#I STILL GOTTA BEGIN WORKING ON MY WEEK COMICS YELP

[sluttyminghao]

a different kind of workout | k.sy

w.c: 2k request: yes genre: smut pairing: soonyoung x female!reader contains: semi-public sex, dirty talk (mans gotta filthy mouth), slight nipple play, marking, oral (f.receiving), this is also very unedited i apologise a/n: this is just a pile of filth and i blame it all on kwon soonyoung and this video

When you agreed to go and do a workout at the gym with Soonyoung, you figured he would go nice and easy on you, and make you sweat maybe a little. You figured that it would be a breeze and he would show you the ropes, maybe even do some spotting for each other with the weights and just enjoy each others presence while hyping each other up in the process.

You were wrong. You were so, so very wrong.

With the time of night you both attended the gym, which was quite late in the evening after most had already gone to bed, there were no other signs of life present in the building, not even at the front desk where you signed in. As you walked behind your boyfriend, you took the time to admire his back muscles that were rippling slightly from his movements. His singlet shirt obstructed any more of your view of his delectable body, but you knew that getting to see him workout would highlight those areas you loved even more, and had your mouth watering at the thought.

You headed into the gym room, with all the equipment set up neatly and the room smelling faintly of sweat and metal. You heaved a sigh as you looked around at all of the equipment, your mind wandering off to how some of this equipment even worked. Soonyoung had already found what he was going to be doing, and made a beeline towards his favourite pieces of equipment. 

What you didn't expect, however, was when he had stopped in front of the equipment, his shirt had come off and tossed into his duffel bag, ultimately exposing his entire upper body to you and causing your eyes to almost bulge out of your skull, almost comically. He had been working on his upper body quite a lot recently when he came to the gym, which was evident in his toned abs and biceps that were growing bigger by the week. 

Your gawking didn't go amiss by Soonyoung, who only merely smirked at you with no words spoken and headed straight to the weights table. He picked up a 10kg dumbbell in each hand and began moving them up and down in a steady pace. As you continued to watch his arms move fluidly, you ogled the bulge on his arm, noting a large vein that ran through the muscle. You admired him from afar, slowly setting your own duffel bag down and heading towards the elliptical machine. 

His eyes followed you as you set yourself up on the gym apparatus, his cock twitching when you bent down and he got a nice view of the curve of your ass. As you began to move on the elliptical slowly, a smirk fell upon his lips when he noticed how your boobs bounced inside of your cropped shirt. “That top looks good on you, sweetheart, but maybe you should take it off. We don't want it to get sweaty or anything,” he spoke nonchalantly, moving his hand down so that the weights were now back on the table.

You all but stumbled over your own feet at his sudden comment, your face burning with embarrassment. Luckily he didn't seem to notice, as he had now turned his back to you and moved over towards the pull up bar. Your eyes deceived you however, as they drifted further down on his body, landing directly on his sharp v-line that didn't seem to end. You bit your lip as you watched him stretch out, his muscles contorting and you let out a small moan. God he was so hot.

Your movements on the elliptical machine slowed significantly as he jumped and let his body dangle from the bar, his back muscles even more prominent even though he was hardly doing anything. You kept your eyes trained on his back as he began to push himself up and over the bar, his muscles contracting and moving so deliciously under his skin. The lighting in the gym didn't do you any favours either, only enhancing how beautifully toned he was.

You felt your tongue swipe out across your lips, and it was only then that Soonyoung noticed you in the mirror, and he chuckled. Your trance was broken at his laugh, and it was only then you realized how wet you were, and you couldn't help but to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure that was beginning to build up inside of you.

He continued to notice your movements, mainly the way you were shuffling around and moving to lean against the elliptical which had now been long forgotten in your eyes. He did a few more reps on the pull up bar, before he let go and planted his feet on the ground. He whipped around quickly and took fast steps to where you were still leaning against the elliptical, with a large smirk painted on his face.

“You like what you see huh? You haven't been able to take your eyes off of me the entire time we’ve been here,” he commented, his eyes becoming lidded they grazed hungrily over your body, clad with only your crop top and some active shorts. You could hardly find the words to reply to him, your mind becoming clouded with lustful thoughts of your boyfriend.

You were snapped back to reality with Soonyoung’s fingers being pressed firmly  against your jaw, and his dark eyes boring into your own. “I expect you to answer me, sweetheart, or are you too busy thinking about me fucking you right here and now?” His voice was saccharine sweet in comparison to his filthy words, and only made you clench your thighs tighter.

All you could do was nod your head and whimper a little as his grip tightened once more on your jaw, a dark chuckle falling from his lips. “Such a needy girl you are, huh? Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you,” he muttered softly into your skin. Before you could say a word to him, his hands had made quick work of your crop top, pulling it over your head and throwing it on top of the elliptical machine. His hands were immediately on your breasts, fondling and caressing your nipples and the skin surrounding it.

“Soonyoung...” you finally whined out, your hands flying up to his hair and tugging on it softly. A soft hiss left his lips at the tugging, and he slammed his lips into yours, his kiss hungry and wanting. He pulled himself away from your lips seconds later, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you as he moved. When he was fully standing, he pulled your hand up so that you would stand also, his body flush against yours. He wasted no time pulling your shorts down your legs, exposing your wetness and throbbing pussy to the air and his eyes. 

He groaned at the sight of your pussy, which made him immediately bend down so that he was situated on his knees and spread your thighs apart, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “So beautiful, i cant wait to fuck you, but first, I need a taste of this sweet pussy of yours” he spoke against your skin, leaving light kisses on the tops of your thighs. You pushed your hand further into his hair, a louder whine escaping your lips from his teasing.

“Stop...teasing...” you whispered, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt his tongue sweep across your inner thighs, collecting the juices that had been spread across them. Without warning, his tongue poked out and licked a flat stripe up your folds, an appreciative hum coming from his mouth while a broken moan escaped yours.

“M-more please!” You managed to squeak out between his quick tongue movements, making Soonyoung chuckle and spread your legs even further apart, and he began a steady pace alternating between licking and sucking on your folds, and loving how your legs were beginning to shake from his tongue alone. 

You couldn't help but open your eyes to peek at your boyfriend between your legs, his platinum blond mop of hair the only thing you could see until he looked up at you briefly with a cheeky grin. His chin was covered in your juices, and you felt your face burn up out of sheer embarrassment, before you were shoving his head back down between your thighs so that you could reach your high.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart, maybe you taste even sweeter because we might get caught here?” He spoke briefly, his tongue dipping to poke at your entrance. You yelped at his action, and a lewd moan left your lips when he repeated the action over and over, the familiar tension in your abdomen from your incoming orgasm building up inside of you.

He chuckled at how needy you had become in such a short span of time, before he was removing his tongue from you and wiping his hand over his lips, sucking up the excess juices. You whined in annoyance and felt your entrance clenching around nothing, but you didn't have time to complain to him when you felt his erection prod at your entrance.

“You’re such a needy little slut, only want my cock huh? You can’t even go a few hours without it, we’re having sex in a fucking gym because you can't stop ogling at my body,” he spoke through gritted teeth, pushing himself inside of your tight entrance. Your fingers clawed at his lean shoulders, a lascivious moan escaping your lips at the feeling.

His filthy words bounced around in your mind constantly, alongside his quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back in your head. The adrenaline was pumping through both of you in high amounts, at the thought of possibly being caught and how you were doing it in such a public and open space. Soonyoung’s thrusts began to pick up speed once more, his moans becoming louder the closer he got to his orgasm.

Your mind was so clouded with lustful thoughts and of Soonyoung fucking you in a gym, that you didn't even register him leaning down and sucking on your neck, leaving light bruises to bloom on your skin. When he was satisfied with his work, he chuckled and ran a hand through your hair, tugging at your roots so that you would make eye contact with him.

“God you’re so fucking tight, and you keep clenching around me and sucking me in...your pussy is made for me, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, his hips beginning to stutter. You could feel the tension in your abdomen about to snap, and your whines grew higher in pitch and drove Soonyoung to his brink, his cum beginning to spill inside of you.

As he painted your walls white with his cum, he moved one of his shaky hands down to your clit and rubbed it quickly and roughly, sending you into a mind-blowing orgasm that made your back arch and your eyes roll. Soonyoung’s chest swelled with pride at the sight of you all fucked out on his cock, your breathing heavy and skin glistening with sweat.

Once you had come back from your high, you noticed Soonyoung had already redressed himself and was bringing out a towel from his bag, walking back over to you and wiping the towel over your skin gently. “Well, that was a different kind of workout wasn't it?”

You could only grin at him as you began to redress, pulling your top over your head and smoothing out your shorts. “You could say that, but were you really complaining? You got to fuck me in a gym,” you countered, his cheeks glowing pink at your statement and turning away from you.

“It was very fun, I’ll admit that, I just hope that no-one has to look at the cctv cameras unless they really want to enjoy a show,” Soonyoung chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out into the cool night breeze.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE

@gemad08 (I hope it was you who requested this! I can’t remember!): Reader listens to another group’s music and her BTS boyfriends all have very different feelings about that. 

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Fluff, Request, Ask, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Kim seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, OT7, boyfriend AU

Genre: Fluff

Title: Playlist

KIM SEOKJIN

“What are you listening to?” Questions Jungkook curiously, as he plops down on the sofa beside you, removing his inner ear piece and reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead. 

You pull out one of your own headphones and offer him a slight smile, readjusting the homework you had been working on on your lap. “Oh you know, this and that.” 

Jungkook nods, reaching across you to snag an unopened water bottle from the table, before he gulps down almost half of it in one swell swoop. “Yeah, my playlists tend to be a little bit of everything too.” 

The couch dips under Jin’s weight as your boyfriend arrives and settles down on your other side, his own hair damp with exertion, as he glances over at you with one eyebrow arched in a look of slight teasing, reaching for your dangling headphone, “It better be our stuff, jagi, or I’ll question your loyalty as a girlfriend.” 

You open your mouth, but before you can respond, he places the headphone in his ear, and you watch as his eyes widen and his lips purse into a comical pout that has you holding back laughter. 

“Yah, jagi!” Jin exclaims, ripping the headphones out of both of your ears, as he stares you down with a look akin to dramatic hurt and betrayal. “You’re listening to WinnerWinner?!” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, before sticking your tongue out and putting the headphones back in your ears, though you don’t miss the sound of Jungkook laughing over the beats of your music. 

“I like their stuff.” You protest, pointing to the homework in your lap. “It’s good study music. Helps me focus.” 

“And our stuff can’t??” Jin complains in an incredulous voice, mouth still drawn into a deeper pout than before if possible. “Our stuff is great for studying! Take Moon for example, or Epiphany!” 

“That’s your stuff.” You tease back gently, before leaning over to press a kiss to his full, plump, still pouting lips. “Besides, you don’t need to be jealous. You’re the only one I kiss after all.” 

You grin at him, as he harumphs and throws an arm grumpily across your shoulders, tugging your body against his own. “I better be.” He whines out, as both you and Jungkook laugh once more. 

MIN YOONGI

“Yoongi, how much longer?” You whine from your position on the futon in his studio, feet kicking loosely in the air, head dangling upside down from one of the arms, as you adjust your headphones in your ear. “I’m hungry.” 

“All right, all right.” Your boyfriend grumbles, shutting off the screen of his computer, and getting up to cross the room to you. He flicks the crown of your head, making you yelp and sit upright again, as he sinks into the cushions beside you. “What’re you listening to anyway?” 

You offer him the free headphone willingly, and he puts it to his ear, face immediately pulling into a look of distaste at the sounds of Zico’s smooth rap coming through the speakers. 

“Why are you listening to this shit?” Yoongi asks, pulling the headphone from his ear as quickly as he had placed it there, shooting you a sharp look of disapproval. 

“I like it.” You pull your own headphone loose and shoot him a glare in return, voice defensive as you begin to coil up the wire and shove it into your purse. “It’s catchy.” 

“Really?” Yoongi looks at you with a stare of disbelief, and you feel your cheeks heat up, as if he’s caught you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. “Who taught you what was good music?” 

“Myself.” You sniff, though you can’t stay mad at him, because the look of utter confusion and absolute pure surprise on his face at your music choices has you wanting to bust into giggles. 

“That stuff is crap.” Yoongi stands from the couch and waves a hand at your phone, motioning to your music taste as a whole. He cocks his head as he looks down at you, and the hint of a superior smirk begins to lift his lips, as he says firmly, “I guess I need to educate you on what’s good music, baby. I didn’t know you were so naive.” 

You scoff and stick your tongue out at him, as he whirls his desk chair around and motions for you to sit. 

“But what about food?” You complain, stomach still grumbling hungrily as you take a seat, Yoongi reaching around you to turn on the computer. 

“I’ll get delivery.” He says nonchalantly, clicking into a folder on the desktop. “This is much more important.” 

You sigh in defeat and lean back. “How many of these songs are gonna be your own, Min Yoongi?” You ask suspiciously, looking up at him standing over you, as he offers you the hint of a smile and presses a kiss to your upturned forehead. 

“I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.” He teases, before hitting play. 

JUNG HOSEOK

“Everything I need is on the ground-” 

You sing along to the lyrics of the song that is blasting from the speakers underneath your breath, as you continue your sweeping circle of the kitchen, doing little skip hops to the beat of the music when it tickles your fancy. 

You’re feeling good. 

You’re done with work for the week, you’re pretty sure you’re getting delivery for dinner tonight instead of cooking, and your boyfriend should be home any minute from the studio. 

Not to mention, Rose’s new song is kicking. 

Speak of the devil. 

Just as you’re glancing at the clock, the sound of a lock is heard in the front door and Hobi bursts into the apartment, face bright and red from practice, hair slicked back with sweat that has long since dried, ankles ringed in old, but extremely comfortable tennis shoes. 

“Hey jagi!” He calls, loud voice sounding clear even over the loud music, as he dumps his duffle bag onto the couch and kicks his shoes to the side, before entering the kitchen where you’re just emptying the last dustpan of debris into the trash. 

He circles his arms around your waist and gives you a blinding sunshine smile, before peppering your face with kisses that make you laugh until you’re out of breath. 

“I missed you.” He says in your ear, and you giggle, as his lips find another place to plant a kiss beneath the juncture of your jaw. 

“You’d think you hadn’t just seen me this morning, Jung Hoseok.” You berate teasingly, covering his hands at your waist with your own, as you turn in his arms to face him. Reaching up to push loose strands of dark hair from his forehead, you ask with a tilt of your head, “Wanna order in tonight?” 

“Yes please!” Hobi’s eyes light up at the thought of delivery and cuddling and a night spent in with you, and then they widen slightly, as he tilts his head, as if listening, to the repeating song that is still blaring over the sound system for the first time. “Is this Rose’s new one?” He asks, and you can hear the excitement in his tone. 

You nod, and before you can say anything, he is sweeping you around in circles to the beat of the newly started song, making you laugh once more, before he calls out, “I love this song! It’s so damn catchy!” 

“I can tell.” You say through your laughter, as he releases you on a spin and begins to do a little impromptu solo dance around the clean kitchen. 

“Is it on repeat?” Hobi asks, cha cha-ing real smooth over to you, before he takes your hands once more. 

You nod. “Of course.” 

“Great.” He grins, and the sunshine between his teeth is blinding, as he pulls you into another goofy spin. “Keep it going all night.” 

KIM NAMJOON

Namjoon slides into the passenger seat, and you lean over to turn the music down-having turned it up to listen to it loudly with the windows down while you drove-and open your mouth to ask him about his day. 

He beats you to it though, catching you off guard, as he eyes the name of the song on the car display curiously. “You’re listening to Jackson’s stuff?” 

You blush, feeling embarrassed for some stupid reason, and turn the song almost off, as you reach to put the car into gear. “Yes? I really like his new album.” 

“That’s good.” Namjoon says softly, almost as if he’s thinking, as he stares out the car window as you pull out of the studio’s parking lot. “He’ll be happy to hear that.” 

You drive in silence for a bit, and you’re wondering if you’re imagining the sudden weird air between you and your boyfriend. Maybe it’s just you? It’s gotta be in your head, right? 

You glance at Namjoon out of the corner of your eye, and you note he looks tired. As you turn onto the main road, you ask gently, “Everything go okay today?” 

“Hmmm?” Namjoon questions beneath his breath, glancing over at you, as if you have pulled him from his thoughts. He offers you the hint of a smile. “Oh,  yeah! Everything was fine. Super busy. Like it always is.” 

You nod, tightening and loosening your fingers on the steering wheel, as silence once again prevails. 

Why is this weird. Was it because of the music? 

You glance at the display, and see another one of Jackson’s songs scrolling across the heading. 

Was it weird to listen to your boyfriend’s best friend’s music? Was that some sort of faux pas you weren’t aware of? 

Shit. 

“Namjoon-” You start to say, and when he looks at you, you force yourself to swallow and keep going. “Does it upset you if I listen to Jackson’s stuff? If so, I’ll stop-” 

“What?” Namjoon looks startled, catching you off guard, and his eyes widen as he stares at you. “Why would that upset me?” 

“I dunno.” You shrug, suddenly feeling sheepish that you had made this into a deal at all. “I just didn’t know-” 

“Baby.” Namjoon leans across the center console, his large, warm palm going to rest on your thigh, as his whole face suddenly breaks out into an amused grin. “You can listen to whoever you want. I don’t care.” He winks at you. “And I was being serious about Jackson being excited to hear you like his stuff. Hell, I like his stuff.” 

“Why were you so quiet then?” You ask, relieved, yet not being able to stop yourself now. 

“Oh.” Namjoon settles back into his seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, as his fingers start to stroke lazy patterns across the jean covered skin of your thigh. He cracks an eye open and shoots you a mischievous grin. “I was just contemplating all of the shit I can show you now that I know you like Jackson’s music. There’s so much in his vault that hasn’t been released to the public that I have access to.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “Really?” 

Namjoon closed his eyes once more, but not before shooting you another wink. “Really. Buckle up, baby. If you want Jackson Wang, I’ll give you Jackson Wang.” 

PARK JIMIN

“Jimin, this is so stupid.” You huff out, as you try to jump two stairs at a time, keeping up with your boyfriend as he doggedly works his way upward. 

Damn. For a short guy, he’s really fast. 

“Is it?” Jimin asks over his shoulder sharply, not looking at you, as you finally reach the floor that houses the building’s gym and push through the door. He holds it open for you, even though he’s mad, and you’re glad he’s not angry enough to have forgotten the habit. That bodes well. 

“Yeah, it is.” You snap back, reaching up to wipe some sweat from the back of your neck,as you adjust your dangling headphones. Why did you agree to work out with him. You should have known better. The walk up the five flights of stairs had been enough. “It’s ridiculous.” 

“Hmmm okay.” Jimin hums out mockingly, already headed for the treadmill, as he raises the incline and stretches his ankles, shooting you a heated glare. “Fine. So you won’t mind if I start religiously listening to Girl’s Generation.” 

“No?” You pose it as a question, because the idea of that upsetting you just doesn’t compute into your head. 

“See, it doesn’t make sense to you, because you’re not an artist.” Jimin complains, sliding his own headphones into his ears as he turns on the treadmill and starts into a brisk jog. 

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes and head to the elliptical, as far from your moody boyfriend as you can go. 

There is nothing but silence and the sound of breathing and the machines, until Jungkook comes into through the door minutes later, towel slung around his neck, curls already damp with sweat, and you just know he has already been doing some insane pre-workout before his actual workout. 

Crazy bastard. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!’ Jungkook calls out cheerfully, with a bunny grin and a wave of his hand in your direction. 

“She probably can’t hear you. She’s listening to her favorite band.” Jimin snarks in before you can answer his friend, face dark as he continues to sprint through the workout on the treadmill. 

Jungkook looks curiously between the two of you, and you stop what you’re doing, letting out an irritated sigh. 

“Jungkook, tell Jimin this is stupid.” You say, standing and stretching your arms above your head, as you stick your tongue out at your still grumpy boyfriend. “He’s upset because he found out I like listening to GOT7 more than your stuff, and now he’s throwing a jealousy tantrum.” 

“I am not!” Jimin yanks the headphones out of his ears and points in your direction, past the bewildered Jungkook who stands in the middle of you two. “You told me, and I quote ‘It’s weird to listen to your stuff, because you’re my boyfriend.’“ 

“Well it is!” You shout back, cheeks red, whether from the exercise or the heat of the stupid, teasing argument that had gotten well out of hand. 

“Okay, you guys are both being stupid.” Jungkook steps in, holding his hands out as a peace offering between your two heaving chests, as if worried you’re going to come to blows. He glances over at Jimin. “Jimin, your girlfriend can listen to anyone she wants. She’s not your property. You tend to get jealousy, but you don’t need to, because you should know how crazy in love with you she is.” 

He glances over to you next, face stern, and you already feel your heart calming in your chest at his words, and Jimin must feel the same, because he doesn’t look quite as riled as before. 

“And (Y/N), just because you’re dating an idol doesn’t mean that you have to listen to their music. But try to be a little more sympathetic yeah? We work hard on our shit, and you gotta take into account how Jimin feels.” 

You sigh, and glance across the wise younger boy to Jimin, who looks slightly remorseful now. “Fine.” You sigh out, reaching out to offer him a hand. He shakes it, twining his fingers with yours at the last minute. “I’ll try to broaden my perspective.” 

“And I’ll try to tone down the jealousy.” Jimin concedes, finally offering you the hint of a smile as his full lips curl upward. 

“However.” You shake a finger at the two boys. “I’m not listening to, or watching, or ever liking, Go Go. And you can’t make me.” 

They groan, and you laugh before pulling the two of them into a hug. 

KIM TAEHYUNG

“Hey jagi, have you seen my-” 

You glance up as your boyfriend comes into the room, his words stuttering to a stop as he pauses in the doorway to stare at you, lacing up your nikes by the front door. 

“What?” You ask, slightly self consciously, as you glance down at the running outfit you wear-athletic shorts and a sheer tank top covering a brightly colored sports bra, complete with dangling earphones and comfy running shoes-wondering what he’s staring at. 

“Nothing.” Taehyung shakes his head, a sly smile coming across his features, as he creeps across the room as if he’s stalking you, before grabbing you around the waist and crushing you to him, lips going to your ear and voice low. “You just look good enough to eat, that’s all.” 

You blush and bat at him, but he doesn’t release you. “Stop. You’re so gross.” 

“I can’t help it that my girlfriend is super hot.” He drags his lips up the curve of your neck in a line of sloppy kisses, making you laugh and try to pull away from him once more. “You know the only reason I go running with you is so I can watch your ass in those short shorts.” He slaps his hand across said ass, and you yelp. 

“Will you quit?” You swat him away again, more aggressively this time, as he finally releases his hold on your waist, but doesn’t pull away from you, as he grabs one of your headphones and holds it up to his ear. 

“What’s your running playlist?” Taehyung asks curiously, and you grin, pushing play on the first song. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, motioning to you. “Mmmm nope. Next.” 

You skip forward to the next song, and suddenly, his eyes are going wide and his mouth is forming an o and an overly manic excited look is entering his normal expression. 

You glance down at the song name and instantly see why. 

“Holy shit, I love this song.” Taehyung exclaims, wiggling his body to the sound of gangnam style and Psy’s upbeat vocals. 

“I know.” You laugh, before he shoves the headphones back into your hand, catching you by surprise, as he darts past you back the way he had came. “What are you doing??” 

“I gotta get my kazoo.” Taehyung calls over his shoulder, then stops in his tracks, glancing back at where you still stand in place. “Actually, on second thought.” He retreats on fast steps and grabs your hand, dragging you along with him toward the office, ignoring your weak protests. “You better come along. I’m about to blow your mind. I can play this song on both kazoo and keyboard.” 

JEON JUNGKOOK

Jungkook’s brow is furrowed, his normally caramel eyes dark, lips set into a thin line, and you know. You know that look. 

He’s getting competitive. 

They don’t call him the golden maknae for nothing, right? 

“Jungkook.” You say in a warning tone, already knowing where his mind is going. 

“There’s no way.” Jungkook huffs out, pulling the headset from off his ears as he shoots you a look of utter fire, eyes hard and set. “There’s no way they’re better than us.” 

You sigh, and the sound is slightly amused and slightly exasperated. “Kook, I didn’t say they were better than you-” 

“Then why listen to them?” He cuts you off, throwing the headset aside and rising to pace the room, before he comes back to stand behind the couch, fingers clenched around the back cushion as he stares into the distance. 

“I like their music?” You offer helplessly, as you watch him spiral into that competitive frame of mind that you find halfway hot as hell and halfway infuriating as all get out. 

“You really think they’re better than us?” Jungkook asks, interrupting you, as if he hadn’t just heard a word of the answer you had offered. He glances down at you, eyes dark beneath the fringe of his long hair, long hair that’s getting slightly out of control and is fringing on tangled mess of curls. “Why are they better? how are they better?” He mutters to himself, eyes focusing on something far away, as he continues on in disbelief. “Oneus? Really?” 

You roll you eyes and push yourself up from the couch, circling around to stand behind him, sliding your hands around his narrow waist, allowing yourself to feel the muscles of his abdomen beneath his sweatshirt before you finally speak. “Kookie, can you not. Just this once. Please.” 

“Not what?” He asks, suddenly curious, as he glances back at you, doe eyes wide, as if he’s not even aware of what he’s doing. 

“Not compete?” You ask with slight amusement, brows raised in pleading in your boyfriend’s tense direction. 

His shoulders relax slightly, and he turns to face you, returning your embrace, his chin resting comfortably on the crown of your head. “Sorry, jagi. Habit.” 

“You wanna be the best, I get it.” You hum back, leaning back to connect your lips with his, as the hint of smile starts across your face. “However.” You reach up to push the hair back from his forehead, admiring his handsome, flawless features as he stares down at you. “To me, no one will ever be better than you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

His features soften, and he offers you the bunny smile you love so much. “Really?” 

“Really.” You grin in return, and reach up to tap the end of his nose with your finger before leaning in to give him another quick kiss. “You’re the best there is.” 

[floralseokjin]

PBN drabble | Yoongi’s shoulder is all healed…maybe… He’s a jerk

warnings; smut! excessive fingering, his dirty mouth is back, some romantic talk thrown in because they’re in love and shit now…. :,) wordcount; 2.7k

“I’m really scared,” you rush out, looking up at Yoongi, a hand pushing him away. “What about your shoulder?”

He sighs, dark fringe falling in his eyes which he skilfully blows away, left hand pressed down into the mattress, caging you in, the other… Well, the other is preoccupied else where…

“It’s not going to dislocate again because I’m fingering you,” he exasperates, on cue curling the two fingers buried inside you. You make a noise as he grazes past your g-spot, and he smirks. “Now shut up and enjoy.” He dips lower to catch your mouth, and you close your eyes, trying your best to relax, concentrating on the pleasure that’s swelling through your whole body right now. When his thumb begins to circle your clit all worry dispels. You’re weak.

“Never thought I’d be tired of eating pussy, but here we are…” He mutters. You hit his chest playfully, but he’s right. For weeks now he’d been using his left hand to pleasure you, which you had to admit wasn’t as good… It was your own fault though, too careful to let him do anything strenuous. He’d finally persuaded you today when you’d gone with him to a doctor’s appointment. He’s fully healed, his doctor had enunciated under Yoongi’s enthusiasm, clueless as to why… Little did he know you needed to hear it with your own ears in order for your boyfriend to finally fuck you senseless.

You’d gotten sick of informing Yoongi he couldn’t suffer with blue balls if he was continuing to have sex throughout the whole ordeal. He’d been insistent he could because he couldn’t fuck you the way he wanted. “That doesn’t matter now, not when I finally get to fuck away my frustration,” he’d gleed immediately after leaving the doctor’s office, arms wrapped around your waist, crotch glued to your ass. You’d made him wait until at least evening, preferably after food, but he’d been stuck to you since, and there’s only so many neck kisses you can handle before you break.

So here you are, butt naked, Yoongi in the underwear you bought him for Christmas, straining under the tug of his erection, his fingers warm and snug inside your heat. You’re wet, like really wet. It does absolutely nothing to calm his ego. He keeps changing the pace, speeding up just to slow back down, relishing in the slick squelches that leave you and the way your sticky arousal coats his digits and runs down his hand. He’s the one washing the sheets later, not you.

“You missed my right hand, babe?” He murmurs sweetly, eyes dark as they lock with yours. He purposely drags his forefinger inside you, middle pressing against your g-spot, and you think you may implode. “I’ll take that whimper as a yes,” he grins, but it sounds more like a croak to you.

“Look at me while I fuck you,” he commands lightly, noticing your vision is unfocused. You force yourself to concentrate, gasping when he instantly begins to fuck you fast, straightening his fingers. His eyes shine, mouth curls, amused. “Gotta warm you up for my cock, stretch you out, make you cum…” As he speaks, dropping his mouth to your ear, voice dangerously low, he begins to scissor his digits, knowing how well your body reacts to the action.

On cue your stomach clenches, walls beginning to tighten around him as you lose control of your body.  Your chest rises and falls visibly, beginning to break out into a sweat, nipples hard, sensitive. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel the tip of his tongue brush against your earlobe. He knows how to fucking ruin you, and he loves it. “…and cum…and cum…” His voice is so low now you can just about hear it. When his tongue dips inside your ear you can’t help but shudder.

“Yoongi,” you moan, clutching your fingers around his shoulders. You swear to god if he didn’t slow down at that exact moment, easing the pressure between you legs, you would’ve cum exactly then.

It wouldn’t have mattered, you could still go, but despite his words, Yoongi’s holding back, lifting his head up again to rasp out, “I’ve been waiting patiently for this moment.” He has not, but you’re not going to argue right now, not when you’re in desperate need of an orgasm.

“I want a-another,” you tell him, clutching onto him.

He just smirks, lowering his body down again, stilling his fingers all together. You nearly cry out in frustration. “What about my shoulder?”

“You can handle it,” you rush rabidly, circling your hips in order to try and tempt him to move. It seems he’s not going to be giving you his dick anytime soon, so you need as much of him as you can get.

He laughs loudly at your change in attitude. “If you insist.” You close your eyes as you feel his ring finger meet the others, the full feeling totally immobilising. Your arch your back with a struggle when he leans closer, blindly trying to reach for his mouth, needing an outlet for the pleasure that’s hurtling around your body.

“It would be a little embarrassing, right?” Yoongi hums. He’s in your ear again, kissing the lobe. You shudder, opening your eyes to stare up at the ceiling as he begins to fuck you as fast as he can go. It’s messy with three fingers, burns a little, but you swear you’d ask for more if your voice was working right now. “If I hurt myself again, had to go to the emergency room…” You wrap your arm around his waist, digging your fingers into the flesh. “How would I explain?” He’s kissing towards your cheek now, wet and slow. You can taste him already.

“Well, the thing is, my fingers were stuffed so far up my girl’s pussy, and I was going so hard, she just kept begging me for more…” He mimics his own voice almost comically but you’re too far gone to say anything, his words just turning you on even more. You’re soaked. When he goes to fuck you with his dick he’ll just slip inside—probably slip out too. You can hear yourself, messy and gross, but he’s loving it—you’re loving it.

“Fuck, Y-yoongi,” you manage to get out, sliding a foot up the bed, gripping your toes into the sheets.

He’s still going on, thinking he’s the funniest man in the world. “My shoulder just popped right back out.” He clicks his tongue for maximum effect, back in your ear.  “I was three fingers thick and it couldn’t take any more…”

You claw at his chest, his movements about to send you over the edge, but then he does the unimaginable—although, you should be used to his tricks by now. He stops dead, even slipping out of you, and you can’t help but bang at his chest, yelling in frustration, your orgasm ebbing away. “Yoongi, I swear to god I’ll kick you out onto the streets!”

He sits up on his knees, a shit eating grin on his face. “But how would you get to cum?”

“I have my own hands,” you grumble.

“Please,” he scoffs, bringing his hand back to ever so gently circle your clit with his thumb, two fingers massaging your entrance. You close your eyes again. You can’t take much more, you’re going to cum soon. “We all know I can do a better job.” As much as you wouldn’t like to admit it, he’s absolutely correct. You’d even told him yourself just last week when he’d pleaded with you to masturbate in front of him, seeing as he was banned from doing anything strenuous with his poor right hand.

Before you can answer he’s sliding his middle finger back inside you, quickly followed by his index. “Shit, Yoongi,” you moan. He moans too, in agreement, eyes watching you carefully, moving with your reactions. He curls his digits, brushing your g-spot and your hips buck up involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he grunts, playing with your clit a little faster. “You deserve this for being so patient.” You mean, you’d forced yourself to be patient, but you wouldn’t remind him right now… Not when you’re close to blowing. “Such a good girl.”

His praise has you hopeful, he sounds lost in the moment, a perfect view of your naked body as he kneels between your legs, working your body into orgasm. “F-faster,” you beg. He obeys, your body jiggling up the bed as he puts force into each snap of his wrist. “Please don’t stop.”

He moans, palm of his left hand sliding up your spread thigh, pawing at the flesh before settling atop your abdomen, pressing down a little, fingers now zoning in on your g-spot. “Right there?” He wonders, head cocked. He’s a fucker, he knows exactly what to find, he knows your body like the back of his hand. But he wants an answer.

“Hnghh.” That’ll do. God, the wave’s coming, he can feel it too. The way your stomach tightens and rolls under his hand, the way you squeeze around his fingers, grow tight.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” he urges, hand rolling with you as your hips glide, pushing back on him. You’re getting louder, desperate noises leaving you as the sensation builds inside you, body boiling hot. Yoongi’s panting too, the veins travelling up his forearm, thick and mouthwatering as he snaps into you. “Fingering you so hard, gonna break my fingers.” His voice is gruff, shooting right through you, and that’s enough.

“Fuck—!” You exclaim loudly as your orgasm rips through your body, head spinning, vision blurred, but it’s momentarily because—

“Ow, shit!” Yoongi yelps, pulling his fingers from you immediately to hold his arm limply across his torso, his left hand clutching his shoulder.

“Oh, my god, Yoongi,” you shriek, rising to sit up, out of breath and sweaty, but now worried to death too. “Yoongi, what’s wrong?!” Oh my god, he’s dislocated it again! You panic to yourself. His messing around jinxed him. You grab at his head, trying to make him look at you, shaking him. “Yoongi!!”

That’s when you hear it. The most infuriating noise on this planet. A snicker. He lifts his head, laughing louder now as he sees your face. “You fucking jerk!” You yell, whacking his shoulder, not caring if it pops out—Serves him right! “I was about to have a heart attack!”

“Ouch, watch it,” he chuckles, tightening the grip on his shoulder as he soothes it.

“You fucking deserve it!” You fold your arms across your chest, pouting.

He just smiles, cocking his head to the side. “Is that anyway to talk to the love of your life, especially after he just made you cum your brains out…”

“You ruined the comedown.” He’s kissing the pout from your lips before you can blink, hints of tongue breaking the seam.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmurs. Your belly flips, forgetting about his little stunt to wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him over you. You fumble with muffled giggling, tugging at his underwear. “I’m going to fuck you so good,” he grunts, kicking them off the edge of the bed. You reach for his mouth again, moaning loudly. About time. It’s been hard riding dick for six weeks.

“Yeah, can’t wait.” He’s tugging at your skin, touch hot and clammy. It takes you a moment to realise he’s trying to twist you around. “Turn around.”

“Yoongi.” You kind of want to fight it, want to see his face while he fucks you, feel his body pressed against yours.

“I said. Turn around,” he growls, and that’s it. He sounds so hot, so demanding, so eager. You flip onto your stomach, breath catching in your chest as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you up, ass in the air, a cold breeze between your legs.

“Fuck,” he exhales through his teeth, hands now pawing your ass, tugging the flesh this way and that. His dick brushes against your flesh and he can’t take it anymore, impatient as he grips himself, rubbing the blunt end against your folds. With his other hand he gently strokes down your spine, soothing the small of your back. “Take a deep breath because I’m gonna make you cum again.”

“Oh. Shit—!” Curses just fall out of you when he pushes his way inside, plush walls swallowing him, resilient, a mess, because they’ve missed Yoongi like this. He wastes no time, hitting you from the back quickly and powerfully. You have to clutch onto your sheets, anchoring yourself to the bed.

“Your ass.” He’s out of breath, sounds high, right hand squeezing what he’s missed so much, and then he’s sliding around your middle, pressing against your abdomen as he stills his thrusts. He takes great pleasure in the way you begin to rub your ass against him, attempting to churn his cock against your walls. You’re desperate, huffing loudly, hair flat to your face, slick with sweat.

He leans across your back, voice hoarse as he kisses your crown. “Again?” His hand dips to your core, cupping it tightly, his fingers able to feel the way he’s stuffed inside you. “Again for me?” He’s already rolling your clit between the pads of his fingers before you can reply, eyes rolling back into your skull.

“Shit.” He’s gentle though, knowing you’re probably still sensitive. When you don’t complain or squirm he straightens his back, beginning to grind his hips into you, matching his hand between your legs. “Yoongiii.”

It feels so good. Even more so when he begins thrusting again, shallowly, soaking his dick leisurely, enjoying the way you raise up, back against his chest, and begin to bounce into his touch, a glow in your stomach, a pulse in your clit. It’s happening again. You’re coming against him like it’s a reflex. It’s warm and soothing, the sensation that travels through your veins, and you let your head swing back, eyes closed, Yoongi’s mouth kissing your hair. It takes a moment to realise you’re both trembling.

His hand pulls back, rubbing your stomach before his shaky fingers squeeze your hip bone. He murmurs your name. “On your back. Wanna kiss your face right now.” He’s a lot more subdued now that you’re under him, kissing you longingly, as if he’s been away for weeks. As if he’s making up for lost time. Each touch across your body is gentle and exploring, like it’s the first time. He’s kissing across your chest when he looks up at you, lopsided smile on his face. He looks a little drunk. “You’re so beautiful.”

You laugh loudly, but you sound exhausted, voice croaky. “You were supposed to fuck me, not turn sappy.”

“I can do both,” he whines, leaning back a little to take his dick in his fist, lining up with your entrance. He pushes inside slowly, the grimace on his face telling you he’s close anyway.

“I love you,” you smile as bottoms out, catching his mouth with his. You can be sappy too.

“I love you more.”

“Don’t fucking start.” He just chuckles, knowing you can never win the game that makes him so happy.

He rolls his hips into yours slowly this time, laboured breaths and sweet moans leaving you both as the heat builds up between your bodies. You’ll never get sick of making love with him. Feeling him so close, watching him lose control with each passing second. He drags it out as long as he can before his face is buried in your neck.

“Ughh, ffuck. Gonna cum.”

You wrap your hand around his head, lacing your fingers in his hair. “Please.”

“Always want my cum.” Are his last words before you feel the familiar warmth fill you up. It’s true. There’s nothing better than feeling him inside you. As close as you can physically get. It doesn’t get better than this. Not now he’s healed and well.

“Goddamnit,” he says once he’s come to, a sated grin on his face as he rolls onto his back. His arm buries under your neck, hooking over your shoulder as he pulls you close. He’s sweaty. You love it, rubbing your nose in the crook of his neck. “It feels good to be back.”

It just feels good to have him, period…

[otterlydeerlightful]

LazyTown Ship Week #2

Day #2: Memes/Jokes ------------------------------

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the girl whispered.

“Of course I’m sure! What do you take me for?” the man hissed back.

“I dunno. Some of your ideas are…well, you know…”

“My ideas are what, exactly?”

“Uh…perfect?”

“That’s what I thought you said,” he huffed.

The girl just sighed and shook her head while the man sitting by her side prepped the device between them. She shrugged and turned back to the pair of purple binoculars in her hands, leaning over to try and get a better view of the path. Robbie busied himself setting their ammunition in place.

Trixie resumed her watch with the comically large binoculars pressed closely to her face. Their previous victim, Ziggy, had absolutely loved the prank and both she and her partner in crime were ready to spring their fine-tuned trap on another unsuspecting pedestrian.

“See anyone?” Robbie whispered, rustling the leaves of their hide-away bush when he leaned over to do so.

“If I did, they’d know we were here already!” she snapped back with a hiss. “You’re too loud!”

“I’m too loud—?” The bush rattled again as the villain got his voice back under control, returning to a subdued whisper quickly. “I’m too loud? What about you? People in Siberia could hear your breathing!”

“As if!”

Robbie harrumphed and the pair went back to their stake-out. It was a little disappointing that there was so little foot traffic for such a nice day, but they could wait. It would be worth it. And at least it was warm out, and they had some sturdy branches to keep comfortable while they waited. It was so comfortable, in fact, that Robbie had started to doze off when he was suddenly smacked in the ribs by a small hand. He let out a yelp only to have that same hand immediately cover his mouth. Trixie glared at him. He licked her palm, daring to face the nasty child germs that resided there just to watch the look of silent horror on her face as he yanked her hand away and began wiping it furiously on her pants. Heh. Worth it.

“Gross!” she whined as quietly as she could manage.

“Serves you right,” Robbie whispered back.

“You were gonna start snoring and ruin everything!” Before her companion could give a retort, the girl pointed through the leaves. “See! Someone’s coming!”

Even without his binoculars, Robbie could see the shape of a humanoid figure approaching, and quickly! He gasped, flailing around and shaking their hiding place terribly as he got himself into position. Trixie huffed at him in annoyance, but held the binoculars up to her eyes and fell into the intense concentration that only a well-executed prank could bring to her.

“Steady,” she whispered.

Robbie’s fingers twitched in anticipation.

“Almost…”

His lip curled excitedly into a menacing grin.

“Get ready.”

The man’s hand was poised over the release switch, just waiting for the little girl’s signal.

“And…now!”

Robbie slapped the release with all his strength. A pair of arms parted the shrubbery to make way for the immense pie that was flung out by his ingeniously crafted slingshot. The pie whistled as it flew through the air, hitting its target with a thick, wet slorp that was just music to Robbie’s evil ears. A loud thud soon followed, and Robbie and Trixie alike jumped to their feet. Roaring in jubilant glee, they popped out from their bush to see who had be unlucky enough to walk into their delicious trap. The cheering and laughter soon stopped, however, when they recognized the victim.

“Sportacus!” Robbie yelped, hands flying up to grasp at his hair. He turned immediately to Trixie. “You didn’t tell me it was Sportaflop!”

The girl held up her hands as she shook her head, mouth agape in shock for a moment. “I couldn’t tell! I didn’t have a great view and…”

Robbie waved her away. There was no time for squabbling; Sportacus needed him! Robbie tumbled out of the suddenly obstructive bush to get to the boyfriend that was lifelessly sprawled on his back in the middle of the walkway. He only tripped twice on the way, shedding leaves and sticks as he went.

“Of all the times for me to have perfect aim!” he cried as he fell to his knees beside the town hero. “Oh no,” he moaned as he looked upon the unconscious hero. “Oh, I am in so much trouble…” With shaking hands, he pried away the pie tin that covered Sportacus’ face. Seeing the hero’s pie-covered image made Robbie cringe. “…I’m going to be in the doghouse forever.”

Trixie crept closer to the scene, trying to get a better look at the sugary carnage.

“Is he okay?” she asked hesitantly.

Robbie chewed nervously on his lower lip while desperately trying to wipe his boyfriend’s face clean of pie. “Does he look okay, Tricky?” His voice sounded much higher than usual.

The little girl was undeterred. “He didn’t….you know...did he?”

Robbie let out a squeak before answering. “If you’re asking if I gave my boyfriend a sugar meltdown by throwing a pie right at his stupid hero mouth, then yes! Yes I did!” Robbie cried. He clutched his temples, his pie-covered hands smearing the stuff through his hair. “Go get me some sportscandy or something! We have to wake him up!”

“I can’t.”

The villain’s head whipped toward the child so quickly that one might worry that Robbie had snapped his own neck. “What?”

“I can’t!” Trixie cried, throwing up her hands. “There isn’t any! We were picking all the apples and all that stuff yesterday! There’s nothing left!”

“Nothing left?” Robbie shrieked.

“That’s what I said!”

“How in the name of villainy can there be an apple shortage in the apple capital of the world?”

Trixie made a face. “In the what…?”

Robbie ignored her, already having moved on to Plan B. It wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but he was desperate. He grabbed a fistful of nearby turf and patted Sportacus’ cheek, hoping the sensation might help bring some sense back to the town hero. Oh, he hoped this worked.

“Okay, Sportaconcious, you’ve gotta work with me here. You, uh…you like salad, right?” He looked dubiously at his handful of grass. “It’s, uh…all natural.”

Someone snorted.

Robbie growled, looking over his shoulder at the little girl standing there. She was smiling, but shrugged. “Wasn’t me,” she said, sinking a bit into her own shoulders as she spoke, as though she was trying to hold in laughter.

There was another amused snort nearby and, for lack of anywhere else to look, Robbie looked back down at his boyfriend. Sportacus was smiling. Another snort and the hero fell into outright laughter, finally opening his eyes. Robbie’s jaw dropped at the sight of it.

“You’re…but the pie…how…what?”

Sportacus giggled, eyes giving his boyfriend’s hand a quick glance. “Were…were you going to try and feed me grass?” the hero laughed.

Robbie continued to stare, frozen in place at the revelation that the elf was still conscious after taking a pie to the face. “You’re—?”

“Surprise!” Sportacus chucked, sitting up and delivering a cream-covered kiss to Robbie’s cheek.

“But how!”

Now it was Trixie’s turn to giggle. “It’s easy when the pie doesn’t have any sugar in it!” she said, proudly setting her hands on her hips. “Sportacus and I planned everything.”

Robbie gaped at the two of them, looking back and forth in amazement. “You—you tricked me? You? But you’re the hero! And You—!” He pointed back at Trixie. “—We were supposed to be partners!”

“Playing the long con!” the little girl said with a confident grin.

Sportacus wiped some of the pie remnants from around his eyes. “It was a good joke, wasn’t it, Robbie? When Trixie told me about it I just couldn’t resist.”

Robbie looked back at his pie-covered boyfriend in amazement. “I…” He shook his head, shoulders relaxing slightly now that he finally began to realize Sportacus was okay, despite looking like some kind of whipped cream monster. “I am a terrible influence on you!”

Sportacus snickered for a moment before bursting into laughter again. Robbie couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he felt himself smile and begin to laugh, too. Trixie beamed, watching the pair as Sportacus playfully smushed some of the leftover pie into Robbie’s face to make the villain laugh even harder. She only looked away when the pair began to kiss. Even without pie everywhere, kissing was just gross.

[oh-law-d-he-comin]

DECK Prompts, Day 2

September, Year 1

  Law is 11, and all morning one thought has been on his mind. Gryffindor. I'm gonna be in Gryffindor. It's there when he fumbles the barrier-crossing at King’s Cross and slams into a mere brick wall, making his first ride one in the staff car, getting his head checked for concussions. It's there when he blows his allowance on the food cart right before the Express reaches its destination, chocolates and jellybeans spilling from his arms as he hurries after the crowd. It's there when he gets scolded for the first time (but certainly not the last), chatting at a nearby student during the sorting ceremony. (It doesn't count, he assures himself. What are they gonna do, take points from a House he hasn't been placed in yet?)

  It's nothing big, he just considers himself pretty brave, or foolhardy, or both, and to be honest that's the same as half the kids there already. His mother was a Gryffindor, a Head Girl in her time no less (though if push came to shove he wouldn't mind Ravenclaw, his father's house). Besides, really he just likes the colors. If he ended up anywhere else he'd have to switch his favorite scarf, and what's he supposed to do about his eyes?

  “Law Kiyuu!” rings out the call, and he is so glad they didn't use his full name, enough that it overrides sorting excitement for a moment. Maybe coming here with the teachers was good luck? Most of them seem nice, if not exasperated, but he knows he has that effect on people, especially adults, which is weird because they should be smarter than the kids and why don't they appreciate his facts then? But the one lady was really nice about listening to his tirade on necromancy, which has been on his mind recently after Drav showed him that book and-

  He's on the stage before he knows it, and now that he is, there's no time to waste. Law looks out into the crowd, beaming, and jams the Sorting Hat on so hard it covers half his face. He doesn't have to, though. The moment it even comes close to his head, the hat’s mind is made:

  “SLYTHERIN!”

  That's right, Gryffind- wait wait wait, excuse me? He pauses halfway through putting the hat down and slams it back on, flailing an arm out at the teacher trying to stop him. What, no deliberating? No, I don't know, taking my opinion into account? Ravenclaw I'd get, Hufflepuff maybe, but the snake emporium??? Was I thinking too much about Corvy? Do you have screws loose in your nonexistent head?

  “If you have a stick of celery, half an onion, and one carrot, but a pile of tomatoes, what flavor is the soup going to end up?”

  ...What?

  The hat huffs irritably. “You have dreams, yes? Like everyone else? The difference between them and you is simply that one day, young man, you will-”

  And then the hat is ripped off his head, he gets a very stern warning, and Law has to find a new favorite scarf.

September, Year 2

  Law is 12, and he's got a cat! A black kitten, the kind that suits him in both wizard and Muggle dress, a very nice kitty who's large and fluffy and follows him around everywhere he goes (and he always has been a sucker for aesthetics). His housemates attribute the unnerving upturn in mood to the fluffball bearing some weird Muggle name, and they're right: for the first two months back, he doesn't leave the cat behind for anything, not even Transfiguration.

  Even for Hogwarts, the kid is kind of weird. There's whispers that his summer job is at the Ministry, that his fingers were lost while encountering a ghoul, that he likes Defense Against the Dark Arts so much because he can come up with ways to counter the counters. His best buddy is a purebred Slytherin, heir to a noble estate, a researcher of necromancy. Thrice he's been caught wandering into the forest, the castle ghosts avoid him lest he trap them in conversation again, he notices things too much and holds his tongue too little. Most of all, the shining silver and green scarf feels wrong on that smiling face. It's unnerving.

  So he's friends with his cat, and his “vampire” (as he so kindly calls her), and his parents, who have gotten him a record for “most Howlers sent in a year”. And he never ever stops trying to be friends with the rest of the school.

January, Year 3

  “If you put me on that broom I will die,” Law proudly asserts, digging his heels into the ground and scratching futilely at the wall in an attempt to hold on. He's 13 now, and this is shaping up to be the third year in a row he'll fail Flying—even now he's out after classes getting an unsuccessful bonus lesson. “There are sixty-one ways magical flight can go wrong and I'm not even talking about the individual kinds of injuries and sure, you'd think what's a little more to the guy who broke every limb in his body back in October then tripped down the stairs the moment he got out of the med bay but I draw the line at three things and they are brooms, bugs, and milk, which probably explains the broken bones but luckily they will not be broken today!”

  “At this rate you'll never be accepted into an Apparition class, you know.” The flying teacher sighs and rubs her temples, letting go of the boy and watching as he instantly sinks to the ground with the broom he's been given. I don't get paid enough for this.

  “Perfectly fine by me! Do you know how easily the human body can stop working? Leave an arm behind, that's one thing, but what if you splinch a lung or your cerebellum or half your blood and whoa, shazam, dead witchard on the floor! I was born with feet and they still work and I use them and I'll keep using them, all the more powder or brooms or whatever for the rest of-” He cuts off with a yelp as he’s levitated nearly ten feet in the air, making comically ineffective swimming motions in an attempt to get back down.

  “Ma'am! Teach! I am begging you to let me down, this is a once in a lifetime plea, please for the love of all that is good and holy and you know what I'll also invoke the dark and unholy for this one, please!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Kiyuu, you are perfectly safe. This is simply to get you used to being in the air, nothing more.” She's perfectly calm, but Law isn't—he drops the broom, replaces it in his hand with a wand, frantically whispers a series of words.

1) Law Kiyuu spends the next two weeks in the hospital wing recovering from no less than six fractured bones and a concussion, sustained in his fall from over five meters up.

2) A new effect of a failed Stunning Spell is recorded in the books, and flying lessons for the quarter are finished by a substitute teacher.

3) Slytherin never recovers from the points lost, and finishes the year dead last in the House Cup.

March, Year 4

  Law is 14, and he is standing in the boy’s bathroom, and his wand is shooting sparks like a particularly rambunctious firework from where it is just about snapped in two. The fountain, two shower heads, and a whole row of sinks are busy covering the floor in water, having fought a valiant battle against the wand and lost. Draven and Tsubasa are shooting a mixture of disappointed and shocked glares at him from the entrance, and as far as he can tell it looks like they're debating whether or not to leave him for the wolves.

  He needed a new wand anyways, he thinks. The old one didn't vibe with him.

  The disappointment radiates off Ollivander in waves when the boy walks in, sheepishly placing two halves of a wand on the counter. “I, um! It's broken!” he announces in an uncharacteristically short statement.

  “I can see that. What torture have you put your poor friend through?” the man asks, tracing one of the many scratches in the wood with a sigh.

  “So before I say anything, it's not my fault, which is to say it's sort of my fault, but only sort of, mind you! And if it helps the other guy got it way worse- not a real guy either, which is a relief from an I-don't-wanna-go-to-prison standpoint, but perhaps not from a place of my pride, but neither of those are the point. I understand that this is a positively unforgivable crime, simple unbelievable, totally unacceptable, and yet! I implore a new wand from thee.”

  Ollivander says nothing, simply lining a row of boxes up before Law with a look that says Next time you will be banned from the shop. Fluent in cold gazes by now, Law merely nods enthusiastically and begins going through his choices.

  “Yes? Yeah? This one?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “It's gotta be this one, it's making noises, none of the other ones did, oh hey, is that smoke?”

  “Noises of discomfort, Mr. Kiyuu. Next.”

  “This one! I am so sorry about your table, but you saw the sparks, it's my best friend already!”

  “...Black walnut… dragon heartstring… thirteen and a half inches… flexible… yes, I suppose it would work. Do that again, this time away from the flammable objects.”

  Law concentrates on the wand and does the theatrical swishy motion he's been doing, letting out a stream of bright sparks. Look at it! It's got to be his, it already knows what he's going to be using it for! He glances back up.

  “Dragon… like the last one, right? Is it still okay? Will this one blow up too, because that'd be a shame, it seems so smart and I can appreciate another brain even if it's not a physical brain brain because even without neurons I bet it's better than mine.”

  “Yes, Hebridean Black to be precise. Quite frankly I cannot imagine any other core, ah, working with you.”

  When he returns to the dorm, several coins lighter but weighed down with sweets and japery supplies galore, Draven lends him her book on wand materials as he recounts the day’s adventures. Dragon heartstrings are dramatic, suitable for flashy spells and temperamental wielders, it says. Oh.

November, Year 5

  It's Defense Against the Dark Arts time, and Law is now 15, and he is so incredibly stoked to be learning about dementors. They're dark! They wear cool hooded cloaks! They kill people! The cure is chocolate! If it were a slightly different timeline, he might dare say kin. (He still would, his Muggleborn parents have nothing against the Internet, it's just that nobody would understand.)

  The students line up to try and fire off a Patronus, and even as he throws off someone's happy thought with overexcited jumping about, Law is totally in his element. He all but pushes the student before him out of the way as they finish, pulling a memory of New Year's morning with family to the front of his mind and brandishing his wand with a shout (for good measure). A cat jumps from the tip, glowing silver like the other apparitions yet dark enough to obviously be a black one. It fizzles out partway across the room, but it's stunningly similar to Law’s own kitty, enough that for a moment he's worried Ryuk is dead and that was a ghost.

  Expecto Patronum becomes his favorite spell, practiced late at night as his dormmates throw pillows at him to shut off the glow. “What's better than one cat but two cats?” is his reply every time he fires off another unnecessary burst of joyous thoughts and watches Ryuk’s confused sniffing at a light doppelgänger. He's got a lot of joyous thoughts, so this can go all night!

  It actually goes three nights before Law gets bored. Which is good, because the dormmates were starting to pay attention during Herbology and Potions whenever poison came up.

February, Year 6

  Law is 16, and it's Valentine’s Day, and all week long he has been waiting for chocolate time to roll around. So right now he should be drowning his nonexistent sorrows in cacao and caffeine and endless amounts of sugar, clearly.

  Instead he is in the fucking Forbidden Forest, holding a fucking shovel, burying a fucking body with his best friends. What a great team bonding activity!

  To make it clear, he did not kill this body. None of them killed this body. They simply… acquired it from Drav’s father, as a… Christmas gift? or something like that, and something was said and prides were insulted and mistakes were made and they have just witnessed (read: done) a deeply traumatic attempt at raising the dead. The details are hazy around the edges, and to be honest Law couldn't care less about how they got into this, only how they'll get out of it.

  “Let's feed it to something,” he whines into his shovel, hands aching and the usually calming sounds of the forest only irritations to his ears. “Aren't there supposed to be spiders in this here woods? It's not like anyone comes in here often enough to matter, we could just leave it in a ditch and go heeeere spidey spidey and never have to touch another six foot hole ever again until we go graverobbing next time.”

  “Excellent idea,” Tsubasa deadpans back. “Let's feed it to a something that would also see us as food.”

  “C’mooooon, haven't you ever seen zombie movies? They always go for the weakest one, which is by default the literal dead guy, so we'd be home free before anything even thought about coming after us-”

  A pebble thunks against his hand, thrown from inside the hole. “Less talking, more digging, Law. While this corpse may be under my possession, you had a hand in requiring this labor, I would hope you have enough responsibility to own up to it.”

  Law groans, resumes poking at the dirt, and an hour later the deed is done. Mr. Corpse has been laid to rest, never to walk again.

  Until three seconds later, when the soil starts shifting. Correction: Mr. Zombie. (Double correction: Mr. Inferius.)

  All three manage not to scream at the sudden movement, but they do share looks conveying something along the lines of what the hell. “So, did you say, making Inferi might have a time lag or something along those lines did you say that Ms. Countess or is this a Bad Thing or is there a time lag and this is also coincidentally a bad thing…?”

  “Indeed, I would presume this is a “bad thing”, as you put it.” A hand pokes up out of the recently overturned dirt, waving almost comically in the air. The children book it.

  ...It's probably okay! They haven't heard any tales of the walking dead recently—even if the teachers are starting to suspect things from their local serial trespasser staying a stone’s throw away from the forest no matter what.

September, Year 7

  Law is 17 now, and it's his first year here, he thinks? Huh, that's weird, the doors won't open… and hey, those must be the other kids!

  A strangely unthreatening, fuzzy mascot chortles from its spot atop the stage. “I'm your new headmaster now—and we're going to play a game!”

  God FUCKING dammit.

[the-voice-of-hell]

The Septagram

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-   Previous   -    First   -

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***

Maddy mixed up some chloroform, from a recipe she found online.  It didn’t feel right, but brutalizing her uncle and grandmother didn’t feel right either.  Better if they went along peacefully.  She kept it in a nail polish remover bottle, hoped it wouldn’t kill too many brain cells when deployed.

She knew her father was out preparing Kevin’s SUV for a midnight run.  Or he was already done and coming back inside.  She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.  Just a regular modern gal, about to kidnap her family from The Kingdom of Hell on Earth.  Yeah, it was showing.  She was tired, wired, and unkempt.

A rap on the doorframe - her dad’s personal rhythm.  She knew it well and wasn’t startled.  “Daddy.”

“Snookums.  Are we about ready?”

“Yeah.  Got some clean rags.”

“Nothing but the best for your Gran and Uncle.”

She made a face at him.  “Tasteless.”

“What?  You gotta make light when things get dark.”

“Light this.”  She pushed a rag at him and he snatched it.

“I guess here goes nothin’.”

They stole up the stairs quietly as they could, soft creaks muffled by thick carpet.  At the top of the landing, they looked into the dark hall.  A night light in the bathroom at the far end was the only illumination.  Grandma’s bedroom would be on one side, Kevin’s room on the other.

They took deep breaths in near synchronization and Maddy doused their rags heavily with the creepy chemicals.  Her dad looked at her with sad determination, then marched down the hall briskly.  They didn’t want the fumes to fade before they did the deed.

Maddy must have stepped too hesitantly, because as she approached the bed, she heard her uncle yelp in the other room.  Her Grandmother rolled over and stared at her.

She came over and sat on the bed quickly, holding her arm as if to comfort her.

“Shh, I think they’re in the house!”

Grandma sat up in the bed abruptly, startled by the idea of the demons attacking her boy.  “They wouldn’t!  They promised!”

She was distracted enough.  Maddy struck like a cobra, rag over the mouth.  “Shh, shh, shh,” she said.  The old lady jerked momentarily in horror, then died away.

Maddy shook her head and trembled.  “Oh no!”  She squeezed and patted the body, frantic.

Her dad came into the room in a rush, his feet heavy in the hall.  “Are you alright?!  Oh.  You should step back, Baby.”  He practically hoisted her with his big hands, and assumed her position over his mother, picking up a frail wrist to try the pulse.  “She’s fine, just... That’s some tough stuff you mixed up.  They both went down like Joe Frazier.”

He looked up at her and smiled gently.  “You’re such a softy.  Like a kitten.”

Maddy nodded, but then she noticed something and her eyes went wide.  Jason followed her gaze to his mother’s arm.  Something was glowing under her pyjama sleeve.

He pushed up the sleeve to see the Mark of Bymaan, blazing with unnatural light - like a neon sign embedded in her flesh - and they heard a soft whine coming from it.  Then they heard doors and windows begin to crash downstairs.

Jason scooped up his mother and hustled to the closet, and Maddy came inside with him.  Barely a second later, unseen intruders were ripping at the panels, rattling, and finally busted the doors right out of their tracks.

The demons grabbed his mother away, battering at him brutally.  Maddy was forced screaming into the darkest corner.  Dozens of hands in different sizes and shapes grabbed and pushed, and at last they were hauled into the open part of the bedroom.  Jason and Maddy could see her grandmother laid out on her bed, demons patiently waiting around her, but they were personally restrained.

The tallest demon at the side of the bed turned to face them, pointing an accusing finger.  She was made out of a loose pile of porcelain products, with uneven cracked teapots for comically oversized breasts.  Her fingertips were clothespins.  “You have assaulted those under the protection of the Queen.  You will be taken to her dungeons to await sentence.”

“What?,” Jason yelled.  “You can’t be serious!”

“Whosoever bears not the mark of Bymaan, whence your hand falls upon one who does, so too shall her hand fall upon you!  Cuff ‘em, boys.”

Maddy and Jason Homme were in the grips of demons.  They were marched from the house of their family.  Outside, they stood at the curb, waiting for something.  At least for the moment, they were together - side by side.

Jason said, “Baby, if there’s one thing I regret more than anything else--”

“Don’t say it, Daddy.  You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right.  I couldn’t have known, but I can still regret it.”

A lizard man with a marching band jacket and horse head said, “You regret this?  I don’t wanna be here either.  I just discovered The Hallmark Channel.  It’s fucking beautiful.”

“At least let me talk to my daughter in peace, ya damn stormtrooper.”

“I’m never gonna know if Jessaphine finds true love with Corvin.  I’ll bug you all I want.”

“Fucking demons.”

Maddy squeezed up her face, but she didn’t cry.  No more of that.

***

The cops and troops loaded into two armored personnel carriers that had been parked in a nearby alley, along with Park, Infante, Iphigenia, and Jelly Sue.  Some of the cops were touching their deltoids or other areas gingerly - they had fresh tattoos of the seal of Abalaam under the fatigues.  Infante didn’t like it, so Park ducked out of receiving his own at the last minute as well.

The APCs pulled about forty miles per hour down Rainier, a sergeant in each nervously eyeballing all the camera angles of the outside, looking at every twitching demon that happened by.  They were having parties on their newly acquired lawns, joyriding past them on the streets.  Apparently off duty, none seemed to raise an alarm about the military vehicles in the neighborhood.  Or was it the protection of Abalaam?

They pulled a hard right onto Yesler with no interference, then left onto the tight little lanes of 17th Ave.  The APCs jumped a curb, crashed a side fence, and parked in somebody’s backyard.

“Sitrep,” Abraham commanded.

A sergeant replied, “Clear as it’s gonna get.  Any of these houses could be hot.”

“It’ll have to do.  Park, Iphigenia, you’re with me.”

“Yes sir.”

“...”

They followed Abraham up a ladder to the roof of their APC and stood at his sides.  He pointed into the dark sky ahead.

At first, Iphigenia didn’t notice anything.  Then she realized there was a massive black tower there, hard to see against the night sky.  It was about five hundred feet across and thousands of feet tall - very hard to guess just how much.  Then they noticed the others - towers to the left and further away.  One was partly covering their view of The Columbia Center - the tallest building in Seattle a week ago.

“Holy Hell,” Park said.

“That’s about right.  It is the power of fallen angels - the ophanim who once turned the celestial spheres,” said Abraham.

“How the fuck do you know that?,” Ippy asked.

“That’s how I got this tour, ma’am.  Occult knowledge.”

“Sure,” said Park.  “This one is the objective?”

“They’re in there, somewhere,” Abraham said.  “Bybaal and the murder club members under his seal.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ippy.

“What’s the best approach?  I wouldn’t even want to guess,” said Park.

“Two APCs, two teams.  Opposite sides of the tower.  Infiltrate and ascend, sweep until we find them.  Kill anything that moves.”

“And the death shield?,” Park asked.

“Iphigenia, Infante, and anyone with the seal of Abalaam should be fine to kill the bastards.  How about you?”

Park cracked his neck.  “I can lay down suppressive fire.  What do the breach points look like?”

“That’s the problem.  There are a lot of unknowns.  I’m aware of two ways in.  On the east and the west, there are some high doors - sixty and seventy feet off the ground respectively, with no ladders ropes or lifts.  We’re climbing - and hoping the outside of this thing is as poorly surveilled as it looks.”

“Holy Hell.”

“Do you have a better idea?”  Abraham looked at him with a smile.  Did he know about his oracular insight?

“No, no… Let’s just do this.”

They split into teams.  Iphigenia and Jelly Sue were with the squad under Sgt. Blahm from ICE, taking the harder climb.  Infante and Park were with Abraham and others on the shorter climb.  They’d decided it was the more dangerous route because it was more likely to be surveilled, based on the lay of the neighborhood.

Ippy would have left Jelly in one of the houses, but she had a feeling she could find a safer place inside the monolith.  Surely there were rooms in there where nobody went.  Out in the residences, demons were running amok.  But could Jelly pull herself up the rope?

The soldiers didn’t think it was worth waiting to find out.  Blahm ordered two guys up the ropes first, they tossed an extra one down with a strap to loop around her.  Ippy helped her into it, and they hauled her up.  Ippy didn’t wait for the ascent, taking up a rope and climbing alongside, ready to catch her.

The door was large enough for a giant to walk through - a portal with no covering of wood or iron, leading straight from the open air into the halls of the black stone monstrosity.  Jelly Sue and Iphigenia stared into the hall ahead while the rest of the soldiers climbed up behind them.  It was as tall as the entrance, piercing the building all the way to the other side.

Hundreds of feet away, they saw the other team coming in through the wall - black silhouettes of army men, soft amber city light behind them.  There were halls leading off to the sides, or at least openings carved in the stone that could house such.  The lady held her doll’s hand and looked to the sergeant.

“Before we go anywhere, we find a place to hide her.”

“This is my command, but alright.”  He picked up his radio.  “Infante, you see us?”

The voice came through, “Copy.  SAC wants us to work south, your team north.  Over.”

“You all in?  Over.”

“Affirmative.  Let us know when you are, and we’ll roll.  Over.”

“Copy.  Out.”  He did a quick headcount - just a few still climbing up.  “You can be with our point guys on the first sweep.  Come and get her if you find something you like.”

She nodded.  Despite the label on his uniform, he didn’t seem like a completely unreasonable asswipe.  Yet.

Blahm picked up his radio.  “It’s time.”

“Copy,” said Infante’s voice.

He put down the radio and gestured while giving orders.  “Yarrow, Buckner, you breach on the left.  Gorman, you’re with her on the right.  Dr. Miller, you watch the girl.  Everyone else follow the hands.”

As everyone headed into the first hall on the left, he pointed left and right, splitting the remaining troops between the sides of the hall, then took up the rear with Miller and Jelly Sue.

The situation felt so tenuous.  This was a building for giants.  What happened when the giants came home?  Ippy felt like they were so many rats raiding a pantry, as if the owners or house cats were never going to show.

The whole building seemed carved from a single piece of black stone, almost completely unadorned.  There were some kind of metal fixtures hanging from the ceiling - chandeliers?  Hard to see, unlit in the dark.  Ippy didn’t bother with a flashlight, trying to see by that of the soldier’s.

They came to the first door on the right.  Gorman looked across the hall to Yarrow, who counted it off on fingers.  When his fist closed completely, it was time.  They whipped around the corner.

Nothing.  The soldier ran his flashlight over the walls, then to the ceiling.  There was some furniture in here.  It looked like a rococo parlour that got coated thoroughly in tar and left to harden for a hundred years.  But they were pretty quick to rule out anything man-sized hiding in there -- especially when the rest of the troops filed in.  Ippy got bored in a hurry and came back into the hall.  Gorman followed.

“Hey.  You should have a flashlight too.  If you surprise any of us right now, it’s a bad idea.”

“Whatever.”

They approached the next door on the right, Yarrow and Buckner on the left.  Ippy could see Jelly Sue’s hair faintly illuminated near the back by the screen of Blahm’s tablet.  What was he playing with on there?

They kept clearing the floor.  The cops were getting tired and they’d barely begun to sweep the tower.  It was going to be a long night.  They moved, they sweat, they almost lost their disciplined movement, got ahead of themselves.

Ippy didn’t help much.  These rooms had the same problem as the suburbs - they were wide open and looked homey, by some kind of hell standards.  Too easy to imagine some creeps strolling in and finding Jelly.  Unacceptable.

Jelly Sue walked with the sergeant and the doctor.  Miller was very nervous about the way they came, spending most of her time looking there.  Blahm seemed heedless.  He had planted a motion sensor back there and was just trusting the tablet to let him know of an ambush.  Jelly looked from one to the other, and ahead at the monkey men bustling this way and that through the hall.

Miller grabbed her eyes.  “Oh god, worst time for a migraine.”

Blahm didn’t look at her.  “Sorry.  You should hydrate, doc.”

“I feel like my eyeballs are the size of tennis balls.”

“They are,” said Jelly.

Miller’s skin was covered in shining sweat.  Her whole head was bulging, but eyes most of all, eyelids straining to keep the huge orbs in place.  Her lips were thin, quivering, forming a small beak.  Her neck had become almost too thin to keep holding up her swollen dome.

But she took no notice of her own deformity, shaking her head at Jelly’s comment and reaching for a canteen.

Jelly Sue took this information onboard, then checked to see what Blahm was looking like.  His eyes were also bulging, head sweating.  Drops landed on the tablet screen and he smeared them away.

“I’m Ippy’s sister.”

Blahm chuckled but Miller was startled.  “Whoa.  She speaks!  You don’t look like each other.”

“Well… I can drink water.”

Miller handed her the canteen.  Jelly dutifully pretended to drink from it, then handed it back to her.  “Thank you, Dr. Miller.”

“You’re welcome.”  She looked like a nude baby bird wearing a cheap human wig, smiling with her beak.

Jelly smiled sweetly, and the smile faded as she turned to look at Blahm.  He was also birding out.  She looked forward at the troops, blank again.

Iphigenia had a growing awareness there was something wrong with the cops.  Around the time half the halls on their side of that floor were cleared, she caught a good look at one in a flashlight as it wheeled by.  His eyeballs had become gigantic, sealed in with straining, veiny eyelids.  His lips were a dainty beak, his nose reduced to cornified nostrils atop the beak.

Was it even Gorman?  Name tag said so.  Some quality in his voice remained recognizable, though it was now higher pitched, breathless.  “This whole floor is abandoned.  This fucking detail sucks.”

“Yeah, sure does.”  She wished she had a mirror to give herself a look.  She touched an eyeball.  Felt normal.  Radio chatter in the halls was beginning to get more frequent.

The order came down the line - pick up the pace.  Less time clearing the corners - more opportunities for danger to slither out of the darkness.  Ippy and the birdmen soldiered on.

Infante finally got a chance to talk to Park and Abraham at the same time, nobody else in earshot who would hear over the boots.  He put a hand on each of their shoulders, looked at them wildly.  “They can’t tell.  They don’t know!”  He said it as quietly as he dared.

Abraham brushed the hand off.

Park held it.  “I noticed.”  He looked to Abraham.  “It’s the seal, isn’t it?”

Abraham wouldn’t meet their stares.  “It might be.  The enemy is sealed by Bybaal, the men are sealed by Abalaam.  Maybe as the seals converge… I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!,” said Infante.  “You didn’t get the seal because you knew.”

“Stow it, Sergeant!  I didn’t get the seal because it’s powerless if I apply it to my own flesh.  It would have been a waste of time.”

Park pushed himself between and nodded at their superior.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  But can we pick up the pace here, before these birds need to leave the nest?”

“OK.  But Infante, you better get back in your place.  We need you where the action is.”

Infante complied, shaking his head as he went back to the point.

Abraham picked up his radio.  “Blahm.  I’d reckon the objective could be up eighty floors.  We need fast and dirty.  Report when you’re done with this floor.”

“Copy that.”

Abraham looked at Park.  He was convincing.  Park knew better than to ignore all the red flags, but the big man in the buzzcut really looked humane, like he believed in what he was doing, what he had dragged them into.  Like he regretted the transformation in his troops.

Park still couldn’t decide if it was safe for him to kill any of the enemy.  If they had that death shield and he didn’t have any mystical exceptions, it would instantly take him out.  His indecision kept him in the rear with Abraham.  They moved on.

***

A cop car with the roof ripped off roared up to the curb, and Maddy and Jason were shoved in the back.  A vulture-turtle-thing in a peaked police cap perched on the trunk, clawed feet piercing metal, and held a taser at the two menacingly.  The front seat had another two demons squeezed into it.  The plexiglass divider was still in place, so Jason couldn’t even spit on the bastards in disgust.

They would have talked more, but as the car roared along, the wind made it hard to hear, and they were in no mood for shouting.  They had been defeated.  Kevin and Grandma were surely recovered from the chloroform by now.  Did they even understand what had happened?

Then they noticed the black citadels.  Jason had witnessed the rise of the one on Beacon Hill, and was disappointed to see even more of the creepy towers.  Madison looked at him in fear.  Was that where they were going?

“Hang tight, Princess.  We’ll get out of this somehow.”

The vulture cackled.  “Like hell you will!  Nyeeheheheee!”

“Oh, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.  No point having the argument about who was the sorriest.  He knew in his heart that he was the King of Sorry.

The car whipped past one of the citadels shortly after turning off Rainier.  They could see guys climbing in through one of the doors, dozens of feet above the small surrounding buildings.  Strange sights.

It careened down Broadway wildly, leaving the clustered citadels behind to head toward the tallest one - looming at the north end of the Capitol Hill.  Broadway’s usual evening rabble of college students, hipsters, vagrants, and yuppies were outnumbered ten to one by their new neighbors - the demons.

Past the famous strip, the road bent into 10th avenue, which had a lot more trees and nice three story apartments.  But the east side of the road, the apartments were a tangled wreckage, mostly collapsed and shot through with black chunks of rock ranging in size from small car to double-decker bus.  It was the base of the citadel.  If Volunteer Park and the adjacent cemetery still existed, they were a few thousand feet up, atop the monolith.

The demons steered the cop car into the rocks.  Maddy and Jason braced for the impact, but all that came was a slight jolt.  There was some kind of secret passage.  They drove down a sloping rough-hewn stone hall, lit by veins of unnatural pink light between the rocks of the walls.  One tire blew out, then another, from speeding over the rugged surface.

The car sloped up again, into a vast and darker cavern, and bottomed out on the floor after a jump, scraping to a stop.  They piled out of the car, kicking off the doors, and pulled the humans out of the back seat.

“Daddy!”

“Maddy!”

The demons laughed and dragged them apart.  They kicked and twisted, but were lost to each other.  The dungeons awaited.

Maddy was tossed in a medieval looking holding cell, big enough to hold dozens more prisoners.  And yet, she was alone.  Why did they leave her alone?  The inside of the cell was pure darkness.  Only some kind of debris was visible on the ground, lit by remote pink light from outside the cage.

The air was cold on her sweat, but for now the tension and fear kept her warm inside.  It smelled like wet dirt with faint notes of pet store ferret.  Maddy gripped the bars as the demons capered away, and dragged herself back to her feet.

“Bastards!”

She had to calm down, take stock of the situation, make a plan.  This couldn’t be the end.  It wasn’t exactly a cutting-edge facility.  Could she dig her way out with a spoon?  No way she was going to wait to stand trial in Demon Court.

The bars were wide - but just not quite wide enough to squeeze through.  Some were loose, but just firm enough that she doubted she could unroot them without days of effort.  Everything was maddeningly close to breachable, but not quite.

She needed to rest.  What she really needed was a full night of sleep, but she couldn’t take a chance on that.  She lay down carefully on the stones, right there by the bars, rested her head on her arms, and had a cry.

Jason was belligerent the whole way, and got beaten for his efforts.  He was tossed into a cell without even having his cuffs removed, tased to keep him still long enough for the door to get locked behind him.

That hurts about as bad as it looks on the TV, he thought, waiting for his body to recover.  When he was finally able to blink away the tears from his eyes, he saw an olive-skinned woman looking at him in gentle concern.  She had the look of a native from somewhere south, maybe as far as South America, and nearing middle age.

“Ma’am, um, ah...”

“Josie.  I’ll help you sit up.”  She did.  It wasn’t much of an improvement.

“Gracias.  I’m Jason.”  He looked around.  There were no lights in the big cell, but sickly pink flames burned out cracks in the floor outside, giving enough to see by.  There were a few other humanoid figures in the cell, farther away.  “Co-ed dungeons, eh?  What are you in for?”

“I locked my daughter in her room because she got that mark.  That’s what they said to me.”

“I was trying to…  It doesn’t matter.  We gotta get out of here.  How come you don’t have the bracelets?”

“I did not fight so much.  I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t pay to have a temper.”  He slumped forward, face against the bars of the cell.  “Have any of you tried to get out yet?  What’s it look like?”

She looked very sad, suddenly evasive.  “It’s no use.”

“That’s not all, is it?”

Her eyes burst into tears.  “We won’t live to see the trial!”

Jason did his best to get close to her, only able to maneuver on his knees.  “Josie, get a grip!  Tell me what it is!”

She nodded, and gestured to the humanoid shapes.  “One of them is a monster.  He eats one of us, then gets too stuffed.  Then later on he eats another one.  It’s… maybe every six hours.”

“So this cell was a death sentence?  Goddamned demons!”

***

Jen and Sergio had been left in a cage dangling over an abyss.  It was a shaft through the monolith that probably terminated over a thousand feet below.  They were thirty or more feet from the nearest walls.  The cage was locked tight, hardly enough room for the two of them.  Their bodies were close, aching, sweaty.  They spoke gently to each other.

“How you holdin’ up, Serge?”

“Tired of waiting.  They make it so uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.  It’s because they know we’re superheroes.”

“Superheroes?  Like Superman?  I am not a superhero.”

“Well, you hafta admit, we’d bust out of a regular jail no problem.  So it’s super-jail.  For superheroes.”

“OK.”  He rested his head on hers again, careful not to come down too hard.  “Maybe we can fall asleep.  Can you fall asleep?”

“Like this?  I think the word for it is passing out.  Probably not for a good long time, Serge.”

She hadn’t been that close to a man in a few months, and that man hadn’t been so powerful.  Sergio was as strong as Jen at least, and leaner.  Even the pain and peril couldn’t keep it from being at least a little arousing.

She didn’t like to think about herself in the equation of attraction.  It was a little denial she allowed herself - just try to have fun, don’t imagine that anyone could ever find you attractive, let good times happen when they can.  But this guy was so out of her league that it provoked bad feelings.  She tried to keep her feelings in check - he’s an ally, a friend in the same boat.  Comrades, yeah.  It wasn’t working.

Sergio’s world was all workouts and dick-measuring contests with incredibly vain men, until the apocalypse came down.  Now he was a goat-murderer and super-pelotero.  But he was still human, and was so grateful for Jen taking him in, treating him like a friend.  He didn’t have a genuine friend in the Estados Unidos.

He could feel the strength through the softness in her body.  Something in that power felt compelling.  It reminded him of the few times he’d been tempted by homosexuality, rough-housing with his friends in Venezuela.

He had an idea, but didn’t want to offend her.  Siempre yo puedo dormir después de un orgasmo.  Podemos..?  He wouldn’t say it.  It was absurd anyway.  But what would he say?  What would he do with his last days?

“Jen.  They are going to kill me.”

“Why you wanna think about that buddy?”

“It’s OK.  I killed a lot of them.  Even though they are devils, maybe I deserve it.”

She jerked her head back enough to look him in the eye, more or less.  Her glasses were badly fogged and beaded.  “Stop that!  We’ll get out of this somehow.  I know it!”

“It is more easy for me.  To think I am going to die.”

She shook her head.  “OK, think what you want.  But don’t tell me about that.  I’m not going to let it happen.”

He nodded.  “Well, you know what I think.  So you know.  I have a wish before I die.  It is nothing big.”

She shook her head.  “Don’t say it.”

“I don’t know,” he looked side to side, cheeky.  “Maybe you’ll like it.”

Her eyebrows were knit in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Can I kiss a pretty woman one time, before I die?”

She was shocked, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “You can say no.”

Her face went red.  He felt the warmth coming off of it.

After a terrible little eternity, her expression softened, and she kissed him.  She missed his mouth almost completely the first time, then he angled himself to better be reached.  They locked lips.  It was bad on so many levels - his stubble, her glasses, their sweat, their discomfort.  But they weren’t playing.

She broke the makeout session enough to say, “If you think you’re gonna die, why only a kiss?”

“Oh?  What do you mean?”

“Let’s … Well we can’t fuck in here, but we can do handies.”

“Handies?  Oh.  Yeah, that sounds fun.”

They loosened their pants.  After a few orgasms, they both passed the hell out.

***

In the Cherry Hill citadel, Iphigenia found a wardrobe Jelly Sue could hide in.  Baby bird head Dr. Miller said she couldn’t fit in beside her, and Ippy said she’d be better off hiding alone - no guard.  She also asked for a moment alone.

When she got it, “Jelly Sue.  I have to go kill these guys.  It might be a while, but I’ll come back.  I will come back.”

“It isn’t safe.”

“I know.”  She hugged her tightly, and reluctantly let go.  “You’ll see me again tonight.”

“OK, Ippy.”

She closed the wardrobe and rejoined the troops.  The cops were rushing the floors now.  She found it agreeable.  It boggled her mind the place was so abandoned.

Maybe it was incomplete.  Maybe the rough-hewn stone of all the furnishings, walls, ceilings, floors was because the material was yet to be refined into the palace it was meant to be.  Maybe when it took its final form, it would be populated with man-sized maggots and flies in Regency era clothing.

She’d fallen to the rear so she wasn’t there when the monster struck.  She couldn’t see it - just one of the soldiers flying through the air, bouncing off a wall dead.  Guns started to go off.

Baby bird heads flopped madly on skinny necks.  Who were these people?  Cops and soldiers, special agents and sergeants.  They did their best to move strategically, going into side rooms and angling around corners, looking for any trace of the enemy.  It quickly became apparent there was more than one enemy, they were unnaturally strong, and they were completely invisible.

Iphigenia backed into the room where she’d left Jelly Sue.  She wasn’t going to let it turn into a gun battle.  Anyone who came through the door - birdhead or invisible demon - and she’d send them back into the hall.

A soldier tried to come into the room and she leapt at him, pushing him back into the hall with a single kick to his bulletproof vest.  He looked as shocked as his malformed eyeballs were capable of looking.

Then he stopped short.  He’d chanced to bump into one of the invisible demons, and whipped around, unloading his submachinegun at point blank range.  Bullets pinged all over the hall, and a ricochet ripped through his skull.  He was instantly dead.

She knew it was the death shield.  They weren’t just invisible - anyone lucky enough to kill one would be killed in turn.  Anyone except her.  She felt bad enough about the getting the cop killed that she decided to head out into the hall - closing the door behind her.

Blahm was up against a wall, whipping his head back and forth, MP5 in hand.  She went against the wall beside him.

“Hey, you got smoke cans that won’t burn our eyes out?”

“N-no!  It’s all tear gas!”

“Damn.”  She looked around.  “Anything we can set on fire?”

He let his gun hang from its strap while he muddled around in his pack.

While she was waiting, a huge powerful hand gripped her arm and jerked her into the air.  Another grabbed for her hammer hand and she smacked it away with a flourish.  She couldn’t see the thing, but from the slightest feel of it touching the weapon, she guessed where it was well enough to make it hurt.

She was still in the grip, arm threatening to come out of its socket.  She kicked her legs.  They tapped an invisible body here, there.  It was humanoid enough - aside from being about nine feet tall.  Assuming its head was in the usual place, she whipped the claw side of the hammer straight into its face and it let go of her arm.

Like the first goblin she’d killed with the weapon, she was above the foe, smashing it up with brutal overhand strikes.  The goblin’s body was much smaller.  This would take a lot more work.  Its invisibility wasn’t perfect, an outline rippling wherever it moved quickly.  Its blood spray was like a blast of clear boiling water.

Somebody punched her in the back and she felt like she was being stabbed with a burning knife from the front.  No, she looked at her yellow coat, splashed with blood.  She’d been shot.

Somehow Ippy was coming to imagine she was bulletproof.  It was a rude awakening.  She slouched against the wall next to Blahm, hoping if more stray bullets came they’d get stuck in him.  “What do you have?”

“Road flare!  Pretty smoky.”  He lit it up and handed it to her.

She didn’t accept it right away, one arm weaker from the gunshot, the other holding the hammer.  She took the hammer into the weak hand and accepted the flare with the other.  “Alright.  Alright.”

Blahm took stock of the battle.  Some guys were in the rooms, some in the halls.  All were being careful not to shoot in the direction of friends, but it was hard to know where to shoot at all.  The invisible demons could be seen in glimpses, but they weren’t sitting still for the men and their automatic weapons.

He gestured for people to get out of the hall.  The stone walls could minimize friendly fire.  Then he hustled for the nearest room.

It was the one where Jelly had been stashed.  Iphigenia almost tried to tackle him, but she restrained herself.  She didn’t know how much blood she could afford to lose.

She jogged down the hall, putting more smoke into the air.  A cop popping out of a room nearly shot at her, but caught himself.  Suddenly she was off her feet again, a big demon pinning her to the wall.  The sparks spraying off of it, the smoke curling around it from her torch, revealed a face like that of a man.  She thought he looked a little like Bryant Gumbel.

Before she could make a move, the cop opened up point blank with his submachinegun.  Immediately the gun jammed in a way that shot a piece of shrapnel into his brain with lethal speed, and he collapsed.  The death shield.

But that also meant the demon had died.  It fell away and slipped to the ground, hammer throwing sparks where it bounced.  Then she was on her way again.

The B team radioed about the attack, though Abraham’s men could hear the gunshots from across the floor, down twisting halls.  Abraham shouted for the men to head that way for backup, eyes peeled.  Reversing course left Infante and Park in the middle of the crew.  Park decided if he saw an enemy, he’d shoot to maim if he could.

Infante smiled.  “About time, eh?”

“Don’t look so pleased.”

They came out into the main hall that cut across the floor.  So far there had been one of these on every other floor, portals at the ends exposed directly to the night winds.  Park was grateful for the breeze.  Then the guys started flying.  Some kind of giant invisible demon was hitting them from the front.

Infante lifted his assault rifle and let off a three round burst.

Park was sure he’d turn out to not be immune to the death shield, despite the evidence from back on Hilltop.  He was sure one of those bullets would bounce back their way and ruin his perfect face.

It didn’t happen.  A spray erupted in the air like water and the invisible form rippled as it fell to the floor.  Guys rushed around it.  Nobody had been killed.  The guys who were tossed got back to their feet and joined the charge.

As they hustled around the invisible corpse, Park tripped on something meaty and fell, taking out the guys who were hustling behind him.  He lost track of Infante in a heartbeat.

“Fuck!”  He was well and truly tangled.  Whenever he tried to plant a palm on the ground to get up, he’d just end up slapping something big naked and oily.  Or one of the other troops would accidentally kick him while trying to extricate themselves.

A meaty hand gripped the back of his bulletproof vest and hoisted him back to his feet.  Abraham said, “Shape it up, soldier.  You’ll want to see the show.”  Park could barely hear him between the gunshots.

The troops got untangled and ran ahead.  Park was following, but Abraham held him back.  “You’re not supposed to be in there, Detective.  You have a different purpose.”  The smooth deep voice reached him through the din, somehow, like it was breathed straight through his ear into his brain.

He was suddenly dizzy, leaning against the rough stone wall.  The submachinegun was heavy in his hands.

“Take a look,” Abraham said.

Park looked around the corner.  The troops had mostly gone into side rooms to clear out trouble there.  Aside from the dead, only a few remained in the hall - including Infante.  It was very smoky in there, perhaps from the gunfight before they showed up, and the smoke made it pretty easy to tell where the giant demons were.  The guys at Infante’s sides used suppressive fire to keep the demons in line, and the hero mowed them down - free from the effects of the death shield.

Abraham said, “Excellent, excellent…,” as if he could see through Park’s eyes.

“There’s at least six guys down out there.”

“But we’ve got a handle on it now, don’t we?”

Park got a grip on himself, shaking off the weird spell, and went into the hall.  The dead guys on the ground unnerved him with swollen bird heads and thin necks.  He looked in the first room and saw nothing, went to the next, had to duck back into the hall to avoid friendly fire.

The shooting stopped and he went in, gun ready.  One birdhead lady was against the wall, exhausted.  He recognized her hair, now perched atop her head like a bad wig - the medic, Dr. Miller.  Next to her, two guys were dead.

“Miller, are there any more?”  He came in, pointing his gun this way and that in the room, using the attached flashlight, looking for any sign of movement.

“Watch out for the-”

He tripped on another invisible corpse and got tangled again.

The troops all formed up in the hall again, and Abraham had Miller treat Iphigenia’s gunshot wound first.  After some very cursory work, he ordered the remaining troops to move on as one team.  Park was glad to have an excuse to get away from him, leaving him to bring up the rear.

As the cops and troops moved onto the next floor, Abraham stayed back, smiling, and jogged the opposite direction in the hall.

***

NEXT

-

[rainedrop777]

The Adventures of Spidey-Prom!

Seriously it’s probably not healthy how much I love Spiderman!Prompto! I didn’t know I needed it until @destiny-islanders drew the freaking CUTEST art for it. Please check it out. It’s good for the soul, trust me.

Anyway, enjoy this little bit inspired by their art! :D HOPE YOU ENJOY!

“This is your costume?”

Ignis’ voice rang almost shrilly in the small apartment complex, but Prompto was far too busy checking out the newest wounds to his body to pay much attention to what the man was saying - instead, he puffed out his chest and propped his hands on his hips, admiring the new slim and toned muscles that stood out starkly in the bad lighting.

“It sure is!” Prompto replied boldly, eyes squinting as pride welled in his chest.

So what if those thugs had landed a few hits and made him look like a bruised potato - he’d totally won in the end.

“It’s a cotton sweatshirt.” Ignis replied flatly, his widened eyes were evidence of his complete horror of the aspect as he held up the tattered garment of clothing.

“It’s not just a sweatshirt,” The blond replied, a small pout forming on his face as spun on his feet to swipe away the bloody clothes. “It’s my identity. Every superhero needs one.” He explained readily, ruffling out the sweater to examine the newest tears and ruffles. “It’s a part of me now.” He dramatically hugged the cloth to his chest, a small smirk forming on the edge of his lips as he thought about his most recent venture -

...that...hadn’t gone...exactly as planned…

But he’d still won!

Prompto could visibly see Ignis roll his eyes from the side, the older man reaching up a hand to adjust his glasses in an exasperated show of exhaustion. “Prompto, do you believe the police simply roll out of bed in the morning and seek out the local gangs in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt? Their attire consists of at least some sort of protection - a bullet proof vest -”

“Pah -” Prompto interrupted with a scoff, waving a hand in front of him. “Last time I checked, cops can’t climb up freaking walls and lift a car without breakin’ a sweat.” The blond propped his hands on his hips and shot Ignis a wink, which the man returned with a twitch of his eyebrow that Prompto had quickly come to realize was onset to a migraine. “‘Sides,” he waved a hand as he tossed back the article of clothing, “I need my costume to be flexible, ya know - gotta make way for these babies.”

Another eye twitch followed when Prompto flexed his arms in the white tank top he was now donning, though he let out a sharp hiss of pain as he grabbed at his newly bandaged arm.

“How formidable.” Ignis replied dully, shaking his head as he stared down at the sweater.

“So are ya gonna sew it or not? I’m probably gonna need it by tomorrow. Duty calls, ya know.”

Ignis’s hands flopped down in front of him as he stared deadpan at the younger man. “You’re not seriously going to do this again -” Ignis cut himself off as he slapped a hand to his forehead before scrubbing it dramatically down his face. “Prompto - you’ve barely a grasp on your abilities, why on earth you are so eager to get yourself killed!?”

“‘Cause a superhero’s work is never done! It’s like Cor said -” He cleared his throat and straightened up to mimic the man, “With great power comes great responsibility. And uh - I’ve got great power now - so might as well be greatly responsible with it and kick some bad guy butt!”

The sound of the buzzing cars outside the tiny apartment complex was the only sound audible as Ignis’s green eyes bore holes into Prompto’s own, and the young man couldn’t help but fidget nervously under the gaze.

After a moment a long, very Ignis-y sigh escaped from the older man’s mouth, the glasses on his face sliding down slightly as he once again stared at the sweater that might as well have been a piece of trash for all the way that he regarded it.

“I cannot believe you’ve worn this for the last three months and survived.” Green-eyes flashed up to Prompto as he held up the sweater. “You’re either brilliant and sufficient, or incredibly stupid and lucky. My bet is on the ladder.” Almond lips pressed together as he made his way over to the small dresser drawer that held various needles and thread.

“Orrr - just super awesome -”

“Or perhaps an utter moron -”

“Could a moron do this!?”

“Do - WHA -”

Ignis’s voice was immediately cut off when Prompto skipped over to where he was and effortlessly braced a hand under his back and on his thighs, effortlessly pushing against them to  lift the man above his head with a loud laugh.

“Howd’ya like that - eh, Ignis!?”

“PROMPTO! Put me down this INSTANT!” Was his friend’s immediate retort, the struggle that he was giving against him making Prompto’s arms quiver slightly - but not nearly enough to undo his hold.

Prompto barked out another laugh, keeping his arms locked even as Ignis squirmed above him. “Not such a moron now, huh?”

“Prompto Argentum, I swear to the Astrals if you do not set me down in two seconds -!”

“Alright, alright -”

Prompto heard Ignis yelp slightly when the younger man released his grip entirely, stepping back just enough so that he could catch Ignis in his waiting arms, dodging a swipe to his head before he set the man back down on his feet.

“You ever do such a thing again…” Ignis huffed, shooting him a vicious glare as he straightened out his ruffled sleeves.

The blond chuckled, stepping his way back over to the mirror, “So how’s about it - gonna help me? Wanna be my sidekick?” Prompto chippered as if he hadn’t just lifted the taller, more muscular man like a dumbbell. He rubbed his arm slightly as the slight strain had flared the ache in his bruised muscles.

A scoff followed the remark, “I’ll have to pass, thank you.” Ignis replied with a knowing glare in his direction, but, regardless, proceeded to pick up the needle and thread that was situated on the dresser.

“Whelp - position is open if you ever wanna apply!” Prompto replied with a happy smile, turning back to face the mirror.

He wish he could say that the muscles that he now admired in the mirror before him were from the months of hard work, and to be honest, he had been working hard to improve himself for a while now, but this type of improvement wasn’t exactly his doing.

Three months ago was when everything changed. Everything.

He’d been a scrawny kid three months ago - lacking confidence to approach anyone...especially a certain prince-like classmate of his that he’d admired since grade school. It’s not as though they hadn’t known about each other, and Prompto had managed to muster the courage to say hello and introduce himself on the first day of high school, but it was only recently that he’d felt that they’d made significant strides in their relationship when Prompto finally gained the confidence to make it a point to become his friend - and it was going very well.

Prompto was suddenly very glad that Ignis was focused on sewing the sweatshirt as a noticeable flush crawled up the blond’s neck and face - no wait - his entire body.

He’d decided to return the favor the gods had, for some reason, chosen to give him and fight evil in the world in repayment for this new life he was living - and well...yeah that part needed some work, but he was doing his best! Just tonight he’d managed to stop a robbery of a sweet older lady. The thugs hadn’t seen him coming at all - but, unfortunately, Prompto was still a bit shabby when it came to the fighting...so he’d taken home a few bruises and cuts as souvenirs, but he’d still beat their asses, called the cops, and saved the day.

Though, if it wasn’t for Ignis he probably would be in way worse shape - the man was pretty good at dressing his wounds. Ignis had found out about a week ago who he truly was...how the man was able to see through him he’d never know. Prompto still wasn’t sure he believed Ignis’s reasoning of “you’ve been behaving oddly. It seemed the most likely conclusion” - it was like he just knew. Maybe Ignis had his own spidey-sense - either way, despite that, tonight was the first night that Ignis had seen his outfit -

Psh. Who cared what he thought. His outfit was awesome. And...yeah no one would know that was him...right?

If he kept up like this, trained himself a bit - he was certain he’d become an awesome comic book superhero in no time - how hard could it be?

He shook his head, smiling to himself.

He couldn’t believe he was actually having these thoughts.

Three months ago...yeah - everything had changed.

~

Three months ago:

Prompto’s hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the large city around him, eyes squinting slightly at the morning sun that shone brightly down upon the research facility. The group of his high school classmates milled around the entrance to the building, waiting for instruction from their teacher, Mr. Weskham, to allow them in to begin the tour of the arachnid center they were about to visit.

To be honest, he didn’t really care too much about that, he was just hoping that a certain friend of his didn’t over sleep the field trip today.

He adjusted his glasses with his hand as he looked around, bouncing excitedly on his feet as the anticipation to get inside chewed at him.

He loved this stuff. He didn’t like spiders too much...but the tech inside was going to blow his mind - he could feel it. Maybe he’d even get a chance to browse one of their computers - maybe log away a few notes for the one that he was currently building himself.

Psh. Noct was right. He really was a technophile.

Ah, speak of the devil.

Prompto chuckled to himself as he briefly saw what must have been a knowing exchange between him and his father as they talked behind the windows of the flashy car, and a second later the door opened and out stepped Noct - also known as the Prince of Insomnia Inc. He saw the young man toss his dad a look over his shoulder as he straightened out his backpack, and it was with a roll of his eyes that he turned back to make his way up the stairs and away from the car.

Prompto was satisfied to see Noct’s face noticeably morph into something softer and - well - less annoyed as he trotted up the stairs. Prompto tossed him a happy wave which Noct returned with a nod.

“Heyaz!” The blond piped cheerily, his heart thudding in a familiar sense of excitement at the sight of the handsome face.

“Hey.” Noct responded with an easy smile, the typical mellowness of his tone somehow sending another spike of adrenaline through his heart.

“Ready to check out some creepy crawlies?” Prompto wiggled his fingers at the dark-haired teen’s face before he adjusted the camera strap around his neck, falling into a steady pace beside Noct as they walked up the stairs.

“I’m more ready to take a nap.”

“Dude, the lecture hasn’t even started yet.”

Noct let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms out on either side of him. “Exactly.”

Prompto chuckled, pausing slightly as he lifted the camera up to his face to snap a picture of the large building.

Field trip day was always interesting, especially when it involved checking out the nastiest things on earth - Prompto hated bugs, hated them. But he couldn’t deny that he was somewhat fascinated by them as well. Just because they were ugly didn’t mean they couldn’t be interesting, and besides, he was more interested in the technology they were bound to see in the research facility.

~

“Dude...this is the most advanced electron microscope on the Eastern Seaboard…” Prompto’s voice dripped with awe as he stared wide-eyed at the giant device in front of him, his hands fumbling with the camera to snap a few pictures.

“Wow.” Noct mumbled from beside him, clearly disinterested as they followed the voice of the woman ahead of them.

“For example, the delena spider, family sparassidae, has the ability to jump to catch its prey.”

“Eww…” Noct whispered, though his disgust clearly gave way to his curiosity as he leaned forward to observe the spider that the woman was talking about, head tilting as he noticed the little bug do exactly what she described as it jumped from one small twig to the next in its cage.

Prompto chuckled, though he stepped up next to Noct and lifted his camera to his face.

“For the school paper?” Prompto asked, eyes questioning as he looked up at the lecturer.

She offered him a side smile and nodded in permission.

He angled the camera so that he was able to zoom in on the little arachnid - but he grunted when he felt himself shoved from behind, the picture he was about to take snapped a lovely, blurry picture of the small hide instead of the spider.

Prompto furrowed his brows as he looked behind him, noting the obviously satisfied sneer of the blond that stood behind him.

Loqi.

“Leave him alone.” Noct snarled, glaring vehemently at the other blond.

“Or what?” One of Loqi’s lackeys lip curled in challenge.

“Or his father will fire your father.” Loqi sneered, shoving Noct slightly as he got into his face. “What’s daddy gonna do - sue me?”

Prompto almost jumped forward when he noticed Noct’s fist twitch at his side - but he was saved the trouble of holding him back when the dirty-blond was suddenly grabbed by the arm as Mr. Weskham pulled him back, shooting the both of them a harsh glare.

“What is going on?” He hissed, glaring at all four of them. When no one answered, his voice darkened in seriousness. “The next person who talks will fail this course. Understood?”  

The four remained silent, but Prompto’s heart skipped a beat when Noct reached behind him and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward and away from the small scene.

“Tsch.” The dark-haired teen scoffed, releasing Prompto’s arm as they made their way around the shelves.

“Those guys are jerks.” Prompto mumbled from beside him, earning a very Noct-like smile in return.

He loved those smiles.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, taking a breath as he looked around them.

Prompto watched as Noct milled around in front of him, bending slightly to look at the small collection of spiders that were neatly stacked in the plastic caging. “Yuuuucckkk…”

Prompto chuckled at the noise, but lifted his camera regardless. “Hey -”

Noct turned to face him, eyebrow quirking when he noticed the camera.

“I need one with a student in it.” Violet-blue eyes sparkled when Noct smiled, making a show of adjusting his tie.

“Don’t make me look ugly.” Noct said, eyes half-lidded with a small smirk as he propped an arm up on the small shelf.

Prompto could feel the heat bloom in his cheeks as he chuckled smally, looking shyly down at his camera as he readied it. “Oh, that’s impossible.” He almost hoped Noct hadn’t heard him, but the smile that his friend gave was evidence enough that he had. “Alrighty…” The blond stepped back slightly, angling the camera by his blushing face so that he captured a good view of the microscope and various arachnids with Noct by the side.

Prompto chuckled as Noct smiled easily for the shot, and he clicked the camera several times to snap the picture. “Alriiigghhhttt -” The blond’s face lit up in another bright smile as Noct posed again, pointing to the various spiders next to him. He knew the pictures he was taking now weren’t necessarily of the spiders or microscope...

Heh. These ones didn’t necessarily have to be in the school paper…

“Argentum! Caelum!”

Prompto and Noct’s head whipped over to where Weshkham stood, arms folded against his chest. They could see the rest of the class a good distance ahead of them.

Noct shot Prompto a look before he reluctantly moved ahead, and Prompto rapidly scrambled to put the cover back on the lens before he made to follow -

“YEEOW!”

The liquid fire pain that shot through Prompto’s hand in that instant was enough to send him stumbling back as his hand whipped back from the sudden, intense pain that tore through it. His face contorted into shock as he grasped at his hand, looking down to see a red circle surrounding white, blotchy skin - with two small dots in the center. His heart beat rapidly as he looked down at the ground - just in time to see a tiny spot of an oddly colored spider scramble away underneath a nearby shelf.

“Shit…” He breathed, brows pinching as the pain circling the bite mark dulled to something hot and numb.

“Chop, chop, Prompto!”

The blond’s head whipped up as he saw Noct a small ways away from him, waving him over with a patient smile.

He waved his hand once, hoping that it would alleviate some of the pain, but Noct’s smile was drawing him forward, and he donned an easy smile as he skipped his way towards his friend -

Doing his very best to ignore the sickening feeling pooling in his stomach and the small pain that was trickling up his arm.

Little did he know that from that moment on, his destiny had completely changed.

Hope you guys enjoyed! I LOVED WRITING THIS! SO MUCH FUN - thank you again to @destiny-islanders for making such awesome art - really made my day. :D

Stay tuned for more adventures with Spidey-Prom! :D

[konan-supernova]

AfterLife Incorporated - Chapter Three

Masterpost | Ao3

Words: 4,092

@secretsanders​ @xx-this-is-a-mess-xx​

CW: Violence (fight scene). Let me know if there’s something I need to add!

The water swished around his ankles. He stared at it, shivering as it soaked through his shoes. Ahead of him, an unfamiliar man stood, his hands curled carefully around a violin. He raised it to his shoulder, placing the bow gently on the strings. Logan stepped forward, and the man began to play.

It wasn’t a tune Logan recognized, but somehow, it reminded him of home. He swayed along to the tune, hardly noticing the water rising to his knees.

He took another step forward, and the E string snapped. The violinist winced but kept playing, now shifting higher on the A string to make things work. Logan listened, growing uncomfortable as the higher notes grew more and more out of tune. He stepped forward once more, and another string snapped. Still, the man played on his instrument, now looking quite concerned.

“Please,” he muttered under his breath. “Please, just let us handle it. Let them handle it. You’re going to break it, all of it, all of this...”

Logan began to move forward again, the water now up to his waist. The D string snapped this time, and the man was left with one final string. The melody was much simpler now, and because of this, Logan could hear whispering in the distance. It seemed to grow the longer he listened, and he grew to understand that he had done this. He was at fault.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The water was now up to his torso, but he didn’t care. He took a slow step back, and as he did, something remarkable happened. The G string, all alone now, grew in size, reaching out to the broken D string. The violinist smiled, tears streaming down his face, as the broken string mended itself, and he resumed playing as soon as the G string was back in place.

The water was at his neck now, but that didn’t bother either of them. Logan stepped back again, and the water rose to his chin. The man smiled, soft and bittersweet. He continued to play as the water rose around them, only putting his instrument down when he was fully submerged. He placed it in a box at his feet, moving so quickly that Logan had to wonder if the water was real at all. The man nodded at him, mouthed a quick thanks, and stepped into the box. By the time Logan made his way over to it, weighed down by the rising waters, he found that it was empty, and endless, and filled with hope.

He closed the lid, and all the water rushed out of the room. He took a deep breath and opened the box again. In the bottom, dripping wet, sat the blue power stone.

He closed the box again, stepping back. From somewhere very far away, he could hear a violin playing.

°•°

Logan awoke dripping wet, his bedsheets covered in sweat. He didn’t bother to dwell on it, nor did he attempt to remember his dream, already drifting from his memory. Instead, he kicked his sheets away and sat up, then pulled on his glasses. His watch read 4:54, so he cancelled his 5:00 alarm on the alarm clock and stood up to stretch. After changing his clothes for the third time that day, he set out to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

He couldn’t it as he got lost in his thoughts while walking through the facility. So much had happened in such a short time that it almost seemed unreal. No, it definitely seemed unreal. Logan had always been a fan of science fiction, so he saw almost immediately how this new scenario seemed as if it were ripped straight out of a comic book.

If it weren’t for the definite sapience he had maintained in the past week, he would have pegged the whole thing as a dream, a long and wonderful and horrible nightmare. As it was, he could only accept that it was real and move on, which was easier said than done.

Logan didn’t realize how close he’d gotten to the cafeteria until he nearly collided with someone just outside of it, a somewhat tall person with short brown hair and striking blue eyes. They yelped and jumped back as Logan approached, which finally snapped him out of his thoughts -  though not soon enough to avoid collision, it seemed. He gasped as he tripped over his feet, bumping into the person ahead of them, sending the both of them to the floor.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, quickly jumping to his feet. He reached a hand out, feeling a little bit better when they took it. “I should have been more careful, I apologize-”

“Don’t worry about it,” they said, smiling slightly. “It’s no big deal, happens all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, some of the people around here aren’t exactly known for being careful,” they explained, adjusting their shirt. “I’m Mica, by the way.”

“Logan,” he nodded. “I suppose that it was nice running into you.”

“Literally,” Mica smiled. “Well, I won’t keep you. See you around, Logan!”

They continued past him down the hallway, and Logan quickly dismissed them from his mind. He entered the cafeteria and grabbed a tray, loading it with the first food he saw. Not seeing Virgil or Roman anywhere, he sat down at an empty table. Not many others were eating, though there did appear to be a few people scattered throughout the room. He wondered briefly where everyone else was - surely they couldn’t all be training or sleeping, as he had spent the day. There would have to be other jobs around the facility as well as the recreational areas, which Virgil had mentioned on his first day, and activities, like the training games he had mentioned a few days ago.

He would definitely have to look into that, perhaps make some friends while doing so. Logan had not never been the social type, but he was beginning to feel lonely, only knowing two people who already appeared to be good friends. It only got worse as he considered the fact that Roman was much cooler than him and would likely cease being around him once he had completed training and that Virgil was hopelessly out of his league - not that Roman wasn’t either, just that Virgil also had reason to leave him alone once they were done with the more formal aspects of their relationship.

Logan shook his head, deciding to focus on eating his dinner and then finding the others to discuss his coming along on the mission. He suspected he would have to somehow prove his readiness to Roman, especially. Right out of a comic book, he swore on it.

He was done with his meal by 5:19, giving him plenty of time to find the others and speak with them before 6:00. He picked up his tray and gathered his dirty napkin and silverware on it, ready to find the rec rooms Virgil had spoken about on the tour. On his way out the door, he bumped into Roman (not so literally as his encounter nearly twenty minutes ago), who had apparently just arrived to eat.

“I will admit, you’re looking much better,” he sighed, grabbing a tray. “If you manage to find Virgil, I suppose you can come along, small child.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Logan raised an eyebrow. Roman stifled a laugh, though Logan couldn’t understand why. Was his age really that funny?

“Just go find him, Logan,” he smiled, walking towards the buffet-style food selection. “Heya, Val! How’s it going?”

Logan huffed, shaking his head as he walked away to find Virgil. God, this had been a long day.

°•°

He found the emo in question leaning over a pool table, apparently trying to line up the perfect shot. From Logan’s position in the doorway of the game room, he could see that Virgil was right on target to miss everything he was attempting to get.

“Careful,” he warned, approaching right as Virgil made the shot. His arm went left out of panic, and he managed to hit two balls into the left corner hole.

“Thanks, I think,” he said, looking over the table’s new set-up as his opponent, a short agent in a baggy hoodie, groaned.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she crossed her arms, setting the cue on the rack next to the table. “I’ve gotta be done, Virge,” she sighed.

“That’s alright, Moin,” Virgil hung up his own cue and began resetting the table. “It sounds like I’ll be on my way out soon, anyway.” “Mission?” she asked, her blue eyes meeting Logan’s for a split second.

“Yeah, Roman I are taking the newest recruit along to demonstrate proper fighting and power usage techniques.”

“Nice! You should tell me how it goes, especially if Roman gets his ass kicked.”

“If Roman gets his ass kicked, I’ll be sending the video to every agent in the compound,” Virgil joked, finally done with the table set-up. Moin came around the table to give him a quick high-five before he followed Logan out the door. Logan couldn’t help but feel a tad jealous of their easy banter, and though he knew that he could have that too, should he work on getting to know Virgil better, he also felt like the universe was teasing him by holding this thing out in front of him that he oh, so wanted.

“So, what will this mission be like?” Logan asked, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of hearing what the purpose of being an AfterLife agent actually is, unfortunately.”

“Well, it’s a bit strange, so I think it’d be better if we just showed you,” Virgil said, leading him into a room he hadn’t seen before. Inside were a few rows of odd chairs, reminiscent of those one might find at a dentist’s office or a medical facility. A small number of them were occupied by what had to be agents, all of whom appeared to be asleep.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Roman?”

“He’ll be here in about 10 minutes or so, which’ll give me the time to explain some of how this works - if you’re interested, that is.”

“Of course I’m interested,” Logan scoffed, almost offended that Virgil would ask. Virgil nodded.

“I was expecting that, to be honest,” he admitted, walking over to an empty area by the entrance. He pressed his palm to the wall and a large white control panel rose from the floor, looking to be made of the same smooth metallic material of the artificial walls in the training deck. Logan followed Virgil around to the front, inspecting the glowing panels and quietly beeping screens. On the largest of these screens, there appeared to be an index of all the chairs in the room, a few of them glowing blue while others were a pale grey.

“This is meant to represent the chairs that are in use, yes?” Logan asked, pointing at it.

“The projection stations, yeah,” Virgil nodded. “There’s three types of stations, but the three of us will all be using direct contact types.”

“What are the other two?”

“Observation and indirect contact. Observation is pretty straightforward, while direct and indirect are a little less obvious. Direct contact is used to project a semi-corporeal form into the physical world to locate and capture corrupted souls, while indirect contact is used to influence the living to do certain things,” Virgil looked down for the last bit, avoiding Logan’s gaze. “Usually, the IC stations are only used to convince crowds of people to clear out before the DC stations send in agents to capture corrupted souls, but sometimes they’re used to get someone in the physical world to help out with a specific task not suited for a semi-corporeal form.”

“Interesting,” Logan hummed.

“Alright, are we ready to go?” Roman sauntered in, breathing heavily and looking red in the cheeks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Virgil walked over to the wall and placed his palm on it again, collapsing the control panel. Logan stepped back, watching in awe as it retracting into the floor. He would never get used to this place.

“Perfect. Let’s get on with it, then,” Roman made his way to the third row of chairs - no, projection stations - and sat down in one, pressing a large blue button on the much smaller control panel attached to it. “Report says we’ve got one dark cloud on the loose, coordinates on me.”

“You had better wait for us, then,” Virgil scoffed, following Roman and sitting down in the station next to him. “Logan’s going to need some minor instruction on how to patch in.”

“That’s an understatement,” Logan joined the two, taking the last station in the row. “I have no clue what I’m doing in this thing.”

“It’s pretty simple when you’re patching and not leading. Just press the green button on your panel there,” Virgil told him, and Logan quickly located and pressed it. “Now just wait for Roman to link you in. He’s going to set our stations to follow him, so you don’t need to worry about coordinates or specific settings this time.”

“Alright,” Logan took a deep breath, turning his head to the left to watch Roman work. He had pulled down a metallic limb from the top of the headrest which was projecting a holographic screen and keyboard for him to type on. Roman punched in a few things, then hit the blue button on his panel once more and the projections disappeared. He then pushed the green button, followed by a pink one, and a few smaller limbs rose from the back of the headrest. Roman looked straight up, and they wrapped themselves around his forehead.

“Confirm,” he said after a moment, and the pieces around his forehead began to glow a light blue. “Virgil Mallory, Logan Prayan.”

“Logan, you should look up so the equipment can attach properly,” Virgil instructed. Logan did so, staring at the ceiling above him. “Oh, and try to relax - this is going to be a bit weird, even more so if you’re nervous.”

Logan bit back the urge to say “not helping!” and instead just stared upwards as the metallic limbs situated themselves around his forehead. Almost immediately, he heard a voice in his head.

“Connection established. Agent Roman Diaz requesting collaboration, please confirm that you wish to link in.”

“Uh, confirmed?” Logan mumbled, remembering what Roman had done just seconds ago. There was a quiet beeping sound, and then, in the distance, Virgil's own confirmation.

“Transferring connection to Agent Diaz. Please wait.”

Logan gasped as his vision faded out, the ceiling above him quickly being replaced by a strange room coated in the color blue. He tried to stand up, only to find that he was already upright, standing on a small, circular pedestal-like area. In front of him, looking somewhat transparent, stood Roman.

“Welcome to the mindscape, Logan!” Roman declared, walking over to greet him. Logan stepped down, walking further into the room. “This is a space where agents meet up before and after missions. We’re just waiting on Virgil, and then we can- ah, speak of the devil!”

Virgil appeared on the small pedestal, chunks of semi-transparent material assembling from the ceiling to complete his form. He raised an eyebrow at the two of them and stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

“We ready?” he asked, shooting a glance at Roman, who simply nodded in response. “Good. Let’s get this done, hm?”

He walked to the end of the room and pressed a palm to the wall. A panel slid aside, much link a hidden doorway, and Virgil motioned for them to step through. Roman slipped past him and disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorway, and Logan decided to follow. Things couldn’t get any stranger, could they?

Oh, how wrong he was.

As soon as he entered the doorway, the room behind him faded, though it did not leave behind darkness or nothingness or any of the things he would expect. Instead, a street seemed to rise up around him, building from the dirty pavement below his feet to the smoky sky above his head. He turned around a few times in awe, taking in the sight. After a week spent in the cleanest and most futuristic building he’d ever been in, an everyday alleyway just seemed alien. Roman, next to him, seemed to share the same sentiment.

“I will never get over how strange these transitions are,” he exclaimed, kicking at a garbage can. It barely nudged under his attack, but it was enough to make Logan’s eyes widen.

“Are we actually,” he paused, gesturing around him, “here? Are we really, truly, in an alleyway somewhere, next to a street, I thought we were dead how can we be here,” Roman held up a hand, and Logan cut himself off, barely able to catch his breath.

“Logan, calm down,” he ordered. Virgil appeared next to him, but Logan didn’t care, he needed to know what was going on. “We’re not actually here, not physically. We’re just projecting semi-corporeal forms into the physical world. Careful, though - any injuries you contract here will follow you to the… back to base.”

“Direct contact, remember?” Virgil chimed in, and Logan nodded, feeling almost nauseous. “We can influence things to a certain extent, but we won’t be seen and we can’t do things a living person would.”

“Well, not like this,” Roman muttered, almost inaudible. Logan took a deep breath, then plastered a shaky smile on his face.

“Sorry for freaking out,” he said. “I got a bit freaked out by the change, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” Virgil nodded. “On his first mission, Roman got so surprised that he started running down the street screaming. It was definitely a sight to behold.”

“I wasn't surprised,” Roman huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was just excited.”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Virgil conceded, though he winked at Logan in a way that definitely didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Roman, how far is the cloud?”

“My tracker shows that it’s somewhere on our right, on one of the streets,” Roman said, his tone more serious. “Could be hard to capture.”

“Very likely,” Virgil said coolly, a long dagger materializing in his hand. “But we can hardly let it get away.”

“True,” Roman pulled his staff out of thin air and began walking down the alleyway. “Logan, stick behind us and try to observe my technique, both with the staff and with my powers. It may help you out in training.”

Logan followed Virgil and Roman out into the street, watching as the cars drove past and a slow stream of people walked down the sidewalk. True to what Virgil had said, nobody seemed to notice the three of them.

“Roman?” Virgil barked, eyes scanning the street methodically.

“It’s close,” he replied, stepping into the street. “On its way towards us, I think.”

Just as he finished his sentence, a great black shadow swooped down from the rooftops, narrowly missing Roman as it dove towards the trio and pulled into the air again. Roman tightened his grip on his staff, while Virgil dropped his dagger on the ground.

“Your way, then,” he snarled as the shadow turned back for another attack. He curled his hands into fists, nodding at Roman. Logan watched in awe as Roman summoned a ball of fire, right in his hand, and flung it towards the shadow, his eyes widening as the enemy dodged the attacks perfectly. This continued on for a few seconds to no avail, and the shadow only grew closer through the attacks.

“Well-trained,” Roman panted, throwing a few more fireballs. He cursed under his breath as all of them flew past their foe, disappearing into the cloudy sky above. “Your smoke might be better for this one.”

“Figures,” Virgil hissed, barely managing to sidestep the shadow as it swooped towards him. It immediately pulled up again, too fast for either of them to swipe at even if Virgil had still been holding his dagger. “Assisted attack?”

“I’m for it,” Roman shrugged, stepping back. He flapped a hand at Logan, who stepped back at his request. He bumped into a few people, but they didn’t seem to notice that they’d been moved off-course, and Logan was too enraptured by the fight to care.

Virgil raised his arms and a plume of dark purple smoke burst from each palm. The two tendrils twisted and curved around each other as they stretched towards the sky, racing after the shadow creature. Next to him, Roman stomped a foot down and ground his heel into the ground, then jumped up, fire bursting from his soles as he made chase himself.

Virgil’s tendril of smoke broke off into two again, one limb reaching ever faster towards the dark cloud ahead, while the other wrapped around Roman’s torso and thrust him into the sky before rejoining with the first tendril. Roman hurtled upwards, now nearly fifty feet in the air and still gaining on the shadow. It began to slow down, but still it climbed through the air, Roman fresh on its tail.

“I’m going to blast it down,” he yelled, barely being heard by the two men on the ground. Virgil yelled something in response while Logan just took a step back, staring as Roman grabbed the shadow in his arms and sent it towards the ground, fire now swirling around in the inky darkness of the creature’s skin. It slammed into the concrete, cracking the sidewalk where it hit. Roman began fall from the sky, staff ready. Virgil slammed the shadow to the ground with his smoke, holding it there as it squirmed and burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, nearly too quiet for Logan to hear. He glanced up for a split second, almost meeting Logan’s eyes. “You’re just too far gone.”

Just then, Roman slammed down on the ground, sending his spear through the shadow’s form. Logan stepped back as it made a horrible screeching sound and went limp, form still shaking around the edges. Virgil grimaced through the ordeal, though said nothing as he relaxed his hands and let the smoke dissipate into the air.

“Nice work, Virge,” Roman huffed, pulling a small white orb out of the air. He ran a finger along the blue strip on the center, which began to glow blue before sliding open. Virgil snapped his fingers and the shadow creature flew inside, and the orb snapped shut. Roman threw his staff in the air and it disappeared, though Virgil took a much subtler approach with his dagger.

“You did alright,” Virgil smirked, and Roman made some very offended noises in response.

“That was incredible,” Logan whispered, eyes darting between the two of them. They looked up at him, almost in sync, and Roman stepped forward.

“I’m glad you thought so,” he said, twirling the orb on his finger. Virgil scowled and grabbed it from him, though Roman didn’t seem to care. “Hopefully, you’ll be able to execute similar moves in the future. Tailored to your skillset, of course.”

“Yeah,” Logan grinned, a child-like wonder washing over him. “Hopefully.”

°•°

The disconnection procedure (or “log-off time”, as Virgil had apparently nicknamed it) seemed to rush by as Logan realized how exhausted he was. Although he had gotten a long nap in the middle of the day, and hadn’t done much since then, he was barely on his feet when he was released from the projection station. Virgil had offered him a hand, but he had shaken his head and pushed himself onto his feet.

“I think I should get going to bed here, soon,” he announced, looking down at his watch. “It’s already 8:30.”

“What, past your bedtime?” Roman snickered, earning a tap on the arm from Virgil. “Joking, joking!”

“See you in the morning, then, ‘L,” Virgil nodded. “We’ll be doing more training tomorrow, though it’ll be later than it was today.”

“Alright, goodnight,” Logan began the long walk back to his room very tired, though with a lot to think about. He still had his doubts, of course, but in one day, he’d been introduced to a world of wonder that he wouldn’t have thought possible before. Perhaps he was being rash, or jumping into it too soon, but he really was excited to begin a career here as an agent.

Wasn’t like he had anything better to do.