SnK x Reader One Shots

Marco x Journalist!Reader (Modern)

Marco Bodt died  March 2nd , 2015, after a long battle against brain cancer.

I clenched my fists tightly as I looked down at the keyboard of the computer, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat.

He was known to many as the star football player and to many others, Freckled Jesus.

A small laugh arose from my throat at the ridiculous name, but thinking about it...It fit him perfectly. Slowly, my hands stopped moving of my  own will; the began shaking as sobs erupted from me, filling my quiet room with cries and wailing.

Many would have thought it ridiculous, but to me, he was everything. My prince. He was diagnosed July 16, 2014 with terminal cancer, though he lived longer than the doctors could've imagined. Marco was strong-willed and would not die until he had done everything he had wanted to ever to.

I tucked my hands under my arms and held my breath for a moment, pulling the covers off of my bed and over my body which laid on the ground, shaking and shivering. But as the blanket fell over my head, I took notice of a picture. Marco.

Seeing it made me tense and pull the cover over my eyes quickly.

He was always one to put another's needs ahead of his own. Making sure those around were happy and thriving. If only, someone had been doing this for him as well. 

After what seemed like hours, I sat up and looked at the clock. 8:57.

It had only been 2 minutes.

Even though I was with him all the time. Up until the very end, I never noticed a change in him. Mentally nor socially. Although he looked weaker. More fragile. He was as strong as ever. Perhaps even more so.

I crawled back into my desk chair and stared at the words on the monitor, unable to type the words that my brain screamed out to me.

This was my job. Writing. Journalism. Why was it so difficult now?

When Marco was diagnosed, I was there with his mother and his father. They both looked into each others eyes deeply worried. But then the doctor came out and their  worst fears were coming true. Yet, Marco smiled to them and said "Do you hear that, Mom? I still have at least six months to be with you guys." And with this he laughed joyfully.

My body shook as it remembered his laugh. Almost angelic. I had never heard anything like it in all my years.

Whenever I would frown, he would look at me and smile happily, taking my head and pulling me into a hug. I couldn't resist his hugs. They were comforting. But as time went on when he would hug me, I noticed the physical differences. He was getting weaker. And our small window was coming to a close.

Deep down I knew I could write more. Write better. But I couldn't on the surface. It hurt too much; like stepping on Legos. The pain was at first intense and sharp but dull, long-lasting pain afterwards.

Jean Kirstein, he was Marco's best friend. And truth be told, we always hated each other with a passion. We would fight for Marco's approval and time, but looking back, had we gotten along... We would have had more time with him.

I saved the file and close the document, turning off the monitor to walk back over to my bed, picking the comforter up off the ground and rolled into it like a burrito. My eyes closed immediately. I was exhausted, possibly dehydrated from the tears but yet worst of all being that I was alone.

Slowly, my eyes made their way over to the clock. 12:38. It had taken me four hours to write less than a paragraph about the most important person in my world.

My eyes shut. And another dreamless night begins, going dark than waking up to a bright sun, bursting in through the windows.

Today.

I dreaded this day.

March 7, 2015.

Marco's funeral. His burial. And service.

I didn't know if I could make it. I needed to push myself. Like Marco did for so many months.

My clothes were already laid out and folded. And my hair only took 15 minutes or so to curl. And makeup took less than 20.

I glanced at my computer and walked over to it, taking a seat and opening the file. There it was. Marco's eulogy.

Quickly, I added one more sentence before printing it out.

"[Y/N], we need to leave for the service." My mother called out in the lightest that I had ever heard her speak in.

 And with that we made it to the funeral home. Everyone was silent. Not one word arose from the possible hundreds that were there. But the cries and sniffles were heard loud enough to speak one thousand words.

I stood and walked to the podium, giving my eulogy in a gentle tone. Stuttering and tripping over words. The lump in my throat was back as I got to the last line. 

And if I were to get one wish, I would wish that the burden of cancer had been laid upon me instead of Marco, who graced everyone that he met.

With these last few words, I  stepped down from the podium and kissed my fingertips before laying them on his casket. 

                                                                                  Marco Bodt

                                                               June 16, 1995- March 2nd, 2015

                                                                    Beloved son, friend, fiancé

                                                       May you forever find peace in your sleep