Corpse Husband One-shots

The Voice Of A Broken Heart ⨀

Author: https://thefanficmonster.tumblr.com/

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Health Complications, Voice Loss

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

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Sounds - some of the key things to our existence. We link them to certain things, people, occurrences, emotions even. Among the sounds and noises we depend on with little notice, there are those specifically meant for us to link them to people. Voices. The voice of someone you have known all your life. A voice that has just been brought into the world. A voice of a loved one, speaking your name. The voice that gives you butterflies and speeds up your heartbeat. The one that sends dozens butterflies in your stomach and brings a smile to your face.

Looking at the person that this voice belongs to, tears staining his cheeks and a defeated look in his eyes, I feel like I've lost everything. Like my world has been shattered just like his. He furiously shakes his head as if chasing a dark thought - an action that will bring him the closure he needs at the moment. And all I can do is stand here, wishing I could do something - ANYTHING more than what I can.

Not too long ago, about fifteen minutes really, it was a typical morning as any other. In the early hours prior, at the literal crack of dawn, Corpse finally managed to get some shuteye. I woke up at around ten to find him in a peaceful slumber he rarely ever gets and I felt at ease, relieved. My lungs seemed expanded, allowing me to take in freer breaths each time I inhaled. As usual, I headed straight to the kitchen to start making breakfast, knowing Corpse wouldn't be asleep for long after I left the bed. Normally, he sends me a good morning text before going to his recording room where he spends his time before coming to the kitchen so we can eat together when the food is ready.

Today, however, it was different.

I had just turned the stove off and was about to send him a text to let him know the food was ready when a message from him came in.

"Y/N help"

I felt my heart stop beating and my blood run cold. I froze for the briefest of seconds before the adrenaline kicked in, sending me running up the stairs with spots in my vision, my lungs' capacity half what it was when I first got up.
I ran past our shared bedroom, my focus on the recording room where I was expecting him to be. My feet automatically put my movements to a halt when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a silhouette sitting on the bed as I dashed past the half open bedroom door.

I push the door to open fully, revealing the darkness of the room's interior. I immediately know what this means but the bloodied tissues on the floor by Corpse's feet only further confirm my fears. The dim light of the nightstand lamp is faintly illuminating his upper body in its half-hunched over position - one hand holding a tissue to his nose, the other gripping his neck in what I can only describe as anger and uncontrollable frustration.

"Corpse? Hey, I'm here. I'm here. The headaches again?" In the blink of an eye I have knelt down in front of him, my hand carefully moving the stray strands of hair that are covering his eyes to the side. That's when I see the tears that are staining the red skin of his cheeks. His eyes are tightly shut like he's holding back a sob of intense pain, his grip on his neck tightening. I take gentle but firm hold of the hand that he's trying to suffocate himself with and pull with all the strength I can use with out hurting him to pry it off.
To my surprise, he obliges rather easily, his hold loosening and his hand going limp in mine. I see the marks he has left on the skin of his neck and my heart cracks.

I immediately scold myself for it, repeating over and over to stay strong as encouragement to myself and to him.

"Why did you do this to yourself?" My fingertips trace the marks lightly, fearful of the possibility of causing him any pain. He opens his eyes when he hears my shaky voice. The emotion I see in those tear-filled orbs opens another crack in my 'strong' foundation.