they were plagued by eerie wailing noises, laughter and the sounds of footsteps in the empty hallways at night. The couple would often see apparitions in empty rooms. The youngest child developed an imaginary friend, described as a creature with the head of a boar.

One night, the couple were seen hurriedly fleeing the premises in the middle of the night in their nightclothes, dragging their children in tow and vowing never to return.

To this date, no occupant dwells within.

As the years passed, the manor fell further into ruin and disarray. With no human upkeep, it soon faded away from existence and hidden from the public. The stories soon dissolved into nothing but the stuff of legends.

No traveller would ever stumble upon this splendid home until a group of gym challengers travelling together on their Rotom bikes would spot the small glint of light a distance away.

It's night and the weather is dreary. They are strapping, young men and they look fearless, having braved through many hardships and difficult situations with each other and their Pokemon alike.

Tonight, they are hungry and exhausted from their long hours spent travelling and desperately seek shelter. Little do they know that a scene from a horror novel is in the making.

Heading towards the direction of the light in the distance, the three young men would eventually discover a beaten path that leads them to a foreboding manor. The boys are stunned at first and exchange glances of bafflement.

Every light of the building is on and shadows dance around in a window or two.

They cannot believe their good luck - what are their chances of stumbling across a house in the middle of the wilderness?

With the increasing torrential downpour and the weariness growing in their bones, the group pedal up to the door, lay down their bikes and knock on the rusted wood. They are hoping the occupants can grant them sanctuary for the remainder of the night. They had come across many kind individuals during their travels and have been offered gifts or generous hospitality. As they wait, they chat animatedly to each other about their adventures, laughing and smiling.

The door opens for them an inch or so as though beckoning them inside but no-one appears at the doorway.

Although they are confused, one of the gym challengers slowly pushes open the door and takes a cautious step.

"H-hello?" he calls as he glances around, "Anyone here?"

He is greeted by a long stretch of corridor with a single door at the far end. It's ajar and the light is on. Muffled voices can be heard emitting from within. His friends peer over his shoulders, intrigued.

"...Um, hello?" he calls again, a little louder than before, and he crosses the threshold.

His companions don't follow, seemingly having lost their nerve. Instead, they encourage their representative to enter the establishment further on their behalf. The sensation of unease and trepidation has suddenly made its presence known in the depth of their guts.

However, this young gym challenger is brave and for the sake of his friends, he enters. He steps through the corridor and arrives at the door, opening it with a shaking hand.

The door creaks loudly, dust falling off above and onto his head. He slides inside the room and sees it is an empty room, devoid of furniture and appears to be unused for many years. There is no indication of anyone living here and immediately, a shiver runs down his spine when he realises he is not alone.

The temperature in the room becomes frighteningly cold, the hairs of the back of his neck suddenly stand on end and his heartbeat speeds up.

In the corner of his eye, he senses someone or something.

He's too frightened to look but he forces himself to turn, his body stiff. An old man stands rigidly in one corner of the room furthest away from him, facing the wall. This strange figure is pallid and gaunt, donned in a haggard, grey robe that ends at the knees.

Unsure what to do, the boy ends up cautiously takes a step forward. It is human nature to be drawn to the unknown.

He takes a baby step forward. His feet feel heavy with each step. Slowly, he approaches.

"Um....mister?"

There is no response.

"Are you....are you okay?"

He reaches a shaking hand towards the figure and finally the old man turns, revealing a grotesque and demonic visage, a face with dark empty sockets and a horrid gaping mouth. An ear-splitting and unearthly shriek erupts from all four corners of the room and the boy stumbles backwards in fright and spins on his heel with a scream.

He runs, terrified for his life. The harrowing, agonising screams follow him out.

...

In the lush conservatory, your guest sits opposite you in the pristine white sofa with a cup of tea in shaking hand as he bravely recounts his horrific tale of the mysterious house deep in the woods of the Wild Area. He stops, unable to continue and unable to further describe the terror of that night which had effectively taken place three days ago.

Whilst Cutiefly buzzes around the plants, Polteageist sits on the table and helps refill your cup whilst you take notes. You thank your pokemon before briefly musing to yourself that Polteageist's tea is far superior than any other tea you've ever had and you wonder if there may as well be a coffee pokemon out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

"I-I know it doesn't sound like much but it was terrifying," he mutters, "And it wasn't a pokemon, either."

"It's too early to say, but I'll look into this for you."

"Y-you believe me?"

"Yes, I do."

The boy looks stunned at your response then morosely lowers his gaze to his lap; his eyes are sunken in, his face ashen and peaky. He has not slept well since the ordeal.

"Thank you for believing me. Nobody else did," he murmurs with a sigh of clandestine relief as he holds his clenched fist over his chest.

Your fingers tense under the gratitude, gripping the handle of your cup so tightly your knuckles turn white, but a fraction of a second later and you gradually relax and you smile. "No problem, leave it to me."

"Do you want me to take you there? I-I'm not sure if I can find it again though..."

"No need," you say, "I'll look for it myself."

After exchanging a few more words with your client, you leave the conservatory and escort him to the exit; he spots an old woman donned in a white lab coat sitting at the round table in the kitchen, helping herself to a slice of buttered toast. He recognises her as Galar's famed Pokemon Professor so he greets her politely and she responds in the same manner.

Before your client leaves, he thanks you again for listening and believing in his story when many others did not and you reassure him once more that you will get to the bottom of this; Polteageist and Cutiefly float beside you and wave as your guest departs.

Closing the door gently, you return to the conservatory to clean up and pick up your notes, then head to the kitchen where Professor Magnolia is now brewing herself a cup of tea with a paper in front of her. Upon your arrival, she looks up from her reading material. "Was that a new lead, dear?"

"Possibly. Don't leave any dinner for me, I'm heading out now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll be back tomorrow morning, professor."

She nods, "Very well. Be safe, dear."

With Cutiefly and Polteageist beside you, you leave the kitchen and head up the stairs to your room.

Sonia is sitting at her vanity table with her back to you, carefully covering her nails with a new coat of seafoam-green nail polish that matches the shade of her eyes whilst her Yamper lies curled in its basket, snoozing away with a chew toy under its paw. When she sees you entering the room from the mirror, she spins round in her seat immediately to face you.

"How did it go?" She greets you cheerfully as you stride to your side of the room.

"It was okay, kinda typical. There was a derelict house, ghost lights and a frightening apparition of a very unfriendly old man."

She shivers all over. "That sounds horrid..."

"Sounds like my cup of tea. Isn't that right, Polteageist?" you reply with a grin. Whilst Sonia groans inwardly at your joke, Polteageist nods and spins happily around in his teapot in response.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, holding her hand up and blowing on her nails.

"I'm heading out now to check it out."

"Now??"

"Yep."

Sonia watches with widened eyes as you begin to prepare.

"Right! I'll need my bag, a few pokedolls, some Dusk Balls, my coat and radio. Poltea, let's get cracking."

Polteageist nods, punches at the air with his little fists and floats over to the desk to grab some lightweight items for you.

You share a room with Sonia; it's large enough to be divided into two. The division of the room is reminiscent of yin and yang. Whereas Sonia's section is a colourful, girlish paradise, yours is dull, gloomy, plain and lacklustre in every aspect. Your blinds are perpetually drawn, your walls devoid of any poster or print, your furniture basic and simple. Honestly, you don't spend enough time in the house to bother with decorations and only focus on the necessities.

You open your closet and begin changing out of your normal, everyday clothes and into a warmer shirt, trousers and a clean pair of socks before you pick up your trusty backpack which you keep propped up against the wall. Opening it, you begin packing your tools and various gear, grabbing them off your desk and tossing them inside. The only thing that does not properly fit is your sleeping bag which you keep rolled up and attach it to one side of your bag using a buckled strap.

Once her nails are dry, Sonia quickly gets up from her seat, leaves the room and promptly returns with a few snacks consisting of peanut butter protein bars, dried fruit mix and some Moomoo cheese that should help last you the entire night. "Here, take these."

"Thanks, Sonnie."

"I worry about you," Sonia says with a sigh as she returns to sit down and Cutiefly nestles in her hair and nuzzles the side of her cheek, "You're always leaving in the evening and coming home at dawn..."

"Can't help it, Sonnie. You know what it's like." You finally finish packing and stand up, donning your coat first before you pull the straps of your bag firmly over your shoulders. The last item you reach for is your pocket radio which Sonia eyes with concern.

"Be careful! And call us if anything comes up, okay? Well, maybe not Gran because she goes to bed at nine...but I'll still be up!"

You flash her a wide grin in response, "I'll be fine, Son. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!"

You both exchange a hug before Cutiefly and Polteageist hover over to you and you pat them affectionately. "I'll be back soon. Be good," you say when they look at you sadly; you lean forwards and peck them over the top of their heads. Heading to the door, you turn to Sonia once more and throw your arms in the air. "Now I bid you, adieu."

Sonia giggles, twirling a curl of her hair with her finger whilst Polteageist waves sadly and Cutiefly loops in the air. You hurriedly dash out of the room, sprinting down the stairs and waving to Magnolia before you shove your feet into your hiking boots. You breeze out the house, heading towards the direction of the train station that will take you to the Wild Area. Checking your wristwatch, there should be a train arriving in ten minutes.

It's getting late, the sky is turning dark and people are on their way home but your day is just starting.

You are a Pokemon Researcher, specialising in the ghost type. You study the supernatural and the paranormal so naturally your work mostly begins at night. You have had clients who share with you stories of the weird and wonderful, the bizarre and downright strange and you've dedicated yourself in studying these mysterious and often terrifying occurrences. Galar is rich with supernatural lore and tales from the crypt so all in all, it's very exciting to be here.

Your new client and his horrific story is nothing new - it's probably a ghost Pokemon pulling the strings.

Having moved to Galar from Kalos, Magnolia and Sonia have been so good to you when you knew no-one and had no other place to go. They have taken you under their wing and they worry about you a lot usually because you leave at late evening or night, return at the ass crack of dawn and spend the majority of the day sleeping but this is a cycle you've grown accustomed to before you moved. Your body clock has completely adjusted. You're nocturnal.

You arrive at Wedgehurst station and go through the ticket barriers with your monthly pass in hand, surprised to see that the station is far busy today compared to usual.

Normally at this time, it's empty and quiet and the passengers are weary workers who are departing from their jobs in Wedgehurst to return home but on this occasion, you see far more individuals than you would have liked and you're forced to queue.

Nevertheless, you plug in your earphones, choose one of your favourite songs and bring out your journal to go over your notes you took down when you were speaking with the client.

When the train arrives, the increased number of passengers means you don't easily find a seat compared to other days as the commuters bumble in and out and the seats begin to slowly fill up. You look left and right and luckily, you find an empty seat just two rows ahead. You do hold back at first, wondering if there are any elderly citizens in the same carriage but after glancing around curiously, there are no old folk and no-one is interested in taking the seat.

You may as well sit down.

You end up squashed between a middle-aged woman who is busy knitting a green scarf with a Rowlet's face on it and on your left is a young guy dressed in white sweats with the hood pulled up and wrapped tightly around his head. A black cap has also been expertly placed to cover his face. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, slouching to the side and quite possibly asleep.

Luckily, the next stop is the Meetup Spot of the Wild Area so you don't need to sit for too long.

A Charizard stands in front of you, holding onto one of the pivoted grab handles that dangle from the ceiling with a sticker slapped over his scaly chest that says 'World's Best Charizard'.

The doors of the carriage soon close and the train leaves the station, chugging down the tracks; during the brief journey, you and Sonia message each other before she goes downstairs for dinner so you leave her be to enjoy her meal. You use your notebook to occupy yourself and go through your notes and diagrams once again.

Your drawing skills are amateur but you've briefly sketched the house and drawn the horrific, ghostly man according to the boy's testimony and you spend some time studying your drawings until you hear Charizard let out an audible snort of curiosity and you look up.

He's looking at your notepad, at your diagrams, and you grin, "Oh? Are you interested?"

He nods.

It's not always you get the chance to talk to someone or a pokemon about your line of work because you're mostly met with skepticism or derisiveness. Therefore you find your grin widening and you excitedly gesture to the house. "There's a house in the Wild Area rumoured to be haunted. I'm heading there right now to take a look."

Charizard looks a little disturbed at your revelation and points a claw to the drawing of the old man and glances at you.

"That's a ghost."

His reptilian eyes widen thoroughly.

"I'm on the case. I'm a pokemon researcher, see?" You pull your badge out from your left pocket of your coat to show him and he scrutinises it intensely, "I'll get to the bottom of this and - "

You halt midway when the man on your left suddenly lets out a muffled groan and begins to lean against your shoulder with a tad more force than usual and you stiffen in your seat.

It's probably on accident and everyone else doesn't seem to notice; they're sitting with their pokemon or their eyes are glued onto their Rotom phones; everyone's too busy to notice so you inconspicuously use your shoulder to nudge him away and he returns to his normal spot. You inwardly breathe a sigh of relief until he slumps against you once more, groaning slightly. Even though he has a hat covering his face, underneath the fabric and you can feel his nose pressing against your neck and you tense up.

The train annoy announces that you're almost at your destination but you remember the wise words of Magnolia. She warned you to be careful when you're on the train at night, especially when you are on your own. Whilst you wonder if you are possibly sitting beside a pervert who is pretending to be asleep so he can act like he is nodding off and accidentally 'slumping' or 'bumping' against you, the Charizard helps you out by curling his claw and prodding at the young man firmly.

"Huh? What?" The sleepy young man finally retreats from you and you hear him mutter groggily, half-asleep.

Strange, his voice sounds familiar.

The tannoy sounds off once again: "We have now arrived at the Meetup Spot, Wild Area."

You're at your destination regardless so you quickly stand up and head to the doors with a few others as the train slowly rolls to a stop. Behind you, you hear the man waking up.

"Charizard, are we here?" he asks. Charizard lets out a low bellow and he exclaims, "Great! Let's go!"

As you step off the platform and begin to exit the station with the others, the young man breezes past you with Charizard at his heels, slotting his ticket into the machine and charging through the turnstile. Whilst you wonder what his rush is, it's then you see the long slither of purple hair cascading out of his cap in waves over his shoulders and it occurs to you that you had been sitting beside the Champion of Galar on the train the entire time.

Your eyes grow wide.

Charizard really should've been the first clue.

You leave the station dumbfounded as you contemplate this.

You don't know much about the Champion. The only information you know is the same stuff as any fan would know because you only used a quiz from a magazine to enrich your knowledge on him. You know his name is Leon, he is extremely handsome and nice, he has a Charizard, he is unbeatable, he has been the Champion for roughly ten years and he lives in Postwick. That's pretty much it.

In fact, your knowledge on modern affairs is so atrocious that you do often reprimand yourself that you should pay far more attention to the news and world affairs but your research took up a lot of your time and it didn't help that you were essentially a night owl. Regardless, Magnolia and Sonia knew him and he's been to the lab on a few occasions but needless to say, you were never there and more often than not, you were always fast asleep when he popped by.

You weren't engaged with or interested in the Pokemon League or the Championship anyway.

You had more important things to focus on, such as your studies.

The house is your priority now so you put away your music, take out your Rotom phone, turn on the GPS function and whip out your flashlight which you will use once you're on the path.

The Meetup Spot is a rendezvous point with only one or two friendly Watt Traders dressed in the most snazzy outfits you had ever laid eyes on and there is also a nice lady who can heal gym challenger's Pokemon essentially at no cost. You don't see the Champion or Charizard anywhere so you figured he must have headed towards the Wild Area already. You wonder why he is here and why he was keeping a low profile considering people are used to seeing him in his cape and champion uniform.

Standing at the summit, it grants you a fantastic view of the entire Wild Area which would've been more discernible if you were here during daylight hours. At night, all you can see is a massive and dark expanse with a few orangey blobs in the distance indicating a camp site or whatnot. There's not many. People don't like travelling at this hour.

You're going to be in there all night.

You spare a quick glance at your notes again. The group were travelling through the Rolling Fields and had apparently taken a shortcut past the Dappled Grove. They passed a pokemon den and a Pangoro who was sleeping near the lake. You are going to assume they mean West Lake Axewell. That doesn't give you much to work with but it's given you a good indicator as to what direction you should begin your search and furthermore the Rolling Fields isn't too much of a trek from the Meetup Spot.

You set off at once with your flashlight, wandering down the path that is outlined by tall trees. To a lost and tired traveller, the Wild Area can be frightening when it is dark but you're rather used to the paths and you've travelled extensively so you are rather familiar with the area.

Along the way, you jot down points of interest and mark your progress as you venture further. You see Hoothoots and Noctowls perched in the trees, cooing and watching you. A few Oddish scamper around, accompanied by some Spinaraks. They all hide when you approach.

As the night wears on and the hours pass, you wander aimlessly down the path yet find no trace of the house and you also don't see anyone along the way. That's how alone you truly are. You're halfway through the Fields when the trees to your left suddenly bustle and shake violently and you stop in your path and shine the flashlight, just to see a Hoothoot popping out from the branches, hooting loudly with glee.

It has a pile of clothes gripped in its one claw and you stare in confusion as to where it got the clothes from until two or three seconds later and a figure comes charging out of the trees, emerging from the same spot as Hoothoot.

Unable to stop himself in time when he spots you in the path, he smacks into you and you both go tumbling. It happens so quickly you are knocked off your feet before you can yell out and your back hits the cold and hard ground.

Whoever it is, he lands on top of you, his broad chest crushing the air out of your lungs. The impact is so strong your mind reels for a moment or so but you manage to shine your flashlight at the man and you see a pair of golden eyes staring back at you and you gape with shock.

It's Leon, and he looks as startled as you are as you both gawk at each other before he quickly scrambles off you and moves to stand, spluttering a string of apologies. You cannot believe your eyes; you have encountered the Champion twice in a day.

You see that he is damp and naked, save for the white towel wrapped around his hips which is threatening to fall off. He mutters a string of apologies whilst you merely stare with widened eyes.

Haunted house - zero. Wet, naked guy - one.

"Sorry!" He exclaims, sticking a hand out to you but you are so stunned by his presence you can only gape. Oblivious to your staring, he proceeds to explain his predicament, "Sorry, I...uh, a Hoothoot stole my clothes when I was taking a bath and I chased him out here. Are you...are you okay?"

Leon doesn't owe you any explanations yet he stands sheepishly before you, his cheeks stained with pink and it's a side to the Champion of Galar you have never seen before.

You are thoroughly reminded that he's still a human like you and that he too is a person on the pokearth who'll encounter bad luck on some occasions.

Poor guy.

You manage to pull yourself together, snapping out of your staring stupor.

"Oh, er...yeah, I'm fine." you utter quickly. It dawns to you that you’re not sure where to look when you catch a glimpse of his bare chest. His physique is not bulky or overly muscular... just perfect.

You quickly wipe those thoughts away from your mind and finally slip your diminutive hand into his, which is very warm, compared to yours anyway. He curls his fingers tightly around yours and pulls you up and off the ground.

"That's a relief," he says with a grin.

His strength is uncalled for as you're easily pulled back to your feet although you trip slightly and he is quick to catch you; his other hand shoots out to grab you firmly whilst you accidentally grasp his rock-hard bicep and your eyes grow wide.

You abruptly hop out of his grip and cradle your hand to yourself, your cheeks growing warm from the unfamiliar contact.

Above, Hoothoot coos with mischief and finally drops the clothes. The damage has been done; the clothes are stained with mud and you see it's a plain white t-shirt and black boxers.

However, Leon does not curse or yell at the owl as one might do. Instead, he grins widely. "Did you have fun?"

The Hoothoot nods with gratitude and flaps its tiny wings, flying away. You watch the departing pokemon whilst Leon quickly gathers his clothes up in his arms.

"I didn't mean to frighten you,” he says before he quickly pulls on his muddied shirt and slips on his shorts under the towel whilst you automatically glance away, cringing slightly. Once he's fully clothed, he whips the towel off and wraps it around his arm. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, no, I'm alright," you utter quickly and Leon smiles warmly at your reassurance. His smile takes you off guard and you cannot help but stare, "Um, are you okay?"

He nods; he has some patches of dirt on his face so you delve a hand into your bag and pull out a pack of clean tissues which he accepts.

"Here, take this."

"Oh, uh, thanks very much!" he replies energetically, and his smile broadens as he wipes at his cheek.

His smile is contagious; you resist the urge to smile in return.

"Thanks!" He says again, when he's finished.

But he has some dirt on his chin so you gesture to yourself, "You still have some...ah, just a little...on your chin. Right there."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

He scrubs himself but the dirt remains on his chin.

".......Do you want some help with that?"

He looks owlishly at you. "Okay, sure."

You take a clean tissue from one of your own packet and step closer to him then lift your hand and carefully dab at the spot. Now that you're closer to him, you get a better look at his features.

All the stories, the dedicated websites, the magazine articles....they're all true. He's been asking if you are fine when he might be hurt too. He is kind. That's not all, even though he's wearing a basic t-shirt and boxers splattered in mud, he is incredibly good-looking.

With those long eyelashes, the dedicated gleam in his eyes, perfect pearly white teeth and long, unruly hair, the more you look at him the more your heart thumps a tad harder against your ribs.

Leon grows still, swerving his eyes to you.

When you look up, he quickly looks away.

Feeling awkward, you quickly finish the job and step backwards. "All done."

Leon thanks you again and for a moment or so, you both stand in silence until you realise there is no reason for you to linger any longer and the house is still waiting to be discovered. Clearing your throat, you straighten the lapels of your coat and adjust your bag to its proper position over your back.

"Well, I guess this goodbye - oh, wait, take this too," you fish a small glass bottle with a cork, no bigger than your pinky finger, that is filled with random herbs. "It's a good luck charm. It's been blessed and will keep you safe."

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful," Leon takes the little bottle out of your hand, inspects it before he slips it somewhere safe in his pockets.

"No worries. Goodbye now," you hurriedly make a beeline past him.

"Wait, you dropped these," Leon calls after you and you pause in mid-step at once, turning round slowly; he has picked up a card and a small black object off the ground and promptly holds them out to you.

Stunned, you pat yourself down only to discover that indeed, your pocket radio and card is missing. Bloody hell, how in the name of Arceus did you manage to drop the radio?? You mentally scold yourself and hastily return to his side to retrieve your items although you end up swiping the radio out of his hands rather forcefully, cradling it to your chest.

"Thanks. You can keep the card."

Leon glimpses at it briefly. It's your business card which contains your full name, occupation, email address and a contact number. There is also a brief blurb on your study of the occult. "...You're a Pokemon Researcher?"

"Yeah, that's right. I study ghost pokemon," you say without looking at him, your attention fully averted to the radio as you fiddle with the device, pulling out the antenna and rotating one of the dials. Although you move the dial, nothing gets picked up and there is only silence. You keep turning the dial until you configure it to the frequency of eighteen nine eight hertz.

"That's amazing. I heard that field of study can be terrifying."

You hesitate as he grins, then you nod. "It is. It's not for the faint-hearted. My line of work usually revolves around all sorts of dead things," you reply, before you ask, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

He blinks blankly at you. "Uh...well...I guess so."

His response is more or less awkward but you have placed him in a rather difficult position. You're not surprised by his response. Even though there are ghost-type pokemon, people still maintain skepticism when it comes to the supernatural.

A brief silence spawns following your reply. Leon appears...intrigued. He studies you carefully. You are a girl in a warm, long coat, slacks and comfy hiking boots. One would possibly mistake you for a gym challenger but you are a Pokemon Researcher and for a Pokemon Researcher, you are young for your age. And since you've met Leon all the way out here, you may as well ask.

"By the way, have you seen or heard anything weird around here? Like...weird lights or strange noises?"

"No-"

"Oh, okay, forget I asked then. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Wait," Leon says; he seems to have caught on that something must be amiss, "Is something wrong? Do you need help?"

The corner of your lips tug upwards into a smile. "No, it's fine-" you pause when a crackling static emits from the radio in your hands. Eyes wide, you lift it up and the white noise grows louder and louder until a scratchy and hoarse, little voice can be heard.

"......Is someone there? Hello....? Help me, please."

There are a couple of distorted crackling noises until the radio goes dead once again. You grow silent, lips turning into a frown.

Leon observes your reaction before he asks, "Who was that?"

You don't answer.

"Is your radio broken?"

"The question isn't a matter of who but what," you correct him, "'What was that'. And no, it's not broken. This is a special radio. It only works on this frequency."

And you show him your radio, the little screen and the dial and he glances over curiously.

"Eighteen ninety eight?" He utters.

"Yeah. If you want to see or hear ghosts, use this frequency."

Leon's reaction is a classic. His eyes widen to the size of saucers. Every time you talk to someone or meet someone, you always end up worming that into conversations and the expression on their faces are priceless. It's a killer.

"Well, that's what people say anyway. It's up to you if you want to believe it or not."

He looks confused.

You hope you haven't scared him too bad though so you grin widely to make him feel more at ease. "Relax. There's nothing here right now," you reply. He seems positively spooked as you slip the radio into your bag and zip it up. "Now if you excuse me, I have a haunted house to find. Goodnight."

Leon watches your retreating back heading further and further down the winding path until Charizard appears, swooping through the trees and landing on the ground with a loud thump. He's holding his sweats, bag and shoes and Leon grins widely.

"Thanks, buddy," Leon says, taking his belongings out of his grip; he slips on his shoes before Charizard snorts and nudges his head towards the trees. "Sorry, bud, not yet."

Charizard looks at him questioningly.

"I think we should go with her. She might need our help." Leon says, before he quickly reaches into his bag to pull out a clean shirt. He swap his sullied shirt and folds it away then hops behind a tree to change out of his muddy boxers for a new pair, dons his sweats and returns to the path.

He glances around, hoping to catch glimpse of you to see where you disappeared off to and successfully pinpoints you meandering down the beaten path a short distance away.

He yells your name and begins to trail after you.

You haven't gone too far and upon hearing Leon's voice, you turn round.

You stop in your path, raising a brow as soon as you spot a fully and more appropriately-dressed Leon dashing towards your direction with Charizard behind him. Stunned, you blink blankly as he stops in front of you, panting somewhat.

“Um...What are you doing?" you ask in bewilderment.

You glance at Charizard and he has the same sticker you saw at the train so you're certain it's him and he seems to recognise you also, tilting his head at you curiously and you nod. He lets out a loud but delighted huff in response.

"What? You two know know each other?" Leon asks, and Charizard nods. "You met on the train?"

Charizard nods again.

You merely grin.

"Then I guess no introductions are needed," Leon averts full focus back to you. "Can we come with you?"

"Why?"

"Because I think you need help."

"It's okay, I don't need help. No offence to you and the big guy," you reply, gesturing to Charizard, "Besides, I'm a bit of a lone wolf and it could be dangerous."

"That's exactly why we should go with you."

You're not particularly worried about Charizard so you proceed to examine Leon carefully, circling him with a hand under your chin as you look at him from head to toe and he blinks under your scrutiny. Maybe they should come after all. It would make things more interesting.

"...Alright. You want to come with me? Let's go then."

Leon replies with a grin, "Lead the way."

#jeralee #comfort in despair #archiveofmyown #leon #dande #Leon x reader #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword #sonia #professor magnolia

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jlalafics · 5 years

Note

Oh sweet toastbabies, PLEASE write some post rebellion Everlark 🧡🧡🧡

So this happened at three in the morning…so please excuse any errors–because Toddler J also woke up and attempted to help.

Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Summary: Peeta’s return to Victors’ Village doesn’t come without some issues. Post-Rebellion Everlark–mature themes ahead.

_______

There is a stranger in my house.

Granted, yes; Peeta and I shared a cave in the Arena, but he was a different person then. The Peeta I remember was wholesome and pure. I could see everything in those blue eyes of his.

I miss that boy.

The man in my house is nothing but a confused mess. Peeta shuffles around the house; he spent this first week back in Victors’ Village going from room to room in my house, torture in his gaze.

I can’t help him. I don’t know if I want to.

I am scared to.

Today, Peeta tried to go into Prim’s room.

“Stop!” I headed him off, standing in front of her door.

I haven’t opened this door—it’s still too painful.

He doesn’t ask my why. Instead, Peeta stares.

He stares at me until I feel my stomach begin to coil at the intensity in those blues. My chest begins to pound, and I steady myself, pressing my hands against the doorway. What is this strange sensation that this new Peeta causes in me?

After a long moment, Peeta nods.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Then, without warning, his hand absently reaches to brush my face.

I gasp and Peeta jumps back, frightened like prey in a hunt.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to rasp out.

Before I can say anything, Peeta runs away.

++++++

“I don’t know if he should be here,” I tell Haymitch, the next morning.

My former mentor puts down the wheedling knife. He has taken to making little woodland creatures for citizens who have returned to District 12. Not sure why, I don’t think it’s going to help us win any popularity contests.

But if he wants to carve little bunnies for the rest of his life, who am I to judge?

“Then where the hell do you think he should go?” Haymitch counters. “Back to the Capitol? One of the other Districts? The bakery—oh wait, there is no bakery.” He looks to me, dark eyes imploring. “Peeta has nowhere. He has nothing—but us…and the memories that the doctors could get back. Not sure that many of them are quite positive.”

“Oh.” I mean, what else can I say?

“You have to help each other,” Haymitch intones. “Just like in the Arena…just like on the Victory Tour…”

“I thought we got off that train,” I mutter.

“We did,” Haymitch tells me simply. “But that shouldn’t stop us from being decent human beings and helping those who need it the most.”

“Peeta doesn’t need my help!”

Haymitch stands up, that old scowl returning to his features.

“I’m not talking about him.”

++++++

It’s raining tonight.

My body aches hearing the rain pelting the roof of the house. It reminds me of my time in the cave; the feeling of Peeta’s arms around me and that steady beat of his heart—that steady heartbeat that reminded me that he was alive.

Because knowing Peeta was okay made me okay.

There’s a sound from down the hall and I shoot up from bed, taking the robe draped against the bedpost. Wrapping it around me, I stealthily walk down the hallway towards Peeta’s bedroom. Another cry echoes and I rush forward, stopping once I reach the open doorway.

Peeta lays in bed, writhing against the sheets, his eyes shut tightly as a night terror grips him.

Without thinking, I go to his side, sitting on the edge of his bed as my hand reaches to his glistening forehead.

Peeta senses me immediately, his body calming as his eyes flutter open.

In the darkness, his gaze reminds me of the boy in the cave; it’s earnest and hopeful.

It’s happy to see me.

He suddenly grips my wrist just as my hand is about to travel down to his cheek.

“Don’t,” Peeta pleads quietly.

“Why?” I choke out.

“Because.” He swallows shallowly, his blue eyes molten with something that causes my insides to burn. “I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I can let you in—if I want to.”

“Okay.”

Wrenching out of his grasp, I rush out of the room.

I don’t want him to see my tears.

++++++

District 12 is slowly building its way back to its former self. However, the divide between Seam and Merchant no longer exists. There aren’t enough of us to create sides.

From time to time, I head into town to check everything out and to gather supplies. It is while I am in the newly-built General Store that I find something of interest—a painting set.

“How much?” I ask the man at the counter.

“I’ll give it to you for a good price,” he replies. “Not many interested in sitting down and doing anything leisurely during the summer. I used to get folks coming in during the winter, looking to find things for their kids to do when it got too cold to leave their homes.”

It’s not like it’s going to put me back in Peeta’s good graces.

But I buy the damn paint anyway.

During the walk back home, I spend many moments thinking whether I should chuck the paint set into the woods or resolve to bribery—why is he so important to me?

I contemplate the significance of Peeta Mellark until I am standing right in front of him.

He’s sitting with Haymitch on his front porch. They are mid-conversation but stop as I near and I feel the frisson of irritation.

Peeta never speaks to me.

“Here.”

I toss him the package that was wrapped so meticulously at the General Store before pivoting to head home.

I don’t even know why I’m trying. Peeta is never going to forget everything that I have done to him. Or maybe those are all the memories of me that the Capitol doctors could get back—all the negative ones of me.

I can feel it welling up again—that lump in my throat.

“Wait.”

His arms wrap around my stiff form and I can feel his head rest against my back.

“What?” I manage to choke out; the question comes out thicker than expected.

“Thank you,” he tells me, warmth in his voice for the first time.

Peeta lets go and I make my way back into our house.

I’ve forgotten how wonderful it felt to be in his arms.

++++++

He paints.

The house is filled with the scent of acrylic all hours of the day until I am relegated to give him the study, so he has somewhere to store his work. Effie, thanks to Haymitch, sends him canvases of all different sizes along with better grade paint brushes, sketching pads, and eventually pencils.

We work out a routine; he paints, I hunt. Peeta isn’t ready to go back into the kitchen, his eyes water whenever I bring home bread from the town market, so I start bringing fruit instead. He doesn’t eat it, just arranges it in the bowls that my mom kept and sketches different arrangements for hours on end.

One rainy day, I find him staring out the window, sketchpad frozen in his hands.

I join his side, looking out at the rain-soaked road and the trees swaying in the storm.

Fall is approaching—it used to be my favorite season.

“I can’t paint the rain,” he tells me.

“Why?”

The pad of his finger presses against the cool glass. “Too many memories.”

I nod sagely. “Of us—in that cave.”

Peeta doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to.

Carefully, I reach for his wrist and he doesn’t protest as I lead him away from the window. I don’t know what I exactly I’m doing when I walk us out of the house and into the front yard.

Rain pelts us immediately from all different directions and it’s freezing. In only minutes, I am soaked. My teeth are chattering, and my joints protest in cold. I can feel the numbness filling me.

But at least I’m feeling something.

“Why are we out here?” Peeta asks.

I turned to his soaked form, my eyes immediately zeroing in on the view that the rain has allowed me. I can see the hard planes of his body and it reminds me, for the billionth time, that Peeta is a man now—not that boy in the cave with me.

And, for the billionth time, I feel the sadness overtake me.

“Because,” I begin listlessly. “We can be.” I meet his eyes, knowing he can’t see the tears in my eyes. “We made it out of that arena, Peeta. We’re alive—and I’m not sure how, other than this, I can make us realize that fact.”

Peeta moves towards me and then I am engulfed in his arms, his forehead pressing into mine, his eyes warm despite the frigid cold.

I have him back.

“Let’s go home,” I tell him after a moment, my hand entwining in his.

Together, we make our way back into the house.

++++++

“What do you draw?”

It is a few days after our rainy interlude and we sit in front of the fireplace, swathed in blankets with our cups of tea cooling beside us. Peeta’s sketchbook lays between us and my curiosity is piqued.

“Everything,” he replies. “Memories…nightmares…dreams…ghosts…”

“Ghosts?” I feel myself tremble at the words. “Are you haunted?”

“Not in the supernatural sense,” Peeta replies with a smile. “But I can feel their presence. Like I was walking around the grounds, the other day, and I spotted these wildflowers. They reminded me of the bouquet you made for Rue. Then it was like she was all around me—and it didn’t make me sad. It just made me feel that wherever she was, she was free.”

He opens the sketchpad and flips through before handing it to me.

It is a picture of Rue walking through a meadow of wildflowers.

My eyes go heavy. “I hope that she is in a place just like this.”

“She is,” Peeta assures me.

I realize how close he is to me, that if he blinks, I will feel the flutter of his long, pale lashes against my cheek. The thought sends a rush through my spine and that coil tightens in my stomach—not unpleasantly.

I want him.

The realization hits so suddenly that I almost double over. This hunger that laid so dormant during the rebellion comes full force—and it causes me to ache.

“Peeta…” I begin as I meet his worried gaze.

I don’t know what I’m asking, but I know deep inside he will.

After a moment, his hand goes to the nape of my neck and Peeta pulls me close before pressing his mouth to mine.

Something inside cries out in delight—or maybe it is me, because he groans in pleasure as my tongue sweeps into his mouth expertly, like we’ve done this a million times.

And, during the Victory Tour we did.

But it was never like this.

This kiss. This one is for us.

For a long while, Peeta and I remain like this—lips moving against one another, lock in an embrace that I never want to leave and feeling the freedom to be with one another until satisfied.

My hands reach, desperate to feel skin and I reach to the hem of his shirt asking for permission before pulling it over his head and off him. His skin is marred from the Rebellion, but every mark to me is beautiful and I show him, pressing my mouth to each scar.

“Katniss,” he gasps, his hips arching, when I find a spot just above his breastbone. Eagerly, his hands move to the buttons of my shirt, but I beat him to it, quickly tossing it off and away. He laughs at my hurriedness. “Slow down, we have time. We have all our lives.”

I stop at his words. “Forever?”

Peeta sits up, his hand going to my cheek and his thumb ghosting over my lips.

“Always,” he tells me as he lays me down.

His mouth presses gently into my shoulder, wandering down to explore my clavicle before he finds his way to a peak nipple. He sucks hungrily and I cry feeling the tip of his tongue swirl around my sensitive duct.

“I can’t…” Peeta moves down, lips pressing against my abdomen, dragging his tongue down as his hands reach to the waistband of the pants I wear. I help him move them off my hips, kicking them away so he can settle between my legs. I come undone feeling his sigh against the fabric between my thighs. “I can’t let you go.”

“Don’t,” I tell him.

My hand reaches deftly for his waistband to unbutton and unzip. I am careful as I help him remove his pants. I know he is self-conscious of his prosthetic; it might be state-of-the-art, but it won’t replace what was once flesh. My hand reaches to where the attachment and skin meet, dragging my fingers against the connection.

He hisses at the contact and I continue my exploration until my hand finds him, turgid and velvet wrapped around my fingers.

I make quick work of my own underwear, moving myself under him as my hand moves along him to make him ready.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Peeta says tightly. His eyes closing when my thumb grazes over the tip of him. “What you’re asking for?”

“No,” I reply, pushing the last piece of fabric separating us off his hips. “I don’t know—” I look into his eyes. “But with you, I’m not afraid to find out.”

Then, Peeta is pushing into me and I reach pulling him down so our lips can meet.

It hurts at first—for all the softness he has, there is one part of Peeta that is deliciously hard.

“Are you alright?” he rasps against my mouth though he is still thrusting into me—I don’t think he has any control.

Nor do I because my hips follow his movements. “Yes…”

Now that the pain has subsided, it feels unbelievably good to be filled by him.

“You just tell me and I can stop,” Peeta says tightly.

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles at my words, but at my own thrusts, his laughter crumbles into a moan.

We lose ourselves, the only sounds of the room being quiet gasps and the squelch of my arousal as we push into one another.

Thrust for thrust, hips pressed together, and I feel his coarseness against my clit.

I hum at the sensation and Peeta grounds into me, just as his lips goes to my breasts.

“Oh—” The moan escapes my lips and I feel him growl against me, his hips pistoning into mine. I can feel it beginning—that need to explode…to let ourselves fall apart, and I can hear my cries getting louder. “Please—”

“What do you need?” he asks desperately.

Chasing my climax, I reach for his hand, placing it fingers against my bud. “Just move against me.”

“Like this?”

His index and middle finger swirl around me and I whimper.

“Yes—” My eyes close and I can feel him grow thicker inside me—it’s going to happen.

And, when his lips desperately go to mine, it does.

I scream my climax into his mouth and he follows—I can feel him spurting inside me, the warmth filling my insides before dripping between my thighs.

We’re a mess and bone tired but I keep him inside me, not ready to separate.

Peeta hisses, his eyes meeting mine and I raise a brow in question. “It’s sensitive.”

“Oh sorry.” I let him pull out and he shivers at the sensation. “Are you okay?”

He nods, laying back, gasping for breath. “Are you?”

“Yes.” My head goes to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart as he recovers.

We let ourselves go silent, not out of fear—but contentment.

“I can’t let you go either,” I whisper into his skin.

We sleep; no ghosts, nightmares, memories between us.

FIN.

I feel like the whole “after” scene happens probably a little after their first time.

By then, there’s probably experts on the whole thing.

Writing time: 3 hours and one toddler who woke up in-between.

#lovely-tothe-bone #Everlark #Post Rebellion Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction

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