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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

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Starker High School AU, Pt 3 (Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4, Pt 5)

-----

There were two things in life that Peter was unequivocally certain were true.

Number one was that Monday mornings were a universally despised, unpleasant experience that no weekend could ever ease the pain of having to endure.

And number two: Sit-ups were a specific and profound mechanism of torture that no person should ever be required to engage in, recreationally or mandated.

Of course, it would be just his luck that the two were combined on this very Monday morning.

It was cruel and unusual is what it was, Peter thought, hands curled at his temples as he pushes himself into a sitting position, falling back onto the dewy grass with a thud that steals the breath from his chest.

Bucky, holding his ankles, encourages him to complete his set.

“I can’t,” Peter gasps, his stomach trembling as he pulls himself up again. “I - oh fuck - I hate this. I hate exercise.”

Bucky squeezes his ankles tighter. “C’mon, Parker, only three more. You can do it.”

Peter shakes his head, even as he pulls himself up again with a pained groan.

“No, I can’t. Make it stop.”

“Two more. You got it. Sit-ups are not the boss of you.”

“Yes - ahh - they are!”

“One more!”

Sweat pours down his neck and his muscles protest as he pulls himself up for the last time. He gets probably only most of the way up before his gravity slams to the ground.

Bucky slaps his bare calf encouragingly as Peter stares up into the glaring morning sun, arms splayed out, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Oh, god. Never again. That was the worst.

Covering his eyes with his quivering arms he wonders if maybe coach will indulge him just this once. Maybe he can stay here until training is over, perhaps curl up into a ball and try to blend in with the grass so that no one sees him or subjects him to any more exercise.

Except Coach Danvers is already yelling at him to get off the ground and get moving.

He smacks his hands over his ears but it’s no use.

“Get up Parker, last warning!”

“Respite!” He yells back pleadingly, curling in tighter upon himself. “Please!”

Her whistle pierces the air.

“Now!”

Coach has been on edge all morning. Her harsh has turned razor edged in the face of their upcoming match against Kingston this Thursday, reminding the team of her expectations, tolerating nothing other than complete dedication.

Which, whatever.

Peter’s dedicated, okay? It’s Monday. He dragged his ass out of bed to be here at an unholy hour, exhausted and bloated from his indulgent weekend, didn’t he?

Erring on the margin of spite towards Danvers and self motivation, which he suspects is her aim, he pushes himself back up. Taking each of Bucky’s ankles in his grip, he starts counting as Bucky begins his set.

Not that he needs the assistance, Bucky proves his strength by ripping through the set like a bull stampeding through a brick wall. He doesn’t even break a sweat. Dude’s crazy athletic.

It’s really not fair.

As he mentally counts the reps, Peter thinks Bucky’s the kind of fit that Peter both hoped and never hoped to be. He’s effortlessly capable at any physical task, but he works hard for it, harder than Peter would ever dream of working, dedicating hours to gym time and conditioning. Bucky’s not even out of breath when he strikes up conversation.

“How was your weekend, PP?”

“S’okay. Played Mario Kart with my Aunt all weekend.”

Bucky grins as his upper half rises to meet his knees. “Oh, party animal. She doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good,” Peter grins wryly, taking one of his hands from the other’s ankle to push the sweat-damp hair from his eyes. “Kicked my ass though. She always takes Toad.”

“Switch?”

“Nah, GameCube. How was your weekend?”

“Boring. Parents were home all weekend and wanted some ‘family time’.”

“So, you just watched The Voice all weekend?”

“Yup.”

“Nat sneak in after?”

“Yup. How’d it go with Stark on Friday?” Bucky accepts Peter’s hand as he finishes his set. Peter pulls him up and pats him on the back.

The set off in a jog to complete a lap of the field, Coach yells that only five minutes are left, urging them to pick up speed. Peter’s lungs burn when he speaks.

“It was fine.”

Bucky looks at him dubiously, flyaways whipping at his face.

“Well not like, fine-fine, but no bloodshed. See? All limbs intact.” He holds his arms out mid-sprint.

“Wow, so you’re basically best friends now.”

“No.”

“Did you hold hands and braid each other’s hair?”

Incensed, Peter shoves at Bucky to the sound of his snickering,

“Ew, stop, I just had breakfast. Look, the first experience was painful enough. Can we move on? I really don’t want to talk about it.”

---

“And then he hit on my Aunt,” Peter complains in the showers, soaping up his chest. “Literally right in front of me. Who does that?”

“Did she flirt back?” Bucky asks, dipping his head into the spray.

“What? No. He said he was just trying to get under my skin,” he puts his head beneath his own shower head, the water pleasantly lukewarm against his heated skin. “I mean, what kind of psychopath does that?”

“Yeah, but your aunt is super hot though,” Wilson says to his right. “Stark’s an asshole, but he’s not crazy.”

There is a general murmur of agreement around the showers.

“I’m going to need you all to shut up right now,” Peter warns, turning to point at them all. “Keep my aunts name out of your mouth while you’re washing your balls, alright?”

“You heard him, move on,” Rogers cuts in, offering Peter a sympathetic smile.

He nods gratefully as conversation quickly turns to girls, grades and the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays. There was a reason why Peter was on Roger’s side all these weeks ago, he thinks, observing how the entire team respects his command without query. The guy was just interested in doing the right thing, and that’s pretty cool.

By the time they’re all dried and dressed, the topic is forgotten, much to Peter’s relief. He’s nearly late to first period though, too busy watching Wilson and Barnes smack each other with wet towels and attempting to tame his unruly curls into something resembling neatness. He’s not proud of the amount of gel it takes, but it’s what he’s got to work with.

It’s not that he’s obsessed with his appearance or anything, but he has a routine that he sticks to. Gel and lots of it.

Once, in third grade, Flash pulled one of Peter’s tightly coiled ringlet between his fingers, pulled on it and said oink. Peter still had some lingering baby fat at the time and so, as cruel as children can be, Peter was donned Piggy Parker for a time afterwards. Sometimes Porky Parker. They’re friends now, but the oinking and snuffling that followed him around the playground still haunts him.

Anyway.

On the way to first period Rogers walks alongside him down the hall. They have English together, but usually make their way separately. It kind of weirded Peter out for a moment because while they’re team-mates, they’re not really friends.

“Heard you got paired with Stark for an assignment,” the other boy says, his wry smile caught between amused and sympathetic. “That’s shit luck, Parker.”

“You’re telling me,” Peter agrees, waving to Ned and Betty as they pass. “Dude’s a freakin’ prick.”

Rogers bumps their shoulders together.

“You said it. Want me to have a word with him, get him to back off?”

“Nah,” Peter shakes his head. “I can handle Stark, he’s just some bored rich kid looking for a fight. Besides,” he gives Rogers a once-over, “pretty sure you’re supposed to keep your distance after your last brawl with him.”

“True,” he concedes, clamping Peter’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze as they stop before their room. “But we’re a team, alright? Just say the word and I’ll encourage some sense into him. Promise to be gentle.”

Peter clamps his hands over his heart with a flair of drama, despite being truly touched. “You’re my hero, Captain Rogers.”

Rogers rolls his eyes and shoves him into the classroom.

“Alright, smartass. Let’s go.”

Inside, he smiles sheepishly at Mrs Perez who glowers at them for their lateness and takes his usual seat between Clint and Shuri. He signs a good morning to the former and smiles at the latter, who is staring down at her desk with disdain.

“What’s wrong?” He nudges her chair with his foot to grab her attention.

“The curriculum.” She raises her head and points to the board miserably. It reads Lord of the Flies.

Oh, great. He could use the nap.

Peter smiles sympathetically, opening his nearly full notebook up to a blank page. “How was your weekend?”

“Meh.”

“Meh?”

“Mmm,” She nods, gesturing airily. “You know, eh. Oh, oh! I heard you spent the weekend getting cosy with Stark,” Shuri follows, pretending to search through their textbook. “Wow, that’s a three-sixty, PP. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What?” Peter hisses, voice lowering when their teacher looks around as roll-call commences. “That’s not -- ”

“Parker!” Perez yells for roll call.

“Present!”

Shuri snickers as Peter’s hand shoots up.

Lucky for him it’s the last he hears of it.

Kinda.

---

His next class is Bio with MJ who, thankfully, says very little through class. She inspects him with bleary eyes when he enters, nursing a coffee in her hands, always earlier than Peter who has to come from the other side of the school.

Peter’s grateful for the reprieve. When she does speak to him, it’s to borrow a pen or to offer him a sip of her coffee. It’s not a lab class today, only note-taking and listening to their teacher drone on about plant anatomy in the same monotone, so he accepts the bitter black coffee without hesitation.

It’s only then that he ventures to initiate conversation.

“So,” he begins precariously, doodling in his notebook, “how was your weekend?”

She shrugs, appearing more awake than earlier. “It was okay. You?”

“It was okay.”

And that was that, he’s relieved to note, companionable silence falling between again as they turn their attention to their teacher again. It’s not until they’re packing up their books at the end of class that MJ speaks to him again.

“See you at lunch?”

“Yeah, dude. Save us a table?”

“You bet. Oh, and by the way, I heard Stark is gonna be your new step-daddy. Congrats.”

Peter groans.

“How do you -- you know what, no,” he says, pulling his backpack over his shoulders and making a x with his arms. “Nope. No more talking about Stark, he is persona non grata. I’m traumatised enough.”

MJ pushes his glasses up after they slipped precariously down his nose during his declaration. “You’re so dramatic, dude.”

He bumps their shoulders together on the way out of the room and shakes his head.

“Why do people keep saying that?”

---

Ned texts him during recess; Peter is taking an extended break in the bathroom despite not needing to be there, but he’s definitely not hiding, nope. He’s just chilling in the cubicle.

< heard stark spent the weekend < lol wtf < plz verify < actually i don’t want to know < no wait i do tell me < dude

< hello?

----

Traitors, all of them.

He wonders if he should leave this school and start anew elsewhere.

---

Here’s the thing.

As much as Peter loves his friends, he has limits to how long he can spend with them before needing a time out.

They’re his motley crew of village idiots. Some he’s known since first grade, like Ned and Flash, others only since he came to the school and subsequently, the football team.

This school headhunted him because of his academic merit. With his pursuit of scholastic excellence - and the fact that some of his best friends would be attending the school, he applied for and was awarded a scholarship. It was a no-brainer - he had big dreams and even bigger expectations of himself to achieve them and he wanted May to be proud of him.

Which was why when it was suggested that he try out for JV, having exhibited some physicality during gym class, he decided to give it a try. It would look great to have on his applications, he was assured.

So he did. Somehow his wiry frame and years of gymnastics was considered an asset and he was promptly recruited by Coach Danvers. At first he deeply regretted the additional commitment -- the early hours, the soreness, adapting to the internal culture within the team. But he’s persevered and he’s glad that he did.

And for the most part, he copes okay. He can juggle football obligations and after-school activities and the odd tutoring jobs here and there and stay sane, right?

Sort of.

Because as grateful as he was for his broad circle of friends, Peter was still, at heart, an introvert. And right now, his social energy is running on fumes.

It’s because of this - and nothing to do with the relentless questions about Stark - that Peter retreats to the library at lunch that day.

Nestled away in the dusty, back corner, near the collection of old encyclopaedias that nobody reads, are an assortment of bean bags. It’s away from the main area, quiet and disregarded by most. It used to be a thriving recreational area way before Peter’s time, but there wasn’t any maintenance to it over the years. Now the bags are old, terribly lumpy and are speckled with suspicious stains, the fabric is thinning and aged. Most people purposefully avoid the old rec area, which is why Peter likes this spot best. It’s his secret hiding space.

He prepares to disassociate for the next forty minutes by getting comfortable on his favorite bean bag and popping his earphones in.

Next, he retrieves his slightly soggy ham-tomato sandwich from his bag and takes a large bite after unwrapping it. The first burst of tomato hits his tongue at the same time as the music begins.

Ah, to be alone.

Closing his eyes, he allows his body to sink into the bag and for his thoughts to wander freely.

Of course, because his luck is as poor as he is, his seclusion lasts all of three songs before someone else enters into his space. Well it’s not his space, technically, but it should be.

When Peter creaks an eye open to see who is intruding he’s surprised to see Thor perched on the bean-chair opposite him. They catch each others stare and smile.

Well, alone time is overrated.

Maybe his luck isn’t down the drain after all - because this is his opportunity to prove he isn’t a total fumbling loser. He doesn’t know which deity he pleased to be alone in a quiet corner of the library with Thor, but someone up there is clearly looking out for him.

He wants to say something, to strike up a conversation that might make Peter seem cool and only casually interested - something that would make him sound both smart and like, available.

But not too available.

With little success, Peter wracks his brain for the best opening line but frets because he’s ever been cool or collected a day in his life. And great, now he’s just been sitting there smiling for like two whole minutes like an absolute weirdo. Come on, Parker, say something!

Thor acts well before Peter has the chance to say anything, pointing at him, his mouth moving with words Peter can’t hear.

Realising a moment too late that his earphones are still playing music from his phone, Peter hurries to tug them out if his ears, smacking himself in the face in the .

“Sorry, I was --” Peter gestures to his ears, hands shaking, cheeks going hot. God, Thor is talking to him. Him! Peter Parker! “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said I like your shirt!” Thor replies, way more loudly than what would normally be socially acceptable for a library, but Peter does not care. Thor likes his shirt.

“This?” He asks, gesturing downwards to his shirt where crumbs are dusted at the collar. “You like Nirvana?”

“I do not know Nirvana,” Thor smiles, “but it looks very cool. Peter, right?”

“Uh yeah,” he nods, face positively flaming because again, he knows Peter’s name. Quickly sweeping the crumbs from his shirt, he extends his hand out to the older boy who shakes his hand. Holy shit. Be cool. “I’m Parker -- I mean, Peter. Yes. Nice to be here. I mean, nice to be speaking. To you.”

Even as Peter’s arm is roughly jostled with Thor’s exuberant hand-shaking embarrassment crawls up his neck, and he wants to disintegrate into the bean bag where no one has to witness his persistent, glaring awkwardness. Palms sweating, Peter has to bite his lip to stop himself from commenting on how big Thor’s hands are.

Stop it, he scolds himself, be normal, play it cool.

“Thor, right?” Peter asks, as if he didn’t doodle their initials together in his notebooks. “You were at training last week.”

“Yes, you fell on your face,” Thor nods, gesturing to the yellowed bruising on his jaw, “I saw.”

“Oh, okay, so you saw that! Uhh -- ” Peter waves a hand at his face, laughing nervously. “This? It’s nothing. I’m totally fine.”

“You are clumsy,” Thor states, not unkindly.

“Well, no -- I mean, yes --” Peter tries to come up with an explanation, but falls short. “I’m not always a klutz, promise. Just sometimes.”

“Happens to the best of us. Well, not myself, but you know, generally speaking. In any case, I’m happy to see you’re okay.”

Thor unzips his backpack then and from within it retrieves a truly gargantuan protein shake, followed by a sub wrapped in foil so large it could be the same size as Peter’s forearm. Sneaking a look down at the remainder of his own lunch, his pickings look pretty slim in comparison.

“Sorry,” Thor says. “Just peckish for a snack.”

Peter watches, dazed, as the older boy consumes half his sub in a single bite, washing it down with several mouthfuls of his shake.

A snack.

“You’re fine. Anyway, football isn’t really my forte,” he admits after a moment, drawing his knees up. “I mean, I’m okay at it and I like it, but it’s not really what I’m best at, y’know?”

The blond boy nods, “I’m on the varsity team,” he proclaims, wiping his mouth. “Whatever that means.”

His accent is so thick it takes Peter half a moment to figure out what it was that he said.

He’s not sure if Thor is being serious or not but the one question Peter has is why is he so fucking cute?

A silence follows, albeit not an awkward one. It gives Peter the opportunity to inspect the older boy, nearly a man at his height and stature, of course helped along by the generous distribution of facial hair across his lower face.

“Uh, did you play football back at home?” Peter asks, keen to keep conversation going. “Soccer?”

“Oh yes,” the boy nods. “Soccer, tennis, volleyball. Water polo. Badminton.”

“Wow,” Peter blinks, “that’s a lot of sport. You’re like the whole Olympics here.”

He’s awarded with a lazy grin for that comment. Thor, to his credit, doesn’t appear to be boastful about his physicality, seemingly a result of his passions instead of a product of vanity.

“Close enough, I suppose. What else do you play, besides football?”

“Uhh --”

Oh god. How is he supposed to respond to that when the idea of doing additional sports outside of football is abhorrent? He can’t tell Thor that. Surely he can fake a common interest. Think of something, Parker, think, think.

The first bell rings, saving him from having to provide a potentially humiliating answer, seeing as all how all that could think of was chess, or PC. Both of which are true and accurate, but not exactly something he thinks that would make him appear more attractive or endearing.

Thank god for fifth period.

“To be continued?” Peter asks as he picks up his backpack, just a little hopeful.

There’s an awkward bit of shuffling as they rush to get off the sagging bean chairs, moment filled with odd squeaks of polystyrene as they attempt to stand.

Thor nods and to Peter’s surprise, doesn’t immediately rush to get away from him. There’s an awkward bit of shuffling as they rush to get off the sagging bean chairs with, odd squeaks of polystyrene as they stand. Instead, he accompanies Peter all the way out of the library, walking alongside him into the main hallway where a flurry of students are intersecting to get to their next class, walking alongside him.

Heads turn to watch them as they depart the library and enter the halls. For a moment, as kids part like the red sea to make way for them - for Thor - Peter wonders if this is what it’s like to be famous. Or to be on the arm of someone famous. It certainly feels like it, because even though the revere isn’t for Peter specifically, it seems like the weight of everyone’s awe is on them.

He doesn’t like the attention. But he likes Thor.

To his delight, the older boy follows him to his locker. Embarrassingly, it sticks when Peter tries to open it, as it usually does. He struggles with it for long, humiliating moments before Thor opens it with one hand.

“Thanks,” he says, blush creeping back up his neck. “You’re like, crazy strong, dude.”

Thor flexes and inspects his own bicep, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Perhaps,” he concedes, smiling roguishly. “Back at home I used to lift my brother for weight training.”

“You what?”

“A story for another time,” Thor shakes his head, shuffling closer to be heard over the traffic of students. “Anyway, I should be going. But there was something I have been meaning to ask you, if I may take a moment --”

Peter freezes. Oh my god, this is it, he thinks.

It’s happening.

“-- seeing as you and I have similar interests and we seem compatible, it would please me greatly if you would agree to --”

Heart racing, Peter turns, a fervent yes already on his lips.

It dies when there is a loud call of his name in the hall.

“-- Hey, Parker!”

Whatever Thor was going to say wilts at the interruption, seemingly forgotten as he waves at the intruder. Peter turns to see who called out for him and instantly wishes he didn’t.

Heart dropping to his stomach, he squeezes his eyes shut and sighs.

This is his luck.

Never has he wanted to melt into the floor and die like he does right now as Stark approaches the pair in quick strides.

Hands shoved into his jean pockets, Stark’s wide eyes dart between them inquisitively, a shadow of a smirk crossing his face, disappearing just as quick.

“Well, pardon me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Tony places a hand on his heart and leans on the locker next to Peters. “Thor, barely a pleasure as always.”

“Stark,” Thor nods.

Tony simpers, smile saccharine sweet and gestures to an uneasy Peter.

“I am just so sorry to intrude, but would you mind if I spoke to my husband here? He’s such a slippery one, aren’t you, sweetums?”

Thor looks between them, head going to and fro like a pendulum.

“He’s not my husband,” Peter rushes to assure, acutely pincered between Thor’s confusion and Tony’s mischief. “I mean he is, but it’s for an assignment. We’re not really -- it’s not real. I don’t like him.”

Tony exhales heavily, looking at Thor with dismay. “That’s not what he said in our wedding vows.”

Peter wants to punch him in the throat.

“I understand,” Thor smiles, patting each of them on the shoulder. He dips his chin and catches Peter’s eye. “To be continued?”

“Y-Yeah,” Peter nods enthusiastically, probably too enthusiastically, he thinks, as his aim is to pretend to be cool and disinterested, but he doesn’t even care because maybe not all is lost after all. “To be continued. See you.”

All of the pomp bleeds away from Tony as Thor walks away, his posture turning into a slump against the locker.

The smile drops from Peter’s face. He sends Tony a heated glare as he retrieves from his books, shoving them into his bag.

“What do you want?” he grumbles, slamming his locker shut. “You have the worst timing, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” the other boy shrugs. “What can I say, I’m delightful.”

“You’re deplorable.”

Tony gasps in mock offence. “Deplorable? Good lord, Parker, is that any way to speak to your husband?”

“If the shoe fits,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I have to go to class. Say what you want or move out of the way.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t be like that. C’mon, what were you and He-Man grunting about, hmm? Grr, me big, you tiny?”

“Unless you have a point,” Peter asks, pointing to the main hall, “I’m leaving.”

Tony puts his hands up in surrender, however the glib expression doesn’t quite leave his face. But at that moment Peter doesn’t have it within him to care, he’s not here to entertain him and sooner they get this over with, the better.

“Alright, alright, buzzkill. Come outside, I have to talk to you about the assignment.”

Peter looks at him, perturbed.

“I need a smoke,” he explains, tutting at Peter dispiritedly. “Also, don’t lie, I know it’s your free period.”

He doesn’t wait for Peter to respond, heading straight for the double doors that lead to the courtyard at a sedate enough pace for Peter to follow. Nonetheless he jogs a few paces to catch up after debating whether or not it was a good idea to follow or if he should hide in the boys bathroom.

Again.

It’s fairly chilly out, the wind whipping through his clothes. He wishes he had a scarf or gloves or something, opting to shove his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and hooking the hood over his head.

“How do you know it’s my free period?” he queries loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“Because,” Tony turns to walk backwards, the breeze whistling around them, “it’s also my free period and you always stink up the library so I can’t go there,” he rounds the corner to lead Peter to the shaded area behind the auditorium where a few students are lingering, most of them smoking.

“And you take the best seat. Personally, I think it’s selfish. I can’t possibly sit there after your ass has warmed it.”

Willing himself to not rise to Tony’s level of pettiness, he crosses his arms over his chest as they come to a stop. The wind is at full force now that the surrounding buildings aren’t taking the brunt of it and it is cold as all hell, although Tony’s in a black t-shirt and doesn’t look affected at all, probably because he’s cold-blooded or warmed by hellfire.

Tony cups his hands over his lighter to protect the flame from the breeze, struggling briefly to light his cigarette. Once the end is properly alight, Tony takes a drag while staring at him.

His hand comes to rest at his thigh, smoke rising idly from the cigarette. After a moment, he exhales the smoke in Peters direction.

“Wow. You’re disgusting,” he waves his hand in front of his face to dispel the smell. “Don’t you know second-hand smoke can kill?”

"Yes. Do you want a drag to speed up the process?”

“Don’t be a dick,” he says as Tony seems to find himself funny, offering up the cigarette in jest. Peter has half a mind to snatch it out of his hands and stomp on it. “I know that’s hard for you.”

“I’m joking, okay. I thought the wind would redirect the smoke. My bad.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, the assignment? Still waiting for whatever was so urgent."

Tony takes another drag, flicking ash to the ground before answering.

“I booked an appointment with a realtor for tomorrow after school.”

That has Peter’s curiosity piqued. “Really? Where?”

“LIC. One of the agents has agreed to be a reference so our domestic nightmare can be officially documented. Yay, go team.”

“Yay,” Peter deadpans. “What time?”

“Appointment’s at four-thirty,” Tony retrieves his phone from his pocket and hands it to Peter. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the details.”

Peter accepts it with a grimace. It’s warm from Tony’s body heat. Ugh.

“And now you can say: ‘thank you for being proactive, Tony, you’re so much better than me, Tony’.”

“Thank you for being proactive, Anthony, even if you’re a self-aggrandizing jerk,” Peter mutters, voice getting progressively more sarcastic.

A wide smile blooms on Tony’s face, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re welcome, Parker.”

He is going to let that one go, Peter decides, feeling magnanimous on spite of the circumstances. He’d never admit it, but he’s kinda surprised by Tony’s apparent initiative, and even genuinely a little grateful that the other boy has arranged this so quickly. Or even that he thought to arrange it at all - field research was one of the highest scoring components on the rubric for this assignment.

Eyes flicking up for a moment, he assesses the other boy. Maybe he’s not as much of a slacker as Peter thought he was.

Tony, slumped against the brick wall, rubs his stomach and burps quietly.

Or maybe he is.

Nevertheless, Peter types in his details and saves his contact in Tony’s phone as Your Better Half.

Peter isn’t too much to look at, he knows, but he’s not the weak link here.

Tony accepts the phone back and wipes the touch screen on his shirt before pocketing it.

“Alright then, meet me after school tomorrow in the parking lot. Don’t be late,” he flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it to put it out. Tony bends at the waist then to pick up the stub, clutching it in his fist for later disposal instead of leaving it as litter.

That surprises Peter a little, it’s more thoughtful, conscious a gesture than he would have expected to come from Stark. Not that he’s ever personally seen such behaviour from him, but it wouldn’t be a stretch with his devil-may-care attitude. Would it?

He’s about to make mention of heading back inside when Stark takes two purposeful steps towards Peter, bridging the gap between them.

Peter freezes on the spot, breath caught in his chest as Tony brings them nose-to-nose.

He flicks his eyes down at Tony’s lips when his solemn expression morphs into an impish smile.

“Dude, what -- ?”

While Peter is distracted, Tony’s hands dart out to grip the strings of Peter’s hoodie, tugging them until the hood shrinks around his face.

“Do me a solid and try to wear something that doesn’t make you look like you’re a step away from lining up at a soup kitchen, okay? Y’know, something nice.”

Peter smacks his hands away furiously, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Tony backs away, snickering.

“You really get off on being a prized piece of shit, don’t you?” he mutters, somewhat self conscious as he tries to correct the hood. “Poor jokes, that’s real nice. Sorry not all of us were born wearing Balenciaga.”

He continues to struggle with it as they move away and head back towards the main building, pushing it off his head altogether.

“Calm down, Charlie Brown, it’s not that deep,” Tony says drily, although his flippant demeanour softens significantly. “I have no doubt that you’d still manage to look like a hobo even if you were loaded, okay. You just have that grubby vibe.” Tony claps his hands together. “So, tomorrow. Meet me in the parking lot. Yes?”

Inside, away from the wind, Peter is still helpless to quell the hurricane that is Tony Stark. He gives him a tired thumbs up.

With that Tony sets off in the opposite direction, leaving Peter to wonder what the hell just happened, and what his life has become these last few days.

“What a jackass,” he says to himself.

Now alone, he rubs his hands up and down his face, fruitlessly attempting to scrub away the memory of Tony close to him, eyes warm with mirth, the heat of his body up close and the smell of nicotine on his breath as he quite literally tugged Peter’s strings. It takes longer than he likes to will the image away and to calm the furious beat of his heart.

Furious; a feeling Peter is becoming progressively more familiar - and uncomfortable with.

Ben used to say that being angry at someone was allowing them to take up space in your head, rent free. He was right, because it never served Peter well to house animosity when acceptance was kinder to his soul and psyche, and to others -- but he can’t help it with this guy. Tony Stark is like an ear worm of the brain. He has this completely obnoxious way of making himself front and centre despite Peter’s best efforts to cast him to the sidelines.

While he’s willing himself to move on his phone vibrates inside his pocket with a new message.

> ur not my better half, loser > why r u like this > nvm i already know lol. > remember, don’t be late 2morrow

Peter, just a little satisfied with himself for getting under Tony’s skin, saves his contact as Tiny Stank and types back quickly, eager to get back to his seat in the library - assuming Stark hasn’t already occupied it - and make the best of his remaining free period.

< whatever helps u sleep at night < also, plz lose my number after this is over

> way ahead of u, princess > say hi to aunt may for me

Ugh, Peter cringes, pocketing his phone without replying.

That guy is the worst.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends, @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix

#starker #ironspider #high school au #tony stark x peter parker

236 notes · View notes

kinktae · 7 years

Text

Tempting || 7

Y/N is an angel and a good one at that. She steers clear of the seven deadly sins, especially lust. She is out performing her duties when she runs into a demon. Luckily for her, that demon, Taehyung, doesn’t seem to buy into that whole “Angels and Demons are sworn enemies” idea. But unluckily for her, Taehyung just so happens to be the very embodiment of sin. Especially lust.

Or, “For someone who is meant to be so pure, you sure are dirty, angel.”

pairing: demon!taehyung x angel!reader

genre: fantasy, smut, angst

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of suicide/death, lots of dirty talk and smut lol

A/N: this is less biblical and more supernatural?? Like less focus on religion itself and more focus on angels and demons as immortal creatures even though I might reference some “biblical” terms lol sorry this is too unholy anyways it’s fine. oh and this is a dream I had!

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 (final)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

“Look who is up early once!” Hobi’s bright voice called out the moment he saw me walk emerge down the stairs. Seated at the table were my three roommates, each one of them digging into their breakfast of choice.

I rolled my eyes playfully at the orange haired man’s comment. He wasn’t wrong after all; I often spent my nights awake out roaming with Taehyung. I had no idea the city was so lively at night. There was always something happening, be it good or bad. It was crazy how little of the city I actually got to see. Angelic duties didn’t allow for much sightseeing I suppose.

Some nights Taehyung and I found ourselves went sitting in Jane’s room, listening in to the funny conversations she often had over the phone with her friends late at night. It was good to see that pregnancy didn’t hinder her from living her usual teenage life.

Taehyung and I had made a sort of game out of talking back to her, pretending that her responses were to us and not to whoever was on the other line.

Most days I woke up in the afternoon, completely exhausted from having stayed up all night. But for whatever reason, my body had chosen to regain consciousness earlier than usual today.

Joining my roommates at the dining table, I sat down with an exhausted sigh.

“Those late nights studying have been really getting to you, huh?” Jimin commented, looking at my tired state sympathetically. I froze silently in my seat before relaxing back into it in an attempt to look casual.

“Yeah.” I replied, unable to meet Jimin’s eyes. None of the boys knew about Taehyung and I had zero intention of telling them. We had been taught to resent everything that demons were brought up on, so I highly doubted they would take kindly to the idea of me dating a demon.

Dating.

It was a human term that once meant nothing to me, but now it was a word that made my insides feel warm.

The feeling of Namjoon staring at me had me pushing my happy thoughts away, however, sitting up a little straighter as I turned towards my roommates.

“So, what have you guys been up to? I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever.” I laughed nervously, eager to take any attention off of myself.

“Same old, same old. Helping people, restoring hope back into the world.” Hobi sighed dramatically before laughing which in turn caused me to do the same.

“How about you, Jimin?” I stated, turning towards him. He looked taken off guard, mouth full of his omelet. He swallowed it down harshly.

“Uh, nothing new really... Well, I mean, there’s this girl–”

“A girl? You’re seeing someone?!” I interrupted, excited at the idea that one of my roommates was dating someone as well. Jimin’s eyes grew wide at my words, cheeks flushing on cue.

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s a human girl. She started coming around the park to tend to the flowers.” Jimin explained with a shake of his head.

“Oh man, watch out Jimin, looks like you got competition.” Hobi warned.

Jimin smiled crookedly, shaking his head.

“It’s nice. I appreciate the help.” He replied contently.

Hobi shrugged, “Fine, but when you’re run out of business, don’t come crying to us.”

Namjoon let out an amused chuckle but Jimin merely rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his omelet.

Suddenly, a yawn ripped through me. God, I was tired. Maybe a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go back to bed. Sorry to leave so soon but I’m exhausted.” I told the boys, standing up to leave.

“Uh, Y/N!” Hobi called out suddenly, causing me to pause my movements.

“There’s, uh, something I wanted to ask you, actually.” He continued, sounding uncomfortable. Noticing the atmosphere of the room shift significantly, I sat back down slowly.

“Okay...” I responded, beckoning him to continue.

Hobi glance to Namjoon momentarily, who nodded at him. What was that for?

“Did you, uh, happen to borrow an essence suppressor?”

I blinked in surprise, my body growing cold.

Did he know?

“I... Why do you ask?” I finally responded, not sure whether to answer him truthfully or not.

“Well, they’re not exactly easy to come by, and I’m in charge of them so it’s my job to keep track of how many are left. There was one missing.” He revealed, tapping his fingertips against the table.

“Oh, wow. Are you sure?” I tried, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

I suddenly became aware of how intently the three boys were staring at them.

“Well, it wasn’t me. Namjoon, Jimin, was it one of you guys?” I asked, running a hand through my hair. I could feel myself beginning to panic.

“They don’t have any reason to steal one from me, Y/N.” Hobi told me firmly, causing me to frown.

“So what? You think I have a reason?” I quipped defensively. “I’ve been studying for the past two weeks– Why would I need an essence suppressor?”

Jimin looked at me, clearly surprised at my tone. I didn’t know why I was growing angry with Hoseok. He was right, after all. I had taken it from him.

“I dunno, none of us has seen much of you lately so I figured–”

“Well, you figured wrong.” I snapped coldly, standing up from my seat.

“Y/N, calm down.” Namjoon said, suddenly speaking up. I turned my head to glare at him.

“I am calm!” I told him angrily, my voice coming out louder than I would’ve liked. Something within my chest felt tight and the way the boys were all looking at me only amplified the sensation.

“We know you’re stressed out from studying so hard. It makes sense that you would’ve wanted to go out to Limbo again to let off some steam, no one is upset with you.” Namjoon reasoned causing me to scoff.

“Limbo? You think I stole a suppressor because I wanted to go clubbing? Please, I didn’t take your stupid suppressor.” I huffed.

That’s a lie.

“Y/N–” Namjoon began as if to warn me to calm down again.

“No, you know what, this whole confrontation is just stupid. Just leave me alone!” I frowned, walking out of the room and up the stairs before anyone could say anything else.

There was something wrong– there had to be. Because with every step I took I felt myself growing angrier. I knew I was in the wrong, I knew I should just go back down and apologize but the thought of having to face my roommates once again only made me angrier so I opted instead to head into my room, shutting my door with a dramatic slam.

Letting myself fall onto my bed, I frowned. I let my eyes fall over my room; my lights were off, painting the space in a dark color that once made me uneasy but ever since Taehyung entered my life, now provided me with unexpected comfort.

My hands found purchase onto the nearest pillow within my reach and before I could think to question myself, I shoved my face into it and let out a muffled scream.

A few seconds ticked by before I let the pillow fall down onto my lap, my breathing slowing. I had remembered that one of Jane's favorite movies had a scene where the protagonist had screamed into a pillow and while I wasn't sure what the action was meant to accomplish, I realized the tightness in my chest had lessened.

Letting out a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair.

My anger had begun to subside and in its place was a sinking filling in my stomach. I didn't need to know that Wrath was a sin for me to know that raising my voice at the boys was wrong, I could feel it.

The sound of multiple footsteps coming up the stairs cause my breathing to hitch, turning to face the wooden surface of my shut door. For a moment, I feared that they were headed my way, my grip on the pillow tightening.

However, I quickly realized that I was listening to the sounds of the boys moving to get ready to do their jobs– to be angels.

Laying back onto my bed, I shut my eyes. Between the footsteps were small hints of hushed words that I couldn't make out, a bitter reminder of just how distant I was growing from the people I considered family.

I laid in the cool shadow of my room as everyone made their way back downstairs and out the front door, carrying on to be productive with their day.

Tears pricked at my eyes as my mind fell victim to the darkened thoughts that were racing through it.

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Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I took in the state of our study room. Oddly enough it went by relatively unused despite the fact that this house was home to an Archangel. Namjoon had access to the Angelic Archives, an impressive library only accessible to those in higher ranks; our little at home library was archaic in comparison.

Scanning the bookshelf, I finally came across the book I had been looking for and pulled it from the shelf eagerly.

If I had been studying for your placement test like I was supposed to then maybe this would have been spending my free time, not with a blond demon roaming the city streets.

As I lay in my bed mopping, I realized that perhaps it was time that I did research after all.

Opening the thick book, I let out a cough of protest as an unfortunate amount of dust ejected itself into the air.

Jesus. We really have been neglecting these books.

Waving a hand above the book, my eyes fall onto the page I just opened. Printed at the top read the word ‘Succubus,’ a lengthy description just below it.

If my questions were going to be answered anywhere it would be the Demonic Encyclopedia. Giving the unsettling sketch of the demon printed onto the page a brief glance, I quickly flipped back a few pages. My guess was that this book was in alphabetical order, as most encyclopedias were.

My hunch proved itself to be correct, as my eyes fell upon the word I had been searching for.

“Scelus,” I read out loud, “Latin for the word ‘sin’. Etymology can be found from the Proto-Indo-European branch. The root word ‘skel’ meaning to bend, or to curve. Like most demons, Sceluses possess a demonic and human form.”

Understanding Taehyung meant understanding all parts of him and as much as I didn’t want to know more I knew I had to. There was a small part of me that feared that being with him was changing me– in which way, I wasn’t quite sure.

I let out a sigh, my arms growing tired from holding up the heavy book. Walking over to the study room’s desk, I set it down, peering over it as I continued to read.

Sceluses are demons of suggestion, holding no outward control over their target’s bodies. Routinely, the Scelus slips into the mind of a human, inserting ideas of chaos and misconduct. A Scelus works to tempt humans to sin, disguising their suggestions as being the victim’s own thoughts. Those that are particularly weak-willed are most likely to listen to the Sceluses suggestions, thus embarking on a path towards sin and chaos.

I paused, a cold feeling of uneasiness falling over me.

Taehyung had once slipped into my mind, trying to get me to kiss him– to sin. He hadn’t inserted any more ideas into my mind since that day but given where we were today, it was safe to say Taehyung had succeeded in leading me to sin.

Ignoring that realization, I pressed on.

Although physically unable to physically manipulate a victim like more traditional demons, Sceluses hold more power over a human soul than most. In its demonic form, it possesses the ability to sever the soul from the heart. By cutting off all empathy and love, the soul then blackens, essentially assuring soul a spot in Hell, too far gone to repent. Witnesses of this process have described it as horrifically chilling, the demon entering the human while writhing and thrashing in agony.

A harsh exhale of air left my lips. That night at Jane’s. Taehyung had cut Jake's soul. It was the only way he could hurt Jake and protect Jane.

A drawing on the page pulled me away from its next passage.

It wasn’t what I would expect a demon to look like; there were no twisted features or bared sharp teeth. No, the drawing itself didn’t consist of much at all. The demon drawn was thin and long– dark and entirely featureless except for two distinct eyes. I imagined they would be human-like if it weren’t for the way the irises were shades black, blending into the pupils.

I still remembered that night outside Jane’s house. How I nearly mistook Taehyung for a shadow as he leaned back against a tree, the shine of his eyes being the only thing I could make sense of.

A wave of nausea rolled over me. The idea of that Taehyung used to spent his days lurking in the dark as he tempted people into sin suddenly too much to grasp. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I let my mind wander, craving anything and everything that would take my mind off what I had just read.

Jin.

Taehyung’s friend wasn’t entirely human, right? What was it that Taehyung had called him? A Demi?

Cautiously, I began moving back into the book, flipping through the pages of demons beginning with the letter D. To my disappointment, the word Demi failed to show up. Frowning, I tapped a finger against the book.

Alright, what else could I look up?

Sifting through the book, I came across “Incubus,” letting out a noise of recognition as I remembered that Taehyung’s friend Jungkook was an Incubus.

Incubus. Derived from the Latin word root ‘incub’ meaning to lie upon. Incubi are demons of Lust, feeding off sexual energy by sleeping with women. Incubi can either feed in their demon form, praying on sleeping women through nightmares or can physically fornicate in their human form. Incubi, along with their female counterparts (see Succubus page 312) are said to be alluring and sexually aggressive by nature. These demons can usually lure their targets quite effortlessly. Incubi are capable of killing their targets but many prefer to keep the woman they involve themselves with alive so they may feed on them habitually.

Goodness. No wonder Taehyung had insisted on keeping me away from Jungkook. I had assumed he was just possessive, but clearly, he had reason to be cautious.

Incubi have on occasion been known to produce offspring with human women. These offspring are formally known as ‘Cambion,’ although often referred to as ‘demi-demons.’ During the 15th–18th centuries, women who claimed pregnancy through Incubi encounters were often accused of witchcraft and burned before the child could be birthed. Cambion hold no demonic power, but as children have been reported as ‘resenting human touch’ and ‘not developing a pulse or need to breathe until after completing human puberty.’

So that was it then. Jin was a Cambion. My heart felt heavy as I imagined the difficult childhood the kind man must have had. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the pain of having your family abandon you over things you have no control over.

I scanned over the rest of the page, finding examples of famous Cambion throughout history and famous cases of Incubus linked serial killers.

A loud knock against the front door suddenly captured my attention, my head snapping up and away from the book.

Cocking my head to the side, I stayed silent. Who was that?

I glanced towards the clock mounted on the wall, frowning as I realized that it was still far too early for the boys to come home. There was still an hour before sunset.

Was it Taehyung?

I shook my head, dismissing that idea immediately. No, Taehyung always came over when it was dark out, besides, he wouldn’t come through the front door. It was too risky considering I lived with three other angels, not to mention he once joked that sneaking in through my window made him feel cool.

Perhaps it was just a group of human kids. Our house had been enchanted to look old and abandoned to the human eye, so it wasn’t a rare occurrence for the children in the neighborhood to challenge one another to knock on the door. I didn’t understand the logic behind it as they almost always ran away scared right after but then again, there were still a lot of human tendencies that confused me.

Realizing that my best bet was to just look through the peephole and see for myself, I quickly shuffling out the room, making my way over the front door. Another loud knock rang out against it just before I reached it.

Cautiously, I peered through the peephole to see, curious to see who it was that was so insistent on entering our house. A gasp fell from me as a pale hand running through black hair came into view.

Yoongi.

I backed away from the door immediately, crouching down before I could think twice. I knew he couldn’t see me through the front door, but fear couldn’t help but burrow its way into me. I had to stay quiet. Surely he’d go away if he thought no one was home, right?

What in heavens name was he doing here? Why was Taehyung’s scary vampire friend at my doorstep? Oh God, I should’ve read the chapter on Vampires. If Yoongi somehow made his way in, I had no idea to protect myself. All my powers were light based and seeing as he had just walked on over here in the sunlight, I doubt it would do much good against him. Maybe I could quietly sneak back into the study room; there had to be some sort of information on how to defend yourself against death vampires in the Demonic Encyclopedia.

“Y/N, I know you’re there. I heard you gasp.” Yoongi’s low voice rang out from outside nearly causing me to lose my footing.

“Um.. I-I... Now isn’t a good time.” I called out, struggling to conjure up an excuse as to why I couldn’t open the door other than the fact that I was terrified of him.

There was no way I was opening this door.

“Open the door.” Yoongi ordered unforgivingly.

Haha, just kidding!

All but lunging towards the doorknob, I swung the door open, not wanting to anger him any further. Yoongi’s disinterested eyes met my panicked ones.

“Hi.” I breathed, paralyzed to my spot. I was pretty sure he knew I was an angel after hearing his conversation with Taehyung, but now, without any essence suppressor present, I had no doubt he knew.

“Hey.” Yoongi replied dryly.

Not knowing what to say, I let silence fall between us.

“Can I come in?” He said, raising an eyebrow. I jumped back into life.

“Yes! O-Of course! Please!” I squeaked, moving out of the way so he could enter. Yoongi walked past me with a small clearing of his throat.

Suddenly, an awful vampire tv-shows Jane watched came to mind. In one of the episodes, the vampire had to be verbally invited in otherwise they couldn't enter the house.

Nice going. I just failed basic vampire self-defense.

“Look, I’m not here to bullshit around. Let me get straight to the point.” Yoongi said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. My hands pulled on the sleeve of my sweater nervously as I nodded in response.

“You need to stay away from Taehyung. Move on. Find someone else. Take a vow of celibacy or something, I don’t really care.”

I blushed at the mention of celibacy but otherwise didn't respond. I was too scared to.

“You're not good for him.” Yoongi pressed.

His words were laced in venom, looking at me as if I were something of an inconvenience, causing something in my chest to harden.

The last thing I wanted was to upset Yoonig but as I took in everything that was happening, I began to grow annoyed. Yoongi had marched into my home, unannounced, only to scold me about being a bad influence on Taehyung? This guy really had absolutely no manners.

“You... You don’t know that...” I replied, my voice small, trying to work up my nerve.

“Actually, I do.”

“No. You don’t.” I finally said, my voice steady.

Yoongi looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to hold my stance. I could feel my hands trembling but if I wanted to hold my ground, I needed to continue on.

“Taehyung is learning how to be good. He... He is good! He’s kind and considerate; he has love in his heart, love that was there long before I even knew him.” I urged, hoping my words would reach Yoongi.

“He is a demon. His soul is corrupt and quite frankly, Hell’s property. The scars on his back are proof of that.” He deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest.

I shook my head.

“Do you think I’d be with him if I didn’t see good in him? Besides, why do you care if we’re together or not? You don’t even know me.” I argued, refusing to back down. The way Yoongi was looking at me made me feel small and meek and it was fueling the anger already boiling within me.

“I don’t know you?” Yoongi said, laughing bitterly, “I know that you’re an angel that has no idea what’ll happen when you guys get caught. That’s all I need to know.”

Enough. This conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere and Yoongi hardly seemed like the find the middle ground type.

“I know Taehyung appreciates your concern, but this has nothing to do with you. Let him make his own choices. I love Taehyung. I know you probably don’t understand that, but it means that I’m going to fight, okay? I’m not going to let anything get in the way of us, including you.” I told him, firmly.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, causing my resolve to tumble.

“Um, also, I– I’m training to become a Power. So if I have to fight you, I, uh, will.” I said before I could stop myself.

The threat sounded incredibly weak, even I didn’t believe my own words. Still, I couldn’t let Yoongi know that if I ever wanted a chance of him taking me seriously. I forced on a calm expression, masking how scared and unsure I actually felt. My hands balled themselves into fists beside myself in a subconscious attempt to ground myself.

For several moments, no one said anything, Yoongi’s eyes refusing to pull away from mine. His stare was extremely unnerving but I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to back down.

He frowned.

“I have to take a piss. Where’s your bathroom?”

The question took me completely off guard and my serious facade crumbled away as I gawked dumbly at the pale boy.

“Down the hallway past the stairs. The second door on your right.” I said, tilting my head in confusion.

Did I miss something? How did such a tense conversation turn into something so casual so quickly?

Yoongi offered me a nod before walking further into the house, making his way towards the bathroom.

I blinked.

Did vampires even use the restroom? Taehyung said that Yoongi wasn’t a blood-lusting vampire but instead fed off people’s last remaining life source. Did life source make the same journey that regular food did?

I should use this moment to sneak into the study and quickly read up on vampires, right?

Wait, no, the study room was too close to the bathroom. Yoongi could sneak up behind me. I needed to be alert. Also, I feel as if that’d be extremely uncomfortable if Yoongi walked in on me reading about him.

Please, God, don’t let vampires like the taste of Angels.

I shook my head, trying to clear my head of such impertinent thoughts.

Now what?

I swayed my weight from foot to foot, trying to distract myself as I waited for Yoongi to finish in the bathroom. The sound of our grandfather clock ticking consumed the room.

Oh, forget this! I’m not just going to stand here like a stranger in my own house. Making my way into the kitchen, I began to look for something I could snack on– anything to give me something to do while I waited. Eating excessively when I was stressed out was something I had always avoided, as Gluttony was a sin, but lately, I found myself way too stressed to care.

I found a box of crackers in the cupboard and I reached into it blindly. I shoved a cracker into my mouth greedily.

I had a vampire in my house.

A vampire.

Perhaps, I was some sort of demon beacon. I mean, Taehyung had been following Jake who just so happened to be interested Jane who I was in charge of. Two weeks after that initial confrontation, I ran into Jin, who was half demon and then consequently ran into Taehyung once again who introduced me to his whole team of demons. And now I had a vampire peeing in my bathroom.

I let out a laugh of disbelief at how ridiculous my life had become, only to drown the sound out with another wave of crackers.

I had so many questions.

How did Yoongi even know I lived here?

What if the boys were home when Yoongi had knocked on the door? I could just imagine Hobi opening the door, and passing out the moment he found out that our visitor was a vampire.

No, wait. Seriously, what if the boys were home?

That was pretty reckless of Yoongi to just knock on our door like that. I thought he was some kind of ancient vampire. Shouldn’t he be incredibly wise, having had been alive for so long? Or, should I say, dead?

“I thought Gluttony was a sin.” Yoongi’s voice said suddenly, causing me to jump. A piece of cracker that I had yet to chew fell onto the floor, breaking on impact. Yoongi stared at me in mild interest, one of his hands stuffed in his pocket.

I glared at him openly, as he was the cause of my sudden glutton, “It is.”

“Alright.” He replied, before turning to head out the kitchen.

“Um, where are you going?” I called out in confusion, setting my box of crackers onto the nearest surface, hurrying after the vampire.

“Home.” He replied not bothering to stop for me, pushing right through our front door. I poked my head out the door, contemplating whether or not I should be following him.

“I thought you were trying to convince me to leave Taehyung?” I called out. This guy changed paces so often that I literally couldn’t keep up.

Yoongi turned around to face me as he walked, now on our sidewalk. It was beginning to get dark outside, I noted.

“Tried. Failed. Whatever.” He shrugged, before turning around. I could only watch as he left, my eyebrows furrowed in utter bewilderment.

I had always thought that Taehyung was a complex person but Yoongi? Yoongi takes the cake for being the most unreadable person I’ve ever come across.

Letting out a huff, I gripped onto the metal of the doorknob, shut myself back into the house and locking it, for good measure.

New rule: no supernatural creature is allowed into this house without having had conducted proper research into them.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I found myself walking into the study room. I doubted Yoongi was going to pay me any more unexpected visits, but even so, if I need to stock up on cloves of garlic, I wanted to know.

The book was exactly where I had left it and I didn't hesitate to flip over to the ‘V’ demon section.

‘Vacuus’ was the first name to greet me and although it’s brief summary intrigued me, I had a goal in mind.

‘Venenum’ greeted me as I turned the page.

Wait a minute...

Flipping that very same page back, I was once against greeted by Vacuus.

Shouldn’t Vampire come between these two? I stared down at the book, the unmistakable feeling that something was wrong washing over me.

Letting my eyes run down the area between the two pages, I realized that though small, there was evidence of a piece of paper that had been carefully pulled out from the book’s spine.

A page was missing. Vampire was missing.

I took a step back and looked to the floor. Just by the looks of it, the book must have been ancient, the pages flimsy and browning. Certainly, it was possible the page could’ve fallen out.

Sinking to my knees, I checked to see if it had perhaps fallen beneath the desk, only to let out a sigh in disappointment when I realized there was nothing there.

To my understanding, these books had come with this house, meaning the page could’ve fallen out ages ago and I wouldn’t have known. Lord knows whoever had it before could’ve been careless with the book.

I let my finger trail down the ragged edge, pressing my lips together in annoyance.

I scoffed. Of all the pages, it just had to be Vampire.

What the hell?

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NEXT CHAPTER IS THE BIG ONE FOR THOSE SMUT ENTHUSIASTS ;)

2K notes · View notes

thewritelycampix · 7 years

Text

No Pokeballs Allowed

Chapter 3: Graveyard Shift

Town pride is a commonplace thing in any world. People and Pokémon alike seem to have a need to protect what they believe is theirs, even though in reality, it is just a big plot of land with a variety of rectangles and triangles built on top of it. Why humans had developed these enamoured attachments and why Pokémon decided it was a good idea to follow, we will never know. Some may argue that the concept of a home is a comforting prospect for people to come home to. But it is not the question of having a home, but simply having an attraction to the land itself, rather than the sense of security it brings. Most people would usually think this does not make sense, developing an emotional or even romantic attachment to a large square-ish chunk of dirt and rocks, but many do it anyways. This is not a good idea, because like many things that people love, there are other people that exist only to take that beloved thing, knock it off its cone into the sand and drive over it with their fancy Diesel-chugging ATV. And all the hours those people had spent figuratively making out with the local bar will be put into perspective as all the things they loved become roadkill.

Nuzlocke was a beautiful town. It was incredibly obvious by looking at the town that it was a labour of love that had lasted decades, perhaps centuries to make. Nuzlocke was thriving. An item shop, jewellery, outdoor mall, a town square, Technical Machine and Relic shop, daycare; the town seemed to have everything. This statement wasn’t entirely true.

“Everyone here seems kind of cold,” Coran noticed. By this, he did not mean that everyone in Nuzlocke was uncomfortable with the temperature; rather, he meant that nobody quite seemed to appreciate his presence that much.

“…Really? I’ve never noticed.” Squirtle (the Eevee) said, looking around.

“That was sarcasm, wasn’t it?” Coran said, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I’m really new here, so I can’t tell. Sarcasm is not a good idea when you’re introducing people to places and such.”

“No, it isn’t sarcasm,” Squirtle reiterated. “I’ve really just kept to myself. My only contact with these Pokémon is through the Bulletin Board. They post problems, I solve them. End of story.” Squirtle shrugged. “But now that you mention it, everyone does seem kind of quiet and reclusive.”

“Yeah, it’s like everyone here is an adolescent teenager who takes pride in being an introvert.”

Squirtle stared at him, confused. “…what?”

“Forget it,” said Coran, mentally reeling from the words that had spilt out of his mouth. What had he even said? He couldn’t remember it exactly. It was foggy, as if the sentence had been said months ago rather than moments.

Squirtle, who, by this point, had begun deliberating on what Coran had pointed out about Nuzlocke’s general attitude, tried to start a conversation with a passing Breloom. “Hi there!” she said, uncharacteristically cheerily.

Breloom gave her a confused look, before narrowing his eyes. He seemed to be trying to discern what it was Squirtle wanted. “Um…Hello.”

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Squirtle asked.

Breloom simply looked up at the sunny blue sky. “No.”

Squirtle wasn’t expecting a negative answer. She drew back in surprise. “What? Why?”

“I am a part mushroom. Mushrooms like dank, dark places. It’s too hot for me.” Breloom said, before walking along his way without another word.

Squirtle frowned deeply. “I…wasn’t expecting that. Maybe he’s just an outlier,” she mumbled, giving Coran a curious look. “Anyways, we didn’t come here to socialise. We came here to shop. Come on, let’s go.”

Squirtle led Coran up to a nearby booth built into the front of what looked like a warehouse. It was currently empty - nobody was there. “Hello?” Squirtle called. “Is anyone there?”

A bored looking Shuppet came to the front of the booth. Her half-lidded eyes took in the pair of Pokémon in front of her. She let out a quiet sigh and took a deep breath. “Hello, and welcome to Banette’s Bazaar, how can I help you today?” The words came out of her mouth so monotonous and easily it seemed as if she had been saying them for the past ten minutes before Coran and Squirtle had come to the booth.

“Yes, I’d like to peruse some of your wares, please,” Squirtle replied.

Shuppet raised an eyebrow at Squirtle’s eloquent vocabulary and gestured behind her. “There’s shelves upon shelves back there. Take a look at our…extensive selection of merchandise and commodities.” Shuppet said, smirking a bit.

Squirtle, a bit put off, nodded her head curtly. “Thank you.”

Coran, while Squirtle and Shuppet had been talking, was checking out the shelves. It wasn’t a very big store, but there still was quite a selection. Many, many berries, a few TMs and HMs, rocks, sticks, thorns, seeds and some very expensive vitamins. Squirtle walked up to him. “What do you see?”

“Just gonna put this out there, but…” Coran’s voice quivered as he looked at the plethora of items with nothing short of overwhelming fear. “I have no idea what any of this stuff does.”

“Y'know, I would explain this to you, but I feel I’ve done enough explaining to last me a lifetime, so I’ll just take some of these,” she said, grabbing some of the blue berries and putting them in her bag. “…and we should probably have some of these,” she finished, putting two reddish seeds into her treasure bag. She took it back to the front of the shop.

Shuppet, without even looking at the bag, told them the total was 900 Poké. Squirtle paid the right amount, then left. “Coran,” she said. “I believe it’s time for you to take your first trouble.”

Coran wasn’t so sure he agreed with her about that, but he realised that he would have entered a losing battle if he tried to challenge that, so he decided not to resist. They headed back to the Bulletin Board and looked at the possible jobs.

“Here. This one looks good for your first time,” Squirtle announced. Coran looked at where Squirtle was pointing. It read:

Get my pendant back!

Rank: E Dungeon: Sorrowing Meadows

My name is Yamask. I was travelling through the Sorrowing Meadows on my way to my friend’s place. I came through without incident, but when I got back to Nuzlocke, I found that my pendant, which had been handed down through my family for a long time, was missing! I would go back to get it, but now I hear rumours of suspicious Pokémon roaming around. Please, get it back!

Reward: 1000 Poké

Coran bit his lip. A shiver ran down his spine at the name. “Sorrowing Meadows?” he said, unable to banish a whine from his voice. “I-is that somewhere between Blood-Death Gulch and Endless Pain Hill?”

“Oh, hush. The Sorrowing Meadows aren’t that bad. And besides, it seems like he was only on the main path, so it’ll be easy to find the pendant.” She let that hang a bit, then continued. “I’m coming with you, of course. This is your first job, and you didn’t really pass the Sanity test, so I’m going to be keeping an eye on you.”

Normally, this would have struck Coran as an attack on his ego. But the thought of tackling such a sinister-sounding place such as the Sorrowing Meadows alone was even more of an attack, and on something a little more vulnerable than his ego. He agreed.

“Here it is! The Sorrowing Meadows,” announced Squirtle, nodding in what she was sure was an official manner.

Coran looked at her in confusion. “How can you be so chipper in a place like this?”

The Sorrowing Meadows looked quite sorrowing indeed. The thickly laid trees were dead skeletons, reaching out to scratch and scrape anyone who passed by, as if they were being controlled by a deranged puppeteer. The pale moon rising up along the scraggly horizon of gnarled branches made tinted everything below its light a sickly purple colour, draining the forest of any sign of life. The worn dirt path had stone bricks scattered about, half buried in the dirt. It was as if someone had tried to civilize the woods, but had died when he had just started the act. Even this path the poor soul had made seemed threatened, as if the purple grass was extending its tendrils to choke it out. If he looked hard enough, Coran could see the outline of a steeple in the background. A holy building in an unholy place was not a good thing for a genre savvy Pokémon like him. Overall, this was not first stage material.

“And why did we have to come here at night? Why can’t it wait till the morning?”

“Because, Coran,” Squirtle answered, “That notice was posted today, and it detailed suspicious Pokémon about-”

“Wouldn’t that mean going at night was a bad thing?!” Coran blurted.

“Let me finish!” Squirtle snapped. “Suspicious Pokémon are dangerous, yes, but they could also steal the pendant. It’s best for us to get the pendant as soon as possible so it isn’t stolen. The client comes first.”

Coran hesitated. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it. But when we get back, I’m going to make a mattress and you’re going to help me.”

“…No I’m not.”

“Come on!”

“Yes, come on, that’s a great idea,” Squirtle said, flicking her tail and taking her first steps into the Sorrowing Meadows.

Things did not get better when they entered the dungeon. Almost immediately the moon at their backs was blotted out by the skeleton-like trees. The path, though worn enough to be seen, became more and more choked by ivy and grass as the two Pokémon ventured further into the forest. It was getting truly hard to see, and Coran was beginning to doubt whether he would even be able to spot a tiny pendant at all in the darkness. He did note that he didn’t see any of those aforementioned ‘hostile Pokémon’, which he was grateful for. But he would much rather be sleeping right now. This was not an enjoyable pastime and his entire body recognized this.

"Well, farther up and further in!” Squirtle chirped in an excessively happy manner, as if trying to mock him.

Coran simply sighed and followed her. That was before he tripped on a tree root.

“Ow.” Coran was not in the best of moods, and this did not help. Therefore, he had to convince himself to get up. He spent one long minute on the ground, trying his very hardest to tell himself that going further into this forsaken land was a better idea than lying here in the dirt. When he did get up, however, he was faced with a rather prominent problem.

Squirtle was gone.

One hour later…

Coran ran frantically through the quickly darkening forest, trying to find any sign of Squirtle. Or any sign of an exit.

Or any sign of hope.

Terrified at every single sound he knew he wasn’t making, he dashed across the path, confident that Squirtle wouldn’t have strayed from it. But the longer he ran alongside the road, the darker things became, and the more hopeless things seemed to be. The ground somehow felt unfamiliar beneath his paws. This was a strange thing to note, Coran realized, considering that he’d never been here before. This entire place was unfamiliar. Then he remembered he was also apparently an amnesiac. So not only was this place unfamiliar, but also literally everything he’d ever experienced since waking up in that field. His throat was getting scratchy from thirst. He didn’t have a bag on him. No berries grew here. There was only sorrow.

This is my first job! I can’t die here! Where is she? Where is anything?!

Coran was getting delirious. Why…why is it even called Sorrowing Meadows…? It’s a forest. Not meadows. If…if anything, Nuzlocke should be called Sorrowing Meadows. Would that mean this place was Nuzlocke? What does Nuzlocke mean, anyways? Is there a secret in Nuzlocke? Is there a thousand year old door locked with a key you can only get by winning a racing tournament with foxy items off destination? Where can I get a nuzkey? Is there a town called Nuzkey, and if there is how do I get it to Nuzlocke so they can kiss and unlock the foxy tourney door….? He chuckled nervously. He had slowed down, and was simply walking across the path absentmindedly. After a while of sauntering along his merry way, he heard a sort of metal scraping along with his footsteps. He looked down, and saw a pendant and chain hooked around his foot. He picked it up, and guessed it must have been the pendant he was here for.

“…I…I win,” he said, teetering on his feet. “H-hey…hey, Sq-Squirtle…H-how many points is…” Before he could finish his sentence, Coran fell flat on his face, unconscious.

“He’s out cold…”

“What do we do now? Can we?”

“It’s fine…he doesn’t need it.”

“It’s so shiny!”

“He won’t mind, right?”

“Right.”

And the pendant was gone.

Link to Chapter 4

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#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #no pokeballs allowed #npa #story #chapter 3

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