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drrealityslenderverse · 1 year ago

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Helpless

A03 Request: Alex(MH) x HABIT, with a hint of Evan x Alex (MH), hurt/comfort with a pinch of fluff

CW: Most hurt with very warped 'comfort' considering it's coming from HABIT. Warning as well for gore and mentions of cannibalism

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“I don’t know what to do.”

“You think I do? You think anyone does?” Evan spoke quietly, hand lazily combing through Alex’s hair.

“I killed my friends… and—”

“And it was because It manipulated you.” A glance down where the man was crumpled, hunched so his ear could rest over Evan’s heart. “You didn’t enjoy it, right?”

“No!” An immediate response full of disgust at the idea he might’ve taken pleasure in his girlfriend’s death or in killing that guy in the tunnel or hunting down Jay, Tim, and Brian.

Evan hushed him, gently rubbing circles on his back through the jacket he wore in an attempt to soothe him. Alex took a moment to settle, eventually lulled back into a more relaxed state listening to the heartbeat and the way the shorter man’s hands continued to trace patterns along his back at random. They eventually trailed upward and back into his hair to once more comb through it. A quiet breath escaped as his eyes half closed from the sensation. It had been so long since he’d had contact with anyone like this. He savored every moment.

The pulsing sound of a heart pumping blood picked up until it was racing and pounding in both his ears. The hand in his hair went from the soothing motions in the memory to yanking him up off the floor, wrenching him back into the current reality. A hoarse shout escaped his dry throat.

“Wakey, wakey.” HABIT’s mocking voice stung worse when it sounded so much like Evan.

But Evan would never speak to him like this. He’d never do this to him.

“I brought you a gift.”

Alex grunted as he was pushed back onto the hard ground. Half closed wounds stung as he forced himself to sit up again, dreading what this ‘gift’ might be. His stomach churned at the mutilated sight before him. It looked like Tim, he’d escaped, it was entirely possible it was Tim. Alex opened his mouth, to say what he wasn’t sure himself. A mix of emotions spun around: hatred for Tim for bringing hell upon them yet regret and fear for him was there too. Evan had helped him where he could never have trusted Tim to do and his time before HABIT took over gave Alex back some of his reasoning. Tim didn’t deserve to die, none of them did.

HABIT crouched and leaned closer, whispering in his ear with a gruff voice that sounded much too pleased at the reaction he was getting. “You like it? I found him for you… You want him dead, now’s your chance.”

Tim was alive? Horror stabbed deep in his chest as if he’d physically been stabbed. Alex didn’t think anyone could look like that and still be alive. “...Tim?”

A twitch of a finger just barely noticeable and a faint gleam of recognition as dark eyes, or was it just one eye now, looked his way. Alex heaved, bile momentarily overwhelming the coppery stench of blood that had seemed into the room itself. Breaths came out in pants as he choked up more. Alex felt dizzy, battered body swaying.

He wished he was dead. He wished Tim was dead so he didn’t have to suffer at HABIT’s hands. At least the others were. HABIT couldn’t touch them. Perhaps Evan had it worse of all though, being forced to do as HABIT wished with his body without being able to do anything about it. Alex hadn’t believed at first that Evan was aware… a short break where HABIT let Evan take over again had swiftly changed his mind on that.

Dry sobs sent pain through his lungs. It was hard to cry when you’d cried yourself to oblivion each night… or day… or whatever time it was when HABIT would finally be done with him for a while.

“Alright, guess I’ll do it myself.” HABIT snapped impatiently, standing and sending a hefty kick to his ribs as he walked over to grab a knife.

Alex let out a soundless cry as he felt a rib snap like a twig. Agonized coughs left red droplets dotting the floor and leaving the familiar metallic taste on his tongue. Hazily, he watched as HABIT approached Tim. For a moment he believed it’d be over quickly now, surely Tim couldn’t survive much longer like that anyway.

Wrong. Oh how many more times was he going to fool himself. Alex couldn’t feel the pain but seeing it had him begging HABIT to show some mercy. Hoarse words fell on deaf ears until finally, there was silence.

Alex was balled up and huddling against the wall, unable to look at the worsened sight before him. A hand wet with blood patted his head and he flinched away as HABIT crouched before him. Even without the blood he’d look threatening, now he looked downright terrifying. It reminded Alex of a predator looking at its next easy meal.

A look of apology appeared, the guise so good Alex could almost be fooled that Evan was back. He wasn’t though. The way HABIT’s lips twitched upward at the edges as if to fight off a grin at his state was enough of a giveaway.

The hand continued to pet his hair like he was a dog, smearing Tim’s blood throughout. A numb feeling was taking over him, accepting the disgusting gesture of feigned affection. “Come on, I thought you wanted him dead. I went through all that trouble to get him here.”

HABIT shifted closer, practically looming over him as he gripped Alex’s jaw and forced the man to look at him. “You got what you wanted. All of them are dead, except Evan but I’m working on it.”

“Mno!” His voice was muffled by the harsh grip.

“Stick-in-the-mud had nothing on me, hmm. Unlike It though, I’m open to reason.” HABIT’s face was inches away now. “But I get the feeling you’ll still say no to helping me… Shame, I was prepared to throw you a bone after holding yourself together so long. Fix you up all nice again, like a little pet to fetch when I said so. We could’ve been great, killing the stick-in-the-mud. But it seems you like suffering, don’t you?”

Alex tried to shake his head. He hated both options. Help HABIT and he’d get stuck watching others be put in this same position, slow torturous deaths. While killing the Operator was a tempting proposal… Living under HABIT’s command was worse than what the tall entity could ever do. Continue refusing and he’d keep living like this until HABIT grew bored and made Evan watch as he was killed—any hope of reuniting again disappearing forever.

A malicious glint and the fingers in his hair curled tight enough to pull some of his hair out. Teeth grazed at Alex’s throat. “I’m going to kill you. Slowly over the coming days. Evan’s going to watch as I eat you alive piece by piece, then pick my teeth with what remains of your bones after I’m done crushing them.”

The decisive tone made his fate feel so final that Alex didn’t doubt the truth of the words. HABIT stood, leaving him with the corpse for the time being. Alex sat there, staring emptily at the floor. Everyone was dead because of him. He’d never see Evan again, he couldn’t save Evan from what was about to happen. Alex felt worse knowing that than knowing he was about to die. He wondered if the others who died before him would be waiting to rip him apart again for his crimes…

#slenderverse #everymanhybrid #everymanhybrid oneshot #marble hornets #marble hornets oneshot #emh habit #evan myers x alex kralie #evan emh #alex kralie #cw: gore #tim wright #cw: major character death #cw: mentions of cannibalism

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screamlet · 3 months ago

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fic: the crash is coming soon (8x15 coda)

lol, fuck

bucktommy; 4k; complete tags: 8x15 coda; reference to mcd; grief; alternating pov; fix-it

Summary:

"I just got put on administrative leave, pending an investigation." Tommy takes a shaky breath. "Can I stay at your place for a while?"

---

TOMMY

It's only when Evan starts swearing that Tommy realizes he never swears much.

"It can't be that fucking hard," Evan says slowly, dripping with condescension, "To fucking take that giant truck and let my people get into the giant truck so they can go to a fucking hospital."

Tommy sees a major's insignia on their uniform so he doesn't feel that bad about Evan's tone; he's just surprised. The major says, "Sir—"

"In," Evan says, hands out, "The fucking truck." Suddenly they all hear the whine of ambulance sirens and Evan rolls his eyes. "Alright, thank you for nothing, I'm gonna go make sure the firefighter with a collapsed lung gets to a hospital, and maybe if I have a goddamned minute or two, I'll get to the one with the plague."

Tommy swears he had something to tell Evan, something to offer or help with, but Evan doesn't need it right now. Doesn't need him. Needed him earlier, with the helicopter, but needing him—that's over. Just his luck, because Tommy needs him now. Selfishly, desperately, he needs him now. A soldier in need of a duty.

It's like Tommy's attention or longing has tugged on one of Evan's strings. He turns around and catches sight of Tommy, something in his eyes softening immediately. He crosses the space between them and clutches Tommy's arm. "Hey, what is it? I'm kinda." He laughs shortly. "I'm kinda running on adrenaline right now and I know the crash is coming soon, but—but what do you need?"

"I just got put on administrative leave, pending an investigation." Tommy takes a shaky breath. "Can I stay at your place for a while? I don't…"

Evan on that security camera footage, sinking to the ground, shuddering violently, will be burned in his brain forever. He thought he'd offer Evan his shoulder, hold him tight, take care of him, and then his captain had driven up and took him aside with Colonel Hartman to tell him about his unexpected vacation.

"I want to help," Tommy says, "And I don't want to be alone right now."

Evan's huge eyes take him in as he nods minutely. "Yeah, I—" He swallows and points between them. "Same. Can you check on the medical people with Chim, see how and when they're getting him to a hospital? Because a chair under some plastic tarp in a parking lot isn't good enough."

Evan clutching his arm turns into a clap on his shoulder, so butch-bro Tommy can't help but laugh. As they part ways, he remembers the cruise ship rescue, Bobby and Athena reuniting, the lingering hand on his shoulder as Evan silently thanked him. He pushes through it and winds his way to Howie.

---

Read the rest on AO3

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #911 spoilers #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 coda #cw major character death #(reference to/mention of)#god please read yarrow's baseball fic instead #this is not a place of honor

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whumpbump · 2 years ago

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Cw: manhandling and restraining, describing the death of Whumpee’s mother, gun mention

Whumpee had been rescued and was recovering in a hospital. They had no assigned Caretakers yet and were in the hands of the hospital staff.

Because they had no assigned Caregivers, Whumpee was essentially ignored aside from bandage changes and other medical needs like bathing. Even while eating, the staff left Whumpee alone.

With no one to talk to or engage with, Whumpee began to crave attention in the worst way. Especially hugs. They hadn’t had one of those since, since before they were taken! They remembered their mother who would always give them hugs as they came in the door and as they left. But that didn’t matter anymore. Whumper took care of that, placing a bullet cleanly between her eyes as they dragged Whumpee, screaming, from their home.

Whumpee shuddered as the memory came and faded. They hated thinking about it, about her fate, and began to sniffle. They missed their mama.

A doctor and nurses entered the room. “Hello, it’s time for bandage changes.” ‘Wow they couldn’t even use my name,’ Whumpee thought, annoyed.

They sat on the bed and removed the blankets. As one of the nurses began to remove the bandages, one was stuck on a scab and Whumpee jolted. “Sorry,” she muttered. As she went to continue, Whumpee pulled away, not wanting to feel the sensation of tearing again. The staff looked at each other and then at Whumpee. The doctor spoke up and warned “You need to hold still.” The nurse continued pulling and Whumpee began to howl in pain as the scab was torn from Whumpee’s leg. Whumpee became more antsy and pushed at her arms to get her away. She wasn’t doing it right.

The doctor hit the call bell and two nursing assistants entered the room. “Please hold the patient while we resume the bandage changes.

With a nursing assistant on each side, Whumpee was stuck. However, as the staff changed the bandages and cleaned up their newly opened up leg, Whumpee couldn’t help but feel compelled to sit quietly as they had a warm body on either side of them, squeezing them tight. It felt almost like a hug in a strange way. It reminded them of their mother and they felt safer.

‘I could get used to this.’ Whumpee began to make a habit of fighting back exclusively so they could have a nursing assistant sit with them. They did so at baths, bandage changes, hell, if they were able to have a staff member with them, they would fight until they had it.

In a staff meeting, the doctor and nurses were trying to figure out what had caused the change in Whumpee’s behavior as this would be the opposite reaction that is seen in someone getting better. The easier the bandage changes and the more cognizant the patient is, the better it should be. They began to discuss potential psych meds to put them on and to have them sedated during any medical intervention.

One of the nursing assistants spoke up. “What if they’re just lonely?”

The doctor brushed aside the thought and continued to discuss four point restraints.

The nursing assistant spoke up again. “I’m serious. I think Whumpee is lonely. Have you noticed that once someone is with them or touching them, they calm down?”

The doctor hesitated. The nurses hesitated. “What do you suggest?” They asked.

“Well, one of us could keep them company throughout the day and be there for bandage changes and meal times and baths and everything that they need done. Realistically, they need a Caretaker. Has the social worker assigned someone to them yet?”

“Well, no, as a matter of fact. We were trying to wait to get them to a healthier place. I see what you’re saying though, they need engagement. Talk amongst yourselves to assign someone to them for this week and we’ll see how it goes.”

After the meeting, the nursing assistants planned out a schedule so someone would always be with Whumpee.

The next morning, after a nursing assistant brought Whumpee their breakfast, they pulled up a chair and sat down. “Mind if I hang out? We thought you might be lonely. Until we can get you a Caretaker, we’ll be keeping you company.”

Carefully listing while chewing their toast, Whumpee nodded. This sounded great! And it was great. With someone to talk to, Whumpee blossomed back into who they were. They made more progress in physical and occupational therapy, had support for bandage changes, and improved overall.

By the time Caretaker was assigned and showed up, Whumpee was in such great shape that they were ready to pack up and take them home. Whumpee cautiously reached out and held their hand as they walked to the car. Caretaker looked down and squeezed Whumpee’s hand with a gentle smile. ‘I think I’m gonna be ok.’

#whumpee #whumpblr #whump blog #whump ideas #whump #whump inspiration #whump tropes #caretaker x whumpee #cw major character death #cw gun mention #cw mcd #cw restraints #tw manhandling #tw restraints #tw gun mention #tw mcd #touchstarved

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huntershowl-moving · 1 year ago

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drabble 002: blackbird.

she was hidden behind a mirror.

light refracted off of its polished surface and showed persephone her own face, gaunt and pale from the lack of a sun. black hair coiled into smoke around her chin. she kept it cut short – it stayed out of the way when she tucked it behind her ears. moreso, leto said it looked professional, and amari fletch had finally assigned persephone a long-term job for the unseen. a chance to prove herself. years of rebellion had transformed into a fairly solid, if bitter, loyalty to fletch. say what you will about them, but they take care of their own. fletch had personally guided every step of the recovery process after ripping persephone's arms from her. they had taught her how to shoot, how to write, how to pick up a fork with the new ones. they had kept her comfortable in their manor, attended to their every need, trained them every day, deftly dancing around her with their ever-changing array of weapons. all of this from the leader of an international crime syndicate – they'd taken the time out of their year to build back up what they'd broken in two. now, fletch was her compass. it was described to her as a protection gig. persephone would be the personal bodyguard for a voidblooded noblewoman for an indeterminate length of time. she wasn’t told why the girl needed protection, only that her parents were allies of the unseen and so the job would be done to the best of their ability. “i don’t... like killing people,” she told orion while he cut her hair for her first day.

“you still might have to kill people,” orion retorted, ruffling persephone’s hair to fluff it out once he finished.

“sure. but it’s to keep someone safe. and i don’t have to kill them.”

“you’re not gonna be able to avoid murder if that’s what fletch wants you to do.”

“yeah, but—”

“just... be careful,” orion said, his hands pausing on her shoulders, carefully avoiding the vast expanse of gnarled scarring across the collarbones and scapulae. “please. i love you too much to watch them hurt you again.”

––––––––––––––––––

now, she stood in front of a large, wide mirror in the noble’s sitting room, one hand resting on her rifle as she perused the books on the surrounding shelves. old books. artifacts, classics, trophiesfor the astute literary collector. the walls were decorated with surrealist landscape paintings. but there was no woman to be found – no bedroom, either, despite the parents’ insistence that this was the right door.

“you’re a criminal, aren’t you?” the voice came from somewhere behind the mirror, soft and melodic with a touch of hesitance. persephone looked up towards the reflection with a furrowed brow.

“i am,” she replied.

“what kind?”

“hitman.” persephone had never been the type to mince words.

“do you enjoy it?” the voice drifted from the right side of the mirror to somewhere further left.

“no.”

“hmm.” a pause. “if you wanted to kill me right now, how would you do it?”

persephone blinked, rendered speechless in shock. the voice sighed – “what? i'm curious. being locked up in here is a complete bore. come on. be honest.”

“uh...” she began to reply, but hesitance gripped at her throat. “i don’t know. you don’t have any windows up here, so i couldn’t shoot you. smash through the mirror and use a knife to slit your throat, if we’re going with effectiveness. find whatever mechanism opens it and sneak in, if i wanted to be quiet. slit your throat, again, or snap your neck — depending on how hard you fight.”

there was silence for a moment, then the sound of footsteps and a soft thump. like someone was sitting down.

“alright. you are hired.”

“w –” persephone stepped toward the mirror, plopping down in an armchair propped up across from it. “i was already hired. your parents –”

“ – have tried to get a protection detail on me for months. i’ve sent away everyone else.”

“then...” another pause, as one carbon fiber hand moved to rub at the back of her neck. “why are you keeping me on?”

silence, for a few moments.

“call it a hunch?”

––––––––––––––––––

it took several weeks for the girl – aya – to pull the mirror down and show persephone her true self. short and plump in stature, she had a bob of feathery black hair and an inquisitive gaze. moles dotted her face and her arms where her somewhat-archaic sense of fashion left them exposed. most striking, however, was the pair of giant, ravenlike wingsjutting out from her shoulder blades. inky hell. no wonder she needed protection. the feathers were dark and iridescent, obviously sourced from the void just like the smoke coming off of persephone’s hair. suddenly, looking at this radiant woman, every flaw upon their own face and body felt prominent – their bony stature, unusual height, the gnarled scars along their torso where flesh met prosthesis. at her invitation, persephone vaulted through the mirror into aya’s brightly-lit bedroom. six false windows shone with bright, warm light from some built-in mechanism in the walls, each decorated with a lifelike depiction of a sprawling coastal landscape. aya stepped deftly around her. the wings made a soft shuffling noise as their tips dragged along the hardwood floor. above them stretched an unusually high ceiling, the walls closer to it jutting with decorated platforms — persephone imagined aya taking a leap and gliding between them, those magnificent wings spread nearly from wall to wall. a brief smirk flickered across her stoic face. “make yourself at home, bodyguard,” the girl said as she neatened the writing materials on her desk.

“this room...”

“yes, i know. this is the closest i can come to being happy without going outside.”

“you–” persephone’s words stopped, pale eyes darting from the ceiling light back to aya’s face. “you’ve never gone outside?”

“not even once. my parents are well-known among the city’s nobility. if people knew they had a voidling daughter, it would hurt their status.” the words sounded too flat. like they had been rehearsed time after time. the isolation aya must have felt all these years... the frustration, the pent-up anger, persephone could only imagine. what a living nightmare.

“i’m sorry.”

“oh, it isn’t so bad. i have my parents... my imagination. and a lot of hope! i want to see the sun for myself one day, not simply feel its light through the windows.” ah. her parents hadn’t had the heart to tell her that the sun was shattered, then. that meant they had no plans of ever letting their daughter outside. fucking fuck. aya would later claim that she had fallen for persephone first. the assassin did not agree. neither of them could put an exact date on their feelings, but it was somewhere around that first month, even before aya had revealed herself. she made the first move, of course – persephone had always been hesitant with affection, fearing backlash and second-guessing themself. it became obvious over time that she would not initiate. it was a winter night. the city had fallen silent, even the dockworkers sheltering from the cold. snow collected on the manor’s roof and drifted outside of walls without windows, melting into gray slush on duskwall’s sooty streets. persephone stood guard by the mirror-wall while aya pressed snowdrop flowers they'd brought her, wings splayed out behind her body. a small smile played at the corners of the bodyguard’s lips at the sight. somehow, in the heart of this rotted city, innocence had been preserved within one beautiful girl. aya caught her staring. dark eyes glanced over, stopped, held persephone's as a flush bloomed across their cheeks. “what are you looking at?” “what do you think, feathers?” it was an affectionate, teasing nickname; persephone found herself using it more often than even aya's name. they'd always been like that — it came with the territory of having a complicated relationship with one's own feelings. distance was key as an assassin. you wanted to stay unbothered, to be able to dehumanize targets and turn off your empathy. so: nicknames. aya narrowed her eyes, her peach-round face scrunching up a bit. then, she seemed to get an idea. never having learned to put on a social persona, her emotions danced across her face with reckless abandon. persephone could always tell what she was feeling, what she was thinking about, even after only a month together. “hmm." a low hum from aya’s throat as she stood. her wings shifted back into a folded position at her back (inky feathers always littered the floor, bed, and surfaces of the room. aya did her best to clean them up, but the wings never seemed to stop shedding. the more the merrier, in persephone’s eyes. they looked like jewels.) false sunlight haloed aya’s hair as she sauntered up to her guard. persephone’s heart beginning to flutter in her chest in a way it never had before — like it was trying to break loose.

“noooothing?” aya teased, voice like honey, breath tickling persephone’s yet-unscarred neck.

“i –”

“i’ll ask you again.” she was giggling between words now, but still there was a fire in her eyes as she gently tugged persephone’s collar to bring them down towards her face. mouth at the guard’s ear, she whispered, “what were you looking at?”

the word left persephone’s lips, quiet and breathy. “you.” a beat —"aya." no sooner did she murmur the name than aya’s lips closed around hers.

that moment lingers in her mind now, a little piece of gold embedded in her heart to call upon when hellhound threatens to choke the spark from her soul completely.

persephone's hair was unusual in more than one way. she would wake up after nightmares or flashbacks and it would have grown to her shoulders, sometimes halfway down her back after a particularly stressful night. aya took up orion's mantle of cutting it. she liked the way the strands dissolved into smoke between her fingers once she snipped them loose, and persephone liked the way aya’s hands felt brushing against the back of her neck. for their part, they'd run their fingers through the girl’s wings until they both fell asleep. aya would braid tiny feathers into persephone’s hair, fastening it with pins as the strands were too slippery to hold a ribbon.

–––––––––––––––––– late winter, now. the girls sat together on the bed. persephone lay across aya’s lap as she polished her knife – she only carried one, back then, as fear did not delegate her every move. aya's jasmine perfume enveloped them both in gentle sweetness. it had grown to become a comforting smell; aya wore it all the time. it was uniquely hers. a scent that, like the sight of black feathers, persephone would always associate with better times. aya hummed, as if she’d suddenly had a thought. her hand moved to the tail of persephone’s coat, flipping it so that the inside showed. “would you mind terribly,” she asked, “if i made an alteration to your coat, love?” “i wouldn’t,” persephone responded, running a hand down the thick curves and folds of aya’s waist. “what trick do you have up your sleeve, feathers?”

“it’s a surprise. give me two days.”

“you’d better not make it a vest or give me a chest window.”

“no promises, darling. i would die to see you with a chest window.” aya would toil away in her bedroom for the next two days while persephone stood guard in the library just outside. what a whirlwind of a half-year it had been. love. a love that felt so warm she was certain it was keeping her alive. orion's love was different – the love of her brother was like a pillar of strength. they leaned on each other. they helped each other up when they fell. fletch's love was a complete consumption, a collar and a leash. the love of their parents had been a cold ache, battling with the knowledge that they could do such awful things to their children in its name. every bruise that bloomed across orion's arms, every cut across his tiny cheek that she should have been too young to know how to patch up. “we love you,” their mother had said, and the words had felt like a lie. but feathers – aya – had persephone’s heart in her hands. she held it as gently as one would a baby bird. with orion, persephone was content. with aya, for what felt like the first time in her life, she was happy.

the alteration aya had worked so hard on was a set of embroidered crocus flowers stitched into the coattails’ lining. the work was meticulous. she’d always had an eye for detail. purple and green and gold thread, every line a work of art in itself. persephone sat hard on the foot of the bed with the coat in her lap, eyes wide, wishing she could feel the flowers’ ridges as her prosthetic fingers brushed over their surface.

“aya –”

“mm... i love when you say my name.” aya sat beside her, leaned against their shoulder.

persephone raised her eyebrows with a dry smirk. “feathers.” the rollback earned the pout she wanted to see, before she leaned down to press a chaste kiss to aya’s lips. “i love it, aya. thank you.” it wasn’t often she caught the little bird off-guard. those rare moments were all the more precious; persephone burned aya’s blush into her mind, took in every detail of her face. the two moles dotting the left side and the dark pools of her eyes. the way her short hair hung in sheafs around her ears like bundles of black grain, thick and shiny.

“don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you want to eat me.”

persephone bared her teeth, sunk them ever-gently into the soft skin of aya's shoulder. both of them collapsed into giggles, then kisses; eventually, deep and tangled slumber.

––––––––––––––––––

“you’re meeting them at the opera?” orion asked, head craned over the sink as he worked dye through his hair. he had been dumped again. her twin went through boyfriends like a gambler went through cash; he was noncommittal and unlucky to boot. persephone was sliding into a tailored black suit with cufflinks provided by fletch themself: wolf heads, snarling, open-jawed. looking back, it was a message she hadn't seen. barreling toward the goddamn iceberg but too busy staring up at the stars to notice it. fletch's important meetings with persephone often took place often at the city’s most luxurious venues. this time, they sat in balcony seats at the opera, discussing the progress of the job in between numbers. “you are doing so well, persephone.” they spoke without looking at her. their left arm was folded primly in their lap. the right brought a pair of binoculars down from their face to rest on their knee. “thank you,” she replied, a little flutter of pride erupting in her chest. a job well done. a lover waiting at home. home –– the word felt alien. exciting. it was the kind of word most people took for granted, until they were ejected from every place they attempted to settle into. eventually, there was no such thing. but now... perhaps there could be. “... the job has changed.” persephone tilted her head up to meet fletch's gaze, their molten-silver eyes boring into hers with a perfectly unreadable expression. changed? after everything, after her pain of their punishment and the loyalty built up during recovery, persephone dare not question them. if they told her to fling herself off of a balcony, she would be confident that they would take care of her until she was healed. they would not let her die after spending so much time and money reconstructing her into a better fighter. at the same time, if she did rebel, orion was within their reach. they could hurt him, kill him, or worse at any time. “what's the new job?” whatever it was, persephone could still visit aya as frequently as time allowed. even if fletch sent her to skovlan or severos across the sea. she would come back; they had nothing but time.

“oh – it is the same target. the job has changed from protection to assassination.”

“i’m sorry?”

the world dropped beneath her feet.

“do not make me repeat myself, persephone. you have twenty-four hours to take care of her.” the opera was over. fletch was already standing, rosy yellow lights gleaming off of the armored pauldron sitting atop their right arm. persephone did not stand. assassination. that was not misheard. take care of her. the same target. assassination. the job. take care of her. they knew what that meant: kill her. a cold hand on her shoulder broke persephone out of her reverie with a flinch, but the spasm did not make the touch any gentler. fletch's fingertips pressed into the area where flesh and metal came together, pressed against the scars and the nerves that had been too badly damaged to heal. they did not stop until she gasped. take care of her. “ah, and be sure to deal with the family afterwards. frame it to keep eyes off of the unseen. make it quiet. mr. shimura will pick you up in a carriage at exactly this time tomorrow, persephone.” their words, flippant and light, rolled off of their tongue as they exited their row.

–––––––––––––––––– aya could tell something was wrong the moment persephone walked through her door. their mind was a million miles away, eyes locked in a thousand-yard stare. eyebrows knitting together, aya worried at her lip. “how was your meeting?” she asked, soft hands moving to pull persephone’s coat off of her shoulders. the cold had fluffed her wings up to twice their size. even now she was beautiful. even in her idle moments, when she had not yet started her hygienic routine, everything – everything was beautiful. it was a special kind of fate that befell people like them. people who were born, kicked in the teeth repeatedly, and then died. some were born hopeful; that was when it hurt to watch them be torn apart. persephone did not respond. she was too busy going through every possible scenario in her mind: betray her loyalty to fletch for aya, and they would undoubtedly be angrier than they were when the twins tried to leave. all three of them would end up dead or worse. fletch would make sure aya died slowly. they would make sure persephone watched. then, they would turn to orion. even beyond the consequences, something in persephone had broken when fletch took their inhuman strength to her shoulders and tore her limbs from their sockets. something had broken and healed wrong; their hands were still buried deep in her chest, wrapped around her heart from the inside. she didn’t know what she wanted. she didn’t know how to rebel anymore. it had to be done. it had to be done or the world would come crashing around her feet. “aya,” they whispered, voice breaking halfway through the word. their arms found their lover’s shoulders, pulled her closer. aya. blackbird.

“darling –” her voice was muffled in persephone’s chest, wings and shoulders wiggling in her grip to try and break it. "what are—"

“please. please, just—stay with me like this.”

aya looked up at her, wide eyes searching her face and finding nothing to latch onto. “... alright.” something seemed to click in aya’s head then. she stopped asking. there was a look on her face that shifted between acceptance and a haunting sort of emptiness; she knew, persephone had no idea how she knew but she did. aya had always been smart, perceptive. she could read people like no one’s business. every passing hour felt like sand slipping through their fingers on that last day. persephone hovered around her lover relentlessly, grooming her wings, pulling her into her lap, pressing kisses to every part of her face and body. soaking in the smell of jasmine and letting her lips feel the softness of aya’s skin where her hands couldn’t. they carefully avoided the subject of what was wrong and instead made the most of every second, every breath. it felt like a dream. so many nights, now, are spent reliving that last day. hellhound listens to the heartbeat of a ghost and tries to recall what it felt like to kiss her. all that’s left is a single black feather adhered into a page of her notebook, cast over in resin so that the edges will never begin to disintegrate. the very same tattooed up the back of her neck, out of place among the rest. all that’s left is a phantom in hellhound’s subconscious, who appears to draw her out of dark places and keep her from being swallowed whole. all that’s left is memory.

–––––––––––––––––– they stood in front of aya’s favorite false window. persephone was behind her, gaze fixed on the scene in front of them. its artificial sunlight swathed them in peachy gold, a forest melting into a beach with trees stretching high into the sky. the light source was structured in such a way that it looked like it was filtering through the treetops, dappling the girls’ skin and catching on their clothes and hair like spun stars. aya would die without knowing the world was dark. that, if anything, was a mercy. sluggishly, persephone slid the knife she’d had since she was a child out of its holster on her thigh, gripped it with a hand that, were it made of flesh, would be trembling too violently to function. void knew the rest of her body was. “i can hear your heartbeat.” aya’s voice came soft, head turning the smallest bit so that persephone could see the hint of her eyelashes haloed by light. they were slick with tears. “it’s okay, love,” aya whispered. “it’s okay.” persephone didn’t even need to apologize, and aya had already forgiven her. there was nothing crueler than this. nothing crueler than the steady way the girl drew her last breath before the blade cut across her throat. nothing crueler than the way she gripped persephone’s other hand in hers, the quivering of her fingers the only betrayal to the fear she was trying so hard not to show. they were both pretending to be stronger than they were, it turned out. persephone gripped aya’s bleeding, twitching body as she collapsed to the floor, their throat choking on quiet, wracking sobs. they held her through it, kissed her forehead, rocked back and forth. sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. it wasn’t supposed to

#>> DRABBLE.#{ ARCHIVE WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH }#{ THE STORY OF... PERSEPHONE IN LOVE BEFORE SHE BECAME A SHITBAG }#{ yes i'm crying irl don't look at me!!! reposting this for beta editor + made some edits }#{ god i need to drink some fuckin water }#parental abuse mention cw #death cw #grief cw #{ i wanted to smalltext this sooo bad but it kept changing random letters to bigtext }

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bunnymajo · 2 years ago

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So I may have read all of the Magical Boy Basil comic pages that were up in one sitting and then bought a keychain from their shop because I mean look at him, he's so cute

Anyway, a pretty interesting story and I like the unique magic system of "the tangles" and having each article of clothing be a possible mg outfit. The characters are nice, I wish we spent a little more time on some of the other side characters, like the girls and Basil's family - I'm sure that's all coming in the future but just wanted to mention it. Basil's a good boy, I like him. Also I think Basil & Aaron should smooch, as a treat.

#also in case you're worried: all of the major characters are canonically gay -no queerbaiting #and Basil in a frilly skirt isn't mocked or anything like most magical boy anime are guilty are doing #cw there's family death mentioned a few times that's part of Basil's character #anyway it's a nice little read. do recommend #majobun liveblogging

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azeofspades · 1 year ago

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istg why do the best fic ideas always come to me when i'm doing the dishes

This time it'd be about Xiao, Yaksha prime age, all the other yaksha are still alive n shit. The story would start with one of the younger yaksha under his command dying after being beat up by a bunch of other yaksha (at that point he'd gotten bullied for like a year and Xiao was aware of it). Xiao blames himself for his death and commits suicide.

When he wakes up, he's 6 months in the past. So now his only goal is to prevent the younger yaksha's death..

#major character death #cw sui mention #suic1de #writing #fanfiction #genshin impact fanfics #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #adeptus xiao #genshin xiao #gi xiao #xiao

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welldonekhushi · 1 year ago

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Arjun has cheated death, once. For now.

Which OC has cheated death?

#during a mission he was fatally stabbed in the lower abdomen along with the upper back resulting in major blood loss #but he was lucky enough to survive and get the job done #surely the moment was tragic.. but he likely forgot it for the greater good 😭#cw death mention #oc prompt #oc questions #oc #oc stuff #oc tag #tag your oc #oc sharing #ocs #tag your ocs #original character #captain arjun

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willreigns · 5 months ago

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Waiting

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, angst, memory and cognitive decline, major character death

A/N: I cried while I wrote this. Happy late Valentine's Day XOXO ~2.2k words

It started with the little things. A forgetfulness masked by old age, and yet it always felt like something more.

Levi Ackerman was anything if not prideful, and yet the confusion that dazed him at times forced him to tell you, his beautiful wife, that he was struggling with something deep, so much so that you urged him to visit the doctor.

He hated doctors. He had enough of them after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Prodding, pestering, painfully pricking at him to ensure he remained alive until adequate care could arrive. Who would’ve known it’d take weeks?

And so, Levi hated doctors—but he loved you, his wife, so much that he’d bear through another annoying visit. If anything to soothe your mind that this is just him in his old age, that this is nothing more than another bumpy hill before he’d get better.

He saw it all his mind, you’d wheel him to the doctor’s office, just so that they’d tell him the war changed him, and that many war veterans face mental struggles. Then they’d charge an arm and a leg for the “prognosis”. You’d happily give payment if it meant Levi’s just fine—as fine as Levi Ackerman could be, but fine was good.

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

You’d seen Levi swing through trees to face the ugliest of titans, seen him fight through despite the pains in his body, and yet that first harrowing face of forgetfulness stuck with you.

The doctor’s appointment was moved up from next month to next week.

You wheeled him to the office, hands on the push handles subtly shifting every now and then to pull the graying bangs from his forehead to behind his ear. His hair is getting long, you think. It’s time for a haircut and he hasn’t even mentioned it.

The doctor says that war changed Levi. That many war veterans face many mental illnesses—and yet Levi’s is a strange and unique one, one that the doctor’s heard of but very, very rarely. As if done with the novelty of being “unique”, Levi scoffs at the doctor, limping from the examination table back to his wheelchair.

“Well then, your job is to cure this right?” The doctor’s face is blank and expressionless.

“There’s no cure.”

The walk back to your home is silent, more silent than you think you can bear. Your hands on Levi’s push handles stay put, no longer casting them towards his hair for loving caresses. You don’t want to impose on his boundaries after a conversation like this—Levi wishes you would.

Dinner is eaten silently, deep contemplation overtakes the both of you.

“Screw what the doctor said,” he utters.

“What?”

“I said screw what the doctor said, I just won’t forget. I can’t imagine it can be so difficult.” For some reason, it felt like the easiest solution in the world. You beam at him and the hopeful look in your eyes make him feel warm.

Of course, you think, Levi won’t let you down. Levi who's survived it all would fight this too, and things will be as normal as they can be.

“What’s with the shit eating grin,” Levi asks you one afternoon. You had just come back from the local market.

“I brought you this journal,” and you shove the bound papers into his lap.

“You can write everything you remember, the ladies at the market told me it helps with memory loss.”

“You didn’t—”

“No, I haven’t.”

Levi’s reluctance to let anybody know his illness was debilitating, your friends would definitely care if something were going on. But Levi’s image has already been impacted once—he didn’t want to add another smear to the already imperfect painting.

And so, Levi writes, albeit only in the evenings and when you are fast asleep. He writes of his mother, his friends, his squad, Hange and Erwin.

He writes about you.

Your name, the day he met you, a cheeky soldier with a death wish, as he likes to say. He writes about the day he told he you he loved you and first kissed you, the day he married you. He wrote about it while it was still fresh in his mind, where he willed for it to remain, where he begged for it to remain, for the rest of his life.

Levi forgets your birthday.

It’s a good thing others didn’t, because neighbors and friends arrived to give you well wishes. He kisses you at the end of the night and you smile at him, and you forget about him forgetting.

Levi forgets about the chicken in the oven.

Fortunately, you arrive on time to salvage dinner, some of the skin burned, but digestible. He apologizes, face red in embarrassment. You tell him it’s nothing.

Every morning you inspect the journal while Levi rests, warm with the memories that still persist. Levi’s fighting, you think to yourself, everything will be alright.

Things remain in limbo for a while, with you picking up the pieces of Levi’s forgetting mind and putting them in their place. It remains like that for a while, you reminding Levi of the things he’s supposed to be doing.

Suddenly, so suddenly, you come home one morning to find Levi struggling to stand, finding support in the nearby table.

“Levi,” you exclaim, “what the hell are you doing?”

He seems almost startled by you, but he clenches his jaw in defiance.

“Where the hell is everybody? We need to stop Eren, and I’m just sitting here doing nothing.”

Suddenly, so suddenly, it’s like you’ve woken up and are facing reality for the first time.

The tears slip from your eyes, the hands by your side clenching and unclenching into fists. Levi looks at you with a stern expression, calling your name, but you ignore him as you walk away. You hide in your bedroom.

Levi talks of titans for two days straight, washes the same dishes several times, asks you where Hange and Erwin were, before finally snapping back into reality.

You’re crumpled on your bed and he sinks there with you, head falling into your shoulder. He’s silent in quiet horror, you’re silent in quiet loneliness. He apologizes over and over. You tell him it’s okay.

The frayed edges of Levi’s mind begin to tear at the seams, the gaps in his mind no longer something he can conceal. He wills himself to write. Where there was once lengthy journal entries, now repetitive sentences covered the pages.

We are living in year 86x. The war has ended.

Erwin Smith is dead. Hange Zoe is dead.

The war has ended.

Levi forgets your anniversary, Levi forgets to bathe, Levi forgets the route home when he steps out to buy…something—he can’t remember what he was supposed to buy.

To avoid your pained gaze, Levi’s wheelchair permanently lives near the window in the corner of the living room. Away from disturbing you, away from being near you.

Things remain like this for a while. You wait—for what, you don’t really know. You watch Levi scramble day in and day out, until he finally stills, hands in his lap, staring outside the window.

After months, you inspect his journal, wanting to feel hope, wanting to remind yourself that Levi’s fighting, that he’s trying.

The last journal entry was weeks ago. All that remain are scribbles. Levi remembers the routine, but does’t remember what he’s supposed to do.

The doctor says there’s nothing left to do, and so you watch your husband implode. And oh you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy. To watch the man that loves you forget you. To watch as the man you love forgets everything.

Levi’s exhaustion is apparent from where he sits. He holds his teacup, fingers feeling weird where they were. Why does he hold teacups like this?

But only when he forgets your name does your own world implode, the bits and pieces of your self floating, with nobody to piece you together.

He doesn’t sleep in your bedroom anymore, only married people do that. In Levi’s mind, he’s respecting you, an unmarried woman, and so his permanent spot by the window also becomes the spot where he sleeps.

The doctor gives him a couple of more weeks, but it’s months of confusion, months of gazing into nothing, grasping at far away memories.

Where’s Erwin?

Where’s Furlan and Isabel?

Where’s my mother?

You remind Levi that they’re gone, but that they’re waiting for him. Wherever they are.

You wait. For what, you don’t know.

It’s months of self hatred, before for a moment, Levi finds relief; clarity.

You catch him staring at you one evening, when you’re cleaning the dishes of tonight’s dinner.

“You remind me of someone I used to love,” Levi tells you.

Your heart catches, blood freezing, before you smile, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Yeah,” you respond, “used to?”

Levi stays silent. You’ve long gotten used to the silence and the quiet contemplation, but for some reason you are compelled to look at him.

You are used to his lost gaze, used to the permanent furrowed brows that are always deep in thought. Is it your lover trying to remember you? The fighter in him, still combatting the destruction of his mind?

You look at him like a teacher looks at their student, the answer at the tip of their tongue, the knowledge in the deepest part of their mind, waiting to be brought out.

You are used to the defeated glance of despair, the quiet confusion that tells you help me.

You are not used to, however, the look that now graced Levi’s face.

Recognition. It startles you. It startles him.

He calls your name and your breath hitches. You can’t help the tears that slip. He says your name, over and over again and you walk over from the kitchen counter to his spot by the window, toppling over his wheelchair in an embrace. Your face falls into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you.

“You married me,” he says quietly, “why?”

You’re quiet, not trusting your voice to not fall and break down, but force yourself to speak anyway.

“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse, “that’s why.”

Neither of you say anything else. His face falls into your shoulder and he breathes you in—you smell familiar, look familiar too. Perhaps Erwin and Hange can tell him later who you are and why you’re embracing him. You’re just too warm to let go right now. All he knows is that you’re his wife—his beautiful wife.

For the first time in a long time, Levi wheels himself into your shared bedroom and sleeps next to you. For the first time in a long time, things feel normal.

That chilly evening, Levi left your world.

It wasn’t his world anymore, no—hadn’t been his world in a long time. His permanently furrowed brows have relaxed, and finally his face appeared peaceful. You were glad. Even if you sobbed quietly for him to come back, you were glad.

All that was left was to wait.

You waited.

You waited for death.

Your gray hair swayed with the breeze one fateful morning. Something clicked within you, something about the peace that morning made you smile an all knowing smile. What’s with the shit-eating grin, you could almost hear Levi ask you.

That night, neighbors and former comrades surrounded you, their children in another room to spare them the pain and grief that came with death. You were glad that they didn’t have to see you. At a young age you had been a witness to countless deaths at the hands of titans and the world, let them salvage their innocence for a bit longer.

You were in delirium. You were drifting, memories and glimpses of your life flashing before you, it all felt so real. Your parents, the scouts, the war. The most prominent moments though were the ones with Levi. It was then you realized that you had almost forgotten what he looked like before his injuries. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like before illness overtook him.

Captain Levi Ackerman. A symbol of hope.

Levi. Just Levi. The man you had fallen in love with.

You smiled fondly as you felt the tendrils of your mortality begin to blur; the feeling of peace filled you, it felt like falling into a deep sleep. And the peace continued to lull you, leading you to nothing and infinity all at the same time.

You wandered, away from the cries of the world, and suddenly, a silence.

Then, you saw him. Your face broke out into a beaming smile.

“Levi,” you called out to your lover, your feet moving automatically to reach him.

There he was, his vision clear, his limbs intact, not a single layer of exhaustion on him. His face broke out in a small smile and he called out to you; you felt whole again.

There he was. Waiting for you.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman x reader angst #levi ackerman x fem!reader angst #post war levi #post war levi angst #post war levi x reader #post war levi x reader angst #levi angst #levi ackerman angst

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edamameiyok · 17 hours ago

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ikaw at ako (sophia laforteza x reader)

"'Di ko alam ang gagawin kung mawala ka buhay ko'y may kahulugan tuwing ako'y iyong hagkan."

(i don't know what to do if i lose you. my life has meaning every time you kiss me.)

synopsis: sophia, ever since she met you, always vowed to protect you at all costs. when a mysterious illness begins to plague your entire life, she does everything she can to support you no matter what. however, what if you're already too late to save? tags: heavy angst, hanahaki!au, college!au an: this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: major character death. reader has a medical condition. mention of blood. swearing. kissing. wc: 6.7k

⏯ now playing: ikaw at ako - johnoy danao

“When it’s your first turn in chess, you have either the choice to move your pawn one space forward,” Yoonchae watches as Sophia takes one of her pawns and moves it as she described. She watches closely, her head tilted to the side as the Filipina continues to explain, “Or… you can move it two spaces forward.” She then takes the same pawn and moves it one more space.

Sophia looks up at Yoonchae, an easy smile on her face, but the younger girl notices the tired look in her eyes.

“Why are we playing this again?” The younger one asks. She places her elbow on the table and rests her chin in the palm of her hand. She watches as Sophia picks up one of the pieces— the horse-looking one, Yoonchae identifies. Sophia stares at it, deep in thought, and a slight smile paints her features.

“I don’t know. I hate this game.”

Chess was always confusing to Sophia.

It was a lot of rules to keep track of, and the strategy aspect always gave the Filipina girl a headache. But, for some reason, it was everything to you.

And as your best friend, naturally, it became everything to her as well.

It’s not an exciting activity to watch by any means, especially if you have no idea of what's going on, but she loves to watch you play. Sophia always finds herself at your little chess team meeting when her classes are over for the day and watches you from the other side of the room, waiting patiently for your practice to be over. She has never seen you so passionate about something, and every time she watched you play, it still surprises her how well you knew the game.

Sometimes, when the other members of the team would file out of the room for the day, you would continue to sit at your spot. You’d stare at the chessboard as if pondering the next move, as if someone had the upper hand on you. During these moments, Sophia would humor you and stride over to the chess table, taking the seat across from you as if she were a new opponent challenging you to a game.

This time, though, she decides to play the match. “I’m a chess champion, you know?” She starts, leaning over the table with her elbows propped up, her chin resting against her fists as she eyes you teasingly. She smiles at the way you roll your eyes, but the way the corners of your mouth quirk up tells her that you aren’t actually annoyed with her presence.

Your eyes stay trained on the chessboard as you take one of the pieces– the bishop, Sophia thinks. She watches as you move it three spaces diagonally. “Oh yeah? How long have you been playing?” You ask in a lifted tone. Sophia scoffs playfully and takes one of the pieces on her side. She pretends to know exactly where to put it and attempts to move it, but stops when you click your tongue.

A small laugh escapes her lips. “Shit, am I moving it wrong?” Sophia looks at you with crescent eyes, her chess champion facade faltering as you nod your head with an amused smile.

You point at a spot on the board. “It can only move forward. I suggest you put it here if you want an advantage.”

Sophia nods and does as you say. She whispers under her breath, “I was just testing you.” You tilt your head at her words, smiling as you move another one of your pieces. It’s the same one she just moved, but you move it farther up the board, successfully taking one of her pawns in the process. Sophia rolls her eyes at this. “I thought you said I had an advantage.”

You chuckle and look up at her, a twinkle in your eyes that Sophia finds herself getting lost in. “Just because I took one of your pawns doesn’t always mean you’re cooked.” Her mouth forms an “O” shape at your words and quickly picks up another one of her pieces– the queen.

However, you quickly stop her, grabbing her hand. “Oh, not her. Don’t do that!” You tell her in a firm tone. She can’t help but giggle at your serious demeanor. Sophia knows this game is for fun, but she always finds it endearing how you treat all of them as if it were life or death.

She cocks her head at you and bites her lip to contain the smile that wants to spread across her lips. “Why not the queen? Scared, Y/n?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “The queen is the most important piece in the game. You shouldn’t use her yet, especially if you have other moves you can make.” You explain. Your hand stays wrapped around Sophia’s, and she stares at you, her heart beginning to beat rapidly in her chest when she feels your grip tighten slightly.

“I thought the point of the game is to take the king, isn’t he the most important?” Your eyes continue scanning the board, and you let go of Sophia’s hand, pointing at another piece.

You look back at Sophia, and she has an urge to reach out and fix your glasses. They’re slightly askew, and she has to bite her tongue, almost telling you how cute you look with them on. You don’t notice how she admires you, too focused on the game your best friend started as a joke. “Your queen can go anywhere on the board. She’s the one who can get you closer to checkmate, or at least a check.”

Sophia nods at your words, looking away from you with a slight blush on her cheeks. She places the queen back down in its spot, then grabs the piece you point at. She stares at it for a moment, trying to remember how it’s meant to be moved. Your hand finds hers again, and you guide it in the right direction. “He’s your knight,” You whisper, settling Sophia’s hand on the piece’s new spot on the board.

Your hand stays on hers as you look back up at the Filipina, smiling softly. “Check.” Sophia is about to cheer despite not knowing entirely what that meant, but a cough suddenly escapes your lips. You let go of Sophia’s hand to cover your mouth with the inside of your arm, and she frowns, reaching out to grab your shoulder tightly. “Y/n?”

You shake your head, waving her off. You begin to pat your chest gently as your coughs finally subside. The look you give Sophia is gentle, as if to ease her worries. “It’s just a cold, don’t worry, Fia.” She purses her lips at your words, not believing you, not even for a second. You reach out to her, grabbing her hand to hold in your own. Your thumb caresses the back of her hand as you smile softly. “Come on, let’s go get dinner.”

Sophia prides herself on being one of the top scholars at the university you both attend.

She has always been on top of everything, never allowing herself to fall behind in her studies. Teachers have always praised the girl for being a diligent student, and every time, you always commented on her being a ‘nerd.’ She always bit back at your words, however, and often reminded you of your own ‘nerdy’ hobby. For someone so impartial to school and the rules, it still surprises Sophia to this day how you became so interested in the game of chess.

“It’s exciting once you know how to play,” You always claimed. “Don’t knock it till’ you try it.”

And she has, she always tries to understand, but it never seems to click in her head.

But it’s a lot better than the alternative activities you could have partaken in while in high school. You at some point mentioned the idea of joining the wrestling team, but Sophia quickly shot the idea down, scolding you for even thinking about something as dangerous as that. She listed all the reasons why you shouldn’t, even sent you a few articles that detailed the long-term effects of becoming a wrestler.

She was very relieved that you stuck with the chess team instead, and honestly, she definitely prefers seeing you in the cute sweater vest and tie you’re required to wear as opposed to those silly singlets.

Now, you’re on a chess scholarship, attending university because your parents told you to (Sophia knows the real reason was to stay by her side, but she doesn’t comment on it. She simply teases you for it on random occasions). You’re still terrible at school, and Sophia still lectures you for it.

Who can blame her, though? Sophia has big dreams; Dreams about becoming famous on Broadway one day.

You, on the other hand, don’t know what your dreams are. Sophia often asks you what your plans are, but you never have a put-together response. You’re studying psychology, but other than that, you don’t know what would come after. Your best friend asks you about graduate school, internships, and more, but you’re not sure what more you can give.

This mindset of yours grows tenfold when a mysterious illness creeps into your life.

Its arrival was quiet, unexpected. One day, you were healthy and ready to take over the world, and then the next, you struggled to breathe. Every other sentence was followed by a cough that looked too painful to endure. Against all rationale you tried to make with your best friend, you ended up going to the doctor to get a diagnosis.

What you came back with scared Sophia even more.

“They don’t know what it is,” You casually told her after the visit to the clinic. You continue playing a round of virtual chess on your phone, ignoring the look Sophia gave you. “I’ll just have to see what it becomes, I guess.”

Sophia narrows her eyes. Something she always disliked about you was your ability to overlook anything, no matter how important it is. You often failed tests in high school because of careless mistakes, and tournaments were lost due to underestimating your opponents’ ability to catch onto your play style. It frustrated Sophia that it never bothered you – there’s always next time, you’d say.

But, what if there isn’t a next time? What if that was your last shot?

Sophia sits with you on the couch in your apartment, feeling more upset by her thoughts as you continue to sit in silence, playing chess as if your health weren’t on the line. She hits her limit when you let out a slight cough, reaching over to snatch your phone out of your hands. Your head snaps toward her, a pout forming on your lips. “Fia… I almost got checkmate.”

She ignores your whines and places your phone on the other side of the couch. “I don’t like the answer you just gave me.” Her voice wavers as she speaks, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Sophia crosses her arms and tries to remain level, but when you shrug your shoulders, she can’t help but feel as though she’s losing her mind. “Y/n!”

“Sophia! That’s what they told me, okay? I don’t know what else to say…” You reply incredulously. You lean back against the couch with a sigh, avoiding her stare that burns into your skull.

Her heart drops at the sullen look in your eyes. Despite your attempts at pretending everything is okay, she knows deep down you know exactly how serious this could be. She decides not to stress you out even further, scooting closer to you to lay her head in your lap. Her eyes close slowly when she feels your fingers begin to thread through her hair. “I’m here for you. Always,” She whispers.

You hum in acknowledgement, opting to remain silent. She lies there, memorizing the way it feels to be this close to you. She engraves the feeling you give her inside her chest in hopes that she will be brave enough to say something.

She isn’t, though. Not yet.

Sophia doesn’t like to worry about you in silence.

She’s very loud about it, always letting passersby hear the latest news when it comes to your health issues that you don’t like talking about anyway. But, Sophia doesn’t care or listen to your pleas for her to shut up. She wants you to get better; she doesn't like knowing that, every day, you’re declining by the second, and there is nothing anyone can do.

Sharing a class with you isn’t easy either. Mid-lecture, she would watch you leave the classroom during one of your many coughing fits. The lesson would continue, and it has come to a point where the other students in class wouldn’t even blink an eye. But Sophia stares at the door as if your life depended on it. She counted the minutes until you came back. She would sit and wait as if there was a timer that would go off any second, and you’d be gone.

Sophia has spent 10 years by your side. She plans for 10 more, and maybe forever if she’s lucky.

Sophia sits across from you at one of the chess tables. You chew at the bottom of your pen as you stare at the pieces. Each move you make is calculated, executed with precise movements that always make her squint at you.

You’re practicing for another tournament, and she can tell it’s an important one by the way you shake your head at a piece you’ve moved, how your hand shakes when you record what you did in the notepad Sophia gifted you last Christmas.

Next Christmas, she wants to get you a new chess timer. She thinks about it when she glances at it once more, and notices how one of the buttons is perpetually stuck pressed down. You wave it off, telling her that it still works, that it doesn’t affect how much time you have left.

But Sophia wants you to have all the time. She doesn’t want you to worry that it will go away too quickly.

You cough slightly, covering your mouth with the inside of your arm as you move another piece with the other hand.

She sits up straighter at this, frowning. “Let’s take a break, mahal.” You shake your head in response, your attention back onto your notepad. You jot down what you’ve done once more and go back to the game. Sophia rolls her eyes and reaches over the table, placing her hand over yours to stop you from continuing. “You’re taking a break.” She tells you firmly, squeezing your hand.

You look up at Sophia and sigh. “Fia…” She squeezes your hand even tighter and narrows her eyes at you.

“You don’t get to say no, Y/n.” Her voice is loud with desperation, and it causes you to jump slightly. Sophia lets go of your hand and stands up from her seat. She kneels and grabs your chess box, shoving it into your hands. It’s her way of telling you to clean up the pieces, and it works as you begrudgingly unlock the box to begin putting everything away.

She stands back up and crosses her arms, watching your every move in silence. “Why do you like this game so much anyway?” Sophia asks, her playful tone coming back. She uncrosses her arms and pokes your shoulder. “I swear you love it more than me.”

You pause what you’re doing to look at your best friend with an annoyed expression. “Maybe I do.” Sophia scoffs and swats your shoulder, daring you to keep playing with her. You chuckle lightly and continue cleaning up, your eyes back on the task at hand. “I love you more than anything, you know that.”

Sophia ignores the way her heart beats faster at your words. She looks down at her feet, her cheeks flushed, and giggles. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a beat between you both. Sophia is about to make another comment, something much more humorous, but you beat her to the punch.

“I like that I always know what comes next.”

Sophia opens her front door one day and sees you crouched down in front of her house’s flower bed. You don’t notice her standing there, seemingly lost in your own world as you stare at the flowers Sophia’s mother recently planted for the springtime.

She waits at the doorway for you, her head tilted as she stares at you curiously. After a few minutes, she decides she’s done waiting and walks up to you. She crosses her arms, opening her mouth to tease you, but your voice cuts her off. “Do you know what flowers these are?” She can’t help but giggle at your question and shrugs, finding your fascination with the flower bed to be amusing.

She crouches down next to you and looks at you with a soft smile. “No… I honestly wasn’t paying attention to her plans for the flowers this year.” Her response elicits a weak chuckle from you. She notices how quiet it sounded, your laugh lacking its usual brightness, but she bites her tongue, not wanting to annoy you more with her constant questions and worrying.

“They’re Forget-Me-Nots.” Sophia furrows her brow, not expecting an honest answer to your own question. She looks back at the flowers and reaches out to them, holding one of their petals in between her fingertips. She smiles at the beautiful baby blue color it displays.

“How’d you know that?” She asks, her eyes still on the flowers in front of her. The urge to pull one off its stem comes to Sophia, but she knows it would make her mother mad. Sophia’s mother takes pride in being yard of the month, a title they’ve earned many times from their stupid HOA. There are so many flowers to take, but somehow, her mother would notice something missing from the bunch.

As Sophia continues to weigh her choices, your voice fills the silence, “I’ve been… Really interested in flowers lately. Like, their meanings and shit, I guess.” Your words are followed by another chuckle that sounds more familiar. Sophia looks at you and sees you looking back at her, your eyes twinkling in a way that she hasn’t seen in months.

It catches her off guard, taking her breath away. She thinks about when you were both younger, jumping into lakes without a second thought and riding your bikes at night with the lightposts illuminating your path, your laughter filling the quiet neighborhood.

Despite how long it’s been since those days, she knows it’s still you. Sophia still sees you as carefree, full of life, with nothing to lose. You were reckless and full of a childlike rebellion that always excited Sophia’s structured life.

She stares at you and wonders what changed in between. But she still doesn’t question you, for fear of losing this moment. Instead, she opts to continue the conversation with a lighthearted tone, “What? Are you gonna be a florist one day?” You laugh in response, shaking your head at her claim. Her smile grows wider when she watches you pluck one of the flowers out of its bunch and hand it to her.

“Guess what these mean,” You ask softly, a tinge of teasing in your tone. She looks down at the flower in your hand, then looks back at you, shrugging her shoulders. It’s easy enough to guess, Sophia knows that– It’s probably in the name. But she loves how you explain things, she loves that you seem to know everything.

You chuckle at her silence, taking it as a cue to tell her despite the lack of an answer. “It’s a promise to never forget.” Suddenly, you furrow your brows, a cough escaping your lips. You cover your mouth with the inside of your arm, and Sophia watches you worriedly, instinctively reaching out to place a hand on your back. She rubs it gently as you continue to cough, and she feels her lip begin to tremble.

There’s something about the way you cough this time. Sophia watches you clutch at your chest, as if there was something in your lungs desperate to be free. You try to take a breath, but it comes out as a wheeze, providing you with more discomfort than before. You looked in pain. Sophia scoots closer to you, feeling helpless as you remove your hand from your chest to grasp at your neck.

“Y/n…” Sophia whispers, tears spilling out of her eyes, watching you struggle with your illness. You turn your head away from the girl, covering your mouth with your hands. To her relief, the coughing finally ends, and you remove your hands from your mouth, revealing the Forget-Me-Nots in your palms. Sophia quickly reaches over and grabs your wrist to get a better view of them.

She notices their baby blue color, now stained an ugly crimson.

Sophia surges forward, wrapping her arms around your neck and buries her face into the crook of your shoulder. Her tears begin to stain your shirt, but she doesn’t care. “Y/n–”

You cut her off. “Can we ride our bikes?” The request throws the Filipina off guard. She pulls away from you with an incredulous look in her eyes.

“You just coughed up blood, and you want to ride our bikes?” You stare at her, a dim look in your eyes as you nod slowly. The flowers fall out of your hands as if discarding the evidence of your deteriorating health. It’s a silent plea to live in blissful ignorance, to be kids again in the quiet suburbs you and Sophia used to rule over like a kingdom.

She stares back at you, her cheeks stained with tears. There are so many questions that linger between you both, and Sophia has never been the one to let them go unanswered. But there’s a hopeful look in your eyes.

“I don’t even know if there’s air in my tires,” Sophia says through a sniffle, smiling slightly as she wipes the remaining tears out of her eyes.

You stand up and hold out your hand to your best friend. “I’ll put air in them.”

She ignores the fact that your hands are stained red. Sophia grabs onto your hand and pretends nothing is wrong. She allows you to pull her onto your feet as if you were both going to fight the monster together with wooden swords and untied sneakers.

She follows you to her garage and thinks about how she could never forget you.

You start to insist on more consistent bike rides with Sophia, and she always obliges.

She doesn’t quite understand the reason, but every time she sees you outside her window, it reminds her of summer days back in grade school.

Sophia walks out of the garage with her bike, a helmet on her head, and another one in her hand. She throws it at you, and you catch it with ease, rolling your eyes as you place it on your head. “I said I don’t like wearing my helmet.”

She gets on her bike and begins to pedal away from you, yelling over her shoulder, “You put it on, though!”

She smiles widely as she looks down the street and pedals as fast as she can. The smile grows bigger when she watches you speed past her, the helmet strapped securely onto your head.

You end up at the riverwalk, a place you and Sophia often occupied when you were younger. When you both started attending university, it became nearly impossible to find the time to go. But, after bickering back and forth about where to go next, you two finally decided on the secret spot you found in middle school.

Your bikes lean against the tree by the water as Sophia skips rocks across the river, and you sit on the ground, drawing in the dirt with a stick you found. It’s peaceful; The only thing that can be heard is the slight rustling of the trees and Sophia’s failed attempts at skipping stones, only ever hearing the loud plops into the water.

“Show me how to do this again, please?” Sophia whines, turning around to look at you with a pout on her lips. You look up at her with wide eyes, seemingly snapped out of the thoughts in your head. She bites her lip to contain the laugh that wants to escape as she watches you scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you run up to the girl with a childlike excitement. You snatch one of the rocks out of her hand, taking a step back away from her to get more room.

“Just flick your wrist, like this,” You try to demonstrate; however, you end up flinging the rock right into the water. You both stand in silence as the rock sinks to the bottom. Sophia hears you click your tongue, and she doesn’t allow you to say another word, bursting into laughter. She holds her stomach as she doubles over at the unimpressed expression on your face. You groan, bending over to grab another rock. “Okay, you caught me off guard,” You huff out, standing up straight for another attempt.

Sophia takes a deep breath as she watches you try again. She regains her composure once she sees the rock skip smoothly across the river, the satisfying sound of its jumps echoing in her ears. A gentle smile forms on her features as she looks at you. She looks at the freckles on your cheeks, the curve of your smile, how your eyes crinkle at the slight breeze that picks up. Sophia loves everything about you, and it terrifies her how in love she is with you.

When Sophia first met you, you were both 11 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood, and her first impression of you was how stupid you were. She spotted you by the pond that hid behind the trees in your neighborhood and watched you in disapproval as you lit firecrackers to throw into the water.

Her first words to you were: “Are you stupid?”

And yours, in return, were: “Yeah, kind of.”

But despite that interaction, Sophia stuck by your side. As she got to know you, the feeling to protect you grew. The thought of anything happening to you scared Sophia– she believes you could grow old together. She doesn’t know when things changed, but the desire for something more overwhelmed her. Being in love with you meant the risk of losing you, and Sophia couldn’t fathom that.

As she stares at you, though, she wonders if it’s a risk that she would need to take.

“I love you, Y/n,” Sophia whispers. You look at her, and Sophia notices a flicker of something in your eyes, but she can’t put a name to it. “You’re my best friend.”

You blink at her. Sophia’s heart drops as you look away from her, a noticeable shift in the air.

“I love you too, Fia. More than you know.”

Your tournament comes quickly, and of course, Sophia is there to watch you compete. She walks with you toward the building where it’s being held on campus, and she notices how you’ve put space between you and her. The Filipina frowns at this. Usually, on your tournament days, you’d be buzzing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Your hand would never leave Sophia’s as you rattled on about the other opponents.

It’s a conversation Sophia never understood, but it’s a moment where, for once, she’s not the one filling the silence. It’s always you listening so attentively, letting her vent without taking a breath or pause. But she loves listening to you talk even though it’s only about stats, or the moves you’ve been practicing to use during the tournament.

But you walk silently, head bowed, with your hands in your pocket. You’ve been looking less like yourself— so exhausted, no vibrance to your eyes or smile. It has come to a point where you’ve gotten weaker as the weeks have gone by. The pep in your step is nowhere to be seen, and Sophia worries you’ve become a shell of your former self.

She thought it would be different today, but she hates to think that this could be the worst your illness has made you appear.

Sophia stares at you; she tells herself to be strong as tears begin to prickle in her eyes. She hates to see you in pain— she never has. Your reckless behavior when you were younger always led to Sophia putting bandages on your scars, kissing your bruises despite your protests. She never told you this, but seeing you in pain always made her feel somewhat distraught.

Now, you couldn’t even imagine the war going through her head every time you coughed.

“You’re so quiet, I don’t even know who you’re competing against today,” She says, attempting to start a conversation. She hooks her arm with yours and pulls you close to her side, ignoring how you tense at her touch. Sophia continues, pretending everything is normal for your sake, “How am I supposed to know who to sabotage?”

You smile weakly at her words. “Is that how I’ve won my tournaments in the past?” Sophia lights up when you match her playful energy, bumping her hip with yours.

“Duh. You actually suck at chess and it’s been me helping you all along.” A chuckle escapes your lips, which is suddenly followed by a cough. Sophia’s brows furrow worriedly, but she relaxes when it doesn’t continue, her eyes softening when you pull your hand out of your pocket to lace your fingers together.

You take a sharp breath, the discomfort on your face present as you do. “Well, I’m glad I have you then.” You squeeze her hand tightly, and Sophia squeezes back, suddenly stopping in her tracks. She pulls you back slightly, and it causes your head to turn toward her, eyebrow raised in questioning and slight confusion. “Fia?”

She lets go of your hand and walks up to you. Her eyes lock onto yours as she reaches up to adjust your tie, fixing it before getting closer to the tournament. “Why do I always have to fix your tie before these things?” A playful smile spreads across her lips as she pulls at your collar gently, an action that causes you to look away briefly.

“You’re my good luck charm.” You proclaim. She notices how your voice shakes slightly, but she brushes it off as nervousness.

Sophia lets go of your collar and finds your hands again, holding them tightly. She tilts her head, smiling up at you as she asks, “What kind of charm would I be?”

You look back at her, the twinkle she loves so much present in your eyes as you reply, “An anchor.”

You’re down to your last opponent, and the stakes are higher than ever.

Sophia doesn’t understand how collegiate-level chess works (or any form of chess, honestly), but she knows that everything depends on how you do during this match. She knows whatever you do in the next few minutes rests on your shoulders.

The room is thick with silence as the match continues. The taps on the timer are the only sound, going back and forth like a game of tennis. Sophia watches every move you make, biting her lip in anticipation. Your opponent taps the clock, and it’s back to you. Your hand moves quickly, picking up one of your pieces to move.

But in an instant, it falls out of your hand. The sound of the piece falling to the ground causes several people in the room to gasp in surprise. Sophia jumps out of her seat when you begin to cough loudly. She runs over to you, but you’re already out of your seat, making your way out the door. The officials of the tournament watch in shock, and words are being exchanged amongst the other teams, but Sophia ignores them, running after you.

She watches you run into the bathroom, and she quickly follows you, entering it as you close the stall door. “Y/n! Are you okay?!” She walks to the stall you occupy, crossing her arms as she stands in front of it. Sophia feels tears begin to form in her eyes as she hears you cough again– the sound so familiar, yet it always seems like your last.

Tears fall from her eyes as she bangs on the stall door with her fists. “Y/n, let me in right now!”

“F-Fia…” You manage to say. Your voice sounds hoarse as you try to continue, “Fia… I’m done, okay? It’s- It’s over.” Another cough follows your words, and Sophia shakes her head frantically, refusing to believe your words. She doesn’t know what you mean, but she’s afraid you’re talking about the latter.

Her fists bang against the door again, even harder, a desperate attempt to get you to open the door, to keep fighting whatever it is you’re struggling with. “Y/n, open this fucking door or I’m crawling underneath it!” She yells, slamming her hand against it in frustration. There’s a silence on the other side, and your coughs have finally stopped. However, a feeling of dread overcomes the Filipina.

She’s about to get on her knees to use the alternative way to get to you, but the door swings open, revealing you in slight distress. Tears spill from your eyes, and there’s blood on the corners of your mouth. Tiny splatters of crimson stain your collar, and Sophia notices how your tie is no longer around your neck, now gripped in your hand, which is also slightly bloodied. She glances at your other hand and squints, noticing the baby blue petals sticking out of your fist.

Where those came from, she has no idea. Sophia’s mind runs wildly with thoughts as she stares at your current state of chaos. Her best friend since childhood, her Y/n, stands in front of her like a ghost.

She knows the clock is ticking and everything that matters rests on these last few seconds you might have left.

Sophia doesn’t think before she acts. If there is anything she has ever learned from you, it’s that life shouldn’t be lived in the fear of having no time left. And with that in mind, she cups your cheeks, pressing her lips against yours.

It’s messy, and it tastes metallic, but when you kiss her back, it’s as if for the first time in months, it’s a hell of a lot easier to breathe.

You and Sophia walk out of the building, hand in hand. It’s as if a miracle appeared because, against all odds, you managed to win the match. You wear your medal around your neck, a bright smile on your lips as you swing your interlocked hands back and forth. “I can’t believe you chewed the Arbiter out…” A chuckle escapes your lips as you look down at Sophia, amused. “Like, they were gonna give me my time back… I had accommodations.”

Sophia scoffs and leans her head against your arm, closing her eyes. “My bad for thinking he was gonna give you shit for what happened.” She suddenly stops walking, tugging your hand so you can turn toward her. When you do, she pulls you close, her hands finding your shoulders. She stares up at you lovingly, relief washing over her as she realizes you’re starting to look like yourself again. She isn’t sure what has changed, but she has an inkling it has something to do with the kiss you two shared earlier.

With that in mind, she smirks, reaching down into her pocket to take out her lip gloss. You look at the item in her hand and you laugh loudly, throwing your head back. “I can’t believe you right now!” You say through your laughter. The sound is music to Sophia’s ears as she applies the gloss onto her lips, capping it once she’s done. She puts it back into her pocket, and her hands return to your shoulders, this time though she’s much closer than before.

“I think you owe me a better kiss, Y/n.” She tilts her head, her eyes flickering to your lips.

You raise your brow, smirking as you lean in a little closer. “Do I?” The scent of your shampoo fills Sophia's senses, and she can't believe it took her this long to have you in her space like this. She couldn't believe that, before today, this was a possibility.

She nods and wraps her arms around your neck, tilting her head up. A warmth resonates through her body as she whispers, “It’s like. Emotional compensation.” You chuckle, your nose bumping against hers cutely. The crinkle in your eyes helps Sophia realize that the wait was worth it.

Your next words, though, makes her feel confident in this jump with you.

“I love you, Fia. I’m in love with you,” You confess, breathlessly. The light in your eyes returns as Sophia smiles in response, a soft giggle leaving her lips.

She plays with the hairs on the back of your neck and looks at you as if this is what it’s all about– to be loved by you. “I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

The confession is sealed with a kiss. She doesn’t know this, but your lungs feel much lighter. Your burdens wilt away at Sophia’s fingertips.

Sophia gets the chance to love you for a beautiful two years.

And now she will have to remember you longer than she knew you.

While you struggled with whatever it was all those years ago, something else was hiding behind closed doors, lying dormant. After that went away, another illness decided it was its turn to wreak havoc on you. This time around, though, you remained the same. You loved Sophia vibrantly, giving her the best of you despite your condition. Before it took you away, Sophia was able to gift you that new timer. For your last Christmas together, she gave you a new tie to wear for your first National Chess Championship.

But you never got to go. Instead, you were buried with it, and Sophia straightened it out for you before finally being laid to rest.

Sophia still doesn’t quite understand your love for the game– she still finds it silly. But she feels closer to you every time she moves a piece, remembering how you used to do it with a calculated ease. As she stares at the chessboard, she pretends you’re sitting right next to her, telling her what she should do next.

Her eyes catch Yoonchae grabbing one of the pieces, a small smile forming on her lips as she sees the other girl struggling to remember what to do with it. “That’s your knight,” She whispers. Sophia looks away for a moment and sees the framed picture of you that sits inside the trophy case. All of your awards surround it, but her favorite item amongst them is the Forget-Me-Not she placed there on the first day of Spring. She smiles at the picture before looking back at the chessboard, pointing at a spot for Yoonchae to claim.

“You can move it here.” Yoonchae nods and moves her knight, placing it down where Sophia instructed. She looks at the older girl, waiting for her to make the next move.

Sophia nods and thinks for a moment. She assesses the pieces in front of her and takes a deep breath, picking up her queen. She moves the piece one space to the right and bites her lip, realizing what she has done.

“Checkmate.”

a/n: pls put the pitchforks down im so sorry it had to be done... anyway, lmk what you think haha... hah... </3

requests are closed

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #sophia laforteza x reader

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spiderfunkz · 6 days ago

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─── ⋆ ANOTHER FANTASY

pairings. cho hyun-ju x fem!reader

cw. angst angst angsttt. squid game season 3 spoilers. major character death. descriptions of violence and blood. mentions of reader’s backstory (quite vague). the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint. just really sad stuff, grab your tissues!

author’s note: i can’t say much. just one word, shibal.

you were frightened. ears ringing, hands shaking, face covered with blood, sweat, and tears. your heartbeat felt null— as of the body that was staring back into your soul.

the quiet thud made your entire physique almost quiver in fear and guilt. nothing could’ve prepared you for the situation you were dealing with as of now. which is quite ironic as, you aren’t supposed to be prepared for any of this, at all.

but from the cold gaze to warm touches, you’ve gotten a glimpse to what it feels like to be whole. cho hyun-ju strummed your heartstrings, she’d guide you in worry, offer a hand when needed, caress your hair gently through nightmares— mimicking the comfort you’ve never gotten. she became your only source of hope throughout this hellish place. the games were cruel, and cho hyun-ju was the exact opposite.

growing up you were taught to look after. to care for others more than you should care for yourself. you became shielded, guarded, and protective. it was like an instinct, second-nature. and though the moment you stepped into the room, you felt an intimidating gaze— you couldn’t help but stare.

the roles became reversed. hyun-ju would end up protecting you more than you could protect her. at first you felt defeated, somewhat bitter. though, you’ll soon realize the solace it comes with feeling safe. it wasn’t as bad as your head made it seem, even the toughest of folks need rest and love. and hyun-ju provided just that.

as the lights slowly dimmed around the cartoonishly large piggy bank, you’d find yourself wishing it was the sun again, and somehow you were back at your old place. as sad as it was, it was the closest thing you’ve known of home. hyun-ju would lay beside you, eyes open and aware. you’d remember how softly her hair fell back in the sheets, she’d look up before looking at you. whispering something sweet, something that sounded like a promise. a spark of hope.

though, nobody tells you how quickly a spark can fade.

just as hyun-ju was smiling about finally finding an exit. you expected her to run to you, to hug you and finally say “we have a chance, we can meet again after this is all over,” or maybe even a small kiss on the cheek for this small victory. her body did lean in front of you, just not in the way you were hoping.

she went limp. eyes looked like she’s never seen light before. her hair was just the same as the nights you stayed up with her. messy, yet beautiful— now, covered with sand and regret. you look up to the figure who you could’ve sworn was the devil before your eyes started to get fuzzy and full of tears.

“ju,” the nickname was made during your first night with her. you remember the way her ears perk up, how she seemed all flustered and shy, you never would’ve thought you’d miss it. “ju, wake up, please.”

your hand slowly traced her cheek, an ode to when she first opened up to you. how she almost flinched at your touch before melting into it almost right away, you remember the first sentence that made you blush, the first sentence that made you sure of something— “let’s win this. give it all our best, and maybe— we can see each other again. you with your dreams, me with mine. we’ll go on trips together, eat out freely, doesn’t it sound nice?”

you still remember the way she’d hum after a sentence, the way her tone was calm yet stern. you stop yourself from crying any longer. wiping away the sadness yourself. the door in front of you was already closed. but the wound in your heart was sliced right open— bloody, bruised, and broken.

you should’ve known that hyun-ju was too good to be true. how her head rested too perfectly in the crook of your neck, how her words slide into your ears like a planned melody, how she managed to make you smile even at rock-bottom.

you should’ve protected her. you should’ve went with her. you should’ve taken a risk for her, like the millions of times she has for you. you shut her eyes— hyun-ju’s an angel. just another fantasy.

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rowarn · 1 year ago

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hybrid au part 3 - FINAL

other parts: one | two

cw: major character death, angst, happy ending tho, lack of communication, loving!kyle agenda, mentions of price finally

a/n: SO THAT'S IT. i hope it was worth the wait!!!! mwah!!!

Kyle noticed the way your light dimmed the following days. He was at a loss, one day you're bouncing off the walls and filling every room with the sweet sound of your purrs and the next it's cold and quiet.

He tried everything, bringing home fragrant, expensive food and snacks, toys, whatever he could find that he thought would make you smile again. But nothing seemed to work.

When you spend the entire day curled up on the couch, blankly watching TV, he decided he had enough.

The following day, he was hooking your collar around your neck and forcing you to go outside into the sunshine.

Your eyes burned as you stepped out beneath the sun's blazing beams. Days spent indoors, sleeping most of the daytime hours away, had accustomed you to darkness. It was hot and you already wanted to go back inside but one pitiful look towards Kyle told you that you were not getting out of this easily.

So you hang your head and allow him to lead you down the sidewalk. The military housing area was surprisingly quiet, the only sound was a lawnmower somewhere nearby.

Kyle was silent, content with keeping his hand on the small of your back, a kind, protective gesture to assure you that he was still there as you glared at the sidewalk.

Before you knew it, the quietness of the neighborhood grew louder and louder until you were walking through the gate of the hybrid-park.

You looked around, watching all the happy hybrids and owners running around and playing lighthearted rounds of soccer or football. Casting a glance to Kyle, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks, glancing around, “We can take a lap around the park if you'd like?”

You shake your head, “Can we just sit?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he coos, nudging you in the direction of an empty bench.

You both take a seat, and look out across the park. While the nights still got quite chilly, it was beautiful during the day - a soothing breeze that rustled the green leaves in the trees and clear blue skies that you could look at for hours.

You hated to admit it but - Kyle was right. You were starting to feel better, like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Being cooped up in the house didn’t help anything, in fact it probably made things worse.

A hand patted your head and you looked over to see Kyle beaming, as if he could see the tension just melt off of you.

“I'm going to get us something to drink,” he muttered as he stood up, “Lemonade okay with you?”

You nod your head, fluffy ears bouncing atop your head as you do. Kyle has to resist the urge to reach out and pet them, forcing himself to turn around and find a drink stand to get the lemonade from.

You're staring off at a dog hybrid and a young boy playing a heated game of soccer when you hear your name being called.

Your head whips around to see Johnny standing there, tail wagging and eyes wide in shock. It's obvious he ran all the way over to where you are from the way his shoulders heave up and down with his heavy panting.

“I-” he clears his throat, thinking over what he wanted to say, “I've missed ye.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making the blood rush in your ears, “Johnny…”

“Come home,” he says, desperate and breathless, “I miss ye and I want ye to come back.”

“Simon doesn't want me, Johnny…” you mutter, feeling shame burn at your cheeks as you look down at your hands - nails neatly filed down by Kyle just a few days ago.

“To hell with him!” he spits, “I want you back, isn't that enough?”

Your frown deepens. His selfishness ignites irritation within you, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

“Why?” you ask, voice breaking as the word slips past your lips, “Why should I have to live like that? Being hated while you get to be loved?” Johnny says your name but you cut him off before he can say anything else, “That's not fair, Johnny. I have Kyle now and he loves me! I'm happy with him.”

“Can't ye be happy with me too?” he asks, sad, teary eyes cutting right through your heart.

“Of course I could Johnny but…” before you can continue there's a sharp call of the pup’s name and both of you freeze.

Johnny looks over his shoulder to see Simon jogging up behind him, a fierce glare in his brown eyes. A rough, gloved hand grabs the back of the hybrid’s collar.

“What the hell do you think you're doin’ runnin’ off like that?” Simon snaps, anger masking the clear worry he had experienced at his missing companion.

“I was just…” Johnny’s eyes drift to you and that's when Simon acknowledges your existence.

The sneer on his face is clear even through the mask and it makes you shrink in on yourself, ears flattened back. Even after all this time, the sting of his rejection remains strong and hurts just the same.

“What’s a gutter rat like you doin’ here?” Simon snaps.

It annoys him that you're always at the source of his problems with Johnny. Whenever the pup misbehaves, you're always there. A bad influence. Typical cat.

You look at Johnny. He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead staring up at his owner with an apologetic expression. You want him to speak up. You want him to defend you, to tell Simon to be nice or to apologize or tell him what you mean to him.

But Johnny just sighs, “Sorry, Si.”

The lack of defense towards you in the face of Simon solidifies everything for you in that moment. You look down at your lap, the crack in your heart only aching and stinging more and more with every beat of silence that passes between the three of you.

Something ice cold touches the back of your neck and you yelp, launching yourself off the bench and onto the ground. Laughter fills your ears and you turn to glare at Kyle who holds a large plastic cup of lemonade - the cold thing he’d just surprised you with.

“Sorry, love!” he apologizes but the laughter shows he's anything but.

Soap speaks up then, asking if Kyle knows you. Your owner’s brown eyes shine with pride as he affectionately ruffles your hair.

“Found them on the street and brought them home!” Kyle tells them, sounding much like a proud father, “Best decision of my life!”

Your cheeks burn at his praise, his kind, loving words remedy the painful stinging in your heart that had been brought on by your previous owner. You take the cup of lemonade when he offers it to you, taking a sip and cringing at the sour taste that hits your tongue – much to Kyle’s amusement.

“You guys are welcome to come over anytime,” Kyle says, smiling as he affectionately pets your ears, “I’m sure this cute kitten would love to have a friend to hang out with.”

“Yeah…maybe,” Simon mumbles, sending you a sidelong glance that was cold and empty – telling you everything you needed to know without saying it. Absolutely not.

You find that you don’t mind that much. The idea of never seeing Simon or his painfully hateful gaze was nice. But when you looked at Johnny, who was staring at you in despair – you find yourself mumbling in response, “Maybe someday.”

The hope in Johnny’s eyes seers into your mind, even long after you’ve parted ways and gone home for the day.

The days pass in relative ease. The depressive rut you found yourself in melts away and Kyle is thrilled to see that you’ve returned to your bright, bubbly self. You greet him at the door when he walks in, sit and purr beside him while you both eat dinner together, curl up against his side and happily snooze the night away.

It’s peaceful bliss.

But one evening, Kyle returns home and tosses his heavy duffle bag onto the floor with a thunk. You get up to greet him, stretching your arms high above your head before padding over to him with a sleepy smile on your face. Kyle opens his arms for you, letting you tuck yourself into his chest for a hug. A loud purr emanates from your chest that only seems to make Kyle’s shoulders drop.

“What’s the matter?” you ask when you catch a look at his face when he pulls away; brows furrowed and lips in a tight line.

“Just got some sad news, that’s all, lovie,” he mutters, patting your head before he moves into the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“What news?” you ask, following after him, tail swishing nervously behind you.

Did his parents pass away? Did a friend get hurt?

Kyle sets out some vegetables on the counter, hunting around for a knife before sighing, “You remember Simon and Johnny? We met them at the park the other day?”

You nod your head, “Of course.”

“There was an accident a couple days ago,” Kyle explains, slowly chopping up the celery on the cutting board, “Johnny got hit. He didn’t make it. Simon’s tore up about it.”

It feels like everything freezes right then and there for you. You no longer hear the chopping of the knife, no longer hear Kyle's voice or the sound of traffic outside on the street. All you can hear is the pounding in your ears and the sound of your own breathing.

Images flash behind your eyes in your grief. You can see Johnny’s boyish smile and his boisterous laugh emanating down the hallway. You can see him so clearly, wrapped around you as you snuggle and snooze together as the rain falls outside. You can hear the animated way he would tell you stories, waving his hands around and his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a hand cup your cheek. You blink away the tears and Kyle’s face comes into view, worry etched onto it.

“What is it, lovie? Why are you crying?” he asks, clearly concerned.

“Johnny’s dead?” you ask, voice broken and wobbly as you fight to talk through tears.

“Yeah, love,” Kyle coos, thumbing beneath your eyes to rub away some tears, “Why are you so upset?”

Everything tumbles from your lips then. You tell him about how you lived on the street, how your life changed the day you met a rambunctious pup who wouldn’t take no for an answer until he had himself a friend. You tell Kyle about how, even though Simon was awful to you, Johnny was a light in the dark and how much you adored him and how much he meant to you. You tell him how Simon threw you out like trash and how much it hurt and how much you missed Johnny despite everything.

Kyle held you through it all, tucking you tenderly against his chest as you cried it all out.

“I had no idea, lovie,” he whispers into your hair, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead when your breathing becomes erratic.

“I-I never got to settle things with him,” you wail, “He wanted me to come home and I-I couldn’t give him an answer.”

Kyle sighs, cupping the back of your head, rocking you back and forth until your cries quiet down to hiccuping sniffles, “It’ll be alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't know how he can make this hurt go away or help you soothe the grief you’re experiencing. All he can do is hold you close and comfort you whenever you need.

This time, when Kyle notices how sad you are as the days pass, he doesn’t force you to leave the house or do anything. He just lets your sadness run its course, doing what he can to ease your burden by making your favorite dishes and letting you watch your favorite movies over and over again until he can practically recite them by heart.

There’s a knock at the door that startles the both of you one evening. Kyle’s on his feet in seconds, hand drifting towards the firearm he keeps nearby before he looks through the peephole on the door and relaxes.

You peek over the back of the couch as he opens the door. Simon stands there.

Although he is masked, you can practically see how worn down and utterly devastated he is.

“What’s up?” Kyle asks, hand twitching to reach out for the older man but thinks better of it. “Do you need something?”

“I wanna talk to that one,” Simon nods in your direction, where you’re still peeking over the couch.

Kyle turns to look at you over his shoulder, asking your consent. You think it over for a few seconds before you nod your head. Not like Simon would do anything with Kyle here.

He steps aside to let the larger man enter and closes the door, giving an excuse about getting drinks before disappearing into the kitchen.

Simon’s heavy boots vibrate the floor as he takes a few large steps towards you. You scoot to the other side of the couch when he sits down, the couch bouncing with his added weight.

His hands are folded between his knees where he rests his elbows on them. His tattooed skin ripples and flexes as he nervously fidgets with his hands.

“Johnny wanted you to come home,” he starts out, staring intently at the floor. You swear you can see tears beading at his lower lash line as he says his companions name, “So I’m here to see if you will.”

“You want me back?” you ask softly, anxiously pulling a pillow into your lap.

Simon nods, “It’s what Johnny wanted. He cared about you, loved you. You’re all I have left of him.”

You’re silent at that.

Despite everything, your heart aches for Simon. He adored Johnny more than anything – even if he hated you, his love for the pup was palpable. You could see it in his face every time he saw Johnny, eyes scrunching up happily. Johnny was his world and now that world was gone and Simon was left with nothing but bitter emptiness and a void that he was desperate to fill.

You found yourself opening your mouth, ready to agree – ready to be the one to soothe your ex-owners devastating hurt. But then you found yourself looking into the kitchen, to Kyle’s back. He was hunched over the counter, vigorously mixing something in a bowl and you realized that you didn’t want to leave him.

Kyle was yours. Kyle was everything you could ever need or want. He wanted and loved you when you thought no one else would. He didn’t give up on you even when you were difficult and cold. He cared about you, thought about you every day. He gave you everything you wished for so desperately during your time living with Simon.

“I can’t,” you find yourself whispering, tears filling your eyes at how much it hurt to turn Simon away, “I know Johnny would want me to be with you, to make sure you’re okay without him but…I love Kyle and I want to stay with him.”

“So that’s it then?” Simon asks, voice small and weaker than you’ve ever heard it before. You know there’s a crushing weight on his heart right now, knowing he will be going home alone to a painfully empty and cold house.

“Yeah…” You whisper, unable to look up at him as he rises to his feet.

Kyle comes out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands, asking Simon if he was okay as he passes by him to the front door. The larger man just grunts in response and opens the door. The quiet click of it closing is all you hear of his departure before the warm bowl is in your lap.

It’s a bowl of broth that makes your mouth water. The fact Kyle had made it for your just because warmed your heart.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting down next to you, arm tossed over the couch behind you, fingers mindlessly stroking over the fuzzy surface of your ear.

“He wanted me to go home with him,” you respond, taking a sip of the broth.

“You said no?” he asks. You catch the worry in his tone – like he was scared you were going to tell him you were leaving him soon.

But you nod and his body relaxes in relief, “He only wanted me back because I reminded him of Johnny. He didn’t really want me, just the image of Johnny.”

Kyle nods, leaning over to kiss your temple, “That man loved that pup. But I’m glad you’re here to stay.”

You look over at him from over the bowl of broth as you sip it, “Yeah?”

“I would have let you go if that’s what you really wanted but…” He looks a little sheepish as he continues, “It would have hurt to see you go, kitty. I meant it when I said adopting you was the best decision of my life.”

You place the bowl down on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. He grunts as your weight slams against him, knocking him back onto the couch as he laughs. His arms wrap around you in a bear hug, squeezing you so hard that your ribs ache but you don’t even think about trying to pull away.

Though you don’t say it, he knows that you’re his to keep and that you love him just as much as he loves you. He couldn’t imagine life without you now.

BONUS:

“I think my boss is gettin’ impatient to meet you, you know,” he mumbles in your shoulder.

“Your boss?” you ask, voice almost too quiet to hear over your loud purring.

“Yeah, the old man’s been dyin’ to meet the cute kitten I talk about all the time at work,” he explains.

“You talk about me?” you ask, peeking up shyly.

He grins, “All the time. I think everyone’s sick of my voice at this point. But the Captain's really been begging to come and meet you. I’ve been waiting for a good time to bring it up. He’s a bit of a lover so you’d have to put up with all the pets and hugs he has to offer.”

Your eyes shine in interest, “I want to meet him!”

Kyle chuckles, reaching up to pet one of your twitching ears, “I’ll make the call then and set up dinner.”

You were excited to meet a new person. You hoped he was as kind and gentle as Kyle was. And even though the idea of Simon sitting alone and hurt in his house with nothing but the memories of his best friend, you weren’t going to let that stop you from opening up new chapters in your own life.

do not repost on other websites, translate, or modify. reblogs welcome!

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