#Does anyone else get a tight head & dizzy & forgetful when they’re sick?

[sneezarify]

TL,DR enjoy a desperate hitching wet sneezing fit xx

I’m sick again. Yesterday was the sneeziest day yet. Yesterday included mini fits of sneezes, plus Verrryyy regular intense single or double sneezes. My nose got no peace from the moment I woke up until about 3pm when I finally took a nap. Basically a long way to say some sneeze content is incoming.

#snz kink #snzblr #snz wav #sick wav #snz fet #snz audio #I wish I could’ve just recorded myself all day #Because my nose was unwilling to REST #I’ve not been so teased and tickled for a while #I’m so congested #My brain hurts #Does anyone else get a tight head & dizzy & forgetful when they’re sick? #This cold is turning me the FUCK on

[rueitae]

Forget Me Not

My fic for the @plance-spring-zine now that it’s shipped out!

In a world where humanity is confined to the treetops to survive, Lance finds himself stranded deep in the forest away from home as winter (and certain death) approaches swiftly. He finds a last glimpse of hope in a fading point of light. What he finds on the other side of the light not only saves his life, but saves his heart as well.

It's a winter he never wants to forget.

Rating: Teen

Length: 9.850 words

Pairing: Plance

Tags: Major Character Death (though the story continues in the afterlife). Angst and fluff with a happy ending. sick fic. emotional hurt/comfort. domesticity. goddess pidge. mortal lance.

Read on Ao3

~~~~~

Lance needs to be home before the earthquakes start.

But he isn’t leaving without Keith. 

“Keith! Keith where are you? Say something!” Lance yells breathlessly in between sprints. He hates being the responsible adult, especially since it means searching for an angry preteen deep in the woods.

A gangly root hidden by dense undergrowth catches his ankle. He slips forward, heart jumping to his throat as the ground slams into his face. Mud splatters his bare arms and soaks into his pants.

The Great Forest predates even the Disasters. And with large, winding roots that criss-cross narrow paths, Lance should be more careful. 

He pushes himself up and ignores the mud staining his clothes and the scrapes and bruises that might mar his skin. His health and hygiene won’t matter if he can’t find Keith and get them both home in time. He curses the kid’s recklessness. The chase took him into territory unfamiliar even to the cartographers. Lance isn’t sure he can find home at this point.

“Keith!” he screams again at the top of his lungs, desperate. Thunder steals the rest of his words and lightning flashes overhead. The perpetually overcast sky seems darker now as if it were night instead of the middle of the day, and a single drop of rain lands on his cheek.

It won’t be long now. The mystical force that protects the Great Forest from the outside elements wanes as it does every fall, only to return with the first signs of spring.

The forest, high in the trees, is the only safe place left on Earth.

It’s where Lance - and Keith and Hunk - should be. 

“Say anything!” Lance yells. “Just let me know you’re okay!” The rolling thunder increases in frequency and his breaths speed to match it. “Come on, Keith! Do you really think Shiro would want you risking your life for him like this?”

Not that Shiro has time to feel guilty over it, Lance thinks. The doctors are convinced this is Shiro’s last winter - if he even makes it to spring. Refusing to accept the diagnosis, Keith ran off in search of the forest goddess, to ask her if she would save Shiro like she saved him as a baby.

He refused to let anyone tell him the forest goddess had no control over human diseases - if she even exists.

Only the sound of rain falling onto the leaves of the trees and down on him answers. Lance falls to his hands and knees in exhaustion, working to catch his breath and slumping with a heavy heart. He’s not going to find Keith in time at this rate. 

A crisp autumn breeze shoots through the air and the rain picks up in intensity. Lance sits up and shivers, holding his arms close to himself. He prays that the legend of the forest goddess is true and that she led Hunk and Keith to each other at least, and home.

He can only afford to do the same for himself after he finds shelter. Then he can worry about surviving the Disasters until spring.

In the near distance, a grove of trees seems brighter than the rest of the forest, as if it’s summer’s last bastion.

It will have to do, whatever it is.

Lance sprints, stretching his body to its limit for this glimmer of hope. The ground softens as the rain continues to fall, mud sucking at his feet and hampering his speed.

The trees’ shadows blend into the murky dark as the light from the grove fades. Gusts steady and the air chills as the rain intensifies, sapping the heat from his arms and heart. 

He will die for certain if he doesn’t make it to safety. This light is all he has to grasp onto.

Lance isn’t sure what possesses him to yell, “Wait for me!” Keith and Hunk won’t be able to help, and no one lives out here.

As if in response to his cries, the light steadies. Lance breaks through the treeline and is stunned into stopping.

Any other day he'd be in awe at the ruins before him, looking older than most pre-Disaster structures that survived. Moss and vines coat the finely carved columns arranged in a circle, mirroring the treeline, but all but one lay broken as large pieces of stone.

At the center shines the source of the light.

Lance walks towards it. With no shelter in sight, he knows he should be panicking, but this place holds a sense of peace that even the howling winds can’t disturb.

The light emanates from an orb atop a chest-high pedestal and shines on his face like a torch amid the deepening darkness surrounding him. Swirls of spring greens and yellows dance in the orb, illuminated only by the very last flicker of light.

His heart twists in fear when can’t see the ruins any longer, much less the treeline he passed to get to them. He swallows a sob in his throat and cries. Soon he'll be locked in complete darkness, awaiting death by starvation - if the Disasters don’t reach him first.

"I'm so sorry, Mama," he whispers. He has his voice to keep him company at least, though it’s a poor distraction from his fear.

Unintelligible whispers reach his ears, quickly overcome by running water far calmer than the raging floods he’s used to. 

His jaw drops. The sounds seem to be coming from the glass orb, the light now only a dot.

He reaches out and touches it.

Instantly roaring water rushes over him. It threatens to overtake and wash him away, but he pushes back, unwilling to be swept away to his death so easily. He tries to hold tight to the orb, but his fingers pass through. Yet… he stands firm as the current washes over him. 

When Lance dares to open his eyes, he is no longer among the ruins. Streaks of blues and whites stream across a black void with no distinguishable landmarks. A circle of solid blue pools beneath his feet.

He doesn’t know where he is or what is pushing him, but stubbornness and fear alone freeze him in place.

"Lance!"

Surprised to hear a voice besides his own, he searches for the owner. An indistinct figure waves to him from a puddle of green. Pools of purple, red, and yellow complete the circle, each in the exact place where the columns stood.

"Lance, let go!"

He can’t tell who the voice is, but it tingles with familiarity. The tone promises far better than the alternative that awaits him here or outside.

So he lets go.

~~~~~

Lance wakes to the sound of chirping birds and the sweet aroma of flowers. He rests on something soft, with a light weight on top of him.

It’s warm, like the first day of spring. He moans in contentment. He imagines lying on a bed of grass surrounded by his friends and family celebrating the end of winter; a far cry from the cold and darkness he's just come from.

Wait. The warmth on his shoulders feels so real. How can it be when the sun hides behind the clouds through the winter?

He opens his eyes and sits up too quickly, his head spinning with vertigo. He nearly falls back down, but once the dizziness fades, he isn’t sure he believes what he sees.

His bed is really more of a lounge chair, plush and upholstered with purple fabric, and the same soft down in the pillows packs the blanket.

He’s back in the ruins, but they’re no longer ruined. Five intact columns in a circle reach for the cloudless blue sky, surrounded themselves by dense forest. A different color - purple, red, blue, green, and yellow - coats each of them. Between them, thick grass and clusters of wildflowers grow around neat stone sidewalk that lead to the where he lies in bed...and where the orb sits on a pedestal in the exact center.

It looks like the home of a god - the forest goddess, he supposes as he sucks in a terrified breath. What else explains the void and how the autumn tempest became peaceful springtime? Was he rescued or kidnapped?

"You woke up sooner than I thought."

The voice from behind startles him, and Lance falls off the makeshift bed onto soft grass, his legs entangled with the blanket. 

He stands clumsily, peering over the back of the bed-chair, recognizing the last voice he’d heard.

Time to meet the forest goddess.

Lance keeps his head low (that was proper procedure for meeting a deity, right?). His gaze slowly rises starting from her sandals. Pale green robes drape her figure and golden jewelry shines in the sunlight. Her necklace holds a green gem with swirls of similar hues twisting about inside. Her auburn hair is untamed and cut short to her chin and her glasses...

Her glasses?

Finally, he looks upon her face...

And remembers everything.

Fourteen years old and lost in the forest. She holds his hand and walks him to the edge of the village, scolding him for not listening to his parents.

Sixteen and she teaches him the calls of birds and where the animals live. She jumps into piles of leaves with him in the early fall. 

Eighteen and they explore the forest together. The ruins are her temple and home. 

Twenty when he realizes how lonely she is and how much his friendship means to her. He kissed her forehead, promising to never forget her -

Told her how she’d affected his heart.

Not a forest goddess. Pidge hates that term, prefers “spirit”.

Love wasn’t strong enough. He'd forgotten her. Again.

"Oh quiznak," he moans. His arms drape over the back of the bed-chair as he falls forward. "Pidge, I - I’m so sorry."

She shrugs and gives him a sympathetic smile. "It's not your fault, Lance. You're mortal. You're going to forget me every time we part."

Anticipation drains from his body, at ease in her presence. The fond memories of their time together overwhelm him with joy, and he can think of only one way to release it. 

Pidge blinks in surprise as he approaches, such a human response that always makes him forget she isn’t. “Lance? What are you — “ 

He wraps his arms around her. “I hate missing you when I don’t know I’m missing you,” he says. “You left so suddenly. I thought I’d never see you again!”

She stiffens and protests, “Lance! We talked about this. You’re getting older and I don’t age - “

“You’re still my friend first,” he interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear her completely rational and valid explanation. He knows he’s being selfish, but he doesn’t care. He won’t remember or miss her. Pidge will watch him live without her in blissful ignorance and happiness before watching him die…

“I love you,” he confesses, echoing their last meeting. “I’m okay with whatever you want us to be. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore than you already are.” His heart breaks at his willingness to accept no for an answer.

Reluctantly she relaxes and reciprocates the hug, and the longer he holds her, the tighter she grips him. “Thank you,” she whispers. He takes small comfort in her regretful tone, at least knowing the rejection doesn’t come from a lack of feelings. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says after a long pause, dropping her arms from his back. “Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to enter this place.” Her brows furrow in thought. “I think. It’s never happened before.”

“But you saved me,” Lance says as he backs away. The pain of rejection is easily put aside by her attention to the problem at hand while a sense of foreboding bubbles in his gut. “Is that why you called out in that void place?”

“It is,” she admits. She paces for several steps, twisting fistfuls of fabric from her sleeves. “But you got there on your own, Lance. I don’t understand why or how but,” she sighs and offers a weak, but soft smile, “at least you’re safe.”

Safe. The word triggers panic. “Hunk and Keith. Are they okay?” he squeaks. “Did—”

“They’re fine,” Pidge interrupts. She pivots to the glass orb and beckons him to follow. Lance stands behind her, wary that the orb may once again whisk him away without warning. 

She waves a hand over it. The greenish hues transform into Hunk’s porch. There, his family ushers him and Keith inside, and a giant wave crashes against the door as soon as they slam the door shut. The water blends into swirling teals as the scene fades, the orb returning to its base greens.

Lance clutches his chest at the close call. It seems the floods are the first Disaster this winter, but at least Keith will be in good hands with Hunk’s family.

“I had to make sure they got back to the village,” Pidge says, trembling. Tears prick at her eyes when they meet his. “I knew you were out there,” she growls in frustration. “I just don’t understand how you’re here. You should be dead.”

Lance forces himself to smile for her sake; there’s no sense in adding any unneeded angst to her immortal life. Pidge has always been more human than she lets on, her love of human progress and joy in tinkering a testament to that. She needs comforting just like he does. 

“Well, I’m here.” He shrugs, putting on an air of confidence. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. You can just send me home, right? We can figure it out in the spring.”

Pidge doesn’t respond right away. Every second that passes causes his smile to deepen into a frown, worry churning in his gut. 

His heart twists at his conclusion. “You can’t,” he says. The memories of his time with Pidge play on fast forward in his mind, none during the dead of fall and winter. “And you can’t leave until spring either.”

Pidge nods. “I’m sorry, Lance. I know how close you are to your family.” She lifts her arms and green balls of light flicker at her fingertips. “I’m not even sure if I can once my powers return if I don’t find out how you managed to get here in the first place.”

An entire winter apart from his family? And they’d think him dead? In a strange immortal realm where he isn’t supposed to be? 

His heart drops into his stomach. 

But he’s with Pidge, and that emboldens him. “Ha. Are you kidding? Of course you’ll be able to get me home,” he boasts instead. “Pidge, I have seen you do amazing things.” He pivots on his left foot, gesturing wildly at the world around them. “You’ve saved more people over the centuries than I can count, and everyone remembers when you brought us Keith.” He snorts and puts a hand on his hip. “Hard to forget a walking tree.” 

Instead of glowing, Pidge clenches her fists. “I couldn’t save his father,” she confesses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically in an attempt to match her mood before trying to lift it. “You saved Keith though. You did what literally anyone would do.”

Pidge closes her eyes. “I just… when I first realized what I was, I thought I could save everyone. People still drown, still burn, still get hit by debris. I can’t control the elements, only bolster the forest.” 

She takes a deep, trembling breath. “I’m so sick of not knowing why me,” she yells upwards. “I’ve tried to fix things, but it’s never enough! Maybe if the other elements were regulated like I do with the forest, but,” she drops to the knees and pounds her fists into the ground, “I have waited so long, and no one has come to take charge of them.”

Anger fills him at the implication that there should be others like Pidge to control the elements that keep humanity confined, that make the earth before the Disasters more legend than history with every generation...and that she’s so alone. 

He’s by her side in an instant, hand on her back to let her know he is here. “I don’t understand. Are the others lazy? Don’t they care about how bonkers the world is?”

“I don’t think they exist yet,” Pidge spits in disgust. Lance helps her to stand, struck by the dark bags under her eyes contrasting with paler skin than he remembers. Can immortals get tired?  She walks to the green column and places her hand on a single decorative marking. “The green pillar is the only one that glows.” She sighs, more reflective than angry now. “It’s been like that ever since I was brought here.”

“Wait, brought? You didn’t come here on your own?” Something clicks in his mind as her strange phrasing comes together. “Didn’t you always know what you were?”

Her face twists in uncertainty, transitioning to defeat. She drops her hand from the pillar and turns to face him, shoulders slumped. 

“It hurts to think about sometimes,” she begins. “That’s why I never said anything to you before. I used to be human.”

“Wait, what?” Lance shrieks in shock. 

Pidge nods, giving him a perturbed glance before explaining. “I remember Earth the way it used to be, before the Galra came and incited the constant natural disasters. My family escaped to the forest, but it was wild too, just like the elements. They founded the village you live in.”

“The Galra are real,” Lance echoes disbelievingly, “and you used to be human.” Lance laughs. “Next you’ll be saying I’m a guardian spirit too.” There seem to be a few job openings, and he’d be better than no one.

Pidge scowls and clenches her fists. “I’m telling the truth! I — “ she pauses, her entire demeanor changing. She stares at him, eyes wide and body rigid. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurts out of shame. This did explain a lot, such as her mannerisms and attachment to the village. She had a family. “How - how long have you been alone?”

Pidge doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look angry at him any longer either, but she looks scared - for him.

The moment breaks as she coughs. Lance winces at the deepness and how wet it sounds. Do spirits get sick? He steps forward and opens his mouth - 

“I’m fine!” she squeaks before he can ask. “I - I’m just not used to hosting anyone here. I’m glad it’s you, it’s just… weird.”

Lance sighs, shoulders slumping. She lets him take her hand and lead her to the bed. “Well, now you’ve got a roommate for the winter,” he jokes as he encourages her to sit, which she does heavily. “Ha. Do we have to share a bed too?”

The words come out of his mouth before he can think, but with it comes the revelation that he wouldn’t mind sharing with Pidge. But he won’t. Not until she says so, and he won’t push the issue. He can’t risk never seeing her again.

Pidge covers another cough with her arm before saying, “You can have it. I don’t need sleep. Not like you do.”

Why have a bed if she doesn’t need sleep?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks instead. “That cough sounds bad.” 

Her gaze pierces his soul as if to judge him. In the moment he understands the untold amount of power his friend truly has. 

But an instant later she slumps her shoulders and her eyes soften, looking as human as he. 

“Since you’re staying I should probably tell you everything,” she concedes. She pats the spot next to her, bidding him to sit. She rests her head on his shoulder, looking more like a tired child than a goddess. 

“I don’t just lose my powers during the winter,” she explains more to the ground than him. “I also get sick. My life is never in danger, but I get sore and drained of all my energy.” She flashes him an apologetic smile. “I won’t be very good company; you’ll have to plan most of our Monsters and Mana story.”

Sympathy washes over him. Smiling, he takes her hand in his. “It would be my honor,” he says. “I’ll keep you company and make sure you’re comfy cozy - warm soups, blankets, massages - you name it! It’ll be the best winter you’ve ever had!”

Pidge stares at him, her mouth agape, before it wobbles and her eyes well up with tears. “My own family couldn’t even see me after I died. I don’t know how or why you can, but I treasure every second you spend with me.”

Warmth surges in his chest as she jerks up and wraps her arms around his neck. He aches for his family, but they have each other and Lance has no choice. He will just have to surprise them all in the spring by being alive. Pidge needs him more right now.

“You’ve been alone too long,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll make sure you’re never lonely again.”

“You can’t keep that promise,” she says, shivering. “You’re mortal, and I’m the only thing between your village and destruction. I need to focus. I’ve already spent too much time fantasizing about this to - “

“Fantasizing, huh?” Lance chuckles. His lips are right there, and it takes zero effort to kiss her cheeks. It’s quick and friendly, emboldened by their years of friendship and the flame of longing that still burns in his chest (though he wonders if he imagines the chill on her skin). “That’s not fair, Pidge. I can only think about you when I see you.”

Pidge breaks the hug and wipes away snot with the sleeve of the beautiful dress that Lance will never see the likes of outside books. “You barely know me,” she says sternly, punching him dispassionately in the arm. “I only see you for half a year, and you forget. That’s asking a lot of you to even be my friend.”

“You’re not asking, I’m giving,” he says immediately, hope surging that she may reconsider the nature of their relationship. “Even if I do forget, I remember everything as soon as I see you. You love the early spring snowball fights, peanut butter cookies, and games.” He laughs. “Remember when I first brought my Monsters and Mana pieces into the forest? I had so much fun, I almost didn’t make it home before dark for a few weeks.”

Her mouth twitches, fighting to hold back a smile and losing. She’s more beautiful than a summer sunset. His heart swells, wanting nothing more than to just lean in and show her… but Pidge hardly looks to be in the romantic mood. “I guess,” she responds. “It’d be even better with more than two people, though. You’re a great friend, Lance, you’re just my only friend.”

He takes her hand, pouring his sincerity into the touch. He’d go insane if only one person could see him, he can’t imagine how it is for her. “We’ll just have to make the best of it until others can see you! I like spending time with you, Pidge. We can expand our game as much as we want, and you can show me around the forest before you get too sick and tell me about your family. I want to know everything about Pidge, not just the springtime Pidge.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, locking eyes with him. “We’d never be a normal couple.”

“It’s the best feeling in the world when I remember all our times together. I don’t mind. Are… you okay with that?”

Pidge steels her gaze. “I think I’d rather spend what time I have with you to the fullest than wonder what could have been. I want…” her eyes soften, “I want to see what happens.”

“Me too.” Lance smiles, cheeks warming. He kisses her knuckles, earning a red glow from Pidge’s face. “Maybe it was the power of love that brought me here?” he teases.

Pidge considers him carefully, biting at her lower lip. “I have a different theory about why,” she says, “but I don’t have enough evidence. I think -“

She heaves forward, rolling into his side in a coughing fit. Lance puts a hand on her back and rubs, like his mother would do for him. 

He hopes he can help her, ease her pain in any way. 

“I’m fine,” she rasps once finished, rubbing her tearful eyes with the palm of her hand. “It’s like this every year.”

Lance takes her into a gentle hug, careful to give her space to cough and wipe her eyes. 

“Not this year,” he says. “This year you’ve got me.”

~~~~~

Lance kneels in the tall grass alongside the creek, drawing water with a tightly woven basket. He stands and wipes sweat from his brow. Though his home sits in the depths of winter, this world is forever entrenched in spring.

A smaller basket filled with an assortment of plants sits on the bank. He’s gathering herbs and fresh water at Pidge’s request in anticipation for the worst of her illness this winter. He left while she napped, hoping to use their time while she’s awake to its maximum potential.

“There you are!”

He's not expecting to hear her voice so suddenly as he climbs the embankment.

Lance yelps and slips backwards. The basket of water flies out of his hands and his back stings when it hits the surface of the stream.

“Lance!” Pidge yells in worry. 

Lance doesn’t panic, even when the water invades his nostrils. He’s used to the forest here and needs only to sit his bum on the sandy, weed-choked riverbed to push his upper body above water. He spits out what’s entered his mouth and slicks back his hair, wiping his face with wet hands

“Seriously, Pidge? I thought you were sleeping,” he complains. 

“I was!” she says as she slides down the bank to the edge of the stream. “Then I woke up and you were gone,” she pauses to cough, deeper and more rapidly than the day before. 

Lance winces. How much worse will she get? It’s only been a few weeks. 

“I thought you’d gotten sent back someho —“ She stares, mouth open wide. 

Lance furrows his brow and follows her gaze. It’s on him, specifically his chest, which if he looks down… is easily visible now that his thin cotton shirt is soaking wet. 

She’s… ogling him? 

Worry for Pidge’s worsening condition temporarily forgotten, Lance knows an opportunity when he sees one. A mischievous grin overtakes his face as he teases, . “Enjoying the view, my goddess?”

Her face turns bright red. “Lance!” She sputters indignantly, coughing and putting a clutching hand over her chest. “I was seriously worried about you...and I’m a spirit, not a goddess!”

She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, giving him pause; she really is giving him the lookover. His cheeks burn despite the cool water that drips off his body. He knows it’s just Pidge, but that almost makes it worse than an honest to goodness - correct term or not - goddess appreciating his sex appeal. 

He clears his throat and pulls at his shirt, attempting to make it less form-fitting. “Enough to go looking for me?” he asks instead. “I figured I could get the pain relief supplies while you slept. You need it, Pidge.”

“Sleep isn’t going to help me get better. This is a magical illness. I won’t get better until spring.” She coughs, once, and not deep. 

Lance crosses his arms, a crazy idea popping into his head. “Well, if you’re not going to sleep…” he reaches out and grabs her arm, “then you can join me for a cool bath!” And he yanks her into the stream with him. 

Pidge screams in surprise as she crashes into the water next to him, spitting it out of her mouth a moment later when she sits next to him. 

Lance is pleased with himself as she attempts to dry, until his eyes fall a bit too far. The water drenching her makes her loose dress heavy, the neckline low enough to reveal more cleavage than he’s prepared to see. Fresh from the revelation of Pidge’s thoughts, it feels as if the water boils around him as he looks for literally anything else to observe. 

Her hair slicks back even better than his and he’s shocked to discover her glasses are only frames as she takes them off to wipe her face. He’s never seen her without them. It softens her features, and Lance falls in love all over again. 

“You don’t need glasses?” he asks. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?”

Pidge is somber as she puts them back on. “They belonged to my brother. I had been...teasing him before I died, and was wearing them. Somehow, out of everything I was wearing, they passed over.”

“Oh,” Lance says lamely. He focuses on a school of minnows that nibble his toes. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

“At least I have something to remember my family by,” she sighs. “It’s weird. I have all these powers and all these books I saved, but,” she smiles and looks to the sky, “thinking of my family and seeing what they and their descendants accomplished are what really keeps me sane.”

Lance perks up. “That’s right. You said your family founded the village.” He laughs and pokes her arm. “Who are you related to?”

Pidge rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. “Chip Gunderson is the closest living relative I have. There hasn’t been a Holt in a long time.”

Now that she tells him, Lance can easily see the same goofy grin and round race, that same thirst for knowledge and knack for machinery.

His thoughts wander and he frowns. “You said you died young. Did you...were you ever...married?” Lance doesn’t know many courting details from before the Disasters, but there were so many more people in the world. Pidge is so smart and beautiful and funny; surely she had plenty of suitors. 

Pidge stares at him for a few long moments, and he does not expect her to burst into laughter. 

“What? What’s so funny?” he asks, as confused as when he first arrived in this place. 

She hugs her sides, calming. “Things were a little different before the Disasters,” she explains. “No, I wasn’t dating anyone and I was never married.”

Lance finds relief in her admission. Even if she loved before, it wouldn’t change how he feels for her. All the same, it’s liberating, despite having never thought on it before now.

“Hey,” she bumps his arm with hers. “Romance was the last thing on my mind when I was alive, but…” Her cheeks turn a rosey pink. “I’m glad it's happening now, with you.”

All sheepishness from earlier fades with her admission, and his heart melts. He leans comfortably against her as she does on him. It doesn’t matter that they’re half submerged in a stream. Lance decides that anywhere with Pidge is the perfect place to be. 

“I’d marry you,” he blurts, “in a heartbeat if it meant we could be like this forever.”

Pidge looks up, staring into his soul with the eyes of the guardian spirit she was. “I can’t stop you from forgetting me and falling in love with someone else.”

Her statement cuts Lance deep. It’s true. He won’t remember her in between their meetings. The guilt would cut away at him forever. “I won’t,” he promises. “I’m going to wait for you. You’re my soulmate, Pidge. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re...beautiful…” Her face drifts closer “I - I know it’s a weird situation and - “ I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

She gives him a sad smile, cutting him off by placing a finger to his lips. “I want you to be happy, Lance. That starts with being with your family. Trust me on this one. Let’s make sure we can get you home first.”

He’s tried to push back his homesickness after the first week and succeeded too well. He misses his mom, dad, siblings, and friends. Lance sighs, but smiles sadly as he rests his forehead on hers. This is why he is hers; their love of family is strong. “Thank you, Pidge. I like it when you’re right.”

Pidge pecks his forehead. “Of course I’m right. I also like to keep score.”

Keep score? What kind of phrase was that?

Before Lance can ask, Pidge has already gathered up water in the cup of her hand. Her arm speeds across the water and splashes it in his face.

“Serves you right for dragging me into the water,” Pidge snarks. “I may have power over plants, but I’m not one of them.”

“Oh,” Lance says ominously once he shakes his head dry. Delighted by the spontaneous game, he stands and cups both hands in the water. “I see how it is.”

Pidge stands and leans forward, ready to pounce. “You’re not winning this one.”

Lance is drawn to her upper chest, cowl of her dress still sagging. He can’t help but wonder, as they’re about to get into a water fight, that perhaps they’re both winners so long as they each get good and wet. 

“We’ll see about that!” He strikes first, throwing as much water as he’s able in Pidge’s direction. She laughs in delight, sending a half-hearted splash his way in retaliation before turning her face away from his attack. 

It’s as if a wave washed over Pidge rather than the small splash he expected...

He dismisses it as Pidge launches her counterattack, wearing a cocky grin. This is a weird magical realm where anything can happen. 

He twists to keep the barrage away from his face, heart racing with the thrill of the game. He turns to launch his next attack and stops in his tracks. Pidge has fallen to her knees, leaning over in a coughing fit.

“Pidge!” he cries, heart thumping with renewed panic. He splashes over to her as fast as he can against the resistance of the water.

She falls into his arms as he reaches her. She shivers as the coughing abates. “I’m s-sorry,” she says weakly. “I’m so tired all of a sud--”

“Don’t talk,” he says gently as he cradles her in the water. It seems their idyllic free time is at an end, and he mourns the loss of it. “Just rest. I’ve got you, I promise. Leave everything to me.”

This is one promise he can keep.

~~~~~

Lance sets his offering down and kneels before her, the same as he does every day. “I got the usual. Ready?” 

“Please,” Pidge gasps. She lies on the bed, all blankets banished to the floor, her breathing labored. She’s barely better off than the day before, but now she has enough energy to speak. Surely she’s seen the worst of the illness and spring will soon arrive outside this realm. 

He tears some leaves and drops them into a basket of water. “I think tomorrow I’m going to go for a swim. I think I saw some Silvertails at the bottom of the lake yesterday.” He picks up a cluster of flowers and uses them to stir the mixture, squeezing them to filter out excess water. 

“They aren’t medicinal,” Pidge says. “Don’t bother.” 

With care, he pushes her bangs out of the way and lets the damp flowers rest on her forehead. “I thought you said they were pretty,” he teases. “I was going to make you a bouquet. A gift would perk you up.”

Pidge relaxes, all the tension melting away, leaving a goofy smile. “You don’t have to get me anything. I feel better already.”

“Good. It’s working faster every day.” He waggles a wet leaf above her head. The plant reacts to an overabundance of water - Pidge explained when she first instructed him - and it eases the pain in her throat. 

She opens her mouth, and he drops the leaf on her tongue. She rolls over, back to him, groaning in misery. 

Lance makes himself comfortable on the nest of discarded blankets, using the bed as a backrest. He grabs a half-finished basket from the floor next to him and begins to weave, one of many hobbies he’s picked up in his time in this realm. 

(He’s going to try underwater basket weaving one of these days, just to see an expression other than agony or relief on Pidge’s face.)

“What do you want to do next?” he airs. “Up for Monsters and Mana? Checkers?”

“You know,” she rasps. 

Lance rolls his eyes and sets the project in his lap. “Pidge, I don’t even know what half of it is saying. You’re a forest spirit; why do you have technical manuals?”

Pidge coughs, her throat too sore to say more.

He already knows: because they’re interesting (for her). Lance reaches for the pile of books at the end of the bed, grabbing the first his fingers touch. 

“SONAR: A Study of Sound,” he reads aloud. His nose wrinkles, and he sets it aside, twisting around to browse the other titles. “‘Study of Color: Extreme Quilting’? No. ‘The Cry of the Tapeworm’? What?.” He stacks them on the floor as he rules them out.  “Ah! Here we go! ‘The Colony’ - looks pretty interesting.” The cover features a flying ship. Hopeful it contains a story about space or a fantasy world in the sky, he opens it to the table of contents.

His jaw drops. “It’s an instruction manual to build a colony on Mars?” He groans and plants his face on the bed in frustration. “Pidge, do you have any actual stories?”

Pidge rolls over to face him, clutching at her pillow and smiling weakly. “Your Monsters and Mana adventures are better than any story I could read in a book.”

Lance twists to face her, heart pumping in excitement - and warmth in his cheeks from the compliment. “Your voice isn’t scratchy anymore! Feeling better?”

“I’ve been worse.” She flops an arm on his shoulder. “Help me up. I need to check outside.”

He does, allowing her to hang on his shoulder as they walk the few steps to the orb. If Pidge feels better, then his time with her is coming to an end. It’s a fact he both loves and hates.

Winter was long. He failed to take in how bored he’d be with Pidge bedridden - he didn’t know she’d get that sick. Lance misses his family too, the prospect of seeing their tearful, happy faces come spring keeping his spirits high. 

Sympathy for Pidge makes him smile. She’s been here a long time, suffering alone every winter, companionless besides him each spring. He doesn’t want that for her. It isn’t fair. 

Pidge lazily moves her hand over the orb. It changes colors, dark greens shifting to a scene of the village standing strong like every year. An orange glow at the bottom shows a raging fire burning well below the treehouses. 

“So far so good,” Lance offers. He frowns as he notices the common house as the only area with lighting inside. “Everyone’s together. I wonder what’s going on.”

Pidge clears her throat but doesn’t respond. She thrusts her fingers onto the orb and the scene changes until they look in as if through a window. 

Lance sees everyone: his parents, siblings, niece, nephew, his neighbors, Hunk and his family, and Keith… sobbing uncontrollably. Everyone has an aggrieved demeanor. 

“Shiro,” he gasps. “Pidge, can you get us closer? Can we hear what they’re saying?”

He isn’t going to get to say goodbye. 

The thought is almost too distressing, to not say a final goodbye in a village where even the elders tease him for kissing a mouse instead of Jenny, where he attends every wedding - even for the schoolmates whose cups he and Hunk slipped tadpoles into for picking on Ina - where he knows everyone’s name. The loss of anyone hurts them all, and to lose a young man… Lance swallows. Shiro isn’t that much older than he is. 

And he’s a good friend. His declining health hit them all hard, especially Keith, hopeful - or stubborn - enough to hope for a solution. 

Which put Lance in the forest at the end of fall in the first place. 

Pidge applies more pressure to the orb. The scene jumps to Shiro, his face pale as he struggles to breathe. Dr. Iverson and his family surround him. No one does much but hold his hand, lips moving in presumed words of comfort while tears stain their eyes red. 

Salt touches the edge of his mouth, but he can’t find the energy to wipe his tears. Is this how his family grieved for him?

“I’m sorry,” Pidge mutters, leaning her head into his chest. “I wish I could have helped.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assures her swiftly.

Shiro takes no last gasp of air; he simply stops breathing. The doctor covers his face with a thin blanket.

Lance bows his head to pay his respects. His heart thumps, heavy with sadness. 

A burst of violet light disrupts the somber moment. Pidge gasps and Lance squints against the piercing light. 

The purple column shines bright, pulsing. Brightest of all is a symbol varying slightly from the one on the green column but clearly of similar origin.

Lance’s mouth, agape in wonder, snaps shut. “Do-does this mean there’s a new Guardian?”

“I… guess so,” Pidge responds, voice full of longing. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

Lance squeezes her shoulder. “What do you want to do?”

Pidge straightens,  standing with her own strength for the first time in months. 

She takes a deep breath. “I need to say hello and help him understand what’s going on.”

“How do you know it’s a…” But it all lines up:  how she told him how scared and confused she was to wake up after death, learning her role by accident and necessity to save her family. 

Lance knows who they’ll be seeing.

He holds her hand as she reaches out to the column and presses her palm against the pulsing emblem. 

The spring world shatters like glass. An invisible barrier separates Lance from Pidge despite holding her hand moments before. Back in the void, he sees her clearly this time, standing across from him with a solid green circle beneath her feet. It’s the same as when he first touched the orb, only now purple tinges the darkness and red and blue stars dot the sky. 

Lance braces himself as an unseen force pushes him backwards, struggling to hold his ground against the waves. 

Shiro stands within a purple circle, breathing and clothed in silky robes of pitch black speckled with the stars themselves. A barely visible vortex swirls where his diseased right arm once was. 

“What - what’s going on?” Shiro asks frantically. He beholds his new arm as his other shakes, eyes wide and body rigid. “Where am I? Who are - Lance? Is this the afterlife?”

“Kind of,” Pidge admits. “I’m Pidge, and Lance is still technically alive. You - “

The force of the invisible wave wins over his will and Lance falls backward. He winces, anticipating solid ground.

His back meets soft cushions instead, his ears filled with the familiar birdsong of spring. He opens his eyes to Pidge’s realm.

Hours pass without Pidge. Never has he felt such restlessness. He knows Shiro needs her guidance, but the sounds of animals do little to alleviate the wrongness of not having Pidge there, accentuating the otherworldliness of the realm. 

He paces the temple area, pausing to examine the columns. The purple column now glows steadily. He wonders if it will take a long time for the other three to arrive. The thought makes him queasy, realizing that the right person has to die to protect humanity. What would he do with such a burden? 

He plops down by the bed. 

He fiddles with strings of bark left from his basket weaving, twisting it absentmindedly around his ring finger. Red overlaps the brown in a crude outline of a leaf. He ties it into a ring. Despite his earlier offer to bring her flowers, he wonders if Pidge would appreciate such a rustic gift when she adorns herself with gold jewelry. She hardly needs anything to remember him, but he’s a romantic, and a warm fuzzy feeling fills his chest at the thought of adhering to pre-Disaster ways of courtship. 

He falls back onto the grass with a silly grin. His thoughts circle to bending a knee to Pidge and offering up his latest craft, reciting flowery words from a book or daring to concoct his own. 

He doesn’t know how long he daydreams, but he doesn’t mind. He can do so all day. 

He misses her so powerfully his chest aches. A wave of understanding hits him; he won’t be able to stand being apart from her in the winter, not after all the fun times they had, nor does he want her to suffer alone in sickness. He doesn’t want to forget - but if he can’t be here, it’s a blessing in disguise to not know what he’s missing. 

A violet glow pulses once. Lance scrambles to stand, but it’s Pidge who runs towards him. 

She plants her face in his chest. “I was scared you might have been sent back to the forest.”

He holds her like a lifeline. “I ended up right back here. Is Shiro okay?”

Pidge inhales deeply as she backs away. “As well as he can be. Once he understood what he can do, he set to work pushing back the storms.” She smirks. “The forest will be a lot less windy from now on.” She takes his hand in hers. “Are you okay?” 

“It’s… a lot to take in,” he says truthfully. “This is what happened to you, isn’t it? And it’ll happen to the other three too, right?” The void flashes in his memory, of the blue spot that seems to be reserved just for him. “It’s terrifying actually, to think that one day that’ll be - “ He can’t say it aloud. Maybe he’s wrong.

Does he want to be right?

Pidge squeezes his hand. “I’m so sorry, Lance. I figured it out a while ago. I wanted you to live without the burden.”

His hand shakes, but he smirks to hide the burgeoning fear. Pidge has been through much, and the knowledge her fate will be his threatens to tear his mind apart. So he chooses to shrug it off. “What is there to it? I’ve always wanted to be a hero.” He laughs. “Just didn’t expect to die first.”

Pidge inhales sharply. “Yeah. You will.”

His face falls. That wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. “Pidge - “

“I can send you home now,” she blurts, averting her eyes. “Thanks to Shiro, I’m strong enough to bolster the forest earlier this year.”

The words chill his bones despite the perpetual warmth of this realm’s sun. Pidge was so sick not that long ago, but now she’s the picture of health, no longer sweaty and gasping for breath. She stands tall, robes clean, and breathes effortlessly. Her hair is longer, draping loosely over her shoulders.

She looks strong - and just like spring. 

He wasn’t expecting to leave her so suddenly. Although he’s scared, he says, “I don’t want to forget this.”

“The only way you can remember is to see me or stay here, neither of which you should do. It’d be better,” she says hesitantly, “if you don’t see me again until you die.”

Die. Her last word grips his throat. 

“No, oh no no no. I don’t want to play that game.” A new fear beats back the one for his fate. “Pidge, I’ll know I’m missing something if I never see you again. Please.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “You can’t stay here, Lance.”

Dread weighs down his heart, and he swallows hard. “Not in the spring, but I can return every winter,” he pleads. “You just say the word and I’ll be there.”

“No!” Pidge says. “I - I mean, spend the time with your family. You’ll miss them when you arrive here for good.”

He does miss them already, very much. But he’s just seen Pidge at her worst, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone to suffer again. How can he? His mother raised him better than that. 

“I’m not alone anymore, Lance. There’s another Guardian now. Shiro’s a good person. I’m sure he’ll help me.”

But it won’t be me, Lance thinks. It’s the only rebuttal he has because Pidge is right. Shiro will look after her and Lance wants to be with his family while he can. 

A sob worms its way up his throat. He forces it back with a deep breath. 

“I promise I won’t forget you this time,” he says as tears cloud his vision. “I looked at your face as much as I could this winter. I’ll remember.” 

Her face is hard, but her eyes betray that she’s hurting with this farewell as much as he is. “You don’t have a choice, Lance. I don’t expect you to remember.”

“Then find me every spring.” He grabs her arms. “Please. You promised. Remember what you said when we agreed to try this?”

She hesitates before taking hold of his shirt, mouthing the words before saying them aloud. “To use this time we have to the fullest and see what happens.” She leans in closer, her eyes searching for an answer. “What do we have?”

Pidge draws Lance in like a moth to flame. He cups the side of her face and kisses her, to answer the question, to convey how much he wants to remember her. 

She presses into his abdomen, pushing him backward, and leans in, responding in kind. 

His hot face, her soft lips, their breath mingling as they part only for an instant...it’s all worth the hardships that await them.

Her lips find his again as his back hits the bed, his legs dangling off the side. Pidge straddles him with a fistful of his shirt. 

He breaks away to breathe, heart pounding in anticipation. “Don’t I need to like, cleanse myself in a sacred spring or something?” He kisses her neck. “Before we do this?” 

“I love you, Lance.” Her fingers run through his hair, nails scraping his scalp and lips pressing onto his forehead. “I want you exactly as you are.”

His ears - and other body parts - burn. “You really should meet my mother first.” But Lance fingers her hair rather than making a move to get up. “I love you, Pidge,” he says, basking in her warm hazel eyes and playful smile. “Don’t wait until I’m dead to see me again.”

A kiss that tastes of fresh strawberries lingers at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure I can stay away from you if I wanted.” Her weight rests on him, her head in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, for not wanting to forget.”

Her body is warm, and though he wants to be sated, he’s content to just hold her. He plants a kiss on her collarbone and quips, “Is this the part where we have a half-mortal kid who grows up to beat the bad guys?” 

She laughs, but it’s less mirthful than usual. “If so, there’s no one I’d rather be the father.” 

He drinks in her next kiss, and his lips struggle to hang on as she rises. He sits up, brow furrowed while she backs away from the bed. 

Why is she crying? 

Vines wrap around her arm, a soft green glow around her body. 

“Pidge, no, please,” he begs. “Promise me I’ll see you soon.”

She raises a hand and a green orb or energy forms on her palm. “Live a good long life for me, Lance.”

The green light overwhelms his senses and he futilely raises an arm to shield his gaze.

The light dims a beat later and Lance opens his eyes. 

Snow melts and vibrant flowers bloom before his eyes. He sits among a cluster of Forget-Me-Nots, a grove of trees in the near distance sprouting leaves, hiding its interior from view... 

How did he get so deep into the forest so soon after the beginning of spring?

He can’t even remember if Hunk and Keith are okay. Had he gone looking for their remains? A pit opens in his stomach. To lose his friends would be too much. 

Lance supposes he’d better go home and find out. He’ll worry about the mysterious wooden scrap that fits snugly on his ring finger later.

~~~~~

It’s hard to breathe these days. 

It only grows worse with each friend or family member who goes before him, his parents, siblings, Hunk, even Keith. 

His great nieces and nephews sit by his bedside, their mouths moving, but Lance hears no words. He hasn’t for a while. He recognizes a few by reading their lips: love you, get better, forest spirit - (their favorite story). 

That falls on Nadia now, to pass on to her children and grandchildren. 

The forest spirit kept them safe through the Disasters as they whittled away. The storms stopped and eventually so did the earthquakes and fires. Only the floods still come. 

Lance always wanted to see the world beyond the Great Forest, but he’s tired now. Perhaps the young ones will outlive the floods. He’s satisfied to leave that dream to them.

With no children of his own, his niece holds his hand, tears in her eyes. Lance is grateful because he hasn’t the strength to grip hers. 

He smiles, chest filled with warmth at the sight of his family just as big as when it was him and his siblings. The baby growing in Sylvio’s daughter will replace him in number. 

He wishes he'd be able to meet the kid. He loves kids. 

Instead, his vision blurs, and he whispers, “- love y - “

Lance gasps, not remembering the last time he inhaled this much air. Shouldn’t dying have the opposite effect?

“It’s about time, Lance! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Lance faces the voice and opens his eyes. “Hunk?” he exclaims, his breath hitching at seeing his oldest and best friend standing in a pool of golden yellow among a dark void. He looked forward to seeing him again. “You look like you just finished school!” he laughs.

Hunk grins. “I missed you, man.” Young again he may be, but he’s overdressed for a graduation ceremony. Robes of pure gold drape Hunk’s body, his muscular arms exposed and crossed - imposing to strangers, welcoming and huggable to friends. “Same to you.”

Lance yelps when he realizes he’s standing too. Gone are his sweat-drenched cotton pajamas; a silky robe dyed a blue deeper than the sky in summer adorns him as if he’s a king of old. He nearly stumbles over the hem in surprise, but an ethereal blue current from a pool of the same color caresses and holds him upright. It flows up his arms and through his fingertips. It's strange but comforting; the not-exactly-water overwhelms him but it’s not like the raging floods he’s used to.

Lance examines his hands, twisting them in front of his face. They’re smooth, wrinkle-free as if he’s twenty again.

“Welcome, Lance. Or should I say, welcome back?”

Shiro smiles at him from across the way. 

Lance is floored; he never got a chance to say goodbye all those years ago. “Shiro, I’m so sorry I wasn't there. I can’t remember what happened to me that winter.”

Shiro isn’t upset, but his grin turns mischievous. “You were right where you needed to be, Lance.”

“Hopefully now you’ll finally stop picking on me for getting you lost in the forest.” Keith wears robes of bright red that flicker like flame. Rather than an awkward kid, he’s the same physical age as him and standing in a pool of red, radiating confidence and smirking - as if he knows something Lance doesn’t.

“Is this it?” Somehow Lance expected… not this. Not the swirling black, blue, and white void. Not this group of friends. “Shouldn’t there be...more people in the afterlife?” Where are his parents, his siblings?

“Seriously, that’s the first question you all ask?” 

The very familiar voice comes from the fifth and final green circle. “Come on, Lance. You’ve been prepping for this.”

Before he can see her face, the world dissolves. 

He stands on a cliff overlooking the sea, a sunset reflecting off the water against the darkening blue - and clear - skies. It’s awe-inspiring to see such a vast amount of water not raging to kill him. He’s never seen so few trees before! With him on the cliff are five columns with laid stone between them, glowing in the colors of the circles from the other world. A bed with purple linens sits at the tip of the cliff, and at the center between the columns stands a pedestal with a glass orb that glows in blue hues. 

It all tickles with familiarity, but Lance can’t place it. 

“Maybe this will jog your memory?”

He turns towards the speaker, the girl wearing green robes and golden jewelry. A heartfelt and soft smile graces her face, tears behind the frames on her eyes. 

Pidge. 

It all comes back, from the first time she rescued him to his final and eightieth spring that she stayed by his side in the gardens making him flower crowns while he rested his aging body. 

To that winter that changed it all, the reason they waited for each other. 

He runs to her, legs as spry as when he was a teenager. 

“We made it!” he says as he hugs her as tight as he can. “Thank you for giving me time.”

Her embrace anchors him, and her curled lips warm his chest. “I would never take time from your family, Lance. I know what it means.”

“I’m all yours now,” he says, relief pouring from his soul. His fingers graze over a familiar object, the ring that he made for her so long ago. His chest is heavy and he wants to cry of happiness. He takes off the ring and kneels before her. 

Pidge gapes, but she’s soon as teary eyed as he. “My brother proposed to his fiancée like this. I thought the tradition was forgotten.” 

“I wanted to do this the way you remember. It’s the least I can do after what you’ve given up. Let me do this for you,”  he says. “I’ll be at your temple every winter and whenever else you want. Through sickness and in health, right?” 

Pidge gently places a hand behind his head and pulls him up, locking their lips together. The kiss thrills him, just the same as their first every spring. “I do,” she sobs as they part, “and you can finally keep your promise.”

Lance smiles so wide it ought to hurt and swears for the last time, “I’ll never forget you again.”

#plance #pidgance #pidge #lance #voltron legendary defender #rueitae #vld fanfic

[magioftheseas]

Take Me Back, Back, Back

For @bidoofgodofdestruction

Summary: One minute he's failed to convince Hinata Hajime against the Kamukura Izuru Project. The next, he's in a hospital bed with Hinata Hajime leaning over him. In a scene that he could've sworn already happened months ago.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Violence both implied and explicit albeit minor and not super graphic. Also this entire thing circles around a time loop so there are implicit character deaths in it, too. And angst. Lots of angst.

Notes: I got commissioned to write time loop KomaHina where Komaeda tries to prevent Hinata from signing up for the project! It’s set, however, in bidoof’s Ultimate Despair fic so you need to read it for context. It mentions band stuff. The band stuff is important. It’s also super angsty. This and that fic because...obviously. Wheeeeeeee.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He first remembers a dead phone line. The ground rippling and sinking below. It’s cold. It’s dark. He still can’t move. His heart pounds on the inside of his chest.

Let me out, let me out!

It’s screaming. Inside, it’s all just screaming.

Let me out! Let me see him! Please! Please! It can’t end like this!

“It’s not use,” Matsuda Yasuke had told him. “He’s too far gone.”

Hinata-kun.

He laughs. His trapped heart sobs between its screams.

Hinata-kun!

And he wakes up, jumping as Hinata yelps.

“H-Hey, easy, easy there!” Hinata grips his shoulders as he thrashes, squeezing and frantic. “Calm down, it’s just me!”

He stills. He’s panting. He’s in the bed of the nurse’s office. There’s sunlight filtering through the window, catching onto Hinata Hajime’s worried face. His furrowed brow. Komaeda stares.

The next onslaught of memories leave him limp and breathless. Hinata exclaims something. Is quick to embrace him so that he doesn’t slip. Quickly spills out bland reassurances. Komaeda’s heart is still pounding, but it’s not asking him to be let out.

“Hinata-kun.”

Hinata rubs his back awkwardly, nearly choking out his response as if he were shaken up, too. “Y-Yeah?”

“What just happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hinata stammers. “I mean, we were having band practice. You were swaying. Mioda thought it was to the music but you looked a little paler than usual and then—uh. You fell. Tumbled off the stage, too. How hard did you...?”

Not being an Ultimate, Hinata’s hand groping his skull for the implied bruise was uncomfortable and awkward. Komaeda still leaned into the touch. It hurt like hell, but he’s been through worse. So much worse.

“Aw, jeez.” Hinata quickly retracts his hand. “Yeah, that’s a bump. Don’t think we can continue practicing like this.”

“Ahaha.” Komaeda remembers, now, and just like before, he shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine enough to sing. I can just sit down while I do if you’re worried about my balance.”

“Are you sure? There’s no shame in taking a break while you’re injured.”

“There is shame in disappointing others, especially when they’re Ultimates.”

They’ve had this conversation before. It’s all familiar.

When his feet touch the ground, he feels the rippling.

Was that—all really just a dream?

Hinata’s expression is strained and conflicted. It’s clear he wants to argue. Komaeda remembers being irritated with him. Bristling and telling him off.

He feels different now.

“I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

“If you...say so.”

He says all that and when Hinata pulls away to let him stand, his heart thumps in protest.

No, no, no.

“A-At least help me up,” Komaeda mutters lamely, raising his hand. Hinata shorts, but he doesn’t hesitate. He takes Komaeda’s hand. He smiles just a bit.

He squeezes, and Komaeda’s heart soars.

--

There were more moments of familiarity. Conversations and banter that he had been through once before. Flashes of the future pushing at his skull before they’d happen in front of him. Building and building until a fateful, undoubtedly significant moment.

It was Hinata’s birthday. He showed up to give him a present. He hadn’t seen anyone else in weeks. It hadn’t been any easier the supposed second time. He felt a little sick, honestly.

And then, Hinata Hajime asked him—

“If you had the opportunity to be gifted talent...would you take it?”

“What on earth are you saying?”

His initial response was the same, but his heart was pounding in his ears.

“You’re fine as you are.” The words spill out before he can stop them. “You don’t need talent, you’re already worthwhile.”

“H-Huh?! That’s a complete 180 from your usual behavior.” Hinata straightens up, but he seems attentive. Komaeda wonders. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

It occurs to him, then, that he’s gripping Hinata’s hands tight. Tight enough that his own might break.

“You’re fine as you are,” he presses. “You don’t need any sort of talent! So, just—forget it! Forget all about it!”

“H-How the hell am I supposed to forget?! Oi, Komaeda, let go!”

“Hajime, don’t go—!”

Hinata shoves him away. The words keep spilling and spilling.

“Hope and talent still can’t be manufactured—no matter what they do, no matter what you do, it won’t matter. All you’re doing is killing yourself. What’s the good in that? You’re reducing yourself to a husk for—for what? For just the idea that you could be talented?!”

“W-What are you—you don’t know what you’re—argh!” Hinata clutches his head, and he screams. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Hajime, I-I’m just saying...”

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

“H-Hajime, please—!”

Hinata removes him forcibly. He threatens to call the police when Komaeda bangs on his door. It’s an empty threat. The police won’t care, especially not the campus cops. But Komaeda freezes, seizes, and then—

Through blurring tears, he wakes up again. Hinata is by his side again, fretting over him.

“W-What’s wrong, Komaeda?! Komaeda?”

“I-I... I... A-Aha... Haha... How...!” Throwing his arm over his eyes, he wheezes in grief and euphoria. “How lucky—! To get not just a second chance, but a third!”

“Komaeda!”

--

That’s the delight about his luck, you see. Luck is when something happens in spite of the odds. As long as there’s that non-zero-percent chance, there’s a way. And his Ultimate Luck worked that very way.

Wasn’t that wonderful? Wasn’t that amazing?

No matter how many times he tried over and over and over and over and over and over again, as long as there was a chance of success—none of it mattered! None of it at all!

Even when—

“Look, Komaeda, I know you mean well, but—I’m not in the mood, I’m sorry. I don’t think—I can talk to you anymore.”

And when—

“Y-You’re getting kinda creepy, so like...can you just leave it alone...? I don’t need you patronizing me.”

Especially when—

“I don’t know who told you about the project, but if it gets out, it’ll be bad for Hope’s Peak. Sorry, Komaeda-kun, but we just can’t take the risk, even if it’s with you. But you’ll understand, won’t you?”

When—

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, open your eyes! Komaeda! Komaeda! NAGITO!!”

--

“Hey, can you hear me?”

He wakes up, dazed and dizzy. He still remembers the cold stream of blood running down his temple. Hinata shakes his shoulder a bit.

“You with me? That fall was—pretty bad.”

So bad it killed me, he thought drearily. But it’s okay. I’m still here. I still have—a chance. But what should I do this time? What’s even less? How should I—?

“Maybe I should get you ice?” Hinata wonders, almost idly. “Komaeda, how are you feeling?”

I’m so frustrated.

“Like shit.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s blunt. Guess you did hit your head pretty hard.” Hinata shrugs it off. He goes to the freezer to fetch an ice pack. “Yeah, I’ll tell Mioda that we’ll have to stop band practice early today. And I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

What can even be done about you?

He does come up with an idea. One that’s sure to make Hinata Hajime hate him. He knows going to Hope’s Peak staff is a dead end, figuratively and literally—he supposes, then, all he has left is burning the bridge entirely.

“Actually, Hinata-kun.” He manages his usual smile as Hinata hands him the pack. He doesn’t feel the chill seeping into his skull as he presses it to the bump there. “I’ll just tell Mioda-san that the band isn’t an option anymore.”

Hinata Hajime blinks at him rather dumbly.

“You...don’t think you can recover at all?”

Aha. You’re so cute.

“I can’t accept it. You in a space for Ultimates. Associating with Ultimates. Reserves like you—that level of cockiness should be considered a crime.”

Hinata Hajime blinks again.

“...seriously? This again? You’re going to throw another tantrum now? Y’know—you’re just going to upset the others. Mioda, Saionji, Tsumiki, like—they don’t deserve this shit. Just rest. Recover. But if you want to drop out, I’m not going to stop you. It’s your own damn problem to deal with.”

“Ahaha. You make me sound so selfish.” Maybe I am. You’re just one person. The loss of someone like you shouldn’t be significant. And, yet. I want to prevent it. “It’s not just me, I swear. It’s you. All you. Hinata-kun, I—think you should go back to your last high school.”

“Well, I refuse. Sorry.”

Right now, Hinata Hajime looks at him as if he were the scum of the earth. He should be used to that.

It still hurts. But, compared to everything else—this meager self-centered pain is—

“Haha. Hinata-kun, you’re such a piece of work. You’re so pathetic, trotting after every Ultimate’s heels. You’re even latched onto someone like me.” He laughs. It hurts. It’s cold. “Do you think that if you cling hard enough that you’ll be taken in? Like a stray dog?”

“That wasn’t why!” Hinata exclaimed. “You—I just got dragged into this from the start!”

“I doubt it’s that.” The ice is set aside. Komaeda swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I really do believe you think it’s that easy to be accepted. Just to wiggle your way in. Like a naughty cuckoo. But, don’t you know? Birds aren’t all fools. They can spot the fakes. They reject them. It’s going to be the same with you. So.” He pokes Hinata’s sternum. There’s a flutter. “It’s best you just leave before you’re dropped, Hinata-kun. It’ll hurt less that way.”

Hinata slaps his hand away.

“Fuck you.”

Komaeda slaps him across the face. The response is immediate. Hinata seizes the collars of his shirt, pulls him close, and—

Komaeda screams.

The response is immediate.

Hinata drops him in surprise. A passing teacher rushes in. Komaeda points. Hinata pales.

Hinata tries to stammer out his name. Komaeda doesn’t look at him.

“Teacher, this reserve attacked me.”

Hinata shouts at him before he’s yanked away. It could’ve been out of rage. Confusion. It could’ve been a plea. Komaeda doesn’t really remember that part—but he does remember Hinata Hajime’s expulsion soon after.

--

The days pass.

The world still ends.

Komaeda Nagito can only laugh until he bursts into tears.  He passes out soon after and hopes he doesn’t wake up again.

#KomaHina #HinaKoma #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #bidoofgodofdestruction #Magi fics #Ngl I did want to write the scene where Komaeda gets offed by HPA faculty but like I didn't want to bog the fic down #with Komaeda just losing that little bit of faith he had left in HPA lol #........along with his life #HPA Bad kids #it's bad for kids

[heavenlydreamerblog]

In Too Deep

Hi everyone. Getting back the writing vibe and hope to post every Friday if possible. This follows on from Chapter 16 and Shannon’s post on Instagram! Keep giving me feedback on likes and dislikes. I’ll take all your comments on board. If anyone else wants tagging in future fiction, just drop me a message. And if I keep missing your tag (this does happen) let me know!

@letsbeautifuldisaster @llfd1977 @nikkitasevoli @letojokerownsme @wolfgirl624@beautorigin @jaredlxto @i-writeandread @darlingdiary87 @reikihealermary@msroxyblog @lifeonmars30 @myxtina @pixieriding @lostinletoland

Check out In Too Deep on my Wattpad account: 

https://www.wattpad.com/user/HeavenlyDreamerBlog

Chapter 17 

I froze in his arms, a dizzying feeling washing over me as he pulled me in ever closer, holding me tight to his chest. 

Instagram? What was he thinking? "Are you really sure this was a good idea Shan?" I pulled my head from his shoulder so we could at least have eye contact for this conversation. 

"You know you like your privacy. This'll blow that out of the water," I warned. "Let me see what you've posted." I made a grab for his phone but he held it out of my reach. "Shan! C'mon you must let me see... y'know it'll affect me as well as you," I pleaded, leaning across his body. He smiled, watching my arms stretching out towards his phone. His arm held me at bay. "Ask nicely and maybe ....," he teased. Then,  with a smile playing on his lips: "Or how about kiss me and I hand over my phone and the password." His eyes locked on my mine waiting for an answer. 

I let out a nervous laugh. "You drive a hard bargain Leto but you're forgetting something." I reached into my pocket for my phone. "I'm following you on Instagram Shan, remember?" I pulled away from him and keyed in my password, holding my breath. One click and Instagram popped up on my screen. I could feel my breathing slow and the dizziness return as I scrolled down the screen. And then ... there we were. The photo showed Shannon's eyes gazing into the camera with his arms wrapped around my back and his fingers splayed in my hair. You couldn't see my face and I hoped my white T-shirt was anonymous enough not to identify me. His words underneath read: ‘Guess what! Early birthday present’. 

I so desperately wanted to be mad with him but part of me melted when I saw his eyes in the photo. They were hooded and looking up into the camera lens, while his lips were buried in my hair. "It's a beautiful photo," I murmured, closing the distance between the two of us. "I love it ... I just wish maybe you'd asked me before posting." I stood on tiptoes and gently kissed the corner of his lips, running my fingers across his stubble. 

"And if I'd asked .... ?" He let the question hang in the air. "You would have said no Lexy. Anyway, I don't think anyone'll know it's you." 

But I knew this wasn't the problem we were now facing. "Shan this photo's gonna go viral and you know they'll stop at nothing to find out my identity. " I felt quite sick at the thought of the impending chaos that his post was likely to cause. "And you'll have the paparazzi on your back," I warned, rubbing my fingers across his calloused palms. "You're not making things easy for us," I sighed. 

"Look at me Lexy." He cupped my chin and raised my face to his. "You know how close I came to fucking up and losing you." I watched him search for the words to continue. "This is just my way, however crazy, of telling everyone that I'm happy with someone I care deeply about." 

He bit down on his bottom lip, looking for a response to his admission. Words weren't my strong point in these situations; instead I trailed my fingers across his neck until they tangled with his hair. "Give me space and time Shannon," I whispered. "Things .... they're complicated at the moment."   But as the words came out, I realised time was running out and that the space I needed would be hard to find. 

I could see the hurt in his eyes and it burned into me like a flame through snow. “Shan, there are things I need to sort out.” I looked at the doubt and hurt in his eyes and walked away, afraid to look back. “I’ll let myself out.” I unlocked the door and walked into the cool evening air. I felt a sob escape my lips, unable to forget the look in his eyes. How could I say the love word to Shannon when I’d allowed myself to be turned by his brother? 

 **************

I put my key in the lock and turned it, shoving open the door with my hip while balancing files in one hand and a bag of shopping in the other. 

I walked slowly, careful not to drop anything on my way into the kitchen. Jess was waiting, two glasses of red wine balanced perfectly in either hand as she watched me approach. I placed the files on the counter top and dropped the bag on the floor. I held my hand out and accepted the glass. “Thanks Jess,” I sighed, gesturing to our favourite sofa in the den. “Let’s sit down so I can think through everything.” I’d already called ahead, breaking my heart to Jess while explaining everything that had happened between myself and Shannon: the Instagram post, his feelings for me, the look of hurt on his face and me walking out on him. 

I grabbed a handful of cushions and placed them under my head, my feet on Jess’s lap. “Have you seen the Instagram post?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

Jess paused and then nodded. “So what do you think? Will anyone recognise me?” Of course what I really wanted to ask was: Would Jared know it was me? 

She rubbed her hands over my feet, knowing it was a guaranteed stress reliever. “Do you want the honest truth?” I could feel  the air around me cooling, reaching out and curling its way into my veins.

“Just tell me what you think Jess ... honestly.” 

“Well ... I know it’s you because I know you’re with Shannon some of the time,” she said, reassuring me slightly. “Whether anyone else will know .... well ... I guess time will tell,” she mused. But I could tell she was holding something back. I noticed little frown lines creasing her brow and that habit she had of rubbing the skin on her lips if she was worried. 

I took a gulp of wine to calm my nerves. “OK what’s up? I can tell there’s something you’re not saying. Just spit it out.” 

Jess breathed deeply before speaking. “Jared’s called the office this afternoon and he’s been calling my phone, wanting to know where you are. Have you had any missed calls or messages from him?” she asked. “He sounded really pissed .... maybe you should call him back to sort out the problem,” she suggested, moving my feet from her lap and placing them back on the floor. “Come on. There’s no time like the present. You know what he’s like – the longer you leave it, the more pissed he’ll get.” 

So now I’ve got Shannon pissed with me because I ran out on him, unable to communicate my feelings’ and Jared’s pissed with me for reasons unknown. I rested my elbows on my knees and groaned. “Jess, why did I ever agree to take on this job with Jared? My stress levels are way off the scale.” I could feel my stomach tightening, butterflies fluttering at the thought of what was to come next.

Jess pushed herself up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. “Is your phone in this bag on the floor Lex?” she called out. I could hear her rummaging around and then she returned, holding it out to me. “Call him, now! Find out what’s the problem and then deal with it. And Lex ...” she sat back down and pulled me into her arms. “Try a bit of self restraint and honesty. It’s four days until the party. What happens then, when you’re confronted with Jared and Shannon? You have to sort out this shit before it’s too late sweetheart.” She dragged her fingers through my hair, watching as I closed my eyes. I felt her lips brush across my cheek. “Go Lex. Phone Jared.”

**************  

I sat on my bed, phone in hand dreading the next few minutes. After a few deep breaths, I lay back on the pillows and hit the call button next to his name. 

One ring, two rings, three rings ... four rings. I was just about to hang up when the line suddenly connected. There was silence. Keep a grip Lexy, I thought, even though I could feel a sense of panic taking over me. “Ummmm ... Jared, are you there?” I asked, again met with silence. I tried to bring my breathing under control. “OK, if you’re not going to talk, I’ll hang up ...” I waited to see if this would work, more than willing to carry out my threat.

Suddenly his voice whispered down the line: “There’s something you’re not telling me Lexy. Why couldn’t I get hold of you this afternoon?” There was a pause, then he continued: “I called the office as well as Jess but nobody would say where you were. What’s the secret you’re keeping?” 

I could feel a swirling vortex in my head, my vision was clouded and every muscle tensed as I desperately fought to find a credible answer. What had Jess said about telling the truth? “Jared.” I paused for a moment, giving me time to think. “Look I know you demand a lot ... but I have a life away from this job as well you know. And that life is private. Surely you of all people can understand the need to keep some things secret.” I waited to see how he would react. There was silence again. 

Downstairs I could hear Jess clearing the kitchen, pots and pans clattering and doors opening and closing. “Jared, are you speaking to me?” I asked. All I could hear in the background was noise and I was sure a murmured conversation. “Jared, are you with someone else? Talk to me or I’ll hang up.” Still nothing. I huffed and hit the end call button. Two people could play this game, I thought. I tossed my phone on to the bedside table and waited for him to call me back. Nothing. Downstairs, the kitchen din had subsided and I could hear the creak of the stairs. Jess must be coming to bed. 

“Jess,” I called out, “Things didn’t work out. J wouldn’t talk to me.” I heard footsteps outside my door and the handle turned. “Come and talk to me Jess, for God’s sake I need someone to hold on to at the moment.” I closed my eyes and breathed. The bed dipped. “How can I deal with him Jess?” I reached out for her hand and opened my eyes. 

I’d dimmed the lights so I wasn’t dazzled but the sight made me freeze, the words drying up in my throat. Jared was sat on my bed, his blue eyes drilling into me. “Talk to me instead Lexy.” I tried sitting up but wasn’t quick enough, his hands pushing me down. 

I was trapped. I tried to move, but each time I twisted away, Jared's grip tightened on my wrists. I watched as his muscles strained against my efforts to free myself. "Just-let-me-go," I gasped, the words stammered through sobs as I gave up holding back the floodgate of tears. His grip loosened and I yanked my arms away, turning my face into the pillow, wanting to hide the tears now streaming down my reddened cheeks. I was furious that Jared could cause me to break down like this. I'd never felt so vulnerable. There was movement behind me and I felt the mattress dip further, the cool air replaced by the warmth of his body. Jared's hand returned, this time gentle and soothing, gently rubbing my back and shoulders.  

Jared's POV 

I knew I shouldn't have come back to Lexy's but I was so mad when she left so suddenly this afternoon. I've always made a point of never mixing work with pleasure - and this is the reason why. My anger got the better of me and now look what's happened. I can't bear to see what I've done which is why I'm lying here, too close for comfort considering what I've just put her through. I scoop a strand of her hair and breath in the smell of her body. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "Lexy talk to me. I hate myself for doing this to you." I feel her breathing calm and slow down but she doesn't move or make any attempt to say anything. I lie next to her, rubbing my stubble gently on her back, letting my breath leave warm trails across her bare shoulders. I desperately want to know who she was with this afternoon but I guess I'll have to wait until she's ready to talk. My lips leave soft kisses across her skin. "I'm leaving Lexy. Get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow." 

There's so much more I want to say and so much more I want to do. I ache for her touch, for the feel of her lips on mine. I want her long legs wrapped around me; I want to drag my tongue across her soft nipples. And I want  to hear her moan as we both climax together. 

But instead, I lean over and kiss her gently on her cheek. "Goodnight baby girl."

#shannon leto #shannon leto fanfic #shannon leto fanfiction #jared leto #jared leto fan fic #jared leto fan fiction #30stm #jared leto 30stm #30stm fanfiction #shannon leto 30stm #Black Fuel #In Too Deep

[skswriting]

i think that i’ve found myself a cheerleader

Rating: T Pairing: Jimin/Jungkook Words: 1990 Summary: It’s powerful, Jimin thinks, having the crowd waiting on him to give them instructions, to have their eyes light up and mouths dropping with each twist, turn, and fly they perform. He touches his toes, bends over backwards, does a few hand stands, smiles and waves. There’s always a vague thrill under his skin as the crowd cheers for him and the team and it’s times like these when he feels like he’s on top of the world. AN: inspired not only by this amazing fic i read the other day but also by this post and THAT selfie (which i just had to use for this picture) ao3

Jimin enjoys the cheers of the crowd, the chants and the banners, the songs and the laughter.  He enjoys the bright lights, the faces all smiling back at him as the players rush around on the field behind him.  He cups his hands around his mouth and demands the crowd give him a “V!”

“V!”

“Give me an I!”

“I!”

“Give me a C!”

“C!”

It’s powerful, Jimin thinks, having the crowd waiting on him to give them instructions, to have their eyes light up and mouths dropping with each twist, turn, and fly they perform. He touches his toes, bends over backwards, does a few hand stands, smiles and waves.  There’s always a vague thrill under his skin as the crowd cheers for him and the team and it’s times like these when he feels like he’s on top of the world.

Except not literally because he’s a base, but whatever.

Jimin waves enthusiastically at the crowd, spotting Taehyung leading the stands in the wave as the timer nears half-time, and cheers Momo on as she brings her leg up behind her to touch it to the back of her head.

“Ready for the half-time show?” Victoria asks him, and he grins, flashing her a thumbs up.

“I’m always ready.”

The half-time show is more dance than it is cheering, but the crowd loves it nonetheless.  They’re just getting into position when a referee blows on his whistle, hard, and the clock stops.  Jimin’s face mirrors the confusion on everyone else’s until he sees that their team is huddled around one particular player lying on the field and he feels his stomach swoop.  He’s hurrying away before anyone can stop him.

“What happened?” Jimin asks as he jogs over to the benched players, their eyes watching the scene on the field intently, before Yugyeom turns his eyes towards him.

“Oh, shit, Jimin.  Ah, it’s Jungkook-” Jimin gasps and Yugyeom is quick to dispel his fears, “-no, no!  It doesn’t look too serious!  One of the other players was just overzealous and knocked him down kind of hard.”

But Jimin still feels sick and stands by Yugyeom as he watches paramedics rush onto the field and towards his boyfriend.  There’s a small pause, as they check over him to make sure nothing is too serious, before one of their players, Daniel, is helping Jungkook to his feet.  Then, he’s being escorted off the field, flanked by two paramedics, and by the set of his shoulders Jimin can tell Jungkook is either in pain or upset.  Probably both.

Jungkook has his helmet off and tucked under his arms, eyes cast down as he walks resolutely off the field and towards his teammates.  Even though Jungkook is hurt and upset, Jimin can’t help but think just how good looking his boyfriend really is, his face awash in stadium lights and glistening with sweat.  The padding of the uniform does nothing to hide how toned Jungkook is and Jimin knows from… personal experience… the extent of his toned-ness.

When Jungkook finally looks up their eyes lock and Jimin’s breath catches.  He’s so in love with Jungkook it’s unreal.  Jungkook has a small, pained smile on his face when he gets close enough.

“Are you okay?  What happened?” Jimin reaches a hand out and Jungkook catches it easily, fingers sliding until they’re locked tightly together. Jimin steps closer to brush some hair out of Jungkook’s eyes as Jungkook’s other hand settles almost naturally on Jimin’s hip.

“’M fine.  They’re worried it might be a small concussion- no, it’s fine Minie, don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s fine?  Kook, you could have a concussion that’s not fine!” Jimin says, smacking Jungkook in the chest even as Jungkook raises Jimin’s hand so he can kiss each of his knuckles.

“I’m fine, I promise. A little dizzy but I did just get knocked down by a grizzly bear,” Jungkook grins and it helps quell the uneasiness in Jimin’s stomach a little.

“Your jokes are not appreciated when you could be dying-”

“Don’t be dramatic I’m not dying-”

“Jeon!  Park!  Get off my sideline and flirt somewhere else!  Someone give Jeon a water bottle.”

Jimin can’t stop the blush that flares across his cheeks as Yugyeom hands Jungkook a water bottle with a sly grin, “Take it under the bleachers, more privacy.”

“Shut up Gyeom,” but Jungkook is grinning back at him, tucking Jimin under his arm and waving off a paramedic, “I’m fine, I promise.  I’ll be good by the third quarter.”

Jungkook walks off and Jimin has no choice but to follow him, pressed snugly against his boyfriend’s side.  He adamantly ignores Taehyung and Hoseok leaning over the side of the bleachers to make kissy faces under them and Jungkook merely laughs at them.  Jimin thinks he hears a high-five but quickly forgets about it when the darkness of the bleachers engulf them and it suddenly seems quieter, even though the roar of the crowd is right above them.  A couple of kids are playing at the opposite end, but their laughter only brings a smile to Jimin’s face.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jimin asks again, taking Jungkook’s cheeks in his hands to get a better look at the young player, “That guy was really big.”

Jungkook shrugs as he drops the water bottle on the ground and crowds Jimin up against one of the bleacher support beams, “I’m bigger.”

“Kook,” Jimin laughs and it makes Jungkook smile, who ghosts calloused fingertips across Jimin’s cheek.

“You’re missing the half-time show,” Jungkook says, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the cheerleader’s chants.

“That’s why we have replacements,” Jimin shrugs, smoothing his hands down Jungkook’s neck to let them rest on Jungkook’s shoulder.  Jungkook’s arms wrap around Jimin’s waist and he wrinkles his nose at the padding he feels, “Besides, you’re more important.”

Jimin’s statement brings a full smile to Jungkook’s face, his lips stretching out widely until all of his teeth are on display.  Jimin stares at him, a little awe-struck, a lot in love.

“Aw, who knew my boyfriend was such a cutie?” Jungkook teases, leaning down to peck at Jimin’s nose and Jimin wrinkles it again, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Y-You missed,” Jimin can’t believe he’s stuttering like a lovesick fool, but he supposes that’s how he always feels when he’s around Jungkook.

“Did I?” Jungkook asks, voice dropping again in the small space they’ve created, forgetting all about the game, cheerleaders and players alike, “Hmm… maybe I should try again?”

It’s like Jimin gets tunnel vision when Jungkook is around, completely and solely focused on Jungkook and Jungkook alone.  The way he laughs, the way his mouth quirks just a little when he speaks, the droop of his eyes when they’re pulling all-nighters, the tiny little freckles smattered across the bridge of Jungkook’s nose he only sees when they’re this close, lips brushing teasingly against each other but without the pressure to really feel the kiss.

“Quit teasing me,” Jimin whines and he can feel Jungkook’s smile more than he can see it, just the crinkle in the corner of his eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jungkook asks and smothers Jimin’s retort with a kiss.

It’s unhurried, despite the hard grip Jimin has on Jungkook’s shoulder pads and he wishes Jungkook didn’t have them on.  It’s a simple kiss, feels almost like an exhale as Jungkook pulls back too soon before leaning back in to press their lips together more firmly.  It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, smooth and seamless.

Jimin lets one arm wind around Jungkook’s neck and uses the other hand to tangle his fingers in Jungkook’s hair, anchoring him to him, but Jimin doesn’t have to worry about it because Jungkook’s hold on his waist is just as tight.  Jimin wants to keep it PG, at least PG-13, because of all the children around but can’t stop his mouth from opening when he feels Jungkook’s tongue brush against his lips.  The moan he lets out when their tongues first touch is shameful, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of it.

“Kook,” he whines and Jungkook presses him harder against the support beam, swallowing the nickname down.

Jimin lets them have a few more moments, tongues sliding together hotly and Jungkook’s hand slipping down to grab a handful of his ass, before he pulls away for his sanity and the sanity of all those who don’t need to hear how loud he really can be.

“Kook we gotta stop, I can’t get hard in this uniform it’ll be too noticeable,” Jimin pants and Jungkook laughs, or at least tries to because it’s a strangled sound that gets caught in his throat.

“That’d be kinda hot to see,” Jungkook admits into his ear and Jimin startles when he feels Jungkook scrap his teeth along the sensitive skin just beneath his lobe, “Let me give you one hickey before you go.”

“Are you crazy- no!”

“C’mon, just one.  It doesn’t even have to be on your neck, how about- just right here-” Jungkook presses firm fingers to Jimin’s collarbone, where Jimin’s uniform top covers.

“No!  You- you know how I get when you give me hickies,” Jimin mumbles, trying to push Jungkook off him but they both know Jimin doesn’t mean it, “I seriously can’t get hard right now, Jungkook.”

“Just one, hyung, quick and easy I promise,” Jungkook says, dropping a kiss right where he wants to mark Jimin up and Jimin is a little upset he can’t feel Jungkook’s lips against his skin.

“Quick and easy huh, is that how you think of me?” Jimin bites, before he’s yanking the collar of his top to the side for Jungkook, “Hurry up, will you?  I think half-time is almost over.”

Jungkook’s eyes are practically twinkling as he leans down and kisses across Jimin’s collarbone, until he finds the perfect spot to leave his hickey.  Jimin’s eyes close and his toes curl as Jungkook sucks on his skin, both hands reaching down to cup Jimin’s ass and bring their bottom halves even closer together.  He gasps when he feels teeth puncture his skin before a hot tongue soothes the bite, the process repeating a few times as Jimin feels spit dribble down his shoulder. It shouldn’t be as hot or turn him on as much as it does, but he can’t help it.

“Gonna need some help with that hard-on, hyung?” Jungkook teases, blowing cool air on the spit-slick spot and Jimin’s skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Go to hell.”

Jimin pulls Jungkook down for one last kiss, biting harshly at his lower lip before he shoves the jock off him, “Get going, I need to calm down.”

Jungkook is grinning triumphantly, even as he leans in to steal one last, sweet kiss that has Jimin’s toes curling for a different reason.

“We’re gonna win, I can feel it,” Jungkook tells him.

“I have faith in you,” Jimin agrees, smiling at Jungkook, “Now go get ready.”

-

Jimin’s cheeks are a little red and he’s hoping no one notices that he’s still sporting a semi. Jungkook keeps shooting him shit eating grins and Jimin keeps wishing for him to trip and eat turf, but responds by blowing him cheesy kisses that Jungkook catches and puts over his heart.

“You and lover boy are so cute,” Momo tells him, waving excitedly at the crowd as they heart eye at her, “Also you’re in a literal movie trope.  Cheerleader dating the football jock and happily and head over heels in love?  Cliché and unrealistic but I support it one hundred percent.”

Jimin just grins at her, before he turns to the crowd just as the third quarter officially begins. He starts leading them in a chant, grinning widely and collarbone tingling pleasantly.

“Jeon, Jeon, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, no one can!”

Jimin loves being a cheerleader.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #park jimin #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin imagines #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook imagines #jikook #jikook fanfiction #jikook imagines #rating: t #skswriting

[atlaswriting]

An uneasy chill sets into my bones when I hear a knock on the door. Neither fully asleep nor awake, I roll over, stare at the empty space in the bed and feel an on-rush of concern. The fist pounds on the door for a second time and I’m running. Fingers reach for the knob; I pull and stare up at Brantley, slumped against the door frame blinking away the bright lights above us.

“What are you—where’s Abram?”

“He—,” Brantley starts, tongue too big for his mouth, choking on the words he wished he didn’t have to say. “Abram’s been—,”

Fingers curl aching tight at my side, if I have to strangle the words out of his mouth I will. “Spit it out.” The demand isn’t gentle and the boy steps away from me. A surge of anger shoots white hot up my spine. “I swear to God if you don’t—,”

“He was arrested.” He blurts out. “Abram was arrested—I didn’t know who else to go to. I don’t have enough money to bail him out and I have no idea what his grandmother’s phone number is.” His cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson, eyes cast down to the exposed concrete floors. “He asked me not to tell you—before he was put into the car, he told me not to call you.”

I’m slipping on a pair of Ellie’s shoes while Brantley explains to me what happened: their drinking, Abram allowing his past to come out of the closet like piled up skeletons, the man.

“Was he older?” I ask, stopping to look at him with my keys gripped so tightly that the grooves cut into my palm. “Did he look like a villain in a James Bond movie?” He nods, “Oh God. Why didn’t you stop him?” Brantley parts his lips to argue but I’m halfway down the hall when I hear his apology.

I couldn’t be sure of what else he said or if he tried following me or how I started driving but I’m halfway to the police station when my ears finally stop ringing. When I reach the desk I notice chunks of tonight’s dinner stick to my flats, having thrown up twice on the way in.

“I’m here for my boyfriend,” I tell the cop behind the desk, a squat sort of man whose cheeks are too brightly red to be considered healthy, “Abram Kempe. I’ll post his bail. Can you please just let him know I’m here.” I beg.

♡ ♡ ♡

I can’t be mad at him. The black and blue bruising his face like a mask wasn’t Abram—instead, I convince myself it’s a monster that has taken his place, swallowed him whole and pretends.

He’s showered six times since he came home yesterday and has said even less to me.

If ask: are you hungry? / can I get you some ice? / do you want to go to my appointment with me—we’re getting a 3d scan today.

I don’t ask: are you still in there? / did you beat yourself into an early grave? / do you love anything except the warm black that your chest has become?

On the fifth day, when his bruising is more yellow than blue I stare while he changes into a fitted suit, “Are you going to talk to me?” I ask. Instead, he looks back from the reflection in the mirror.

Frustration builds a foundation in my stomach, deep and hot it boils away.

“If you’re not going to talk to me then you should just leave!” I yell, hand curling around my phone.

He laughs, tightens the tie around his neck and dares it to be a noose, “This is my apartment. I pay the rent here—do you even do anything? Go to class anymore? Or do you just stand around staring at me all day?”

“You’re such an ass, Abram.”

He shrugs and when he leaves I don’t see him for two days.

♡ ♡ ♡

2 am comes before Abram walks back through the door—reeking of stale cigarettes and bud light he slips out of his close and between the covers.

“Are you sleeping with someone?”

He doesn’t bother turning, doesn’t laugh, instead he lets out a shaky breath and stands back up, “What?”

“I said: are you sleeping with someone?” I prepare myself for the worst, steel my spine and dig my nails into my palm, hoping to cause more pain to myself than he’s about to. “You’re out all the time—I don’t even see you anymore. It’s Kings this and Kings that. If you don’t want this anymore, fine, tell me.”

Abram paces our room, fingers curling and uncurling as the words build up in his chest until their pressure becomes too great and he turns around. Loads the gun and fires at me. “I nearly killed my dad, Elise.” He says, “do you know that? I could have killed him. Wanted to kill him. Had his life in the palm of my hands. I could have beaten it out him.” He looks down into his upturned hands shaking fiercely. “And you want to talk about how I’m feeling? You want to carry on and forget it. I can’t. Do you get that? I can’t get his face out of my head, I can’t stop thinking about how easy it would have been—so if you think I’m sleeping with someone, keep on thinking that. I don’t give a shit. I’m not going to pretend I’m fine to make you feel better. That’s bullshit.”

I stand now, clutching a pillow against my chest. A scream bubbles up my throat while tears threaten to fall. “I’m not asking you to pretend you’re better. I’m not asking you to do anything except not shut me out. I’m asking you not to forget about me now that the Kings are finally noticing you—and for what? To be their goon?” A strangled laugh makes his fists curl again, “You aren’t a goon. You aren’t this person—you don’t beat people just for the sake of beating people. Malachi—,”

“Don’t.”

The warning should’ve been enough to stop me, but my throat is wide and the words slip past liked vomit, “You aren’t Malachi, Abram. You—,”

“Elise, I said shut up—,” he steps forward. Suddenly more his father’s son than his mothers. He stops only when I step back. Strength leaves his body as his shoulders slump forward, “I’m spending the night at Brantley’s. If you want to be out, fine. Get your stuff and go. But stop trying to act like my mother—the one I want’s already dead.”

♡ ♡ ♡

I should have known something was wrong. Should have had that instinct to run the moment I stopped feeling him move. I read that happened toward the end. That eventually he’ll have no room to grow and he’ll settle. But as the Doctor’s face falls he presses the wand harder against my stomach.

“When is the last time you felt him kick?” He asks.

I try to think, put a number to the day but my mouth falls open without an answer.

He moves, straps my stomach up and tries to listen for something, anything.

“Miss Allaire, I’m sorry to have to tell you this—,” he speaks, wordless, as time starts to slow before the panic sets in—when I hear his voice again he’s begging me to calm down but the rising beep of my heart proves I haven’t, “Elise,” he says my name over and over but none of it sounds real.

“We won’t know when he—,”

“The baby will need to—,”

“Is there anyone you want to call? The father? Your parents?”

Sweat pools at the base of my neck, in the dip of my collarbone and in the palm of my hands.

“Abram,” I manage to force his name through clenched teeth before the panic rushes over me and everything fades.

♡ ♡ ♡

It felt wrong. Dirty. I press my hand to the hard of my stomach, trying to will Theo to push back. I begged, bartered, dealt with the devil long enough to sell my soul.

I knew something was wrong—that I’ve killed away parts of me that weren’t mine to kill.

♡ ♡ ♡

Relief isn’t something I feel when I see Abram. All I can taste is the acrid guilt rising up my throat. He rushes into the room, by my side and my nurse begins to fill him in. I try to speak, will my mouth to move but my jaw is honey stuck. I want to explain to him before she does—explain that my sickness came back, that this wasn’t how I wanted him to find out, that the demon that latched onto my shoulders wasn’t full exorcised.

I want to apologize.

Instead I listen as the nurse tells him I weigh even less than I did before the pregnancy, that the baby—Theo, I keep telling her, he has a name, Theo—expired two weeks ago ( they suspect ).

Expired. Like old milk.

I reach for the plastic cup in front of me, throw it at the wall beside her, I scream until dizziness sets in, until his hands hold my shoulders against the bed and I feel his warm tears fall onto my face. I scream until black borders my vision and don’t stop until they fore a mild sedative through the I.V.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Elise we’re going to need you to push.”

“I need you to do this for him,” he tells me, “I know this is hard—,” bullshit, I want to shout; instead I swallow it down, press my knees together, refuse. “You need to be strong for him.”

Another sob shakes my body and Abram turns my head, cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You can do it, baby,” he says, “We should meet our little boy.”

“Cut him out of me,” I beg, “cut me him out—I don’t want to do this, I can’t.”

Cut him out of me and my heart along with it. It died with him, anyway.

“Elise,” Abram says, “my mom’s got him. It’s okay—I just need you to push. I can’t lose you too. Not again. For me, please?”

♡ ♡ ♡

If there’s a God, I decide I’m not going to pray.

There’s an empty space in my chest in the shape of him, carved out and scarred over.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Do you want to hold him?” A nurse asks, cradling a small white and blue blanket. Instead of answering her I turn my head away.

Counselor after counselor come into the room—with and without Abram, they tell me that what I’m feeling is normal, that grief is a sinking ship but that there are life boats. I don’t say anything, I stoke the embers of rage and tune out their voices.

It’s when a priest comes by, offers his prayers and tells me that Theo is with Him now when I finally react. I scream until his face pales and throw anything within arms reach at him—a remote control, a tray of food and his bible.

“She’s not going to hold him—if she doesn’t…” the nurse looks from Abram to me, “She’s going to miss her chance.”

“I’ll talk to her.” He says, “alone.” He waits until she leaves the room before carrying the bundle over to my bed, sitting beside me and leaning in.

“He has your nose,” Abram tries to laugh, “and my chin, like you said.” He licks his lips, “Elise—you should hold him. They’re going to have to…”

I swallow the lump in my throat, a match to light the gasoline in my stomach, “I don’t want to.”

“He’s our baby—you need to say goodbye.”

“That isn’t our baby, Abram. Our baby is dead, that’s just his body.” I seethe, “You can’t say goodbye to something you’ve never said hello to.”

His shoulders shake and he turns to face me, “God damn it Elise.” He forces my arms apart, and places him gently in the nooks of my arms. He holds me there as sorrow knocks me down, my mouth drops in a strangled moan.

My mother always said I was made for ruin.

I didn’t think that included you.

#thread: ablise #thread: all